Proof read this so many times and it still feels wrong. Sorry if the Daryl and Merle characterizations are off, they're hard characters to write! Haha. But thank you to the lovely people who faved and followed this, it means a lot, and another thanks to FanFicGirl10 who posted the very first review to this story, it was lovely.
Just a quick heads up about racial slurs in this story, which I forgot to add to the summary.
And also, before I finish my ramble, if there's any Americans reading this, then would it be a hassle to get someone to help me out with a few questions I have about some little things? Please PM me, it would be awesome.
Anywayyy. Enjoy & please review.
There's a quarry, 38 miles north west of home, and that's where Merle decides they're camping, probably decided long ago. It's a good spot, Holly decides after having a quick look around; they're surrounded by forest, and the camping area itself is big enough that they won't be taken by surprise should anything want to attack them. But then, there's no houses, no towns, nothing, around for miles and miles, and maybe they'll be safe there. All they have to do is wait this out, right? Wait for the military to deal with the geeks and then they'll be able to go home and piece back together their lives. Seems easy enough.
As soon as they've pulled up, the younger of the brothers, Daryl, starts pulling all kinds of bags and boxes out of the pick-up's tray, and Holly thinks they must have raided all the camping stores in town for all they have. Daryl unceremoniously shoves a rectangle box at her and she's both surprised and unsurprised to find it's a tent.
"You're prepared," Holly voices, beginning to peel the tape off the top of the box.
"Transmissions been gettin' more an more urgent, girly. Haven't ya been payin' any attention?" Merle is the one who responds to her from the other side of the truck, despite the fact that she really made the comment to Daryl. "Went down to the campin' store in the middle of town to take all the shit I could, didn' count on the nigger already bein' one o' them. That made it easy. Was even easier puttin' my machete through his skull." And he tips his head back and laughs, all the way from his belly, like he's told the funniest joke ever. Holly thinks she might be sick, decides that Merle is definitely mad.
Daryl is moving around, setting up his tent, ignoring the things that Merle is saying, he must have heard this story before. Is he sickened by it too? Mr. Tanner who owned the camping store was a nice guy, she saw him around town sometimes, he always said hello to her and her friends with an easy, polite smile. Mr. Tanner had two kids, girls, both younger than Holly. One was away at med school. Holly hopes that wherever she is, she's safe. The other lived at home with her dad. She doesn't want to know what happened to her; it probably wouldn't be pleasant.
Holly sighs sadly, idly turning the heavy tent box over so the contents will fall out onto the patch of ground she's picked for herself. She ignores the sting of tears when she can't help but let thoughts of her own mother invade her brain. She was in bed, sleeping after staying up all night keeping a look out when one got her. It just ambled into their fucking house like it was invited, having smelt fresh meat for it to feed on. She didn't scream, didn't wake up in time to do so; it tore straight through her throat. Holly ran in there when she heard the mindless, flesh-lust gurgle of the geek, but it had been too late. The thing was so distracted that it didn't even notice Holly was there; she was able to run to the kitchen, grab an old, blunted knife from the knife block, and stick it straight through the back of the head of the monster.
Looking down now, Holly notices her hands are shaking just like they did when she dropped the knife in surprise at herself. Her mother laid there with lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, and all Holly could do was run straight back out. She packed up a bag of clothes, mind not clear enough - or perhaps too clear - to take any trinkets, anything with sentimental meaning. It was a big hiking bag she had, bought from Mr. Tanners store when she was younger and needed it for a school camping trip. When the bag was stuffed almost full, she had made her way to the kitchen, collected the rest of the knives from the block, and all the imperishable foods she could carry from the pantry. It's like she was on auto pilot. There was no thought involved in the whole process, and if Holly had stopped and allowed herself to think, just for one moment, about any of the events that had just occurred she wouldn't have been able to do anything.
She grabbed her car keys from the table in the entry way before heading outside through the open front door, and all she could see was chaos. Only the day before the infection hadn't spread to town. All there was were alerts on the radio, on the TV, everywhere, but none of it became real until the moment that Holly was standing on the front step of the house she had lived in since she was 7, watching the world turn to shit right in front of her very eyes.
There was two of the monsters tearing a businessman from down the street up, on the hood of her car, and she didn't even take a second to process anything before her feet carried her so fast by them she didn't even remember doing it.
Holly ran. Ran through the chaos, and all she could do was pray that none of them got to her. Holly wasn't a warrior, she wasn't a fighter; she wasn't built for this world, and almost all the way through the housing estate she ran, because there was nothing else she could do. Just run and run and ignore the burning in her legs and the pain in her chest and the hungry groans of the not-dead, but there was no other plan formulating in her disorganised head. Just run until there was no where else to go, until she couldn't, and they got her, and maybe one day, if there was anyone left, it could be said that at least she tried.
But then she was stopped dead in her tracks, not because she couldn't run anymore, not because one of them got her, but because right in front of her, ripping up a young boy, was Holly's best friend.
Holly blinks, brought back to the present by Merle calling to her across the cleaning, "Ya even know how to set that up?" The brothers already have their 4-man tent set up, Daryl carting stuff from the ground by their pick-up over to where they were situated.
"I know how," Holly mutters, moving to unroll the tent, which smelt of new nylon. It's an ugly shade of green, but beggars can't be choosers. It's pitch black by the time she's all set up, must have taken her a fair while because Merle and Daryl are sitting by a fire on the other side of the clearing, eating from cans. Holly rubs her head, tired, sore, completely drained, but she knows she too should eat something, so she dumps all her clothes onto the otherwise-bare floor of her tent and carries her hiking bag over to where they are. They only have two camping chairs, already occupied, and she figures that the Georgian natives aren't the kind of kids that were raised to give up their chair for a lady, so she just plops down unceremoniously on the hard, warm ground.
She digs through her bag before finding a tin of spaghetti. "Can I please borrow a fork?" Holly noticed that they at least had forks, and they were just holding the cans in their hands, finished eating.
Merle licks his fork clean and hands it over to her, with a calm smile that makes her skin crawl, just a little. All decorum aside, she just wipes it off on the bottom of her already-filthy shirt and pulls open the spaghetti. It's the cheap shit that doesn't need to be cooked, though heating it up would be nice. Of course they don't have anything for her to heat it up in. Holly starts eating, she didn't even realise how hungry she was until she started eating, but by the time she's done the tin she's not even sure she can keep it down. After the events of the day, the last thing she thought she'd be was sitting around a campfire with the almost-silent Dixon brothers, eating shit spaghetti. She ends up bowed over her crossed legs, stomach turning over and over and she thinks she's going to vomit, but after a few painfully slow minutes, it settles. The brothers are up off their chairs before she's sat up again and she figures that they must be heading to bed. It's been a long fucking day, for all three of them.
Merle heads towards the forest, and any genius can figure out that he probably just needs to piss, while Daryl heads over towards the back of the pick up truck. Holly sits there for a few more moments, staring into the bright, angry flames of the small fire they have, before getting up to head across to her own tent.
"Kid," Daryl says, the first thing he's said to her since just after she climbed into the pick up truck and he said, 'are ya bit? Scratched?' and all she did was shake her head. She moves slowly, achingly over to where Daryl is standing. "Here, it's a piece a shit but there's only one other and it's in just as bad shape." He hands her a rolled up air mattress and a bike pump for it. The Dixons really do think of everything, for 'dumbass rednecks,' as her mother used to say.
"What about you guys?" she asks quietly, hugging the mattress to her.
"Already got ours in the tent," he shrugs. She can only just make out one side of his face, because of the dim fire a few meters away, he looks apathetic, and she knows that people like Merle and Daryl Dixon are people that are built for this world, in every way that she's not. It's written all over their rough exteriors, this is probably just another day for them, this whole surviving business.
Holly doesn't say that though, it's not a kind thing to say, so instead she says, "Thank you."
"Ya can't sleep on the ground," is Daryl's simple reply, because even when they were both kids, he never did say a lot.
"No…I meant for stopping. I thought…I'd be on my own," she says softly, eyes cast towards the ground. Daryl has never been an easy person to talk to, and thanking him - especially for something so big - is damn near impossible.
"It was Merle that stopped, not me." His voice is gruff, and Holly thinks that if she were looking at his face that it would be hard, cold, as per usual. It's not something that's easy to get used to, but she thinks she might have to, now that it's just her and the Dixon brothers sitting on the edge of the world, surviving together for God knows how long.
Holly doesn't say anything to that, she doesn't want to presumptuously say that she didn't think it was Merle's idea, why would Merle stop for her, he doesn't even know her, probably wouldn't have any issue leaving her there, whereas Daryl knew her sort of, had since they were kids. He was always a quiet kid, didn't talk to her much, didn't talk to anyone much. Occasionally he acknowledged her existence, couldn't stop himself from doing so this time, couldn't leave someone he knew behind when they were about to get ripped limb from limb. But Holly doesn't say any of these things; she's probably way off the mark she knows, so she just nods once and turns towards her tent. She doesn't expect a 'goodnight', doesn't get one.
Holly crawls into her tent and starts pumping up her air mattress, letting thoughts cloud her mind as she does so, and the weight of the last hours finally sink in to her; she is alone.