Safe

Chapter 2

AN: This was originally meant to be a one shot, but after I finished the last chapter I got to thinking about how awkward the next morning would be. So now this story has a plot and will get at least a few more chapters :)

Merle had put up very little fight when Daryl informed him matter-of-factly that Glenn was going to be traveling with them. He'd grunted and taken a swig of the whiskey Glenn had led them to, and said "he can come. But he's gonna haf'ta ride bitch." Glenn had shot a questioning look at Daryl, but his back was turned as he loaded Glenn's duffel bags in the back of the truck. Glenn decided that what ever riding bitch meant, it was better than staying here. Probably.

With the addition of Glenn's supplies and a good sized chunk of the liquor store's inventory of cheap, white trash booze, the bed of Daryl's pickup was too full for someone to even stand in. Bitch, as it turned out, just meant that Glenn had to sit in the center on the single long bench seat up front. Most days the idea of riding pressed cheek to cheek with not one but two scary rednecks would have made him uncomfortable to say the least, but considering the possibilities that had been running through his mind all morning since Merle had said it, Glenn was actually relieved and a little grateful. The cab was a tight squeeze for three, a fact which was not helped by Merle's need to attempt to sprawl out as best he could, but Glenn had fairly slim hips and by keeping his arms crossed in front of him he was able to minimize what would undoubtedly be considered unwelcome body contact.

There were two things, Glenn decided, that could adequately describe Merle Dixon. The first was annoying, attention whoring asshole. He fidgeted constantly, complained loudly in a voice a good two decibels above what would have been comfortable in the confined truck cab, and saying all manner of incendiary things to Glenn, ranging from improbable ethnic slurs to implying that his mother had an affinity for fellating dock workers and recently ashore sailors. Glenn was ordinarily the type not to take any shit off of ignorant fuckers like Merle, but decided that in this situation his best option was to stare straight ahead and try like hell to pretend that Merle wasn't there. The last thing he wanted to do was offend Daryl and find his ass on the side of the road weaponless with no supplies.

The second thing, fortunately, was that Merle was easily bored. After an hour or so with no response from Glenn and no agreement from Daryl, his stream of invective started to die down until finally he sat silent and brooding staring out the passenger side window. Pretty soon after that he fell asleep.

Glenn suspected that the reason Merle hadn't pitched a fit about bring him along was because he had hoped to get a reaction or some conversation out of somebody. The one thing that adequately described Daryl was taciturn. He almost never spoke and when he did it was either a grunt or a terse answer to a direct question. He just stared at the road, right hand on the steering wheel, left dangling out the open window. Pre-zombie apocalypse Glenn would have been highly miffed at this. In his world of fast talking pizza boys and petty crooks, you didn't trust someone who was too quiet. Made you think they might have something to hide. Survivor Glenn on the other hand found it oddly comforting. Glenn himself was a nervous chatterer. Daryl's silence conveyed the message that he didn't need to talk things out. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.

"Fuck" Glenn was startled at the unprovoked profanity and glanced over at Daryl who was wadding up an empty cigarette box and tossing it out the window. He reached instantly for the backpack at his feet.

"Here I might have some." Glenn tended to take his backpack everywhere, making it a dumping ground of all the crap his friends didn't want to carry.

He found a squished box of Camels in the front pocket under a box of matches and a Taylor Swift CD. He lit two of them and handed one to Daryl, puffing carefully on the other as he contemplated the CD.

"You mind if I?" He gestured vaguely toward the CD player in the dashboard.

Daryl glanced at the CD with a raised eyebrow but said "Knock yourself out."

"Girlfriend" Glenn explained as he unwrapped the plastic off of it. He had never gotten a chance to give it to her. He hoped Kelsey and her brother had made it home and were completely walled up in their parents giant colonial mansion. Wouldn't do to dwell on it though, he pushed those thoughts aside as he hit play.

He'd never minded Taylor Swift, but right now, it was awful. The lyrics were trite, her voice grating, the background music just worthless noise. He tried skipping though to find something tolerable, but it was all the same. Pointless. Not to mention love songs were especially depressing given the fact that as far as he could tell, the end of the world was a total sausage fest. He jammed the eject button with more force than necessary and tossed the CD back into his pack without even putting it in the box.

"Glove-box" Glenn glanced up at Daryl, who was becoming down right talkative. He reached for the catch on the glove-box.

There was a small case inside full of CDs. All of them were country and rock and roll, none of that girly shit. Taking a moment to decide, Glen popped in a medley with stuff from a lot of his favorite country artists.

Terrible. This shit was supposed to be inspirational? All their problems were stupid, their triumphs and romances inconsequential. The lyrics were lousy and the twangy voices were drivin him nuts. Glenn tried several of them hoping for better results. Country was clearly out. He skimmed through most of the rock albums, dismissing them almost as soon as he registered them, and settled for an early Megadeath CD. If there ever was an appropriate sountrack for the way life had gone to hell, surely it was hard core heavy metal.

He got less than half way through High Speed Dirt before he hit stop again. Stupid Stupid Stupid. It was impossible to listen to how bad ass someone was when that same someone was more likely than not Zombie food.

Glenn listened to the static of the radio for a moment before snapping the whole thing off with a huff. Daryl chortled next to him.

"I can't handle any of that hackneyed shit anymore either." Glenn burst out laughing. Daryl gave his little half smile and kept driving.

Around noon they came upon a seemingly deserted parking lot half filled with cars. Merle snapped awake when Daryl stopped the car. Daryl went around to the back and pulled out two red gasoline cans and a pair of tubes. He handed one to Merle and one to Glenn.

"See what ya'll can get. I need ta go take a leak." Crossbow on his shoulder, Daryl disappeared into the trees.

Glenn and Daryl sized each other up for a moment, then Merle took his can and went to the far side of the parking lot, banging the end of his shot gun on the cars so any zombies would show themselves. Glenn took his own can and went to the opposite side.

Several of the cars were empty, their gas tanks left open as a sign that other survivors had been by here. It was the first he'd seen that he and the Dixon's weren't alone in the world and he gave a short whoop of joy. Merle glanced up from across the parking lot, but apparently decided it wasn't worth mentioning.

Parked next to the wooden post that held the sign for the store, way down at the end of row six, Glenn found an Escalade with an almost full tank. He set to work, watching as his can slowly filled.

Halfway through he thought he heard a sound, but when he swung around there was nothing. He carefully surveyed the surrounding area. Nothing anywhere around. He turned back to watch the gas trickle into the can.

Another sound, indistinguishable. Probably nothing. The can was full now so Glenn went to screw on the cap. He heard a soft thunk sound and felt a definite breeze past his back. He spun around to see a geek, pinned to the post less than a yard away with an arrow through his head. Glenn started to hyperventilate. He did a 360 turn, looking for more walkers, but all he saw was an irked looking Daryl making his way over to him. Glenn instantly calmed down. Daryl retrieved his arrow and put it in a special pocket of his quiver, away from the other arrows. It was all Glenn could do not to grab him into a bear hug.

"You done?" Glenn nodded. Daryl turned toward the truck. "Merle, get your ass back here. It's time to go."

Merle sauntered over, his own gas can full and sealed. "I'm gonna ride the bike for a bit lil' brother. Give you and your pet here some alone time."

"No you fuckin' ain't." Glenn tried to make himself invisible as he avidly watched the brothers' back and forth. Merle glared the both of them.

"The hell you think you are? I need me some fresh air. No good being cooped up too long. We got gas now, I'm taking the bike."

Daryl loaded the gas cans into the bed in the truck as if he was not at all scared that he had just pissed off and crazy redneck. "We're too close to the city. The bike's too loud. The people at the survivor camp aren't goin' to take to kindly to us bringing every walker in a ten mile radius to their door. 'Sides, the bike's boxed in by all our other shit. It'd take an hour just to unload the damn thing."

Merle continued to glare at Daryl, but made no other argument as he climbed into the passenger side of the cab. Glenn's respect for Daryl went up threefold.

Merle stayed awake the rest of the afternoon, but he was far less unpleasant than he had been that morning. He didn't insult Glenn other than to mutter "faggot" under his breath when Glenn pulled a summer sausage out of his sack, but anything else he was going to say was stymied by Glenn cutting a chunk off with his Swiss Army knife and handing it to him. After that he was nearly pleasant. He spent most of remainder of the trip telling them surprisingly hilarious stories from his time in the army, and later, prison. He still used a plethora of increasingly offensive ethnic slurs (and he always gave Glenn a sideways glance when he was referring to an asian), but the mood in the car was almost jovial. Glenn laughed at some of the crazier stories, and Daryl was smiling more often than not, though Glenn had no doubt he had heard them all before. They passed the afternoon and early evening with relative ease.

The camp was at once a disappointment and a relief. Relief because there were people there. All kinds of people, men, women, a few children, no rednecks. Disappointment because they really weren't any better off than he and the Dixons. There were no buildings unless you counted the ancient RV, no military, no organization. Only five of the people were visibly armed, he suspected because they had very few weapons to begin with.

The whole camp watched warily as the pickup pulled up. A big guy with a police academy T-shirt on approached them cautiously, both hands clutched around his massive shotgun. Glenn saw his grip tighten as Merle climbed out, but he seemed to relax when Glenn followed him. Glenn felt a little offended at that.

"Welcome" His tone didn't sound too welcoming, but he wasn't telling them to fuck off so Glenn decided to let it slide. If there was one thing Glenn was good at it was getting people to like him.

"Hi. I'm Glenn, this is Daryl" Daryl nodded "and his brother Merle." Merle just stood there like an asshole. "They saved me from the Liquor Depot over in Mableton." Glenn injected as much awe and gratitude into the words as he could.

It did the trick. Mr. Cop softened his grip on the shot gun noticeably, Daryl and Merle going from potential troublemakers to selfless, heroic survivors like himself. Glenn had no doubt Merle would shatter those illusions pretty quickly, but hopefully by then he and Daryl would be entrenched enough that they wouldn't be able to just kick them all out.

The others in the camp started to slowly come forward to inspect them. When it became obvious that the Dixon's weren't in the mood for casual conversation, the group swarmed around Glenn who happily answered all their questions in between asking about life at camp. The small swarm listened attentively to the harrowing adventures of his previous two months and his daring rescue by the Dixons. The story he told may have been slightly embellished from the truth, but he doubted Daryl would bother to call him on it if he ever found out. He chattered until his throat was dry and he desperately had to pee.

When Glenn emerged from the woods a few minutes later, he stood indecisive for a moment. To his left was the bulk of the group, clustered around low campfires and talking softly amongst themselves. He could see a spot at one of them where he would fit, he recognized most of the group sitting there. On his right Daryl sat stoic, carefully burning the zombie blood off of the arrow he had used to save Glenn's life earlier. Merle sat beside him, nursing a half empty bottle of Jim Beam. Glenn made a half step toward them, when he heard one of the women call his name.

"Glenn! Over here I saved you a spot!" With a last look, Glenn went over to sit next to Amy. She instantly tucked her arm through his elbow.

"So Glenn, tell us about the first time you had sex."

"AMY!" Andrea gave her sister a playful shove as Glenn turned fire engine red.

"I don't. . . I'm not-"

"You don't have to answer that son." The old man (Glenn has already forgotten his name) patted his back firmly before turning back to the can he was heating over the campfire.

"Amy was planning to be a psych major. She has this idea that if we all share really personal stories we'll gel better as a group." Chuckles all around. "She hasn't gotten anyone to answer one of her questions yet."

"It's important to form a strong sense of camaraderie. Having good bonds will make us stronger as a group." Amy looked very close to pouting.

"I think the running for our damn fool lives ought ta be plenty of bonding for anyone." Shane the cop stirred the embers.

With that the subject was closed and the topic was shifted to something less invasive. Glenn let their chatter wash over him, absorbing the sense of community that he had always taken for granted before the end of the world. Without conscious thought his eyes drifted over to where the Dixon brothers sat several yards away. Merle was gesticulating wildly now, his mouth constantly moving as he told some no doubt highly politically incorrect story. Daryl had a little half smile as he focused on roasting an unidentifiable hunk of meat over the flame of their small camp stove.

Glenn turned back to his own campfire. He wouldn't be welcome over there now. Amy smiled and scooted a little closer to him under the pretense of stealing a bite of his beans as T-Dog began to regale them with a funny story about 'crazy asshole' he used to know. Glenn glanced toward Daryl one more time and felt a sudden yearning for that quiet stillness.