Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 2: Guts

The roof, and the three of us, stay relatively quiet except for T-Dog continuously speaking into the radio in his hand. There's nothing but static on the other end and his brow stays furrowed. I hug my knees to my chest and try not to think about my aching head. What I wouldn't do for a Tylenol.

"Anybody out there?" T-Dog asks. "Hello? Anybody read? I'm hoping to hear somebody's voice 'cause I'm getting sick and tired of hearing mine."

He slumps back, sighing, and Merle laughs a bit. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us," he says. "Why don't you knock that crap off? You're giving me a headache, boy." He spits into the dirt.

"Why don't you pull your head outta your ass," T-Dog says, "and maybe your headache will go away." Merle chuckles some more. "Try some positivity for a change. Damn."

"I'll tell you what. You get me out of these cuffs and I'll be all 'Sammy Sunshine' positive for you," Merle says. "Hey, see that hacksaw over there in that toolbag? Get it for me, hm? I'll make it worth your while. What do you say, man? Come on." He shakes the cuffs, metal ringing off metal. "Get me out of these things."

"So you can beat my ass again? Or call me nigger some more?"

I gasp a little, lifting my head, and both men seem to remember that I'm there. Merle grins at me and once again, he laughs.

"What, girl? Ya never heard someone say nigger before?" he asks.

I shake my head, skin crawling a little. "No, just...he can say it. Not you, and you can't call him that."

"I can't?" he repeats. He scoffs and his smile really starts to bug me. "I can say whatever the hell I want, princess. It's a free country."

"It's a slur! A...bad word, you can't—"

"I can teach you a whole lotta bad words if you'd let me." His eyes slide over me, tongue wetting his lips, and I clench my legs together as I cross my ankles.

T-Dog bumps his shoulder to mine and shakes his head. "Don't waste your breath. He ain't nothing but an asshole."

"Hey, hey, woah, it isn't personal," Merle insists. He raises one hand as if surrendering, but he's still smirking a little too much. At this point, I wonder if that's just the way his face is. "It's just that your kind and my kind ain't meant to mix. That's all. It don't mean we can't...work together, parley, as long as there's some kind of mutual gain involved."

I gawk a bit, stomach turning, but when I look at T-Dog, he just seems tired. Used to it, even.

"So...about that hacksaw—" Merle starts.

"I guess you want me to get that rifle over there too, so you can shoot that cop when he comes back up," T-Dog says, leveling him with a stare.

Merle hums, eyes narrowing, and I decide that whatever is going on here, I don't want to be a part of it. Thankfully, I have a good excuse. I get to my feet, wobbling once as I grip the nearest wall and steady myself. I have ibuprofen in my bag—I used to carry it around to help me handle period cramps, but now, it'll help my head.

"Where're you going, sweet cheeks?" Merle asks.

"To pack up my things. I have to be ready to go, don't I?" I glance back at T-Dog and, after a second, add, "You have a group, right? And you'll take me back with you?"

"It's a free country," T-Dog says, giving Merle another look. He nods at me. "If we can actually get out of here with all those walkers outside."

"I'll take my chances."

I head to the door leading into the stairwell and make my way down. I'm hoping that these people have a plan or something, because at this point I'm just going along for the ride. I never planned to leave here, after all.