Grit | The Walking Dead

Shell

He stared at me, his eyes dark and tired. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and looked down, hair falling onto his face. He looked back up at me and asked "How," in a low, scratchy mumble.

"I don't know, I just, got bit a few times. Thought I was going to get sick and die but, the bites healed."

I pulled the side of my shirt up to reveal a scar in the shape of teeth marks. Then I rolled up my right pant leg to reveal yet another bite on my calf. I turned my head to reveal a mark on my right cheek near my ear.

"Got scratched, too. Feel it," I prodded.

When he didn't move his hand, I grabbed it and put his fingers on the scar. I let go and he went over it a few times before dropping his hand.

"So you'll be fine," he stated more than he asked.

"Yeah, unless these were just lucky," I joked, then felt uneasy because that could very well be the case.

—

"Where did you learn to shoot?" I asked, hinting towards his crossbow as I stepped over an unmoving deadhead.

"My brother," he replied curtly.

"He still ar-"

"No."

I looked down. I thought I had somewhat cracked his shell, but apparently not. Why couldn't he just talk?

Frustrated, I walked ahead of him. There was a small convenience store and the windows were still intact.

"Have you guys hit this one yet?" I threw behind me, not slowing down.

"Yeah."

I stopped in my tracks and turned around.

"Would've been nice to know before I walked nearly halfway over there, ya prick," I retorted boldly, brushing my shoulder against his on my way past him. He grabbed my wrist as if it were an instinct. I held back a grin.

"Better stop mouthin' me, girl," he grumbled as he threw my wrist out of his grip.

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards me, "What if I don't?" I pushed, my eyes flickering between his. I couldn't hold back the smirk.

He tensed up, then drew his arm back. He looked at me, then just past me, then back at me before walking the other direction. The smirk dropped from my face, disappointed that the argument wasn't furthered. Arguing with him was better than getting nothing out of him at all. I turned around and followed closely.

"Look, I'm sorry for being so annoying and rude. I just wish you'd talk to me, considering you brought me out here," I admitted, not expecting a reply. And I was right to.

We walked about twenty minutes in silence before we finally came upon a Target. It felt so surreal; I hadn't been to a Target since before everything happened. I couldn't help but giggle at it.

"What's so funny?" Daryl called from about five feet behind me.

"Nothin'. Just haven't seen one of these in a while."

He caught up to me then stopped, I did the same.

"What? Y'all raided this place already?"

"Naw, I just haven't seen it, either," he said before continuing ahead of me. I followed him to the door.

Daryl peered inside the darkness through the glass window. I copied him, cupping my hands around the outsides of my eyes to adjust them better.

A deadhead ran into the window from the other side, causing me to jump back and let out a small scream. Daryl didn't even flinch. I, on the other hand, lost my balance and began to fall, before Daryl caught me and pushed me upright.

"Thanks," I gasped, still reeling from the jump scare. He nodded before pulling out the knife he kept in his pocket, opening the door, and sinking it into the deadhead. He yanked it out and watched it fall to the concrete.

"Here," he said as he handed the knife to me. When I didn't take it at first, he turned around and dropped it into my hands, then proceeded into the darkness.

—

"No way... Daryl," I grabbed the pillow in front of me and shoved it in his face, "can I please take this back."

"If you can carry it," he allowed as he finished shoving jars of peanut butter and whatnot into his duffel bag, zipping it up.

I hugged the pillow to my chest and rested my chin on it as we headed to the door. He pushed it open and held it for me.

"Thanks," I laughed as I stepped through. I could've sworn he chuckled in response.

We walked through the woods for about 15 more minutes before we saw lights on the road next to us. Daryl squatted behind a bush and pushed me down with him. We watched as a group of five men loitered around a small truck, bantering by the looks of it.

"What do you think they're doin-"

"Shh."

"Maybe we should ask them if-"

"No, not them. I ran into a group of 'em on a run and they almost killed me and the two other people I was with. We need to get back, now," he finished before gripping me by the shirt and dragging me alongside him, retreating further into the woods.

Twenty minutes of dead silence later, I finally spoke up, "Those were the guys that almost killed you and your friends?"

"Naw. I got rid of 'em. Those people we just saw, they're part of the same group."

"Negan?"

"Yeah. How do you know about Negan?"

"It's a long story," I said, dropping my voice towards the end of my sentence.

"Well, we got about thirty more minutes till we get back to Alexandria. Might as well start talkin'."

—

I'm trying to make the chapters longer, so I hope you guys liked reading this one more. Next chapter should be up tomorrow or the day after. Keep reading! Vote and comment, love you xx