In The End | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 21

"Stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

Erica

Riding with Daryl was a lot more interesting than I thought it'd be. In all honesty-- and I mean Dixie-cup absolutely no offense here-- he comes off... kind of bland? Don't get me wrong, he has personality. There's some spunk in there, a little bit of Merle, a little bit of Rick, a little bit of Dwight from The Office, but only the farmer part. He's certainly a package. He just didn't seem like the most exciting package in the universe, that's all. But there's more than just redneck to the guy. 

I'm sure his opinion of me is less than stellar, but we sort of have a friendship going. That's saying something considering most people I'm acquainted with take one look at me and are immediately trying to stab me, shoot me, or a combination of both. Maybe choke me if they're into that. Yeah, kinky, I know. I'm sure most of the people who want me gone are stuck as mindless beasts, but can vampires and werewolves turn into walkers? Now that's a theory that needs testing.

"You did not." I snorted like the absolute pig I am, stroking my hand down BOB's back. He preened under the attention like a turtle on a dock soaking up the sun. He acted aloof, but he was a big softie on the inside. Hopefully he wouldn't be getting eaten anytime soon. I was quickly becoming attached to my new friend, even if he'd probably ditch me for a cracked open can of tuna in about two seconds flat. But hey: details, details! He was here now being an excellent ginger companion. He was also shedding a shit ton, but I didn't mind the extra layer, even if it was sure to make me sneeze later when it finally hit.

"Did too." Daryl grinned as we approached the CDC. We were hoping it would be our saving grace, but I somehow doubted that. There was something supernatural going on here. The fact that the souls were still attached to the bodies of the dead proved that. "Slashed 'er tires right there in front of 'er. Not like she could prove it was me. Merle gave me th' perfect alibi." 

"That's a power move. Holy shit." I wheezed like a dying... something, shaking my head. Daryl's high school fling of a girlfriend was batshit, and nobody on this goddamn planet could convince me otherwise. Maybe Crowley if it turned out she hadn't ended up in hell somehow, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of summoning him just to check. The bitch was probably a zombie right now anyway. Well, now I actually feel a bit bad about laughing over her. It's fine. Nothing morally wrong with it or anything. The day God smites me is the day I'll know I did something wrong, because that bastard doesn't do shit. "Did she call the police?"

"I was gone by th' time they got there." Daryl shrugged. I snickered some more. It's nice to find joy in the little things, even if Daryl did get cheated on. If the victim is laughing, you therefore have permission to do the same. So long as they aren't clinically insane and/or having a mental break of some kind. There are rules to this sort of thing. "I ain't never seen no chick look so horrified. Shoulda heard her shriekin'."

"I can imagine." I grinned, recalling the many times I'd fucked people over in general. "I'm sort of an asshole, so I've got experience. I remember once I threw an entire ass waffle iron off a balcony and through this one guy's windshield. I was sixteen at the time."

Daryl sputtered out an odd sort of laugh as we pulled off to the side by the CDC. I could already see an abundance of bodies piled up around the place, which was never a good sign. The military wasn't shit when you got down to it. They were corrupted, and a lot of the ones who were in deep thought guns could answer all their problems. Actually, most people here in Georgia had that kind of mindset. You couldn't blame them. Most things you shot just straight up died when you did it. These did too, but only if you managed to hit the head. They were also pretty overwhelming in large numbers. Atlanta had taught us all that.