Disclaimer: TWD and all recognizable characters are property of AMC, Robert Kirkman, etc. I am not profiting from this in any manner.
He remembered her from before everything went to hell. It was very briefly, and they hadn't even spoken, but he remembered her.
He and his brother never stayed in one place for very long. There wasn't any true reason behind it, it was just who they were. They drifted. It worked for them.
Not long before news reports of the mysterious flu-like illness had surfaced they had landed themselves in a tiny town with a big love of methamphetamine, much to Merle's delight. It just so happened he was in that business and would happily distribute his wares to the local population. They planned on camping out awhile there until the authorities got wind of where the newest batch of crank was coming from, and then they would be off to Macon to do the same thing all over again. Different town, different day, same scheme.
The dingy little motel that they had chosen cost next to nothing to stay in, and Daryl could understand why. There were always a couple of hookers that liked to hang out in the lobby of the place. There was a constant flow of people through the run down little place, never anyone that would be seen as an upstanding citizen, and he'd seen more money and drugs exchange hands than he had cared to see again for the rest of his life.
It wasn't his first choice in living, but it was all he had. Merle was all he had. He didn't have anything but a GED, no college degrees, or true talents other than fixing motorcycles, and no one seemed to want anything to do with him because he didn't have any certifications from those fancy schools he saw in the commercials on the motel's shitty television. There was one called UTI. Every time he saw that commercial all he could think of were urinary tract infections and Merle's hissing when he took a piss.
His favorite thing to do was sit outside and people watch and smoke cigarettes. He never knew what sort of characters were going to flow in and out of the parking lot. It was a damn sight better entertainment than the shit that came on television, better than the soap operas that Merle had taken a liking to.
A few of the other people staying in the place seemed to take a liking to him, since he was "the sweet one" according to Merle.
A six foot four black transexual hooker that called herself Sunny D would bring him wings from one of the strip clubs that she danced at. Merle would have thrown the wings back into Sunny's face and probably beaten the shit out of her, but Daryl was cool with it since the wings were damned good for coming from a strip club.
An elderly man, Jimmy, would come outside and have coffee with him in the mornings. He loved to listen to listen to Jimmy's stories about his time in Europe during World War II. Jimmy seemed to truly come alive when talked about manning the tanks and tearing through Italy. Poor guy lamented that he was never in the Pacific theater since he'd ended up with an injury in Europe. VE Day had been extremely sweet day for Jimmy.
The people that would walk past were interesting, too. It was a mix of people trolling for a score, kids that rode their bikes down the street like they owned the place, and people heading to the convenience store that was next to the motel. The sign advertised that they had the cheapest gas in town, and the coldest beer.
Daryl highly doubted both of those claims. He just figured they had a high traffic rate because it was close and convenient for the motel customers and the people that lived in the run down neighborhood nearby. They also carried things that the general public wouldn't think twice about, but in the hands of a junkie were gold. Had people never seriously wondered why there were packs of socks in convenience stores, or who in their right mind would buy one of those cheap roses in a glass tube for their lady?
Over time, he started making up names and personalities for the people.
A tall and lanky guy always walked by at the same times every day, going to and from what Daryl assumed was a really shitty job. The guy never looked like he was having a good day. He'd have a scowl as he trod past in the early hours of the morning when Daryl was having his first smoke of the day with his coffee, and come back with an even deeper scowl in the evenings. Judging by how dirty he was on the trek back, Daryl assumed that he had a hard labor job. That eternal scowl had earned him the name Bad Luck Brian or Pissed Off Pete, depending on how he stalked down the street in the evenings.
He called the little gang of bike kids the Junior Outlaws. Most of those kids didn't look like they were headed on a good path at all. The oldest kids in the group liked to harass people for cigarettes or tried to get anyone of age to buy them beer with money they had likely stolen from their mama's purses. It was very rare for anyone to actually buy the kids any alcohol, and people that said no were generally treated to a tongue lashing with words that Daryl had been afraid to say until he was at least a teenager. Many times he had wanted to run them off, but that wasn't his place. This wasn't his town, and those sure as hell weren't his kids. He'd let time take it's course and hope those little pieces of shit didn't turn into huge pieces of shit.
Loveless Lucy was the aging hooker that tried her damndest to bring in cash any way she knew how. Most people didn't want to bother with her. He knew her because she bought from Merle on the occasion that she did have money. Her bleached blonde hair always had black roots cutting through and she had the worst case of meth mouth that he had ever seen. Her skin looked like aged leather - maybe she had been a beach baby when she was a teenager. The only feature she had that Daryl had even considered to be nice were her eyes. They were a lovely shade of green, almost an unnatural shade that looked completely out of place on her leathery face. Daryl thought she may have been attractive in her younger years, before her lifestyle had destroyed her body. She'd made her way to him a few times, trying to work her way into a paying job. He always gave her money just to go away, though by the end of the day that money would be right back in Merle's pocket anyway.
Then there was her, the one Merle called the Mouse. Always wearing dreary clothes and the ugliest goddamn pair of shoes he'd ever seen in his life. Her hair was sheared so short that Merle instantly thought she was a lesbian. What woman in her right mind would want hair that short, he would comment, or "bless her heart she is homely". That was another favorite of Merle's.
She would pass by every afternoon, generally between two and three, to go to the convenience store. On her way back, the skinny thing would be toting a twenty-four pack of beer. It looked so much larger in her tiny hands that it ever did when Merle would stroll in carrying one in each of his larger, meatier paws. She'd make her way back by the motel and into the dingy development behind it, struggling with the giant case of beer. He always assumed the beer wasn't for her, since she didn't look like the type to drink or do drugs at all. Poor thing looked like she was afraid of her own shadow, definitely unlike any of the other people that frequented the strip.
Every now and again she would wear a pair of massive sunglasses, even on the cloudiest of days. Most days she wore long sleeves on the hottest of Georgia days. He knew those signs, knew what they meant. He'd watched his mama do a lot of the same things when he was a boy. Maybe one day she'd have the courage to get herself out, not end up like his mama. Hopefully she didn't have a kid or something. That was the last thing that needed to be added to that equation.
But she was just another face along with Bad Luck Brian, the Junior Outlaws, and Loveless Lucy. Faces without definite names, all stuck in the same shitty situation in a terrible neighborhood with a drug problem that was so deep seated that it would take an act of God to clean it up.
All he had to do was wait for Merle to decide it was time to move on, and then he would forget about all of the faces he had met at the Quality Motel so he could make room for new faces in the next shit hole that they parked at. Except for Sunny. He'd never forget the first time she had come up to him wearing a little silver sequin number, six inch silver heels and a platinum blonde wig, shoving a styrofoam container of wings into his lap, telling him that he needed to eat something and fill out his sunken cheeks. Sunny D was a delight, for sure.
Two weeks later stories started to pop up on the news about a strange flu that was taking the country by storm. Schools were closing one by one in an attempt to stop the spread of the virus. Fly by night companies were popping up selling protective gear and herbal remedies that claimed they would protect you from getting the virus, or to help you kick the illness quickly and be right back on your feet within days.
As it got worse, international travel was halted in another attempt to stop what was happening. Unfortunately it did no good. Country by country, cases were being confirmed and patients were being quarantined. Each night on the news there was coverage of what each country was doing to attempt to stop the outbreak, how the WHO was getting involved as well as reports from the CDC with numbers and statistics that, quite frankly, went right over Daryl's head. He didn't care about numbers. He just wanted to know how to avoid it.
Then, practically overnight, all media seemed to stop. There was no more news about what was happening around the world, no more numbers and stats. It looked like broadcasting had been handed over to the military and all channels were on the emergency system. Even the motel's "Free HBO!" was taken over, so there was no break from the monotony. Citizens were encouraged to go to safe zones in the larger cities where they would be protected from the infected and provided with shelter until the situation could be brought under control. The military was overseeing these zones and helping to maintain order. Radio broadcasts had gone from sweet classic rock and top 40 bullshit to a twentyfour hour loop of information regarding the nearest safe zone, the best routes to get there, what they encouraged you to bring and what was forbidden, and other protocol geared to make the mass migrations as orderly and organized as possible.
No one seemed to know what was going on, and those who did didn't seem to care about spreading the information. There was a small military presence that all seemed to point to Atlanta. The local hospital was on complete lockdown, even though there had yet to be a confirmed case of the virus in the area.
The lack of any sort of information was causing the people in their dingy neighborhood to go into panic mode. Merle sold almost everything he had in his inventory, the convenience store had been completely wiped out of food and beer like there was a hurricane coming and not some killer fucking virus that was ready to take the world to it's knees. Mr. Patel, the owner of the motel, even stopped charging the people who were staying there as he got his own life and family together so he could flee as well. Sunny stopped bringing wings, even though she still went to dance. Mornings with Jimmy were becoming even more tense as the old man seemed to know that something big was happening, but he wouldn't talk about it. He claimed that he didn't want to worry Daryl. It was too late for that. Daryl was so rattled that he had taken to sneaking Xanax from his brother's stash just to be able to sleep at night. Merle had always called him a fidgety little fuck, so even if he had caught Daryl stealing the bars he probably wouldn't have said anything anyway.
For Daryl, the safe zone was out of the question. He thought it was fucking stupid to even consider putting themselves into a tightly packed area where the disease would spread more quickly and mass hysteria was extremely likely. Merle, on the other hand, thought it would be a good opportunity to make more quick money by robbing the helpless people blind. Get them while they were in an unfamiliar situation and terrified, he'd said. Fleeing people would be bringing valuables, and that equalled cash, which equalled more drugs to feed the habit he had. Merle always had an angle. It wasn't about saving their asses, it was about making sure they had a means to live on.
He wasn't even sure that cash would have any sort of use other than for burning. Daryl had a really bad feeling. This wasn't going to be over quickly. He felt it in his bones.
The city closest to where they were was Atlanta, roughly a 30 mile trip. If traffic was decent, it wouldn't be but maybe a forty five minute trip. The truck was already gassed up. Daryl had done that the moment there had even been a hint of something amiss.
After much "negotiation", which was more of a screaming match that ended up with Merle throwing a lamp at his head, Daryl hesitantly packed his few belongings and chucked them into his truck. Merle had loaded his bike into the truck's bed earlier that day. All they had to do was ride.
Daryl stalled for as long as he could. He went to Sunny's room and thanked her for all of the meals she'd brought him, then down to go see Jimmy one last time. The old Vet shook Daryl's hand firmly. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but I don't think I'm going to make it out alive, son." Jimmy gave Daryl his Browning M1911 that he'd had since the war, the rounds that he kept in his night table, and his Victory medal. All Daryl could do was thank him and tell him to stay inside.
Soon enough they were on the road to whatever awaited them in Atlanta.
Traffic had been hell. It was worse than hell. What should have only been forty five minutes ended up being closer to two hours. The traffic crawled, then I-85 went from an interstate highway to a parking lot.
Hot Georgia day turned to humid night.
The people on the highway were starting to get cranky, most of them hungry and thirsty since they didn't seem to have half a mind to pack anything to take with them to the refugee center other than their valuables and necessities. Tensions were running at an all time high so Daryl stayed in the truck and listened to the broadcast from the refugee center, taking note of the instructions that were given because Merle sure as hell wasn't listening to a thing that the woman on the radio was saying. As the sun sank further into the horizon, the broadcasts became infrequent instead of the constant loop that they had been listening to since they had gotten on the road.
Then the broadcast stopped altogether.
People in the other cars were starting to panic. There were rumors being passed through the crowd that the refugee center was no longer taking in people, that they were turning them away to fend for themselves. They were being left out to die. Infected had gotten in and the zone was no unsafe. He heard dozens of things as he observed, and there was no way of knowing which stories were true.
Merle was frustrated and as high as a kite. Daryl knew it was the only way that Merle knew to handle stress.
He would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared shitless. Something was not right, and he knew it.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last bar he had and pinched off a quarter of it. Just enough to take the edge off, not enough for him to dull his senses.
Ever impatient, Merle finally pulled the truck off of the highway and into the woods, cursing everything in existence in the process. "May as well get ready to camp out, little brutha. We're gonna be here a while."
From their vantage point, they had one hell of a view of the city of Atlanta. If the power grid had been up, it would have been an excellent view of the bustling city, the kind of view that tourists would be busy snapping pictures of. Instead, the city looked like a ghost town. No lights, even from where they said the refugee center was supposed to be. He assumed there would be backup generators somewhere, and with the city as dark any light should have been easy to spot.
The pill Daryl took had finally kicked in fully so he relaxed into the passenger seat of the truck. Then there was the sound of gunfire. Choppers. Explosions of some sort. Merle, who had been a Marine, didn't seem to be bothered by the noise in his high state. He simply leaned against the grill of the truck and emotionlessly watched the city of Atlanta go up in flames.
"So much for that," he'd said, simply, and returned to the truck for another bump. "They're hittin' the place with Napalm.
Even with the Xanax, Daryl's heart raced and he was on high alert.
What in the hell was going on? Why would they be Napalming the damn city? What about the survivors? The so called safe zone?
He listened as people screamed and cried, presumably for their loved ones that had been "lucky" enough to reach the refugee center.
In a moment of clarity, the severity of the situation hit him.
Now he understood why the broadcast had ended. Now he understood why the traffic was at a standstill. He understood.
The city had been overrun, so the government did what the government did best: destroy.
He sighed and leaned his head back.
That was just fucking delightful.
They were stuck in the woods off of I-85 with a bunch of people who didn't know how to survive like they did, who would probably panic and cause a damn riot. Make things even worse than they already were.
Normally, he would have headed out into the woods to soothe his weary soul, but there were too many people completely spoiling any solitude that he may have found. Crying women and children, men who were helpless yet trying to be strong for their families. Complete confusion and borderline chaos. All he knew to do was shoot a quick prayer to JC and hope that Merle had a better plan now that Plan A was shot to shit.
The best plan that Merle had was to head deeper into the woods.
So that was what they did - they traveled deeper in. They settled close to a quarry to have easy access to the water. One could go days without food, but without water you were screwed after only three, and dehydration was a bitch. They made sure to not get too close, but stay within walking distance. If anyone else had the same idea that they did, they would be looking for a water source as well. Merle didn't like to feel exposed. He liked to have the power, the control, and he wanted to be able to watch what was going on around them. If people showed up at the water Merle wanted to be able to assess whether or not they were worth dealing with, or if they had anything worth stealing. It wasn't all about protection, it was one of Merle's angles.
The forest was their element. They had all but lived in the woods as boys and knew how to survive out there. Daryl knew they would survive a damn sight longer than most of those stranded on the side of the highway with them. It could provide them with everything that they needed, and they knew how to utilize it.
It didn't take long for people to start trickling in. First some meathead and his old lady and kid, a fat guy with his old lady and kid. An Asian guy and a stringy, shell shocked looking man. Soon enough an old man in an RV pulled up with two blondes. Then he started to lose count. A pretty buff looking black dude that smiled a lot. A Mexican family - more kids. A lone black woman in more businessy attire that looked like she'd been through hell and back twice.
The more people that settled, the more Merle paid attention to them. The more attention Merle paid, the more nervous Daryl became.
When all was said and done, the camp had at least twenty people, if not more. Who knew how many more people were going to show up. It wasn't like they were very well hidden. Some burned their fires way too high and could be seen at a distance. They made a lot of noise, enough to attract anything within miles to their location, enough to run off any game that may have been nearby.
"Here's what's gonna happen. We're gonna go in and rob them blind. Then head north to Pa's cabin."
It sounded absolutely ridiculous to Daryl. After what they had seen and heard, the most logical thing to do would be to join the camp. Safety in numbers, and all that. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to that disgusting cabin filled with bad memories.
The camp had a great system going. Everyone contributed. He and Merle could easily contribute, too, and stay alive in the process. It was an easy exchange of wild game for safety and security.
Merle was too high to even consider listening to any argument that he may have presented. Once Merle had an idea in his head he went through with it, especially when he was tweaking. His lack of thinking before he acted is what had him thrown out of the military and into a prison cell for almost two years, leaving Daryl to his own devices and essentially lost.
When Merle finally made the decision final, they worked their truck back around to the access road and up to the camp of survivors.
They almost didn't even make it into the camp. The meathead, Shane, seemed to be reluctant to even welcome them into the camp but the old man, Dale, was more of an optimist. Once it came out that they could hunt they were welcomed in, not quite with open arms. Merle parked the truck and they found a nice spot a good distance away from the others. Merle and his angles. His brother wanted to be able to watch from a safe distance and not get too involved. Couldn't get too involved with people they were going to just rob blind, anyhow.
Once they had set up camp, with an extra tent that the group had given them, Daryl set out into the woods, to his sanctuary. If anything, he'd be able to bring back something to eat. He and Merle hadn't eaten in a couple of days, not a real meal anyway, just the junk they had managed to scavenge at the convenience store before they had left the last town.
He hadn't made it very far into the woods when he found the fat man and his lady. The fat man had all but cornered her against a tree.
"Why you gotta share what we got with these people? We don't know who they are. We need to keep what we got for ourselves!" The fat man drove his point home by shoving his finger in her face. "We may need what you gave away later."
The woman looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Ed."
"You better be."
The fat man, Ed, stalked off, leaving the woman at the tree with tears running down her face.
He finally got his chance to study her. Close cropped hair, baggy clothes that were fit for someone at least ten years her senior. Hideous shoes.
Then it hit him - she was the Mouse that used to walk in front of the hotel, that fat son of a bitch was who she was getting the beer for, and there was a kid involved. Every worst case scenario that he could think of.
He silently watched her stop crying and wipe her face, and he followed her back to the camp to make sure that she made it safely. Just because none of those dead fuckers hadn't showed up at their camp yet didn't mean that they wouldn't. It was only a matter of time.
His hunt hadn't been all that fruitful. He ended up bringing back a few rabbits and squirrels, definitely not enough to feed a large group. It was barely enough to feed him and his brother. Chances are Merle wouldn't eat, anyway. When he was using he didn't eat all that much. Probably wouldn't be sleeping much, either. Daryl hoped that maybe Merle would use that excess energy to hit the woods and possibly find something more substantial. He was good, there was no doubt, but Merle would always be better. He was better at just about everything. Daryl was always the baby brother living in Merle's shadow.
It rained that night. It felt refreshing, like nature was trying it's hardest to wash away what was happening.
Disturbing sounds came from the fat man and Mouse's tent. They echoed through the night over the sounds of the thunder, the tinkling sounds of the rain coming down through the trees and finally puddling on the forest floor.
Daryl tightened his hands into fists and fought every instinct that was in him to go and rip that tent to shreds and kick the fat guy's ass. Make sure another lady and kid didn't have to suffer through the bullshit that he and his mama went through. His mama wasn't a prize, by any means, but she was still his mama. When she wasn't high she was the best mama in the world. Then, in a blaze, she was gone.
Don't interfere. That is what Merle had said.
It wasn't their place. They didn't know her from Bob. Who were they to interfere in another family's affairs? No one interfered when they were getting the shit beat out of them by their father or neglected by their mama. No one interfered after Mama had burned up in that fire and the beatings from their Pa got even more brutal. No one interfered when Merle was gone and he was the one that was the sole target of their father's drunken aggressions.
It doesn't matter, we're never going to see them again anyway, Merle had said.
He clamped his eyes shut. He felt for that little girl and her mama. He'd been there. So had Merle. Merle should have felt sympathy. Merle bore the same scars that he did, albeit he didn't take the brunt of the damage because he was older and had the ability to get the hell out of there, leaving Daryl to be the one to suffer the most.
Merle might have felt sympathy if he hadn't spent the last few days tweeking out of his mind, if he knew that there was no way they could just take off and leave these people. These people had kids. Annoying little snot nose brats that were totally defenseless. Women that didn't have the first idea about how to use a gun to defend themselves and their families. Hell, there were a few useless men floating around, too. Like the fat man.
The Mouse's quiet weeping reached his ears. It seemed to carry through the camp.
Why wasn't anyone doing anything?
Shit, the meathead was a fucking police officer. Did he think that just because the world had gone to hell in a handbasket that he no longer had the duty to protect and fucking serve? He sure as hell was ready to step up and take control of the camp, so why not handle the scene in the other tent?
He couldn't sleep through, or ignore it. All he could see was his mama and her curly, sandy blonde hair, the bruise on her cheek glistening with freshly shed tears and the blood that had dried on her lip. Her shoulders shaking and she beckoned him to her so she could hug him while she cried, his five year old self doing the best that he knew to do to comfort her.
He threw his sleeping bag to the side and shoved his feet into his boots. Rain be damned, he was going for a walk.
He tossed his crossbow over his shoulder and left the tent. Least he could do was patrol the camp perimeter and keep an eye out for geeks.
That's what those fuckers reminded him of, people who were geeked out of their skull. Trapped in an eternal k-hole, floating. Aimlessly wandering.
Again his mind went all sorts of places.
Who were these people before they became...things?
They weren't always just those creatures. They had lives, stories. They worked, went to school, had friends and family.
He shook the thoughts from his mind and put a bolt into the skull of the first geek he saw.
He couldn't focus on what they were, only on what they were now.
Focusing on what they were only made it harder to take them out, offer them that final peace.
By the time he returned to where he started, he'd taken down at least three of them. From what he'd gathered from listening, the geeks didn't make it that far up as a general rule. They stuck to the city and the immediate surrounding area.
They must have been running out of food in the city. That meant total annihilation. Complete loss of life.
Atlanta was the city of the dead.
And she was still weeping.
The sounds weren't as close this time. She must have left the safety of the camp. Stupid woman. Did she not realize that there were dead things just waiting to make a meal out of her?
He found her by the water, crouched down almost into a ball. Her hands covered her face and her shoulders shook.
Just like mama.
From his vantage point, he couldn't see any visible injuries on her hands or arms. The fat man must have learned very quickly how to hide his abuse. Don't let anyone else catch on with physical injuries, give himself ability to deny what is going on and make the Mouse look like she's the crazy one.
The rain continued to fall as if the sky was weeping with her.
He couldn't interfere. It wasn't his business.
It wouldn't stop him from watching. Safety in numbers, and all.
It was when she lifted her shirt that the last bit of give a damn left his body.
There were bruises laid out across her rib cage. Even in the dim light they stood out on her pale skin. Some of them were older, but some were clearly greenish blue and fresh. He knew that pain. It was one of his father's favorite places to target because he knew Daryl would never take off his shirt in front of anyone because of the scars that littered the skin of his back. Easily hidden, no suspicions, free game.
Daryl made sure to make a bit of noise as he approached her to let her know that he was coming. The stones crunched under his boots. The sound was even louder in the darkness, even with the sounds of the rain hitting the water that they stood next to.
The noise made the Mouse look up at him, and quickly shove her shirt back down to cover her injuries.
"You shouldn't have to deal with that, ya know," he said as he approached her. "It's bullshit."
The Mouse nodded. "It is, but Ed is all I have. Him and Sophia."
He snorted. "That's bullshit. He ain't gonna protect you. First sign of something goin' wrong and he's just going to save his own ass."
That seemed to strike a chord with the Mouse. She looked ashamed. "I know."
"Then why?" He was desperate to know. He wasn't old enough to even wonder that when he watched the aftermath of his Mama's beatings, when he watched her cry herself to sleep at night while his Pa was God knows where.
"I don't know. It's none of your business, anyway. Why do you care?" she snapped. She immediately cowered like he was going to hit her, like she knew she had done something wrong.
"Pfft, ain't gonna hit you, woman." He stepped closer and helped her stand, watching her face curl in pain as he did. "I know what he's doin'. I've lived it. When he's tired of you, he'll move onto that baby of yours."
The Mouse nodded. "I've seen the way he looks at her."
"He touches her, I'll kill him."
Three days later he was watching The Mouse, Carol, put a pickaxe through the fat man's skull.
He couldn't stop the small grin from reaching his face, through all of the anger of losing his brother and the new motherfucker that decided to lock his ass on that rooftop in Atlanta.
The world may have gone to hell, but there was one less bastard on it thanks to the geeks.