The incident at the farm became the stuff of legend.
A week later, at the next council meeting, no one – not even Claire – had the balls to snap back at me after I had walked back into the prison gates covered head to toe in biter guts. It had been a welcomed reprieve, really. Instead of being feared for violent tendencies, I was beheld almost in awe by the majority of the prison folk. No longer would I get withering stares or hissed remarks at my expense. Now, people looked at me with respect. The kind of respect that still came with the phrase “that crazy bitch” but… in a more, complementary manner.
Who knew grinding up a bunch of biters with a rotary tractor was all it took to go from Social OutcastTM to Most Popular Girl in SchoolTM? Or, should I say prison?
What an odd world we lived in.
It was almost worth the literal two hours and metal dish scrub it had taken me in the shower to actually get clean. Well, mostly. My hair was tinged red for days afterwards.
As for the supply situation for which we had gone to the farm in the first place to fix? Well, thanks to my antics, a larger group returned the next day to a near biter free farm. They had rummaged through the land and found a decent amount of fresh seeds still packaged up in the garden shed. Oh, and three baby pigs! The mother had been there, too, but was too wild and heavy for the group to take back. And let’s not mention the seven metres of copper wiring Malcom had taken upon himself to sneak back into the prison.
Carl and Rick took responsibility for the pigs the moment the crew had brought them back. He had contracted out the help of Tyreese and a handful of others to build a pen in the field.
Daryl and I had remained on the same basic schedule for the past week and a half; hunting, going on watch, going on small runs (which were really just an excuse to look for the Governor). He’d remained somewhat petulantly silent lately. I knew he wasn’t exactly a big talker, but he and I had had many lengthy conversations during watch and during our free time, so when he grew suddenly sullen it was almost as easy for me to spot as the moon in the sky.
While we were on watch, the night before our next council meeting, I remarked on it.
“Why are you so pouty lately?”
He turned partially in his camper chair to look at me with a raised brow. “I ain’t pouty.”
I crossed my lengthy legs over one another and gave him a pointed look from the corner of my eye. “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for my friend, Daryl. He’s about yay-high, wears a leather vest, has this expression on his face most of the time.” I mocked an overdramatic grouchy frown before breaking out into a grin.
Daryl let out a soft sigh through his nose that could be mistaken for a chuckle before he looked away, out toward the darkened tree line with his lips pressed in a hard line.
My own expression fell and I grabbed the edges of my own camper chair that had been pressed up against the outside of the watchtower wall, and spin it in place until I was fully facing him. “Spill, Little Dixon. What ails ye?”
He continued to stare blankly out toward the forest whilst I leant forward, resting my forearms against my knees to get a closer look at him. Though his hair had grown a tad longer, now partially obscuring the lines of his face, I could see the tightness of his jaw and the way his eyes were more narrowed than usual. He ground his teeth in thought for a moment before taking in a long breath, blowing it out through his nose, and turning his head slightly to glance toward me.
YOU ARE READING
The Monsters Among Us ➳ Daryl Dixon
Fanfiction𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯/𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But...
