Disclaimer: Randomcat23 does not own TWD.
Ain't the Hero.
A large man sneered down the gun barrel. "This is our car," he said.
Trees and buildings whip, whip, whip, behind Daryl's back. A drop of sweat threatened to skew his vision. Daryl risked wiping it away so he could keep an eye on the man's trigger finger as he rose to meet his aggressor. He wiped his mouth and took a wide stance to counteract the train's movement.
"The fuck it is."
"We were here first," the man reasoned. His legs bowed like a comical version of a cowboy.
Daryl let his crossbow and backpack slide down his arm. He took a step into the car. "Yer name ain't on it."
"Ed. It's fine." The rebuke was so timid compared to the loud man and the train, Daryl nearly missed it.
That blue gaze glimmered in the shadow again. Squinting, he made out the owner, a thin woman with short grey hair. She had a tight grip on a young girl. Daryl frowned; the kid had the look of a beaten puppy, thin blonde hair and the cautious stance of one used to pain.
Distracted, he never heard the man launch his attack.
The blow came hard but misplaced, knocking Daryl's shoulder instead of his ear. His palms and knees smacked against the floor. Daryl rolled, landing closer to the open door. A knife was in his hand before he stopped moving.
The man-Ed-cocked his gun.
"Ed, no!"
"Shut up." Ed's lip curled and a vein in his neck pulsed. "Make this easy and just jump off."
"Fuck no." Daryl kept his low crouch as his heart rattled in his chest. It was just his luck that he chose the car that required a fight. There was nowhere to hide. The pile of straw on the far side was the only other object in the car besides the family's belongings. Daryl tightened his grip on the knife and waited for Ed to make the first move.
Ed's finger slid along the trigger when, suddenly, his head snapped back violently. Daryl's jaw slammed off the floor. Crashes and bangs exploded down the train. The wheels squealed and the four of them were thrown to the front of the car and then backward.
Steam hissed along the tracks. The train did not move.
Daryl's world spun and then settled into a swing of double visions. Frantic, he located his attacker at the far end of the boxcar. Ed had landed on his back and flailed like a drunk turtle. Daryl took advantage of the time to flex his jaw and shake his head. Vision momentarily cleared, he crawled to his knife and gathered up his crossbow and bag.
There were distant gunshots.
Someone whimpered.
The girl screamed.
Daryl spun around and instantly regretted the movement. He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed the world to stand still. The girl's four legs dangling out the car melted back into two. The eight gray hands that fumbled for her shoes swung into four.
"Sophia!" The woman must have had a better landing than him or her husband because, quick as a cat, she grabbed her daughter's flailing hands.
Pulled between her mother and two dead ones on the ground outside, the girl screamed again. Her wild kicks, the powerful kind produced by a frenzied animal, were the only thing keeping her skin out of their drooling mouths.
The woman shrieked as her foot slipped.
"Mama!"
In a dive, Daryl yanked the girl back in the car. Blood pounding at his temples, he ended the corpses' frustrated growls swiftly and slammed the door shut, sending the car into shadow. Dozens of hands banged at the door. Daryl suppressed a wince.
The three passengers stared at him through the thin beams of light punctuating the car, the girl from her mother's embrace, the man from the shadows of the car. The woman, lip wobbling, stuttered, "Tha...thank..."
"Stay away from the fucking door!" Daryl snapped and the girl burst into tears.
"Stay away from my daughter!"
Daryl bent his knees to receive the oncoming attack, but Ed still caught him with a fist. After taking the first one to his jaw, Daryl spat and collected his fists. The banging on the door matched the throbbing at his temple. Nothing new, the noise was just like the patrons at bars who cheered on fist fights by smashing bottles and slapping their hands on the pool table. Someone always enjoyed the show.
Dipping low, he landed a blow to Ed's gut and smirked at his whimper. Daryl then tackled Ed.
"Just saved her fuckin' life," he reminded Ed in between labored breaths. To hide his shaking knees, Daryl dropped to the floor. "I ain't leavin'." He punched him again for good order. As Daryl caught his breath, Ed was reduced to garbled cursing. Satisfied, Daryl limped off to the opposite end of the car with his belongings and collapsed into a pile of hay.
The scratchy sticks weren't much support for his joints or the small of his back. Anger and exhaustion battled over his consciousness. He went back and forth between glaring at the family and his eyelids drooping. The woman-Carol-soothed her husband more with words than physical gestures.
"Oh Ed. Oh Ed," she repeated over and over. Ed swat away her shaking hands and then he made a show of gathering up his gun and other belongings into the opposite corner.
"You can stay, but only 'cause you saved my daughter," Ed yelled as if he was doing Daryl a favor. He pointed a finger at the floor. "But this is our car first. You stay over there. Or else."
Daryl flexed his jaw, completely undisturbed by Ed's outbursts; he was just a predictable dumbass. Surprisingly, it was the woman he found himself following. She made careful movements around her husband, shoulders flinching when he muttered under his breath. The last thing he witnessed before darkness over took him was the man twisting her arm and her pathetic yelp.
The gentle rocking of the train cradled him into sleep. The foggy remnants of dreams floated on the back of his eyelids as they fluttered open. Daryl stiffened; the woman held a sheet in the crook of her arm not five feet from him. She was close enough he could see the stitch of her shirt. Daryl scrambled away.
She held out her hand. There were two brown pills in her palm. "Thank you for saving Sophia."
"What?"
"It's ibuprofen. Y-you were holding you head," she quivered, losing whatever confidence had carried her across the car. "And you reek of alcohol."
Her mouth twisted into a knowing grin and his cheeks flamed.
"Carol," Ed barked.
Carol flinched and a stony mask replaced her smile.
The pills were in his hand before he realized he grabbed them.
She fluttered the sheet. "We thought it be good to give each other some privacy."
The barrier was up before she finished her explanation. Deft fingers looped and tied a thin rope across the width of the car. She folded a sheet over it. It wasn't much more than a filter. Her retreating form was a cloudy shadow.
It wasn't until she sat alongside her daughter that Daryl dug water out of his bag and downed the medicine. One pill got stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard and sunk deeper into the hay.
Daryl heard her earnest plea over the clacking of the train. "He saved Sophia."
"I saved us by getting this train." The sharp noise of a slap ended the woman's voice. "Don't you forget it."
Exhaustion swelled up in force and Daryl passed out.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Daryl blinked. The light was gone and the train moved in slow waves. It reminded him of how his father used to drive, punching the gas pedal and then easing off, punching it, and then easing off. The rocking motion used to make him sick. Now it was soothing.
He squinted across the car and identified the sleeping lumps of the family. No detective work was necessary to determine which two were clustered together. Daryl rolled his head and his stare widened.
The car door slid open with each wave and then clicked back into place. The stars and moon illuminated shadowy forms outside. Dead ones.
"Gotta be dozens of them." The observation clenched his stomach.
Sway and click. Sway and click.
"Moved fast on the girl, earlier. If the train stops they might-"
Daryl rose to his knees.
At the next slow point in the train's movement, Daryl shifted into a wide stance and watched the opening for any hungry fingertips. Up close, he could hear the sick moans of the walking corpses. The door rolled and ground its way shut again. Swiftly, Daryl latched the door. Just as he sighed in relief, he was thrown to the ground. He whipped around, ignoring the flood of blood in his mouth, searching for a gap at the door. The lock held. Relieved, he spat to the side.
Screams erupted from the next car over. Desperate, feral screeches intermixed with gun shots and banging.
"Robert, no! Robert! Rob-"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Fuck-!"
Bang!
"Holy shit!"
Another voice cut off in a crescendo of growls. Somewhere else other gun shots ripped into the night. The train lurched once and then lurched again. There's nothing to see, but Daryl fixated on the car wall. His mind projected the carnage on the metal that was happening just feet away.
"Kill it, kill it!"
"No. No. No!"
Bang! Bang!
The train sped up and the rails and wheels squeaked. There was the distinct sound of a moving object smacking a fleshy body. And then again. And again, until the train was moving at a good pace. For awhile the all he heard was clacking mixed with thump thump thump.
Once the train cleared the bodies, Daryl shivered. He checked the lock again and then risked a glance behind him. All three lumps were now upright, but no one said a word.
If he blinked, he would have missed it. But he could have sworn the woman nodded at him. Then again, it was probably just the movement of the train.
The dull ache in his groin prodded and grew. Daryl attempted to ignore it, to push himself back over the edge to sleep. He didn't want to open his eyes and take in reality, to let go of the peaceful fantasy. He grunted and turned into the hay stack again in a last ditch effort to chase that hazy dream.
Then it was gone. And now he really had to piss.
Smacking his lips, he stood fully prepared to aim into a crack by the door, but found it open.
It was then he noticed the train was stopped and the woman and her daughter were outside at the base of the rail bed.
The husband was nowhere to be seen.
Daryl squinted into the sun.
"Fifteen minute break," the woman-Carol-called up to him. Her arms were outstretched holding a blanket. Presumably the girl was squatting behind it. Carol swiveled her head around. Whether it was for walkers or Ed, the fear in her eyes was evident.
Perplexed, he dismounted and walked to the front of the car to relieve himself. They were in a grassy field with an old barn nearby. Neglected soybeans roasted in the next plot over. Up and down the train, people stretched, pissed, defecated, whatever. There were more passengers than he thought. Families, loners, couples. Maybe fifty-some people in total.
Daryl eyed the brown, rusty stain on the car ahead of them, then spat to his other side.
Done, he turned back to Carol and flushed. Her grey head peaked out behind the sheet now while the girl craned her head away.
Frowning, he glanced down the train and then at all the people milling about. Unwilling to risk the train leaving without him and to provide more privacy for those outside, Daryl jumped back in the box car. He sat on the car edge and lit a cigarette, keeping a watchful eye on the tall weeds. Fuzzy clouds twisted in his mind, making his head heavy. How did the passengers know this was a planned stop?
"The Engineer announced it over the com system," Carol answered his unspoken curiosity. She approached with her sheet folded over her arm. "We get two a day."
"You'd know that if you were on time." Ed reappeared, adjusting his belt. "Stowaway."
"Nobody said anything about tickets, Sir Topham Hatt," Daryl sneered and flicked the butt at Ed's feet.
"I could kill you at any point and I wouldn't waste any energy feeling bad about it." Ed whispered his threat, but couldn't hide the bloodlust in his voice. Sophia clutched a doll, Carol looked halfway to a faint.
Daryl drew his knife in an arc that nearly clipped Ed's jabbing finger. "I'd love to see you try."
The train tooted and someone said, "All aboard!"
Ed swallowed, but refused to back away even as Daryl retreated to his pile of hay. It was Carol and the girl climbing into the car that broke their stare down. Ed muttered a curse, spat, and hefted himself onto the car bed.
From somewhere, a voice crackled, "Morning. My apologies for the unexpected stop last night. These dead 'uns are wandering further than I saw even three days ago. No matter. We got plenty of coal to carry us."
It was just clear enough to spark a memory; it was the same voice that had come over the radio. Calm and reassuring with a bit of a drawl.
"Still going north. Just may take a few detours along the way. This is your final call."
The train started moving before the static faded.
It didn't take long. A day and a half at most and finally sober, it struck him. Stuck in the shadows of a box car with nothing but a broken family and horse feed, it hit him.
Daryl roasted in guilt and anger about Merle.
"That fucker left me!"
It was true. But his brother's absence gnawed on him down to his marrow. What if Merle had come back not even an hour after Daryl had left to an empty hotel room in a doomed city? High, or drunk, or horny with two women on his arms, cawing about doing the end of the world thing right.
"He said he'd back the night he left."
Daryl remembered it clear as day. Merle had promised a plan and weapons. Merle with his stupid shit-eating grin and Marty with his mellowed face, looking like he was about to melt. Thirty-six hours was a long leeway.
The train couldn't take him far enough away from Atlanta to ease his guilt. Daryl threw an arm over his eyes as if he could block the visions. Like a mold, they persisted. They crawled up the backs of his eyelids, whispered taunting and demeaning curses at him.
You left your family, you piece of shit.
You know what happens to those who abandon their blood?
Bad things, Baby Brother. Merle shook his head. Bad things.
With a growl, Daryl ripped open his bag. He needed to get rid of these ghosts. He'd do anything to quiet the voice in his head. He grabbed his second bottle of alcohol. The cork broke when he opened it.
"Perfect," he thought after taking his first swig. "Didn't want to save any anyway."
The Merle in his mind dimmed as if he stepped behind a foggy window.
Daryl tipped the bottle back again, winced as it burned down his throat. Another. Another.
Across the car, Ed jabbed a finger in his direction.
"Got somethin' ta say, Ed?" Daryl crowed, alcohol loosening his tongue. His fingers curled into a fist. It would feel so good to hit something. It would feel so good to hit Ed's pudgy face. "I can see yer talking about me."
His vision swirled, but he thought he saw the woman restrain her husband. Ed smacked at her.
"You get off on hittin' women and kids? Dontcha Ed?"
"Come on. Come fight me, you piece of shit."
Daryl slumped to the side. He wasn't sure if it was from the train or that he just lost his balance. Ed got to his feet, shaking with rage. Daryl cackled to himself.
"Mind yer own business," Ed whispered so harshly spittle flew from his mouth.
Daryl took another drink. He wiped his chin. His head swam.
He left his brother behind.
He needed to hit.
He needed to be hit. Just like those times in the bar when Merle would stage a fight.
"Everyone enjoys a show, Darylina," he'd say while counting his tips and Daryl nursed a black eye. "There always needs ta be a hero and a villain. And, well," Merle had cackled, "You ain't the hero, Brother."
"Come on!"
But Ed never crossed the boxcar, tugged down by that slim wisp of a woman. Daryl slumped over and floated in and out of awareness. The rage was a numb pain in his chest. Rage at himself. Rage at Merle. Rage at this family staring at him, witnessing his weakness and not taking advantage of him because of it.
He passed out.
He didn't see Ed strike Carol again.
He didn't see Ed's nasty grin or hear him say, "Just you wait, redneck trash. You'll get what's coming to ya."
Author's Note: Ed sucks. It's really my first time writing him and man, what a trash person he is. But! Carol and Daryl have met now! There's at at least. Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated.-randomcat23