The Black Rose

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Man, ain't nothin' out here but mosquitos and ants," Daryl scowled, seeing his brother ahead of him scavenging for food. His crossbow was raised up high ready for an hunt with any animal that might cross his path. He was tired, hungry and second-guessing his decision. Rose's face had been flashing back up in his head. It was a mental image burned to the back of his eyes. She was hurt. Daryl hurt her.

Merle was behind him, urinating. Merle shrugged, "Patience little brother. Sooner or later squirrel's bound to scurry' cross ya path."

"Even so, that ain't much food." Daryl complained, fidgeting with his crossbow strings. His hair stuck to the side of his face due to sweat. He wasn't used to the silence that the forest provided. Back with the group, there was always chatter. All day long. All night long.

"More than nothing." Merle retorted, still urinating by the tree.

Daryl scowled as his stomach quietly growled. He needed to eat soon. It has been almost 29 hours since the last time he ate. If they were going to travel some more, he need provisions. "I have better luck going through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff."

"Is that what your new friends taught you," Merle scoffed, zipping up his pants. "How to loot for booty?"

"We've been at it for hours. Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish," Daryl sighed. He was tired of fighting with Merle. Hell... Daryl forget how quarrelsome Merle was. Merle was always like that. Fought with their father. Fought with their mother. Fought with anybody and everybody. Daryl, on the other hand, learned how to shut up.

"I think you're just trying to lead me back to the road," Merle accused Daryl, finally finished with urinating and approached his younger brother. "Get me over to that prison."

Daryl rolled his eyes, grateful that his back was to Merle. He was right. Daryl did want to go back to the prison. He missed Carol. Lil' Ass Kicker too. Especially Rose. His mind was frenzied with so much questions. Rose was hurt by the fact that he was willing to leave but... what did that mean? Did she love him? Daryl shrugged, "They got shelter. Food. A pot to piss in. Might not be a bad idea."

Merle got on his knees, and grabbed a handful of earth in his hand. He whined, "For you. Ain't gonna be no damn party for me."

"Everyone will get used to each other," Daryl quickly responded.

"That lovely piece of ass back there... Who was she?" Merle asked, wondering if he could get a piece of action with her if he would go back to the prison.

Daryl felt his body tensing when he realized who Merle was referring to. He snarled, "I'd keep my mouth shut if I was you."

"Hey hey hey! Chillax man," Merle threw his hands up in surrender. "I didn't know you got your eyes on her."

"I don't.... I don't got eyes on her. Rose is just... kinda person you ain't wanna piss off." Daryl stammered and then preoccupied himself by looking through his crossbow radar.

Merle scoffed, "They're all dead. Makes no difference."

"How can you be so sure?" Daryl quietly asked.

"Right about now he's probably hosting a housewarming party where's he gonna bury what's left of your pals," Merle spitted, wrapping some sort of string around his artificial arm limb. "Let's hook some fish. Come on."

Merle walked past Daryl who was silent and deep in his thoughts. What if something really did happen to them? His heart throbbed at the thought that Rose could be... dead. But it was impossible. It was Rose. She'd probably be the last person standing. Hell. She'll seek revenge.