The Monsters Among Us ➳ Daryl Dixon

7. Old Friends, New Enemies

I'd been right.

We pulled up outside the abandoned little shack an hour or so before noon. I'd told Rick that the Governor would be there early, likely to set up some kind of measure in case things went south, and he'd agreed that the sooner we got there, the better. There'd been little surprise in the first two he'd chosen to take along with him. Daryl and Hershel. The guard and the wise man. But when he had turned to me, asking - not ordering - if I would come along, too, I'd given him a blank faced stare. Was he joking? Did he honestly trust me enough to stand beside him, right in front of the man I had once served loyally?

There had been a small murmur of discontent amongst some of the group. Obviously, whatever sense of trust Rick had developed for me was not universally shared amongst his people. That was fine by me. I understood well enough and didn't hold it against them.

"Daryl said you knew how this would go," Rick had said, stepping closer to me and lowering his voice. "That you'd know what to expect. That true?"

I had nodded, furrowing my brows and looking at him with a curious, searching gaze.

He had stepped even closer, close enough to reach, and ducked his head toward me. "If it came to it, could you fire on them?"

That had made me pause. I blinked a few times, trying to sort through the images and emotions that question drawn out from their hidden depths. "Honestly? I don't know. The people aren't at fault for what the Governor's doing. Even those in his inner circle have been manipulated into this. They're people I know. People I care about. But if they shoot first?" I chewed my lower lip and paused. Would I even be able to say it? If it were a lie, the words would stick in my throat like tar. If it wasn't a lie... What did that say about me?

My hesitation lasted only a second.

"I could do it."

And that was how I ended up in the backseat of Rick's car as we pulled up outside the abandoned feed store. Hershel sat in front. I'd convinced the old man to literally duct-tape a gun to the thigh of his missing leg, and he reached down to readjust it as Rick gestured for him to remain in the car.

Rick and I slid out of the vehicle as Daryl pulled up on his motorbike, closing the doors quietly behind us. He silently indicated for us to scope the area. We moved together through the overgrown area, around the large water tanks, to the back of the series of decrepit shacks. A biter lay unmoving in the grass a few feet from the last water tank. I tapped Daryl on the shoulder and pointed it out. He stepped toward it, knelt down and pressed a finger against the bullet hole in its forehead.

His finger came back red. It was fresh.

The three of us shared a look. They had arrived before us, just as I'd suspected they would. Which meant they were somewhere nearby.

I pressed my finger against my lips, indicating for the two of them to stay silent as I strained my ears, listening for the slightest sound of life. Over the gentle wind that caressed the trees and grass around us, through the creaking of settling wood, I heard the slightest sound of a footstep from the shack to our right. I looked to Rick and jerked my head toward the sound.

"In there," I mouthed.

Rick gave me a curious look before nodding, clicking off the safety on his revolver and stalking over toward the back door. He gestured for Daryl and me to go around to the side, where a series of broken windows looked in on the shadowy interior.