Chapter 12: Detour

Daryl checked the rearview mirror, more out of instinct than necessity. Going by the stagnant landscape, they could be five minutes from the prison just as easily as two counties away.

The road stretched for miles ahead, the same trees and leaves and sky and nothingness. If he didn't think about it too hard, it might even seem like a ride through the countryside, maybe a hunting trip or visit to some remote relative. A trip like this didn't have to be a high-speed looting expedition for drugs that'll save the lives of friends and loved ones. It didn't have to be him sitting in a car with a jumpy former medic, a heartbroken bear of a man, and a stoic assassin who he just happened to be in love with. It didn't have to be a desperate or ill-fated effort to survive. Until he came upon that walker stumbling down the road or passed by some looted, burnt out neighborhood, until he noticed his reflection and acknowledged what he'd become—both the good and the bad—he could fool himself that the world wasn't a completely different place now.

It wouldn't be long before phase two of their journey rolled up on them. Daryl had been against looting this far out since it had never seemed necessary and the risks of encountering the unknown were just too great. Along with rationing their gasoline, it didn't seem worth it unless something was guaranteed to come of it. Desperate times and all.

They'd started the car ride going over strategy. Michonne had scrutinized Hershel's map and relayed the best ways to get in and out along with a few alternative scenarios. They were both really good about stuff like that which is what made them such a formidable pair.

Bob asked a lot of questions—that was his thing apparently. He'd turned into the chatterbox of the group, not necessarily the hardest thing to do given the company.

Tyreese was the wildcard. Daryl had been watching him in the rearview mirror, knowing that the man was going through a tough time. He'd listened to the plan but he didn't have much to say on it, just wanted to know what was needed of him before crawling back into his own head. It worried Daryl some. He felt the weight of responsibility, not only for getting back with the supplies but for doing so while keeping this small group safe. If something went wrong, like at the Big Spot, it would be on him. He'd rather avoid that kind of failing so soon after Zach's death.

With all the logistics squared away, everyone retreated to the comfort of their own musings. Daryl chose to focus on the roar of the engine rather than the deafening silence of everyone thinking a little too hard. He wouldn't trouble himself much with what was going on in the backseat. There was no consoling Tyreese right now and Bob was grown and could entertain himself.

Instead, his attention naturally drifted to Michonne. She'd spent the silent time in the car looking out of the window or straight ahead, scanning the landscape but also trying to avoid his scrutiny. There wasn't any anger to her mood, not exactly. However, the tension coming off of her concerned him.

No doubt she was pondering his request for her to stop looking for the Governor.

When she'd first asked him to give her a bottom line for their relationship, that was the one and only thing that came to mind. The runs for the group he could handle, accepting the danger inherent to securing the prison from walkers was unavoidable, even if difficult. The jaunts all over creation, though, were weighing on their relationships and he wanted it gone. He'd expected her immediate protest over the suggestion, but he had to hand it to her, she seemed to be giving the matter a fair chance and some consideration. At least she wasn't mad. She's the one who'd insisted he draw that line in the sand, after all.

The car lurched a bit as Daryl sped around a particularly sharp curve in the road. Bob clutched the seat in front of him prompting an annoyed backwards glance from Michonne. She probably still didn't know what to do with the newest addition to the prison but, so far, he wasn't making a great impression. He'd have to smooth things over with the two after everything calmed down.

"Hey Daryl," Bob called out. "How much longer, man?" Daryl rolled his eyes at the proverbial 'are we there yet?' heckling from the peanut gallery.

"We get there when we get there. Aint much longer though so quit clutching your pearls, Miss Daisy, and pipe down." He caught Bob's grin in the rearview mirror.

Michonne's lips held the hint of a smile as well. "I trust you recognize the irony of that wisecrack given your current array of traveling companions?"

He met her gaze for a moment and then focused again on the road. "What I 'trust' is you speakin' some regular American English 'round me for a change." That got a bona fide smile out of her. "And don't even start on your girl power bullshit 'cause I asked Maggie to ride out after I hit up Tyreese and she said no 'cause 'a Glenn."

She glared at him through her grin.

Bob shifted his attention between the two, clearly amused. "Glad we cleared that up then." He was nervous and shifty, still upset about what had happened on his first and only run at the Big Spot. Maybe that's why he'd been asking so many damn questions.

They rode for a little longer and Michonne went back to her thoughtful silence.

As the distance hovered between them, he wondered if maybe he could have said things better before. The issue was so simple for him. The Governor's trail had gone cold and he had better things in his life to focus on than revenge, Michonne being one of them. The Governor had killed his brother, terrorized him for sport, brutalized his friends and tried to destroy his home. But he could either stew about that or get on with his life and protect what he still had left—which was turning out to be a lot more than he'd had before the end of the world. He couldn't see why Michonne didn't want the same thing, why he and the others weren't enough to turn her away from vengeance and retribution. It made him insecure and that frustration is what came out when he'd get on her about the matter.

On the other hand, Michonne's losses to that man were different, more personal. The Governor hadn't been much more than an evil figure to him, an antagonist with a shitty agenda and a heavy body count. Michonne had talked to him, lived in the same community with him. She'd lost Andrea's trust to the man and then lost Andrea herself. Her fight with him was hand-to-hand, face-to-face with wounds and grudges that would probably never heal.

He had to admit that maybe getting over that took some doing. And a lot of time. It wasn't something to be taken lightly.

"Hey," he murmured to her, a soft address meant to garner her sole attention. "About earlier. I do know it's a lot to ask. I didn't mean it like it came out. The thing is, that trail went cold. You know that right?" Yeah, she knew; he'd been on to that for a while. Michonne hadn't grown up tracking like he did but she was almost as good. And she wasn't dumb or delusional.

Still, the way her body visibly tensed at his plea unnerved him. He wasn't much better, tugging at the hair on his chin, the easiest way to fidget while driving.

"If it's any different, I'd be right out there with ya." he added. "I don't want ya doin' it alone." The thought of her coming across the Governor, no one to watch her back or send word if it went south? In his worst fears, that bastard would drag her away to do who knows what, the people who loved her at the prison none the wiser until he inevitably returned to throw the victory in their faces. It kept him up at night, whether she was at his side or miles away on the hunt.

Turning to catch her eye, he felt her gaze swing on him with a look so complicated it pulled at his heart.

She wanted to let it go, that he could tell. But all of these other emotions were mixed in as well. She was probably running similar scenarios in her head, hopefully less dire than his. He couldn't imagine what she conjured when the thought of encountering the Governor came up. They didn't talk about it much because it too often brought out the worst in them.

Her overwhelming reaction, though, was that they'd talk about the matter later. In private.

Daryl sighed and clutched the steering wheel tighter. Looking in the rearview mirror, he frowned at Bob's curiosity over the exchange along with Tyreese's continued vacancy. Maybe what they needed was a change in mood and some motivation. The thought almost made him laugh—he was starting to sound like a bona fide team leader, rallying the troops and shit.

"Babe, why don't you hand me one of them CD's right there?" he asked, pointing to the open glove compartment area. Michonne also seemed relieved at the distraction and reached for the CD case. He was hoping she didn't choose any music to spite him like she sometimes did when he annoyed her. "You watch what you pick too 'cause I'll pull this car over and throw you out 'fore I listen to any more Dave Matthews Band. Zach's gotta have better taste than that."

"I don't know why you keep bringing that up like it's my fault. It was all we had," Michonne protested, flipping through the CD case.

Daryl scoffed, tempted to counter that silence would have been better. He reached over to fiddle with the stereo and hit the radio knob by accident. Instead of perpetual static, a different sound caught their attention: the steady cadence and soft lilt of another person.

"Is that a voice?" Bob broke in, leaning forward in his seat. Daryl was quick to shush him. If it was, they damn sure weren't gonna learn anything about it with him blabbering over it.

"… find sanctuary … determined to survive … keep … alive …"

Daryl tried to zero in on the signal but it wouldn't hold. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while he looked down to take note of the frequency the voice was broadcasting on. Holding Michonne's gaze, he saw the shock that must be mirrored on his face as well.

A movement passing in his periphery drew his attention back to the road in time for him to narrowly miss hitting a walker dead on. He swerved and skidded until he'd cleared the stray bodies, clipping another walker in the process. When they had their nose back to facing the right direction, the vision ahead stopped him cold. Idling for an instant, he brought the car to a halt only to watch in horror as a massive flood of walkers moved to surround them. He'd seen streams of undead making for him, navigated herds, and targeted the buildup of fence dwellers at the prison. He had never seen anything like this, a goddamn field full of walkers, their attention now focused on the noise and promise of live meat waiting to be devoured.

Fuck that.

Daryl's brain snapped back into focus. "Grab somethin'."

There were walkers tailing him but he backed up hoping to clear the few stragglers and either detour or travel back the way they'd come. Feeling the bodies pile up, Daryl switched gears and gassed the car.

"Go to the left," Michonne suggested, ever the wingman.

When he tried to comply, the dread flared in his gut as the wheels caught on the pile of bodies and refused to push the car forward. "We're jammed up."

Daryl chanced a fuller assessment beyond the hood of the car. Before, he hadn't wanted to dwell on the looming threat but now he needed to understand what kind of odds they were up against. The news wasn't good; he abandoned that route before his eyes ever even registered an end to the swarm of dead bodies roaming around their most direct path. Turning behind them, he could see the horde closing in, walkers now emerging from the woods and diverted from the mass beyond. They were mostly drifting in from in front of them by the look of things so they had no choice but to backtrack and go around them.

The time for running had come up on them sooner rather than later. Taking in their surroundings and calculating the alternatives, Daryl suppressed his frustration at that, reflecting on his warning to Hershel.

He focused back on his crew who were waiting for their orders, Michonne with her usual steadiness and Bob with a growing fear. Pointing at the treeline to their right, he shouted, "Make a run for the gaps right there." Sparing a quick check on Tyreese, he did a mental survey of his weapons and his escape route. "You two, you make a run for the woods and you don't stop for nothin'. You hear me?" Bob nodded to him, looking shell-shocked but compliant. If he'd really been an Army medic, he'd have no problem finding his way around a combat situation. Same fight, different enemy, Daryl figured. With Tyreese behind him, he couldn't see his reaction but assumed he heard. It was battle mode, and this late in the game, each one of them would have to draw on their instincts if they wanted to survive.

He didn't acknowledge Michonne; he didn't need to. She knew what to do.

"Now!"

Michonne was the first to make a move as he popped open the sunroof and exited through the top rather than his blocked-in driver's side. Then it was all action, swiping and gutting, knifing and dodging as shots were ringing out. He heard the impact of fallen walkers all around and the groans of the crushing horde coming towards them. Every now and again, he'd spot the arc of Michonne's swing, taking off the head of a walker or running through a dead body while she punched or shoved another. She kept in front, trying to clear a path for him and the others. She did so without him having to say a word, knowing that he liked her to take point.

In the blink of an eye he approached the treeline and heard Bob's yells for Tyreese.

Chancing a look back, he saw the big man just emerging from the car, taunting the walkers and urging the group to go on without him. Daryl's anger rose up at that. They did not have time for this tortured-soul bullshit right now. They had to rely on each other and get the job done so they could save their people back at the prison. Sasha was relying on them as well as Glenn and all the rest. His disgust warred with his sympathies before the panic set in at watching Tyreese become surrounded by walkers.

Daryl knifed another attacker and jogged to meet Michonne already at the tree line. He put an arrow in the head of a walker hurling itself at the third warm body following at their heels, Bob having hung back as long as possible for Tyreese. From a distance, they all watched in horror and helplessness as their friend became overwhelmed by the undead creatures clawing for him, his yelling and grunting for the walkers to come and get him mixed with his simultaneous order for Daryl to keep going. Bob looked like he wanted to go back for the man but there was no way they could get through to help; it's why Daryl had told them to run without stopping.

So Daryl led them away, knowing they had more far-reaching concerns. Again, the reality of leaving someone behind crushed his spirits. And again, he pushed it back so he could carry on doing what he had to.

His conscious warred with him though. How was he supposed to go back to the prison and face Sasha without Tyreese? If that were Michonne would he just walk away, even if she begged him to? He couldn't see that happening. It's why he kept on her about this fool's quest for the Governor—he didn't want her forcing him to let her go because she'd recklessly fought herself into a corner trying to prove something by defeating him. Unlike Tyreese, she was over the grief and anger but that sense of vengeance and responsibility was still strong enough to get her killed if she wasn't careful.

Just like with Tyreese.

They scrambled deeper into the forest where only a few stray walkers ambled about and they were easy enough to dispatch. Before running off through the brush, he heard rustling in the foliage at their flank. The place was still crawling with these goddamn walkers.

"Hold up," he muttered to Michonne and Bob who kept close as he tiptoed back the way they'd come. Daryl raised his crossbow to get a shot at the stragglers so they wouldn't have to worry about that at their backs. Two walkers came out of the clearing and just as Daryl went to pull the trigger, its head exploded in a splatter of brain matter as Tyreese came stumbling out into the clearing.

Daryl was stunned, a 'holy shit' at the tip of his tongue over the further absurdity to this day.

He was both angry at and relieved to see his friend. Tyreese might be bit or hurt and this reprieve would be the cruel calm before having to inflict the ultimate mercy. But when Daryl saw him stagger to his knees, he decided it didnt matter. For the time being, he'd just be thankful he didn't have another senseless death on his hands and sort out all those emotions on it later. He rushed over to the clearly exhausted man and let Michonne take care of the stray walker as they all made their getaway. They weren't off the hook yet as he heard the familiar shuffling and grunting behind them.

When they no longer heard the snaps and shuffles of walkers at their backs, Daryl allowed the group to rest. Tyreese was close to passing out and Daryl wouldn't last long carrying him much further. And the longer they had fled and the heavier Tyreese got, the more frustrated Daryl became. They needed time to reassess before the daylight faded and they'd have to stop.

Daryl nodded at Michonne and she disappeared to scout ahead, map in hand.

As they carried on and he continued to seethe, she'd disappear for stretches at a time, plotting the way ahead and reporting back their best options. Finding shelter was the next prerogative. After several more hours and more stops to rest than he would have liked, Michonne returned to the group with a spot for them to call it a night. They didn't even bother with a fire, they just collapsed wherever their gear landed. The only bit of luck for the day was that the moon was high and bright in the clear sky which made it easier to do a watch. Before taking her lookout position, Michonne sat at his side, not an intimate closeness but a comforting one. He needed that presence in the face of his festering annoyance now that he had time to process everything through the veil of his exhaustion.

They were dealing with a damn plague that had killed a third of their people, two others had been murdered. The whole damn place was depending on them—on him—to bring back medicines that would save those who were sick and those who might get sick later. He was irritated with Tyreese for checking out, irritated with Bob's passivity, irritated with Michonne for making him wonder if it would be her out here by herself the next time a mega-herd hit. He was irritated by the fucking walkers ruining the run. Irritated by this stupid flu, this stupid trip, this whole stupid world.

Maybe it was just the fatigue talking but Daryl was done with this shit day. Making one last sweep of the area, spotting Michonne and Bob on first watch, he flipped his bag over and lay down to catch some sleep before starting things over again in the morning.

TBC …


AN: Half-hearted apologies about that Dave Matthews Band dig. Like Community's Jeff Winger, I was alive in the 90s and have two ears connected to a heart but I'm with Daryl on that one.