Disclaimer: Nope, not mine!

Better off than Dead

Three horn blasts went off like fireworks, sudden and ear-splitting. The speaker hissed and then said, "We've made it."

Daryl uncovered his ears and winced at the ringing left in the horns wake. He peeked through a hole in the boxcar. The train was going too fast to see more than blurs of color. At the sound of the screeching brakes, he grabbed a hand hold and swayed with the slowing train. Once it reached a consistent, easy speed Daryl opened the door.

Fields of gold and green stretched from one horizon to the next. Skinny trees and a few scattered houses broke up the flat expanse. Daryl hung out the car and swung his head to the right.

That must be it.

The roundhouse was a monstrous red brick building. Ten train docks circled the roundtable. The back half of the structure rose up behind the front, two maybe even three stories. From what he could tell most of the property was surrounded by a tall chain link fence.

When the radio had crackled on in his hotel room and promised an escape by train, he hadn't given one thought to the destination. Now staring at this old locomotive complex, Daryl realized he had been expecting Washington D.C. or another city to be at the end of the ride. He allowed himself to grin; this exceeded anything he had envisioned.

An oasis of metal and brick in a desert of grass and trees.

Instead of taking the left fork that would have led them through a gate and to the roundtable, the train held its course. The wheels squeaked shrilly under the breaks and released loud hisses of steam. Daryl supported himself on the frame of the open door until the engine came to a complete stop.

"End of the line, folks."

Another engine rested on the turntable. How many other trainloads of people were here? Daryl squinted but all the roundhouse docks appeared empty. Just two trains, a bunch of boxcars, and whoever drove them out of Atlanta.

People poked their heads out of the train cars. Some dropped down to the ground, heads swiveling in awe.

"Pack up," Daryl snapped harsher than he intended as his heart beat faster. He threw all his belongings in his pack, checked his knife and slung his crossbow over his shoulder before jumping down.

A small crowd gathered to stare at the building. Some blinked in the sun while others peered over the bags pressed to their chests. A few brave folks had already pressed themselves against the fence gate.

"Hurry up," he growled.

"I'm right here."

Constantly living in fear of attack condensed people into brittle beings. He'd seen it in his Ma, a resilient woman who crumbled until she eventually went up in flames. Hell, he'd seen it in himself, drinking himself dumb and numb. Waiting for the end. The woman he met just days ago had been crushed by fear, crushed by her brute of a husband. Today, however, she looked soft and loose.

It took him second, but he determined it was hope that buoyed her.

Sophia climbed down, legs dangling and then young joints catching her fall. The gravel shifted under her footing, but she kept her balance. Carol took Daryl's offered hand. Suddenly embarrassed by ever thinking her weak, he ignored her gratitude.

"Over here!" A man stood by the gate. He had a rifle on his shoulder and took his time adjusting a ball cap over his dark grey locks.

Daryl bristled with the thought he meant to send them off into the wilderness, but then the man spoke again.

"It's been a pleasure to be your conductor. Name's Kenny. If ya'll step this way, we'll get you registered." He swiftly unlocked the gate and pushed it open.

Carol shared a look with Daryl. The rest of the passengers shuffled back and forth like sheep caught between a stranger and a wolf. The unknown was the better bet, so they collectively lurched through the open gate. Daryl and Carol hand in hand with Sophia melded in with them, doing their best to look like a pack.

Tired, dehydrated, and hungry, it took most of the crowd longer than expected to trek to the building. Disbelief dragged at their feet. Only a few raced into the fenced yard like rabid dogs. Hovering near the back of the crowd, Daryl scrutinized each window, each train car in the yard, identifying places for hidden attackers. Carol clung to his left hip with her mouth parted. He swatted away her searching hand, but made sure to keep her and the girl close.

Navigating the ties and rails, they eventually entered the large building through an open train door. Tinted glass darkened the sunshine and illuminated the room in golden amber. Daryl craned his neck to take in the space. Besides the old rails, the entire area meant to house trains was open and spacious; someone at sometime had removed the walls dividing the train docks. A handful of people moved around the space, but the table in front of the crowd immediately drew his attention.

Kenny wasn't a super imposing figure physically. Five-nine, maybe. Lean. But his tan skin highlighted the wiry muscles underneath, especially when he ran his hand over his chin before whistling.

"Hey! Welcome to Genesis Terminal. The world's shit outside so I'll expect ya'll to appreciate this for what it is."

He took a seat behind the table and shuffled some papers.

Daryl side-eyed the crowd. About half or more just looked like families. There were enough college kids to wonder how they all got stuck away from their families when the world ended.

Two big men emerged from the back end of the building and flanked Kenny on either side of the table. They watched the crowd with hard eyes. A handful of Kenny's other people moved boxes in the back of the building. Daryl counted five people. The crowd from the train definitely outnumbered them. Considering the numbers, if this was a trap or some kind of scheme, Daryl would bet on the crowd.

Kenny cleared his throat. "To put it lightly, if this is the garden of Eden, I'm God. Follow my rules, you can stay as long as you like. If you want to leave, do so, but you don't get no help from me or mine."

The crowd was silent. Some stared into space, shaking, others glared, suspicious. Yet no one protested or asked any questions. Kenny placed tiny reading specks on his nose. The small accessory softened his face, but when he cleared his throat he commanded their attention. Whiplashed, it took Daryl a few words to recognize it as a list of rules.

"Whatever you brought, it is yours. Protect it, share it, consume it, that's up to you."

"General food supplies will be provided and that will include garden goods once that is established."

Here and there, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Someone nearby hissed, "Just how long does he expect to stay here?"

"Weapons are allowed. If you got beef with your neighbor, I don't care." Kenny paused to clear his throat again. "I provide the walls, the basic structure. I ain't a police officer. But I will take away yer room if I deem it necessary."

The man next to Daryl yelled, "How is this going to work?"

"Pardon?"

"I thought you were taking us to a city?!" The interrupter's voice rose rapidly. Over his balding head, Daryl watched as everyone's attention glued to him. He wasn't the only one with doubts, he was just the only one brave or stupid enough to speak out. "Some place safe. Like Washington DC."

Kenny sighed. "Cities aren't safe anymore. They're all crawling with the dead. Believe me, I've seen a too many to count. I got you out of the ants' nest and you want to jump to the wasps'?"

Daryl subtly shifted Carol and the girl away from the man. A quick shuffle of steps that could easily be interpreted as shifting weight. A few others did the same thing, forming a small, but visible ring of space around the questioning family.

The man gulped, but made no reply.

Kenny spat and went on like there had not been an interruption. "There's still some work to get this place up and running. Priorities are reinforcing the fence and cleanin' the roundhouse out." He glanced down his nose at the crowd. "First things first, rest up tonight. Tomorrow mornin', I'll divide you into groups and together we'll get this place livable. That's your payment to me for the ride out of Atlanta." He dropped his list and then waved the crowd forward. "For now, just come forward, say your name, your kin, and I'll assign you your space."

A hard life taught him to always keep his guard up. In a twist of fate, his life now included Carol and her girl. Daryl noticed things that probably would have gone unnoticed before. Like the tall man with a ripped plaid shirt who eyed Carol up and down. Daryl made a shield by placing himself between the man and Carol. There were five or so kids that were about Sophia's age. There was the old stuff too, like the familiar judgmental glares from a few mothers who wrapped arms around their kids. Who was twitchy with their gun. Who sported split knuckles.

The journey to get on the train hadn't been easy. Most people were in rough shape with mussed hair, baggy eyes, and scrapes as common as tattoos. He, Carol, and the girl blended in just fine in that regard. As if in response, every bruise on his body pulsed.

The throng slowly molded into a line. It moved forward like a slug, yet any chaos was kept in check by one guard handing out granola bars as he walked up and down the line. Biceps thick like milk jugs and a height that let him tower over all helped too. He handed Carol two bars with a toothy smile that appeared genuine.

Daryl thought the man said his name was Rod.

The closer they inched toward Kenny, the easier it got to overhear the proceedings.

He wasn't just collecting their names. Kenny was also asking questions like "Name and occupation."

Some got asked, "Any skilled labor?"

What the kids' ages.

How everyone was related.

A single person was escorted to the back of the room.

A family went upstairs.

Another single person followed Rod to the back of the building.

A loud family of five clambered behind another man to the upstairs.

People were escorted to spaces beyond Daryl's sight with no verbal communication from Kenny as to why people go left, right, or straight. His skin prickled; how would they explain themselves? A wife, her child, and the man who killed her abusive husband?

His scowl deepened and his death grip tightened on his crossbow strap; single people were separated from families. That was the only consistent pattern.

Fuck. They would be separated.

Daryl frowned. What did it really matter? He didn't get the impression that they were being led to slaughter. A mother and her girl were surely worthy of a bedroom upstairs. He could go fuck off in the back room, no problem. Alone with his crossbow, alcohol, and guilt over Merle. Check in with Carol and the girl every day, just to see how they were holding up. The little knot of uncertainty unraveled in his gut. At the same time, he remembered Carol's hopeful attitude this morning, and a different knot of guilt twisted his stomach.

They were in front of Kenny before a workaround came to Daryl. Carol asserted herself to his right side and she placed Sophia in front of her.

"Names?" Kenny asked with a wild eyebrow quirked.

Carol beat him to the punch and said in an almost frighteningly chipper voice, "I'm Carol, this is Sophia, and this is my husband Daryl."

Husband?

If Kenny had looked up at the wrong moment, he would have seen Daryl's slack jaw. Instead, the leader of this odd place simply continued his list of questions. "Last name?"

"Dixon," Carol said.

Dixon?

A rock lodged itself in Daryl's throat.

Ever so subtly Carol elbowed him, knocking him out of his daze. His general awareness saved him as he muttered, "I can hunt. Done a little construction." He added the last part when Carol pressed her lips into a straight line.

"I'm a housewife," she said with Christmas level cheer.

The interrogation ended before he caught his breath and they were whisked upstairs by a man who briefly introduced himself as Rodney. Daryl did a complete double look; Rod gave them granola bars and looked like a classic steel mill worker in his overalls and steel toed books. Rodney, with dark skin and a kind set of eyes, took them upstairs.

The duplicate name bogged him down only for a moment.

Husband?

They followed Rodney up a metal staircase. From the walkway, Daryl could see the entire room below. There was another staircase at the opposite end of the room currently occupied by another family being led by one of Kenny's people. Rodney entered the first door upstairs which led them into a hallway. Here, it was difficult to make out the noise from downstairs. Rodney pointed casually at each door in the hallway before stopping at the fourth. He turned around and handed them a set of keys.

"Here you go." The big man then stomped away.

Up a staircase and into a hallway. They were nested away from the doors outside. Daryl frowned; unsure about escape routes and the other people here, they should be staying near an exit on the first floor. Kenny seemed to assign some kind of ranking to the rooms, so whatever he had thought about Daryl and Carol deemed them worthy of this over the floor, however.

"Well?" Carol asked, staring expectantly between him and their new home.

Husband?

He jabbed the key in the lock.

The door stuck slightly. With a strong shake, it gave way. They poked their heads in. File cabinets lined one wall. A desk and crates of paperwork took up much of the center of the room. Someone had recently thrown two mattresses on the floor. There was a storage closet in the left corner and three large windows overlooking the yard behind the building. One pane was cracked, the line of glass holding sunlight like a little bolt of lightning.

Satisfied that the room was safe, Daryl closed the front door. He immediately wheeled on Carol with a hissing rebuke. "What the fuck, we're married now?"

She flinched, breaking her calm liars mask. "I-I didn't want to risk getting separated."

"You think I know anything about...how am I supposed..." He stormed from one wall to the other. Every bone in his body already ached and now a headache pummeled his brain.

"I'm sorry, I panicked."

"No doubt you did. I said I'd keep you safe. I didn' swear till death do we part! Now we're going to hafta pretend in front of all these people."

"I promise it won't be too hard."

"Oh yeah?" He laughed bitterly. "What makes you think that? What makes you think I can be your doting husband?"

"Well, it's not like I had a doting husband before so I'm ready for whatever flavor of shitty husband you'll be," she hissed. Her stare pierced him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

His silence set her into motion.

Carol cleared a spot on the floor for Sophia and the larger of the two mattresses. The girl passed out the second her mother finished sweeping the hair from her face. The woman then busied herself picking up lose papers and wiping down the desk and window sills. She stiffly tidied in the sunset.

Daryl turned away from her sniffling. Unsure what else to do and, unwilling to unpack the complexities of pretending to be married, he tested the front door again. He frowned at the lack of sight into the hallway. However, the door did shut flush in its frame.

He deemed it safe as long as they had the only key. That was to be determined. He leaned his forehead against the door.

"Should be Merle here with me."

Carol tiptoed her way to him. She moved quietly but he heard her regardless, shuffling slightly on the dirt.

He licked his lips before glancing over his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Was a good idea to keep us together." He just barely waited for her nod of acknowledgement before jerking his chin at the door. "We'll put the cabinets against it tonight."

"What do you think of this place," she asked. A grey smudge marred her cheek. His fingers twitched, needing the smudge gone.

Daryl put space between them and went to move their safety net. "Better than Atlanta."

Saying it made his belly settle. They all would have died in Atlanta. Kenny could have dropped them off in the wilderness with nothing but their thumbs up their asses and it would have been a better chance than Atlanta. It was true that a lot of uncertainties remained. There could be maniacs living next door, given a room because they lied about being a doctor or some shit. There was the issue of the key. While Kenny seemed to have some kind of plan in place, the details were nonexistent.

But they had a door that locked. They had their weapons. "And," Daryl acknowledged, "got each other."

Whatever good that did them.

The sunset was glorious. Reds and yellows combined their best efforts into orange. The mystery of this place could not overpower exhaustion. Without another word, Carol curled up with her daughter.

Daryl dragged the other mattress to an open spot on the floor. He watched the two of them, jealous of the peace. Without warning, Carol cracked open an eye. He quickly averted his gaze to the window. When the heat left his cheeks, he risked another look. This time, she was asleep.

But sleep did not embrace him. In fact, in the quiet his headache roared with new life as he digested his new situation. He left Merle in Atlanta and barely reached the train in time. He killed Ed. Now, Carol and her kid roped him into some kind of domestic agreement.

"Goddamnit. A husband?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. How the hell was he going to keep up that charade?

Daryl went to the window. Someone was moving the train out in the dark. The window under his forehead rattled with the movement. He heard crying from next door and shuffling beneath him. His skin crawled and the headache worsened; all these people he didn't know, couldn't trust, surrounded him. He made it out of Atlanta, but was he really better off?

"Would've died in Atlanta."

If he kept repeating that, perhaps it would sink in.

The hangover had his temples in a vice grip. Sleep evaded him. He cursed under his breath, hate simmering under his skin but at no particular person or thing. He definitely hated his pounding pulse and dry mouth and the bruises on his body. Too slow. Too stupid.

"Can't do that no more."

He grabbed his bag, checking to make sure Carol didn't wake when the bottles clinked together. Sure she was still asleep, he opened a window. There was nothing below but dirt and gravel. He swallowed. His fingers slid over the first bottle, almost like a caress. Then, Daryl popped the cork and watched his liquid crutch fall to the ground below.

Atlanta had been a death trap, but that did not mean he was safe just yet. Not with a wife and child tied to him.

If they were going to make it he'd need a clear head.

Author's Note: Updates will probably slow down to once a week. My husband and I just bought a house so now it's time to paint!

To the guest reviewer from last chapter-Thank you so much! I am really proud of "Getting Somewhere" so it's so nice to hear people still read it. I hope you continue to enjoy this story too! :D

If you're reading this, please consider dropping me a review. I'd love to know what you like or don't like about it! It helps the muse. Thanks!-randomcat23