Someone Has To Do It

Grandpa?

Haley Pov

I place the boy down by my side, allowing him to stand slightly behind me. We watch as Daryl approaches the body and leans down to lift his eyelids. He whimpers but stays quiet, clinging to me and grasping the edge of my shorts in his tiny fist.

"Grey..son of a bitch." He mumbles under his breath and turns back towards us, shaking his head. He looks towards the back door and curses. There in the doorway stood a man; his unfocused grey eyes seemed to be flickering between us, and his jaw moving in rapid jerks. Blood covered the front of his shirt in multiple areas. "Ken!" Daryl exclaims. The man jerks his head at the shout staggering out onto the porch, his arms hanging to his side limply.

"I-I stabbed him. He was dead" Merle looks at him in disbelief. Lynn backs up from her position on the porch as Ken approaches. She raises the shotgun and takes aim. She shoots a round into his chest. Ken jerks backward from the force but continues forward, seeming even more determined to reach her.

"What the hell is wrong with these people?" She shifts her aim higher and fires hitting Ken's temple. He falls to the ground with a sickening thud. My mind is reeling. All four men should have been dead, and despite their injuries, they were set on attacking others. Groans sound from the woods behind us, and we all snap our heads in the direction, and multiple figures stagger through the brush.

"Shit! Get to the truck!" Merle yells, running around the side of the house towards the front, Lynn and Daryl following quickly after. I grab the boy sweeping him into my arms, and follow the others feeling the figures drawing closer.

"Lynn! hop on, there's not enough room for all of us!" Merle's sitting on a motorcycle black in color with handles stretching above his shoulders, causing him to have to hold his arm up. While I didn't see the comfort in that, it did look pretty cool.

Daryl is further ahead, yanking open the door of an old blue pickup. He looks in my direction and motions to the passenger side forcefully. "Come on!" I quickly make my way around the side, yanking the door open and thrusting the boy in his direction. Grabbing onto the door frame, I scramble into the seat just in time for Daryl to peel from the drive.

I spot the others a few feet in front of us, dodging more people trying to grab onto them as they pass. They smack against the sides as we plow through those trying to get in our way. 'Thank goodness we're in the truck.' I think. Daryl clears his throat.

"Who's the kid?" His eyes flickering in his direction. The boy is watching out the windshield, expressionless, only slightly flinching when another body knocks against the side. The tears from before are long forgotten.

"He was at the diner, there was an accident, and his father didn't make it." I try to keep my voice quiet. I hear Daryl let out a sigh.

"What's his name?" Daryl asks, and I stutter, not knowing myself.

"Charlie," a quiet voice sounds from between us, "my name's Charlie."

"Alright, Charlie" Daryl taps the steering wheel with his index finger. He doesn't push the boy to talk further and sits in silence for several moments.

"So...what was that about back at the house?" Daryl spares me a side glance. I sigh, wishing he would have forgotten.

"I have POTS," I explain but am taken aback when Daryl scoffs.

"Yeah, well, you and Merle both." He shakes his head angrily, jaw clenching. I raise my eyebrow, confused by his response. Merle has a heart condition? I almost question it when it dawns on me. Drugs Daryl thinks I smoke pot. I giggle to myself, which causes him to scowl.

"I don't smoke pot," I say between giggles. "I have a heart condition they call it POTS. It stands for postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome." His shoulders sag as he listens to me ramble on. I go into detail about the condition tending to talk too much when I'm nervous. Still, Daryl listens intensely, nodding his head occasionally. Charlie also seems to be taking in our conversation; his small head turns to watch us speak with fascination.

Daryl suddenly slams on the break sending Charlie and me forward. I catch myself on the dash and swing my arm out, catching Charlie before he falls from the seat. Daryl curses as he takes in the build-up of cars ahead of us. Merle is ahead, making his way back towards us; he pulls up beside the truck and motions for Daryl to roll down the window. "Think there's a quarry a little up the ways," Merle says, pointing in its direction. "We're gonna drive ahead; you stay close, alright," Daryl grunts in response, rolling the window back up and motioning Merle to go ahead.

We drive slowly down the grassy terrain, keeping distance between us and the bike just in case things go south. The plan is to check things out and be prepared to hightail it out of there at any sign of trouble, or that's what Daryl tells me because apparently his brother and himself are telepathic or something, because I definitely didn't gather that from the eye contact and grunts alone. We finally reach what looks like a small camp, with multiple tents scattered around. In the center, a familiar RV comes into view.

"Grandpa?"