Chapter 31.

Democracy.

Rick hated the look of the landscape these days.

He drove through the countryside, passing tangles of cars in ditches and empty, overgrown fields. He saw very few walkers, but every now and then half of a skeleton lay on the pavement, picked over by vultures and insects. He realized he was becoming numb to things that would break his heart just a month ago. He worried he was becoming colder, so he worked around the clock to be the caring, kind person his family thought he was – wishing he could believe it.

Daryl was silent beside him, looking away, crossbow resting in his lap. He had been understandably docile since he returned without his brother, spending a day resting his injured shoulder before suggesting they go out on this recovery mission. He said some of the stolen supplies might be salvageable.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Rick said.

Daryl glanced at him, hard eyes to match his scowl. "What do you care?"

"He was your family. I get that."

"He ain't dead," Daryl said, but the conviction wasn't there. "Can't nothing kill Merle but Merle."

Rick had a feeling he was right. He had seen a lot of tough guys when he was sheriff, and the moment he met Merle he knew he was a force to be reckoned with. But the world had changed and a lot of impossible things were happening.

"Turn here," Daryl said, sitting up, drawing the string back on his crossbow.

Rick turned onto a road that had been washed out by floodwaters. Debris were scattered on the pavement, mud covering half of it, a couple of logs caught up in the forest. The truck with the stolen goods was flipped on its hood, pressed up against some trees, dead walkers scattered about. Nothing living in sight.

They approached cautiously, quietly, weapons drawn. Rick went the long way around to the bed, and after a moment, he looked up and gave the all clear to Daryl. He holstered his revolver and went to work dragging things out of the wreckage.

He dumped closed containers, cans, and bottled water into the backseat of their sedan. Daryl did the same, dutifully picking through as much as they could reach before he scouted the woods for signs of his brother. Rick followed at half-speed, picking up items that the water had carried into the woods along the way. Daryl got progressively more agitated, cursing, slamming his fist into a tree. When they had gone a half-mile in a circle around the truck, he finally gave up.

Daryl stood silently looked at the trees, holding his loaded crossbow in his arms, no doubt wanting to shoot something to decompress.

Rick said, "I'm sorry," again.

Daryl released the pressure on his bow, tucked the arrow away, and slung it over his good shoulder. His knuckles were bleeding, a couple of large splinters sticking out of them. "Better get back," he said, his voice thick.

In the car, Daryl toyed with an arrow, "Sorry we took that shit."

He sounded honest, not angry for once.

Rick said, "It doesn't matter now." He hesitated, knowing what he was going to say would be controversial. "You can stick around if you want. I said before you're always welcome around our fire, and I meant it."

Daryl glanced over, his youth showing for the first time. He was so aggressive all the time, always scowling, always off on his own, that Rick forgot he was significantly younger than Merle. He was younger than Rick, even.

"I mean it," Rick said, nodding to himself, doubling down. He was ready to defend his decision.

"Why?" Daryl asked, simply.

"We get through this by sticking together," Rick said. "Now more than ever."

Daryl said nothing, staring out the windshield for the rest of the ride.

Back at the quarry, a small group was standing around waiting for their arrival.

"Get much?" Shane asked, before Rick had even gotten all the way out of the car. He was agitated, frowning, a little tick in his eyes.

Rick said, "Some food, some water. Few blankets to dry out."

Shane shifted focus to Daryl, who had already bristled up. "Oh, yeah? You happy with yourself? You sittin' around here eatin' the shit we got left, happy as a clam, huh?"

"Easy," Rick said, coming around to intercept Shane before he could get to Daryl. He put a hand out, barely an inch from physically holding him back. "Daryl paid for what he did."

"Not enough, if you ask me," Shane responded venomously.

It was clear some of those congregated agreed with him. Morales was nodding along.

Daryl was not helping. "You wanna put your money where your mouth is, cop?"

"We oughta lock him up, same as Ed," Shane said. "I got a spare set of cuffs."

"We can't trust him," Glenn agreed.

Rick was in a position he had hoped to avoid. He said, "There's no need for that."

"I think there is," Shane said. "You think you get to decide alone, huh? There's more than thirty people in this camp. We should put it to a vote."

He wasn't used to his friend being so confrontational.

"Fine, I'm leavin'," Daryl said.

"No, no, that ain't gonna fly," Shane said. "I can't trust you ain't comin' back here."

Rick felt the tension building. His career gave him a sixth sense for situations like this. Mob mentality. He would have to give in. "Okay. Let's put it to a vote, then. But remember he brought Sophia back. Didn't have to do that. And he found Carl out in the woods. Roy is dead. Merle is dead. Carla says he saved her life."

XxXxX

It was surreal, the quarry survivors all gathering in a circle like that. Daryl stood in the middle, scowling, handcuffed, and Rick stood off to the side with Shane. It felt primal, uncivilized, but at the same time it seemed the most normal thing in all of this chaos. Democracy. It didn't matter that it all stemmed from Shane's distrust of Daryl – the others wanted this, too.

Rick felt that he had let Daryl down, that his promise was empty.

"All for locking him up with his buddy Ed," Shane said, raising his hand.

Rick held his breath.

Daryl stared at the ground, releasing his scowl.

Only a few people raised their hands – the most vocal. Shane. Morales. Glenn, tentatively. Lori. T-dog. Andrea. But the rest of them didn't move. Rick tried to catch his wife's eye, but she was avoiding his gaze. He was disappointed that she sided against him.

Rick waited, relieved, and when it was clear that the voting was over and the majority of the group had taken his side, he took the keys from Shane. He uncuffed Daryl, who looked a little surprised, a little shaken – a lot like a kid on his way to the gallows.

"I'm not the only one who wants you to stay," Rick said quietly, as the gathering broke up around them. "You made a mistake. A bad one. But you can make up for that. You can start fresh. It's up to you. I told you that you could stay, or you could leave, but I'm gonna be real honest with you, Daryl – we need you. You can hunt. You can trap. You can fish."

Daryl stared at him for several seconds, that younger side dominating. Overall he just looked tired. Exhausted. From what he said, what Carla said, they had been through the ringer since they left the camp.

He was tired enough to put his pride aside, to look at the ground and say, "Yeah. I'll stay."