Highway To Hell aka Florida
Beth attempted one last call to Daryl after she'd driven about ten or fifteen miles away from the farm. Merle was only on his second cigarette but his complaints were getting louder and she was debating on drowning him out with the radio. But then she figured one more call wouldn't hurt anything - at the very least, it would appease Merle for the time being and maybe herself, too. It wasn't like she expected Daryl to answer this time, but she wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it if she didn't at least try.
As expected, the phone rang and rang and rang until it went to voicemail. She sighed in defeat when the robotic voice filled her ear. And when the beep sounded, she left one final message:
"It's me again. I just left my house, me an' Merle are almost twenty miles out. I've got the map and my phone charger so if you get some wild hair up your ass and feel like givin' me a call back or a courtesy text or something, that might be nice. But if I don't hear back, I'll take the hint. See you around, Daryl Dixon."
She set her phone aside and cranked up the radio before she could hear whatever smartass comment Merle was making. And when he began to speak louder over the music, she shot him a scathing glare and rolled his window down a few more inches, signaling for him to keep smoking and shut his damn mouth.
I'll do this alone if I have to, Beth thought, determined and a bit resentful. I don't need you, Daryl. Even if the Swamp Witch thinks I do. I'll figure it out my damn self… Just like I always have.
Beth drove for nearly an hour after her final call to Daryl, too lost in her own head to even acknowledge Merle. He chain-smoked the whole time, grumbling angrily under his breath in between singing along to old country songs. She knew he would only get unhappier the further they drove but she couldn't say she really cared. She had this little hope in the back of her mind that kept her foot heavy on the gas pedal, like a repetitive prayer that whatever lay at the end of this long drive would be her key to getting rid of him forever.
She knew better than to get her hopes up like this, but she couldn't help it. She kept picturing a kind and wizened old woman living in a shack out in the swamps, eager to help Beth and banish Merle from the mortal plane. But if Beth had learned anything in her 24 years of life, it was that nothing ever works out quite the way you want it to - no matter how hard you hope or wish or pray for it. And that most things don't even turn out the way you always imagined they would.
She checked the map frequently, cross-referencing with her GPS to ensure that she was going the right way. As she reached the top of a hill, a fork in the road came into view in the distance. The mid-morning sun was so bright that she couldn't see much except the clear split in the road and the two completely different routes leading in parallel yet near-opposite directions. She slowed back down to the posted speed limit and grabbed the map to check it again and reassure herself of which road to follow.
When she looked back up, she suddenly realized there was something sitting in the center of the crossroads. She squinted through the windshield and tried to identify it, slowing down a bit more. Then it was closer and she finally recognized the familiar sight.
Daryl and his damn bike.
"What the - "
"Well would ya look at that, blondie!"
Beth reached over and turned off the radio, speeding up just enough to zip through the last bit of road separating her from the fork. Then she stopped rather abruptly, causing Merle to drop his cigarette out the window and curse her name. But she didn't even notice because she was staring slack-jawed at Daryl, who was sitting so casually on his silent bike with a cigarette in his hand. And he was staring back like he'd been waiting for her, yet he didn't so much as wave or make any attempt to flag her down.
She pulled to the side of the road and rolled down her window. "Why didn't you call me back?!"
He shrugged and tossed his cigarette to the ground, hopping off the bike and walking up closer to the driver side of the truck, though he kept several feet of distance. "Wanted ta see just how full a shit you are."
She scoffed. "What - you were just gonna sit here an' wait all day to see if I was actually going or not?"
He stroked his goatee with one hand and gave her a nonchalant half-nod. "Not all day. Only had ta wait an hour. Sure took yer sweet time, though."
She glared back at him indignantly. "I was waiting for you to call me back!"
He grunted. "Whatever. I got yer damn messages an' I'm here now."
"How'd you even know I'd come this way?"
"Had that map long enough ta memorize it. Wasn't hard - I already know all the backroads clear down to the state line."
"Like the back of his hand," Merle chided proudly from the passenger seat, chuckling.
Beth sighed, already exhausted with the living Dixon. But she couldn't be too upset because this meant he'd actually looked at the map and contemplated this trip. And it meant he was going to help her and hell, she really didn't think he was going to come around like this. Not today and possibly not ever.
"See, I told you his bitch-ass would come around," Merle remarked. "I'll bet he's finally startin' ta feel guilty 'bout the way he treated me before I was killed."
She ignored him. She was pleasantly surprised but she couldn't smile just yet.
"So you're coming?" She asked Daryl, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Now that I know you weren't bullshittin' about goin' ta see this Witch broad? Yeah."
"The Swamp Witch. You know it's like a five-hour drive, right?"
"No shit," he replied. "All the way down in bumfuck-nowhere Florida. Might as well make sure ya ain't gonna get yerself lost or murdered by swamp people or somethin'."
Beth rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "Well I'm glad you finally came to see reason. Trust me, I wouldn't be driving this far if I wasn't absolutely desperate."
"Uh-huh," he grunted. "Desperate. Crazy. Whatever ya wanna call it."
She chose to ignore that. "So are you gonna follow on yer bike or what?"
"My bike," Merle grumbled.
Daryl huffed out a humorless half-laugh and said, "Fuck no. I ain't drivin' through all them swamps." He gestured to the bed of the truck and said, "I'll load it up in the back an' ride with ya."
She shrugged. "Okay, but I'm driving."
He gave her a look and muttered, "No shit."
Several minutes later, Daryl was loading his bike up using a big piece of old plywood that had been left in the bed of the truck. When he finished, he shut the tailgate firmly and went around to the passenger side. Beth sat waiting in the driver's seat, looking at Merle with an expectant expression. He took the hint and disappeared just as Daryl opened the door and hopped up into the passenger seat. The dead Dixon reappeared in the slightly smaller backseat of the extended cab. He might've protested or even complained in any other situation, but considering he was getting what he wanted - his brother joining them - he remained mostly silent. There was a grin of elation plastered to his face and he kept chuckling, squirming in his seat like a child who'd had too much sugar and rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain with a diabolical plan.
He stamped his feet on the floorboard excitedly and chanted, "Road. Trip! Road. Trip! Road. Trip!"
Yeah, road trip - but sure as hell not the kinda road trip I'm excited for, she thought, annoyed.
"You smoke?" Daryl asked as he put on his seatbelt.
Beth shifted into Drive and paused, looking over at him quizzically. "No, why?"
"Reeks like cigarettes. Smells like you been smokin' in here fer months or somethin'," he said.
"You can smell that?" She asked, shocked.
"Uh… yeah," he replied.
She sighed and shook her head, pulling out and beginning to head down the road. "It's your brother. He's been chain-smoking in here - right where you're sitting."
Daryl merely hmmed thoughtfully at that and she could see the look of uncertainty on his face from the corner of her eye. It was understandable, she guessed. It would take some time to get used to the whole… ghost brother thing. But at least he was finally accepting it as real and not some methed-up hallucination.
"So… where is he now?"
"Right here, asshole. So ya best watch how you talk about me or I might just crash this fuckin' truck before we even get to Florida."
Beth shot Merle a scolding side-eye over her shoulder, then told Daryl, "He's here. In the backseat. And he's threatening to crash the truck if you talk bad about him - like some kinda little kid throwin' a fit."
Daryl scoffed and gazed out the window. "Fuckin' Merle."
Tell me about it, she thought.
Daryl was quiet for the majority of the long drive south.
Beth tried to make small talk after ten or fifteen minutes of complete silence, attempting to ease the awkward tension that seemed to be hanging between them (or maybe it was just her who felt awkward, because he seemed pretty damn relaxed in the passenger seat).
Even Merle was remaining oddly quiet, which made her more uneasy than anything. Silence meant he was thinking, and nothing good had ever come from that.
"So, um… where d'you work?" She asked, keeping her gaze on the road but constantly glancing over at Daryl from the corner of her eye.
He looked over at her with a slightly quizzical expression and muttered, "Tire shop in Senoia."
"Oh, so you're a mechanic?"
"Yeah."
"He's better at casin' houses," Merle chimed in from the backseat. "Damn waste of his talents workin' at that shitty li'l tire shop."
Beth ignored his remarks, though she couldn't help but look at Daryl in a slightly different light once the words had resonated.
Was he still… a criminal? Or was that something he'd left behind since Merle died?
And I've been trying to get him to trust me, she thought. Maybe it should be the other way around. But if he was so bad, my daddy wouldn't want nothing to do with him. And Dad knows everything about everybody. So…?
"Talkin' with my buddy about openin' up a bike shop," Daryl mumbled, gazing out the window at the passing blur of trees. "Might end up doin' that sometime next year."
Beth perked up at this and said, "Really? That would be cool. I dunno how much business you'd get in Senoia, though."
"Yeah, we'd prob'ly do it in Atlanta. Been thinkin' about movin' anyhow. 'M gettin' sick of the small town shit."
"What?!" Merle cried, outraged. "So now that I'm dead, you think you can just move on an' start some kinda new and improved, Merle-free life? You don't fuckin' belong in Atlanta, baby brother - we done pissed off too many people in the ol' ATL."
Beth shot him a scowl and mouthed, "Shut the fuck up." Daryl turned his head to look at her and she quickly met his gaze with a smile.
"I think that sounds like a good plan. I've been wantin' ta get outta Senoia for a while, too. My sister moved to the city and I was gonna follow her eventually. I just kinda… got stuck, I guess. It was all paycheck-to-paycheck and the next thing I knew, years had passed." Her smile faded as she stared ahead.
Daryl grunted. "Yup. That's how it happens." He went back to gazing out the passenger window.
There was a long moment of silence and it immediately began to feel awkward again. Beth attempted to fill it once more.
"So… you live alone? Or like, with roommates - "
"Alright see, now this is what we're not gonna do," Daryl cut her off, turning and giving her a stern expression that made her lips snap shut and her shoulders tense up. "We ain't makin' small talk, gettin' ta be friends or somethin'. Yer daddy might treat me nice but that's 'cause he's a real old-fashioned kinda guy - it don't mean he'd want his precious baby girl associating with some no-good Dixon boy. And I ain't about ta start worryin' about Hershel Greene knockin' on my door fer another li'l catch-up."
Merle began cracking up in the backseat. Beth was taken aback, cheeks growing hot as she gripped the steering wheel tightly and bit her tongue.
She frowned and hmphed loudly. "I was just tryin' ta be polite. I am a grown woman, ya know - my dad doesn't control who I associate with. Besides, you already made yourself into my chaperone today. I was fully prepared to do this all alone."
Daryl scoffed and said condescendingly, "Sure ya were. Prob'ly get yerself killed in the process. Or sex-trafficked or some shit."
Beth rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mr. Dixon," she quipped sarcastically. Then she added, "I asked for your help because it's your brother, not because I need somebody to protect me."
"Whatever, Greene. Jus' keep drivin' and don't get us lost."
She bit her lower lip and held back another retort. Then she thought to herself, Well… at least he doesn't call me blondie.
Daryl didn't seem to mind the silence in the truck one bit, though he pulled out his pack of smokes and began smoking out the passenger window about half an hour into the drive. Merle did the same in the backseat, staying so quiet that it became unnerving. Beth wondered if she'd made things more awkward or if she was just overthinking the whole situation. Maybe Daryl was right: maybe they didn't need to try and be friends to get through this thing. Besides, what good could come from being friends with Merle's little brother?
But a part of her wanted to reach out and connect. They obviously had some things in common, and now they were thrown into this entirely abnormal experience together for inexplicable reasons. What if they were supposed to be in each other's lives for some reason? What if it was, like… destiny or something? Or Fate, like that crock Jadis had talked about?
He's different than Merle, but is he different enough? She wondered.
Beth abandoned that train of thought as soon as she realized she'd accidentally boarded it. With a quick glance over at Daryl, who was gazing thoughtfully out the window and smoking his cigarette with the wind whipping his shaggy hair back, she reached over and turned on the radio. Old country music filled the cab and pushed out all the awkward silence that had lingered. Daryl didn't look over or acknowledge her, but his foot began to softly tap on the floorboard along to the music. She let out a breath of relief and focused on the song.
Another half-hour passed. Beth was growing restless. And then another hour. Daryl remained perfectly content with chain-smoking and listening to the radio while staring out the window in complete silence. Then another half-hour. Merle was looking more and more bored in the backseat, scowling and occasionally mumbling to himself between smokes.
They were nearing the halfway point of the trip, driving through what was most likely the last sign of civilization they'd encounter before embarking on the second half of their journey - a tiny town with a handful of rundown houses and very limited businesses. After this, it was nothing but backroads and swamps and routes that Beth never knew existed. She spotted a gas station and slowed down, switching lanes and preparing to turn in. Daryl didn't ask what they were doing, though Merle made a comment about filling the tank up as full as possible for when she would "inevitably get them lost out in the middle of nowhere."
Beth filled up the truck while Daryl went inside and used the restroom and bought some drinks and cigarettes. And after he'd returned, Beth went inside and did the same - minus the cigarettes, of course. She also grabbed some snacks, though she hadn't even given a thought to lunch or any other meal. Her stomach was twisted up into too many knots because all she could think about was meeting the Swamp Witch and dealing with Daryl. But she'd noticed that he hadn't bought anything to eat and she wasn't so sure there'd be a drive-thru to hit anytime in the near future, so she picked out a few things that she assumed he would like.
They hit the road again and left the town behind them. Country music filled the cab of the truck - and Beth's head - for the next hour. She was so focused on driving that she hadn't so much as glanced in Daryl's direction. But when he suddenly reached over and began fiddling with the radio knob, cutting off Folsom Prison Blues right in the middle of the chorus, she snapped to attention.
"Hey!" Merle protested from the backseat. "I loved that song! Turn it back!"
Beth didn't say anything, looking at Daryl quizzically as he tuned through countless channels full of static. He could feel her eyes on him and said, "Fuckin' hate that song. Merle played it all the goddamn time."
"Yeah, 'cause it's a good fuckin' song!" Merle objected angrily. "Nobody turns off the Man In Black on my watch."
The radio suddenly clicked back over to the classic country station and Daryl yanked his hand away, shocked. "What the fuck?"
Beth glanced back at Merle and saw him grinning mischievously. She pursed her lips to stifle the smirk that wanted to appear, feeling guilty for almost wanting to laugh. Daryl reached out and changed the station again, only to have it switch right back. He growled, frustrated, and turned the knob so hard that he nearly broke it off.
"Hey! Careful - this is my dad's truck," she snapped. "It's bad enough I gotta find a way to get the cigarette smell out, I don't need a broken radio, too."
He looked at her and frowned, gesturing angrily to the radio. "Fuckin' thing's already broken."
"Not yet," Merle quipped, cackling.
"No, it's not," she told the living Dixon matter-of-factly. "Merle is changing it back. He's messing with you."
Daryl scoffed and changed the station again but the song had just ended so Merle didn't intervene this time. He was still chuckling over his little prank, all too proud of himself for finding new ways to be a menace.
There weren't many stations to choose from as they got further and further away from civilization. Daryl was tuning through mostly static, passing by an R&B station, a punk/ska station, a metal station, and a Top 40 station before pausing on a modern country station. He let it play for several seconds and Beth was hoping he would pull his hand away because she actually liked what was playing, but then he groaned and turned the knob to more static.
"Aww, I like that song," she commented, disappointed.
"I hate Toby Keith," he growled.
She furrowed her brow. "That wasn't Toby Keith, it was - "
"I don't give a fuck who it is," Daryl snapped, shooting her a scowl. Then he returned to focusing on finding another station that wasn't static. Merle laughed obnoxiously.
Beth rolled her eyes and reminded herself that the Swamp Witch was close, which meant she was close to returning to her normal, peaceful life. The Swamp Witch meant answers, and answers meant Beth wouldn't have to deal with the exhausting Dixon brothers ever again.
Daryl stopped tuning the radio when he came across a station that was playing Maniac, which Beth had only ever heard in movies. When he pulled his hand away and sat back, satisfied, she turned her head and gave him a puzzled look.
"What?"
She shrugged, turning back to focus on the road and trying not to smile. "Nothing. 'S just - doesn't seem like the kinda music you'd like."
He grunted in response and gazed out the window, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink from where they peeked out of his dark hair. "'S a decent song. Grew on me after my roommate played it fer two months straight."
Beth raised her eyebrows but tried not to sound like she was attempting to make small talk or 'be his friend.' "Oh? Does yer roommate like eighties music or somethin'?"
Daryl shrugged, speaking more toward the open window than her, "Eighties, seventies, nineties - ain't all good but some of it's pretty bearable. She can't dance but she likes ta think she can."
The song ended before Beth could figure out a way to inquire more about this mysterious female roommate, and then Merle was commenting snidely from behind Daryl, "You still livin' with that bitch? She ain't ever gonna put out, Darylina. Thought you woulda figured that out an' moved on by now."
Beth worried her lower lip for a long moment, hesitating. Then she said, "Sounds like Merle doesn't like your roommate."
Daryl whipped his head around and stared across the cab at her, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. "He never did. He was always on that immature, jealous bullshit - what's he sayin' about 'er?"
"Fuck you!" Merle spat furiously.
Beth swallowed hard and tried to stay focused on driving. "He's… just mad. I dunno. He says he thought you would've 'moved on' by now."
Daryl scoffed. "He's still on that? Jesus Christ - I guess death don't do much fer bein' an ignorant bastard."
Merle growled and cursed, "You stupid sonuva fuckin'..."
"What - why is he so mad? Who's this roommate?" She asked, silently praying that Merle hadn't been serious when he'd threatened to crash the truck if Daryl pissed him off too much.
Daryl reached into his jeans pocket and dug out his phone, briefly showing the screen to Beth: his wallpaper was a photo of him standing with a slender, short-haired woman and a preteen redheaded girl and a full-grown German Shepherd. She only caught a glimpse since she was driving and he barely gave her time to take it in, but it was enough to tell her that he had a whole life outside of his brother and whatever they'd been doing when Merle was alive.
"That's her? Who's the kid?" She asked curiously. "And you have a dog?"
"Stupid bitch an' her stupid runt - and fuck that dumbass dog, too," Merle grumbled, though Beth was tuning him out at this point.
Daryl shrugged and shoved his phone back into his pocket. "That's her kid. The dad's a real piece a shit - abusive an' good fer nothin'. He's in jail. Mostly thanks to Rick."
"Is that how you met? Through Rick? Seems like he knows everybody in Senoia."
"Yeah. She ain't really got nobody she can trust an' neither do I. Nobody besides Rick, I s'pose. We're friends - Merle's stupid ass ain't ever been able to see women as anything more than sex dolls so he's prob'ly pissed 'cause I don't wanna fuck her." He scoffed, shaking his head with disapproval. Merle was muttering angrily in the back. Then Daryl added, "And she found that damn dog in a junkyard an' brought him home a few months ago. Now the damn thing sleeps in my bed every night."
He grunted in conclusion but it was more like a half-chuckle, and when Beth glanced over at him, she saw the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk just before he turned his face back toward the passenger window.
She couldn't help but smile and giggle softly. "What'd you name him?"
"Dog."
"That's not a name!"
"Says who?"
She shrugged and conceded, letting out a laugh. "Well it's not very original."
He didn't respond, going quiet and returning to smoking cigarettes out the window. The radio commercials ended and the DJ came on, overly enthusiastic as they announced, "And here we are, creeping up closer and closer to Halloween - don't forget, folks! It's just around the corner! Better get those costumes ready and stock up on that candy. And to celebrate everyone's favorite spooky season, we have Michael Jackson's Thriller coming up! But first: a timeless classic by Rockwell…"
Music began to fill the cab of the truck once again. Beth recognized Somebody's Watching Me but she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually listened to it. Daryl began tapping his foot along to the song.
"...hey, hell I pay the price! All I want is to be left alone, in my average home, but why do I always feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone? And - I always feel like, somebody's watchin' me…"
To her surprise, Merle's anger subsided for the time being and he began laughing again. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him bobbing his head along to the song. He began snapping his fingers to the beat, still laughing.
"Hey, blondie! This could be our song!" He cackled and went on to sing along completely off-tune, "People say I'm crazy - just a little touched! …I always feel like, somebody's watchin' me-e-e-e! And I have no privacy!"
Beth sighed and shook her head, keeping her gaze focused forward. Daryl glanced over at her curiously but she pretended not to notice.
She pressed her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal and hoped the final miles would pass as quickly as possible.
The route turned out to be fairly easy to figure out for the first 5 hours or so. Admittedly, having Daryl's help certainly made it easier. There were some turns and some backroads that Beth might've missed otherwise, but he made sure to double-check the map and keep her in the right direction.
They'd passed over the state line without incident and before she knew it, Beth found herself driving deeper and deeper into the swampier areas outside of Jacksonville. She took backroads and detours that she wouldn't have known existed if it weren't for the map, bypassing suburbs and dinky little towns. The trees were thicker out here, the grass taller, and the smell of stagnant water filled the air. The humidity was heavy as a blanket, reminding her of why she was glad she didn't live this far south. She peeled off her cardigan and rolled up her long sleeves, though Daryl seemed unaffected despite the perspiration forming on his forehead and making his hair stick to his skin.
She'd been driving for nearly three hours since the gas station stop and according to the map, they were approaching the big red X. They were in full swamp territory now, driving through mud and potholes and slowing down beneath the looming shadows of towering trees and canopies of thick greenery. It was oddly quiet out here - there was no hint of any other vehicles or human life. The big, thick cypress and mangrove and willow branches made the sunlight dimmer, as though evening were falling early on this particular part of the earth. They were surrounded by the cries of birds and the croaking of bullfrogs, far-off splashes within the numerous bodies of water around the narrow road. And once Daryl had turned off the radio (in order to focus better on finding their destination), Beth could've swore she heard a couple of low growls from outside. She tried not to think about all the predatory creatures that lived out here and the fact that she was in their territory now.
Merle must've heard them too, because he leaned up and muttered ominously in her ear, "We're in gator country now…"
She ignored him, keeping a steady speed of no more than 25 mph.
"You ever seen a gator before, blondie? They're real mean," he added before cackling mischievously. "They taste better'an they look, though."
Beth scrunched up her nose at the thought of eating fried alligator - which she'd heard of but had never had the guts to try - and glanced over at Daryl. He was sitting up straight, watching dutifully through the windshield with the map grasped in his hands for reference.
Just as she looked back toward the road, he pointed and asked, "What the hell is that?"
She searched around for what he was pointing at and saw some slight movement in the tallgrass and moss at the side of the road up ahead.
"Better slow down - might be a deer," he said.
She'd already taken her foot off the gas pedal in preparation, waiting for whatever was about to appear from the grass and cross the road. They were still a good 50 feet away and she'd slowed the truck until it was barely crawling down the muddy path. Finally, the animal emerged.
Beth gasped and slammed on the brakes while Daryl muttered, "Holy shit." But Merle let out a bark of laughter.
It definitely wasn't a deer - it was an alligator. Fully grown, from the looks of it, and no less than 12 feet long. It slithered from its hiding place out into the road, moving with leisure. Beth and Daryl stared with wide eyes and slackened jaws as it paused, turned its huge scaly head, and looked directly at them. Then it gave a snap of its monstrous jaw and hissed loudly before turning back and crossing the road, scaly tail swaying behind its hefty body. The gator disappeared into the tallgrass on the other side and a few seconds later, there was an audible splash of water.
"That's God's perfect killin' machine right there," Merle drawled.
"Glad I didn't bring my fuckin' bike out here," Daryl muttered as Beth slowly drove forward and returned to her cautious speed.
"No kidding," she agreed, still stunned by the sight of an actual, real life alligator. And a huge one at that. Of all the times she'd been to Florida, she'd never actually seen one outside of a zoo until today. Of course, her family had always gone to the beach or the cities - not the swamps. "That thing looked... "
"Healthy," Daryl finished for her.
She chuckled. "Yeah, healthy."
Ten minutes later, they took their final turn onto a rutted and muddy path that was almost completely overgrown with plant life. Beth would have missed it if Daryl hadn't been scouring every detail while the truck crawled down the road at 15 mph. She slowed down to 10 as they passed beneath low-hanging branches and Spanish moss. Most everything around them was shallow water and cattails and mossy tree trunks, twigs and leaves scraping against all sides of the vehicle. They rolled their windows up and leaned forward in their seats, staring through the windshield and searching for any sign of human inhabitance. Merle was silent in the backseat, gazing out the window with wide eyes and a look of fascination.
Then the thick canopy of greenery broke and they emerged into a wide clearing surrounded by huge willow and mangrove and cypress trees, Spanish moss hanging from every exposed branch, thick trunks twisting and climbing. The swamp went on into deeper water farther out, mud and moss and cattails at every edge. But in the distance was a house perched on the edge of the water with a wooden boardwalk wrapping around it and leading from the back of the house down through the mud, winding all the way to just past the end of the narrow road.
And standing in the middle of the road was a tall, balding white man leaning on a walking stick.
"That's not the kid you met… is it?" Daryl asked, voice low and ominous.
Beth's heart skipped and she pressed her foot down on the brake pedal, bringing the truck to a complete stop. Merle let out a low whistle from the backseat.
"No," she said quietly, blood draining from her face. "Definitely not."
Daryl unclicked his seatbelt and reached into the waistband of his jeans to retrieve something and she looked over at him curiously. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide when he pulled out a handgun and cocked it meaningfully. The loud click-click echoed inside the cab, immediately followed by a high-pitched laugh of amusement from Merle. Daryl wrapped his right hand around the handle of the firearm and kept his trigger finger against the side, stiffened cautiously. He made sure not to raise it any higher than his lap, concealed by the dashboard and the tinted windows.
"You brought a gun?" Beth squeaked. "Daryl…!"
He looked over at her with a creased brow, frowning. "Yer goddamn right I brought a gun. Had ta have somethin' ta protect us in case shit went sideways."
Merle barked out with laughter again and commented, "That's my brother! Us Dixons always stay strapped - at leas' that part ain't changed."
Beth glanced through the windshield at the mystery man again: he was wearing mud-stained blue jeans and black rubber wading boots that went up to his knees, a loose-flowing and oversized moss green T-shirt covering his torso and making him appear a bit larger than he actually was. Though he was fairly large - he couldn't have been less than 6'4" and probably close to 300 pounds from the looks of his thick legs and arms, broad shoulders, and prominent beer belly. She guessed he was no older than 50, and she was beginning to think that he appeared… harmless. And unarmed besides the walking stick in his hand. But she quickly reminded herself that looks could be deceiving.
He was just standing there. Staring at them. Waiting.
"Alrigh' - you stay here. I'll go see what he wants," Daryl said quietly, reaching over to grab the door handle.
Beth's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder instinctually to stop him. "Wait!"
He paused and looked at her with a furrowed brow.
"I'm comin' with you," she said.
"The fuck you are," he protested. "Jus' stay here. This could be one a those batshit swamp people - I ain't tryin' ta see you end up on a spit over some cannibal's campfire tonight."
"Ain't you ever seen The Hills Have Eyes, blondie?" Merle chided from the backseat. "It's like that, but in Florida - so they're all on bath salts and inbred." He laughed loudly at his own stupid joke.
She ignored Merle and scoffed at Daryl, arguing, "So what, I'm s'posed ta just sit here an' watch while you get taken by the cannibals?"
Daryl gestured to the gun in his hand and gave her an indignant look. "No - yer s'posed ta have the truck ready ta haul ass outta here once I shoot the fucker."
Beth rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No - that's not how this is gonna go, Daryl. I'm coming with you and we can talk to him together. Who knows, maybe he's like the Swamp Witch's doorman or something?"
He grunted and reached for the door handle again. "Ain't no doormen out in these parts, Greene. Just gators an' inbreds."
"He's got a point," Merle chimed in. "Are you trying ta get turned into somebody's lampshade tonight, princess?"
But she ignored both of them and hastily unclicked her seatbelt, opening her door and hopping out just as Daryl was doing the same. He shot her a disapproving look over the hood of the truck and slammed his door shut. She frowned back and slammed hers as well, then quickly followed him when he began taking long strides toward the waiting man.
Her boots squicked in the mud and she struggled to catch up with him as he stalked forward with purpose, gun clasped in his palm but kept low and hidden discreetly behind his leg. Her heart raced and if she'd thought she felt nervous on the long drive here, it was nothing compared to how nervous she felt now. She fought to keep her hands from trembling as she and Daryl approached the tall man, who didn't move a single muscle aside from his eyes while he watched them coming closer. He kept his arms hanging loosely as his sides, one hand loosely leaning on the walking stick, head held high. There was a kind smile on his face.
They stopped in the middle of the road, keeping a safe distance between them and the man. Instantly, Daryl put out his left arm in a protective motion, signaling for Beth to stay behind him. She remained a few steps back without objection.
The man looked them both up and down and his smile grew wider. Then he glanced past them, toward the truck, and chuckled softly. Beth could see Daryl's mouth twitching, like he was about to speak up. But the tall man spoke first, his voice soft and kind and deep and, quite frankly, anything but threatening.
"You're early."
Beth parted her lips to respond but the words fell away before they'd formed. The strange man's smile grew wider.
"Good. Follow me. We've been preparing for y'all."
to be continued...
A/N: I've decided that "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell is the official theme song for this fic.
