Chapter 22.

Bargain.

Daryl.

Daryl could barely find his way in the woods. It was almost too dark to see. He moved as quickly as he dared, easing into each step, alert for any footfall that was not his own. When he was a kid, his biggest fear in the woods was getting caught alone by a pack of coyotes – now the coyotes seemed like the least dangerous thing out here.

It was only a couple miles between his last snare (where he collected a fat rabbit) and Copperhead River. Once he heard the telltale trickling, Daryl turned north and picked his way along the shore. He had been out this way a few times in the past, but he still had to flick his flashlight across the water to make sure he was at the U-bend. Dark water rushed past. Something stirred in the woods on the opposite bank, snapping a branch, rustling some leaves.

Daryl turned west and walked in a straight-ish line until he found the road. He crouched down on it, hand spread on the asphalt to keep his balance, and shut his eyes to listen.

Where were they?

It was nearly midnight. Daryl had made the trip on foot, and they were supposed to have a vehicle.

Maybe something went wrong.

Daryl opened his eyes, now more adjusted to the darkness. In the distance, a few subtle sounds caught his attention – leaves shuffling, a small bird giving a warning call, the sudden pause in cricket song. He was alone enough right now, but staying in one place, on the ground, alone, was a stupid ass thing to do.

Something had gone wrong.

What if the sheriff stopped them? What if the truck blew a tire? What if a whole group of walkers blocked their path? And worst of all, what if Merle was lying dead somewhere, or bleeding out?

Daryl was resolved to go back and raise hell until he found his brother when he heard tires.

He sunk back into the woods, waiting, waiting, waiting, until he could see the faces in the truck. Merle was driving. Daryl stepped out and flagged him down.

Merle was running his mouth the moment the door opened. "Least you still know directions, boy. We got it done without you. You happy? Have a nice little spa day while I's doin' all the work?"

Daryl scowled, forgetting immediately that he had been about to storm the castle to save this asshole. "I emptied all the snares while I was waitin' on you. What took you so long?"

"I can take my time if I want, free country," Merle said, whacking Daryl on the back of the head as he passed. "And you ain't the boss of me, last time I checked."

Roy got out of the truck, coming around the other side. Ed was not with them.

But his daughter was.

Daryl stared in disbelief, in horror, when he saw Roy holding the kid by the arm. She had wide, teary eyes and she was trembling head-to-toe, a doll still clutched to her chest.

"What the hell…?" Daryl asked.

Merle sighed, dragging his eyes to Roy, "Was 'spose to be the dike."

"Why is she here?" Daryl clarified.

"Leverage," Roy answered simply.

"More like bait! You think they won't come after us to get her back? You're even stupider than you look!"

Roy slipped into a tone that Daryl had never heard out of him before. "You listen here, you little shit. You can drop that attitude."

Every bit of his skin prickled. Daryl disliked Roy because he reminded him of his father, but this sealed the deal. His tone, his posture, that stupid slack-jawed face – it was Daddy, back from the grave. He even had the same vocabulary. You little shit.

Daryl reacted viscerally, "I'm gonna drop you, you-"

Merle grabbed him suddenly, cutting him off, an arm tight around his shoulders. He swung them away from Roy. Daryl struggled, but Merle was stronger. He led him around the truck.

"We were gonna let her go," Merle said. "But Roy wanted to keep her."

"Keep her for what?"

"Insurance, 'til we're out of the mountains. That's all. Unbunch your panties."

"If you really think that's why he wants her, you're as stupid as you are ugly," Daryl said.

"Listen here, I ain't debatin' this shit with you. Either you unstick that pole from your ass, or-"

"Or what?" Daryl growled.

Merle grabbed him by the back of the neck, pinching him, like he used to do when Daryl was a kid. "Or I'm gonna give you somethin' to be pissed about, you hear me?"

Daryl ducked out of his grasp, slapping his hand away. He stood straight again, squaring off, but his smarter side knew that Merle could stomp him anytime.

"Listen," Merle said, "Brother, I don't give a shit if he wants to skin her and wear her as a hat. We're gettin' the hell out of Georgia. Our cousins up in Virginia are prolly all still out there – you know, Opie and John and all them. We can head that way."

Daryl stood his ground. "That girl ain't comin.'"

Merle ran his hand down his face, looking first like he might punch Daryl, and then finally throwing his head back and groaning. "Fine, if you're gonna be a whiney bitch about it." He turned on Roy, who had been steadily creeping closer to listen in. "Ditch the kid."

Roy held her by the back of the neck now, the same way Merle had been holding Daryl. "No, I-"

Just like that, like lightning, like someone who had spent his whole life waiting for a moment to do it, Merle whipped a knife out of his belt. He grabbed Roy by the arm, twisted it, making him drop the kid, forcing Roy down onto his knees. Merle pressed the knife flat to his throat.

"What did you say?" Merle whispered, deadly calm.

Roy said nothing, eyes wide, whole body stiff.

"I thought I heard you say 'no.' Must've imagined it." He sunk down into a crouch, hovering over Roy like a predator. "Is that what you said? Hmm?"

Roy shook his head.

"Good answer. You wanted to come along, you got it. But you need to understand, you ain't shit out here without us. I seen you try to survive – it's pathetic. Good ole fake southerner. Wearin' your stupid cowboy boots, talkin' slang, chewin' tobacco. You wanna stay alive out here, there ain't no handholding. I'm your daddy. Got that?"

Everything in Roy must've rebelled against that statement, but that knife was sitting there ready to peel his life away. He simply nodded.

"Good." Merle released him, letting him fall face-first into the ground. "Glad we got that figured out." He gestured to the girl, who was as still as a statue, fixated on Merle. "Get rid of her."

Daryl grabbed the kid by the arm, jerking her to her feet. "I'll be back," he said.

She was quiet throughout the walk, trotting along, trembling. Daryl tried not to look at her apart from when she stopped. Every sound pinned her down. He had never seen anyone so skittish. She was starting to become a nuisance, so annoying that he was tempted to leave her out here.

And then she finally spoke, when the quarry lake was nearly in view.

"Are you gonna kill me?"

Daryl looked back, surprised. Her voice was not a squeak this time. Her tears had dried. She looked at him sullenly, and she had finally stopped trembling. It was so matter-of-fact.

"You think I'd waste all this time if I's gonna kill you?" Daryl snapped. "You're goin' home, and we're leavin'." He dragged her up to the lakeshore, pointing straight across. "See that stupid ass little light over there? That's where camp is. Go 'round the shore till you find the boats, then climb up, or scream, or hang out 'til morning. I don't care."

He turned to leave, but she spoke again,

"Was my daddy gonna leave?"

Daryl stopped, impressed by the sudden strength in her voice. Sometimes he forgot how old those camp kids were, because they acted like toddlers all the time. When he was her age, he was setting snares and hunting alone.

He turned around, finding a weird determination in her. "Yeah," he answered.

"Why?"

Daryl shrugged, never one for white lies, "He's a piece of shit."

"Was he gonna take me and momma with him?"

"Man, I don't know. Why do you care? It ain't happenin' now."

"I wish he would've gone, is all."

Daryl was glad that Ed was still at the quarry, but he recognized that look she was giving him. When he was a kid he always wished his dad would leave and never come home. Sometimes he stayed out all night drinking and Daryl sat around the next morning, counting the hours, feeling relieved and devastated when his truck came into the drive.

But that shit was in the past.

He made a 'shoo' gesture. "I don't give a shit, kid. Get outta here."

She took a step back, frowning, "Thank you."

Daryl groaned.

It was easier getting back to the river without deadweight, but his mind was all muddy. Stupid kid. How had she survived so long? She was lucky her and her momma had run into the sheriff. Without him, that whole family would have been obliterated. It would probably be better that way.

Merle and Roy were sorting through the loot. Merle had brought his motorcycle. It was hitched onto the trailer, balancing wheels attached to the front.

"Can we move on now? Or did you wanna feed the homeless while we're out here?" Merle asked.

Daryl glared at him, saying nothing.

"Good. Hop in, boys. Virginia's callin' my name."