Don't Get Dead | TWD | Volume 1

[21] The First Rule of Fight Club

I helped pack the guns away when I got back to camp, and T-Dog left me to it when someone asked for his help. They counted the bullets and ensured all the guns were back when we returned, so I gave Rick the Beretta and joined. I didn't know what a lot or a little was, but Rick didn't seem happy with the number.

He told me that bullets run out quickly in training, which was believable, especially with me wasting all the ammo. I had it all laid out on the bonnet of the car, the hot metal burning my skin as I leaned on my elbows.

I started with the long guns. Rifles? Shotguns? It meant nothing to me; I only knew the essential difference between them from what I learned in video games. I didn't know how to use them, and it wasn't one of my main goals to learn about them.

As I finished working, a boot nudged the back of my leg, a thin layer of dirt grabbing onto my legs, just under the light blue dungarees I had on. I looked down at the back of my calf and then up to see Daryl. He was standing behind me with his crossbow hanging over his shoulder.

"Hey, do you need something?"

He wasted no time getting to the point. "Still wanna kill some walkers?"

I stared at him for a moment, wondering whether or not he was being serious. Why was he offering? He avoided the question so heavily the last time I asked that I assumed my idea was entirely off the table.

Honestly, I hadn't even remembered I asked until he mentioned it again. After Rick taught me to shoot, I felt comfortable using a gun to kill the walkers. They were always far away, and I never had to worry about them getting close. That seemed to be my main issue; I knew I would freak out whenever a walker got close to me.

Daryl stared at me, his face expressionless as he waited for my answer. He had his crossbow out and was ready to go. I assumed he wanted to look for Sophia anyway and was just asking as a courtesy.

I was still unconvinced. "You're going to teach me?"

"Gotta learn at some point."

I wondered whether this was true now that I knew how to shoot. Daryl knew how to shoot; I had seen him many times, but he still opted to kill walkers silently, which was the main problem. They had to be killed silently because if we shoot the guns, we can never be sure there won't be a herd around.

"Okay, just let me finish this."

Daryl nodded and leaned against the car next to me. All I had left to do was pack away the handguns.

That was when I saw it again. I didn't recognise it at the shooting range, one I hadn't seen before around camp. I still didn't know who it belonged to, which was only a tiny part of this mystery.

I turned to Daryl. "Who's gun is this?"

"Otis'."

He looked like he had more to say, but I knew Daryl Dixon well enough now that he wouldn't say another word without the right questions.

I pursed my lips. I should have asked how it got here, back to the farm, but I doubted that Daryl would have had the answers I was looking for. He wasn't even here when Shane returned; he came to the farm the following day.

"Oh," was all I could think to say.

I put the gun in the bag, still raking my mind for any more information. When he returned, I didn't see the weapon on Shane, but maybe I missed it. Maybe Otis left the gun in the car when they went to school.

But when Shane spoke at the funeral, he said he and Otis were down to side arms.

Does that mean handguns?