𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. V pt. II

oOo

Merle turned his attention to him and looked in the rear-view mirror, letting out a whoop at what he saw.

They were gaining on them, running at full speed, but still hindered by their baggage. Daryl felt like smacking himself in the face. The girl led the way, father hot on her heels. She waved one arm in the air to attain their attention.

One by one, they vaulted over the partition, the man stopping to help his wife, and started jogging towards them, past their 'camouflage'. They stopped by the bed of the truck and leaned against it to catch their breath.

Daryl could only stare, unbelieving. He had done them a favor by leaving! And they had come running after? What was the damage on these people? Did they not understand that they should not be around them? He and Merle were not ideal companions, they wanted nothing to do with outsiders. Those people would only slow them down, and there were limits to his compassion.

He heard the girl talk to her family in a language he didn't recognize, almost breathless and bending at the waist. She addressed her father in particular, as he didn't seem at all content with the situation. They argued shortly before the girl said her final words and turned her back on them.

Merle jabbed him in the arm and licked his lips as the girl rigidly approached Daryl's rolled-down window.

Daryl squinted up at her, her form surrounded by blinding light. She stood there for a few seconds, unspeaking, just staring at him with a deer-caught-in-headlights look. She gave a nervous crooked smile before her lips pursed in trepidation.

Merle leaned forward, about to speak, when a young voice caused her to jump, "For fuck's sake, talk, you wet sock!" Surprisingly, it had come from the girl with the big wild curls, the sweet looking one, who apparently also had a mouth on her.

The father stepped in front of her, covering her from view. He raised the bat in his hands, twisting them around the weapon in a bone-white grip, the anticipation of violence in his eyes, and mistrust, so much mistrust it gave Daryl the impression he was strictly against what was going on at the moment. That it hadn't been his idea.

It had most likely been the girl's, she had been the involuntary advocate for her family before. Whatever the plan was this time, whatever had brought them back, it would've most likely had been her idea. Which was ridiculous, why were they going along with it? Either she'd had a very good justification for doing such a stupid thing or they were all idiots.

He turned his gaze from the side view mirror and focused on her. He was starting to get impatient. Was she or was she not going to talk?

"Um..." she started. Well, it was something. He was about to snap at her to get a move on when she continued. "I know you said you uh, you didn't- or wouldn't take us to the city. And we completely understand why!" She raised her hands and waved them in dismissal.

Daryl saw the red staining the tips of her fingers and remembered how she'd killed the biter; the bow was on her shoulder but she had no quiver, it had likely been decorative, Daryl thought, and she was using it as a club. But why and how did she have such an item if they hadn't found out about the end of the world until not an hour ago? A bat was understandable, but a bow? Her words brought him back.

"But I- we were discussing and thought that since you seem to not uh, or rather," she seemed to contemplate her sentence. He could sense her nervousness from where he was sitting, see the beads of sweat forming on her golden brown skin and rolling down. "Imma start over!" She shook her head dismissively and made a rewind gesture with her hands and Daryl could've laughed if the situation and his mood allowed for it.