Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
chapter seventy-three | the (not-so) lone wolf
HIS MUSCLES WERE stiff, and sore as he lifted his crossbow. He set his aim on a squirrel climbing down a tree. His eyes narrowed as he exhaled before pulling the trigger. Daryl lowered his weapon, watching the squirrel he aimed for, scurry away. The bolt stuck in the tree an inch from where the squirrel was. He missed.
His gaze turned into a glare as he approached the tree. He realized quickly why he missed as he grabbed the arrow, there was a crack in the middle of the shaft. It cracked easily in his fingers, the arrow split into two.
Daryl huffed, tossing the broken arrow to the side on the forest ground and continuing to hunt. He focused on the task, needing food for survival. He couldn't let himself think of anything else despite the blonde he was with wanting otherwise.
He ended up coming across a rattlesnake, and with a deathwish and confidence, he came back to Beth's makeshift camp with it in his hand, a blood trail dripping from it in his wake.
Beth stayed silent as she watched him sit next to a log and begin to prep it for breakfast. The night before was terrible. Most of the reason why his body hurt like hell was from being cramped into a truck of a crashed car in the middle of a thunderstorm with a herd passing through. He never let the aim of the crossbow drop from the crevice of the trunk. The herd was one of the biggest he's ever seen, probably making their way to the prison.
After skinning, gutting, and cooking the snake, Daryl tossed half to Beth who at first cringed at it in her hands as she watched Daryl start to devour it. She quickly ate after she felt her stomach cramp.
She couldn't eat much and finished before he did miraculously. She stared at him silently before speaking up. "I need a drink."
➸
Daryl grunted before grabbing the bottle of alcohol and throwing it to the ground. Not flinching as the glass broke around his boots. He turned to the crying blonde behind him, "Ain't gonna have your first drink be no damn peach schnapps."
Beth stared at him doe-eyed, glancing down at the glass at his feet before watching him turn and start to walk toward the exit of the country club, grabbing his crossbow on the way. He stopped at the door, looking at her over his shoulder, "come on." She wiped her tears before scooting off the bar stool, following him outside.
Daryl led her a bit of way, forgetting about their first-made campsite. A bit later, Beth didn't want to cry anymore. Remembering how Zach used to try to guess what Daryl's occupation before the end of the world was. His guesses had to be stupid if he hasn't gotten the answer yet. "A motorcycle mechanic," she blurted.
"Huh?"
"That's my guess. For what you were doin' before the turn. Did Zach ever guess that one?" Beth asked. "He tried to ask Laurel, bribe her with peanut butter, but she didn't budge."
