It was dusk of the first day after Beth had been taken when Daryl found her again. Longest twenty-four hours of his life so far – and there had been a lot of long days.
The gang that had swept him up in their wake were heading back to their base, an old feed warehouse, he'd guessed, from the look of it in the distance. He had trudged along with them, sullenly, for hours now, shrugging off their questions with nothing more than a grunt or two.
Daryl was numb, all that he could he could do was replay the events of the night before, think how he could've prevented Beth from being taken, could've protected her. His feet dragged through the dirt now and his heart felt as though it were in his boots with them.
He should've made the connection, when they'd started leering at him, bumping elbows and raising eyebrows. As it was, it wasn't until they got to the dirt drive and he saw the still fresh tyre tracks that he felt his stomach drop away to join his heart. He forced his feet to keep moving, hoped the thugs hadn't noticed the hitch in his step.
Joe, the leader of the pack, banged his fist against the rolldown, hollering for the "boys" inside to open up. Daryl felt that old hyperawareness settle over him like a blanket. He could feel the strap of the Stryker digging into his shoulder, knew if he rolled his shoulders forward just a fraction and slid his fingers under the strap just so, he could have the weapon in his hand in less than a second, loaded in less than two. The bowie handle was digging into his hipbone, his ankle holster was missing its knife – last he'd seen it, it'd been tucked in Beth's belt.
The door rattled up, pulled up from some lackey inside. Daryl clocked a staff door off to the side of the building, onto the loading dock, as the men began to disappear inside. He tossed a last look outside, took stock of the land in the fading light and ducked his head under, the last man in.
It took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the murk. The place was a damn pigsty. The high windows hadn't been cleaned in God knew how long, so only the faintest traces of evening light were filtering in. It was like a shantytown, with bedding, empty tins and trash strewn all over the place. The only clear space was at the back of the room, equipped with another roll down door – perfect for driving straight through, especially perfect considering that there in space was a dark car. The same dark car.
Daryl scanned the sides of the cavernous room, there were men standing in the shadows and Daryl didn't think they were looking at him particularly friendly-like. They crept towards the circle too, shepherding him in.
Joe clapped a couple of the guys on the shoulders as he went past, a regular rockstar. Daryl's unease grew as he took note of the local crowd: no women. He reckoned there were maybe twelve guys in all.
A man about Daryl's age, scarred and mean looking, pulled Joe aside, told him something it looked Joe was pretty pleased about: another clap on the shoulder. Daryl stopped at the circle's edge, hemmed in on almost every side. Joe took the centre stage like a natural.
"Good evening boys! We got a new a member, let's hear it for Daryl!" There was an unenthusiastic rumble of welcomes and how-do-you-dos.
"Of course, as you all well know, you can't just walk in here. You need to show that you're a good fit for us, that you can provide, that you can do whatever it takes, ain't that right, boys?" Joe smiled, flashing those teeth in a way that reminded Daryl of those TV salesmen. The older man stepped back towards the car, rubbing his hands with glee.
"So, without any further ado, here's your entrance exam," He popped the trunk open and Daryl nearly collapsed at the sight of Joe wrenching out a bound, gagged and thoroughly beaten skinny blonde.
"Welcome to Hooverville!"