The Black Rose

Chapter Twenty-Five

The light was filtering through the dark green tree canopy in a lazy haze. It was a thick verdant forest, dappled with sun and along its length, young trees little more than twice a man's height. The smell of composing leaves reminded Daryl of his childhood days; it was that earthy smell of beginnings and endings. The branches clutched at his clothes, slapped against his chest and shredded his hands but Daryl didn't care. He was in his element. Merle was ahead of him when he broke the silence, "Smells to me like the Sawhatchee Creek."

"We didn't go west enough," Daryl responded, surveying his seemingly endless surroundings. The sound of rushing water met his ears, "There's a river down there, and it's got to be the Yellow Jacket."

"You have a stroke, boy? We ain't never even come close to Yellow Jacket." Merle scoffed. Daryl mentally rolled his eyes. It was clear that his brother was in an argumentative mood. But when is he not in an argumentative mood anyway? Daryl sure as hell didn't know.

"We didn't go west," Daryl's mouth betrayed him. He didn't know why he was fighting back with Merle. He wasn't going to win. "Just a little bit south. That's what I think."

Merle scoffed once again, throwing a glance back at his younger brother. "Know what I think? I may have lost my hand, but you lost your sense of direction."

"Yeah, we'll see." Daryl quickly responded, wanting to keep his mouth shut. He was just done. He was still hungry and they've been walking around for days now pointlessly.

"What do you want to bet?" Merle chuckled, not knowing how it was causing a rise out of Daryl.

"I don't want to bet nothing. It's just a body of water," Daryl snapped. "Why's everything got to be a competition with you?"

Merle threw up his hands up in the air, turning to look at his brother. "Whoa, whoa. Take it easy, little brother. Just trying to have a little fun here. No need to get your panties all in a bundle."

Daryl's nostrils flared as he tried to take a huge gulp of air, hoping that it'd sooth him. But then he heard some crying in the distance. "You hear that?"

"Yeah, wild animals getting wild." Merle's mouth tugged up in a disgusting grin, winking at his brother.

"No, it's a baby." Daryl insisted, recognizing that special newborn cry. He immediately thought of Judith.

"Oh, come on," Merle disagreed. "Why don't you just piss in my ear and tell me it's raining, too? That there's the sounds of a couple of coons making love, sweet love. Know what I mean?"

Merle started to make sexual gestures which earned him a dirty look from Daryl. Merle started laughing at himself, finding himself amusing. Daryl brushed past him, trying to locate the sounds. As they got closer to the sound of a baby crying, they heard zombies snarling and men shouting in Spanish. And then there were gunshots. The river gleamed through a very thin fringe of trees. Daryl saw that it was a long narrow pond and over it, the land rose up into a cement bridge. There were people surrounded by a horde of zombies. Beside him, his brother, Merle whistled and cheered for them to jump into the river.

Daryl once again shot him a dirty look but only this time, with more contempt. He was beginning to realize that his brother was just a piece of shit. Daryl ignored him as he decided to come to their aid. Merle complained, "Hey, man. I ain't wasting my bullets on a couple of strangers that ain't never cooked me a meal or felicitated my piece. That's my policy. You'd be wise to adopt it, brother."

Daryl broke out in a sprint to arrive at the bridge. He saw two Spanish men hopping up on the back of a flatbed truck as they struggled to keep their cool. There was a red Honda that was surrounded by walkers as a woman fervently prayed in Spanish as she held her newborn baby.