A/N: A new chapter for you beautiful people! And can I just say 'Wow, 350 reviews?!" 0.0
Holy crap! I'm floored! And flattered! Thank y'all so much! And as always, I hope you guys enjoy. :)
Daryl tapped his finger against the top of the steering wheel, his other hand wrapped around his jaw and covering his mouth, rubbing its callouses back and forth across his lips. The rain hadn't let up. If anything, it continued to fall in slick, thunderous sheets, the pounding of the drops hitting the hood echoed by the actual thunder that boomed every couple minutes. Lightning crackled in blinding streaks, splintering the sky only to stab down to some unknown point behind the trees that lined both side of the road.
The truck had slowed to a crawl, hardly coasting at thirty, but Daryl didn't dare drive faster, not with the highway turning slick as glass and unable to see more than a few feet in the sputtering headlights. He glanced to the side, his gaze passing over Aaron's lightly dozing form, towards the slight figure huddled against the passenger door. The glow from the dashboard clock barely outlined the shape of her features, but he could still see the tight lines that had set in at the corner of her eye. Her fingers were tapping lightly against themselves in her lap, but her feet, at least, were still, not like before. Her digits' twitching betrayed the nervous energy he knew she was trying hard to keep reined in.
His gut clenched like a vice.
There was no time.
Her body was warm, but so still...so still...like a ragdoll, her arms dangled limply against his back as he ran with her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But he wasn't leaving her here.
"Daryl, we can't-"
"Fuck you, Maggie!" he snarled, keeping his arm around her legs so she wouldn't slip from him. The brunette had recoiled from him, her tears still fresh and trailing down her cheeks, but he didn't see that. Didn't want to see it. His own eyes stung and he ignored it, focusing on keeping his feet moving.
"Daryl." Another voice, Rick's voice, quiet but compelling.
He knew. Jesus fucking Christ, he knew what they had to do, but it was going to tear another piece out of his chest to do it.
He spared the car beside them a glance and swallowed hard, reluctantly shifting her weight to his arms. The trunk was wide open, heat wafting up from where it had baked in the sun. Gently, he laid her body inside, tucking her legs to the side.
"Daryl," Rick said again, sharper, biting.
Daryl didn't look at him. The snarls were echoing, bouncing off the tall buildings on either side of them. He cast a glance over her face one last time, his chest tightening painfully at the blood still trickling down her cheek in a single red line. He reached up and jerked the trunk lid down with a slam, sealing her inside.
There had never been a more ill-suited coffin.
And it nearly had been, he thought grimly. He'd damn near killed her. It'd been sheer fucking luck that Morgan had walked by that car. Hell, he was willing to attribute it to hand of God Himself, as damn impossible it should have been. No one in his right mind would have bet on those odds. Didn't change the fact that he was thankful...or guilty as fucking sin. Knowing that he hadn't been the one to make that call didn't absolve him. He'd been the one to put her in there, trapping her in the hot dark, alone and wounded.
He wondered if she suspected what'd happened. His belly churned. He should have grown a pair and just told her. It wasn't like she needed protecting from him, not from things like that. She knew damn well what the world was like now, had known for a long time. It wasn't like he was doing her any favors by keeping his trap shut.
But it wasn't really about her, was it? Merle's voice piped up from the back of his head. S'all 'bout makin' sure she don't stop lookin' at ya like yer worth a damn, ain't it, baby brother? Just gotta keep them pretty blue eyes focused on wha' ya want her t'see. And even tha' ain't worth chicken shit.
Daryl's hand on the wheel constricted, his knuckles paling. Fuck, she deserved so much better than a redneck asshole that couldn't get his head on straight to save his life. For probably the hundredth time, he wondered what the hell he was doing. It seemed like every time he tried to answer that question, he couldn't come up with a definition that he could agree with. She meant something. She was more than a willing female body to warm his bed. She gave a damn. She'd proven that more than once. That expression on her face when she'd looked at him on the tailgate…
Christ, the woman turned his head inside out. It was enough to drive a preacher to drink. He wanted to wrap his arm around her just as much as he wanted to find something solid to pin her against and bury himself in her. She was summer sunshine and peaches, so damned bright and sweet that sometimes it just hurt to look at her, but he couldn't not look at her. How was he supposed to not look at her? She pulled at him like a magnet, even when she wasn't doing anything but sitting still. He shook his head roughly; thinking too fucking much again.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on top of the steering wheel and squinting into the storm. The windshield wipers could barely keep up, sluicing more water across the glass than they actually cleared away.
Quietly, he angled his head towards to the right and asked, "How much further we got on the map?"
He heard a rustling beside him as Beth gently took the paper from Aaron's lap, probably being careful so she didn't wake him. That was good. Poor bastard was better off sleeping as much as he could. The gunshot wound was still clean and clear, but they'd run out of painkillers. At least as long as he wasn't awake, he didn't feel it.
Beth's voice was soft as she answered him, "Few more miles." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head come up. "Wait out the storm?"
He hummed in acknowledgement, his head dipping down in an affirmative as he watched the road. "Ain't gonna make him walk in this shit."
He figured it was enough of an answer since she didn't reply. Hopefully, nothing else was walking around out there either. There was a nudge on his arm and he blindly reached out to accept the water bottle that she passed to him over their sleeping friend. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull. It tasted stale, and warm as piss, but it was wet. As he handed it back, he debated on whether or not it would be worth it to refill all the bottles they had with rainwater, as close as they were to the zone. Probably better to. Beth seemed to have the same thought. She'd already pulled both packs into her lap and was digging through them, lining up the plastic containers in the space on the seat between her hip and Aaron's.
Daryl started to look to the sides of the road, hunting for familiar landmarks. The dark always changed how things looked, but he when the first couple of buildings rose up out of the murk, he relaxed a little. Finally, finally, he knew exactly where they were at. The truck swung up between two of the burnt out structures and he immediately switched off the engine. The dark closed around them like someone had dropped a thick, noisy blanket. Fat drops still banged on the roof, pelting the windows mercilessly as his eyes adjusted. There was the creaky sound of a door being slowly opened. He eased his foot off the brake and the truck rolled a little further forward. The patter lessened, the volume of the storm decreasing somewhat as they ended up parked beneath an overhang.
Easing his own door open, he slid out of the truck, his boots sinking deep into the ground. Mud sucked at his feet as he shut the door as quietly as he could. Slushing through the mire, Daryl rounded the end of the truck and climbed up into the back. He crouched down and grabbed the rolled up tarp that had been kept beneath the back window. With a hard flick of his arms, it unfurled along the the bottom of the bed. From where he was kneeling, it was relatively dry, the tarp affording a less damp seat than the bare metal of the bed, so he shifted to put his back against the cab, his legs bent in front of him and his crossbow in his lap.
Beth vaulted over the side, her boots slamming into the tarp. She cradled their water bottles against her chest with one arm, using her other hand to catch her balance. Moving to the exposed tailgate, she lined the bottles up along it, pocketing the caps in her jeans. Then she was sitting beside him, tucking her legs Indian style and crossing her arms. Her shoulder touched his bicep.
Neither of them said anything, either retreating into their own minds or simply keeping watch, who could tell? Still as carved stone, they sat beside one another, their gazes facing forward and their heads resting against the cold glass behind them. It felt good to shut it all down, their senses tuning into their environment and nothing else.
It was hours before the storm passed, still quite a while before dawn however. By then, however, Aaron had woke, rapping on the window with the knuckles of his good hand. Daryl reached up and knocked back without turning around. There was a shuffling, followed by the distinct squeal of a window being rolled down.
"Where are we?"
Daryl angled his head towards the driver's side as Beth moved away to collect the bottles back up, now full to the brim with fresh, clean water.
"Few miles outside the zone. We could walk it in about an hour, maybe two if the shitty weather keeps up."
"With our run of luck here lately, I'd count on it staying shitty," Aaron replied dryly as he leaned out of the window. "Are we waiting till morning or just until we catch a break in the storm?"
"Nah, was waitin' on you t'get yer ass in gear, s'all."
His lips twitched as the curly-haired man snorted. He watched Beth as she jumped down off the side of the truck and moved to the passenger door with the bottles. Grunting, he pushed himself up, leaving the tarp where it was. Someone would be coming for the truck. No point taking more than they could comfortably carry now, not when they were this close. Beth came back around and handed up Aaron's pack. He slung it over his shoulder as he straddled the tailgate, draping the strap of his crossbow over the other.
Aaron came up next to him, his tall, rangy silhouette easily discernible even in the dark. He cocked his head at Daryl.
"Do you think it'll be light enough that Sasha'll check the scope before she shoots us?"
Daryl clapped him on the uninjured shoulder with a grunt, his mouth curving in a smirk. "S'wha' I like 'bout you, Aaron. World fucks itself and yer still an optimist."
The other man shook his head as he fell into step beside Beth. "I'd like to think I'm being more than just hoping like hell not to get shot again."
That was another bet that most likely wouldn't make, but Daryl kept the thought to himself. He glanced back over his shoulder at the blonde woman trailing a couple feet behind him. A walking long shot if ever there was one. Considering that, the smirk on his face fall away, replaced with a thoughtful expression. Maybe it was high time he started banking on her kind of odds.
