Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 63 - Corpse

I stood in Daryl's arms, heart racing. I could feel the rapid movements of a vein in his neck, pumping wildly against my forehead. We held the position, neither one of us daring to break the hold and confront the moment that had just passed.

What even happened?

A part of me had always assumed that Daryl would never look at me that way, touch me that way...

For him to initiate something so intimate came as a complete shock to me.

Accustomed to jumping into the deep end and making the first move, I did not expect the distant Daryl Dixon to hold me in his hands and press his lips against mine.

It was just unheard of.

"Alright." Daryl inhaled against my hair, before pulling away from the embrace. "We gotta get movin'."

I nodded once, lost for words.

"W-Well... The fishing shack would be by a lake," I stammered, "So look for water?"

"You ain't gonna find water just by walking around lookin' for a lake." Daryl grunted, looking around the clearing slowly. His feet shifted on the spot as his eyes followed the ground around us.

The clearing was only little, dry patches of weeds nestled close to the outlying trees.

"Look-ee here," Daryl turned to the right, walking over to what looked to me like an ordinary lump of weeds. "These nettles look better fed than the ones over there."

I followed his eyes as he glanced over his shoulders.

"And?" I whispered, "Maybe it rained?"

"Hasn't rained in weeks, Amy."

Daryl broadened his shoulders and reached for his crossbow.

"How would I know? I was--"

His eyes froze on my lips, urging the words not to leave my mouth.

"Gone, yeah." The hunter murmured, "Jus'..."

I looked down at the nettles, and then ahead at the direction Daryl seemed to be nearing. How he understood the tiniest details of the woods was impressive. It was like the forest was an extension of himself, the home he'd built for himself. He was familiar with every creak and clatter, every noise and every movement of the wind.

One day, I wanted to be clever enough to understand the way a forest ticked.

"So..." I broke the moment's silence, "This way?"

Daryl huffed.

"Jus' follow and keep quiet," He grunted, taking the lead as he stormed past me. "Somethin' feels off about this place."

I was right on his tail, lips sealed.

He was right. I couldn't pinpoint it directly, but the area felt far too lonely to be real. I didn't even feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge, and I didn't have my hands tickling at my knives...

It was all too quiet.

Daryl moved slowly, digging the tip of his boot into the soil every so often.

"Why are you doing that?" I whispered, "Did you step in something?"

The hunter looked back, his lip twitching at the corner.

A smile?

"No, Amy." He replied, the curious look still playing at his lips, "This's how ya track water... Consistency of the soil. Too dry, you go back... If it's moist, then--"