The Last Of Us
He had been running for days, trying to stay ahead of the herd that had come upon their camp in the middle of the night and taken down the last of his family. Exhausted, dehydrated, and grieving, Daryl was too slow in noticing the walker slumped up against a tree outside of the little shack he found in his crazed marathon looking for safety. Too slow to keep the rotten teeth from sinking into his side, damning him as it had been damned. Daryl pulled his knife out and plunged it into the rotten skull, putting the undead to rest with finality. He yanked the mouth away from his body, pulling away a chunk of his own flesh with it. Red oozed over tightly clenched fingers as Daryl tried to stem the flow of blood from his mangled side.
He was bit. He was a dead man walking. Or soon would be. Soon, he would be one of the dead roaming the earth hungry for human flesh, with no one left to put him down.
Merle. Rick. Hershel. Carol. Everyone he had come to love like family. All of them were gone now. And he was all that was left of the Atlanta group. Or from the Prison. Or even from Alexandria. He was alone.
'Alone. Somehow, I always knew that I'd die alone. I spent most of my life alone. Even when Merle was alive, I was alone. But that was before. Before the dead rose. Before me and Merle went to the quarry. Before I met Rick and the others. Before Sophia. Before Carol.’ Daryl thought as he stumbled to the only safety around, a worn down and abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods.
He opened the door of the shack and went inside. Nothing and no one were in the single room except a single wooden table and two wooden chairs, not even a window. He closed the door, turned, and jammed a chair under the door knob. Then he pushed the table up against the chair and put the other chair on top. Daryl staggered across the one room cabin to the wall opposite the door. He slid down the wood, leaving a red streak all the way down the wall. He positioned his crossbow on his lap, loaded and ready, pointed at the only entrance into the room, and leaned his head back against the wall. 'I'm sorry Carol. Sorry I never told you how much I love you. Sorry I couldn't save Sophia. Sorry I couldn't save you. Merle, I'm sorry I didn't get to you in time to keep you from cutting off your hand. Maybe you'd still be alive if I had. Rick, brother, I'm sorry I couldn't protect Carl or Little Asskicker. Hershel, I'm sorry I couldn't save Maggie or Beth. Or your farm. I wish I could do it over again. I'd change so much' Eyes closed. Within seconds, silence filled the room. Minutes went by. Milky dead eyes opened, searching around the dark interior in hunger.
--TWD--
Confused eyes opened wide and looked down at his intact side. No blood was covering it. There was no mangled bite. Daryl realized he didn't feel any of the aches and pains that had set up shop over the past seven years since the dead became undead.
"What the hell?!" Daryl exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. He was no longer in the shabby one room cabin that would be his grave. Around him was a large circular room of pale blue and white marble, with archways leading to other rooms. In the middle of the room was an oversized round table made of dark blue marble with white veining. Around the table equally spaced apart were light blue padded chairs with high backs.
'How the hell I go from some rundown cabin and turning inta a walker ta feeling better than I ever have and bein in some swanky rich folks lobby or whatever?' Daryl thought as he rotated in place looking at the room around him.
"Not Hell, Mr. Dixon. Quite the opposite actually." stated a voice directly behind him. Daryl spun around and went to pull his crossbow off his shoulder, only to realize it was not there. He patted down his body and couldn't find any of his weapons.
'Shit. Where my weapons go? Don't need'em ta take out this rich wanker. But nothin better have happened ta my crossbow.' Daryl thought as he stood up straight, ready to act should this man prove to be a threat.
"Please be calm, Mr. Dixon. I mean you no harm." said the tall gentleman in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair in a pure white tux with a baby blue bowtie. "I am the Angel of Death. You can call me Sam if you prefer. And I need your help."
"Where am I? What's going on? Why would you need my help? Am I dead?" confused, Daryl asked.
‘Gotta be dead. Ain’t no way I survived that bite.'
Sam gestured to the table. "Let's have a seat and I'll explain." Sam sat on a chair Daryl strolled over and sat down a couple of chairs away from the stranger, not trusting him.
'If I'm dead, this guy must really be the Angel of Death. Hunh.' Daryl watched Sam with curiosity
"This is limbo. A kind of holding place between life and the afterlife. Yes, Mr. Dixon, you are dead."
"Call me Daryl. Mr. Dixon was my pa. I ain't my pa." Daryl glared at Sam and crossed his arms over his chest. "Course I'm dead. Damn walker took a bite outta my side. The way I was bleeding out, I probly turned quick."
"My apologies. I did not mean to bring up bad memories. Daryl. I need your help, and those of a few others, to help save...well, for lack of a better term...the world."
'Say what now? What kind of BS is this?' Daryl thought.
"News flash, Sam. The world already ended. What with the dead coming back and eating the living." Daryl smirked at the Angel of Death.
"You are of course correct, Daryl. When this plague started, 50% of the world's population were wiped out within the first month. With 80% wiped out within the first year. Within the 7 years you survived, the population was down to just 5%. By this time next year, not a single human will be alive on Earth. This is a problem. A problem I need your help, and the help of a few others, to fix."
'Damn that sucks.' Daryl thought and shook his head as he pictured that. "How'm I s'posed to help? And what others are ya talkn bout?" he asked Sam.
"Let's get the others here, then I can explain how you all will be able to help, so I only have to go over this once."
Daryl grunted and nodded his head, waiting for the person, angel, whatever, to do whatever he was gonna do.
Sam clapped his hands. A bright light blinded Daryl for a moment. When he could see again, Daryl saw that every chair had a person sitting on it. He was shocked at who some of those people were.
Directly to the right of Daryl was his brother, Merle. Merle had both hands and looked like he stepped straight from the picture of Merle in uniform he'd received the Christmas before Merle was dishonorably discharged for punching out his CO.
Next to his brother sat Hershel, with both legs and head intact. Hershel was wearing a suit and tie like he was going to church. His face was younger and his hair had a little gray mixed in with the white.
To Daryl's left sat a younger, beard free Rick in his deputy uniform that he hadn't worn in years. He looked the healthiest that Daryl had ever seen him.
Past Rick was Carol, whose grey hair was mixed with brown. Less wrinkles creased her face and there was a light in her eyes that he hadn't ever seen before.
"You have all been told about what the problem is. Now let me explain what I mean when I say I need your help. Or should I say God does."
At this announcement, everyone sat up a little straighter and paid attention to Sam instead of allowing their eyes to wonder around the table looking at people that they did not know.
"Because God gave humanity free will, He cannot interfere and stop this plague from occurring. If he did, the universe would unravel, because he would be breaking his Word. He cannot prevent the plague from being created because it was a person's free will that created this bioweapon. He cannot prevent what is to come. But, the extinction of mankind was never meant to happen. There is no way to prevent the plague from happening. It will happen. It already has happened. However, there is a way to prevent the total extinction of humanity. This is where God and I need you all to help. You all are Humanity's last hope." Sam said as he paced around the table.