The construction site appeared empty. "Everyone must have gone home from work before the Turn," Marcus said.
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Merle asked. "The Turn?"
"What do you think we should call it?" Marcus spat back.
"I don't know. The Outbreak has a nice ring to it. Or, we could call it the same thing we call the War Between the States." Merle took a step closer, his eyes darkening. "The Recent Unpleasantness."
"You mean the Civil War?" Marcus asked. "Which you assholes lost, by the way?"
"Well the South is risin' now, Chicago boy!" Merle exclaimed. "Because I guarantee you those liberal, manicured, anti-gun Northern city slickers ain't gonna survive this shit."
"Plenty of guns in Illinois," Marcus said. "I shot my first gun when I was fourteen."
"Fourteen!" Merle cried through his laughter. "I was four." Merle drew his eyes slowly away from Marcus and strolled the few steps to his bike, which was parked outside the painting trailer. "See, told you it wouldn't be stolen." He ran his hand over it like he was caressing a woman's thigh.
"Maybe nobody wanted one with swastikas," Marcus remarked in a low voice.
"Ya like those?" Merle asked. "Painted 'em myself."
"Did you know Dixon's actually a Jewish name?" Darlene asked him. "It was shortened at Ellis Island. Original form's Dixonbaumstein."
"What?" Merle asked, looking suddenly alarmed.
"She's shittin' you, Merle," said Daryl as he tried to suppress the smile that was threatening to break out across his face. In the end, one edge of his lips twitched up slightly.
Merle shook his head at Darlene and then straddled his chopper. He made sure the bike was running and did some wheelies around the work trailers. The sound of the engine drew four geeks from throughout the construction site. Merle sputtered his bike to a stop and said, "Whoops."
Daryl shook his head and raised his crossbow at the nearest geek.
"Let me try stabbin' it," Darlene insisted.
Daryl nodded but he kept his bow leveled, in case she needed a rescue. Darlene walked up, grabbed the creature by the arm, and then thrust her new hunting knife in its forehead. It crumpled to the ground while she said, "Ewww! It was real squishy!"
"Don't forget to take yer knife back," Daryl told her. An arrow wooshed from his bow and thunked into the head of the next geek as Darlene slid her knife out of the dead flesh.
"Shit," Merle muttered. "Next two got construction helmets on." He unsheathed his hunting knife. "You take up the rear," he told Daryl.
The Dixon brothers circled and taunted the lurching geeks, Merle brandishing his knife in front while Daryl knocked off their construction helmets form behind. After the geeks were slain, Merle wiped his bloody knife on the tail of his shirt and clipped it back on his belt. He sauntered by Marcus and said, "Nice work, Mr. T."
"Looked like you had it covered," Marcus said. "And who the hell is Mr. T?"
"Jesus, you are young."
They took some gas tanks out of the storage sheds on site and loaded them into the pick-up. Then they sat on the base of an unfinished house, between four rough walls but beneath no roof, and ate a dinner of sunflower seeds, beef jerky, pork rinds, and water. Merle suggested they make camp for the night.
"Already?" Marcus asked. "Let's get a little farther along toward Atlanta first."
"Sun'll start settin' in ten minutes here," Merle insisted. "Shouldn't be travelin' after dark. This place is pretty safe, mostly clear of the geeks. Turn in early, leave early in the morning. I'll even keep first watch." Daryl knew why he volunteered for that. "Hell, we already got two sleepin' bags and a bunch of blankets and pillows in the paintin' trailer."
"Why?" Marcus asked.
"We was between houses," Merle told him.
"Is that like being between jobs?"
Merle glowered. "Well we cain't all get full scholarships to college just 'cause we's black."
Marcus stood up. His fist clenched. Merle drew himself to his full height and smirked. Daryl and Darlene scurried into standing positions, ready for a fight to break out.
Darlene put a hand on Marcus's wrist. "He ain't worth it, honey."
"I had a 3.9 in high school," Marcus said. "What did you have?"
"Had about six of the hottest teachers is what I had," Merle said.
Marcus laughed. He caught himself laughing and closed his lips tight, but then the laugh burst out of his closed lips again. "Yeah, you're right, beautiful," he said, putting a hand on the small of Darlene's back. "He ain't worth it. Let's go check out this trailer."
Daryl watched them jump down off the base of the house and head toward the painting trailer. His stomach rolled a little. Too many pork rinds, he told himself, because that was better than admitting he was still uneasy about what they were about to do.
[*]
Carol smoothed Sophia's hair away from her forehead, bent down to kiss the warm flesh, and then pulled the blanket up to her neck. "Ready to say prayers?" she asked.
Ed had told her two years ago that Sophia was "much too old to tuck in," but Carol had kept doing it anyway, when Ed was downstairs watching T.V. and couldn't see. It was one of her small defiances.
"Why is God letting all this happen?" Sophia asked.
"I don't know, sweetie. But we can pray about it." Carol did pray, that their family would be safe, that the power and water would come back on, that the plague would end and the military would destroy those things. "Is there anything you want to pray about?"
"Grandpa," Sophia said softly. "That he's all right. I tried to call, but the phones weren't working."
"Okay," Carol said softly and prayed for Grandpa Peletier. She kissed her daughter's head again. "Remember," she whispered, "we don't talk to daddy about grandpa."
"I know," Sophia assured her.
The large green numbers of the battery-operated alarm clock glowed like a night light on Sophia's nightstand as Carol softly shut her daughter's door.
[*]
Daryl pretended to be asleep as Marcus and Darlene had sex in the corner of the trailer where they'd made a nest. Within two minutes of his final moan, Marcus was snoring. Daryl waited another twenty minutes until he was sure Darlene must be asleep, and then he crept over on his hands and knees near their corner of the trailer and fished the truck keys out of the pocket of Marcus's discarded jeans. He made his way quietly out of the trailer and met Merle, who was supposedly keeping watch near the vehicles.
"Don't want to wake 'em with the sound of my bike," Merle said. "Gonna roll it out a mile south that a way." He pointed down a dirt road. "Then I'll come back and help you roll the pick-up. Then we'll take off."
Daryl nodded. But when Merle was out of sight, he unloaded more than his brother had told him to. He left eight boxes of ammo on the steps leading to the trailer instead of two, three gas cans instead of one, and a fourth of all the water and food.
The gravel crunched lightly under his boots as he walked back to the truck. Daryl was opening the door and getting ready to slide in to wait for Merle when he heard the click of a rifle cocking. "What the hell you think you're doing, Daryl Dixon?"
He sighed and his shoulders drooped. Daryl began to act as if he was going to turn around slowly, but within a second, he had his handgun out of his waistband and the barrel pointed at Darlene's face. "Drop it."
"Who's to say I don't shoot first?" she asked.
"Doubt you's faster than me."
"Fast enough," she said.
"Then we both die. You want that?"
"Do you?" she asked. "Do you really want – Oh shit!" He'd grabbed the rifle right out of her hands with his left hand. "I didn't see that comin'!"
"You got to be more aware, Darlene. 'Specially now that it's just gonna be you and Marcus out there." Now that he'd disarmed her, he slid the handgun back in his waistband. He kept a firm grip on the rifle, but he didn't point it at her.
"You're really gonna steal our shit and run off?" she asked. "You're really gonna do that?"
"Ain't yer shit, Darlene. Truck belongs to Merle in the first place. The rest was Doc's. Now listen, y'all got that rifle in the trailer." He raised Darlene's rifle slightly. "And I'll leave ya this one a half mile up the road. Left ya a bunch of ammo and food and such."
"Yeah, I know. I saw it on the steps. Heard you putting it there. But you're really leaving us without a vehicle?"
"I left ya three gas cans. You saw that white work truck when we's comin' in. I bet you can get it runnin'."
"Daryl, this ain't you. This is Merle's bright idea."
"Merle's right. We cain't go to Atlanta. Ain't nothin' in Atlanta for us. We need this pick-up. And we need the shit in it. That's the way it's got to be."
She shook her head.
"Now you shouldn't be out here alone at night. Get back inside with Marcus."
"I shouldn't be out alone at night, huh?" She put a hand on one hip. "Why not? You're out here alone."
"I'm a man."
She snorted. "No, Daryl, you ain't."
"What the hell's that 'sposed to mean?" He gripped the rifle tighter and his blue eyes flashed in the moonlight.
"Means what it means, Daryl."
"How ain't I a man?"
"Well, for one, you don't know how to have a relationship with a woman."
"Been with plenty of women."
"You've played Merle's wingman. You've entertained his cast-offs. Any of 'em ever come back for more?"
"I ain't a bad fuck, Darlene. They all enjoyed themselves."
"Maybe you ain't a bad fuck, but you ain't never had a real girlfriend. I don't think you've ever connected with a woman. You're afraid of any emotion that ain't anger."
"I ain't a girl. Ain't exactly gonna cry at commercials."
"Ain't just that," Darlene said. "You never held one job for more than ten months straight. And you're like a little puppy, always nipping on the heels of the big dog, always running after your older brother, letting him call the shots, tell you what to do, what to think, how to live your life. You're a follower, Daryl, not a leader, and if you weren't following Merle, you'd be following someone else. You're a sad, little boy who doesn't know how to be a man, 'cause ain't no one ever taught you."
"Fuck you, ya stupid bitch!" Spittle flew from Daryl's mouth as he yelled. "Who are you to talk? How many men you been with 'fore Marcus? And how many does he know 'bout? How many cars you help your daddy steal when you's a teenager, before he got sent up to the pen? Who the fuck do you think you are? Mother fuckin' Theresa?"
"You know who I think I am, Daryl?"
"Who?" he spat.
"Just another fucked-up girl who grew up in those fucked-up mountains, with a bunch of fucked-up neighbors, with a mama who killed herself and a daddy who died in prison. So I do fucked-up things. Just like you! But at least I been tryin'. I been tryin' to make something of myself."
"Yeah, well, look where all that tryin' got you, huh? We's all in the same boat now, ain't we? Eat or be eaten."
Darlene took two steps back. "I oughtta hate you for robbin' us, Daryl," she said softly. "But I don't. You break my heart." Her voice cracked on the last word and Daryl felt something he didn't want to feel, something he didn't even know he could feel.
"You go on now," he told her angrily.
"You go on now, too," she said. "You meet up with your brother. Y'all do your thing, like y'all've always done. But I hope for you, Daryl. I do." Her eyes were shiny in the moonlight. His teeth were grinding together, trying to bite down on this unfamiliar feeling, keep it from getting loose. "I hope, one day, maybe things can be different for you, because I knew you when you were just a little boy, before your world crushed you. And I think maybe there's the makings of a man in you, a real man. Maybe this ain't the end of the world. Maybe it's just the end of the world as we know it. Hell, maybe it's a new beginning." She turned and walked back quickly to the work trailer.
He watched her for a while, his teeth clinched, throat swallowing, eyes threatening to fill like a shallow pool. But when she was almost at the stairs, he shook off the unfamiliar feeling, leaped into the truck, and started it. He hit the accelerator hard. The dust rose up, coating the air with a thick cloud and burying her vision in the rearview mirror.
