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 - 8
"Hey, kid!" Daryl finally yelled when Glenn was halfway down the stairs. He sprinted to the wooden railing and beckoned the kid to look up.
Glenn flexed his neck, a distant look spread across his face, a worried one.
"Get your ass in here, lil' brother! Merle's gonna teach you what it means to be a man!" Merle laughed. "Time for you to stop lookin' at them pretty boys and be with a real woman!"
"I ain't no fag!" Daryl yelled back loudly, strong enough for his throat muscles to tense, for his veins to be visible. But he never took his eyes off Glenn, Glenn who looked away, visibly upset.
Merle called from the washroom again, teasing Daryl, advising him to stop pretending and to just drop the act.
Daryl gulped, unsure of what to say. So, they stood, looking at each other, neither one wanting to make the first move, both wishing the other would do it instead. Glenn regulated his breath, trying to control himself, as if he was breathing too fast. Daryl clenched his fists and crossed his arms, determined not to back down.
Daryl stared at Glenn, suspicious yet enticed. "So, what brings you to this part of Area S?"
"Visiting a… friend. Why don't you go say hi to yours?" Glenn scorned, his words dripping with distaste, cutting the conversation off quick. Minutes passed and Merle's credulous groans began to wear on Glenn, who cringed at each sound. "Fine, you caught me." Glenn sighed, rolling his eyes as he spoke, "I'm secretly part of the mafia."
Daryl snorted at the absurd notion. "Yeah. And my brother's a government sniper."
"Look, I need to go," Glenn began. "It's getting dark outside and I really can't stay here." He chuckled hesitantly. "I mean, look at me!" Glenn spread his arms, allowing Daryl to take a good long look.
"I don't get it." Daryl fought the urge to lick his dry lips.
"I may be skinny but I'm no Bruce Lee."
"So what?" Daryl spouted knowingly. He thought of how Glenn was somehow able to haul the farm job pay from beyond the Clear to the Borderlands, how Glenn was able to blend in with the dangerous crowd at the warehouse and come out unscathed, how Glenn managed to bring that whore in heels out of the Burbs and into the Borderlands. "You got spunk."
Glenn looked doubtful. He turned, walking down the stairs. Daryl followed behind quickly, gaining on the kid step after step. They reached the building entrance and stood underneath a flickering light.
Glenn whined. "Aw, man! It's pitch black!" He began to walk towards the watchtower gate but stopped and shot straight up, as if he just realized something. "I can't leave now!"
"What?" Daryl scoffed. "You want me to walk you home or somethin'?"
Glenn sputtered when he heard Daryl's request, staring at him in disbelief, eyes shifting all over Daryl. "Dude, I'm not some girl you can just take home! And this was totally not a date!" Glenn abruptly turned and muttered to himself quietly.
"As if I'd pick you up," Daryl sneered.
Glenn crossed his arms, abruptly turning away to gaze at the distance. Daryl did the same but stared in the opposite direction. Daryl frowned, chuckled, and then frowned again. Glenn's breathing was audible, slow enough for Daryl to count each and every one.
"Good night, Dixon. Have fun with your guest." Glenn stressed the last word, emphasizing the single syllable with disgust. He pointed at the condom that Daryl had crumpled in his hand. "I'd use that if I were you."
Daryl shoved his hands down his pockets when Glenn began to walk away. Daryl growled, realizing it was too dark to get a good look at the kid's equipment. But from what he knew about Glenn, it was that he was prepared, feisty, and knew how to get in and out. Somehow, Daryl knew the kid would be all right.
Glenn stood underneath the watchtower, speaking to whichever guard was on duty tonight. Daryl watched the boy until he was immersed in darkness. Daryl waited, wanting to know if Glenn would turn around and wave goodbye—he didn't.
Luckily, Merle had somehow knocked his head onto the sink and he passed out before the scantily clad leather woman could get her hands on him. She moved to Daryl immediately after she saw Merle down for the count. But after looking at her sickening and paling skin, hearing her coughs and deep wheezing, and smelling her foul stench, he shook his head grimly. He let her sleep on the couch. He left the apartment before sunrise, leaving them behind. Daryl left a small note about her condition. But he knew Merle could deal with her later.
"Hi, glad to be working with you." The man offered his hand to Daryl. "Why'd you take the job?"
"Needed the distraction." Daryl grunted, reluctantly shaking the hand.
"Well, I'll do—"
"Whatever, man. Just tell me what we need to do."
"First, we pick up a bag of medicine from a man beyond the Clear. It should only be two days to reach the cabin."
It took them four days to reach the pickup point.
The man, who called himself Scout, looked just as old or perhaps older than Daryl, moved quite slow, taking too many breaks for Daryl's liking. He had dark skin and short black hair but it was the wrinkles around his eyes worried Daryl. Scout talked often, loudly, trying to coax Daryl to join the conversation but Daryl limited his responses to be a maximum three words long. Daryl slept with his bow loaded.
The first night they encountered a small swarm of walkers, ten in total, just outside the Clear. Scout proved to be of no use, having no previous experience in combat. Daryl ended up having to slay the dead while he forced Scout to run around as bait. Three were taken down with his crossbow, one by decapitation, two with his knife, and the other four by stomping on their soft crunchy heads.
"Don't you work for Zombie Zone Express? Why the hell are we goin' beyond the Clear?"
"I don't ask questions, Mr Hunter. I just do my job."
On the second, Scout and Daryl encountered a woman in the middle of a forest. She pleaded for them to take her to wherever they were going, claiming that it was better than where she was coming from. Her home had apparently been overrun with walkers overnight and nearly no one managed to escape. They travelled together but around the campfire, she discovered they were heading in the direction she was coming from, so she stole Scout's bag and disappeared by morning.
"I trusted her…"
"You only knew the stupid bitch for a few hours."
The third was more of the first.
"Where did you learn how to do that?"
"When I was bein' attacked the first time they came around. Where'd you learn to be such a wimp?"
Daryl had to share his food and water with Scout, who although was familiar with being beyond the Clear, was too friendly. Daryl realized that the amount of food they had would not last, so he spent hours tracking animals for food. Scout often tripped, scaring the prey away by crumpling leaves and snapping twigs with each misstep. He spoke to Daryl as if they were best friends since childhood, only making Daryl want to raise his guard even more. Repeatedly, Daryl told Scout to shut up, not wanting to attract attention but the man continued to speak, so Daryl moved ahead and led Scout with his crossbow raised. Scout trailed behind.
Judging by the amount of stumps and the lingering sawdust smell, they reached a land that was recently cleared of trees. Rotting bodies were strewn around, a warning. The cabin was situated on a slightly steep hill. Although Scout was tired, Daryl urged the man forward, often poking him with his crossbow.
"I don't want to get stuck out here another night longer than I have to."
Scout responded by scampering faster. "It's fine," he spoke in between pants, "We can see anyone or anything since there aren't any trees."
"But we can't see what's above us," Daryl explained. "Keep it movin'."
They reached the top in the late afternoon.
The cabin seemed to have been built using the trees of the surrounding area, complete with windows shutters that opened and closed from the inside. There were neat dirt paths diverging from the front door. The paths either led to important places or served to confuse visitors—visitors that could think.
Scout knocked on the door lightly. "We're here to pick up the medicine!"
There was no immediate response, so Scout shrugged at an unimpressed Daryl. Daryl stepped away from the cabin, searching the area for any movement, human, walker, and anything in between.
"Medicine? We don't got any medicine here!" was the gruff response.
Scout strolled to Daryl, obviously confused. "I don't know what to say."
"You better say somethin' that made this four day trek worth it." Daryl pushed Scout's shoulder. "Get your ass over there."
Scout paused, unsure of what to say before he knocked on the door. He knocked again, outlining the details of the job, explaining who hired, and where they were going to deliver it. He received no response and walked away, defeated. The grass felt soft and moist to Scout when he sat on the edge of the hill.
Daryl growled and began to bang on the door. "Open up! I spent four days muckin' about to get here and don't want to say any longer than I have to!"
Another voice shouted from within. "So what?"
"We want the package!" Daryl explained, banging his fist on the door. "Give me the stuff!"
A hush echoed inside the cabin followed by quiet chattering. Daryl clenched his crossbow's strap and walked to where his partner was sitting. Annoyed, Daryl paced back and forth behind Scout.
Scout sighed. "Stop moving. They could shoot us at any time from within that safehouse."
"Well then it's better than being a sitting target."
"You, the second voice," someone called. Daryl perked up, listening to the person speak. "Come here. Now."
Daryl strapped his bow on his back and placed a hand on his knife when he reached the door. Scout watched from his position. It slowly opened, showing a young man and woman, both with soot on their faces.
"Here's the package." The woman handed Daryl a small bundle of glass bottles wrapped in a tiny cloth. "Careful, don't break the glass. The substances must be mixed in the proper order or it will be useless. We put instructions for the pharmacist inside. Be there when they mix it. To make sure the job's complete."
"Make sure to bundle it tightly, clinking glass raises suspicion," the male explained. "And whatever you do, don't drink anything."
Daryl nodded, taking the parcel and holding it tightly in his arms. "Where this thing goin'? I'm just the muscle."
"Area S. To the hospital in the Burbs. Half broken building." The woman gave him the smallest smile. "You can't miss it."
"Can't we stay here for the night?" Scout pleaded.
The man fielded the question. "You're welcome to stay, but you'll have to stay outside."
Daryl nudged Scout with the edge of his bow, directing him away from the cabin. "I don't know anything about these people and I don't know this area. We have to take turns at night to watch our backs." When they were at a distance Daryl thought was far enough, he continued, "And our fronts."
The night, although surprisingly cool, was uneventful.
Daryl snored through most of it and stirred when he felt the sun's warmth. He grew angry when he realized Scout forgot to wake him up to for his shift. He searched around and found the older man lying against a tree, mouth open wide, drool dripping alongside his face and onto the ground. Daryl kicked him awake.
"Let's get out of here."
They reached the Clear within a few days, making their way to the broken down building where Daryl began his first mission with Zombie Zone Express.
"The trip back is always faster than the trip there," Scout stated, out of breath. Daryl rolled his eyes. "I need to go talk to a friend first. Just hang out around here until I come back."
"I'll be at the Helm," Daryl said instead.
Daryl watched the man jog off behind one of the broken buildings.
The buildings proved to be good places to hide. The Clear mentality forced people to think that ruins were dangerous while those from the Zone knew that it's living in close quarters with other people. Daryl recalled the place he stayed in that one night where he found the stockpiles of food. He shrugged, deciding to go there.
The door this time was unlocked, so Daryl began a quick through the room. He checked the usual places but was unable to find the cans of food he found the last time. Instead, he detected a hooked machete underneath the couch. The blade was dark, small but sharp. It seemed like a good weapon, but based on the quick scan of the room, it was probably the only weapon this guy had. Daryl returned it where he found it.
Daryl found a small bunch of semi-clean clothes underneath one of the cushions. He dug through the pile, lifting article after article of clothing. A shirt with a few stains of blood, a worn-out pair of jeans, two thin raincoats, four pairs of mismatched socks, and clean white briefs and questionable striped boxers sat at the bottom of the pile. He didn't touch those. He took a pair socks though, one black, the other grey, leaving the colourful ones and the ones with cars on them behind.
Daryl shoved it deep into his pocket and stared into the broken mirror. It looked like he either was compensating for something he didn't have or was sporting a hard-on. Daryl frowned and split the pair of socks, folding them neatly and placing one flat in each of his side pockets.
He glanced outside the door when he heard a sound. Daryl threw himself against the wall and peered into the alley through the window. Neither direction had anyone in them. He slid along the floor, loading his bow. Edging his way to hide behind the large shelf, Daryl eyed the door he left open.
Surely the door would have been locked.
"Unless he's coming back!" Daryl cursed when he heard footsteps. There were two ways out: through the tiny window he possibly couldn't fit in and the way he came in. Daryl made his way to the door, ready to move until he realized, judging by the footsteps and voices, there were two or more people headed his way.
He stared at every possible hiding place. The only viable one for someone his size was in the large wardrobe full of miscellaneous items that were although invaluable to Daryl, were probably of high regard to the right people: books, music players, and handheld game consoles. He slid down, resting his ass on The Case of the Missing Man. Pulling his knees close, he made himself smaller, less easy to spot, all while contemplating the value of each item he was sitting on, what they would go for in the Helm.
Voices echoed through the room and the sounds from inside were muffled, making it hard for Daryl to discern who was speaking. Leaning close, Daryl was able to look through crack and one of the people in the room. Daryl held a gasp down when he saw one of them.
"Something didn't seem right," Scout explained. "I don't trust my partner. It was too easy."
Daryl frowned at Scout's confession, trying to understand which of his actions raised suspicion.
"Everyone has secrets," the other voice agreed.
Scout scratched behind his ear. "I guess you can say that."
"Don't worry about it. Look, I'll keep an eye out for you to make sure everything's fine."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
A quiet chuckle. "I'll signal you if something's gone bad."
Scout thanked the other person with him, a man, young, Daryl decided based on the pitch of the voice.
"You better get moving then."
"I'll head out first thing tonight." Daryl sees a sleeved arm grab the machete from under the couch. "I need to stock up on some stuff first. Don't worry about the door. Just leave the room unlocked. And don't forget, 'I'm watching you.'" The other person laughed.
Scout stood in the room and kicked an empty can of root beer on the ground. "Well, there's only one way to find out."
When Scout disappeared from his view, Daryl waited a few minutes until he believed the room to be clear. Slowly pushing the cabin door, he waited to see if it would attract anyone's attention. He continued, swinging it open in short distances, until it fully opened. He was alone.
He grabbed his blade and snuck off, checking the knife's reflection when he reached corners to see if anyone was on the other side. The area around the building was more of the same, free of bodies, except those of a few walkers groaning on the ground limbless. Sidestepping the bodies, he rushed towards the Helm, to arrive before Scout.
He panted heavily and slowed his pace once the hunters' building was in sight. Normal but deeper respirations were key. Nodding at familiar faces, Daryl made his way into the building, keeping an eye out for the distrusting man but couldn't find him. He chatted up the brown-haired boy sitting behind Amy's stand while he waited.
"Do you ever go into the Zone?" the child asked.
"Yeah, it's part of the job."
"My dad was shot down in the Zone. Mom says there are tons of walkers there. Seen any?"
"Where's your mother?"
"She's out getting lunch from Shane. He's a cop. My dad was one too. But Shane's a good guy to watch over us after my dad died." The kid reached out towards the pistol on Daryl's waist. "Can I see that? It's different from my dad's. He had a revolver."
Daryl sighed softly, looking at the kid reminiscently. Daryl unclipped his holster but closed it back up when he saw the dishevelled woman returning to the stand. "Your mom's comin' over."
"Carl! I thought I told you to stay in the house!" she raged.
"Shouldn't be leavin' your kids out in the open," Daryl warned, waving off her credulous looks when he spotted Scout at the end of the aisle.
Scout met him halfway. "It's too late deliver the package now. We leave at first light tomorrow. Meet me at the broken building where you first met me."
Daryl returned to the apartment and noticed it had been trashed. He sighed, shaking his head as he picked up pieces of broken furniture and tossed it in the growing pile of garbage. Poking his head into the room Merle claimed but rarely used, he found a dishevelled bed and an unopened condom on top. Daryl felt his shoulders sink. There were no other signs of Merle's stay except the vomit stain he left on the ground and the shit-covered shower. From what he saw in the hospital a while back, Merle was probably used that as a pit stop between here and wherever the hell he went to. A good choice, because Merle liked to terrorize nurses, swipe drugs, and cop a few feels.
Some cans of food were missing; the rest of his dried meat was gone. He wasn't sure whether Merle or the woman took it. Probably both. Daryl grunted, punching the wall with his fist, which caused a loud sound and a small hole. His fist was stuck in the drywall cracks, so when he pulled it out, the hole became bigger. Daryl thrust his back onto a wall and slid down against it, bringing his knees to his chest. He calmed his mind and slipped a hand between his thighs, ritually returning to his mental state of Zen.
Scout seemed more enthusiastic about completing the job than Daryl. He spoke of it loudly, excitedly. Daryl filtered the noise and nodded absently, scanning the distance. The bow's string was taut, ready to snipe someone down.
"What's the Zone like?" Scout asked nervously, eyeing Daryl's bow. "Is it different from beyond the Clear?"
Daryl shrugged. "Far as I know, it's the same thing. Except dead are actually the living. Mostly everyone's waiting until they pass on from this world."
"How morbid."
"You not familiar with the Zone?"
"I usually take trips in and beyond the Clear. It's… different, to go somewhere I rarely go."
"If you don't know anythin' about the Zone why didn't they assign me someone else?"
"Our best Zoner likes to work alone. Thinks it's more efficient than working with someone else. No one to slow him down, I suppose. Besides, he's busy."
Daryl frowned, trying to understand why the alternative to Scout being his partner was the person who knew the Zone the best. Maybe it had something to do with the package.
When they reached the Burbs, Daryl forced the man to shut up, advising the man that stealth was key in survival. By walking briskly, he forced the older man to move forward, implying the man keep up with his pace or be left behind. Scout stumbled with the abrupt push, waving his hands around in an attempt to balance himself. He regained his footing and immediately checked the glass vials inside his bag, ensuring they were not leaking or broken.
"Why are you being so pushy all of a sudden?"
Daryl growled. "Just want to get this mission over with. I've got better things to do."
A smile spread across Scout's face. But it disappeared as fast as it came. Scout pressed his lips tight. "Where are we headed?"
"It's this way, just through this neighbourhood," Daryl directed. "Keep a look out. Last time I was here there was a bunch of rowdy kids. Don't want to cross their paths again."
But they did.
Daryl stopped at the edge of the treeline, Scout a short distance behind. The small housing complex that Daryl had come across had been covered with spray paint and warnings. The teens had marked this place as their new territory and judging from the large amount of boxes and guards outside, they didn't plan on leaving any time soon. Daryl found them to be surprisingly organized, walking around in pairs within seeing distance from one another.
"What's that?" one of the teens shouted, pointing in Daryl's general direction.
Daryl ran back, hissing for Scout to follow. "We'll have to go around, take the long way."
The teens had managed to follow them until Daryl created false tracks for them to lead them astray.
Daryl and Scout holed up in a small house a few blocks away from the skull girl's complex. Scout discovered a small doorway at the side of the house leading to a cramped basement.
In the middle of the room, sitting on a wooden chair, was a dead woman with a bullet hole through her brain. The skin had rot, creating a foul stench that permeated their clothes. Her clothes were ripped to shreds, her pants wrapped around what were once her legs. Thin strands of hair fell from the lacerated scalp. Blood painted the seats and the walls.
"Suicide," Daryl explained, gesturing at the woman's head then the blood behind her. "Look at the bullet's trajectory."
Scout rubbed his chin. "Or maybe she was forced to." Daryl frowned at Scout, who only shook his head. "What?"
There were a few jars of water sitting in the corner. Scout was tempted to try it, but Daryl managed to persuade him to avoid drinking even the tiniest sip.
"Too convenient."
Daryl slept on the other side of the basement, the dead woman separating him and Scout, with his blade in hand and crossbow loaded. He stared at the man across the room, the man who spouted distrust from last night. Daryl slept lightly, keeping his ears open for the slightest of sounds.
The groans alerted Daryl. He lifted his knife with one hand and his bow with another. The room was empty aside from Scout and their dead roommate. He stood, made his way around the corpse, and nudged the man's foot with his own. Scout gasped.
"Shh. We got us some company."
Daryl lifted the metal door above his head slightly and peeked out of the basement. Walkers had them surrounded. He counted. Six. Informing Scout of the situation, Daryl asked for his suggestions.
"We don't have much supplies left. We have to reach the hospital and return to the Clear by nightfall."
They ate while Scout formulated a plan: open the hatch and silently escape to the other side of the house and from there, they'd make their way to the hospital unnoticed. Daryl agreed, deciding that was, sadly, the best course of action.
Daryl counted down from three, pushing the hatch open at zero, only to find the hatch surprisingly heavy. He forced it open, sending a walker flying a few feet away from the basement entrance. The rest of the geeks heard their companion's groan and turned towards it, noticing the fresh bodily tissues of Daryl Dixon.
"Climb up! New plan!" he yelled. "Don't die."
He shot one in the head, pulling his knife on another. Three others soon crowded around him. Scout was off to the size, trying to lure the one that had fallen away from Daryl. Daryl kicked one in the stomach, pushing it back a short distance. He lifted his leg, hoping to force another one back, but it grabbed at his leg, almost getting a hold of him.
"No time to reload!" Daryl informed, turning to get a quick look at Scout.
The older man was stomping on the walker's back and stabbing it repeatedly with the small knife, trying to force it to stick to the ground. But the being was hungry, determined to get a bite of the man's flesh. Scout managed to subdue the creature. He sighed in relief, stepping away from the fallen corpse. Something rustled behind Scout, so he turned, and Daryl saw: a large group of walkers, ten or twenty, that Daryl knew he couldn't take on from this close of a range, especially with a useless partner.
"Incoming!" Daryl shouted as he ran towards the man, pointing behind him. Scout turned, gasping when he saw the sight. He sat there, wiggling in fear, until Daryl grabbed the back of his shirt, hoisting him up. "Move! Now! We can't take them all like this!"
They ran.
Hard and fast they sprinted. After a few feet, Daryl could hear Scout heaving from behind him. He gritted his teeth when he realized he had to stop for the man. They stopped a short distance later.
"Thanks." Scout groaned in between pants. "I thought you were going to leave me back there."
Daryl looked at him curiously. "I'm supposed bring you and the bottles to the hospital. Ain't letting you die on my watch."
The detour around the housing complex took longer than expected. According to Scout's broken watch and the sun, it was definitely past three. The heat beat on them relentlessly. There was no cool breeze to relieve them of the humidity. They sat underneath a tree every so often, conserving energy, minimizing the amount of fluid lost through sweat. Daryl shot down a squirrel and shared it. Although their hunger wasn't quenched, the stillness of the forest informed Daryl that there were no prey within his vicinity. They continued their journey on empty stomachs.
Scout sighed in relief when Daryl explained that the hospital was just past this hill.
"Smoke." Daryl pointed towards the thick dark clouds in the air.
Scout's worry accidentally escaped his mouth. "The signal!"
He turned towards Daryl, glaring intensely. Reaching into his pocket, Scout pulled out a small knife then stared at Daryl's bow, which was loaded and ready to fire. Scout kept his himself a short distance away but continued to walk. So Daryl followed, glancing at the man every few seconds. They trekked up the grassy slope, pressing onward.
When they reached the top, the man fell down onto his knees. Daryl did so as well, but he quickly stood up, clutching his fists and breathing heavily, when he saw that the hospital was on fire.
