Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 8: Farewell

Later in the day, people gravitate to the central firepit. Andrea is fast asleep, catching up on her missed night, and Shane moves to the head of the group as he clears his throat.

"I've, uh...I've been thinking about Rick's plan," he says. "Now look, there are no guarantees either way. I'll be the first one to admit that. I've known this man a long time. I trust his instincts. I say the most important thing here is we need to stay together. So, those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning. Okay?"

I'm almost disappointed. Sure, it's not a thrill ride here, but the quarry has fish and we've got easy access to water. With the attack last night and Jim's worsening condition, the urgency to move on is higher than ever, and I can't argue against that. At least we're going to the C.D.C.

We get a few more instructions. We need to pack any food, water, and supplies that we can manage and prepare for travel: the usual. First, before anything else, I need to find myself a proper weapon. I head for the RV, noticing Dale about to go inside, and I call out to him. He turns.

"Dale, hey, do you have any extra knives?" I ask. "I don't have a weapon."

"Hm...I'll have to check," Dale says. He steps up into the RV, holding up his pointer finger at me. "One second, I may have something that'll work."

He disappears inside and I wait. I can hear Jim coughing, the wet, hacking sounds each more painful than the next, and I allow myself the selfish thought that I'm glad it isn't me in there. I think I'd just take the bullet at that point.

Dale emerges from the RV again, holding a knife. He hands it to me and I admire the leather sheath and the white handle. When I pull the knife out, it glints in the sunlight.

"My wife bought that on a whim at a hunting show we went to years back," Dale explains, smiling a little. "It's a bone handle. Should be sturdy enough for you."

"It's your wife's?" I repeat. I start to give it back. "I couldn't possibly..."

"Please, I'd be happy for you to have it," Dale insists. "She never used it. She wasn't the type, and...I think she'd gladly give it to you if she were here."

I wonder how recently her death was, but I won't ask. Instead, I bring the knife close to me, touched. "Thank you, Dale."

He waves his hand a bit. "Of course. Don't mention it." He gives me a smile. "Can't have everybody wanting a special knife, huh?"

"I won't tell a soul," I promise.

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"Daryl, check it out!"

I turn to the side, showing off the sheath on my belt, and Daryl eyes the blade. I pull it out, holding it out to him, and he steps forward to take it.

"Looks like a Bowie," he says, nodding. "Nice piece. You found this lying around?"

"Dale gave it to me," I say. He hands me it back and I test the grip, a little giddy. "Now I just need to learn how to use it."

"It's not hard. Aim and stab," Daryl grunts. He turns back to what he was doing, gripping the handles of a motorcycle.

I lean closer to him, folding my hands behind my back. "Could you show me a few moves?"

Daryl's hands freeze and he gives me a scorching look, eyebrow lifted, and I feel my body go hot. After a second, he huffs and shrugs.

"Maybe."

I count that as a win. "Awesome. Thanks in advance."

Another huff. He rolls the motorcycle forward, bringing it up onto a makeshift ramp and pushing it into the back of his truck. I watch, a little in awe.