broken claims

Part 21

"See, what you wanna do is wait until it's late at night. Police drive around like a pair of clowns, yeah? One car following the other, all 'round town? You just gotta sit back and wait for 'em to head down the street before you come in and take advantage of that nice, empty police station parking lot to light up a bit. Easy as pie," Merle crooned to the baby in his arms. "Pair of pricks are dumber than a pile of bricks."

Daryl winced. "She's not even one yet. Hold off on the tutorials."

"Ah, no. See, I did my work with you and you turned out okay. This one? I get to take my sweet time corrupting. She's your problem to keep on the straight and narrow," Merle whistled. "I ain't gotta do a thing but give her bail money."

"Fuck, you're an asshole," Daryl said warmly, reaching over and stealing back his kid. Rosalie shifted but settled against his shoulder and he leaned back, cautiously relaxing when no fuss was made. "Sharley'll have a fit if you're the reason Rosalie spends her senior year sharpening shivs in juvie."

Merle's mouth tightened. "She's free to walk herself on over here for a lil' chat."

"Be nice."

"Tired of playing nice," his brother grouched. "You're pussyfooting around that bitch like she's Queen of something. Ain't no reason to let her deal out the roles."

"Can't push without her taking something back," Daryl pointed out tersely. He placed one hand and cradled Rosalie's head gently, half marvelling in the smallness of something that took up so much space inside his mind. "I'm trying to keep her happy."

Keeping Sharley happy meant Daryl could take his daughter more and more, which was especially helpful when Sharley was half dead on the couch, beer bottles piled up beneath. He couldn't do much if she locked the door and kept Rosalie on the other side away from him. "What kind of name is 'Rosalie' anyways?" Merle said. "You have a hand in that?"

He hadn't, but Daryl didn't truly mind it. Rosalie reminded him of Cherokee roses. "It's pretty for a girl," he said loyally to the bundle in his arms. "Ain't nothing wrong with it."

Merle twisted his mouth and considered. "Lee, you know. Kid should know she's gotta Dixon's name and all."

They never spoke of their mother. Not since the first and last time they went to pay their respects together at the miserable slab of limestone sitting in the cemetery. She burned right up and all they had to bury was a box of ashes, ashes that was a mix of their mother and home itself. But Daryl knew Merle still shadowed the gravestone monthly, dropping bundles of flowers from the supermarket in their plastic wrappings, and every May he vanished on a bender of some sort.

"Sharley won't like you chopping her name in half," Daryl said, trying to smother a smile. "But Leigh ain't half bad."

Guns swung up to greet Daryl as he rounded the corner and met with the group again. He gently swung up his line of squirrels and swung them slightly. "We surrender," he called dryly, hands held upright.

Light poured through the branches overhead. Rick matched his pace to meet with Daryl, pulling them ahead of their procession. "No tracks. No nothing," he reported.

"So whatever you heard last night..."

"It's more what I felt. If someone was watching us, there would've been something."

He knew what the woods felt like when they were empty. Daryl had adapted to acknowledge the uneven gait of a walker roaming through the space at night, to catch the filmy stare of something undead coming through the brush and bramble at the first sign of life. Dread bunched up between his shoulder blades as he considered what could be lurking just on the very edge of unseen. Rick turned and faced their group, whistling softly for attention. "Keep close," he beckoned. "Tighten up at that end. I don't want anyone falling behind."