Chapter 24.

Guilty.

Daryl swung his machete, cleaving a sapling in half. It was sharp enough, then. He examined the edge of the blade, smiling, and rubbed it dry on his pants. He had three brutal weapons on him – a desert eagle on one hip, a machete on the other, and a loaded crossbow slung across his back. It was the right balance of weight and lethality, a fair mix of stealth and bang.

"You and the machete want some alone time?" Merle taunted, about twenty feet ahead.

Daryl chucked a pinecone in his direction.

It was midday, hot as hell, but tolerable in the shade. Merle, Daryl, and Roy walked through the woods in a line, on the way to investigate a traffic snarl that had halted their progress on the highway. If they were lucky, they could push some cars off and clear it. If they were unlucky, the whole highway would be jammed up, and pushing forward would be more work than it was worth. At the very least, they could siphon gas out of wrecked cars.

"You 'member Beau and them?" Merle asked, as the trees began to thin and the curving highway came into view. "Came down a few times 'round the holidays, carved up them horses down the road, bought Daddy that bullshit Harley."

Daryl had vague memories of horse stew, but he shrugged.

Merle flipped one hand dismissively, "Bunch a' assholes, but I'll be damned if those hillbilly bastards can't survive any shit comes their way. Like roaches. Some real hill-people."

Roy said, "Why do you want to go there, if they're assholes?"

"Like I said, they can survive anything – seems like the place to be. And Dixons run tight. I ain't so concerned with pleasantries with the world being the way it is."

Daryl tried to drum up any memories of his cousins up in Virginia. He knew Beau was a decade or so older than him and that he had been to prison a few times. Beau's father, Earl, and Daryl and Merle's father were brothers, and as far as he knew Earl was just as dense and mean. His other cousins up that way were all related in some roundabout way, not directly. It was a southern thing, claiming everybody was family.

Most of what he knew about them came from Merle.

The three men fell silent, looking out over the highway. It was thick for about a quarter mile, a patchwork of abandoned cars, some of them smashed against the guardrails, a few upside down in a pile. A massive snowplow had carved a path through the center but fell short after toppling an eighteen-wheeler. Daryl could only imagine the chaos when this place was full of people.

Merle whistled softly. "Holy hell. Crazy son of a bitch almost made it. Clears up over yonder. Looks like we're makin' a path, boys."

Daryl had hoped he wouldn't say that.

"But first, search up some coke, ey?" Merle said, slapping Daryl on the shoulder as he strode down the hill. "Somebody's got to have it."

So far, he had been out of luck.

Daryl wove between cars.

He was drenched in sweat, bare shoulders baking in the sun. The asphalt was sweltering, radiating heat, making his hands slick, eyes burn. The goods he found in the cars were barely worth it. Cigarettes, sometimes. It was mostly just the same old story – the remnants of missing families, corpses, dead pets, family albums and other dumb shit people grabbed on their way out of the house.

Nobody knew it would be their last ride.

Daryl accumulated a few small books, shoving them into his vest pockets so Merle wouldn't see. Mostly little sci-fi novels, a few classics, a weird one about shapeshifters. Merle mostly talked to himself, and Roy was boring as a brick wall. Books were as much a survival tool as his bow.

He was digging through a family station wagon when he heard a scrape behind him.

Daryl whipped around, suddenly chest-to-chest with a walker.

Gnashing teeth, grasping hands, empty eyes.

He cursed, shoved it away.

It staggered, but caught on the open car door, ricocheting back at him.

Daryl pulled his machete, lashing out, catching it across the chest and belly and spilling its insides. The smell was instantaneous, horrific.

He slashed again, across its face, and then nailed it in the skull.

It dropped like a sack of potatoes at his feet.

And his neck prickled. Daryl looked up, finding Roy standing at a nearby car, just watching him. His eyes were dark as sin. He must have seen that walker coming and said nothing.

"Careful, boy," Roy said, softly, and walked off.

Daryl scowled after him, itching to draw his eagle and put a bullet in that bastard. Would probably make the world a better place. He wondered, briefly, if he should say something to Merle along the lines of 'prick wants me dead,' but the idea passed just as quickly.

He could handle this himself. If Roy made a move, he would regret it. Maybe he'd even have a little accident down the line, find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

XxXxX

Carl closed his eyes.

It had been a long day – a long month. For a little while, it seemed that they would be fine, that life would be sort of normal. But then last night happened. Merle and Roy held them at gunpoint and took most of their supplies. Food, medicine, water jugs, knives, guns. Everyone was glum in the morning, hungry, splitting the little food they had left amongst a large group. Carl had eaten a few scoops of baked beans and four crackers.

His dad was gone again, and that was the worst part. Mom was preoccupied, like she always was when Dad was gone. He was going to get supplies in Atlanta, the most dangerous place in the world right now. Carl was afraid he would never come back, slowly eaten up by anxiety.

He had been lying in his tent for over an hour, drifting in and out of a nap, imagining shapes on the ceiling. He would kill for a TV, a videogame, anything to help him stop thinking about his dad. He wished he could be there with him, watching his back, protecting him from walkers. He wished he could help him mom not be so sad. He wished he could get their food back, stop the robbers.

But there was no room for wishes to come true these days.

Sophia popped up above him around midafternoon, looking down at him, her bright blue eyes surrounded by puffy skin. She had been crying.

"Can you come with me for something?" she said.

Carl had not seen her all day. She was staying close to her mom, after everything that happened. Her dad was locked in the RV, basically in jail, and everyone was saying he was part of the plot that cost them their supplies.

He expected her to look more scared. Sophia was like a hermit crab. It only took a little thing to scare her into her shell. But today she looked determined.

He sat up, "For what?"

Sophia crouched down beside him, whispering, "I want to talk to my daddy."

Carl was immediately appalled, "Why?"

She lowered her voice further, until she was barely making a sound. "I just want to."

"Why do you want me to come?"

"I don't wanna be alone with him," she said.

Carl wanted to protect her. It surged to the surface immediately. It was the same way he felt about his dad, about his mom, only he could barely do anything for them. When it came to Sophia, he could help her. He could do something useful, for once.

He hopped up, "Okay. I'll come."

When she put her hand out, he took it.

Sneaking around was a moot point. A lot of the adults had gone on that trip to Atlanta, and those that were left didn't really care what the kids were up to. Carl knew they were doing something wrong – Ed was a prisoner now, and they had been instructed to leave him alone.

Sophia made the final stretch to the RV, opening the door quietly and ushering Carl inside. Carl stood by the driver's seat, taking in the scene.

Ed was gross and sweaty. He sat at the table, handcuffed to the bar beside the window. He was scowling. Carl had never liked the way he looked – rough, mean. His face, his personality, didn't match up with his family. Carol was always nice to him, and Sophia wouldn't hurt a fly. His wife and his daughter were gentle and kind – why was he so awful?

When he saw them, Ed perked up, jingling his handcuffs.

He said, "Hey, baby girl, you come in here to see your daddy?" His voice was soothing. Or, as soothing as a snake could sound. "Come over here and get this thing off me."

Sophia edged forward a step. Carl put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

Ed looked at Carl, the scowl returning, "Hands to yourself, boy. She wants to see me."

Sophia looked uncertain. She took a step back, until she was touching Carl. He felt her trembling, but her voice was strong, firm, "Were you gonna leave?"

Ed responded too quickly, like he knew what she would say, "Of course I won't. Don't let them people fill your head with lies. You know your daddy loves you."

Sophia said, "Why'd he say that, huh? Why'd Merle say you were part of it? Why'd Daryl say you were gonna leave, huh?"

Her dad looked surprised. It could have been the information, or the accusation in her voice. Carl was surprised, too, and suddenly he admired Sophia. Maybe she was less like a hermit crab and more like a small cat. Easy to startle, but with a heck of a bite when pushed into a corner.

Ed rested his hand on the table, thrumming his fingers, clearly holding back anger, trying to swallow it. But his eyebrows were twitching, his eyes narrowing.

"I wasn't, baby, they was lyin' to you. What'd I always tell you about bad people out in the world, huh? Those were some of the worst."

He was still lying, still trying to trap her, to lure her in.

But she stood steady. "I don't think they were," Sophia said. "I think you are. I think you're mean, and I don't know why you even stayed here!"

Ed looked almost… guilty. If that was even possible for someone like him.

And then, from behind them, Carol said, "Sophia!"

Sophia jumped a foot in the air. Carol was upon them, grabbing them both by the arm and dragging them to the door, down the steps, into the blinding sunlight.

"I told you to stay out of here," she said, panic and anger blending in her voice, her eyes. "Go on. I don't want to see either of you back here again, you hear me?"

Carl murmured, "Yes. Sorry."

Sophia nodded, staring at the ground.

Carl led the way across camp, meandering, unsure of what to do. He flopped down beside one of the tents, in the shade, and looked across at the RV. Carol was still inside. He could see her head through the window. She was near the table, near Ed. He wondered what she might say to him, what she might think of him. He wondered if they loved each other, like his parents did.

"I wish he had left," Sophia said, taking up a twig and drawing patterns in the dirt.

Carl watched her, noticing for the first time that she didn't have her doll in her arms. She always had that doll with her. "You don't like him at all, huh?" he said.

She thought on that for a while, long and hard. A lot had happened since the beginning of all of this, since they were all thrown together.

And she finally looked him dead in the eyes and said, "I hate him."

It was a lot to say about your own father.

Carl knew what his dad would do, what he would say. He spent all his life admiring him. Dad was fair, peaceful. Even when he was telling stories about bad people, he gave them the benefit of the doubt. He always to Carl that they weren't monsters, that they were always people. Just people. Everyone made choices, decided who they were going to be, what they were going to do. Sometimes those choices were bad, and they hurt others.

Carl said what he thought he should, "Well, if he ever tries to do anything to you again, I'll protect you. I promise."

Sophia smiled.