Contagion
Chapter 9 - Happening
Atlanta looked a bit better during the day, but there were still a lot of walkers around, maybe even too many for their liking. The downtown area certainly didn't look any different than last time Daryl had been here. He recognized the tank where Rick had lost his hat and guns back in the day, all the blockades and signs of mass panic. They had agreed on a high rise they wanted to use to properly survey the area later, scout possible hospitals from up high. It would be a bit easier to see anything from up there these days, considering how much of central Atlanta had been destroyed with bombs and fire, so both Connor and Daryl were actually quite hopeful that they would be able to see something as soon as they got up there.
They jogged their way through small alleys and a major street once in a while, dodging debris and flying old newspapers and other leaflets as they tried to reach their destination. They took turns having the lead through the city, not saying a word throughout the whole thing.
By the time they finally reached the car park and skybridge it was impossible to talk anyway, because the streets were packed with the undead. Connor felt bad about it yet again because it certainly was dangerous for Daryl now, no matter how tough he really was. Before getting bit he and Murphy had been tough as well, but the walkers had never cared. If they got the chance to bite or eat someone, they always would. Muscle, crossbow, or hunting skills wouldn't matter either.
But it wasn't like that seemed to matter to Daryl. In fact, he kept going just like any other time, reminding Connor how resourceful his friend really was after all. When Daryl noticed that a herd of walkers was blocking the entrance to the car park he simply grabbed some of the old rotten papers on the ground and lit them on fire with Connor's lighter, waiting for the flames to grow until he threw the burning paper at a nearby car wreck and piles of trash.
It certainly did the trick because they were rapidly catching fire as well in the hot and dry sun, catching the herd's attention just as intended. Connor gave an approving nod, if even just to himself, and then quickly followed Daryl when he started running to get inside the car park. The Irishman naturally took over as soon as they were inside, as close combat with walkers in confined areas was his territory with the immunity.
Connor had his knife drawn and ready to stab, deadly eyes fixed on the parked cars as they carefully made their way up to the second level, where the signs said the skybridge was, the one that was going to get them inside the skyscraper they had picked for their survey.
Despite the tension and danger of this city scenario with all the walkers and everything else, Connor couldn't help but find part of it quite fun. If he just ignored the whole Murphy and past in Boston deal for a moment it actually felt good to be back in a truly urban area. It was a distorted but still present reminder of their former society and most of all his former life, a life that had consisted of big city ruckus and lots of people, noise, traffic jams, drinks after work, secretly shaking their heads over all these lifeless assholes in expensive suits out on the streets.
The lack of trees and farmlands and country life in exchange for the big city, dead or not, sure felt like a nice change.
Daryl was in his territory now. Not the other way round.
The skybridge that had once offered pedestrians a nice view of the avenue and surrounding downtown area had been turned into the same thing everything else had sooner or later. A dumping ground for trash, filth, rot, abandonment. He couldn't really tell how long ago but at some point, the skybridge had been turned into a camp. They could see tents and sleeping bags, with the windows and beams between them having been turned into a temporary place to hang clothing and paper towels and cooking pots for food that was now rotting away. Piles of rotten food and toilet paper had been carefully stockpiled in a corner, left forgotten the moment all the occupants had died.
Because that's what had happened here, just like it always did. The sleeping bags, the tents, they were all moving because the people had all died and turned here in this camp, probably within a short time. Daryl could see the holes in the sides of the sleeping bags that all had pools of dried blood on them, saw the holes in the tents where bullets had travelled right through. Every single member of this former camp had been shot up right here, left to turn, probably for the sheer sake of killing.
Both friends observed the scene for a moment, then Daryl just shook his head.
"Some days I don't know what the hell to think" he growled and knelt down to stab a few of the walkers in the sleeping bags. Connor did the same with a harsh look on his face.
"People have always been scumbags and killers" he answered. Scenes like this one right here were a good reminder how it was a good thing that he and Murphy were still around. The world needed to be ridden of scumbag killers just like that, now, more than ever.
He did the duty of stabbing the walkers in the sleeping bags and got up on his feet, looking at Daryl who was observing the moving tents. They could hear the dry snarling and growling from the undead trapped inside, saw how they clumsily tried to get out and attack but to no avail. The tents were all zipped up tight, leaving the walkers trapped to stumble around and fall over inside.
The hunter shook his head with a snort and simply walked past them. Connor kind of wanted to stab them through the fabric but then had to agree with his friend there. It was a waste of time, they needed to get moving, and it wasn't like these ones in there were any threat to them or anyone else right now. So just like Daryl he walked past the tents to get to the other side of the bridge instead, to get to the door there that was locked up with a chain.
Daryl managed to squeeze through and so did Connor, although it certainly was a bit hard and clumsy. Daryl watched him with a tiny smirk, not bothering to help his friend on purpose, simply because he enjoyed watching him struggle.
"Good thing we skipped breakfast, huh. Bout time you lose some weight" he simply said, which made Connor curse at him under his breath, but then the Irishman chuckled once as well. They both knew that Daryl had been refering to the fact that Connor had gained some muscles and strength, certainly not weight in any other sense.
Eventually Daryl did give his friend a hand to help him back up, so they could make their way up the stairs without wasting too much time.
It was kind of grotesque to enter this place because it looked so out of this world now, so neat and tidy and clean - if you didn't count all the dust on the furniture. The lawyer's office and accompanying penthouse were decorated with countless paintings and pieces of art practically everywhere, on expensive wooden tables with marble tiles next to expensive leather seats.
As they entered the office to make their way over to the windows Connor found himself just lazily looking at the books for a moment, snooping around some paper work. He didn't know why, but for some weird reason and just for a moment, he tried to imagine Smecker in a silly suit, sitting right there in the chair by the desk with that creepy grin of his. Whatever it was, the weirdness of the art and this whole place just reminded him of his late friend and Connor couldn't help but smirk as he let out a gentle chuckle. Yeah. Smecker would've fit in here just fine.
"I bet this cost some rich prick a looooot of money" Daryl said somewhere and made Connor look up.
The hunter was standing in front of one of the weird modern 'art' pieces on the wall, just observing it.
"Looks like a dog sat in paint, wiped his ass all over the place" Daryl went on and mimicked the stroke of the paint brush on the canvas with his hand to get his point across. It just made Connor grin even more, not just because of the remark, but also because Daryl just made everything even more grotesque. Because here he was, dirty as hell just like always, with his dirty leather west, the crossbow, the dirty jeans with the holes in them, the longish almost greasy hair, only thing missing was a dead squirrel somewhere.
"Look atcha, Daryl Dixon, redneck art critic now?"
Daryl snorted and flopped down on the expensive leather couch for a moment just to test it out. Dirty boots on the leather certainly included on purpose.
"Yeah, sure" he muttered and moved and shifted until he was comfortable.
"You ever been to a place like this before?" he eventually asked and smirked a bit. "Big city guy?"
Connor scoffed at him and observed the rest of the room.
"Sure. Ta shoot shit up. Prudential tower. Boston. Looked pretty similar."
Daryl snorted.
"So what, you ain't been livin in a place like that?" he teased and Connor gave him a grin.
"Why? Ye wanna pretend? Ye wanna play house with me? Go on, make me a sandwich in te kitchen then, Darylena. Ha" the Irishman teased and Daryl threw one of the probably outrageously expensive couch cushions at his friend with a chuckled "Fuck you."
But maybe he tried to picture it for a silly moment. Living in a place like this with Connor in a happy hippo wonderland after the cure had been found. The whole crazy deal, probably screwing around on this couch, too. Ha. Yeah. As if.
Daryl smirked a little to himself and then shook his head, swinging his legs to the side so he could get back up on his feet. He then walked over to the window to have a look outside, check the view. Connor did the same and let out a little sigh, because he knew that the joking and momentarily forgetting was over now, that it had to get back to the point now. The point being that Murphy was gone and that he needed to find him as soon as he possibly could.
The damage from the bombing and fire was very clear from their point of view now, considering that they were right in the center of the city, several stories above. The central avenue had been completely bombed to rubble, any sort of wreckage that had survived the bombing had burned to the ground by the fire that had followed. All the trees and bushes were burned as well and stood there like large pointy sticks of charcoal. The two friends just let the sight of that part of Atlanta sink in, silent for a while, until it was Daryl who spoke up first with a sad sigh.
"Shelters all got overrun, just like everywhere" the hunter explained as they both kept looking at the destroyed avenue below. "Merle 'n I, we were back outside by the time it started. Choppers. Jets. Came from all over, napalmed the shit outta the city. Didn't matter if there were any people left 'round the center. They just tried t'get rid of all of 'em. The noise, the fire…drew the rest of the walkers from the outskirts and suburbs right back here, crowded the center all over again. City belonged to the dead the moment shit hit the fan in the first place."
"Aye. Already figured. Shit happened everywhere, didn't it" Connor answered quietly and then let out a sigh.
"I mean with Boston 't was just a few air strikes, but fires, they were everywhere, too. I wasn't there anymore by te time it really went ta shit, but Murph told me 't was pretty much the same" he explained and shook his head. "Being out there on the farm, the prison, Woodbury, te church, ye kinda forget about the magnitude of it, don't ye. Everything's fucking dead."
Daryl shifted and turned around so he could lean back against the wall and fold his arms.
"Yeah well out there, sure feels less freakin dead. Gotta start t'get better somewhere."
Connor snorted and looked to the side a bit, trying to catch glimpse of any hospitals.
"What, you'd rather go back t'big city life? Eating canned shit 'n junk food with all the fuckin noise everywhere?" Daryl asked, having picked up on Connor's skepticism.
"Ye tend ta forget that I grew up country, too, y'know?" Connor countered instead and looked at Daryl, but he didn't seem annoyed or angry, it was just a neutral reminder. Eventually he looked back outside. "Nah. I'm just seriously wondering what te fuck these Augusta people see when they look outside. I mean they've travelled te country and they're here now and…It's gonna take a loooot of shit t'jump start this mess out there again. I'm not sayin I don't believe we can get it going again. I'm just wondering how the fuck this out there's supposed ta be worth more than Murph's life, man."
"The guy had a son. Maybe that's reason enough for him. Giving his kid a future" Daryl said with a little shrug, remembering the professor from Augusta, the guy he'd talked to about the cure, about Connor and Murphy, about the immunity and everything else. Sure enough, at first, that professor guy had seemed okay enough. Not your typical fucked up bad guy like the Governor or the people who had attacked Woodbury, certainly not like those cannibals from Terminus.
But still. The whole deal, with the immunity, with the cure, with the future, that was way beyond him, gave him a headache even. Even he didn't have a clue what he wanted or thought, if he really pondered on everything. Did he really want that cure? Would Murphy or Connor dying for this be worth it? Would the cure in fact be worth shit now? Really? If they looked outside, remembered the dead – alive ratio, the fact that the cure itself was a weapon, a tool of power?
He remembered Jenner's talk back at the CDC, how utterly clueless that lot had been, how complicated that disease, this "Wildfire", had sounded. He didn't know if it could even really happen. He honestly had no fucking idea about anything. Just like Connor, he was sure of that. He was also sure of another thing. The only thing that truly mattered about the whole immunity business, mattered to him, was the fact that it had saved Connor after those bites, that it had kept him from dying.
"Hold the fuck up" Connor suddenly said, leaning in to be closer to the window, sanpping Daryl out of it. The Irishman shielded his eyes with one hand and squinted them so he could see better. He was obviously looking at something in the distance, in the city, so Daryl quickly turned around so he could look back outside as well.
"D'ye see it? Look over there, by tha bridge" Connor said and pointed at something.
"What? Where? Which one?" Daryl asked, frowning. Connor kept pointing at something.
"Right fuckin there man!"
Daryl concentrated a little more, squinting his eyes just the way Connor had done it seconds before. Then, finally, he could see it as well. There was a crashed van on top of a bridge in the distance, half dangling in the air as it had obviously broken right through the barrier on the side. They could clearly see the back of the truck half in the air, how the sun got reflected on the tinted rear window.
A rear window that clearly had a white cross taped on it.
"Shit."
"Dat's definitely one of them" Connor said and then quickly reached for their stuff to find the book with the map, see how the hell they could get to that bridge, and if there were any hospitals or research facilities in the area.
"Well there's a bunch of dead ones, but I don't see nobody there, looks like it crashed a while ago.."
"It's gotta be a fuckin lead. We get there, maybe we can find something in there ta give us a clue where they took 'im."
Daryl observed the crashed van and its surroundings a little longer, only to nod in approval.
"Yeah, we could definitely save some time. Don't need to check every single hospital or research place then, and there sure as hell ain't no more reason for us t'stay up here, watch a dead city. Can't stand the place" Daryl said and got their stuff ready, too, huffing a little when Connor suddenly hit his back once.
"Nice fuckin idea ta get up here. Nice one I tell ye. Now let's hurry" Connor said and was already on his way out, obviously way too excited to have found at least something that could get him closer to his brother. Daryl shot a final short look at the van in the distance, praying to Connor's stupid god that they would really find something there just so he didn't have to see his friend get disappointed, frustrated and slightly panicked all over again, should the van be a dead end.
They were forced to make their way back on the same route they had used to get up to the penthouse, simply because all the other exits had been either damaged by the bombs or blocked by former survivors at some point in the past. Daryl hated the fact that he had to squeeze to the set of chained up doors that led to the skybridge yet again, not just because it was a weak spot and left them temporarily defenseless as they tried to get through, but also because he was almost instantly getting hit in the face by that awful stench of abandonment, rotten food and decaying bodies once again, the moment he opened one of the doors as 'wide' as he could.
"Hurry up, wouldcha?!" he somewhat shouted back at Connor in the meantime, as he squeezed through the gap, because his friend was still somewhere by the stairs, yapping about how his fucking leg hurt from walking up and down so many stairs without any elevator working. Connor rarely had to take any stairs these days considering that they had spent most their time outdoors or by the farmlands, but now that they were back within the city, with large multi-story buildings, the Irishman's old injury was certainly making itself known again.
In fact, because of the whole country and outdoor business, they had sometimes forgotten all about the fact that a large piece of glass had once been stuck in Connor's thigh after the car crash back at Hershel's farm, how it had fucked up his muscle with it. Walking and some running certainly was fine, a year had passed after all, but stairs were another thing entirely.
So this was the other reason why Daryl didn't like the fact that they had to take the same route.
That, and the sudden clicking of a gun somewhere, very close to his head.
"Don't even think about taking that thing back" someone greeted him, just when Daryl had been about to grab his crossbow from the ground where he had placed it to get through the gap between the doors faster. The hunter slowly looked up and glared at whoever was obviously threatening him with a gun and now taking his crossbow by placing his foot on it to drag it over to himself.
Daryl made eye contact with a young African American man who had an automatic rifle pointed at him. It was almost a bit funny to see the kid like that. He was a lot younger than Daryl, a lot skinnier than him, too. And although he held the rifle the right way, seemed to know his way around the gun, it still looked like he wasn't exactly your typical super buff or hardcore fighter. The gun and the fact that he had taken the crossbow made him look dangerous enough nevertheless, so Daryl decided to not say or do anything. Because after all, at least he still had an ace up his sleeve, Connor, who still hadn't…
"Hey, why the fuck don't you slow down or at least wait for me, huh? I told ye this bitch of a…" Connor decided to burst his bubble right then and there, sticking his head through the gap between the chained up doors as he then attempted to squeeze the rest of his body through. "DON'T" Daryl snapped and tried to slam the door shut but to no avail, Connor had already and almost entirely slipped through and was half kneeling on their side of the skybridge.
"NO TRICKS! Get up! Hands up. Both of you!" the young man ordered the moment Connor had instinctively reached for his gun. Connor stilled and eventually gave Daryl an angry 'What the fuck?' look, only to slowly get up as he'd been told. Daryl did the same with a disgruntled look on his face, but in contrast to his friend he wouldn't put his hands in the air, he just glared at the young man and his crossbow on the ground. The man stared right back at him in what seemed like surprise.
"Alright, just...just relax fella, alright? We're just passing through, we're not looking fer trouble. Let's just be civil about this" Connor said, switching to his charming, trustworthy and calming persona on an instant.
The stranger, however, only had eyes for Daryl though.
"How'd you get out? That's not.." he said, but before either of the friends could answer the young man already kept talking. "Look, nobody needs to get hurt. I just need weapons. And I need you to get as far away from me as you can. They're gonna be looking for you, if they find me because of…"
"Woah, hold te fuck up, ye know about Murph? The guy who looks like him?" Connor immediately asked and pointed at Daryl as he became almost frantic on an instant. "He's not the one you think he is, but we're looking fer the guy yer talking about, do ye know where he is? Jesus fuckin Christ, he's m'twin brother, they took him last night and now we're…" he said, coming closer to the man, who backed off a bit and fired his gun, letting the bullet travel right past Connor's head as a warning.
"Back up!" he said and Daryl lost it, too.
"Hey, you got some sack on you, you piece of shit!" he snarled in regards to the warning shot but Connor simply placed a hand on his chest to push him back gently. The Irishman then dropped one of his handguns and his knife on the floor, kicked them in the young man's direction and then held both his hands in the air in a soothing gesture, to let the stranger know that he didn't mean him any harm.
"Look. We don't wanna hurtche. We just wanna find my brother. Y'see these tattoos?" Connor said and pointed at the tattoo on his neck, the one on his arm and finger. "He's got te same, if ye were really there, ye saw 'em on him, too. He's with us. And he doesn' wanna be there. And judging by yer being out here, ye don't wanna be there, either. Maybe we can help each other out. Just tell us where ye saw him. Ye need guns, why not get the extra man power along with 'em, aye?"
The young man had taken their weapons in the meantime and kept backing off, obviously either not buying it or not being interested in Connor's talk. He eventually shook his head and approached the shaking tent to his left that was still filled with walkers.
"Sorry about this. I just made it out of there. I don't wanna be involved in any of this" he said and then grabbed his knife.
Daryl tried to approach him to stop him, but Connor held him back once more.
"Sorry" the young man said once again and then started cutting up the tents to set the undead free.
He started running when the first bunch of walkers emerged from the tents, stumbled out of them with dry growling and moaning sounds, attracted to Daryl on an instant. The moment the kid had turned his back on them Connor drew his other gun, tried to shoot him in the leg but missed when a walker stumbled into his line of fire.
"Shit! HEY! WAIT THE FUCK UP! AT LEAST TELL US WHERE HE IS!" Connor yelled and shot two walkers.
He then quickly turned his head once to shoot his friend a look.
"You good?"
"Yeah, just fucking go after him!" Daryl shouted right back and stabbed another walker who stumbled in his direction. Connor nodded and then made his way past the tents, shot another two walkers on his way as he quickly made sure that Daryl could handle the situation, and when it looked like there was only one walker left from the tents he knew he was good to go. Connor gave in to a full sprint down the skybridge and then disappeared around the corner, still yelling for the young man to wait up.
Daryl made sure that there were no more walkers and then quickly checked the tent for any weapons, anything they could use now that their weapons had been taken. He let out a frustrated growl when he found the first tent empty and useless. He quickly got out of it so he could make his way over to the other one. He'd only just reached it when he suddenly heard a noise of what sounded like yet another string of gunfire, loud banging, and a loud and angry scream from Connor somewhere in the parking garage. Daryl looked up in surprise and a little bit of shock, his heart pounding faster on an instant.
What if that kid had managed to shoot him during the pursuit? Shit, he shouldn't have wasted that much time looking for a damn weapon, he should've followed Connor and watched his stupid back.
"Leprechaun!" Daryl called out and immediately started sprinting because the noise in the parking garage was still going on.
He'd just passed the other tent when he suddenly fell forward, very abruptly onto the ground. He didn't even know what he'd fallen over when he felt a sudden and harsh pull on his right leg, something scraping across the fabric of his jeans there.
Daryl yelped once in sheer surprise and tried to turn on his back, looking down on himself only to start panicking. There was another walker, lying on the ground, holding on to him. He started kicking and wriggling, trying to fight the undead off who'd managed to trip him up during his sprint over to Connor. He hadn't even paid any attention to this stupid tent, hadn't bothered taking a second look at the walkers they had shot up or who had been shot up before in the tents. He cursed himself for that stupidity now, because otherwise he would've seen that one stupid walker that had still been half inside the tent, trapped underneath the walkers they had killed - which had stopped the undead from getting up to walk in their direction as well.
And here that single, stupid walker was now, with his rotten teeth buried in the front of Daryl's leg, gnawing on the jeans there. Daryl kept struggling and fighting in panic, but the walker used his rotten dirty fingers to hold him in a tight grip, ripping Daryl's jeans up even more, right where the holes by his knees had already been anyway. The fabric ripped and then there was nothing between the teeth and Daryl's leg, even the struggling and fighting couldn't stop the events from happening. Because then the walker bit down yet again, only that this time he got straight to the leg, without any fabric in the way, biting right down on Daryl's right shin. Daryl yelped loudly and kicked and struggled even more, panicking until he eventually could function enough to realize that he had the knife in his hand. He leaned forward and then stabbed the walker in his head, killing him, only to stab him again and again as he lost himself in the fact that he had been bit.
Not now. Not fucking now. Not like this, not by a single fucking hidden walker when he'd been busy trying to get back to Connor, hadn't watched his step for just a single fucking moment. Daryl stabbed the walker two more times and eventually let go, falling back with a pained expression on his face, chest heaving, as he tried hard to keep it together. But here it was, the hyperventilation, the fact that it was impossible to run from this, let it slide, because it had happened. He could feel it, the uncomfortable tugging burning sensation in his leg, by his shin, where the teeth and fingernails had pierced through his skin.
Daryl breathed rapidly and harshly for a moment longer until he eventually and quickly sat back up, pulled the leg of his jeans up so he could observe the damage.
It really wasn't even that bad. That was the worst part. It almost looked like a simple bunch of scrapes. Ugly, but still, like he'd just hurt himself on a bunch of thorny branches or fallen somewhere and scraped his skin on asphalt. It was bleeding but not too much. Not as hard as he'd seen some others bleed after a bite. Yet, if he looked at it a little closer he could in fact see it as a bite mark, the scraping of teeth, and a bit further up, the scratch marks of undead fingernails.
Maybe it was a good thing that that bastard had only managed to get him by his shin, where so little eatable flesh and muscle was anyway. He could try to fool himself that maybe that was enough to not make it that big a deal, but deep down he knew what it was. A bite, deep scratches from fingernails. Those and the rotten teeth, they were both infected. Carried the virus, the disease, the thing that burned everybody up with fever, killed them, brought them back.
Daryl pressed both his fists to his eyes for a moment, trying hard to battle the turmoil that came with the realization, but that was harshly brought to an end when Connor shouted for him to come. He looked up and back, in the direction of that parking garage his friend had disappeared of to just moments before, reminding him once again that in fact, it wasn't over yet. He needed to get to his friend. He needed to help him however he could, needed to find that stupid brother of his. Even if it was probably the last thing he was going to do.
Connor couldn't know. He would lose his shit. Daryl glared at his knife, wondering for just a moment if a quick amputation might save him, but he knew exactly that it would be worth shit because time was running out with every second that he wasted thinking about it, that even if he tried, his knife wouldn't be sharp and good enough to cut through bone, that even he, tough that he was because of his past, wouldn't be able to amputate his own leg without passing out halfway through. Even without all that – he'd be useless here in Atlanta, without a car and just one leg.
It had had happened, he was going to die anyway, so what was the point. At least he could hide it. That was the only good thing about it. He grabbed his knife, proceeded to cut at his shin in verticals, not deep, but trying to get rid of the teeth marks to make them look like simple scrapes instead, like he'd simply hurt himself somewhere on the run.
Connor was going to ask sooner or later. He needed to keep it from him as long as he could. Hiding it that way was the only way. Once he was done superficially cutting it up he then grabbed his red rag from his back pocket to wrap it tightly around the leg, covering the wound, stilling the superficial blood flow.
This would have to do.
He then pulled the leg of his jeans back down to hide it even further, smoothening the bigger hole and scratches and chew marks on his jeans. He then got up on his feet and carefully limped a few steps, testing the leg out. Right now, apart from the burning sensation around the infected wounds, the only thing that really bothered him was the tight grip of the cloth around his leg that kept his calf from truly flexing and working. But it still could be worse, he figured, so he properly started running, ignoring it. He knew his entire calf, Achilles tendon or other parts of his body could be missing now, had that bite happened anywhere else.
His heart was pounding nevertheless. Just intensifying the burning sensation with every beat, pumping the infected blood way faster through his body than he should.
He really wanted to fucking slap Connor when he got to him. Not just slap him. Beat him to a bloody pulp. He'd gotten bit for the fucker. Because he had been busy trying to run to his rescue when he'd heard him yell, thought that maybe Connor had been shot, attacked, run right into an ambush or whatever else. Instead here he was. Connor, completely fine. Shouting and yelling and making all that ruckus because he was simply standing in front of a locked door. Nothing more. Just a fucking locked door.
"There ye are! Fucker locked this piece 'a shit! He ran inta this building, I saw 'im. Gotta be in there, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Connor said, ramming into the door once more, only to let go, turn around and jog towards the ramp that would lead them one story down. "He knew about Murphy. He saw him, he knows where he fuckin is. I say we go down there, there's gotta be another entry t'that complex. I swear 'm gonna pin the fucker down. Even if it takes me half te fuckin day. He knows some shit" Connor ranted and kept going, while Daryl clumsily tried to keep up with him.
Although he had been mad at Connor at first those emotions quickly started to wear off.
The more he thought about it…this was probably his last day he was going to spend with Connor after all.
Oh fuck.
He felt a hard lump in his throat, knew that if he just started thinking about that too much now, he was going to lose it. Start bawling like a baby and put Connor through the wringer as well. Oh shit no. They were not going to spend their last moments like that. No fighting. No arguing. No negative emotions in that regard. If Connor had to be angry, had to lose his shit and rant away, then he needed to keep going with the whole Murphy business. Nothing more. The leprechaun, pissed off, violent, rant-y, whining about his twin brother. He wouldn't have it any other way.
"Where te fuck were you anyway? You alright?" Connor suddenly asked, having picked up on the way Daryl was acting.
The leprechaun. Pretty sharp on top of everything else as well. Fuck, fuck fuck.
"What? Yeah. Yeah, just checked the tents and camp for some weapons, now that the fucker took my crossbow."
Connor looked at him for a moment, eyes piercing, Daryl's breath stopping. Then the Irishman seemed to let it slide and resumed his rant.
"Damn right he got yer crossbow, but chances are, now that he got all those weapons and doesn't know jackshit about yer thing, he's gonna start shooting at shit with his rifle sooner or later. We'll hear 'im."
"Let's do it" Daryl said, simply because he didn't know what else to say right now. He didn't even know if he was glad that they had a lead now, that they didn't have to make their way through half the city just to get to the van, only to maybe find nothing at all. He didn't have a clue how much longer he would be able to keep going after all. Very soon the fever was going to hit. He'd seen it happen so many times now. He was going to get slower and weaker.
Connor kept talking and planning about, but Daryl didn't even listen to it too much, couldn't. It sounded like he was underwater and his ears started ringing, everything seemed to go slower, like he was drunk. He was sure that this was the shock slowly kicking in. Jesus fucking Christ. Not now. He was not such a fucking sissy. He was going to go out with a bang. It was just superficial. Just superficial. A scratch. Hershel had lost a goddamned leg and he'd still been fine.
"See?! I fucking told you!" Connor suddenly said, nudging Daryl hard and snapping him out of it. There were some gunshots not too far from their location. Connor stormed through the door that connected the car park to the building the stranger had disappeared in, not giving Daryl a chance to say anything or even adjust to the situation. Daryl followed as well as he could, but the shock and burning was really starting to kick in now.
He walked past dead bodies on the ground of the hallway, keeping an eye on them just so that this time, they wouldn't bite him again, but each dead body had wounds to their heads, making it obvious that they wouldn't get up. The hunter caught glimpse of one of his arrows that was stuck in one of these heads, quickly grabbing it to get it back. So Connor was right after all. The kid really was in this building, and he'd given his location away simply by using their weapons. Guns or not, he didn't seem too smart after all.
Daryl jogged around a corner and came to a quick halt when he saw Connor standing there, waiting for him, once again giving him a suspicious frown. Daryl simply ignored him as he caught up with him, and Connor seemed to do the same yet again, picking up on the fact that the hunter seemed annoyed and didn't want to chat. So instead, the Irishman focused on the task ahead and pointed at a walker that was pinned to the corner, still moving and growling although he had an arrow stuck in his throat, the arrow that kept him pinned in the first place.
"That's one of yers, right?" Connor observed and Daryl grabbed his knife to stab the walker in his eye with a grunt.
"Yeah" he simply answered, feeling a bit better at last simply because they were standing for a moment, and because he could finally go back to killing walkers instead of getting fucking bit by them. Maybe it really wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he just needed to ignore it. Do the only thing he was good at anyway. Getting rid of them. Both in the real world and in his mind.
Thinking and moping about it this wasn't gonna do shit anyway. It had happened. End of story.
Another gunshot. They both looked at each other, only to start running yet again. This time Daryl was faster than Connor, pushing himself harder to fight the infection, the inevitable just a bit longer. He owed the Irishman after last night, after he had stayed behind with him, wasted an entire night to keep him safe so they could do this together. He figured he owed him the exact opposite of what they had both thought last night, that he was a liability, that he was slowing Connor down in the city. Not now. Not anymore. He was gonna do it. He was gonna keep it together.
So he ran even faster, following the noise down the hall while his friend was busy grabbing a machete from the ground. Daryl could already see what the cause of the noise was – the young man who had stolen their weapons was busy trying to kill a walker, struggling with her. Daryl was facing the back of the walker and saw his chance, running right into the undead to cause both to fall down, the walker right on top of the young stranger.
Daryl somewhat managed to keep his balance, although barely. He stumbled forward a bit, momentarily awfully aware of the bite on his leg. The running had made it worse instead of better, sending a hot rhythmic sting through the wounds, accompanied by the unmistakable soft flow of blood down his leg, pooling in the red rag he'd wrapped around the injury.
He closed his eyes for a moment and gritted his teeth hard, forcing himself to focus.
The man's frantic pleading and fighting made it easy though.
Daryl opened his eyes and looked at the mess that was happening, saw the young man on the ground, fighting the female walker on top of him with all the strength he had, using his rifle as he tried to keep her at a distance. But it was clear that he didn't have the strength to keep this up, would get bitten sooner or later.
For just a moment Daryl found himself standing above them, watching it all unfold without doing anything. Maybe the kid deserved getting bit over this, too. If it weren't for him and his stupid cutting up those tents, he never would've gotten bit in the first place. If he'd had his crossbow, their weapons, maybe he could've made it. Made it out of this city along with Connor once they found Murphy. If it weren't for this guy. Maybe it would be satisfying to see someone else get bit, have power over their life, punish them and be in control at least this way, although he knew it was fucked up.
" HEY COME ON, I JUST TRIED TO PROTECT MYSELF, MAN. PLEASE HELP ME!" the kid was begging while Daryl just watched. "PLEASE, I JUST DON'T WANNA GO BACK TO THEM, I'M SORRY, I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I'M SORRY! PLEASE!"
"Daryl!" Connor then called out and stormed past his friend, so he could bury the machete he'd found in the skull of the walker on top of the young man. Connor shot Daryl an angry, then worried look, only to eventually fix his eyes on the other man again. "Thanks, oh thanks, man, thanks" he was panting, then Connor got rid of the dead walker and offered the man a hand to help him up. He then held on to him using the grip just so he wouldn't run away again.
"Just yer damn luck that we needche kid! If you'd just waited and heard us out, ye could've spared yerself this fuckin mess!" Connor said and then even gave the young man a slap up the back of his head. "Now chill te fuck out" the Irishman added and let go once he was sure enough that the other wouldn't just run away from them again. Connor used the moment to shoot Daryl another look, but the hunter simply ignored him and knelt down to get his crossbow back instead. He used the time to sort it out, while he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened, too. It wasn't like he had wanted the kid to die or anything. It had just….happened.
He shifted his injured leg a little, trying to hide the blood stain.
"Now tell me everything ye can about my brother. Ye said ye saw him back at the place ye ran away from?"
Instead of looking at Connor and answering, the young man quickly limped over to the window instead to look outside.
"I gotta go. I gotta go. They're gonna come. They probably heard the shot. If they find me, they're gonna drag me right back and.."
"Drag you where? Where is this place? What did you see? What te fuck's going on there if ye're so eager ta get away? Did they do anything t'my brother, did they open him up or some shit?" Connor said angrily as he approached the man, grabbed him by his arms and then slammed him against the window. He then pointed a finger right in his face in a warning matter.
"You're gonna tell me everything right fucking now or I'll drag ye back there myself. Give me what I need, yer free ta go and I forget I ever met you if they ask."
The man looked at Connor with wide eyes, still obviously panicked, then eventually shot a look at Daryl.
"The guy who looks like you, they brought him in yesterday night. I don't know what's the big deal with him, but they're keeping him locked up tight. Standing guards, hand- and legcuffs, the whole deal. I mean, I know it's always been bad, they don't let you go, but cuffs and locked doors? That's just insane. I just had to get out. I couldn't hear it anymore. He's the reason why I got out."
Daryl had listened to the talk with a worried look on his face, worry that only increased when he saw how Connor took the news. Connor looked absolutely shocked at first, then sickened, then furious. His grip on the kid was getting so tight that his knuckles turned white and the young man winced.
"Where?" Connor asked again, and although the level of his voice was normal, he sounded far from it. He sounded furious, deadly, almost scary.
"Grady Memorial Hospital. It's just a few blogs from here. I can draw you a map. But that's about it. I'm not going with you, okay? I'm not" the man said and then looked at Daryl again.
It was then when they heard a noise outside on the street, the unmistakable soft screeching of a car brake.
The young man turned his head with wide eyes to have a look outside just like Connor, and Daryl quickly walked up to the window to check it out as well.
"White cross" he observed from his position as he warily watched the car drive past at a slow speed on the street below.
"Shit, they're here" the young man said and suddenly fought Connor off, so they could get away from the window.
"We gotta go now. We gotta go. We gotta go" he repeated over and over again and shoved Connor away so he could get his things together.
"Why would we fucking go now? This is exactly what've been looking for! Hey, get back here!" Connor shouted and tried to rush after the young man, who simply got going.
"If they find us, if they find you guys, they're just gonna kill you. That's what they do, if there's someone stronger than them, someone who could put up a fight, they don't take them in. They kill people who are a threat to them" the man explained as he kept going. "They got a lot of guns. People. Policemen. And ever since those people from Augusta showed up, they got a lot of military, too. Doctors. Scientists. They're many. They're smart."
Connor shot Daryl a look, and when Daryl gave him a half nod half shrug that told him that he thought the kid had a point, Connor eventually simply followed him instead of trapping him yet again. Daryl then followed Connor along with it, just glad that Connor's glare didn't seem to have been about the fact that maybe he was catching up on his secret.
A secret he could barely keep now.
He soon followed them in what felt like a trance, couldn't even really hear what Connor and the man were talking about, arguing about, discussing. He simply followed. Down some stairs, through hallways and infection was already spreading. He could feel it. It really was worse than he'd initially thought. The running around, the fighting, the countless stairs, the frenzy of it all sped things up. Probably sped things up too much. The leg was slowly starting to really ache, and now that he came to think of it, he suddenly had to remember Connor's words, remember Connor's description of what it felt like.
At first yer shocked as hell. The bite hurts, but the shock won't let ye feel anything. Then ye feel real dizzy and sick. Then the real shit starts. Ye can feel it spreading. It's like someone's pumping thick oil through yer veins, only that it is hot, boiling.
This was exactly what it felt like now. It was creeping up on him. Shit shit shit.
He looked up a bit as he followed Connor and the young man, kept his eyes fixed on Connor who didn't have a clue, worried all about Murphy and getting there and nothing else right now. He felt a ping of sadness at the thought. Connor wouldn't even fucking look at him right now, didn't care. Of course - he couldn't. Because he didn't know, because he took him for granted, because to him, Daryl Dixon was a fact in his life.
He knew Connor would care if he told him. Care very much in fact. A part of Daryl even really considered telling him, so he could get at least some attention, so he didn't have to waste his last couple of normal hours in life being a background character in everybody's life, only being relevant when it fit the others. He wanted to tell Connor, be honest with him, get this whole thing started so he could have at least something.
Because holy fucking shit did he love this guy in front of him so fucking much. For such a long time now. He wanted him to help him through this huge pile of shit right now. He wanted them to go through this together, too. They shared everything. They were so comfortable with each other now. Everything was so fine now. He needed Connor right now. His support, his attention, his friendship and everything else. If he could just fucking look at him for Christ's sakes.
He was starting to really consider it. Just telling him.
He was already slowing down more and more while they were making their way through yet another overly large and high end tile lobby.
Connor kept following the young man as he heatedly talked things through with him, how they could get to safety through one of the other buildings' basement, talk things through and draw the map there. They were still discussing Murphy as well and Connor tried everything to get as much out of the kid as he could. Daryl slowed down even more and felt his heart sink over how freaking worried his friend was, how much he wanted his twin brother back unharmed.
Connor was obviously fighting very hard to keep his shit together this time. He tried to stay rational, levelheaded, his normal self that planned ahead and got things going. He was really trying to get better at this. Not freaking out. Not losing his shit. Not going psycho or overly pessimistic and cynic. He certainly was better at this than last year or after the fall of Woodbury. He still had himself under control. Despite the worry and fear, he still looked like he was positive they were going to find Murphy in time. The kid and the car had given him enough hope.
Daryl gritted his teeth, putting a lid on his emotions, barely walking anymore.
He couldn't tell him.
They needed to find Murphy first. As soon as Connor had his stupid brother back, maybe then he could tell him, so the guy had at least something. In the end, if he was really honest with himself, Murphy had always been the only one who truly mattered to Connor anyway. Until then, until he had helped Connor find his brother, he would have to keep his problems to himself. They were probably less important anyway. Hadn't it always been that way.
He wanted to laugh at the incredible irony. He was the one who'd gotten bit, he was the one who was going to die for sure. And yet, he knew it would never crush or hurt him as much as it would hurt Connor. He wasn't going to lose his shit or mind over his own death. Connor would. That was for sure. He could only lessen the impact by finding Murphy in time.
Whenever shit had hit the fan, whenever things had been terrible, it had always been this way. He had been the one to get hurt the most in a physical way. But he'd kept it to himself, around his mom, around Merle, around the group, now around Connor. Because he knew that if he told anyone, they'd have it worse than him. In the end, their problems had always been more important. Always would be.
So just like any other time, he remained silent. Even when Connor shot him a short worried and questioning look over his shoulder, slowed down a bit so he could keep up, even while he was still talking to the young man who was now leading him through a set of glass doors, leading him outside. Connor disappeared through the door when Daryl gave him a slight nod, sped up again, let him know that he was right behind him. Always would be, as long as he could. He'd almost made his way over to the door when a voice made him stop dead in his tracks.
"You gonna cry now, pussy? Hm? Boo ain't lovin you back?"
Of course he had to go back to this shit now, too.
Daryl stopped running and turned his head to the side, looked at the waiting area there. And there he was. Merle, chilling in one of the chairs, dirty boots on the glass table, sitting there, grinning at him, handless stump hanging lazily off his bent knee.
"Look at you, pathetic. All whiny feelings, barely keeping up already. I got shot in the gut and even I lasted longer than you. This is whatcha get for letting that mick turn yah into his sissy pansy. It's all his fault, baby brother."
More of Merle's creepy chuckling. Daryl found himself just standing there, staring to his right, at the waiting area, at what he knew was just a hallucination of his brother. It was starting. His brain was already getting fucked up. He knew it was stupid, but he went along with it.
"That ain't true" he simply said.
Sure, the moment that bite had happened, up until now, even now he partially wondered if it was Connor's fault, if he could and should blame him. He was here because of Connor after all. Because of that stupid brother of his. Without the whole bullshit, he never would've set another foot in Atlanta anyway.
But then again. It really wasn't Connor's fault. He could blame the kid who was leading them around a lot more than Connor, but even then, it wasn't really that guy's fault either. A walker had bit him. Not the kid. Certainly not Connor. It had simply happened because he hadn't paid attention for a second. Nothing more. It had just happened.
Besides. Connor was the best damn thing that had ever happened to him. The outcome truly didn't matter.
"You keep tellin yourself that. Just look at the guy. He ain't even lookin your way. All he cares about's his bro. Always been that way. Why don'tcha man up, be with your good ol' bro Merle instead. Stop foolin yahself. You know he ain't ever gonna care about you as much as I did, brother."
Daryl turned his head, saw that Connor and the other man had crossed the street by now, were close to getting inside the other building without him, before the car probably caught up with them very soon. Connor was busy running and talking, back turned on him, really didn't seem to bother even thinking about him and if he caught up with them, but then it happened.
Connor did turn around. Connor was looking for him. Connor was staring at him with a confused and freaked out look on his face the moment he realized that his friend wasn't behind them but still in the other building. The Connor was calling out for him, waving about with his hands to let him know that he was supposed to catch the fuck up. He was even on his way back to give him shit for being so slow.
Daryl didn't even look back at Merle. He simply and neutrally repeated his words.
"It ain't true" he repeated and then gave Connor another nod, picking up speed, jogging towards the doors although his leg hurt.
He simply walked out on Merle, his own bad thoughts.
Connor was still shouting about, moving his hands around like crazy in the air, suddenly yelling something, but Daryl didn't even hear it, didn't even bother listening to it because just for a moment, he actually felt at peace with himself. He knew it wasn't true. Not what Merle said. Not what he thought sometimes. After so many months of friendship, after so many weeks of slowly becoming more, entering a trusting and deep relationship, after months of having each other's back with or without Murphy around, he knew that he could always count on Connor, could count on this. And strangely enough, even with the bite, knowing just this felt good.
So he ignored all words, the outside world, focused on himself instead to keep his body moving although it was slowly starting to break down under the budding fever. He focused on each step instead, the breath in his lungs, the promise that if he just kept going, just kept walking and searching, he could help Connor find Murphy just in time after all, could give his impending death some true meaning.
He was half across the street when the impact happened within the blink of an eye, suddenly threw him off his already aching feet and spun him through the air. He was only vaguely aware of the second impact when it happened, how his body crashed into the car for a second time when he fell back down against the wind shield, cracked it right in the middle. A single and croaky gasp escaped Daryl's mouth when all the sudden happenings finally slowed down, seemed to come to an equally sudden and soundless halt.
He hadn't heard the car approaching at such a speed, hadn't paid any attention to Connor's motions and words that had told him to get back inside, off the road, to go and fucking hide because the car was coming, had seen them when Connor and the young man had crossed the road. He hadn't heard or seen anything other than his friend across the street, his friend who had proven the voice of his dead brother wrong by simply turning around for him, looking at him.
He was only vaguely aware of how he crashed into the windshield when the car came to a screeching halt, slid down the hood of the car and back down to the ground with a slump. Then, with Connor's agonized and piercing "NO!" somewhere in the blurry distance, everything went black.
He'd been screaming at Daryl for what felt like a whole goddamned minute to get back inside, to hide, to not cross that fucking road because there was a car coming. He didn't know why Daryl chose to ignore him. He didn't know why Daryl wouldn't listen to him, why he just kept staring at him with that strange look on his face, almost smile, as he crossed that road – and walked right into that car's path.
He honestly didn't have a single fucking clue why Daryl would ever do any such thing, but it had happened anyway. It had happened crazy fast in fact. The car had been even faster than he'd expected it to be from the sound of it. The impact looked absolutely horrifying and brutal when it happened.
The front of the car collided violently with Daryl's lower legs, catapulting him into the air, spinning him around and then smashing him into the windshield as the car came to a screeching halt. He rolled off the hood and then fell back down to the ground like a lifeless heap of nothing, not moving at all, bloody, probably with a whole bunch of broken bones. Just a fracture of a second, and he was lying on the ground.
This couldn't be fucking happening.
Connor screamed "NO!" as loud as he could, lungs vibrating with the sheer volume of it as it echoed through the entire neighborhood. He was just about to start running when the young man who he had just found out was called Noah, grabbed him by his shirt to hold him back.
"No! They're gonna kill you, just let them take him, they can help him, they take care of…"
"Let me fucking go! NO! DARYL! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! I'LL FUCKING KILL THEM! NO!" Connor yelled and fought hard, struggling and completely losing it at the sheer sight of Daryl on the ground like that. "LET GO OF ME!"
Noah tried to reason with him yet again but there was no reasoning. Instead, Connor suddenly punched him hard in the face to get him to let him go, then he sprinted towards the car, towards Daryl, ignoring any voice of reason.
It was no surprise that he was immediately greeted by heavy guns out in the open. He even believed to remember one of the army guys from Augusta. He still came running towards them with both his hands in the air, trying to get to Daryl.
"I'M IMMUNE" he immediately yelled angrily and then pointed at the soldier he believed to recognize. "YOU piece af shit know me. Ye saw me. You motherfuckers already took my brother, and I swear ta fuckin god if ye don't take him now and save him, I'll kill each and every one of ye. YOU FUCKIN RAN HIM OVER! YOU DID THIS!" Connor roared and then tried to get to Daryl on the ground, but then the soldier was already on him, giving him a harsh blow to his leg to get him to kneel. Two policemen quickly approached Daryl with a simple gurney in the meantime.
"HE'S IMMUNE, TOO!" Connor quickly yelled when he saw them while he tried to fight the soldier, who was busy yanking the collar of his shirt down a bit to check for the healed bite wound, then the scar on his left arm to confirm that it was indeed Connor, the other case of immunity they had probably been told about.
The immunity that had fucked things up for both him and Murphy, but he knew it was the only thing that was probably going to keep Daryl alive now. He didn't trust these fuckers who were taking a careful look at his unconscious, bloodied friend on the ground. Noah had told him. They considered people like Daryl a threat. Only a possible 'cure' or 'immunity' would mean anything to them. He didn't want them to leave Daryl behind, kill him. Anything he could do to save his friend, help his friend, he was going to give it to them.
"He's immune, too. So you better fuckin fix 'im" Connor repeated with a breathy, panicked voice and ended up letting the soldier do his scar checking thing on him in the meantime. Because all he could do was watch in horror and panic how they put Daryl on the gurney. He widened his eyes in shock when he really got to see the injuries up close. Daryl's legs were definitely broken. Dark bruises were forming already, practically everywhere. On his cut up face, his arms, everywhere. He looked horrible like that.
"I won't fuckin run off or fuckin fight ye as long as ye fuckin fix him, alright?! Just fix him! Just fucking fix him or I swear…" Connor immediately said, half begging as he watched them move Daryl past him to the back of the car. When Daryl was out of his sight, Connor really lost it. "FUCK!" he yelled and eventually toppled over a bit, giving in to the shock, staring at the ground as he gritted his teeth and formed tight fists on the asphalt.
He knew everything was shit now. He knew he was probably going to be locked up, too. Just like Murphy. But the truth was that he simply didn't know what else to do. He needed them to take Daryl with them. He needed to be with Daryl after this huge fuck up. He needed them to fix him up because he looked absolutely fucking horrible. He didn't want his best goddamn friend in the world to die.
Why the fuck hadn't Daryl listened to him? Why the fuck had he run right in front of that fucking car?
Even now he couldn't get the sight of the crash out of his mind. Shit.
The impact. The broken bones.
He hit the ground hard with his fist, getting incredibly angry.
He should've fucking run for him to stop him. He should've fucking been there, or just made sure that Daryl was keeping up instead of this bullshit right here.
"Get up" the soldier then said, interrupting Connor's freakout as he grabbed him by the back of his shirt. "Get in the car" the soldier went on as he dragged the Irishman along, keeping the gun aimed at Connor's legs just in case, should he decide to run or do anything stupid. But Connor wouldn't. He did as he was told without putting up much of a fight, getting into the car, almost insane eyes only fixed on his best friend in the back.
