Disclaimer: I sadly do not own The Walking Dead. Unbeta'd.
Spoilers: References to Season 1 and 2.
Warning: Rated for themes, language, and violence.
Packages in Zombie Zone, Area S - 7
Daryl waited the rest of the night, dozing off at the side of the warehouse intermittently, but Glenn never came through the thick metal double doors. So he reluctantly left the warehouse at dawn, travelling back the way he came, through the woods, past the streams, around the housing complex that was taken over, and back to the Domino Block. He stopped at the apartment, resting throughout most of the afternoon, counting the cans and new eggs—only two had been laid since he left—before he made his way to the Hunter's Helm.
On his way through the Wall, he noticed three guards beating people with thick metal pipes. They were naked. They shrieked in pain, arms flailing around, shielding themselves from oncoming blows, but not fighting back. They were screaming for mercy. Daryl eyed them from a distance. Another guard walked up to him, asking for his permit. Daryl complied, showing the guard the necessary documents to get into the Clear.
"What's up with them?" Daryl gestured to the man whose arms were now spread over a woman and a child.
"Zoners," the guard claimed. "Tried to get in without permits. These nasty fuckers are probably bit, ready to turn any second."
But none of them had bites. Daryl nodded remorsefully, watching one woman get kicked repeatedly in the stomach. He walked away, fists clenched, eyes downcast.
Amy sat at her stand, bored as usual, waiting for someone to take her on as a handler or ask for jobs. She spotted Daryl sneaking by and waved at him, guilting him into speaking to her.
"Hey! It's been forever! Looking for a job?" she asked.
"Err, anythin' new?"
"Nothing really. Just a missing boy, search for masked figures, a request for some deer, new clothes for a fat guy." She sighed. "Oh! And if you're up for it, Jack has a job for you. Bring some medical equipment to a hospital in the Burbs?"
"I'll let him know. Seen the Eye recently? Need to ask him somethin'."
"He's holed up in that bar! You know, the one that's a few minutes away from the Domino Block? The area's not that bad during the day but you never know during the night."
Daryl thanked her and stared at the figure watching Amy from two stalls over. "Move to the Borderlands yet?"
"Yeah, it's not bad. Completely different from what rumours Dale heard."
He looked at her, examining that she truly believed her statement. He waved goodbye, shaking his head as he went. "I'd go home before sundown if I were you."
He reached Zombie Zone Express and asked around for Jack, but neither of the staff working there knew about him. Daryl growled in his throat, explaining that he was sent over from Amy's stand. They seemed clueless so he turned around and began to make his way back to his apartment.
"Oh, you're Horton," the woman realized. Daryl raised a brow, confused. It took him a few moments to understand that's the make of the bow Merle got him, the one he was currently wearing on his back. "Well, we have your pay right here."
"What?"
"Your pay, from when you helped Miguel defend his family."
"Who?"
"The Hispanic boy you helped a long while back. He had a tattoo on his neck."
The woman snapped her fingers and two boys came by, hauling twenty cans of food onto the metal stand. Daryl frowned, staring at the food before him. If this was his pay for his first run with Zombie Zone Express, where did the cans of foods and drinks sitting in the cupboard come from?
After unloading his pay into his cupboards, Daryl immediately moved the large cans and root beer aside. He stared at the food before him, eyeing each metal container with the utmost scrutiny. There were no holes or cracks. Just a few dents here and there.
"Can't be Merle," he told himself. Merle rarely returned favours so the chances of him leaving perfectly good food for someone else to eat were nil to none.
Nine cans remained pushed to the back of the cupboard. Surely they couldn't be poisoned. The ones he ate hadn't caused Daryl to vomit or feel nauseous. His eyes shot wide open when he realized he had given one away.
He stomped outside, quickly noticing the little girl standing in the hallway. She was smiling.
"What's the matter with you?" he sneered. The girl shyly held her doll. She was slightly nervous but showed no signs of fright from Daryl's physical presence. "Food okay?" She nodded. "No funny stuff, or feelin' sick, anythin' like that?"
The girl blinked repeatedly.
"Seen the Asian boy recently?" Daryl thought of the warehouse. "Is he doin' bad things to you?"
She shook her head, confused, staring at Daryl with something similar to disbelief. No. She was offended. She waved her doll's hand, and then walked down the stairs, leaving a confused Daryl alone.
The Helm was bustling with more people than usual, though it seemed that the number of hunters were dwindling. They were most likely on missions, since Daryl overheard a few people whispering about hordes of walkers outside the Clear. Though the cops had guns, they weren't trained to deal with the lifeless yet animated corpses. But then again, who was?
Nearby the entrance of the Helm was a scraggy man, shouting to the passers-by about a technology being used to control the walkers, that he saw them use the machine first hand, that he was trying to recreate such technology to prevent such actions in order to return the world to the way it once was.
Daryl eyed the shovel that the man raised into the air, as if the man was leading his troops to battle with a confidence-boosting speech.
"Think he's telling the truth?" someone murmured to Daryl.
"Nah, probably just crazy."
Daryl waved them off and strolled by a weapons store.
The amount of ammunition seemed to be decreasing with each and every pass he made by the store, though the number of guns remained the same. He spotted a few knives, many of the butter variety. The rest of the blades looked dull.
Daryl spoke to the stand's tender. "Lookin' for a whetstone, got any?"
Daryl was shown many varieties of different makes and qualities. He settled on one he liked and offered a squirrel and a chicken egg. The offer didn't satisfy, so Daryl bargained, resulting him in owning the blade sharpener for two squirrels and an old pair of boots. He'd return tomorrow with his payment.
After swerving into the aisle where Fishin' for Gold and Zombie Zone Express stood, Daryl saw a small line developing outside Amy's stall. Three hunters stood behind a beefy cop who leaned onto the stall, speaking as if he knew Amy since before. Standing meekly behind the officer was the woman who lived next door, the little girl's mother. Although she was sweating profusely, she wore a sweater and refused to take it off when the man offered a thinner shirt.
The three hunters in line stared at the one holding them up, who was laughing it up and blatantly flirting. Andrea wouldn't like this one bit. But when Daryl moved closer, he realized that it wasn't Amy manning her stand. It was the woman whose husband had died, the skinny brunette. There she sat, running her fingers through her hair, her child looking up to the large man with glistening eyes, impressed with the stories—what Daryl thought was bullshit—he was feeding them.
Daryl joined the line. After a few minutes, the three hunters grew impatient. The one next in line urged him take a job or leave, threatening the cop with her fists.
"I have a job to fill, dammit!" she yelled, explaining that cops aren't welcome to take jobs here. The other two joined in, jeering at the large man. Daryl just crossed his arms. The woman from next door put on a petty smile and aimed it towards Daryl, cringing at the brisk complaints.
The large man stood tall, flexed his muscles, and turned to the woman, quickly telling her he'd be back in a few hours and that she and her son shouldn't walk home alone. A few lone walkers had been recently sighted in the area, most likely due to a slacking night watch or border patrol—or something like that. The man grumbled, staring each one of the hunters down, lingering his gaze the longest at Daryl.
Daryl sneered, "Wanna piece of me?" The man scowled, leaving in a hurry. "That's right, you ain't so tough."
The shorthaired woman gave Daryl a small smile, nodding as if they shared a secret, and followed the muscular man out of the Helm.
The woman at the front of the line took on two jobs: searching for another missing child and disposing of walkers in an outer Clear neighbourhood. The man behind her managed to complete a job by disposing those who were recently bit into the Zone. He accepted a similar job. The third man returned, claiming to have failed a mission of saving a small community beyond the Clear's boundaries, and explained their land was overrun with walkers. By the time he arrived it was too late. However, he scavenged the area and brought back some extra supplies he didn't need. He shared it with the brunette covering Amy's stall.
Daryl approached the woman, expecting her to remember him after his repeat visits, but it was her child who recognized him. He perked up, asking Daryl about his latest missions, creating sound effects with his mouth and pretending to be a dying walker. The woman hushed her son by pressing the sheriff's hat lower onto his head before she turned to Daryl.
"Dixon, right?" the woman said calmly, warily.
"What of it?" he spouted. "Any jobs?"
"Let's see… clearing land of walkers for three cigarettes? No? How about bringing those who are about to turn into the Zone? Maybe catching a squab for a knife set?"
"Anythin' better than that?"
"Something about medical supplies. You'd have to ask her about that one though, I don't know anything about it."
Daryl frowned, debating to himself whether to take this job or not. The son encouraged Daryl to do it and return with a hundred different stories to share. "Whatever. Let her know I'll take it."
The woman nodded, restraining her son from talking further to Daryl. "It's time to practice your math."
"I miss Duane."
Daryl made a quick round of the building before he left, noticing the vast differences between the Helm and the warehouse, between the Clears and the Zoners. Something didn't sit right with him. Something was happening, but he wasn't sure what.
The walk to the tavern was uneventful.
He stepped inside to find the usual patrons, other hunters who did jobs through Amy and others at the Helm, a rough group of individuals that bore their weapons proudly. Sitting in the corner he spied the old man nursing a mug that clearly disagreed with his taste buds. Daryl sat down across from him.
"Oh, it's you."
Daryl leaned over, whispering. "I need some intel." He slipped the gossip magazine he swiped from the hospital across the table, towards the old man. "For Amy."
"People are taking permits so they can get out of the Zone. Most of us who moved to the Borderlands still have ours but some people are vanishing and their permits along with them. The point of the permits is to keep people in the Clear safe, to identify who came from the Zone and who came from the Clear—"
Daryl cut him off. "Not what I wanted to hear."
"Well, what do you want to know?" he replied calmly, sipping his mug.
Dale leaned back on his wooden chair, causing it to creak loudly, drawing the attention of the others in the tavern. Some turned away, scoffing at the sight of the old man, while others fixed their eyes on both of them, most with sidelong glances.
Daryl spoke in more hushed tones. "Know anythin' about a warehouse in the Burbs?"
Dale choked on his drink and sputtered it all over Daryl's face. Apparently, he was caught off guard. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and gave a look that Daryl knew all too well.
"Where did you hear about this? Daryl, it's a—"
"Don't try to fool me, old man. You fully well know what I'm talkin' about." Daryl glared, jabbing the man's chest with his finger. "Now spill! And don't say my name out loud!"
"It's just like the Helm. But there are things that happen there that make me question if the people that go there are still human."
"Yeah, yeah, I know about the sex already. Tell me something I don't know. What's at the back? The part that comes after the sex?" All Daryl received was a gasp. "Fine. Seen my brother recently?"
The answers never came. Dale sat there with his eyes glossed over, shaking his head over, and over, and over, mumbling about walkers and fornication.
The fat man from the room next door passed by Daryl, sneering. He had a contusion around one of his eyes, darkening with each and every blink. The man gritted his teeth, lugging a seemingly heavy bag of food down the stairs. Daryl sneaked a glance into the man's slightly open bag and noticed the cans teetering inside—the same ones he had given the weeping woman.
After grabbing another can from his cupboard, Daryl placed it on his neighbour's 'You're Not Welcome' mat, and knocked on the door three times before he went back to the apartment.
Daryl returned to the apartment, the bedroom, like he always did. Alone.
Daryl groaned, lying on his bed. Tallies dug shallowly into his wall. He was too lazy to add up the days. He cursed himself for not bunching them up by fives so they'd be easier to count.
The food supply wasn't going to run short anytime soon, so he decided to crack open a few cans to reward himself. He flicked the lid of one of the cans of root beer and sighed when he heard released the fizzy sound he never thought he'd miss so much. He propped himself on his shoulders, gulping down the warm but sweet drink.
Daryl's boots landed on the little stump he used as a footstool then he crossed his legs, leaning back on the worn-out couch and avoiding the sprigs that stuck out. Although night was about to arrive, the heat still remained. His window was shoved open, allowing the air to circulate, his lights were shut off, and his blinds were pulled down, protecting him from the apparently harsh rays of sunset.
But none of those shielded him for what was about to come next. His door cried out when it was beaten heavily by pounding fists. Daryl whipped his head toward it when he recognized the drunken slurs.
"Hey, Daria! Open up!"
Daryl rushed to the door, placed his foot on the end, and opened it slightly. Foul odours filled his nose and he immediately wanted to retch for before him stood a booze-filled brother with rotting squirrels stitched together by their tails and heads around his neck.
Suddenly, Merle began to stumble, forcing Daryl off-guard, as he pushed his way into the apartment. He fell face first onto the floor, releasing bile-coloured barf all over the floor as his face smushed against the floor. Daryl groaned, wondering how the hell he was going to clean this mess. Merle raised his head up, trying to get back onto his feet. Hoisting himself onto his elbows, Merle tried to bring himself back up, but he slipped on chunks of—Daryl didn't even want to know.
"You've got squirrels around your neck."
"What of it? It's to scare them coloured people away," Merle mumbled, his mouth making ripples in the pool of vomit. "They's scared of anythin' these days."
Daryl sighed, "Come on, let's get you all cleaned up." He lifted his brother, forcing Merle to drop the bag on his back and swing an arm around his shoulders. "Washroom's this way."
He unceremoniously dropped Merle onto the toilet, instructing him to wait there until he came back. Daryl found a decently clean rag from his room, dipped it in some water, and tossed it at Merle.
"I'll go make you some food."
Crouching down, Daryl used his blade to prod at Merle's bag. After feeling that it was filled with small objects, Daryl decided it was safe to use his hands. Inside were plastic tins of hydromorphone and antibiotics, a lighter, a half empty bottle of water, three handguns, and keys to his motorcycle. But Daryl hadn't heard its mighty roar from outside the window.
Daryl returned to the kitchen, pulling out a can, piercing it open with a walker-gut-free knife and putting it on the broken stove. He grabbed a few pieces of wood that he stored under the sink and placed it under the can, and set it aflame with the lighter he found in Merle's bag.
He walked away from the kitchen to see how his brother was faring. He was sure Merle did squat while he was gone, and probably fell off the toilet. He wondered how Merle even came back. And where the hell he was.
Daryl was halfway down the hall when he heard a familiar knock.
"I've got the stuff!" was the call from the other side of the door. Daryl frowned, knowing that it couldn't be his door that was being knocked on. But after a few more knocks, he realized it was. "…I wouldn't be knocking this late... C'mon, man! Open up! I've got something for you!"
"Looks like we got us some company, lil' brother!" Merle cheered, rubbing his hands together.
Daryl's lips pressed together tightly. Unsure of what to do, his eyes shifted back and forth. His senses heightened. Daryl began preparing himself for what he asked for when he bargained with the old woman in a shack ages ago: some excitement. He rushed to the washroom to find his brother slowly standing up.
"I got it," Daryl grumbled, pushing his brother back down onto the toilet. "Don't want you pukin' anymore than you already have."
"What's the matter? Don't want me to know what's goin' on out there? What's the lil' lady look like? She sounds like a firecracker!"
Daryl ignored the comment while trying to compose himself in front of the front door. If the person he thought was out there then he had to act fast. He slid his hand deep into his pocket and retrieved the condom, squishing it between his shaking fingers. He gripped the knob, unsure if he was ready to turn it open. He stood there, listening to Merle's demands that the door be opened now and the knocks that just kept coming.
Quickly reassuring himself, Daryl slowly began to unlock the door, turning the knob as like he was hacking a safe. The door opened wide and Daryl saw an Asian woman with large breasts clad in black. In one hand was a greasy cardboard pizza box branded with some cheesy Italian name he'd never even heard of and on her head was a dinky red cap.
"Hey, big boy," she announced with her sultry voice, stretching a leg high onto the doorframe. Her bosom bounced, threatening to pop out of the tight leather top.
"Who the fuck are you?" Daryl responded, dumbfounded.
"Darlena got me a homecomin' present!" Merle laughed. "It's about time you became a man! C'mere, babe! I'm in the back!"
The woman smiled bashfully at Daryl, tugging at her own shirt seductively. "You ordered the best slice this side of the apocalypse. Well it's here, hot and ready! Straight from the Warehouse!"
A large frown made itself a home on Daryl's face. When he spoke to that old lady about wanting a hot slice, this wasn't the one he was hoping for—
Something quietly shuffled behind the woman. Daryl stared beyond her frame and realized that it actually, finally happened, that his door was the one that was knocked. He spied Glenn shuffling his feet behind the woman. Daryl stared hard, willing him, commanding him to look. But Glenn rubbed the back of his neck and didn't meet Daryl's eye, choosing to analyze the carpet's patterns instead.
The woman winked at Daryl and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pushing him inside. Her other hand held the knob, closing the door slowly. He yelled, warning her that his brother was due for another emesis any second now. The woman laughed, running into Merle's open arms before pushing him back onto the toilet. She ignored his warnings and unzipped Merle, who spewed out racist commentary but encouraged her to suck his dick regardless.
Daryl shoved his foot to stop the door from closing. Daryl opened it wide, frowning when he saw Glenn go down the stairs with a faltering smile aimed between his worn out kicks, when he saw the tears in Glenn's shirt, the dirt and grime and blood, that covered his skin.
"Took forever to get her here," Glenn murmured. "Worst delivery ever."
It suddenly came to him in a flash of guilt.
Daryl realized that the reason the kid risked his life by going to deep into the Zone by himself; that the reason the kid travelled past those teen cannibals that could've eaten him alive, the reason the kid trekked through miles of walker-infested woods and dangerous terrain, and the reason that Glenn entered the warehouse that smelled like sex and death, was all because of him.
