When The World Caves In |C.G.

forty five

There's not a lot of way's Daryl pictured his night going, but the way it's going right now came entirely out of left field. A storm is brewing, meaning walkers are going to follow it, the trio has run from a good amount of them. He's not sure if it was a herd, but he didn't exactly stop to count. 

Growling comes from the forest that they just escaped, and Beth looks up from where she's trying to hot wire the care. Daryl opens the trunk, seeing it as their only option, throwing the contents of it to the side to make room for the three of them. 

"Come on," Daryl says, pointing at the trunk, allowing Beth to climb in first. To his credit, she doesn't question it but Beau looks at it with uncertainty. "You ain't still afraid of the dark are ya?"

Beau shakes his head, surprised that Daryl remembered that fact before climbing in after Beth and sitting snuggly next to her. Daryl climbs in last after peaking over his shoulder, pulling the trunk closed behind him, tying it with an old handkerchief. 

The trio is deathly silent and for the first time in his life, Beau wishes he never hit puberty because of how cramped and claustrophobic this trunk is. He pushes the discomfort aside and thanks what God is above, because at least they all have room to lay flat. 

It reminds him of camping trips when Rory was real little, where they'd all squeeze into a tent at the end of the night and Rory would beg to be read a bed time story. Naturally, Beau would be the one to oblige while Daryl would clean up dinner. Rory'd end up squeezing into his sleeping bag with Mr. Tubbins so she could see the pictures on the pages. She'd fall asleep there too, being so young and Beau would tell Daryl and his Ma not to move her or else she'd throw a fit. So, Beau and Rory would share a sleeping bag all night. He loved those moments, even if more often than not, Rory's foot ended up in his ribcage. 

This ain't a camping trip though, this is survival. 

Thunder rumbles, mixed with the sounds of walkers growling. Their bodies bump into the abandoned vehicle, Beau awkwardly apologizes to Beth with his eyes as his shoulders keep bumping into hers. All the while, Daryl keeps his crossbow aimed towards the outside, just incase the trunk goes flying open.

They don't sleep a wink that night and when daylight seeps through the crack in the trunk, they climb out as if nothing ever happened. Scavenging the remnants of what's left of the old vehicle. Daryl is the first to start walking again. He doesn't look back to see if the two teens are following, he simply knows they are. 

+

Daryl watches sorely as the squirrel he was hunting skitters up the tree. Get out of your head. He thinks to himself, walking over to collect the bolt that's embedded in the tree. 

He wishes so badly that when he turns around Rory will be standing there with some shit eating grin, holding up her own kill. It'd probably be something better than squirrel and she'd hold it against him.  

"You're losin' your touch old man!" She'd say, and he'd ruffle her hair telling her she just got lucky. He'd be so, so proud of her though. He always was. 

Daryl pulls the bolt out of the tree, frowning when he notices the way it's warped. In a momentary spurt of anger, he snaps it in half and tosses the remnants to the side. He's not going to see her again, the only remainder he has of his daughter is her damn bear. 

It isn't like him to give up, but he can't help but feel as though he already has.

+

They've made a small camp in the middle of the woods. It's no different than the rest of them. While Daryl hunts, Beth and Beau set up a perimeter with various objects they've strung together to make noise.