Chapter 9.

Council.

Daryl.

Daryl ran his hands over his pants, sheering a line of blood off of his palm. His prey lay spread on a flat rock, open from stem to stern, already gutted and ready to go. It was by far the meatiest squirrel he had caught since this all started, thriving in the new world, and he had gone all the way down to the base of the mountain to get it. His traps, most of them halfway up trees, went unnoticed by walkers, and as long as he kept an eye out, he could get to his catch before any predators did. He caught something at least every other day and got his cardio in to boot.

He had his fingers deep in its flank when he heard someone coming up.

He and Merle had chosen a back corner of camp, up against the cliff, away from the forest, and Merle has his bike parked between the tent and the trees – a much smarter setup than any of those dumbasses with their tents half in the woods, just asking for a walker to sneak up. If anyone wanted to visit, they had to walk around the bike and over the collection of weapons in a pile on the ground.

Not that anyone ever wanted to visit.

Carl came around the bike and stepped carefully over a few unsheathed, dirty knives, coming to stand across from Daryl. He looked down at the squirrel and grimaced, "Did you shoot that?"

"You see a hole in it?" Daryl responded dully.

The kid was fascinated. "Can you show-?"

"No, and if you ask me one more time, you're gonna end up like this squirrel."

Carl barely flinched – after all, his daddy was standing nearby, keeping a watchful eye on his kid around the camp trash. Rick was a trained police officer and these people looked to him as the leader. Merle had his long con going, pretending to be all smiles and friendly, but Daryl was not an actor. He was just himself. He scowled when he saw Rick watching him.

But there was a reason for this, a reason he had sent Carl over here. Daryl knew it the moment he saw the kid. Rick wanted Carl to thank Daryl for saving his life.

He was right. Carl said, "Dad said I should apologize for what happened yesterday, and say thank you, for saving my life. So, sorry, and thank you."

It was hard to hear that, because Daryl knew what had really happened yesterday.

He was out hunting, minding his own business, when he heard that kid screaming. He pulled a walker off of him out in the woods, miles from camp. For a few precious seconds he thought the kid had been bit – dead, just like that – but somehow, he was fine. And then he said something about talking to Roy, that he said it was a good idea. Merle must have told Roy the plan, and Roy egged Carl into the woods so his daddy would be distracted. Only it was the middle of the day, and Daryl was close enough to hear him screaming.

He hadn't seen Roy since it happened, but he had a sucker punch planned for that sack of shit.

"That was a shit apology," Daryl said to Carl, starting to cut hunks of meat out of his squirrel to lay out on the rock. He squished any rogue ants with his bloody fingers.

Carl crouched down to take a closer look at what he was doing, screwing up his face at the gore, "I just wanted to help protect the group," he said in a low voice, obviously trying not to be overheard, "I wanted to keep my mom safe, like Dad does. I wanna be as brave as him."

"What you want don't change what you are."

"Can I-?"

Daryl batted his hand away, "You can wanna be grown all you want, but you're still weak, and as long as you keep actin' like an asshole, you're a liability and you're gonna get someone killed – prolly your mom, first, and then your dad."

Carl looked up like Daryl had slapped him, "No!"

"Yeah. You're gonna go wanderin' out somewhere, all big and bad, and your mom is gonna go lookin' for you, like she did yesterday. And a walker is gonna get her, or a bear. And by the time we find her body ain't nothin' gonna be left but worms and dirt."

His words hit the kid hard, but Carl did his best to hide it. He shrugged, crossed his arms, and squinted at the squirrel again. "Can you teach me how to catch a squirrel?"

Does this kid ever quit?

Daryl looked him in the eye. Carl had grit, even after hearing that his mom was gonna be worm food. Why was he still here? "What do I get out of it?"

Carl took that like a 'yes,' his eyes lighting up, "I'll think of something!"

"Yeah, whatever, kid."

He ran off, tripping over the pile of weapons and nearly toppling the motorcycle in his haste. Daryl saw him stop to report to his father out of the corner of his eye.

He was only alone for a moment, long enough to lay out the last strip of meat and grab the brine, before the sheriff approached. He was a long time coming, more meticulous about the obstacles than his kid, so Daryl kept working until he was standing right in front of him.

"Can I have a word?"

Daryl groaned in response.

"What you did for Carl yesterday… I want you to know I'll remember that."

He resisted looking at the sheriff, because he was afraid he might look a little guilty. He knew what Roy had done. He knew what Merle wanted to do. He just grunted.

"You know, there's always room for you around our fire."

He left with that.

Daryl watched him cross the camp, where he met his wife. Lori looked over at Daryl, and then quickly away when she saw him watching her. She had accused him of doing something to Carl when he brought the kid back to camp. It was obvious what she thought of him.

He got all the strips dipped and laid out before he was interrupted again.

Merle strode up from the woods, a string of two rabbits on his shoulder. He seemed real menacing, just spawning from the shadows like that. He came over real slow, with that saunter of his, and hung his rabbits over the side of the bike.

"What'd he want?"

He had been watching. Daryl shrugged, "It was 'bout his kid."

"Yeah, the kid," Merle sighed, looking over to where Carl was playing with a stick, pretending to fight something. "Roy jumped the gun, but his idea won't bad."

Daryl said nothing.

"We gotta make a plan, get this shit rollin'. I'm tired a' these chuckleheads."

Daryl said nothing.

"Guy has a sense of human. You got a problem with him?"

Daryl shrugged.

"Use your words, boy."

"You want him comin' with us?" Daryl said at last.

"Why not?"

"Cause the guy's a shithead."

"Suddenly you got high standards?"

Daryl said nothing.

Merle slapped him on the back of the head, hard enough to make stars in his eyes, "Speak, boy!"

"I ain't killin' no kids," Daryl ground out.

Merle crouched down, his tone suddenly low and intense, "I ain't askin' you to."

"Would you?"

"What?"

"Would you do what he did yesterday?"

Merle cracked a smile and stood up, lightning himself a cigarette. "We're gonna do it at night. Ain't nobody gotta kill nobody. Get your panties unbunched. Jesus. Thought I raised a man, not a little girl gone pissin' 'er pants."

It might have been a lie. Merle was hard to read.

Merle took over the stone to flay his rabbits, and Daryl decided to go hunting, even though he had only just returned. As he left their campsite, he saw Rick watching him again, calculating. Daryl kept his head down. He'd had enough of other people today.