Marissa
I have never rode on a motorcycle before. I'm am so nervous, I can't take my face out of Daryl's back. These winding Georgia roads and increasing elevations make me nauseous.
"You mind lettin' me breathe?" He yells back to me, over the audacious noise the motorcycle makes.
Realizing I'm holding onto him for dear life, I raise my head from him and loosen my grip, "Sorry!" I murmur.
"I ain't gonna let you fall off," he laughs.
I don't respond. That's easy for him to say, he's not the one with a backpack and a duffel bag, both heavy as hell, strapped to his back. I just rest my cheek onto his back. I am so ready for this trip to be over. Daryl joked as we packed to leave, "Just think of it as a vacation."
A vacation in the world of the walking dead.
Michonne had found a small mountain town on her travels. Or, well, more or less a place for the overworked and overpaid upper-class to get away from the hustle and bustle of the once busy city of Atlanta. Luxury log cabins, equipped with hot tubs and patios with fire pits. Bistros at ever corner. I had been here before, on a women's retreat with my old church. All I can remember is being bored out of my mind and constantly texting Beau that yes, I was actually at the retreat and not at the cardiologist's beach house in Miami. I sigh at the frustrating memory of it.
We descend from the high elevation of the Blue Ridges and down into the sloping community of Brasstown.
"Tyreese says when he came up c'here with Michonne, he got one of the generator's workin'," Daryl yells back at me. "They put a big Georgia state flag on the one that they fixed." he says, "so keep an eye out for it."
I try to hide it, but I'm smiling at the thought of electricity.
We have enough supplies to last us for 7 days, so whether Glenn comes back for us or not, once our 7 days are up, we're heading back to the prison. Daryl wasn't too keen on leaving, but he admires Rick in such a way, he'd do anything for the man. I can't say we're both not troubled over leaving the prison. Just have to keep faith they can hold their own. They can. And they will. They have to.
Daryl, Tyreese, Michonne, and Glenn made separate and grouped trips up here to Brasstown. Killed off most of the walkers, spent time securing the perimeters with booby traps. It took a good 3 weeks to do, but they did it. It won't last long, though. Herds come and go frequently through the mountains. That's another reason it's unsafe to stay too long.
As soon as we left, Rick sent word to the Governor that Daryl and I were both dead and that he was willing to hand over Michonne for a truce. I wish the group could just come here and live and solitude...but the herds...and wherever the group moves to, as long as he's alive, the Governor will find us.
"I wish we coulda brought Judith and Carl with us," Daryl says again. He's said this several times now.
"I know. But I can't blame Rick. He wants to protect his own children. The Governor might get suspicious if Rick's kids are missing from the scene." I say into his back, wanting to smile at his precious attachment to the kids.
He just nods.
The speed of the motorcycle slows as we take the exit into Brasstown. Despite the dead, truly dead, walker bodies, the few walking dead, and the unnerving desolation...the town is almost welcoming. The cabins are near beautiful in the setting Georgia sun.
"I think I see the cabin with the flag on it," I say, pointing to one of the first cabins we approach.
Daryl stops the motorcycle, putting his feet firmly on the ground. He turns back and smiles at me, "Well, Good God almighty, woman. I told ya it was a vacation!"
It was immaculate. Beautiful. Like something out a of vacation brochure. Looking around us, I already a spot 4 walkers in the distance, "I guess it's as close to a vacation as we're going to get," I agree.