Trouble in Paradise
My hand slapped against a metal bar bolted to the top of the truck, and I curled my fingers around the solid steel frame, frantically trying to hang on. My fall was abruptly halted, and I groaned at the all too familiar pain of pulled muscles in my shoulder, but pain was the least of my problems. The truck was still speeding down the road causing my body to bump and bang against the truck, all while I desperately held on for dear life.
Grunting I reached for the metal bar with my other hand, my palms slick with sweat and blood. The truck barreled around a corner at 50-mph, the centrifugal force trying its damndest to pry me from the vehicle despite my best effort. I had to get back on top of the truck. There was no possible way I could hang on for the duration of the journey, wherever the hell that was.
Gritting my teeth I flexed my biceps, slowly inching my way up. When I was halfway there the passenger side door suddenly swung open and I cursed, pulling frantically. A Savior leaned out of the cab, brandishing a pistol. I threw my right leg up, hooking my heel on the other side of the metal bar giving me the leverage I need to hoist myself up. With one, pain filled lunge I threw myself back on top of the truck just as the man fired.
Before I could so much as catch my breath the driver slammed on the brakes causing me to slide towards the front of the truck. I grabbed the metal bar, stopping myself from flying off the roof and subsequently being run over only to feel myself tossed in the opposite direction when the asshole slammed the gas pedal to the floor.
"Christ, I'm gonna get sea sick" I muttered, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva.
We played the stop-and-go game for a few more minutes, but when it was clear it wasn't going to work they settled for simply hauling ass.
Well, I was on the truck. Now what?
My mind drifted to my husband who only yesterday scolded me about my impulsive tendencies.
"Ya gotta learn not to kick a cow turd on a hot day Red."
To be fair I had stepped in actual cow shit that day so it was hard to know if he was talking about that or something else entirely.
The truck zig-zagged back-and-forth across the highway, more to avoid the numerous abandoned cars in the road than a serious effort to dislodge their stowaway. One thing was certain, I couldn't simply stay here and wait for them to get to their destination.
Steeling my resolve and my nerves I slowly worked my way towards the cab, careful to keep one hand on the metal bar at all times. The wind was howling loud in my ears, whipping my hair around into knots I'd never be able to untangle. The air was thick and steamy, making it difficult to breathe. Pressing my lips together in a hard line I rolled my limited options around before realizing I had none. Guess I'd have to go with old reliable, wingin' it.
Something told me my other half would consider this stepping in cow shit.
Admittedly it wasn't the best plan I'd ever concocted, but if these assclowns were stupid enough to fall for it then they deserved to die.
Leaning forward I pounded on the roof of the cab then quickly slid off the roof, one hand locked on the steel bar like my life depended on it, cause it did, the other holding my gun. It was somewhat disappointing when the passenger's head popped out of the window, gun aimed at the top of the cab like I was stupid enough to be sitting up there. I had no idea how Negan managed to take over most of the Eastern seaboard. These guys were so incompetent they made minimum wage mall cops look like Navy Seals.
"Hey asshole!"
He never saw me or the shot that shattered his skull. His body crumpled, falling out of the half-open door onto the highway. The truck shuttered then bounced, and I puffed out my cheeks, trying not to puke at the sound of bone crushing like wrinkled wrapping paper. Hauling myself back onto the roof I grimaced at the shrinking red spot on the highway behind us.
The driver went berserk, pumping a few dozen rounds into the roof of the cab. I kept my distance, letting him finish his temper tantrum, but the I heard something, a distinctive rumble barely audible over the bellow of the wind that made my heart beat a little faster.
I grinned when I saw Daryl zoom around the corner, leaning hard to the right, hugging the curve of the corner tight. His bike was steadily gaining on the much slower truck. He pointed at the driver's side, and I nodded, moving to the passenger side.
The driver saw him coming in the side mirror and swerved hard to the left in an effort to cut him off. Another burned out, abandoned car in the middle of the road forced him to yank the wheel in the opposite direction or risk a head-on collision. The correction allowed Daryl to pull even with the truck, drawing the drivers sole attention. I reached down, yanking the passenger door open just as the driver fired two shots at Daryl. He squeezed the brakes hard, disappearing from view. I leapt from the roof, angling my body so I landed in the passenger seat, surprising him.
"What the..."
The rest of his sentence died with him, his body slumping forward against the steering wheel, foot pressing the gas pedal to the ground. The truck swerved violently, tossing me around the cab like a rag doll.
"Shit," I cursed, reaching around the dead man for the steering wheel.
I was able to regain control just before we slammed into a pack of walkers loitering in the middle of the road. Dark, red blood and bits of bone splattered the windshield, the walkers we'd mowed down exploding on impact.
"Why are you in the road?!" I shouted at the walkers, fumbling for the door handle. "Why are you in the freakin' road?!"
Once I had the door open I tried to shove the burly man out, but he was dead weight, literally. Panting from exertion I moved to the side, bringing my legs up and pushing as hard as I could. The man swayed for a moment, towards me then away from me, like a fat kid on a seesaw. I could put up with a lot, but a dead guy pinning me down in an out-of-control truck was where I drew the line.
I sat up, pushing the steering wheel hard to the left. The man fell out of the open door, finally, and I settled into the driver's seat, struggling to regain control of the truck.
The back end fishtailed left and I turned the wheel to the right only to have the truck change direction and fishtail again.
"Damn, you've got a fat ass."
The truck swayed in the middle of the road, and I fought the urge to slam on the breaks. The huge vehicle was traveling far too fast for that. If I attempted to stop now I risked rolling this behemoth.
Daryl tried to keep pace beside me, but when the truck veered into his lane, almost causing him to lay the bike down, he decided to fall in behind me. The rumble strip on the highway made the truck vibrate, and I gritted my teeth, gripping the steering wheel so tight my hands ached and my knuckles turned white.
The truck careened off the road, heading down the grassy embankment, and I slammed my foot on the brake, consequences be damned. The engine squealed in protest, gears grinding in an effort to slow the truck, but our momentum was far too great.
Reaching behind me I yanked the seatbelt across my chest then crisscrossed my arms over the steering wheel, ducking my head just as the truck lurched sideways, balanced on only two wheels. The truck landed hard on the passenger side, continuing to slid down the embankment. As if this day couldn't get any worse it didn't stop until we smashed into a huge, oak tree. The front windshield shattered, raining down glass shards that nicked my forearms. My chest collided with he bottom of the steering wheel, knocking the wind from my lungs.
I sputtered and coughed, trying to draw precious air into my fragile lungs. The driver's door was pried open, metal grinding harshly due to the bent frame. My husband quickly assessed the situation, ordering me to put my arms around his neck. Once I was in position he cut through the seatbelt, my body instantly falling towards the opposite side of the cab, but his strong arms looped around my waist, halting my descent. He hauled me out of the truck, gently lowering me to the ground while his eyes searched for serious injury.
"I'm good," I wheezed, trying and failing to breathe normally.
He said nothing, taking my face in his hands and tipping my head back. His lips were surprisingly soft when they brushed against mine, and I sighed, hands involuntarily curling in the front of his shirt.
"Scared the shit outta me Red."
Before I could reply Rick skidded to a halt behind us. "Christ Alex, are you alright?"
Daryl pulled away, standing up, body rigid. His face, that only moments ago was chalked full of emotion was locked down tight, but not for the reason I expected. He was angry, really, really angry, but surprisingly, that anger wasn't directed at me. I frowned, eyeing the two men who may not be brother's by blood, but were brother's nonetheless. Something happened, something big if the...tension was anything to go by. I'd say this, it must be a doozy if he wasn't screaming about my swan dive out of a building.
"Gotta be," I finally replied, putting a hand on the ground so I could push myself up. Daryl stepped forward, large hand curling around my upper arm to help me. "Thanks."
"Shit," Rick cursed, standing at the rear of the truck, the back door mangled and misshapen, but hanging open. "He was telling the truth."
Who was telling the truth?
I walked slowly to the back of the truck, squeezing my eyes shut when I saw only one .50-caliber machine gun strapped down in the back. There wasn't supposed to be one. There were supposed to be two. Even worse, the weapon was ruined beyond repair. I suppose the silver lining, if you could call it that, was no one could use it now.
"It's at the chemical plant."
Daryl grunted at Rick's comment. "Don't know that. Don't know what happened."
"Someone want to fill me in?"
Both men ignored me, and I rolled my eyes. Fine, I'd fill myself in. Not like it was hard to sus out what was happening. The second gun, the one most certainly not in the back of the truck, was taken to the chemical plant. We had a team at the chemical plant, Carol and Ezekiel's team. I swallowed hard at the implications. A .50-caliber machine gun would obliterate anything in its path.
Daryl jumped into the back of the truck, pulling out a wooden crate. "Gimme a hand with this."
The two men hefted the heavy crate, gently setting it down on the ground. Inside was a healthy dose of dynamite, and I felt my spirits soar. Rick and Daryl froze, glancing at me over their shoulders. So I legit squealed in excitement and was rubbing my hands together excitedly? Sue me.
"Sorry."
Daryl promptly started filling a pack with dynamite while Rick watched with an alarmed expression. Whatever was going on between these two was serious. It felt like we were standing in the middle of a pressure cooker that was about to explode. Dysfunctional bromances were a recipe for disaster.
"We can use these," Daryl said matter-of-factly.
"What?"
I kept my mouth shut, watching the exchange from a safe distance. I wanted no piece of this dick measuring.
"Think 'bout it, there ain't no Kingdom no more."
My heart clenched painfully at his cavalier tone. I didn't want to believe that. I couldn't. The way he casually dismissed the killing of an entire community, his best friend no less, made my heart beat erratically. He sounded so callous, so detached. It wasn't him. Daryl Dixon had a soft heart despite his rough exterior. He felt everything times ten.
"Yeah."
It was clear by Rick's tone he knew what his bestie was suggesting, and not one, single part of him was on board with the plan. This was going to get ugly.
"We know what we gotta do. We finish the job." He looked at me, maybe for support, maybe to stop him, but either way I didn't move. What he was suggesting was no different than what I'd originally proposed, but for some reason, coming from him, it was paralyzing. "We blow them sumbitches sky high. It'll be done. Hell, we could end this by sundown."
He sounded so cold it literally made my heart ache. This wasn't the man I loved. Hearing him talk about murdering people so casually made me sick to my stomach. If this was how he felt when I talked about murder and mayhem I was sorry I'd ever done it. I couldn't help but feel responsible, like my sins had somehow bled into him.
"They have workers in there, right? Families?" Rick's question was directed at me.
My eyes strayed to the ground, mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah."
I was the one who'd advocating killing everyone at The Sanctuary, regardless of their involvement or lack thereof. I hadn't cared that women and children, innocent people who had no involvement in what happened to me, lived there. Now that I was faced with the reality of following through with that decision I found myself faltering.
"Where they keep the workers?" Daryl growled the question at me, but his eyes never strayed from his friend.
"The north side," I answered solemnly.
Daryl waved a hand in my direction. "See, we'll hit up the south side of the main buildin'. They'll be up the stairs b'fore the walkers even get in."
That was a big if, not to mention it didn't exactly protect everyone. Bombs were unpredictable. There was no way to gauge their destructive force.
"What if they don't?" Daryl had no answer for that. None of us did. "There are people in there who aren't fighters. Doing this could change that. Make them pick up guns, and stand by The Saviors. And if The Saviors don't surrender maybe everyone fights us."
Yeah, that would be bad.
Rick took a deep breath, the pregnant pause making goosebumps break out all over my skin. What he said next was going to officially break up this boy band.
"And we don't have The Kingdom anymore."
"Woah, hold up, we don't know what we have or don't have." I may as well have said it to the wall for all the good it did. Neither asshole was listening.
"We're not doing it," Rick stated resolutely. I saw Daryl bristle at his Rick-tator-ship tone, and knew this wasn't going to end well.
The two men stared at each other for so long it was downright uncomfortable. It was like a showdown in the Wild West, except in Virginia, on the side of a road, during the zombie apocalypse.
For about half a second I considered stepping in and ending this fuckery before it even started, but it was obvious this needed to happen. Whatever was between these two needed to die on the side of this road.
"Nah, ya ain't doin' this."
Daryl shoved Rick hard in the chest, pivoting on his heel and striding away. Anger flashed in Rick's eyes, and I saw him glance at me briefly, but I simply crossed my arms over my chest. He pursed his lips, lunging forward and grabbing Daryl by the shoulder, forcing him to stop.
"There's a plan. Your wife's plan." Oh no, don't bring me into this pissing contest. "And everyone's sticking to it."
From where I was standing it didn't look like anyone was sticking to it, but I kept my opinion to myself. Mainly because no one was listening.
"Not everyone," Daryl snarled, the two nose-to-nose, "There's a lot of our people who are dead Rick." My husband's eyes flicked to me, his nostrils flaring. "Things change man." He turned to leave, but stopped abruptly, facing his friend. "Negan and that other group, this on them. If people die, it's their fault, not ours."
"Daryl, we can't do this."
"And we got our own people to look after."
"We're not doing this." Daryl didn't break stride, ignoring his friends demand. "Hey! I'm not letting you do this!"
The moment Rick's hand touched Daryl's shoulder I knew he was going to bleed, but the punch that put him on his ass still made me wince. My husband stood over Rick, chest heaving.
"This ain't yur choice," he spit, picking up the bag full of dynamite.
Rick swiped a hand across his mouth, his fingers coming away red. He snarled, springing up from the ground with surprising speed, tackling Daryl from behind.
"Christ," I cursed, stepping away from the vehicle and closer to the brawl.
The two men tumbled to the ground, rolling over each other until they came to a stop, Daryl on top. He cocked his arm back, swinging hard, fully intending to deliver a knockout blow. Rick moved at the last second, barely avoiding the punch that would have certainly broken his nose.
OK, this seemed serious. If the haymakers being lobbed by either party were any indication.
Rick tossed Daryl off him, picking up the bag of dynamite and throwing it behind him. The bag sailed by my head, and I sighed, watching the two idiots continue to roll around on the ground like morons.
My husband came at Rick from behind, locking him in a chokehold that looked like it hurt. Rick clawed at his arms, his hair, even his eyes, trying to get out of the ironclad hold. When he reared back and delivered a solid elbow to Daryl's gut that temporarily winded him I decided it was time to end this ridiculousness.
We had real problems. These two assholes cat fighting on the side of the road wasn't even in the top 10.
Daryl gasped, trying to suck in enough air to breathe while Rick did the same, both men attempting to regain their footing as they squared off. Rick was the first to recover, rolling his shoulders and shouting a pathetic war cry as he came at Daryl. He cocked his right arm back, fully intent on breaking his nose which I could not allow. His face was too pretty to mess up.
As gently and lovingly as I could I kicked him from behind in the back of the knee. He yelped in surprise, dropping to the ground. I stepped in front of him, putting the heel of my boot square in the chest. His eyes bulged slightly before he flew back, landing on his back with a hard thump. And this time, poor guy, he stayed down.
My husband had yet to realize I'd intervened, bloodlust and anger clouding his judgement. He was reaching for Rick, ready to strangle his best friend, even though he was nowhere in sight. I caught his hand, twisting his fingers back painfully. He grunted, body twisting and contorting in an effort to alleviate the pressure on his fingers. I kept his fingers pinned back, careful not to break bone, and he had no choice but to fall to his knees. The rage in his eyes subsided and I released my hold, shaking my head at the two sweaty, bleeding men. Daryl cradled his arm against his chest, wiggling his fingers experimentally.
"You two assholes look like a pair of fifth grade sissies after a cat fight!" They bowed their heads, ashamed of their actions and piss poor fighting skills. I turned to my husband, eyes hard. "You got anger, good, you're gonna need it." I faced Rick. "You got aggression that's even better, you're gonna need that too. But any 2-year-old child can throw a fit!"
They looked at each other begrudgingly while I continued to lecture them. It was a sad day when I was the voice of reason in any situation. If only my grandmother could see me now.
"War is about controlling that anger, harnessing that aggression. If we're fighting each other how can we possibly hope to defeat The Saviors?"
They both murmured under their breath, promising not to continue and I huffed in frustration. While the two of them dusted off their clothes and their pride I collected our things, climbing up to the road. A few minutes later they joined me, eyeing each other wearily.
"There's a plan," Rick said, repeating his earlier words.
"We gotta win."
I mean, couldn't there be both, a plan and winning? Was it really that hard to put the two together?
"Yeah, we gotta," Rick agreed, fiddling with the weapon in his hand. He looked at Daryl out of the corner of his eye, grinning slightly. "Chokehold's illegal asshole."
My husband didn't look at him, eyes locked on the road in front of him, but I saw how his lips twitched in amusement.
"Uh-huh, yes it is."
I snorted, feeling myself relax now that they were cracking jokes, even if I didn't understand them.
"Take care of each other."
I nodded, face serious as I told him, "You can't trust her."
The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over-and-over and expecting a different result. Trusting the Garbage Pail Kids would accomplish nothing except ensuring they were able to firmly stab another knife our back.
"We have to try." He looked utterly exhausted, and I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "We need more."
More people. More weapons. Just...more.
"You have to be ready to kill her."
He swallowed hard, eyes straying to my face. "I know."
"Want me to go? I have no problem killing that bitch."
That got a reaction out of him. He tipped his head back, a deep rumbling making his shoulders shake.
"I got it, but thanks."
"I'm here for you bro."
"Be careful." He glanced over my shoulder at my husband, sobering up. "He needs you right now."
"I know."
He said nothing further, jumping in the jeep and taking off. Was it wrong I wished the .50 caliber was still functioning so if Resident Evil fucked us over, again, he'd have the means to pump a few dozen rounds in her chest?
My grandmother used to say every day was another chance to be a better person than you were the day before. I didn't think that applied to this situation. Resident Evil was a bitch, and she deserved to die a slow, painful death. I was only disappointed I wouldn't be the one to deliver the fatal blow.
I mentally apologized to my grandmother, and promised to work on being a better person tomorrow. Maybe.
Now that we were alone it felt like we could speak frankly. We couldn't leave here until Daryl put this, whatever it was, behind him. One Dixon with uncontrollable homicidal urges was more than enough.
"What happened?"
At first, he simply sat on his bike, eyes vacant as he looked at nothing in particular. He took his time collecting himself and his thoughts, and I knew whatever set him off was bad.
"When we were lookin' for the guns I found a cell." My skin prickled with unease, and I licked my lips. I knew where this was going, and I didn't like it. "Ya told me what happened, but seein' it with my own eyes I..."
I took a deep breath, unsure what to do. I didn't want to relive my time in captivity any more than he did.
"Place was filthy, dried blood on the ground, handcuffs hanging from the wall, and a can of empty dog food in the corner." Just like mine. "I saw ya in there, freezin', bleedin', sufferin', and I just...snapped."
I took a step closer, but didn't touch him, somehow knowing that if I did he'd only retreat further into himself. It was a dangerous line to walk. Say too much and I risked him shutting down. Say nothing and he might think I couldn't stand to hear it at all. He took a deep breath, hands curling around the handlebars of the bike like he was trying to choke the life out of someone.
"Heard a gunshot and took off runnin'. Found Rick with a gun to his head. Shot the man in the back of the head." I wasn't sure what was causing his voice to quiver. Killing someone who was threating to kill one of our own was how it was now. "It was Morales."
Who the fuck was Morales?
Sending my confusion he filled in the blanks. "He was with us in the beginnin', at the quarry." Oh, well, that explained it then. "He called himself Negan, was gonna kill Rick so I..."
"You did what you had to."
He looked at me, tears in his beautiful blue eyes. "Did I?" He looked away, blinking rapidly. "It's getting' harder."
"What is?"
"To tell friends from enemies."
I didn't want to tell him that before this was over it would only get harder. A line that was already blurry was likely to disappear altogether.
"My heart damn near stopped beatin' when I saw ya dive outta that window." The pain in his voice made me want to curl up and cry. "I saw ya hit the roof and then..."
And then he had no idea if I was dead or alive.
"I'm sorry, I..."
"Nah, I get it." I frowned, watching him closely, but he had no more fight left in him. The thought worried me immensely. "Once I saw that cell..." His Adam's apple bobbed up-and-down slowly. "I get it."
I couldn't hold his intense gaze. He understood because he felt it too. The urge to kill indiscriminately. I didn't want that burden on his shoulders. In my single-minded focus to eliminate The Saviors I'd doomed my husband to a far worse fate. A future plagued with regret and self-loathing. He'd given me unconditional love, and in return I'd given him damnation.
My mind drifted to Carl, the young man desperate to find a solution that involved something other than death. A boy forced to be a man far before his time who wanted to build the world up instead of tearing it down.
"We ran out to follow ya, and almost got taken out by a Savior that got left behind." I shook my head, refocusing on his voice. One emotional crisis at a time. "Rick tried to negotiate with the prick, told him we wouldn't kill him if he gave us information."
"Did he?"
He nodded, "He didn't know shit, not for sure. Said he thought one of the guns was taken to the chemical plant yesterday."
Sounded pretty spot on.
"I killed him." I closed my eyes, lips pressed firmly together. "I see the people who hurt ya in all of 'em."
We can only see so much darkness until we go blind. It was nature's way of protecting us, so we didn't have to see the monster we'd become. That darkness followed Daryl like a thundercloud. I knew because I recognized it. The same darkness had followed me since birth.
"It ain't right, what I wanna do to 'em, but I don't know if I can stop myself."
I put my hand on his cheek, turning his face toward me while brushing the hair out of his eyes with my other hand. I smiled down at him sadly, my arms going around his head as I pulled him against me. With him sitting on the bike his head was nestled under my breasts, arms tight around my waist.
"Right and wrong are so far from this place I don't think they factor in at all," I confessed.
I didn't doubt we'd win this war. The real question was what would be left of us when it was over. Seeing the man I loved being torn apart from the inside out was a fate far worse than death. For the first time ever I questioned the cost of our victory. It wasn't worth Daryl's soul, nothing was.
"Ya ain't never gonna be behind bars again. Not while I'm still breathin'."
I believed him. Twice now I'd been held hostage, subjected to the whims of madmen. First the Governor then Negan.
"What do we do?"
His question was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. I leaned back so I could look down at him. Normally Daryl kept his emotions locked down tight, but not now. Right now he looked vulnerable, small, shaken. It broke my heart.
"We win." I held his face in my hands, eyes boring into his. "We're gonna get through this. Whatever happens. Whatever it takes. We deal with it, together."
"Together," he repeated, resting his hand on top of mine.
"It's me and you, until the very end."
My vow helped push away his doubt, replacing it with determination. His face transformed before me, the vulnerability he'd only ever let me see replaced with sheer resolve. He looked like the Daryl Dixon the rest of the world knew.
"This side or the other Red."
I smirked, "Damn straight Katniss. Damn straight."
Daryl and Rick's bromance took a hit, but those crazy kids worked it out in the end.
We get a little insight into Daryl's frame of mind in this chapter. What did you think of his confession? He's headed towards a dark place. Do you think Alex will be able to pull him back from the edge?
Anyone spot the homage to Remember the Titans? Wink, wink ;)
Until next time...