Sunshine beat down onto the tarmac and reflected through the still air. It was hot, and Beth Greene screwed up her face in annoyance as she wheeled her bicycle down the dusty road. Its punctured tyre made a pathetic flopping sound each time the wheel rotated. Walking home from school took three times as long, and Beth knew she'd be in trouble for being late. There was nothing she could do about it though, so she just kept on pushing and kept on scowling. Usually her face was illuminated by her irresistibly bright smile, but today had been a bad day. She had gotten a decisively bad grade on her history essay, and failed a math quiz. It wasn't that she didn't like school; it was just that it didn't quite agree with her. It scared her to think that by the end of the year, her friends would be graduating yet she might fail and be left behind, left to repeat the endless days of boredom and struggle. There had been one good aspect of the day, though; her friend Carla Dixon had invited her for a sleepover on the weekend. The two girls had been friends for most of high-school, but hadn't really got that close. Recently, however, they had talked more often and become pretty close. Beth was excited to spend time with her friend. It wasn't something she usually got to do, since she was often busy helping her parents on the farm and studying to no avail. As Beth meandered down the road, she pondered how to convince her father to let her go. Hershel Greene was a strict parent, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it just meant Beth had to adapt to his narrow views on what a teenager should and shouldn't be allowed to do. Being late today probably wasn't the best way to start an evening of negotiations. As the sun frazzled the back of Beth's neck, she glanced up the road. It was drawing into the cover of the forest now, which thankfully meant both shade and nearing home. Near the sharp bend just beyond the tree line, Beth could see a person standing near the side of the road. A man. He was dressed in motorcycle gear, a helmet slung over his arm, and a leather jacket with patches and insignia suggesting he was part of some gang. His beat-up triumph motorcycle was parked next to him and he leaned casually against it. As Beth got closer, her suspicions were confirmed as she could read the largest emblem on the back of his jacket; The Wolves of the West. Beth's blood ran cold and she walked a little slower. Something her father had always taught her was to not judge a book by its cover, and she rarely gave in to prejudice. But the Wolves of the West were infamous in their little town and the stories she had heard didn't come from nowhere. Rumours of drug dealing and violence followed the members around and somehow, Beth knew that she should give this particular Wolf a wide berth. She didn't want to stop walking, so she quickened her step and drifted to the other side of the road. As she passed the biker, she couldn't help but look at his face. To her surprise, his eyes were full of tears and she realized he was standing in front of a commemorative cross by the edge of the road, some plastic flowers laid carefully by the wooden marker. The man's rugged face was a mixture of sadness and pensiveness. Suddenly, he whipped around and stared at Beth with piercing blue eyes behind his long fringe of russet hair.
"The fuck ya lookin' at?" His voice was rusty and gravelly, a low timbre with a southern lilt that rumbled from his terse mouth like a growl. Beth tried not to run, but she walked faster and kept her head pointed doggedly towards the ground as she walked past him. She didn't acknowledge his comment, just kept going until she could no longer feel those sharp eyes on her retreating back.
That night, Beth tried hard to scare up some brownie points. She had been in trouble for being late, but seeing as a flat tyre wasn't really her fault she only got a light scolding. All her chores were done without asking, and she even helped with dinner and offered to set the table, even though it was her sister Maggie's turn tonight. Now, as they sat contentedly around the dinner table, Beth tried to subtly steer the conversation towards staying over at Carla's.
"How was school, Bethy?" her father asked during a brief lull in the conversation.
"It was good," Beth smiled lightly. It wasn't a lie, not really, it was just avoiding certain aspects of the day. Like failing two assessments. She pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate and glanced around. Her family seemed pretty jovial at present, so she tentatively brought up her weekend plans. "Uh, my friend Carla asked me over this weekend," she added nonchalantly.
"Carla who?" Beth's mother, Annette, immediately asked.
"Carla Dixon."
"The Dixon boys are bad news," Hershel tutted between mouthfuls of roast chicken.
"Carla's brothers? I wouldn't know. She doesn't mention them," Beth said convincingly. Actually, Carla often complained about her older brothers. There was a large age gap between them and she found them and their questionable life choices lacking.
"I don't know Beth, I don't want you around those sorts of people," Annette muttered.
"Carla is a good friend of mine," Beth said indignantly.
"That may be, but her daddy and brothers earned themselves a bad name around here," Hershel sighed. "We aren't to judge others, but we can choose to keep away from people who don't share our values."
Beth scowled at her father's righteous attitude and pushed her dinner around her plate. This was not going to plan.
"I heard them Dixon boys held up the corner store last summer," Shawn, Beth's brother, piped up. Beth kicked him under the table.
"Yeah, I also heard about ten other people did that. They never caught 'em," Maggie dismissed him with a wink towards Beth. "You can't judge a family on hearsay, right?"
Beth nodded with a thankful smile towards her sister, glad that she always had her back.
"Go on dad, let her go. It's just a sleepover," Maggie pressed, making it sound like no big deal at all. In actual fact, Beth had never gone to a sleepover, and Maggie had only been allowed out once she turned nineteen. But Maggie had a way with words and convincing their father. After much deliberation and bargaining, Beth's parents finally conceded and agreed to let her accept Carla's invitation. Beth was overjoyed, but felt a new sense of nervousness at the rumours brought up about the Dixons. It was true that Carla was an odd girl, and Beth assumed her family must be just as odd.
Two days later, Beth stood in front of Carla's door with her heart in her mouth. The house was little more than a cabin about twenty minutes into the woods, and the paint was chipping away from the exterior. Rusty sheds and piles of junk, including a bunch of old cars and motorbikes were littered around the property, and a crossbow and other hunting gear was thrown carelessly by the front door. Beth was ashamed of her initial reaction; she disapprovingly assumed they were damn redneck hillbillies. She pushed that thought down as Carla opened the door with an excited yell and pulled Beth inside.
"Come in, come in," Carla sang, leading her into the house. It was actually pretty nice inside. Hunting trophies adorned the walls and rustic wooden furniture complimented the outdoorsy aesthetic they had going on. "Now, we got three movies to watch, and we could go fishing later, and did you still want help with that homework?" Carla babbled on excitedly.
"Um, yeah, sounds fun," Beth smiled. It was nice to see Carla's bubbly spirit break through, and it filled Beth with a similar enthusiasm for a whole weekend of hanging out. She still glanced around nervously, feeling a little out of place in the strange surroundings.
"Oh, if you wanna put your bag somewhere, my room's down there on the left," Carla pointed to a short hallway. Beth nodded and tip toed into the room to stash her bag. As she put it down, she heard the front door open and distinctly male voices rang through the house. Her heart quickened and she tried not to think about the plentiful rumours about the Dixon brothers. They were probably nice, ordinary people just like Carla. Beth steeled her nerves and walked back through to the living area where two figures sat at the oak table, talking to Carla who was ferreting through the fridge.
"An' who do we have here?" One of the guys turned around. He had a buzz cut, a silver beard and a sly grin and was obviously much older than Carla.
"Oh, Beth, these are my idiot brothers Merle and Daryl. Idiots, this is Beth," Carla chimed in as she approached with an armful of beers. The one called Merle winked merrily at her. The other brother turned around slowly. As he took a beer from Carla's arms, his eyes met Beth's and she immediately recognized the icy blue stare from only a few days ago. He wasn't wearing his jacket now, but she was absolutely certain it was the biker from the road. He flicked his long hair away from his eyes and pulled up the corner of his mouth in what could have been a smirk or a sneer. Beth gulped.
"H-hi," she stuttered. Carla offered her a beer nonchalantly, drinking one herself even though both girls were four years off the legal drinking age.
"C'mon, it's just beer," Carla wiggled the frosty bottle towards her.
"Oh, no thanks, I'm not supposed to drink," Beth said apologetically. She couldn't imagine what punishment would befall her if her parents found out, especially since her father's alcoholism was a constant strain on her family's happiness. Beth had grown to hate alcohol and its effect after witnessing what it did to her father.
"Ah well, no pressure," Carla smiled comfortingly. Daryl snorted. "Got something to say, dear brother?" Carla challenged him, their similar steely gazes meeting across the table.
"Jus' not like you to bring home squares," he grunted amusedly.
"Fuck you, Daryl. She's my best friend, so take it easy or fuck off," Carla replied loudly. Beth was a little taken aback by the harsh words, but they were said with a good-natured smile and Daryl chuckled upon hearing them. Beth assumed this was just how the siblings interacted, a more extreme version of her and Maggie's banter. The casual interactions actually made her feel more at ease and she felt a smile grow across her face.
"Ya wanna go fishin'?" Carla asked, leaping to her feet with sudden energy.
"Yeah, sure," Beth replied enthusiastically. "I'm not much good at it, though."
"I'll teach ya," Carla replied with a wave of her hand.
"You can't even catch a fuckin minnow, Carla," Merle cackled. "Take Daryl along, then we might have a chance at dinner."
Daryl's face was unreadable as he stood, but Beth had a feeling he wasn't too keen on joining them. He ruffled Carla's hair affectionately as he strode past them and began gathering fishing gear. Carla gave Beth an amused smile, apparently pleased, and led Beth outside.
"Damn lucky, he never wants to hang out with me anymore," Carla smirked as they stood on the porch. She handed Beth a cooler bag. "Here, carry this."
"What is it?" Beth grunted at the heavy weight of the bag.
"Bait and booze," Carla grinned mischievously. Normally, Beth would have been panicking at breaking the law but the Dixons had such a chilled attitude that she didn't give a second thought to carrying the alcohol.