Now is not the time for fear. That comes later.
"Hard to believe there's still stuff out here for the taking," Carl mumbled, rifling through the shelves of the Gateway Grocer.
Beside him, Michonne made a noise of agreement as she gathered canned goods from the shelves and stowed them into her pack. She'd been quiet all morning, mentioning 'something' in the air as they left their shelter, but what, she wasn't sure. She'd been on high alert during the half-day trek from the homestead they'd fortified last spring, her dark eyes sweeping the deserted streets of the little community. The walk, however, had been blissfully uneventful, and the samurai had relaxed slightly, chattering casually with Carl as they began a routine sweep of the store. Daryl was with them, and had made a beeline for the back of the building, muttering something about "Maggie's damn list," and left Carl and Michonne to gather what they could for food.
When Michonne had finished stashing creamed corn (she made a face) and baked beans (another sigh), she clicked her flashlight on and ducked her head, making sure she hadn't missed anything. "Even at the end of the world, nobody likes baked beans. That's all that's left," she joked, squinting in the bright stream of light from the flashlight.
She grinned suddenly, and a small laugh chortled in her throat. "Hey," she spoke, addressing Carl as she reached to the back of the shelf and curled her fingers around her new found glory. "Feel like arm wrestling?"
Carl turned and smiled broadly at the Kit Kat dangling between Michonne's long fingers. "You're on," he agreed. He shouldered his pack and nodded towards the front counter where the cash registers sat, silent and untouched for almost five years now. "Hey, Daryl," Carl called over his shoulder.
"Yeah," the gruff reply came from somewhere near the pharmacy.
"Come judge this so Michonne doesn't cheat again."
Michonne balked at Carl and shoved him playfully. "I don't cheat," she insisted. She wrapped a hand around Carl's bicep and looked him straight in the eyes – he'd grown during the summer. It was October, more or less, and he was the same height as her, soon to go past that and catch up to Rick. Hell, he'd probably even be taller than him. "Sides, you've toughened up, Grimes. Bet you could take me this time." She moved to one side of the counter, gesturing for Carl to take his place on the other side.
"What now?" Daryl sighed, rounding the corner, shoving the meager pill stash he'd found into his pack, and spotting Carl and Michonne squaring off over the counter. "What are the stakes?"
Placing their right elbows on the counter, the kid and the samurai grinned before locking in their grips. "Chocolate bar," Carl announced, nodding to where the Kit Kat lay in its shiny red wrapper.
Daryl rolled his eyes and huffed. "Just hurry up."
"Yeah, yeah," Michonne muttered. "This may take some time – I don't plan on letting him off easy this time."
"Bring it on, M," Carl smirked, flexing his fingers around Michonne's hand. "Daryl, say when."
Daryl scanned the darkened store and let his eyes flit back to the pair about to arm wrestle. "Yeah, whatever. Go."
Arms tensed, and stances grew rigid, feet connecting to the floor as Carl and Michonne went for broke, grunting and grinning in surprise at each other's strength.
"Good arm, kid," Michonne growled, digging in and gaining leverage once more.
"Kid?" Carl blew out, ruffling his hair from his eyes. "I'm almost sixteen, you know."
"Still a kid," Michonne grunted, determined not to let him win easily. She knew he was going to win; he was wiry and strong, and hauling back on the string of Daryl's crossbow all summer as the archer taught him the finer points of hunting, had fortified solid shoulder and back muscles.
"Give it up, ol' lady," Carl chuckled, turning the tables and coming over the top. He'd barely broken a sweat, and Michonne's forehead was beaded as she curled her lip up with exertion.
She scoffed at his remark and took another breath, trying for one last heave to make him eat his words, but Carl was solid, and he was focused, something that Michonne admired for a kid his age. Growing up at the end of the world certainly did something for a young person. She flexed her arm, unwittingly giving Carl an opening, and she cried out in defeat as the back of her hand met the table. With a whoop of triumph, Carl pulled free of Michonne's grasp and threw his hand in the air.
"Yes!" He yelped, smacking his hand down on the glass for good measure. "Who's the champion!"
Michonne sighed, but chuckled at Carl's exuberance. "Good show, kid." Standing up straight, her hand went for the Kit Kat to present to Carl. It wasn't there, and that was when the audible crunching, and rustling of cellophane drew her eyes towards Daryl.
He was licking his fingers clean of chocolate, his cheek bulging out with an obvious mouthful of crispy wafers and milk chocolate. "Whut?" He muttered, flicking crumbs from his vest.
Carl groaned and threw his hands up, before shooting an incredulous look towards Daryl. "Seriously?"
Daryl shrugged. "Hungry," he muttered. "Needed a break."
Michonne snickered and shook her head, clapping Daryl on the shoulder. "You could have shared," she chided.
He shrugged again, feeling not the least bit guilty for consuming their prize. "C'mon. We need to head back. It'll get dark, soon."
With a frustrated growl, Carl hefted his pack up and slung it over his shoulders. Michonne followed suit, and together, the three of them slipped out into the early afternoon sun and turned east.
Something wasn't quite right. Daryl had taken note of Michonne's sense of unease that morning, but had worn off as soon as they entered the grocer. Carl's occasional grumbling over the chocolate bar had eventually died down as the trio eased into the trees. Daryl had signaled for silence, and Carl and Michonne had fallen into position automatically – silently flanking the archer in a standard 'V' formation, trailing behind him as he took point. With a quick glance at Michonne, Daryl gave a faint nod, which she returned. That unease was back, and the forest grew more silent as they pushed in. It wasn't walkers; they would have heard the undead coming. There was nothing, no birds, no small animals under the fallen leaves, nothing. The air had stilled, too, the wind dying down, and the sun was exceptionally hot for the season. It was stale, and hazy in the woods, and it felt like the air had been sucked out when they stepped in. Daryl's shoulders twitched.
With one smooth movement, he swung the loaded crossbow up and pressed the stock into his shoulder, and his steps crossed over as he sank down low and scanned the woods for anything. Casting a sideways glance, he caught the flash of Michonne's blade as it sailed silently from its sheath on her back, and her dark eyes cut to his for a second, before she stepped ahead, her knees bent, legs ready to attack, or run, whichever seemed more prudent. Daryl then looked to Carl. The young man had picked up on something, and was easing past a wide copse of pecan trees, Jessamine creepers tangling along the trunks. His hand hovered over the 9mm pistol fitted with the barrel silencer he'd fashioned in the prison, and though his steps were less stealthy, he was still cautious.
But even as Carl stepped past the trees, Daryl knew something was coming, and he barely had time to grunt the kid's name before hands reached out, grabbing onto Carl's pack, and neatly hauling him back. A knife blade flashed, and Daryl swore, before arcing the crossbow and aiming past Carl's head, focusing on the stranger.
Carl struggled, surprised, and wrapped a hand around the wrist that pressed the blade against his throat. The stranger's other hand wound up and clapped a hand over his mouth, twisting his head to one side, effectively shutting him up. He couldn't see anything beyond Daryl standing, aiming a bolt, and the perfect sting of the blade made his whole body stiffen as it bit into the flesh under his chin.
"Call em' off," a feminine voice rasped.
Carl wiggled, twisting his face out of her cold fingers. "You alone?" he tried.
The hand that slipped from his mouth slid back into his hair and his head was yanked back, the tip of the blade settling into the hollow of his throat. "I don't want to hurt him!"
Daryl's finger caressed the trigger of the crossbow as he weighed the situation. Carl's attacker was female, and going on that, he deduced she was alone. If she'd been with others, he guessed a man would have attacked. He couldn't make out anything beyond a tattered grey cap she had pulled down over her head, and a dirty length of material she'd wound about her nose and mouth. All Daryl could really see was her eyes, and where she held the blade against Carl's throat. But her eyes were frantic, and they darted about. Daryl flicked his gaze to the right, and found that Michonne had vanished.
Daryl lowered the crossbow, his focus still alert and on the girl, but the threat gone. He knew Michonne was circling behind the girl as he straightened, and let his finger leave the trigger. He held up his free hand. "Don't want any trouble. You alone out here?"
The girl didn't answer, and instead made short work of the straps of Carl's pack, slicing them with a quick flick of her wrist. The pack fell with a metallic thud, the cans of food clicking together, and she kicked it behind her. Her fingers flexed around the handle of the knife. "I'm taking this," she said by way of the pack. "And I'm leaving. Don't follow me."
"It's all right," Daryl murmured, taking a cautious step towards her and Carl. "He ain't gonna hurt ya none. Ease off."
"Don't come any closer," she warned, pulling Carl back against her.
Carl strained, craning his neck, trying to see something – anything – and ended up with a knick under his chin. He hissed, and then swore again as the fingers in his hair tightened.
Daryl switched tactics. "You're alone? Come with us. We have food. Shelter. You can stay until you get your strength back. Don't do something you'll regret."
The girl chuckled, and in a flash she'd released Carl, shoving him away and into Daryl. She stooped and scooped up the pack, and then turned to bolt.
Michonne's blade flashed in the afternoon light. "Leave the pack," she warned.
The girl staggered back, a soft exclamation leaving her. Her eyes widened, and then she shut them, and shook her head furiously. "You're not real," she growled, before opening her eyes once more and advancing on Michonne.
It could hardly be called a struggle. The girl was so undernourished that Michonne easily avoided her advances, knocking the knife free with the hilt of the sword. Kicking one leg out, she tripped the girl, spun her in the process, and put her on her knees facing Daryl and Carl.
With the tip of her blade pressed between the girl's shoulders, Michonne watched as Daryl stalked forward. Michonne swooped down and plucked the knife from the deadfall and tossed it to Daryl, who caught it by the handle and inspected it. His blood ran cold as he recognized the hilt. The last time he'd seen this knife, it was tucked into Beth's belt. He bit his tongue at the memory, and didn't dare to hope. Instead, he snarled at the girl before him. "Where'd you get this?" he demanded, standing over the girl.
She shook her head, her thin shoulders shaking. A second later a wretched sob sailed up. Daryl's hand snatched the cap from her head, and a fall of bright blonde hair fell forward, the tips brushing her chin. "I said where'd you get this?" he barked, bending down to look into her eyes.
She blinked furiously, her clear blue eyes wide, and wet with tears. Daryl's heart hammered in his chest almost painfully as he took in the upper features of her face, her high forehead streaked with dirt and road grime, and a thin, silver scar running through one dark eyebrow. He growled, and dug his fingers into the cloth that wrapped the girl's face, yanking it down, leaving it to hang at her throat. Gripping her chin, he forced her face up to his gaze.
"Beth," he breathed, before stumbling back. His eyes widened as he struggled to take her in.
Behind him, Carl swore out loud, and stomped through the grass. He froze where Daryl had fallen to his ass, and gaped at the girl they all thought was gone.
Beth stared hard at Daryl, her gaze falling out of focus. "Oh, Daryl," she sighed, sagging back on her heels. "I've been looking everywhere for you." She laughed once, light, and airy, and hysterical, before going limp, and falling sideways into the dead leaves.
