The Walking Dead: Here, No Evil
by mirwalker
A teaser for the latest story nugget to nest in my head. Set after the end of Season 3.
Chapter 1: New Sights
The street was covered in a potpourri of fallen leaves, as were the sidewalk, the yards, the paths and the ground as far as the eye could see. The sky was clear and bright through barren trees; and Glenn could easily feel the quick changes in temperature as he passed from sunbeam to shadow. But for the brisk chill, it was actually a beautiful late autumn day, and a nice change of scenery from the Prison's walls and yard. He smiled as he relished the moment, so calm and quiet.
Damn, noisy leaves, though Daryl. Every step in the brittle carpet screamed their movements; every gust of breeze sounded like or covered an approaching walker horde. Going slow was the only way not to give away to or miss telltale signs of other hungry mouths out for a walk this afternoon.
And hunger was the reason they were having this quality time together today. Their community was nearly three times larger than it had been just a few weeks before; and while still learning names and personalities of the Woodbury refugees, they had more quickly gone through the supplies that also migrated from the now burned out town. More friends and neighbors ultimately meant more supply runs. With summer gone, foraging was limited; and the few animals around were more competition for that scarcity than easy targets for the hunt. Convenient human settlements were similarly picked over; the supply parties were having to venture farther and farther out for even the most paltry finds.
So, this single block of storefronts had not been worth their effort until now. The four doors and matching large windows faced an open lot, and contained the staples of antiqued rural communities: A Post Office, which may or may not still have been operating when things went bad. A double-wide hardware/ craft store whose inventory probably hadn't changed, or sold, much in decades. And a small market/café which could easily have been the happening spot here in 'Some-Family-Name Crossroads,' or whatever the intersection had once been known. Even before the larger world had fallen into decay, this center of commerce and conversation had seen better days. In that way, it had been both behind, and ahead of, its times.
Intending to next check the few homes visible in three directions, Daryl waved Glenn past the small room of mailboxes and useless stamps. Also unlocked, either from long-standing trust or last-minute panic, the small market offered them little: long rotted produce, picked over canned goods and a single, discrete shelf of undisturbed personal care goods. Daryl grimaced as Glenn stuffed all the feminine products into his backpack along with the ancient-looking bottles of pain relief.
"Christmas is coming up soon," he was reminded. Somebody was going to be popular with nearly half the Prison's occupants…
Not having filled even a single bag, they moved on to the mercantile, careful to silence the large bell attached to the door as they entered. Significantly better stocked, and less plundered, perhaps they could find some useful hardware to make the stop worthwhile.
Having entered in one front corner, they took up a standard search pattern, turning to head down different sides of the shelf-filled space. Almost immediately, there were two sharp thumps from toward the rear. Weapons up and stopping short, Daryl and Glenn confirmed they'd both heard it, and switched to an even more cautious and targeted exploration.
Heading down the far side of the store, Daryl ended up moving a little faster, and saw slight movement several aisles ahead. No longer able to see Glenn across the store, he picked his way carefully through a spilled displayed, and followed one row until he was parallel to a figure facing a counter near the center of the back wall.
While not finely dressed, he could clearly see through the shelves that the figure certainly wasn't ragged. Its jeans and jacket were worn, but intact; and its knit cap looked like those that had been in a bin at the market next door. Though no walker, this fellow "shopper" could still be a threat, Daryl knew. And still no sign of Glenn at the far end of the aisle.
The figure was fussing with something before it on the countertop, and occasionally made little grunting sounds—a mix of high pitched and low bass sounds. It glanced to either side from time to time, obviously keeping an eye out for company; but it never looked directly behind, where Daryl had taken up position.
"Hands up where I can see 'em, and step back from the table," he called out quietly, in case the focused worker had friends around.
But the figure kept working, giving no indication it cared about its newly arrived company or the instructions being directed at it.
Meanwhile, Glenn had made his way down his side of the store, and noted Daryl's tactical stance. Daryl nodded toward the figure one row ahead of him, which Glenn interpreted as an instruction to engage, and so stepped slowly forward.
Sensing movement to its right, the figure turned to face Glenn. The short, blond beard indicated they'd stumbled upon a man; the big eyes and frantic glancing about suggested they'd entirely surprised him. On turning toward Glenn's arrival, the man now also caught a glimpse of Daryl and the business end of a crossbow separated from him by only a rack of plumbing pieces. He glanced down to the knife sitting on the counter where'd he been fiddling.
Glenn warned him from doing more. "Don't even think about it… We don't want trouble; so just put your hands up and keep them there."
The man let out a little whimper, and continued looking around as he slowly raised his hands.
Gun still raised between them, Glenn gestured that he should "Step away from the table, slowly."
Himself misunderstanding, or not interested in playing along, the man didn't move at all for a moment, and then threw himself suddenly into the plastic pipes beside him, toppling the shelves onto Daryl. Not having surprised himself with the bold move, the man snatched the knife from the counter, let out a piercing screech, and bolted back down the aisle away from Glenn, making a run for the front door.
"I'm OK," shouted Daryl, as he worked to disentangle himself and his bow from the mess.
Confident his partner was not harmed, and knowing their new friend was escaping, Glenn sprinted up the aisle on his side, eyes locked on the street door at its end. Weapon up, he turned into the space in front of that exit, just before the bearded man was able to cross the width of the store's front to reach it.
On seeing his escape cut off, the man stopped short and raised his knife again, clearly not ready to surrender. Deeper in the store, the clatter of plastic subsided as Daryl finally freed himself; but the man stayed focused only on Glenn and the exit beside him.
Without warning, that door opened onto Glenn, with a happy jingle entirely out of sync with its force enough to knock him to the floor.
Quickly, another, similarly dressed figure was on top of Glenn in a quick, and brief, change to the balance of power.
In a rapid succession of tag-team grunts, blows, stumbles and curses, Glenn found himself holding his gun on the newer, dark-bearded arrival, prone on the ground before him, while Daryl and their first find wrestled in the wide aisle beside the cash register.
Though Daryl knew that he was probably stronger than his slimmer and apparently younger opponent, the other man was quickly turning out to be more flexible. By sheer contortion, he managed to slip out of Daryl's grip, and wrangle himself above the cursing Dixon, bringing his knife uncomfortably close. Face-to-face in another stalemate, the young man growled, again a mix of rumble and squeal.
"Let him go," shouted Glenn, not doubting Daryl's ability to best the other man, but not wanting to test it either. "I've got your friend here. We don't want to hurt anybody; but you need to let him GO!" He raised his eyebrows at his own captive, suggesting he join in persuasive effort.
"Stop!" the man on the ground shouted, his eyes not moving from the wrestling pair, but clearly not speaking to his own companion. He slowly drew himself to his knees, arms somewhere between upright surrender and outstretched plea. He looked at the strangers, not sure whom to beseech. "Please don't. He can't hear you... He can't hear!"
The walker who slammed against the front window at that moment suggested that it could hear them all, and was eager to join their tense company.
tbc...