Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

In Sickness and In Health

"Think this a good idea?" I asked Daryl, gingerly climbing off his bike, my body stiff from a day spent riding.

I was getting old(er). I couldn't move these days without sound effects.

"Gotta be."

Typical Daryl answer for every question he was asked.

"Are you alright?"

"Gotta be."

"Cold, can of beans OK for breakfast?"

"Gotta be."

"Are you good if I strip off all your clothes and climb you like a jungle gym?"

"Gotta be."

Unfortunately the last one hadn't happened yet, but I was keeping my fingers crossed

I nodded as the rest of the cars pulled in behind us. It was too late in the day to continue traveling so we decided to hole up at the Storage Depot, an abandoned set of outdoor storage units. The steel fence surrounding the property was still standing, and our initial check of the perimeter hadn't revealed any gaping holes so it should keep the dead out for a while.

The property was large enough to hide our cars safely inside the fence, tucked out of site behind the first row of units, and as long as a horde of walkers wasn't locked inside one of the units using it as a Holiday Inn Express we might just have a decent place to rest, recover and plan our next steps. All-in-all it wasn't a half bad find considering our current circumstances. Which boiled down to Murphy and his law continually kicking us right where it hurt most. It was like everything going incredibly wrong was our group's collective Facebook status at the moment, and lord knows Murphy liked the shit out of that post, repeatedly.

Nevertheless, staying in Senoia was not an option. Kneeling at the gate I pulled out my lock pick set, and set to work, Daryl hovering over my shoulder with his crossbow ready as he watched my back.

"Ya never told me how ya learned to pick locks," he commented and I glanced up at him with a smile.

"You never asked." When I didn't elaborate further he nudged me with his knee. "How do you think I learned?" I asked as I put the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyway on the fences lock.

"The military."

Applying torque to the tension wrench I turned the lock slightly to the left before stopping and giving him a funny look. Why did people always assume the military's first order of business was to teach everyone how to commit a felony? Well, if that's what he thought I was going to ride this bus 'til the wheels fell off.

"How'd you know?" I looked around to make sure no one else was listening, putting my finger to my lips, signaling him to keep quiet. "They teach that right before breaking and entering and after counterfeiting, but don't tell anyone."

His eyes got wide and I couldn't hold my laugh anymore. He pinned me with a cold look that had me smiling even wider as I turned back to the lock inserting the pick and searching for the correct pin, making sure to keep my hands steady. Once I found the pin I applied more torque, rotating the tension wrench just a bit more, continuously setting each pin, turning the plug simultaneously. Once I set the final pin, the plug rotated free and the gate swung open. Grabbing my tools I placed them back in their case, shoving them into my pocket before stepping aside as Daryl waved the cars through. Once the last car was through Daryl and I walked towards his bike. He pushed it through as I closed the gate behind us.

"I used to boost cars," I admitted, keeping my eyes on the ground as I walked next to him. His head swiveled towards me and I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. "After my parents died we went to live with my grandparents, and I was angry, angry at my parents, angry at my grandparents, angry at the world. I fell in with the wrong crowd, and before I knew it I had a rap sheet Tupac would envy."