AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl was surprised at how much the traffic bunched up on the highways thinned as they got farther away from Atlanta.
If they wanted to, they could have made their mountain destination by nightfall. There was no rush to be there overnight, though, and Daryl didn't want to hurry there only to scramble, in the dark, to find something that they could use as a temporary shelter. Instead of pushing it too far, he gave them half a day of travelling at less-than-remarkable speeds, and then he chose an exit that looked promising. In the rearview mirror, he could see T-Dog's truck as he veered off to follow Daryl.
It was more crowded off the exit than on the highway. Either people had been able to keep going once they'd hit the highway, or they'd never made it there to begin with.
For the moment, everything seemed almost suspended in time. Cars piled into the gas stations that surrounded the exit. The cars at each of the stores were lined up like they were all still waiting patiently for their opportunity at the pumps. There were a few wrecks near the exit and cars piled around them like they'd stopped to survey the damage or help someone and they'd simply never moved again. Some of them still had open doors and Daryl could imagine that their engines would have still been running if time had permitted such a thing.
Everything was still and quiet. It was like some kind of abandoned movie set. Everything was frozen in a given moment in time—a moment that had been chaotic and had given way to absolute nothingness.
It looked like, at any moment, someone might snap their fingers or call out some direction and the whole town might return to life. For that reason, the absolute stillness was eerie. For another reason entirely, it was comforting to Daryl.
There were no Walkers. Or, at the very least, there were no visible Walkers. They were likely present, but they weren't wandering around for the moment.
Daryl chose the clearest spot on the side of the road that he could find and pulled the truck over. He parked it and killed the engine.
"We're stopping here?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed.
"That tone mean you don't approve of this particular spot or does it mean you don't approve of the town of—what'd the exit say?"
"I don't remember," Carol said. "I meant—here. Don't you want to go to—at least to one of the stores?"
"Wanna talk to T first," Daryl said. "It's pretty clear here. Can see pretty good in every direction. Don't see no Walkers an' they won't sneak up on us too quick standin' right here. Gotta weave too much in an' outta them cars. Good a place as any to stop an' talk about what the hell we doin' next."
"I have to go to the bathroom," Carol said.
Daryl swallowed.
It was an announcement that anyone might have made. Daryl could stand to take a piss himself and, glancing in the side mirror he could see that T-Dog was already out of his truck and around back of it—more than likely christening one of his tires or pissing off in the ditch.
But Carol winced with the admission like she was admitting cold-blooded murder.
Daryl's stomach clenched as he realized that she probably thought everything she needed was an inconvenience to someone, and she'd surely been taught to think that.
"Yeah," Daryl said. "Me too." He cleared his throat. "What if I was to take you over there? You can go behind that car an' I'll watch your back. You can watch mine, too, while I take a piss."
"T might be a better choice," Carol said.
"To take you to piss?" Daryl asked.
"To watch your back," Carol said. "I'm not very good at keeping anyone safe."
"You do alright," Daryl said. "For what you been taught to do. Allowed to do. You killed more'n a couple Walkers I guess."
"Not too many more," Carol admitted.
Daryl hummed.
"Lori kinda set the precedent that—she couldn't be expected to kill them. I guess it leaked over into thinkin' that no women hardly could. Maybe—we thought you preferred it that way. But'cha don't?"
"I'd like to be able to—watch your back," Carol said. "When you take a piss."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Yeah—well, then that's what the hell you gonna be able to do," Daryl said. "But first—let's go piss an' talk to T about what the hell we doin' for the night. We'll get the rest of it straight after that."
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"Be careful," Daryl said, reaching his hand back to catch Carol's hand as she stepped through the busted out door. If it were some time before the world had gone to hell in a handbasket, busting out the door would have likely triggered a hellacious alarm. Today it did nothing more than litter the ground with broken glass. "Don't slip."
Carol accepted Daryl's offered support and stepped gingerly over the frame of the door and into the store. T-Dog, rather than stepping through the door, reached through the frame, unlocked the door, and opened it.
"Smart ass," Daryl said with a snort as T-Dog entered the space.
"You would've thought this was one of the first places to get cleaned out," T-Dog mused.
"It ain't been untouched," Daryl said, looking around. "We just the first that come through the front door. Look over there—see? That window's been busted out."
"Still, it's not exactly empty," T-Dog said.
"Looks like most the guns are gone," Daryl said. "This woulda been before the assholes started figurin' out that guns is just about more damn trouble than they worth. I hear somethin', though. You hear growlin'?"
"I hear something," Carol agreed.
"Yeah," T-Dog said. "Me too. Comin' from—that way."
Daryl followed the direction in which T-Dog pointed and agreed that he heard the growling issuing forth from that part of the building. He crossed the floor, glass crunching underneath his feet, and reached the closed door. He banged on it and the growling intensified as something behind the door banged back, presumably by throwing its weight against the door.
"How many do you think are in there?" T-Dog asked.
"Two," Daryl said. "Maybe three. I'ma bet they was the proprietors of this fine establishment. Maybe went in there to hide out when some trouble started. Hell—without seein' 'em, coulda been they got bit an' run in there never knowin' what the hell would happen to 'em."
T-Dog laughed and the laugh rang through the building. The person who owned it had been in the business of selling arms, but they hadn't been in the business of trying to make the place feel warm and cozy. The floors were cement, the walls were old, brown paneling, and the place smelled like stale cigar smoke and wet paper to Daryl.
But they weren't here for the ambiance.
T-Dog's echoing laugh, though, and the absence of any more growling than that which issued forth from behind the closed door, let Daryl know that there weren't any more Walkers in the area.
"Imagine—curling up and dying in a store full of weapons," T-Dog said.
"Hell—you don't know. Maybe they went early," Daryl said. "Didn't know what the hell was goin' on or that them creatures was even dead. Maybe it was their own fuckin' friends an' family that took a bite out of 'em an' they didn't know how to handle it. Maybe they was bit, already dyin', an' just went back there to die in peace."
"Damn—you knew 'em, man? Didn't mean to upset you," T-Dog commented.
"I don't give a damn about 'em," Daryl said. He walked around to start perusing the weapons that they would take with them. The first thing he did was snatch down a large gun bag, almost certain that he would be filling it with more than just guns. "I'm just sayin' people don't always do what the hell's the most sensible when shit goes flyin' off the rails. Carol—watcha step. Come here."
Carol walked over to where Daryl was and he pulled out a large tray of hunting knives that they kept behind the counter. They were some of the nicer knives and, consequently, some of the more dangerous ones that they had. They kept them out of easy reach of the customers. Daryl rested the large tray on the counter, perused them, and selected one. He felt the grip of it in his hand and offered it to Carol.
"Good grip," he said. "Decent size for your hand, I'd think. How's it feel?"
Carol turned the knife over in her hand. She eyed the large, sharp blade.
"I guess it feels fine," she said.
"Better'n that kitchen knife you had that got hung up that time you tried to stab a Walker with it," Daryl said.
"I guess it is," Carol said.
Daryl hummed at her.
"Sure way to find out," he said. He walked past and made his way over to the door where he'd left the Walkers in the space where they'd gone to die. T-Dog was walking around, perusing weapons for his own selection, and Daryl called his name to get his attention. "Could use a lil' backup here. Wanna let one out. Give her a try at it."
"You crazy?" T-Dog asked with a laugh.
"If the three of us together can't kill one damned Walker," Daryl said, "we don't deserve to go no fuckin' further than this here store. Just help me make sure it goes down 'fore it takes anyone with it if somethin' goes wrong."
T-Dog agreed to the plan and Daryl pulled his own knife—one that he'd been relying on since the start of the whole thing. He might add a few more to his collection because the opportunity was too good to pass up, but he was too sentimental to get rid of the one that he had. It was one that he'd been using for years. Merle had given it to him when he'd first started hunting with him. The handle was even engraved—B.B., and only Daryl knew what it stood for.
Daryl turned the knob and eased the door open with the door between himself and the Walkers. Almost immediately, one of the Walkers rushed out like he fell. Daryl slammed the door shut with his full weight against it just as soon as the Walker cleared it. His movement shoved the Walker off to the side, but it also prevented any others from escaping before he shut the door. The sound of scraping and the hard thuds of the trapped Walker's anger at being prevented escape let Daryl know that there was at least one more behind the door.
The Walker that was free answered at least some of their questions. There had definitely been some chaos surrounding its death. It had once been an old man, and there was a significant amount of flesh missing out of its shoulder.
Daryl imagined they would either find his wife or child waiting behind the door if they were to release the other Walker.
The Walker stumbled around a moment before he started toward T-Dog and Carol—the two of them standing close together.
"Just walk toward him," Daryl coached. "Hand out like this. Push him back as you bring the knife in. Under the chin, through the temple, or through the eye like you want. He's been rottin' a good damn bit."
Carol swallowed, shifted the new knife in her hand, and stepped forward just the way that Daryl told her to. He and T-Dog closed in on either side of the Walker to offer quick help if it were needed. The decaying Walker's skull gave way fairly easily—at least in comparison to some—as Carol slammed the knife through its temple with a great deal of force.
The Walker went down, took Carol's knife, and very nearly took Carol with it. Daryl reached out and grabbed her in time to keep her from hitting the ground.
"Good," Daryl said. "That's good. First time. But'cha got him down. Next time you just—hold onto your knife if you can. But you can snatch it loose now."
Carol half-knelt and half leaned over the Walker. She almost looked like she might cry over the whole thing. Daryl didn't bring attention to her upset because he didn't want to risk embarrassing her and really sending her into tears. She grabbed the handle of the knife—already dripping with any number of liquids—and pulled at it, but it slipped right out of her hand.
"It's the same as the other," Carol said. "I'm not strong enough to hold onto it."
"Once it gets wet, gets slippery," Daryl said.
T-Dog snorted and Daryl eyed him.
"They all do," T-Dog said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"It's the handle," Daryl said, ignoring T-Dog. It came easily to him since he'd spent a great deal of his life ignoring his brother's improper comments. "That's all the hell it is. Ain't you." He walked back to the large box of knives and looked through them again. He smiled to himself as he picked one up. "Come here. Leave that. You don't need it no way."
Carol walked over to him and Daryl offered her the knife.
"That knife looks…"
"Pretty fuckin' badass," Daryl said. He smiled at her. "Just right for you."
Carol shook her head.
"I don't think…"
"I don't think you oughta be intimidated by it," Daryl said. "Try it. You ain't gonna loose your grip on that one just 'cause the handle gets wet."
Carol took the knife. It was a knife that would have originally been made for trench warfare. It was sold in this little place to appeal to the wannabe Billy-Badasses that probably came in there to shop for shit that they would never actually use. Luckily for them, nobody had bought it before the world went to hell and nobody had stolen it when they'd come in looting for guns.
Carol threaded her fingers through the holes in the brass-knuckle styled handle.
"Feel good?" Daryl asked.
A quick smile flitted across her lips.
"Feels OK," she said.
"Feel more secure'n that last one?" Daryl asked.
Carol nodded her head.
"We gonna try it again," Daryl said. "Believe it's our last Walker to play with right now. But—I want'cha to listen to me. You take—you take constructive criticism alright?"
Carol smiled at him. He thought her cheeks ran a little pink. She laughed to herself.
"I don't know," she said. "It's the only kind of criticism that I've never been offered."
Daryl swallowed. The weight of the comment, even meant as a joke, dropped heavy in his stomach. He nodded his understanding.
"When you stab it, pull back on it," Daryl said. "Like you pullin' it toward you. But do your best to keep your other hand up like I showed you before. Like you blockin' it comin' at'cha. That'll keep it from fallin' on you, but it'll also use the weight of the damned thing to help you get the blade free of the bone. When your knife comes free, just push it on back so it don't come forward an' take you off your feet that way. You got that?"
"I think so," Carol said.
"You ready to handle another one?" Daryl asked.
"I'm ready to try," Carol said.
"Better'n some people I met since this shit went down," Daryl said. He walked to the door and opened it. He released the second Walker—and the final one trapped behind the door. It was a woman. She weighed less than the man, and she was probably the first killed. Without the door pushing her to the side as it had with the creature that had once been her husband, she shuffled straight out in the direction of Carol and T-Dog. Carol met her before she got too close, though, and taking Daryl's instructions to heart, she sunk the knife into the Walker's head and then snatched it free before she shoved the body to the floor.
She was panting from her exertion, but she looked wildly proud of herself.
And Daryl felt wildly proud of her, too.
T-Dog, from where he was standing with his own knife in one hand and a bag he was clearly intending to pack in the other, applauded Carol awkwardly.
"There's the right damn knife for every hand," Daryl said. "Looks like you got yours."
"Thank you," Carol said softly.
"Done it yourself," Daryl said, his stomach twisting at the very sound of Carol thanking him—at the way she was looking at him like she appreciated him so. "Next time I ask you to cover my back, I don't wanna hear no bullshit from you about how you can't do it. Come on. Let's pack this shit up so we can find a place for the night."