AN: Here we are, another chapter here. If you're interested, I may be able to get another out on this one today. I have most of the day for writing.
If you're wondering about my timeline, I start the class a week from today. I'll be doing some family stuff so I'll be in and out, but I may get to write a bit more before the class.
I thank you so much for your responses to the last chapter! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this story! I hope you continue to enjoy!
Please let me know what you think!
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Daryl had done just about every kind of shit job—literal and figurative—under the sun in his lifetime. He usually worked them for short stints. He was there just enough time to pick up a few skills and then to lose the job, or to quit it because it was unbearable, because he was a Dixon and that was just what the hell happened.
One summer when he'd been pretty young, he'd gotten a job at some stables that catered to rich little girls with wealthy, doting parents and elaborate birthday parties. His job had been to muck stalls, groom and feed horses, and saddle the horses for the little girls. He'd been a behind-the-scenes kind of guy that smelled like horseshit most of the day, and he'd hated the job. He'd left it after three months when he had some change in his pocket.
He'd been happy for the skills he learned there when he'd borrowed one of Hershel Greene's horses and saddled it in the barn. He hoped the old man wouldn't mind his borrowing the horse, and he hoped he was able to return it in one piece. The old man had quite a few horses, and Daryl could make better time on the beast's four legs than he could on his own two. The map he'd checked out—since he knew Marion was where he was headed and he could guess at about where the farm was given the exit they'd taken—told him that the trip via the roads was a lot longer than a straight shot through woods, graveyards, farms, or whatever the hell else might stand between him and the little town.
The map didn't do much for Daryl as far as directions went. The compass he had did more for getting him started than the piece of paper did. The most the map did was convince him that he could be back by lunch with a touch of luck.
He got off to a solid start. He was convinced he would make it back early. He'd make it back before they hardly even had time to start to talk about the fact that he'd left. The horse was making good time, the Walkers were very few, and the landscape wasn't too hard to traverse. He was just walking the horse near a ridge, some movement below him having caught his attention, when it all went to hell.
He never saw the snake, but the horse did.
When Daryl woke up the first time, something had been nudging him. Someone had been trying to wake him up. When he'd come into himself, he'd realized that it was a Walker that was just deciding to try to take a bite out of Daryl's boot. Daryl reached around and found his knife. His movements stirred up the Walker, but he was still able to take it out. He was able to take out the second one, too, that came from the side to see what his companion had found to eat.
Just before he passed out again, Daryl realized that, on the way down the ravine, one of the bolts he was carrying to protect himself from the Walkers had gone through his side. In addition, the crossbow on his back had done some damage to his back and his head had clearly made impact with quite a few things. It was better to remain conscious. He might never wake up again if he slipped out of consciousness. He needed to bind his wounds. He knew all these things, but still he slipped out of contact with his reality.
The next time Daryl woke up, he was aware that he wasn't alone, but nobody was chewing on him this time. Instead, when he opened his eyes, they slowly came into focus on the face of his brother as he stood over Daryl.
"Look at'cha rollin' around in the dirt, baby brother," Merle said. "Like a fuckin' pig."
"Merle?" Daryl asked.
Merle laughed.
"You ain't happy to see your big brother?" Merle asked.
"Thought you were dead," Daryl said.
"Here I stand, bigger'n shit," Merle said. "It's you looks like you 'bout to be dead, brother."
"Fell," Daryl said. "Tryin' to get to…town. Gotta get drugs, Merle."
"An' you shamed my ass all those years for the drugs."
"Not like that, Merle. Her kid's sick. Gonna die. Gotta get 'em for her. Pretty lil' girl, Merle. Sweet. Soph."
"You got a thing for lil' girls now, brother?" Merle asked.
"Not like that, Merle," Daryl said. "She's gonna die. Don't deserve that. Her Ma don't deserve that."
"You got a thing for lil' girls' Mas then," Merle said. Daryl didn't answer him. He didn't have to answer him. Merle would know. Daryl knew that Merle would know. He didn't know how he got there, or why he was there, but he knew that Merle would know—even if Daryl had only barely come to know it himself. "You think she's gonna care about you? You think—if you bring these drugs back she's gonna care about you? She ain't never gonna care about you, brother."
"That's what Shane said," Daryl said.
"Shane was right. She ain't never gonna care about you," Merle said.
"She might," Daryl said. "She does. Sleeps real close to me at night. Warm."
Merle laughed.
"She's just usin' you. They're all just usin' you. Real good for what you can do for 'em, but they don't care about you. Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you but me, lil' brother. An' you out here lookin' for drugs for somebody don't care about you an' you left me. Sure didn't look for me."
"I did look for you," Daryl said. "We come back. If you'da stayed."
"They're all laughin' about you right now, brother," Merle said. "You know that, don't'cha? They're all laughin' 'cause you're out here doin' their dirty work. You're out here breakin' your neck an' they're all laughin' at you. She's laughin' loudest of all."
"She ain't," Daryl growled. "She ain't laughin' with them!"
Daryl sat up to shove his brother backward. He sat up to force him to take back his words. He sat up to make him admit that Carol wouldn't laugh at him.
He sat up because it mattered, more than he'd ever realized before, what Carol thought about him—even if he didn't care that much what the others thought.
But Merle was gone. He'd never really been there, of course. Daryl realized that as he came into himself. But Merle was always there in his mind, just like his old man. At least it wasn't Rooster Dixon that had showed up to harass him at the bottom of the ravine.
Daryl made his way down to the water that trickled through the ravine. He didn't care if it was dirty or not. He filled his mouth full several times and spit it out to wash the taste of dirt and blood out of his mouth. Then he drank a little to keep from thirsting to death. He cupped his hands and used the water to wash the wound on his side. He broke the arrow off and pushed it through, biting on a stick he found to try to keep himself from passing out again. He bound the wound and glanced at the sun.
He was losing time. He wouldn't make it back by lunch. That was far too lofty a goal, especially now. He might make it back by dark, though.
If he could ever get out of the ravine.
The first two times he tried to climb, he simply tumbled back to the bottom. He gritted his teeth against the pain of his injuries, though, and tried again.
The third time, Merle showed up.
"Right on time," Daryl growled at him.
Merle laughed at him—always a few feet ahead.
"You ain't never gettin' outta this hole, boy," Merle said. "You gonna die here. Like a dog. An' they ain't nobody gonna come lookin' for you. That lil' girl you so fond of? Mmm hmmm…she's gonna die too, 'cause you couldn't get your sorry ass out a hole."
"She can't die, Merle," Daryl said. "She don't deserve to die."
"Lot'sa damn people die that don't deserve it, boy," Merle said. "You done hangin' onto them roots? You gonna climb out the fuckin' hole or you gonna die here?"
"She needs them drugs," Daryl said.
"You better climb, boy," Merle said. "You don't an' she's gonna die. They gonna let her die. Throw her in a hole somewhere, too, like she don't mean a thing."
"If I just knowed—I wish I knowed she was gonna be OK, Merle," Daryl said, the pain in his chest and throat blending with the pain in the rest of his body.
"Gotta get your ass out the hole or she dies," Merle said. "Don't nothin' else matter. Get out the hole and make sure she lives, boy. Get out the hole an' be your own damn sign if it matters to you."
"What if I can't get out?" Daryl asked. He tried to climb and the dirt under him gave way. He tried to move upward and he slid down. Merle gritted his teeth at him in the angry way he usually did when he was moments before trying to take his baby brother by the scruff and force him into something.
"Hike up your fuckin' skirts, brother, an' climb!" Merle barked. "You don't want that girl to die then you fuckin' climb! You don't an' you die—takin' her right along with you. Gonna be your fault 'cause you pussied out on her!"
Daryl was determined. He wasn't going to let Sophia die. He might not be able to stop it, exactly, but he wasn't going to simply sit back and let it happen. He wasn't going to lie there and die in a hole while he thought about Carol holding her daughter as Sophia let go of the hold her little hands had on this life.
Inch by inch, Daryl found his way over the side of the ravine with his brother barking at him to climb like a drill sergeant. He thanked Merle, too, as he came over the side and settled, face down, in the damp dirt to rest a moment.
But, of course, Merle wasn't there.
He'd left something behind though. He'd been looking out for Daryl.
Daryl heard the nicker of the horse and glanced to see it, some feet away, feeding off a patch of grass it had found. It should have run off. There was no reason that it stayed other than it appeared that the bridle had snagged on a bush and the horse wasn't daring enough to snatch it loose to find its freedom once it had escaped the snake that spooked it.
That wasn't all that Merle left him, though.
Daryl pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He winced at the pain that surged through his body—the pain he'd swallow down to go the rest of the way for the drugs. He wasn't going to let Sophia down. He wasn't going to let Carol down.
And Merle had left him a sign.
Daryl's eyes came into focus on the string of white flowers growing in the abundance of vegetation near him. They were right where Merle was sitting—or at least where Daryl had imagined he was sitting—while he'd been barking at Daryl to man up and crawl out of the hole. Daryl knew what the flowers were for. He knew what they meant.
For what comfort they offered him, Daryl reached up and yanked several of the flowers free. He tucked them into his shirt pocket with his compass. During all of that, he hadn't lost his compass. He opened it up, found that it wasn't broken, and used it to get his bearings.
His gut told him that it hadn't been an accident. He was meant to find the drugs and he would. He'd steer clear of ravines, and he'd give them wide berth on the way to the town and back, but he was meant to find the drugs. He was meant to get them back to Sophia.
And if he got a move on, he could be back before dark.
Daryl patted his pocket where the flowers were nestled in with his compass and he got to his feet. He stumbled over, freed the horse from bush that held him in place, and gave the animal a good talking to about how they had to work together in this. Daryl would keep the beast from getting eaten by Walkers if it were possible, but that would only work if she let Daryl stay with her. There was nothing to save her, after all, except pure damn luck—and maybe Merle—while Daryl had been down in the hole nearly dying.
Finally, feeling a little stronger, Daryl got in the saddle again and steered the horse in the direction of the town, giving wide berth to the ravine.
He had work to do and the day—and Sophia—wouldn't last forever.