anyone know who drew the art where neil is telling andrew his real name? trying to find it for my friend whos reading the books for the first time but i cant find it at all :((
The sun sinks lower behind the treeline, but the familiar orange and pink hues are swallowed by dark, churning clouds. The sky seems angrier than usual, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. You mutter a silent curse—after hours of searching, there’s still no sign of shelter, just endless woods and the unsettling promise of a storm brewing above.
Then, through the thickening gloom, you spot it: a small wooden cabin, barely the size of a shed, nestled between the trees. A flicker of hope sparks in your chest just as the first raindrops begin to fall, tapping against the leaves like a warning. The rain quickly intensifies, and you don’t waste any time. You break into a quicker stride, your boots thudding over the damp earth. Jade keeps pace behind you, her breath coming in short, urgent gasps.
The two of you stop beneath the awning of the cabin, instinctively shrinking to the sides, pressing your bodies against the worn wood. Your eyes search the area, but the only sound is the downpour, the rain now coming down in sheets. You grab the windowsill, pulling yourself up just enough to peer inside. It’s dark, too dim to make out details, but the absence of any shuffling feet or ragged breathing is a good sign.
You twist your neck to check on Jade. She watches you intently, her grip tightening on her knife. You nod briefly, a silent confirmation. She nods back, her lips set in a determined line.
You drop silently back to the ground and press against the wall, making your way to the back door with cautious steps. The rain is relentless now, pelting the cabin's roof with a deafening roar. Flashes of lightning illuminate the trees, casting stark shadows that only add to the tension. You slip onto the back porch, your body crouched low, and reach for the doorknob. To your surprise, it turns easily. You pull back instinctively, readying yourself for any sudden attack, but nothing stirs. The only sounds are the thunder overhead and the pounding rain.
Slowly, you push the door open, peeking around the frame, eyes wide and alert. The cabin is small, just a single room with a makeshift kitchen, a worn-looking table, and a ragged couch pushed against the wall. Whoever lived here hasn’t been gone long—clothes are strewn across a chair, and an open book lies face down on the table.
You slip inside, motioning for Jade to follow. She’s right behind you, and you shut the door quickly, sealing out the rain. The sound dulls instantly, replaced by the muffled roar of the storm.
Without a word, Jade heads straight for the kitchen, her instincts driving her. She starts rummaging through the cupboards, her movements fast but controlled. “Oh, hallelujah,” she whispers, pulling out a few cans of food, her face brightening with a momentary look of victory.
Your stomach growls loudly at the sight, but you force yourself to ignore it. There’s no time to relax yet; you need to check the rest of the cabin. You scan the room, eyes sharp as you take in every corner. No movement, no immediate threats.
“Hold on,” you say, voice low but firm. Jade glances back at you, a question in her eyes. You tilt your head toward the closed door at the far end of the cabin. “Gotta make sure we’re alone.”
Jade nods, understanding. She sets the cans down quietly and grips her knife again, ready to back you up. You move forward slowly, the floorboards creaking under your weight. You reach the door and twist the knob carefully, pushing it open with the tip of your knife. The small back room is empty, just an old bed frame with a stained mattress and a broken dresser.
You let out a slow breath, finally relaxing a little. “Clear,” you say quietly.
Jade’s shoulders sag slightly in relief, but she’s already moving back to the cans, hunger clearly taking priority. She pops one open, not waiting for permission. You can’t blame her; it’s been days since you had anything decent to eat.
Your own stomach twists with hunger, but you take a moment to scan the windows, making sure nothing has followed you in the storm’s chaos. Lightning flashes again, and for a split second, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window—worn and dirty, but alive. You turn back to Jade, who’s already shoveling a spoonful of beans into her mouth.
“Hungry?” she asks between bites, a hint of amusement in her voice despite the exhaustion.
You don’t answer, but your lips twitch in the slightest hint of a smile. You grab one of the cans, finally allowing yourself to sit. The rain continues to pound against the roof, but inside, you’ve managed to carve out a small, fleeting sense of safety.
You and Jade settle into the small cabin, the rain pounding a relentless rhythm on the roof above. The storm outside roars on, its anger dulled by the thin walls around you. It’s not much, but it’s safer than the open woods. The shelter gives you just enough security to let your eyes close, even if only for a moment.
When sleep finally takes hold, it pulls you deep. The dream comes swiftly, vivid and harsh. You’re back at the prison. Gunfire erupts around you, bullets zipping past as people you love fall, one after another. The air is thick with smoke, the acrid stench of burning metal and death. You’re running through the chaos, shouting for the only person who matters.
“Daryl!” you scream, your voice hoarse, desperate. You push through the blinding smoke, the sting of it making your eyes water, but you keep moving. You see him up ahead, crumpled on the ground, his crossbow discarded beside him, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Your heart lurches in terror. You’re reaching for him, fingers just brushing his shoulder, when a cold hand grabs your arm, dragging you back. You scream, fighting to break free, but it’s like you’re moving in quicksand.
“Daryl!” you cry again, your voice ragged, but he’s slipping away.
Suddenly, you’re jolted awake by a hand on your arm.
“Hey,” Jade’s voice is urgent, cutting through the dream’s fog. “Hey, wake up!”
Your eyes fly open, your breath coming in harsh gasps. You sit up abruptly, your surroundings coming into focus—the scattered cans of food, the dusty floor, the ratty couch beneath you. It was just a dream. You rub your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering terror, but the weight in your chest remains.
“You were…” Jade starts, her voice hesitant, “you were screaming in your sleep. Scared the hell outta me.”
“Sorry,” you mutter, pressing your back against the worn couch, exhaustion settling over you again. “I uhh… I lost people. Just the other day,” you admit quietly, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. It’s more than you meant to say, but the words spill out, raw and unguarded. It’s the closest you’ve come to sharing anything real with her.
Jade studies you for a moment, her expression softening. She doesn’t press for more details, sensing the rawness of the confession. “We’ve all lost someone,” she whispers, her fingers absently picking at the unraveling stitching of the couch.
The room falls into a heavy silence, the only sound is the patter of rain against the window and the rumble of thunder. You know she’s right, that loss is the one thing you all share now. You glance over at her, catching the hint of vulnerability she’s trying to mask.
“Who did you lose?” you ask quietly, breaking your usual silence.
She hesitates, her eyes downcast. “My brother,” she finally says, voice tight. “A few weeks back. Got separated during a run. I thought… I thought maybe he’d made it, but…”
You nod slowly, the familiar pain of hope dashed flashing through you. “It’s hard,” you say, your voice low but sincere. “Trying to move on when you don’t know what even happened to them,”
Jade nods, biting her lip. “Yeah...” She turns to you then, “Was your group… Did you meet them after everything turned? Or was any of your family with you?”
You look away from her green piercing gaze, a face you so long to see flashing in your mind's eye, “My…” it was hard to contain what you had with Daryl to a single word. Best friend? Boyfriend? Neither would ever be enough to explain what he was to you.
“Someone who was by my side through my whole life, my everything,” you finally say, a whisper, “I don’t know where he is now, if he made it out…” moisture stings your eyes, but you blink rapidly, rubbing the back of your hand against your face as they threaten to fall.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, hand suddenly on yours. You flinch at the touch, but when you meet her gaze, there’s a gentleness there beneath the curtain of dark lashes, like she sees you without you having to say anything. You smile at her, for once a real, full smile, and nod, squeezing her hand back.
But before the conversation picks up again, a sudden noise outside makes you both freeze. Footsteps, hurried and heavy, splash through the mud outside. Your instincts flare, and you’re on your feet in an instant, knife in hand.
“Someone’s out there,” you whisper urgently, your heart thundering in your chest. Jade grips her own knife, eyes wide with alarm. The sound grows louder, closer—a voice now, low and guttural, barely audible over the rain.
“We gotta move,” Jade breathes.
But it’s too late. The back door swings open with a crash, slamming against the wall, and a figure stumbles inside. It’s a man, disheveled and soaked with rain, his eyes wide with surprise as he spots the two of you.
“What the hell—” he starts, but before he can finish, you lunge forward, aiming to disarm him.
The man reacts fast, swinging a crowbar in your direction. You dodge, barely missing the impact, and Jade lunges at his side, trying to knock him off balance. He shoves her back, but you manage to grab his arm, wrenching the weapon from his grip.
“Run!” you shout, and without hesitation, Jade bolts toward the front door.
You follow, grabbing her pack from the floor, adrenaline surging as you make for the exit. Briefly, you think of grabbing your rifle that leans on the opposite wall, but the man recovers quickly, lunging for you, and you make your way to the door without stopping. You take off urgently into the night on Jade’s heels.
The rain is relentless, pouring down in sheets as you and Jade sprint through the dark woods, the man’s shouts growing fainter behind you. You don’t stop, don’t look back, driven by the urgency to get as far away as possible.
The man’s shouts have faded into the distance, swallowed by the storm. It’s quiet now, except for the rain and the occasional crack of thunder.
You and Jade finally slow, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You glance over your shoulder, just to be sure. There’s no sign of anyone following, no more crashing footsteps through the woods. For the first time since the cabin, you allow yourself to feel a flicker of relief.
"Think we lost him," Jade says, her voice barely above a whisper, fighting to catch her breath. Her body sags with exhaustion as she bends in half, her shoulders slumping and hands on her knees. She stands across from you in front of a dark thicket of trees, the brush only illuminated by shards of lightning against the sky.
Just as the next boom of thunder splits the sky with a flash of lightning, your entire body seizes up as you see a face illuminated behind her, and you barely have time to process what you’re seeing—a walker, its rotten face twisted and wet from the rain, mouth open and snarling. It moves fast, faster than you expect, but maybe that’s because your brain feels like it's been dipped in mud as you watch the blur of decay and hunger. Jade seems to see your panic because she stands straight, beginning to turn, but before you can shout a warning, it barrels straight into her from behind, its teeth sinking deep into the column of her neck.
A blood curdling scream rips from her throat, her eyes still glued to you despite the dark of the night, blood spurting from her artery that pulls away between the walker’s jaw.
“Jade!” you shout, panic and rage surging through you as you lunge forward, knife at the ready. You throw yourself against them, pushing the walker to the ground under Jade, and plunging your knife as hard as you can into its skull.
“Stay with me!” you shout, pulling her off the rotting body and pressing your hands over her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. It’s everywhere, seeping through your fingers, too fast, too much. All she can do is choke, a gargled, horrible noise from her throat as she gasps for air. Your eyes blur with tears as hers begin to glaze over. Your heart slams against your ribcage, helplessness overwhelming you. “Stay awake, dammit,” you urge, your voice breaking. But you know the truth, even if you don’t want to face it. The bite is deep, and the blood loss is too severe. She tries to speak, but her voice is reduced to a wet gurgle, blood bubbling from her lips. She reaches out blindly, her fingers brushing against your arm, weak and desperate.
Tears fall onto your cheeks, mixing with the drops of rain falling over the two of you.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing there’s nothing left to do but let go.
Jade’s grip slackens, her eyes losing focus entirely. The storm rages on around you, rain hammering down, as you hold her for those final moments. And then she’s gone, her body limp in your arms.
For a few breaths, you’re paralyzed. You kneel in the mud, Jade’s blood still warm on your hands, the reality of it all slamming into you. Another flash of lightning illuminates her lifeless face, her eyes wide and empty.
The grief is brutal, but you force it down. You don’t have time to even think of the shadows of memories that prowl in the back of your mind, hands covered in blood in a dark field. There’s no time to think, to linger–not here. Not in the open.
You gently lower Jade’s body to the ground, your hand lingering for just a moment before you pull back, swallowing hard. You grab your things quickly, feeling the storm's cold grip even tighter now. You take her pack with you, throwing your few belongings in it now.
With a backward glance, you run back into the darkness, your heart burning with the loss of the only ally you had found.
❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥
Daryl
After the exhausting night crammed in the trunk, Daryl and Beth are moving again, their steps heavy with fatigue. Daryl glances over at Beth, noticing the deep lines of exhaustion under her eyes, the same weariness he feels in his own bones. But they keep moving, pushing forward in search of some semblance of shelter—some fleeting promise of safety.
The woods are dense, the ground damp underfoot, and Daryl keeps his crossbow raised, eyes sharp. He spots a squirrel scurrying along a low-hanging branch and carefully tries to close the distance, his footsteps deliberate and silent. He’s sure of the shot as he releases the arrow, but it veers wide, sinking into the bark instead of his target. He curses under his breath as the squirrel skitters up the tree, out of reach.
Frustration simmers beneath the surface. It’s not just the missed shot, but the constant sense of failing—at hunting, at finding Y/N, at keeping anyone safe. He yanks the arrow from the bark and notices it’s split, rendered useless. Another reminder of things falling apart, of what’s already broken.
He turns, hearing Beth setting up their makeshift camp, her hands busy tying the string of clattering car parts into the surrounding trees. But there’s another sound nearby, and Daryl pauses, focusing intently. He spots a snake slithering through the underbrush, its scales barely visible among the leaves. He grips a nearby branch, its end split just right, and stalks the creature for a few more steps before slamming the makeshift trap down over its head. His knife follows a second later, the blade plunging deep. A meal was a meal, after all.
He quickly skins and cleans the snake, wiping his knife on the wet grass before heading back to the small fire Beth has managed to start. He drops down beside her and begins roasting the pieces, the smell of charred meat mingling with the wet earth around them.
In the midst of eating, Beth’s gaze stays fixed on the fire, her thoughts clearly churning. Her voice breaks the silence. “I need a drink.”
Daryl doesn’t look up. He keeps chewing, the familiar rhythm of eating his only focus. Without a word, he leans down and tosses her the shared water bottle.
“No, I mean a real drink,” Beth clarifies, her tone more insistent as she sets it aside. “As in alcohol.”
He keeps his head down, tearing off another bite of the snake. He doesn’t really care to engage, doesn’t have the energy for it. The thought of searching for alcohol seems pointless, almost laughable in the world they’re in now. He’s got enough ghosts to drown, and he’s not eager to add more.
“I’ve never had one, ‘cause of my dad,” she continues, her voice softer now. “But he’s not exactly around anymore, so…”
Daryl’s jaw clenches at that, a quick, involuntary reaction. Hershel’s absence is still raw, a reminder of all the people he couldn’t save. And Y/N’s face flashes through his mind, the familiar, unrelenting ache gnawing at him. He knows he should respond, knows Beth’s trying to break through the thick silence between them, but he can’t bring himself to.
“I thought we could go find some,” she adds, her tone sharper, trying to pierce the armor he’s wrapped around himself.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he keeps chewing methodically, focusing solely on getting as much of the charred meat into his body as he can. The act of eating becomes his distraction, the only thing he can control right now. His gaze stays fixed downward, his silence more deliberate than before, a final refusal to engage.
“Okay,” she says quietly, raising from her seated position, “Well, you enjoy your snake jerky .” and trails off into the woods, bringing his knife with her. Daryl keeps eating, aware of her departure but making no move to stop her. A small, rebellious part of him almost wants to let her go—see how she manages on her own. He and Y/N had done it at her age, after all. But deep down, he knows he won’t leave her out there. Not alone.
He throws the rest of his meal down and grabs his crossbow, setting off after her. He doesn’t have to go far—her footprints are fresh, and within minutes he spots her, crouched behind a tree with his knife drawn, hiding as a pack of walkers shuffles by in the distance. Once the threat is gone, Daryl deliberately steps on a twig, snapping it loudly. Beth jumps, spinning around with wide eyes, but when she sees it’s him, her shoulders sag with relief. After a long moment of watching each other, she falls into step behind him. He's weaving through the woods, her footsteps noisy behind him.
“I think we’ve made it a way,” Beth says quietly, her voice tentative as she trips over a small root that he had stepped over with ease, “We gotta go that way to find some booze.”
Daryl makes a sharp left turn, stepping over the wire they had set up. When Beth accidentally crashes into it, causing the cans to rattle, she gasps in surprise. “What the hell? You brought me back!” she shouts, glaring at him. His face remains blank, unmoved by her outburst, ready for her to lash out.
Beth’s lip curls in anger. “I’m not staying in this suck-ass camp,” she snaps, raising her middle finger to his face before spinning around.
Daryl’s hand shoots out, gripping her wrist firmly. “Hey,” he growls, his voice low. “You had your fun.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouts, her eyes blazing. “Do you feel anything?”
He pauses, his eyes narrowing. It’s a question he’s been asked before, no one being able to read the churning storm behind his stone expression. The problem was, he felt too much. He needed a way to stuff it down, so he often schooled himself into a blankness that at least made the screaming in his head a dull ache. But Beth isn’t finished. “Yeah, you think everything’s screwed—that’s a feeling! So you wanna spend the rest of our lives starin’ into a fire and eatin’ mud snakes?”
Her disheveled blonde hair hangs in her face, and despite her anger, he’s reminded of Y/N, the piece of hair that always fell from behind her ears, always making him want to reach out and touch her. The memory stabs at him, the dull ache deep in his stomach twisting.
“Screw that, Daryl!” Beth exclaims, her face flushed with frustration. “I can take care of myself, and I’m gonna get a damn drink.”
She wrenches her arm free and storms off into the woods, determination clear in her steps. For a moment, he’s rooted in place, uncertainty and guilt mingling with the raw emptiness inside him. But then, with a resigned sigh, he moves after her. He doesn’t have a choice. Not really.
I told myself I would take a mini break from this blog after the story I posted, so I could take a minute to breathe and relax and prepare for my vacation…but Fuck! There’s a new trailer! And I’m gonna briefly mention what I said before.
The story of the blog will slowly change as the season airs, but will mostly remain the same if I can make it happen.
This is just how it will work for me, with how long this blog has been running and the story built up. So, do not be surprised if I’m dead for a few days after it airs. I’ll be writing. A lot. What have I done?
