The Walking Dead: Here, No Evil
by mirwalker
Chapter 2: Distant Connections
Glenn, Daryl and the dark-bearded man all flinched at the walker's noisy introduction. The dirty blond stranger holding the knife to Daryl's face paid no heed to the growling fifth wheel just a few feet and a pane of glass away.
"He's Deaf; he can't hear you. Please, let me?" asked Glenn's prisoner plaintively, now looking at directly him with a new level of anxiety and urgency. A large, lighter-colored scar flashed along one side of his tanned face, as he flushed from the fight and fear of the moment. "Let him see that I've surrendered, and he will. I promise. Please? Before more rottens show up…"
Glenn glanced at Daryl's struggle on the floor, with a blade still much too close for comfort. His own prisoner was offering a way to safely break the standoff. But if he let the talker move closer, it could easily become a two-on-one against Daryl, in quarters so close as to make firing at the human pile too dangerous. Maybe the other guy could hear perfectly well; and this was just their go-to scam when things went bad. Still, the knife-wielder hadn't reacted to the walker at all; and that certain threat to them all was continuing to make a noisy effort to join them.
So, he couldn't wait for the walker to break in, or hope that Daryl would triumph quickly; and this guy's story and intentions seemed true. The only thing Glenn could be confident of in the moment was his own quick reflexes and true aim. "OK; but don't get too close, keep your hands where I can see them, and if you try anything…" He wiggled the pistol to give both permission and threat.
With an obvious relief, the man gave a brief nod, and slowly crawled toward the stalemated pair, until he could wave a hand into his friend's field of vision from a few feet away. He narrated aloud as he gestured with one hand, "Stop. Let him go. It's over. Stop!"
For his part, Glenn explained the larger situation for his teammate, "Daryl, I've got a bead on his head; if he tries anything, be ready for him to drop…"
On becoming aware only of the hand gesturing to him, the lighter-haired stranger glanced quickly between his friend and his opponent. He snarled one more time at Daryl, as if for good measure; and then slowly, grudgingly, eased his grip, dropped the knife aside and began rolling off.
As the friend batted the knife beyond arms' reach to cement their surrender, Daryl took advantage of the lessened threat, and pushed the now-captive off him. As everyone stood toward a slightly less acute standoff, Daryl parted ways with a loud "Sonnavabitch!," and a roundhouse punch that sent the man spinning to the floor at his friend's feet.
"Hey!" the other shouted, hands groping for any weapon on the shelf beside him, until Glenn's gun-tracking stopped him.
"Daryl!" Glenn chided his companion as well, not wanting the situation to return to worse, certainly not because of actions by his side.
Slowly the dark-haired stranger knelt beside his wounded companion, sparing his bleeding nose and lip as much attention as he could while both watched their captors warily. The lighter-haired man flinched as the touch, but nodded nonetheless that he was OK—his angry gaze not veering from plaid-clad bowman.
Ignoring the likely hateful look, Daryl shook his hand out, and in one clean motion picked up the discarded knife, opened the exterior door and stuck it deep into the forehead of the eager walker. With a short gurgle, it fell back onto the sidewalk, finally still and quiet.
With both opponents vanquished, and his most acute aggression sated, Daryl stepped beside the store counter to pick up his fallen crossbow, and announced instead, "Well, well, look what else we have here." He stepped behind the ancient register, and lifted up two large, tightly packed expedition backpacks. Tucked away as they'd been, and noticeably less dusty than everything else in the place, he guessed, "These wouldn't happen to belong to y'all now, would they?"
The glare from both men confirmed he'd found their on-the-go lives. The look Glenn shot him suggested he not further escalate things. Daryl ignored all.
"What's your story?" Glenn asked the newcomers to re-set the tone of the interaction, as Daryl tossed the packs on the counter and began poking through their pockets and compartments, despite and perhaps because it bothered the others.
"The short version," the crossbowman clarified, as he looked out the storefront to check what other company the episode may have invited their way. Not that his impatience seemed that out-of-character in general.
The darker-haired stranger handed the handkerchief press to the bearded blond, and gestured calmly and consistently as he spoke, keeping the silent partner informed of the conversation. "We were on a Boy Scout wilderness week above Dahlonega, when- when everything went down. We found nothing—no one in Atlanta, and then followed rumors to Ft Benning." He shook his head, confirming that there'd been no sanctuary there, nor reason to stay.
"Just you two?"
"Yes, sir. The troop …fell apart over time. Just like everything else did." He nodded toward the body and wrecked townscape outside, meaning well beyond it too.
"They got some sweet stuff," Daryl pointed out, as he continued to poke through their packs, pulling at the corner of a thermal foil blanket. "And some really high end gear."
Having already noticed the quality fabrics worn under their ratty hoodies, Glenn glanced back to the dark-headed one, giving him the chance to respond, to explain.
"The sport shops have had some pretty good sales of late; we stocked up…," the young man laughed, hoping they could connect through some looting humor and the resourcefulness that had become a survival skill for everyone. "Look, we don't want any trouble," he offered, quickly putting on the ratty Falcons cap his friend passed back him from where it had fallen to the floor. "Everybody acted like we have to these days—cautious, quickly, strong; so no hard feelings here. If you'll just leave us our stuff, we'll be on our way…"
"What are your names?" Glenn asked, not sure what they should do next.
"Aw, don't make friends," chided Daryl, taking a handful of hot chocolate packets from one pack, before dropping it to the floor again. Making no attempt to hide his actions or opinion, he suggested, "Our little campers here jumped us when we were just trying to say 'hello'…"
"I'm Ben," the spokesman said, continued to translate with whirring fingers, while trying to ignore the unfriendly member of the conversation. "This is Bradley."
Glenn squinted at the silent one, before asking the talkative one, "Have we met? He looks familiar."
"No," Ben shook his head quickly. "We've never seen either of you before."
"'Good' familiar, or 'bad'?" Daryl asked his friend, not wanting the latter to turn into a threat later that could be avoided now.
"Not 'bad,'" Glenn assured; but not able to offer more than that.
"And you?" Ben asked, reminding them that friendly introductions ought to be mutual.
"I'm Glenn, and this is-"
"Not about getting cozy," Daryl interrupted. "We get any good stuff, and we go…"
Glenn stepped closer to him, not turning his back on the newcomers, but trying to cut down on their hearing his divergent opinion. "What do we do with them?"
"Leave 'em," Daryl pointed out the obvious.
"Just walk away? What if they follow? And we can't tie 'em up; they'd be sitting ducks if-"
"Not our problem. We have… other things to concern us." His tone and look made it clear who the other concerns were, without saying outright that they actually had others.
"I don't mean to be pushy," interjected Ben, "but I'm probably not the only one who heard your car pull up. We'd really like not to be here when the guy outside's friends show up." He didn't indicate whether he'd actually overheard, or if he had a particular idea of where he was expecting to go.
Bradley stood up, suggesting that he too was ready to move on, and that some decision needed to be made soon.
"Where were you headed?" asked Glenn. We'll let them do the talking, perhaps offer a solution.
"Thanksgiving's coming up next week," Ben explained. "We were thinking about holing up in one of the nearby houses for a little while. I had just starting checking them out when y'all showed up."
"Ain't nothing here we need right now," whispered Daryl to Glenn. "We can come back with the truck and a few more hands, after we ask around for what hardware we could use…"
"Not if they're waiting here for us," reminded Glenn, not taking his eyes of the two young men. And although he got the sense they were being honest, he added, "And we don't know if they are just two."
Daryl nodded, deciding and announcing therefore that, "Alright. Y'all are going to take your stuff, and hit the road. You're no longer welcome in this little neighborhood, on account of its being ours, and your fight's attracting his possible friends and acquaintances…" He nodded toward the corpse outside.
Glenn shot him a look, as the unilateral banishment was not what he'd had in mind, or at least not ceded power to meet out.
He was even more surprised then, when Ben agreed with no struggle. "That's fine, sir; we understand. If we can just have our packs, and our weapons, we'll be on our way, no trouble."
As Ben spoke, he'd continued to translate for his friend, who looked equally surprised and much more unhappy at the fast agreement; but obviously thought better of arguing with his own ally.
"Keeping those hyper hands where we can see 'em," Daryl instructed, keeping the show moving along in case there were more walkers on the way. "Y'all step on outside and pick a direction. We'll put your stuff down and cover you while you take it and don't come back."
The blond grunted, and motioned intricately to the back of the store.
Ben nodded, and looked back to their judges. "He needs to get his slingshot from the back. He'd been repairing it, I guess when you found each other."
"Great," groaned Daryl, with a resigned exhale. "I'll take blondy back to get his toy; but it's costing you your cocoa." He dropped the packets into his own bag. "If he tries anything, my friend here will shoot you," he warned the spokesman.
"I'll go," insisted Glenn, not entirely trusting Daryl and Bradley not to get into it again, as the fire hadn't fully gone out in either's eyes. "Same warning, though."
With a final explanation and assuring nod from Ben, Bradley limped back down the aisle with Glenn a few steps back, gun drawn.
Ben turned back to find the sullen captor just staring and pointing the crossbow at him, probably with his ears perked for any commotion out of sight, hoping to get to shoot him.
Opposite him, Daryl kept his ears perked for any commotion out of sight, almost hoping to get to shoot this guy.
For a moment they just faced one another, wondering what the other would really do, what he had already done in these ruthless times.
From the back, Glenn announced, "Got it; we're good, and heading back up."
Without a change in expression, Daryl abruptly asked, "Boy Scout or not, why do you hang on with him? These days, ain't too many old ladies to help across the street. So, he's only a burden; gonna get you both killed…"
With hesitation, Ben explained just as adamantly. "He's my brother; I wouldn't leave him for anything."
Daryl looked away as Bradley and the Glenn emerged from the aisle, the latter announcing, "He got his slingshot and materials; looks like he was installing a new rubberband part."
Kicking their bags over toward the door, Daryl didn't waste any additional time on the odd couple siblings. "Grab your packs and head out to street. We'll follow, grab your knife and leave your weapons where you can pick them up and then keep walking."
Ben nodded, and passed the instructions on, prompting them both to pick their way carefully out onto the road—minding Bradley's injured leg, and avoiding the cadaver sprawled across the doorstep.
As promised, Daryl and Glenn kept a sharp eye on them, before Glenn placed their previously dropped or surrendered weapons in a pile between the opposing pairs.
Everyone kept looking around in case their introduction had been taken as an invitation by more walkers.
Backing away, Glenn let Daryl continue the instructions, "Now you can gather your goodies and keep on walking, right out of town."
Not needing to translate, Ben nodded and then waved Bradley forward. Picking up their knives, slingshot and the two-pronged spear that had also been on the sidewalk outside the store, they turned and headed slowly up the little main street without looking back.
As they shrank into the early evening distance, Glenn and Daryl silently admired the clear devotion of the pair, and appreciated having lost nothing more than time in this unexpected confrontation.
Once they were beyond sight, Daryl nodded Glenn back to the store. "Lets' grab a few things, pose our friend in the window and lock up the place. It'll suggest our pretty boys, or anybody else who comes by, to stay out 'til we can get back tomorrow…"
"What did you mean back there, 'pretty boys'?" Glenn asked as soon as they'd completed their diversionary loop back toward the prison. In case anyone had been watching them pull out of the village, they'd driven off in the wrong direction, and corrected course home once a little distance out.
"What?" asked Daryl from the driver's seat, having said a lot of things he didn't keep track of. Nodding to the rearview, he realized, "Are you still hung up on those two?"
Glenn didn't answer, which he took for an affirmative.
"They had good teeth," he explained. "Like they'd never missed a day's brushing or trip to the dentist. Boy Scouts, high end gear… Obviously some 'quality' people." The factual description was also dripping with sarcasm. "Only fault I could see was the one's being dumb, and the scar down the chatty one's face."
"He's not dumb; he's deaf—they're different," Glenn corrected. "And I have nice teeth; does that make me a 'pretty boy'?"
Daryl shot him a clear WTF look.
"My point is," Glenn understood the question, "Is that they seemed nice enough, have obviously lasted a while despite Bradley's disability; and we just sent them off into the night. The week before Thanksgiving..."
"We don't need anybody else to provide for," the realist reminded him.
"Seems to me we could use the help; and they could help," Glenn clarified, looking out the window. The 'dumb' one wrestled you to a draw, he had the good sense not to point out.
When Daryl didn't say no or otherwise silence him, Glenn kept thinking aloud. "Though Bradley was limping pretty good; I wonder if we hurt him."
"You mean after he dumped a rack of pipes on me?" Daryl re-entered the not yet debate. "Seems fair enough to me."
"We startled him with weapons drawn…"
"He is not our problem."
"That's quite a friendship, though; don't you think?" Glenn asked, sitting up in his seat. "For Ben to stick with him…"
"Well, they ain't our friends, luckily," Daryl concluded.
"You don't find it strange that they never asked about our camp, or whether we had more people? Most people do."
"Exactly," the driver said, with a slap to the steering wheel for emphasis. "They haven't asked for help or to join us. And the whole reason we're here is because we don't have enough as it is."
"Which is exactly why we all have to start thinking bigger... These two are young; they look strong and pretty healthy. They're Scouts; think of what we'd gain from putting all that badge learning to good use, long term."
"Your cheery outlook on everybody is real nice and all. But selling cookies ain't a useful skill these days, pretty, scouty, brothers or not!"
"Wait! They're brothers?" Glenn asked him, surprised.
Brothers who probably had to strike out on their own when their groups got tired of one's issues. Brothers who apparently were smart enough to prefer one another to the company, and judgment, of others. Brothers who obviously loved one other enough to stick together despite the odds and onlookers in this hell daily life had become. To stay true to his brother no matter what…
The car slowed to a halt as Daryl drifted off in thought, with Glenn looking at him and around for what else might be stopping them.
Daryl turned toward him intently, and offered with almost an anger in his eyes, "If you stop nagging and whining on about them, we can go back and get 'em. But this bringing the strays home is all on you."
Catching himself before he grinned in victory, Glenn nodded in thanks and agreement, before turning his thoughts toward how to find the exiled duo, and get back to the prison before the fast-approaching sunset.
tbc...