Stella hastily snatched up her utility belt and put it on, checking to make sure both knives were in their sheaths on the belt. She moved behind Daryl and followed his eyes to the six men who were approaching their house.
"It's them, isn't it?" she whispered.
Daryl gave her a single nod. She rushed to the bedside table and wrenched open the drawer, pulling out a small handgun. It was her only firearm; she always preferred to use her knives when fighting off walkers. Stella checked to make sure it was loaded and turned the safety off.
Daryl moved to a different window, watching the group's approach. As they drew near, he moved away from the window and picked up his crossbow. He held a finger to his lips, his eyes trained on Stella's. They could hear the men's conversation as they came further within earshot.
". . . some sorta treehouse . . ." one of them was saying.
"The fuck happened to the stairs?" another one called.
Please just move on, Daryl thought. They could hear the group walking around beneath the treehouse, checking things out.
"Hey!" one man called out. "There's a water pump over here!"
"Does it work?"
"Yeah!"
"Maybe we oughta camp here tonight. Fresh water's a nice start. And maybe we can find a way to get up to that treehouse, see if there's anything good up there."
Dammit. Stella held Daryl's gaze, both sharing similar feelings of dismay.
"Wait a sec . . ." one of the men started. "I think there's someone up there. There's smoke comin' out of the chimney."
"Fuck," Daryl muttered. He hadn't even thought about the wood stove. Stella watched him with wide eyes.
"What do we do?" she hissed quietly.
"You there!" a shout came from below. "We know you're in there. C'mon out and say hello!"
Daryl held up a finger and moved to one of the windows. He peered through the slit in the curtains and tried to assess the situation. They were standing in a group, all studying the treehouse. A few had bags slung over their shoulders, but they seemed to be traveling very low on supplies. All six men appeared to be carrying knives, but Daryl only saw two guns, and one a six-shooter at that. He swiftly moved back to where Stella was standing.
"I only saw two guns," he whispered. "As long as we stay up here and out of their sights, we should be okay."
"Unless they make this their base camp," Stella hissed back. "There's six of them and two of us. They have to know that eventually we'll have to come down. We'll run out of water or food or whatever. We have to do something."
Daryl bit his lip. She was right.
"Maybe we can take them," he murmured.
"What, like kill them?"
"You're telling me you're opposed to that idea?" Daryl grunted.
"No, it's not that. It's just, we're really outnumbered."
"Hey!" a voice shouted from down below. "If you insist on hidin' like a coward, we'll torch the place with you in it!"
Stella's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of that. Her formerly impenetrable fortress seemed much less safe all of a sudden. Daryl loaded his crossbow and started toward the door.
"What are you doing?" Stella whispered.
"Not sure," Daryl replied. "Stay close. If they start shit, shoot them."
Stella swallowed hard, her grip on the handgun tightening. Even with the world the way it was, she had yet to personally kill another living person. James and Tyler had reportedly been attacked near town once, but Stella's only defense against the living thus far was rolling up her ladder out of harm's way. She knew all too well from her friends' stories and Daryl's that many of the people still out there surviving were not good people. These men were threatening to burn her home with her and Daryl inside it. She wasn't about to let that happen like a helpless princess trapped in a tower. She was going to fight for her home.
Daryl unlocked the door and crouched down, motioning for her to do the same. He slowly opened the door a crack and held his crossbow steady and aimed, his eyes locked on the threat that loomed below.
"What do you want?" he called down to the group. The man who he presumed to be their leader stepped forward.
"Looks like you got a nice little setup here. Fresh water, a fire to keep you warm, a place outta harm's way. What do you say you let us come up and stay a while?"
"That ain't gonna happen," Daryl growled.
"Oh, I think it will," the leader continued. "Cause see, if you don't surrender your place to us, we're gonna have to make it so no one can have it." He motioned to one of the men behind him who held a Molotov cocktail of sorts in his hand. Daryl narrowed his eyes.
"Seems a little counterproductive, don'tcha think?" Daryl called down. "Burnin' up a good shelter and rare supplies just cause you couldn't get what you wanted."
The man shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta take what fun you can."
Stella rose slightly behind Daryl, her gun aimed at the leader's forehead. His eyes suddenly darted to her, and a sick smile spread across his face.
"What have we here?" he cawed. "A female! Sweetie, if you know what's good for you, you'll get your man to lower his bow and invite us in. I'll show you a real good time."
Stella didn't respond. Her aim stayed on the man's head, her finger touching the trigger.
"Here's the deal," the leader shouted, his eyes moving back to Daryl. "And this is the last chance I'm offerin', so make your choice quick. One: you give up your place and your shit, and I let you both live. Or two: I torch the place, and when you try to escape, I shoot you and rape your woman till we get sick of her, and then I'll shoot her, too."
The men started sniggering and sharing glances of amusement.
"So what's it gonna be?"
"Fuck you," Daryl sneered.
The leader nodded to the man holding the Molotov cocktail. He held up the lighter to the piece of fabric that was shoved inside the bottle. Daryl waited until the fabric ignited and then swiftly released a bolt into the man's forehead. He collapsed immediately, the bottle he had been holding shattering on impact with the ground and releasing a small explosion of flame.
The two men standing closest to him shrieked as they were burned by the fire. The group's leader immediately reached for the gun in his holster, but before he could seize the weapon, Stella fired hers. She hardly blinked when he went down, turning her gun to another man and firing a shot that went through his shoulder. Daryl opened the door wider and shot a bolt into the head of one of the burn victims.
The second burned man was writhing on the ground in pain. The man who carried the group's second gun drew his six-shooter and fired it twice toward Daryl and Stella, the shots ringing out in quick succession. Daryl felt a sharp pain suddenly sear through his arm. Stella fired her gun at the shooter, who narrowly dodged her bullet and seized the man she had shot through the shoulder, dragging him beneath the treehouse and out of her line of fire.
Stella glanced at Daryl, horrified to see blood streaming down his arm.
"You're hit," she said, wildly looking for something nearby to stop the bleeding.
"I'm fine," Daryl growled, his crossbow still aimed out the door, waiting for the two men cowering beneath the house to make a move.
Suddenly they heard moans and shuffles through the leaves. The noise from the fight had drawn nearby walkers. They stumbled out of the woods and toward the house.
"Shit, shit, shit, man, we gotta go now!" a man's voice said from below the house. Daryl could hear them take off in the opposite direction of the door, and he tore the door open and rushed around the balcony to catch them. He fired a bolt in their direction, missing by almost a foot. The wound in his arm had screamed in pain when he had fired; his accuracy was compromised.
He growled in frustration as the two men disappeared and quickly rounded the balcony again to go back inside, closing the door and locking it behind him just in time to hear the walkers descend on the severely burned man who was screaming on the ground.