The next day was overcast and cold. But the rain had stopped, which was good. Daryl found it difficult to keep watch when one of his senses was overwhelmed by the sound of raindrops pounding against the rooftop.
Rick wanted him to go hunting with Anna today. They weren't exactly low on food—the man who'd owned this cabin seemed to have been a paranoid survivalist, so it was stocked to the rafters with canned goods—but he was curious to know how well she could hunt.
She was an excellent shot, they all knew. She'd covered their asses exceptionally well back in Mulberry, but hunting was a whole different game. The shot was one moment of a long chase; a lot of people didn't have the patience to even get to the shot.
He'd taken Glenn out hunting once, a few days after they'd left the farm. He thought that he could make another hunter from the people they had, but that turned out to be a pipe dream. Glenn had been under the impression that hunting was mostly about the kill. After three hours in the woods without a big kill, he'd started complaining. They barely made it back to the cars without stabbing each other.
Considering how much he liked Glenn and how much Anna seemed to dislike him, Daryl had low expectations about this hunting trip.
He stepped off the porch stairs, scanning the yard. After a full day stuck inside the cabin, everyone was outside, and as far away from one another as they could be while still being within sight of the cars. Rick spotted Daryl immediately.
"Headin' out?" he asked. Daryl nodded. "Hershel took Anna's stitches out this morning, so she's raring to go."
"Great." Before he could walk off to gather his new hunting partner, Rick softly called his name, stopping him in his tracks.
"I appreciate you doing this," he said. Daryl squirmed in place, looking down at his feet to avoid Rick's earnest eyes. "I know she's not the most pleasant person to be around."
He snorted, shifting his crossbow on his back. That could win for understatement of the century. Of course, Daryl wasn't exactly a peach himself, so he couldn't say much.
"Just…see what she can do. And try not to kill her," he added. He said it so seriously that Daryl barked a laugh.
"Let's keep expectations low, brother," he said before walking away. He might've heard Rick laugh softly under his breath, but the odds were low.
The passenger side door of Anna's beaten up pick-up truck was wide open. He didn't see a head peeking up above the top of the seat, nor legs hanging out of it, so he almost jumped fifty feet in the air to find Anna tucked into the space between the seat and the glove compartment. She had her Beretta in pieces on the seat as she cleaned the barrel with a rod.
Her head didn't turn as he leaned against the door, preparing to speak. "What."
"I'm goin' huntin'," he said, fingering the strap of his bow across his chest. He was starting to regret coming over, but Rick had asked.
She turned and gave him a blank stare. "And?" she drawled.
She liked to see him squirm, the bitch. "Figured you'd want to come with," he ground out though gritted teeth.
She thought for a moment, before giving him an annoying smirk. "Sure thing, Deliverance. Lemme just get my bow."
He glared at her retreating back, his fingers itching to strangle her. They hadn't even left yet and already he would've liked to see a walker gnaw on her ankles.
Zen, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath.
"She's not going to eat you," a small, disembodied voice said from inside the truck.
Daryl nearly slammed the door shut on his fingers in surprise. Cassie sat up straight in the bench seat behind the driver's side, her usually wild hair smoothed back into two tight braids against her head. A wry smile played on her lips. "Did I scare you?"
Fuck, yes, you little brat. "No," he snarled, stalking off. She clambered over the seat to catch up with him.
"Seriously, you guys act like she's going to rip your heads off," she said, jogging a bit to stay beside him.
He snorted. "Can ya blame us?"
"I guess not."
When he stopped suddenly beside the Hyundai, Cassie ran face-first into his back. With an amused smirk, he turned to see her rubbing her nose and glaring at him.
"Why're you followin' me?" he asked, yanking the back door open to grab a bundle of string from the trunk.
She shrugged. "Do I need a reason?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. "I want to come with you guys."
Daryl frowned. "Yeah, and what'd the Wicked Witch say?"
She didn't like that nickname. Glowering, she replied, "She said I should hang back today because I went hunting with you two days ago."
"Sounds settled."
"I wasn't that bad to hunt with, was I?" she asked in a small voice. His hands stopped unraveling the string that he used to carry squirrels on hunts to look over at her. Oh, hell no.
Her eyes were huge and sad. Not tearful, but gut-wrenching all the same. He felt terrible. She really wasn't bad to hunt with; hell, she was one of the best hunting partners he'd ever had. Of course, he could count the number of people he'd ever hunted with on one hand, and half of them were alcoholic loudmouths, so a twelve-year-old who couldn't even shoot straight was miles ahead of the others by default.
"No, you weren't…" he said, trying to be as reassuring as he possibly could. Soothing kids wasn't his area, though. He was more in the business of making them cry. "I'm sure she's just lookin' out fer you."
"I know…" she sighed. "She's always looking out for me. And I know she gives me a hell of a lot more credit than you guys give cowboy kid."
"Carl."
"Yeah." She pursed her lips, shaking her head at her feet. "I shouldn't complain."
She looked so downtrodden that he decided to throw her a bone. "I'll…say somethin'. I don't mind you taggin' along."
He really didn't. Rick probably hadn't intended for Cassie to join their hunting expedition, but maybe having her along would break some of the inevitable tension. Besides, she knew which plants were edible while Daryl would just walk on by. Another food source couldn't hurt.
"You will?" Her smile put the sun to shame. His face suddenly warmed. It was a strange feeling, giving hope to a kid. He kind of liked it.
"Yeah."
She perked up suddenly, the moisture in her eyes drying instantaneously, and turned to skip away with a flip of her braid. "Thanks, Daryl. I'll just get my stuff—"
It clicked. "Hold on," he growled at her, grabbing the back of her denim vest before she could escape. "Are you askin' my permission 'cause she didn't give it to you?"
Her silence answered him. He scowled. "I ain't your daddy, kid."
"Yeah, my dad was black," she muttered.
He didn't laugh. She sobered. "Look, all I want you to tell her is that I'm fine to hunt today and that I didn't sustain major injury the last time."
"Tell her yourself," he snarled, slamming the back door shut with extreme prejudice. Across the yard, Glenn jumped at the sound. "Thought you two were tight."
"We are," she defended hotly, keeping right at his heels as he stalked away from the conversation. He flinched when she grabbed his elbow with her cold hand, spinning him back around to face her. "It's just…she's done so much for me that I feel like I have to do as she says, you know?"
If Carl was even the smallest part like this kid, they'd have had a thousand fewer problems. Maybe he'd have stayed still for one goddamn minute without alerting every walker in a five mile radius of their whereabouts. Then again, the boy wasn't a lick as mouthy as Cassie was, a quality Daryl had seriously taken for granted. Next chance he got, he was giving Carl a comic book.
"I know," he replied, because he did. It was the same with him and Rick. So many people Before had just written him off as a violent redneck. Rick had every right to do the same—he wasn't exactly of sound mind after Atlanta—but he didn't. He'd valued Daryl; not just for his crossbow, but for his judgment.
How could he go against the first man to truly value him? He couldn't, not even when Rick seemed lost.
Still, as much of an affinity he felt towards the little girl, he was immensely relieved when Anna appeared from the cabin, a leather quiver slung over her back and her unstrung bow in her hand, a reprieve in the form of a belligerent woman.
"Cas," she called softly, and the little girl immediately fell into line at her side. Anna shot him a suspicious look before herding Cassie towards their truck, speaking quickly in hushed tones.
Daryl stared after them, hearing Carol come up behind him long before she'd even decided to. As small as Carol was, she still made more noise than a horse on pavement when she walked.
"Be strong," she said, a smile on her face when he turned to glance at her from the corner of his eye.
"I ain't gonna murder her," he scoffed, but smiled back anyway. Smiles were so rare nowadays; you had to grab them when they surfaced, or risk losing them for months.
"I know you won't," she soothed him, patting his arm and taking no offense at his flinch away from her touch. "But maybe all she needs is a friend."
He wasn't sure if she was joking or serious. He snorted all the same. "No, what she needs is a fuckin' stroke."
"Daryl," she scolded, while hiding a tiny laugh behind her hand.
"Jus' sayin'," he said, starting towards the trees. "She might mellow out a bit."
Daryl was antsy, Anna realized as she watched him pace around the yard. Ready for a hunt.
She decided to make him wait. Her bow was in sore need of a thorough polishing, anyway.
After a quick talk with Cassie—she'd been annoyed at the prospect of being left behind today, but Anna explained her reasoning—she sat on the porch steps, ignoring the residual moisture left by yesterday's rain seeping through her pants.
Anna never liked rain, not even before the dead walked. Her backyard had been a forest; she grew up outside. When she came home from school, she'd sneak out the backdoor and slip into the woods, where she'd paint mud on her face and pretend the trees were cowboys and she was an Indian. Sometimes, she was a fairy princess, having tea parties with leaves full of river water and wild berry mud tarts for refreshments. It was hard to wage war and host tea parties in the rain.
Now, it was hard to survive in the rain. When your clothes got wet, and you had nowhere to dry yourself off, you could die of hypothermia when the temperatures fell in the evenings. If you managed to survive that, then pneumonia would take you anyway. A bullet to the brain would be a less agonizing end.
Amid her morbid thoughts and bow-cleaning, Daryl noticed that she wasn't in any hurry to leave. He started stalking over, all puffed up in annoyance. Anna could almost see the steam coming from his nostrils.
Fortunately—or unfortunately; Anna was looking forward to hearing the shit coming from the redneck's mouth—Rick's wife got to Anna before he did. Her name still didn't jump immediately to the forefront of her mind. Lana? Lois?
"I wanted to catch you before you left," said the wife.
"So you did," Anna said, and waited.
Everyone in this group seemed startled whenever Anna didn't shriek in their faces. She never made good first impressions. Maybe that just left room for improvement.
"Well," said the wife, recovering quickly from her surprise. "I just wanted to tell you that what you said to Carl was way out of line. He's not your son; he's mine. So his punishment is my responsibility, is that clear?"
"Absolutely," Anna said, keeping her eyes down. "I shouldn't have yelled at him."
She appeared astonished for a moment, like she hadn't expected that response. Maybe Anna wasn't the only one raring for an argument around here. "Oh…thank you, then." She took a few slow steps back to the other woman—Carol; Anna was almost certain of it—before saying, "You know, Cassie should stay back with the group when you go hunting; I think she'd be a lot safer here."
Anna's attention didn't stray from her bow. "It's not really your business what she does."
Crossing her arms, the wife replied, "She's younger than Carl."
"Is she?"
"She is."
I find it ironic that you came over here to tell me to keep my nose out of your family, only to turn around and shove yours into mine, Anna thought, as she said, "Fine."
"Fine?"
Did I fucking stutter? "I said, 'Fine.' As in, 'Fine, she'll stay back today.'"
What she didn't add was that she'd already asked Cassie to hang back. She knew Cassie was upset by the request. She also knew that Cassie was perfectly capable of tagging along with her; she'd done it a thousand times before. Hell, she was in better shape to go out than Anna was—her gunshot wound took that moment to throb painfully— but Anna wanted her here, watching the group, seeing how they interacted. Cassie may have trusted them, but Anna didn't feel comfortable unless she knew every factor of every situation inside and out.
If the wife believed that she'd won, then that was fine with Anna. She wasn't so prideful.
"I think that's best," said the wife, sounding far too smug to have been truly worried about Cassie's wellbeing.
She nodded. For whatever reason, her agreement didn't register as a dismissal for the older woman, who remained in front of her.
"Is there something else?" she asked, her knuckles going white on the limbs of her bow.
The wife laid a nervous hand on her belly, shifting her feet. "I was just thinking that maybe we got off on the wrong foot…"
Jesus Christ. If she knew agreeing with her every concern wouldn't get her to leave, then she would've started speaking in tongues right off the bat.
Daryl couldn't pace anymore. He stalked away, never breaking his stride as he called, "I ain't got all day!" before melting into the forest.
A reprieve. She shrugged to the woman, stretching her limbs as she stood. "Later," she said, beating a hasty retreat after Daryl.
"What was Lori talking to you about?" he asked a few moments after she caught up with him.
"Lori?"
Daryl blinked at her. "You didn' know her name? D'you know my name?"
"Lynyrd Skynyrd, right?"
He shut up quickly after that, aiming a few profanities at her from under his breath. She was grateful.
Daryl paused a moment, allowing her to pace ahead of him. She did without question. She wasn't stupid; she knew they didn't need to hunt. The most likely explanation for their outing was that Rick asked Daryl to take her hunting, to see what she could do. His test was beginning now, watching her look for tracks, to see if she really could hunt at all.
Luckily for her, the ground was still wet, leaving every trace of every creature's tracks as easy to read as a book. She knew what she was capable of, and she knew she wasn't great at tracking anything smaller than a deer. Growing up in Kentucky, where deer were as commonplace in backyards as mailboxes, she'd never bothered with anything less.
She was a little afraid that she wouldn't spot anything at all. She'd never been to Northern Georgia, let alone hunted here, so she didn't know how many deer there were. Maybe all they had here was raccoons and squirrels.
No, that couldn't be. She shook her head, refocusing on the damp earth before her. Fuckin' deer are crawlin' out of my ass around here, she heard a smoky voice laugh, a very distant memory. Thick arms covered in lewd tattoos, a face that was wrinkled beyond belief, her heart clenching painfully. Deer all up and down the eastern seaboard. Fuck me, I'm livin' the dream.
She pushed the voice out of her mind. Thinking of the dead never helps, she reminded herself fiercely. Remember the living.
Daryl didn't want to admit it, but Anna was a pretty girl. Of course, her features weren't nearly as pretty as they could've been if she would just wipe the hard look off of her face.
Her eyes, which could've been as sweet as a doe's, were instead mossy rocks in her eye sockets. Her forehead was lined in perpetual concentration that smoothed only when she saw Cassie. Her jaw clenched so hard, he was surprised he didn't hear her teeth crack under pressure. She was hard.
In that hardness, he saw the girl she was. She scrutinized the mud so seriously—like she was analyzing an abstract painting—that Daryl almost laughed. She'd picked up on the reason for the hunt very quickly, he realized. Now, she was putting on a show; whether purposely or unconsciously, Daryl couldn't say. He'd like it to be unconsciously. She'd seem softer, then. She'd be trying to impress him, instead of trying to spite him.
Or maybe she was just hunting, and Daryl was reading too much into her behavior.
Still, he could tell a few definite things about her just by watching her prowl through the woods, crouching every so often to check for tracks. Sometimes, when she'd crouch down, Daryl would peer over her shoulder to see what she was looking at and see clear rabbit tracks going west or east or whatever and Anna would pass over them. She didn't hunt rabbits, he mentally took note. Probably not squirrels either, considering her aversion to looking into the trees for game. An hour into the hunt, Daryl had three squirrels strung up around his neck while Anna's shoulders still only held a quiver of arrows.
She was hunting deer. It was all she could find. And to her credit, she spotted the tracks before Daryl did. They had to be no more than two hours old, considering the rain stopped early that morning. If she was any good, they'd be back in time to have venison for dinner tonight.
"Two hours?" she asked quietly, stroking the inner curve of the print. He crouched beside her, as far from her little body as he could be.
"I'd say so," he replied, reaching for it as well. He knew what it was, but he wanted to know if she did.
"Young buck," she said absently, standing before he could. His face flushed when her backside was level with his eyes. "Not in any hurry; we'll overtake it in a few hours."
He nodded, letting her take the lead once more, hoping that she didn't see his red cheeks. Then they went on.
They were quiet for a long while, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and for the growls of the dead. Every so often, she'd check the mud for the buck's tracks before continuing on in her silence.
After another hour of hunting, he tried to ask questions. If Daryl was in charge, they wouldn't speak a single word on the hunt. But Rick had asked.
"Who taught you how to shoot?" he asked quietly, coming up beside her and nodding to the taut bow in her hand.
She replied with a blank look, quickening her pace to avoid answering. Daryl understood wanting to keep your privacy, but it was such a harmless question that he briefly contemplated screaming it. No other method had any effect, anyway.
Still, he tried again, as loudly as he dared, "I asked you a question."
"Do I have to answer?" came her bored reply.
"Yes."
She shook her head. "Well, now that you've ordered me, I'm disinclined to answer," she said, in a mock-snooty voice.
"It's an easy question."
"Who taught you how to shoot?" she shot back, tossing him a glance from the corner of her eye.
You wanna play, little girl? "My brother," he snarled. She hummed in response, but said nothing. "So, who taught you?"
"Taught me what?"
He was going to strangle her. "I answered your question; now, you answer mine."
She shrugged. "You didn't have to answer. I was barely listening, anyway."
Daryl stopped in his tracks for a moment, letting her go ahead before he did something he'd regret. He took a deep breath, calming the rage in him. No one played with him like this, not anymore. He suspected they were all too frightened of what he'd do to them.
The only one who'd ever jerked him around like this was Merle. But Merle'd never been afraid of him; Merle'd grown up with fiercer monsters than Daryl. Merle wasn't afraid of anything.
He didn't bother asking any more questions. It was another hour before the trail was so fresh he swore he could hear the buck breathing, though they stayed a hundred yards away.
She knew what to do. She checked the wind—you can't be upwind of a deer; they'll smell you—and padded softly around the animal, keeping out of its line of sight.
It was a whitetail, young and delicate. Its small antlers were devoid of velvet; only bone remained. If it lived any longer, they'd fall off in a few months, leaves that had missed autumn.
Daryl recognized its beauty, contrary to what the others might've thought. People usually assumed that a hick like him only hunted for the thrill of killing something, and Merle may have been like that, but Daryl appreciated the quiet moments before he took the shot. The moments when he looked into his prey's eyes and saw the wild peering back. He wondered if she felt the same.
We're eating well tonight, she thought gleefully, stepping out from behind a tree. She nocked an arrow, keeping the string undrawn as she aimed. She refrained from grunting in annoyance when she saw the shot still wasn't clean.
Whitetails are skittish. If your shot isn't clean, you could try luring them out. But it was risky. More often than not, they'd panic and dart away, and all you're left with is another trail to follow.
Daryl was watching. He wanted to see what she could do. She'd show him.
Placing the arrow between her teeth—the nice one, made of Kevlar, which she'd once shot clean through a duck—she crept closer. The buck was quite calm, rubbing his antlers against a little tree, scraping off the bark. He didn't hear her; the leaves were rustling too much for the buck to give a shit at the sound of a bush trembling.
She reached blindly around her feet. A small rock. Using her bow as a slingshot, she fired it past the buck's hindquarters. He snorted in alarm, hopping forward…but he didn't run.
She was in position now. Her bow raised, the arrow nocked, she drew back. The pain in her arm was excruciating. She ignored it; it wasn't the first time she'd fired with this wound.
She took a breath. At the height of it, the forest's sounds fell away. All there is, is this moment. She released.
The arrow completely missed the deer's head, impaling the stripped trunk of the tree. This time, the buck rolled his eyes in fear, nearly tripping over himself in his attempt to escape. Before she could reach back for another arrow, one flew, hitting the buck right in the neck.
She whirled around. Daryl slowly lowered his crossbow, eyeing her warily. "What the hell," she seethed, wincing as she lowered her arm, "I had it."
She hadn't had it. It'd been a few days since she'd even held her bow, and she'd foolishly assumed that her accuracy wouldn't have been affected.
"Did ya?" he asked, pointing to her clean arrow stuck in the tree as he slung his crossbow across his back. "I don't see brains on your arrow."
She clenched her jaw in frustration. Goddamn it. She strode over to the struggling buck, slicing his neck to end his suffering. Blood poured onto the mud, and his legs ceased their flailing. Fuck. She hated looking like a fool, even if it was only in front of this redneck.
To her surprise, he didn't harp on her failure. He was suddenly all business, yanking its legs straight and exposing the belly. "We can't both carry this thing," he said.
He didn't have to explain. Only one of them could carry it back, while the other made sure they weren't attacked. He pulled his hunting knife off of his belt, and threw his jacket over to her to keep the blood off of it, exposing his bare arms to the biting air. Daryl shoved the knife through its ribcage, ordering, "Keep an eye out for walkers while I gut this thing."
Slipping on his jacket, Anna didn't protest as she stood to monitor the area. The smell of blood was rank, even to her, so any walkers nearby would be drawn to them. They needed to hurry.
"I wasn't expectin' ya to get it," he admitted in between thrusts of his knife. She glared over her shoulder at his crouched figure. "You haven't drawn your bow in a few days. Plus, you've got a hole in your arm. It'd've been a miracle."
Is he trying to reassure me? She'd rather he make fun of her.
Instead, he thought she was weak. A weak little girl. Poor Anna couldn't be expected to make the kill. Poor Anna, her arm hurt too much to shoot straight. Don't expect her to pull her weight. Don't expect her to protect herself.
She didn't care what this asshole thought. She didn't care what any of them thought. She'd faced worse monsters than Daryl.
She only cared what Cassie thought. All there is, is her.
So she said nothing. She kept watch while Daryl bled and gutted the corpse, leaving a pile of steaming intestines and organs in the mud. They were far enough out that burying the innards would've been a waste of time.
Once he'd finished dressing it—with its legs snapped off at the joint and the skin still tight against its flesh—he hoisted it over his shoulders, grunting at the effort. Even after removing the insides, the body had to be a hundred pounds, a weight Anna would easily admit she couldn't carry for a long time. And they had hours to trek back to the cabin.
On the way back, he took the lead, albeit slowly. She followed closely behind, after retrieving her good arrow from the tree. The tip had been blunted a bit from the impact, but she had spares in their truck. She slipped it back into the quiver on her back, the quiver with the arrows she used for hunting. The canvas quiver attached to her belt was filled with arrows she used on biters.
Daryl didn't differentiate his, she noticed. All of his bolts were the same to him, which didn't make her feel so safe about the integrity of the meat, but if none of their group had died yet, then she wasn't going to complain. Maybe he just cut around the part where his bolt pierced.
He stopped a few times, panting heavily under the pressure. The small amount of blood left after he'd bled it was seeping into his sleeveless shirt, dripping down the fabric onto his jeans. Despite all of this, he refused to pass the carcass over to her when she offered to carry it. Stupid man, she thought, but never insisting. If he wanted to kill himself via dead deer, then she wasn't going to stop him.
After the third stop, she rolled her eyes. "Just let me take it, moron."
"Who…" he was completely winded. "…are you…callin' a moron?"
"Do you see anyone else out here?"
"Fuck…you." It was half-hearted. Maybe he was starting to like her.
"How old are you, anyway? I'm not sure a man your age should be exerting himself like this."
"I'm 38," he grunted. That was surprising. He looked older; she would've guessed at least 45.
"Huh."
He turned his head as much as he could towards her. "What?" he barked.
She shrugged. "You look older."
He caught her gaze. "You look…younger," he huffed in retort. His eyes were heavy on hers.
Anna looked at her bloodstained boots. The sight was familiar. She thought it was funny how she looked so young—ironic, really. She'd never been young.
Cassie is young, she thought, picturing her small face in her mind, the cheeky smile that she rarely saw but loved beyond compare. It never failed; seeing Cassie's face, real or only in her mind, would always redeem her.
His back was screaming. They'd been walking for a few hours, and he knew they had a few more to go.
Anna offered over and over, but for some reason that even he didn't understand, he refused every time. Maybe it was because she was still recovering from jumping out of a moving car, and he was being conscientious. Maybe it was because she was such a tiny thing, barely taller than Cassie and shorter than Carl, and he thought the body would crush her. Hell, maybe it was some macho posturing that he wasn't consciously aware of.
Eventually, he'd crack. Physically and figuratively. Mentally, too, if Anna got her way.
"So, where're you from?"
This bitch. Of course, she waited until now to strike up a conversation, when he was getting the life crushed out of him by a dead animal, as opposed to when they were still hunting the damn thing.
He stopped, dropping the carcass unceremoniously on the ground, splattering mud on their jeans. His shoulder muscles cried out in relief at the feel of the breeze, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was in pain. "Now you wanna talk about this shit?" he asked, rolling his shoulders. "When I'm lugging this sorry bastard six miles up the fuckin' mountain?"
She shrugged. He hadn't really looked at her wearing his jacket before this point. It was far too big for her; the shoulders reaching down to her biceps and the ends of the sleeves covering her hands. Every so often, she'd scrunch them back up to her elbows, but they never stayed for long. She never stopped trying, though.
She was fucking adorable.
"On second thought, I don't care."
He kind of wanted to push her off a cliff.
"Shall we?"
He thrust his hand out, gesturing for his jacket. "Give it here," he barked. "You're takin' the deer now."
It was a hundred pounds, easily, which had to be how much she weighed. But if she was going to keep bitching to him, then he wasn't going to argue anymore. She could impale herself on an antler for all he cared.
When he slipped the jacket on, it was still warm. Inadvertently, he shifted enough to get a whiff of her musky scent on the collar. His face flushed bright red. Thankfully, she was too busy handing him her quiver and bow to notice his embarrassment.
"I need help lifting it," she said, not a trace of shame in her voice. He'd pegged her for the 'I can do anything men can do; I'm a strong woman, blah, blah, blah' type, like Andrea had been, but she just stared at him expectantly.
He checked their blind spots quickly before helping her drape the carcass over her shoulder. She winced for a moment before standing and stepping forward. "I got it," she snapped when he reached to help her again.
One minute, it's 'Daryl, please help me,' and the next, it's 'back the fuck up.' Her mood swings were giving him whiplash.
He rolled his eyes, switching her bow with his on his back and shouldering her quiver. "Bitch," he muttered, loudly enough so she could hear him.
She ignored the comment, and they set off once more. Their pace was slower this time, but Anna never stopped to rest as Daryl had, nor did she complain at the burden. He was impressed by her drive, and once again lamented her bad attitude.
Another hour passed, and she kept plugging along. Beads of sweat began forming at her temples and her breath came out in ragged puffs of white air. It was a good thing Daryl was there to keep an eye on their surroundings; he could see by the look in her eyes that she'd lapsed into tunnel vision a while ago.
It was as good a time as any to get to know her. "What'd you do before all this?" he asked.
"Why?" she snapped, furrowing her brow.
He frowned. He'd never met a more suspicious person in his life. "Were you a soldier or somethin'?" he rephrased.
Somehow, through her wheezing, she managed a scoff. "No. I was a waitress."
He wondered how she stayed alive without getting any tips. "You kill a lot of deer as a waitress?"
"I got practice killing nosy customers," she retorted, shooting him a dark look from under her lashes.
Daryl didn't know how to answer that without sniping back, so he changed the subject. "So, that kid…" he started, unsure where his train of thought was headed. Anywhere away from her, he supposed. "Glenn thinks she's a genius."
"She is." And for the first time on the hunt, there was softness in her eyes. Her mouth didn't seem so hard when she talked about Cassie.
"She said she's a shit shot."
"She's not perfect." Her tone slipped back into defensiveness.
"I didn' mean…" he sighed. There was no arguing with her. "I woulda thought you'd've taught her."
"I did," she said, grunting as she readjusted the deer on her shoulder. For the first time since she'd taken it, she stopped, took a deep breath with her eyes closed, before carrying on. "Four months ago, she'd never even seen a real gun."
That was about the weirdest thing Daryl'd ever heard. Twelve years old and never fired a gun. Dixons were practically born bearing arms; hell, southerners in general lived with guns like they were winter coats. Yankees were so weird.
"At least now she can shoot the damn thing without releasing the magazine. It was a bitch fighting biters when your backup kept having to reload."
He snorted a laugh. She let out a little chuckle, and Daryl almost stumbled over a rock at the sound. It made sense, though, that the only thing that could make her laugh was that little girl.
"But she's smart," he said again.
"She is that," she agreed, adding softly, "She'll be more useful than I will."
Daryl looked at her again, and saw the girl again. There was a flicker of that vulnerability he'd seen right before she'd passed out back on the highway. It was gone before he could be sure he truly saw it.
"You need to take it," she said suddenly, halting in her tracks and dropping the yearling on the ground.
As he shed his jacket again, he ignored how she rolled her shoulder and stretched her arms over her head. The front of her shirt rode up a bit at the action, but she was wearing a black shirt beneath it. He blushed furiously at the surge of disappointment that welled up in his chest. Daryl wasn't comfortable admitting that he found a woman attractive, not even to himself.
She didn't seem to notice; only silently taking his jacket and slipping it on again, before helping him lift the carcass onto his shoulders.
As he took a moment to reacquaint himself with the burden, she glanced around and frowned. When they started off again, she spoke of her own volition, "No biters."
He snorted. "Are you complainin'?"
"I'm asking."
He looked around as well as he could with a carcass crushing his neck. Now that he truly thought about it, it was strange.
"Well," he started. "We're probably about…sixty miles from the heart of the city, which is where all the walkers are. Or at least they were six months ago; dunno anymore. Fuckin' corpses might've started moving out of the city 'cause they're runnin' outta fresh meat. Still, like you said, they ain't got reason to come this far up the mountain, so maybe it ain't so weird that we ain't seein' 'em."
She said nothing in response, though her pursed lips and lined forehead told him that the gears were spinning wildly in her head. Someone's here, they cleared the place out already. Maybe it was the man who'd owned the cabin they were staying in, maybe he'd just been out for a few days when they moved in; maybe he was back there now, pointing a gun at Cassie…
"Hey." Her head snapped over to him. He tried to look comforting. "Rick'll protect that girl with his life. We all will."
She was quiet for a while, and in that time Daryl listened to the sound of his pulse in his ears. "She's worth more than all of your lives together," she murmured, so quietly that he almost didn't hear it over the sound of the drumming of his heart; so sweetly that he didn't believe she said it.
"We'll keep her safe," he said again.
"You'll try," she corrected and was quiet.
They didn't say anything else until Daryl's back almost gave out from the weight, an hour later. They transferred the yearling over to her in near complete silence and set off again. He was alone in his mind with his thoughts.
You'll try, she said and she was right.
His own words rang in his head. We're gonna locate that little girl. She's gonna be just fine. He kept saying things he couldn't promise. Before, he was never so confident. Before, he wasn't sure of anything. And now, when nothing was a sure thing…now, he had the confidence and he shouldn't.
But he was happier than he'd ever been in his life, making these promises he couldn't keep and disappointing himself. Because it's that moment when he swears that he'll protect the girl, save the boy, find the daughter; it's the moment when he sees hope light up in their eyes—faith in him, a dumb redneck from the mountains of Georgia—that he'd never known before. He was used to being a disappointment.
Maybe he was stupid, but you did what you had to do to survive.
The cabin reappeared suddenly out of the trees. Most of the group had gone inside, but T-Dog and Glenn were on watch, chatting on the porch. Daryl raised his hand so they didn't try to shoot him; after getting mistaken for a walker once, Daryl didn't like taking chances.
Glenn popped his head into the cabin to let them know they were back while T-Dog rushed over to help them unload the burden. "Man, did you make her carry this thing all the way back?" he chastised Daryl with judgmental eyes.
"No," he snapped sullenly, but T-Dog was already shaking his head in disapproval.
"You alright, girl?"
"Fine," she replied shortly, the small amount of geniality she'd mustered up during the hunt gone. When T-Dog held out his arms to take the load, she shook her head. "There's a tarp in the bed of my truck."
T-Dog did not understand, or maybe he was distracted by the severity of her voice. He tilted his head confusedly.
She raised her eyebrows. "Go spread it out over the bed top," she said slowly, the 'you moron' implicit in her order.
Once he'd done it, she dropped the carcass onto the tarp, the dead bones clanking against the metal in a sound like thunder. The three flinched at the sound.
Before they all made awkward eye contact, Glenn came out with Rick at his side. "Dude, nice haul," Glenn praised Daryl, eyeing the deer with more hunger than was usually reserved for mud-splattered carcasses.
"Anna caught it," he said, tossing a quick glance over at her. Her mouth tightening in annoyance, she didn't deny it. It was half-true, anyway. She tracked the thing down; all he'd done was shot it. He was sure that once she was up to full strength again, she'd be shooting her own game and then some.
"Well done, then," Rick said, sounding begrudging only to Daryl. Anna was already hoisting herself up beside the deer, her hunting knife unsheathed in her hand. She crouched beside it, looking for all the world a wolf guarding her kill.
She didn't look at him as she said, "Thanks," to Rick and, "you can leave my bow and quiver in the cab," to Daryl. She yanked a huge swathe of deer hide away from the flesh with a sound like a paint-roller. Glenn made a sound like a chipmunk under a steamroller.
"Can I talk to you inside?" Rick asked Daryl lowly, drawing his attention from Anna's deft hands.
"Sure thing," Daryl replied and, after following Anna's curt instructions, he followed Rick to the cabin. Glenn and T-Dog remained outside, Glenn faced away from the partially flayed carcass and T-Dog keeping an eye out for walkers. They couldn't be too careful, even if they hadn't seen walkers in days. Especially if that hadn't seen walkers in days; too many times, they've been caught off-guard.
"Where's the kid?" Daryl asked as soon as he was inside. He assumed Rick wanted to talk about Anna, but he wouldn't be totally comfortable talking shit about Anna with Cassie hiding under the table.
Rick's eyes listed up to the loft. Daryl followed his gaze, a smile creeping onto his face at the sight of two tiny feet, wearing mismatched socks, hanging off the edge. Rick matched his smile.
"She was chattin' up a storm for a few hours before she wore herself out," Rick chuckled, shaking his head. "She's sharp."
"Is that so surprising?"
Rick shook his head. "I guess not. But it's uncanny. Especially 'cause one minute she's tellin' you about the stuff she was learning in school—like, quantum mechanics and microbiology—and the next she's talking about how much she loves Harry Potter."
Daryl snorted a laugh. That sounded like her.
"I think Carl was kind of excited," Rick added, tossing his son a glance. Daryl looked too. Carl and Beth sat on opposite sides of the loveseat, a deck of fading cards slipping between the cushions. Only Beth giggled every so often when the cards fluttered to the ground; Carl seemed a little downcast. "We haven't seen another kid in months, but Cassie's pretty uninterested in talking to him. She mostly hung around Glenn and Maggie."
"She likes Glenn," Daryl said. At Rick's raised eyebrows, he shook his head. "Got puppy-dog eyes for the guy. Don't think Glenn's noticed yet."
"Don't think anyone's noticed yet," Rick corrected. "You've got sharp eyes." He shifted his gaze outside, where Anna was slowly shedding deer hide onto the muddy ground while Glenn watched with a slightly nauseous expression. "How'd she do?"
"She missed a lot," he started. "Ain't the best tracker."
"No one's a good tracker compared to you," Rick replied, so seriously that Daryl had to duck his head in embarrassment.
"I mean, she tracked the deer just fine, but I get the impression she only tracks deer."
Rick nodded. "That makes sense. She's from Kentucky."
The comment made no sense to Daryl. "The fuck does that have to do with anything?"
Rick shrugged, saying, "Kentucky has the highest per capita number of deer in the United States."
Daryl stared at him. "How the hell do you know that?"
Rick cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I remember reading it in the paper once…an article about overpopulation of—it doesn't matter. What else?"
"She missed the shot." Rick frowned and, for some reason, Daryl felt he had to rush to her defense. "She justgot her stitches out, and it's been a coupla days since she's shot an arrow. I mean, you saw her back in Mulberry; she's a good shot."
"Yeah," he said slowly, staring at his hands folded on the table in front of him. "Yeah, she is. I know we've already asked them to join us, but…" he sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. "…there's just something that ain't right about her."
"I know." He wasn't sure either. She never looked you in the eye for longer than a few seconds, she wouldn't answer questions frankly, she always stood on the balls of her feet. It was a bunch of little things that didn't seem like a big deal until you compounded them in one person. Then it was unnerving.
It came down to one thing, though. He told Rick, "I got the feelin' that she'd kill all of us if it meant protecting Cassie, no question."
His leader's expression didn't change a bit, and for one terrifying moment, Daryl wondered if Rick would do the same.
"I guess we'd better make sure that kid's always safe," Rick said, at last. "We wouldn't want to lose either of them."
Daryl exhaled shakily, relief hitting him surprisingly hard. Anna was a bitch, but she knew what she was doing out there. And Cassie was a ray of sunshine, though Daryl would never admit it to her; her head was big enough already.
"Why don't you go clean yourself up?" Rick offered, standing slowly. "You've got blood all over you."
"Ain't cleanin' myself up in here," Daryl replied, glancing at the close proximity of the group. It was almost impossible to have a private conversation when the furthest person away was still within fifteen feet of you. Hell if he was going to strip down to his skivvies in here. "This ain't gonna work for long, you know that, right?"
"I know," Rick said. "I'm thinkin' we'll set up a few tents outside tonight, ease the crowding in here a bit."
"It's gettin' cold."
"I know," Rick snapped. The fluttering of cards whispered to a halt. Rick closed his eyes for a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. But I'm thinkin' we can stay here, even if it's just for a few days. I know it ain't a permanent solution, but we're more sheltered here than if we're out in the open."
Daryl wanted to scoff and roll his eyes. Rick was tired; they all were. But they couldn't keep putting their safety off. They needed to prepare for the worst, not just wait for it to happen and figure it out in the heat of the moment.
But Daryl couldn't do it. Maybe it was the weariness in Rick's eyes—and that spark of madness, just there—or maybe Daryl was tired too. Whatever the reason, he didn't argue. Instead, he offered his observations.
"I think the cold slows 'em down," he said. "Those walkers back at Mulberry, they weren't movin' as quick as usual. They mighta been a little stiff from the night."
"Well, that's good news."
"And when we were huntin'…we didn't see any walkers out."
Rick leveled him with a stare. "You don't sound pleased."
He raised his thumb to gnaw on the skin around the nail, but stopped at the sight of blood. He crossed his arms instead. "I dunno. Anna was pretty skittish 'bout it."
"D'you think we should be worried?"
"Man, I dunno. I mean," he clenched his jaw, "We're further south than where we were when we got overrun, we're closer to the city, and we ain't seen a single walker in two days? That ain't never happened."
"Look, for now, I'd like to just consider this good news," Rick said. "Maybe that's naïve, but…" he ran his hand against the wall. "This is a sturdy cabin. It could survive a herd blowin' through."
Daryl glanced around, noting the heavy logs set on top of each other, with grey caulk pressed in between the cracks. It would hold. But it might not hold after a week there, with all of them stuffed in like a can of sardines. At least sardines in a can wouldn't fight like cats and dogs.
"Hey, Dad?" Carl's voice broke into his thoughts. Rick looked at his son expectantly, and across the cabin, Lori bit her lip. "Can I help with the deer?"
Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, exchanging a look with Lori so quickly that Daryl might have imagined it. "You'll stay within sight of the cabin?" he asked.
Carl nodded.
"You have your gun?" Another nod. "Go on."
Carl darted out before Rick could change his mind. Daryl caught sight of Lori's disapproving face, but predictably, she said nothing. Nothing to Rick and nothing to Carl.
She gritted her teeth as another harsh stroke of her knife yanked the raw skin on her forearm. When she gritted her teeth, the scrape on her chin burned. Then she'd reach for her chin with her free hand, and her bicep would throb from the strain.
Despite her aches, she was pleased. Her mind was naturally crowded with thoughts that plagued her every moment. Skinning her kills was the closest she got to nirvana, even before the Turn. It was this moment, and the moment of death, that her mind became disturbingly quiet.
"Why are you so convinced that Willy Wonka killed all of those kids?"
"Gene Wilder was Silence of the Lambs crazy, man. And he turned that one chick into a giant blueberry; how is that not the work of a raging psychopath?"
Of course, if there were two idiots keeping an eye out while you were trying to calm your mind, you were going to have trouble.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, she chanted mentally, punctuating each repetition with another slice of her blade.
Still, she preferred their inane talk to the questions. Sometimes, Glenn would glance up at her nervously, like some question had crossed his mind, but he was too afraid to ask. She'd give him her worst glare when he looked, and he'd always snap his head forward with his ears turning red.
She knew how to lie, but it was easier to stay silent.
When the skin was halfway across the belly, the squelching of mud beneath boots pricked her ears before quiet murmurings started. She rolled her head up, stretching the tight muscles in her neck as she looked to see who'd come out. The kid, the one she'd yelled at—Carl, she remembered quickly—was there, staring at his twisting hands.
Jesus. Did Lori expect her to apologize to her kid as well? The woman was ballsy, she'd give her that.
He must've asked Glenn and T-Dog to give them some privacy because after a brief exchange, they meandered away to walk the yard.
"What," she barked and, to her amusement, he jumped about a foot.
"I wanted to say that I'm sorry," Carl said.
She blinked at him. "Yeah?"
He nodded, his mouth a firm line across his face. "I know I shouldn't have wandered off. I put us all in danger. I'm not going to do that anymore."
"You'd better not."
He frowned. "I won't!" he said petulantly, and Anna had to fight a smile. It was nice to see a kid that actually acted like a kid.
"Okay."
Carl seemed unhappy with her answer, but started to walk away anyway. He paused after two steps before coming back, saying, "My mom didn't want me to apologize to you."
Unsurprised, she replied, "I didn't think she did."
"I just thought that I should."
This kid. He was trying hard to make things right and Anna hated it. It made her feel guilty. "I should say sorry, too," she said reluctantly.
Carl scoffed, "Why? I deserved it."
"You did, but yelling at a twelve year old is kind of hard to justify."
"I'm thirteen."
"Are you? Well, that's easy, then."
He crossed his arms, looking suddenly like his father in miniature. "I'm not a kid."
She shook her head. "No, you're not."
"You said I was, when you yelled at me."
"I did."
He was confused now. "So, which is it?"
She heaved a heavy breath through her nose, slipping her knife from between the skin and the meat. It was telling that this kid needed her to define him—some stranger who'd given him shit— and not his parents, nor himself. "What do you think?" she asked quietly after a few moments.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'm not a kid; not anymore. Kids don't survive in this world, so I have to grow up," he said softly, and his eyes were cold.
"Okay."
"'Okay'…what?"
"Just 'okay.'" At the sight of his crinkled forehead, she asked, "Are you used to people arguing with you on that?"
"Yeah."
She shook her head. "Look, kid, I don't care enough about you to give a shit. You can grow the hell up or you can keep running around, pokin' biters with sticks—whatever. All I care about is Cassie's safety. So you'd better not put her in danger again, because I know she can take care of herself, but I'd like to make it at least possible for her to do that, you understand me?"
Most kids would've run off crying after that tongue-lashing. Her younger sister Ruby would've been inconsolable. But something about the end of the world made children impervious to her blunt words.
He stayed. Damn it, where the hell are his parents?
"I wish they'd treat me like you treat Cassie," he said, so quietly she wasn't sure if he meant it.
A plume of white air erupted from her nostrils as she started slicing again. "I'm not her mother."
"I know, but—"
She interrupted, "Cassie lost her parents. Her entire family is dead. Would you really rather be her?"
"I didn't say that! I just wish they'd treat me like an adult."
"If Cassie's parents were still alive, I guarantee you they'd be doing exactly what your parents are doing. They're just trying to protect you because they can't imagine losing you. They're weak like that. You…you'd probably be just fine if they died, but they can't come back from your death."
She'd seen that immediately. His parents had their issues, but if they agreed on anything, it was that they would protect their son. Anna had no qualms with Lori—in fact, she found her overbearing cosseting a welcome difference from her own mother's. Her parents would've been just fine if she'd died, which didn't bother her as much as it should've. It was the fact that they would've been fine if Ruby'd died; her blood boiled at the thought.
Carl seemed unconvinced, but she hadn't expected her words to resonate with him. Her words rarely resonated with anyone.
He glared at his hands, resting on the hardtop bed. "You said your parents were dead," he murmured, and she clenched her jaw. "Are you just fine?"
I'm more than that. But what a price I've paid. Her lips twisted upwards into some smile that made her uncomfortable, even though she couldn't see it. She said, "I'm just fine."
He stared at her for too long, eyes enormous and blue, and for a moment, she thought he could see through her every lie. But he walked away, and she went back to rolling deer hide away from its flesh and pretending she was just fine.
Hey all! Thank you to all you lovely people for reading and a BIG "thank you" to those of you who reviewed my last chapter! Seriously, you're amazing. I used to PM people to thank them personally, but I'm not totally sure what protocol on that is, so I stopped doing that. Also, I think I was too gushing in my thanks and it might've freaked people out.
Please review this chapter because it was my last pre-written chapter, so now my writing is fueled by reviews. On that note, chapters will probably be published irregularly from now on because I write weirdly/slowly.