CHAPTER THREE
Daryl Dixon was dead. Though the man himself was still inhaling frantic gasps of fresh evening air, he firmly believed that the life of Daryl Dixon, former provider of team prison and loyal companion, had ended where that of Norman, another thug in The Claimers, had begun. Daryl had been dead and buried when joining The Claimers, and Norman had fully taken over.
The transformation in character had been necessary to protect himself from both mental and physical harm. Call it natural evolution, a way to survive this day and age. He had been doing well for himself. Never before had he thought the role of silent bystander would suit him so perfectly. Especially considering how he had beaten up Randall at the farm for doing just that. But after spending three months with The Claimers the Hunter had fit in rather well and the memory of the person he had grown in to, from his time spend at the quarry all the way to the prison, had been slowly slipping from his mind. It was only when seeing Ariel being pinned down by the filthy hands of The Claimers that something inside of him had snapped, and good ol' Daryl had made a reappearance. Standing up for her, claiming her for himself... For the first time in months Daryl Dixon had felt alive. Even more so, he had felt like he had a purpose in life again. Protecting others had always been in the nature of his character, the threat of Ariel being hurt only brought back that side of him again. So what if he had to make a deal with Joe, the devil reincarnated? So what if he had to do things most people would consider immoral, and even evil? If it all served the purpose of keeping a girl alive then surely there had to be something good about it.
Daryl was done letting people he cared for down and eventually killed. With his mind set on Ariel, Daryl's head filled with a feeling of purpose and calm, giving his senses some clarity and focus. Looking at the clear sky above him, he breathed in the air, thick with the smell of change and premeditated murder. The experienced tracker knew it was the ideal weather for a hunt.
It was the aligned trail of plastic, spread around much like the trail of Hansel and Gretzel in that fairy tale, that showed Daryl the way. Not bread, but plastic wraps of Oreo cookies led him east and uphill. His eyes turned to slits when seeing that there was only one set of bootprints. The track was so clear and obvious that Daryl grew sceptic of its genuineness. It was suspicious to say the least, could people nowadays really afford to be this careless? The possibility of a trap crossed Daryl's mind, but if someone really believed they could overmaster him to rob him from his possessions, they had another thing coming. Regardless of the potential danger, Daryl decided against giving up. Either the person was unbelievably stupid, or the person was trying to trick him which, in Daryl's eyes, was even dumber. When arriving at the end of the trail, Daryl knew it was unmistakably the former.
In front of him was sitting a beast of a man, feasting on the last of his Oreo cookies. He easily weighed 350 pounds and had around fifteen chins, all which were covered with crumbles of cookies. The man's appetite did not seem to have taken a toll since the apocalypse since his loud and obnoxious chewing could be heard all the way to Daryl's hiding place, the only bush with still leaves on it. The Hunter tried to think of a way to convince the guy back to his camp. Since there was no way Daryl could actually drag his body all the way back. Just when ideas started popping in his head, Daryl saw the man lick the last traces of the cookies from his filthy fingers. Like a magician pulling a rabbit from his head, the fat man made another package of cookies appear. A laugh escaped the man's throat when starting eating another set of the delicious black biscuits. Daryl wondered how many more biscuits he had hiding in those deep pockets of his.
All went well until Daryl accidently stepped on a branch laying on the ground, making it break loudly underneath the weight of his foot, much like Ariel had done when running into The Claimers. For a second Daryl thought he would get away with it.
"Quién es?" The man spoke up, his mouth still filled with an abundance of cookies.
Seeing no point in hiding any longer, Daryl stepped forward, his hands raised as to show the man he had nothing to fear from him. The man repeated his question, and even though Daryl had not yet given him any good reason to, the man already sounded more afraid than before.
"Ya ain't gotta be scared of me. I'm just -" Before Daryl could even finish his sentence, the fat man threw the remaining Oreo cookies in Daryl's face as a distraction and started running downhill. In reaction, Daryl picked up a range of rocks, and selected the one most appropriate for the distance and wind speed. Many might laugh when hearing how seriously Daryl took his stone throwing, but there had been good reason why, much to his brother's despise, Daryl had always won their competitions. Every toss was highly calculated. Daryl could tell by the slowing of the pace of the fat man that he was either already out of breath, or he thought Daryl would no longer be able to catch him. In his head he started counting down before he threw the stone away from him. Three - two - one - The stone flew highly through the air, just missing the branches of trees by mere inches. The rock hit the man squarely on the back of his head, causing him to fall down unconscious onto the ground. The heavy thud of the massive body hitting the ground seemed to echo through the forest. Daryl swore he could even feel the vibration of fall like waves of an earthquake. After the shaking of the ground had stopped, the sound of nothing engulfed Daryl. No longer could he hear the crunching of the man greedily gulping down his Oreo cookies, no longer could he hear the man laughing to himself. The silence surrounding his being smothered him. Daryl felt its squat presence hanging heavily in the air. Other than the trees and the dead leaves on the ground, the forest was deserted. There were no sound to be heard. He was completely and utterly alone with his thoughts. And for the first time in his life, the heavy weight of solitude frightened Daryl. He breathed, failed to hear himself quite, and inhaled some cold air again, more heavily than before. He would do anything not to be taunted by the silence.
There were of course logical explanations for the absence of noise, none of which reached the mind of a panicking Daryl however. Most animals had started their hibernation and the birds had fled the state of Georgia to make way to warmer resorts, leaving behind a soundless void. But to Daryl, it felt like silent treatment, an exclusion even. As illogical it might have seemed to other people, to him, the absence of nature's music was clearly caused by his wrongdoing. His negative thinking seemed to be amplified when Daryl's ears picked up on the dripping noise of blood falling down the man's head, and nothing else could be heard.
It was then, for the first time ever, that the youngest and only remaining Dixon felt uncomfortable in the woods. The feeling was strange for the Hunter had always felt a sense of belonging in the forest. Growing up in a fenced trailer park where domestic abuse was part of everyday life, the woods offered him a sense of safety and freedom. It was his grandfather, Norman Dixon, had taught him how to respect nature. Daryl's grandfather who still had traceable Native American blood streaming inside of him took it on him to teach the youngest member of the Dixon clan about nature. Norman, much like his son William, had not been a particularly kind person, and lacked the necessary patience to be called a good teacher. On regular occasions granddad Norman - or Sir, as Daryl had to call him by - taught him a thing or two about life. During sessions of those 'wise' life lessons objects and insulting terms were often thrown at Daryl's little head. But still he listened with interest to the stories of the Cherokee tribe and the many ways of making healing ointments out of plants. Though it was at times painful, Norman Dixon's method had been proven to be more effective than the courses in secondary school as the life lessons had actually stuck with Daryl over the years. In order to keep the balance intact, Daryl had been conditioned to only take from nature what needed to survive; to only kill animals when hungry. Killing animals for pleasure or hunting for sport was forbidden in the Dixon household. Cavemen or not, like any other family the Dixons had their code, and Dixons always stuck to their code.
Growing up, the trees had been his school of nature, and the woods his playground. But in that very moment, Daryl felt surrounded by the trees as their naked branches waved at him in mock almost for the Hunter had unnecessarily hunted down and hurt another human being. Granted, he had done so to protect someone else but Daryl Dixon's self-critical mind disagreed with such reasoning, seeing it to be only a weak excuse, and not a valuable reason to capture a complete innocent, hand him over to cannibals who would then proceed to murder the man in cold blood with the intention of eating him, bit by bit. In his eyes, Daryl had broken the Dixon code.
But the decision had been made, the damage had been done. There was no going back. It was either this stranger's death, or Ariel's. The unwelcome feeling of guilt did not outweigh his sense of relief that time. Joe and the rest of The Claimers would be content with his catch, meaning Ariel would be safe. Looking at the size of his prey, their hunger would be stilled for at least another week.
A tired sigh passed Daryl's lips and the feeling of fear made room for annoyance when realising he had to drag the person and his 350 pounds all the way back to camp. His pragmatic attitude towards the act of hitting a man unconscious with the sole intention of delivering him to a group of cannibals of course bothered him, but Daryl tried to shush his own conscious anyway. It was not like he was gonna make it on his own.
Dragging his fresh game with him down the star lighted valley, the Hunter was greeted by a cold winter wind, bringing even more chaos in his already messy locks and thoughts. As the rest of his body felt icy, he could still feel a burning sensation on his neck where the lingering touches of Ariel's lips seemed to have imprinted themselves on his skin. A week had gone by since she had kissed him there. After a week of pondering, Daryl had yet to discover the first good reason why she would try and kiss him on the cheek. After all, he was a grimy, grumpy redneck. I just want to thank you. She had whispered to him moments before. Whether it had been the high of the medication drugs or misplaced gratitude, Daryl felt an odd warmth fill his chest thinking back at that moment in their tent. A shameful blush crept on his cheek at the disgraceful way he had reacted afterwards, pushing her away like she was a disease.
But the girl is a goddamn disease, constantly pestering me like a goddamn plague. Good lord. Back at the prison, Daryl had been too much in denial and too occupied with tasks at hand to notice the symptoms of the disease at first. But now that Winter was coming around, Daryl could no longer blame the Georgia heat for his sweaty palms and his dry throat. He was lovesick, Daryl diagnosed himself. Thinking back at Ariel's contagious smile, he knew, she was the cause of it all as well as his cure.
-The Claim -
After four long and painful hours of dragging a dead weight with him, Daryl had managed to cross the two miles back to camp. He was greeted by the hungry stares of the seven Claimers, welcoming him back home. Some of them had the audacity to start clapping at the sight of the Hunter bringing them their dinner.
Daryl had to keep himself straight, fighting the urge to lie down on the ground right then and there. The trip back had really put a strain on him. He tried to keep himself awake by focusing on the pain of his limbs, which were stinging with frostbite. His body felt strangely overheated from physical exhaustion, yet at the same time he was frozen to the bone due to the cold weather. None of The Claimers gave him the time to get his breath though, and were all gathering around him to take a closer look at his game. It was Joe who spoke first.
"Glad to see you're back," He said with fake concern, "Thought you had left us and your Disney Princess behind, Norman. Len was getting his hopes up for a second..." When hearing that Daryl stood up straighter and immediately his angry blue eyes focused on his least favourite claimer. Len was too busy poking the unconscious man in the ribs, though, to be seeing Daryl's threatening glare. "Don't worry I held him back. I keep my promises." Joe slyly smiled. "I'm happy you kept yours too."
"I was having some trouble getting him here... Fucker's heavy as fuck."
Joe inspected his catch. "You hit him…." He commented with a disapproving gaze in Daryl's direction when seeing the wound on the back of the unconscious man's head. "Thought I told you to bring the game to me alive and well."
"He wasn't cooperating, started running. Didn't ran fast enough though," Daryl muttered under his breath. "It's difficult to get people to trust strangers. It would have been easier if I had knife. Then I could've made him walk all the way here..."
"You complaining? You got yourself in that position! If you hadn't tried to stab me in the back like some coward, you would still have your damn knife and that stupid Robin Hood crossbow!" Joe hissed at Daryl.
The inaccuracy of the insult was killing Daryl. Robin Hood didn't have a crossbow, but a regular bow. Yet just like always, Daryl kept his mouth shut and his head down to avoid a violent confrontation. "Just makin' a suggestion, Sir. That's all."
"Fine, you're dismissed." A small nod was Daryl's grateful response and he made a motion to walk away. His swift escape was stopped, however, by Joe's tight grip on his shoulders. "I would offer you a piece, son, but that weren't the deal we made, huh. I hope she's worth your hunger." Daryl turned to leave, but Joe held him back once more. The strange man patted Daryl's back in a fatherly manner, leaning uncomfortably closer and whispering darkly, "You keep me happy. I keep her alive, capiche?"
Daryl nodded feeling dazed by the sound of knife cutting through fresh human meat in the background. "Here's your reward, boy." Joe handed him back his hunting knife. The grip of the steel weapon felt strange in his hand, after having to do make do without it for several months. "Make sure I don't have to take it away from you again. Next human you see, you threaten with the knife and you bring it to the camp unharmed. We clear on this?"
"Yes, Sir." The automated reply came.
"Oh and Norman... No more planning escapes. No more acting like a hero. Or you die watching her get fucked by Len."
"No, Sir."
"Good, boy." The leader of The Claimers said as affectionately as an owner would do to his trained dog. "Now scoot off!"
Just out of The Claimers' sight, Daryl crouched down, supporting himself against a tree, and threw up the little of food he had eaten earlier that morning. Breathing in deeply, he fought down the panic that was coursing through his veins. After finally having calmed down enough, he staggered his way toward the campfire in front of his tent, the darkness and his upsetting stomach making it hard not to stumble. Arrived safely at the site, he was met with the sight of Ariel's auburn hair as she warmed herself by the fire she had managed to start by herself. Ungracefully sitting down, he tossed the knife to the ground with such force, the blade stood straight up in the almost frozen ground. He held his frozen limbs close by the fire. Daryl sniffed discontentedly, and refused to look her way, or even acknowledge her in any manner. His self-control lasted only a minute though, before his eyes quickly scanned her face to make sure she had been really left unharmed by The Claimers for an entire day.
"How was your day?" She asked when feeling the heat of his stare on her. Ariel sounded genuinely interested and for a second Daryl actually considered telling her in detail and colour the horrors of the day that had just passed. But being with her made him want to think about other things than the everyday struggle of survival. Looking at her smile, he wanted to believe life was not as miserable. His eyes shortly flickered from her freckled face to her hands, shakenly holding onto a sewing needle. He observed how her fingers fidgeted nervously under his gaze. Daryl wondered if she was scared of him, thinking that if she had any common sense she would be.
Ariel continued when no response came, "Did you catch anything?"
Daryl grunted, not wanting to give her an honest response. She still had no idea of the deal he had made with Joe. He didn't think a sweet girl like her would survive knowing he would hunt human meat in order for her to be kept untouched and unharmed.
"I made you a poncho today." She smiled, proudly holding the object for his eyes to see. "I noticed you don't have your other one with you anymore. I guess Glenn finally stole it. God knows, he had his eyes on that thing for a long time." Her smile got even bigger, and Daryl knew she was holding back a laugh. Any other day her goofy sense of humour would have caused at least a ghost of a smile to appear on his otherwise grim face. Any other day than today...
"You think you're funny, huh?" Daryl snapped at her. "You think you're so funny that you laugh at your own jokes, if that's what you want to call them..."
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't..." She was clearly taken by surprise by his foul mood. Not that he could really blame her, seeing as a hunt under normal circumstance had always rendered him happy. At times, after a successful hunt Rick had once caught him contently humming to himself. It had been another successful hunt day, the only difference was that it made him an accomplice to murder. A killer.
Under his angry scowl the nervous ticks of her hands became even more frantic. Her clumply gestures causing the sewing needle in her hand to rupture some skin at the top of her finger. A steady stream of blood made its way down the hurt limb. She took a deep breath and held her bleeding finger in her mouth. He could tell she wanted to express her pain but held back for his sake. As she seemed to be thinking of something else to say to him Daryl wished she wouldn't bother. There was really nothing that she could do or say that would make him happy. "I know you must be worried sick about your friends." She tried again.
It was the innocence reflected in her voice that made him even more annoyed with her. She had no idea what he had just done to keep her safe. "You think you know all about me, don't you..."
"No..." She shook her head. "Of course not. I'm just... I didn't realise making a joke about one of your missing friends was inappropriate. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."
Daryl kept his cynic remarks to himself after that. He literally had to bite his tongue and curl his hands into fists to keep from losing his last ounce of control.
"Did something happen?" Her curious nature was not helping matters.
Daryl sighed, standing up, "Don't eat the meat the Claimers are cooking." Daryl raised his voice a bit too loud, seemingly not used to talking to someone with a commanding tone. "No matter how tasty it looks. No matter how good it smells. No matter how hungry you get. No matter how many times they offer it to ya, you ain't eating it. Ya hear me, girl? I'll get us something else in the woods first thing come morning." He dug inside the pockets of his jacket. "Until then, eat this." He dropped two packages of Oreo cookies on her lap, quickly escaping towards their tent and away from her curious questions.
"You're not hungry?" Ariel asked.
Daryl replied with a look of disgust, "No. Lost my appetite."
Thanks for reading! Next there will be more Dariel interaction, no worries. I just thought it was interesting to write an entire chapter from Daryl's POV.
