Does It Even Matter
By Althea M
Synopsis: Rick and Daryl pick up a stranger on the road.
Rick and Daryl were on one of the few runs they made together. There had been a brief dustup about taking the two most capable men from the compound. Although that wasn't much of a dustup since lately Rick had just been a peaceful farmer, not even carrying a gun.
This run was for possible additional weapons and supplies in a nearby community. The two lane country road was empty; no wrecked cars, no walkers. It was sun-dappled, almost pleasant. You could almost forget that the world had come to an end.
They crested a small rise. Up ahead, they caught sight of someone walking on the road, at the shoulder, near the woods. The figure was walking toward them but too far to be made out clearly. The individual apparently spotted their car at the same time Rick and Daryl spotted them. The figure moved quickly off of the road and into the tree line.
"Ya see that?"
"Yeah, makes me wonder what they're up to."
"Wanna to check it out?"
"Nah, they don't want to meet us, we don't need to meet them", and with that, they drove past the spot where the figure disappeared.
Two hours later, Rick and Daryl are headed back up the same sun-dappled road. They crested the little hill again. This time they were presented with a more daunting sight. Three walkers are making a determined effort to corral and, of course, devour a lone human, who is equally determined not to part of their menu.
They slowed down and approached as though to pass the human. It was hard to determine if it was a small man or a woman. There was an androgenous quality to the person. They wore an army surplus jacket, over a mud brown hooded sweatshirt, greyish-brown cargo pants, grimy boots, and a small backpack.
The person was seemingly holding their own. In each gloved hand was a two-foot long rod which they swung with graceful, deadly force, and accuracy, tagging the temple of successive walkers while seeming to dance between them. The arch of each swing was wide, smooth, and swift. There were three corpses on the roadway and as they slowly drove past, they could see that there were two others lying still on the rise leading up to the roadway. But from the forest, Rick could see at least four more coming out of the tree line.
For a fleeting instant, Rick's eyes met that person's as they tagged another walking corpse with a crack to the skull, with a sound like the shot of a small caliber pistol, dropping it definitively. There was power in that swing. Rick looked at Daryl who returned his own noncommittal, 'Whatever', and received in return an unspoken, 'Do it' from Rick. Rick slowed the vehicle further, staying about ten feet ahead of the directional movement of the 'dancer'. Daryl reached over the back seat to the rear, driver's side passenger door and swung it open.
"You wanna ride?" he hollered to the person who is now beginning to show signs of wear. "Then, git in." and after a beat, "or continue wha'cher doin'". All the while, the car was slowly rolling on in the direction it was going.
The person tagged two more corpses who had gotten within range as five more reeking dead clambered up the rise. Then, the person turned, ran for the open door and dived in as one more cadaverous clawed hand reached ineffectually for a booted limb.
"Go! Please, Go!" a woman's voice yelled.
Rick gave the engine a goose and the forward momentum both moved the new passenger out of the walker's reach and closed the door all in one move.
Rick looked at the young woman through the rear view mirror, as she lay curled against the passenger side door, breathing harder now than she had appeared to be doing on the road, while Daryl apprised her over his right shoulder.
"Ya hid from us when we went past ya earlier."
"I wasn't sure of the odds when you went by before."
"What made ya change yer mind this time."
"The odds looked better with you this time around."
"What if we hadn'a stopped?"
"I'd be still fighting and cursing your souls to hell on top of it. And in this day and age, nobody can really afford to be cursed because we all need all the help we can get."
Rick and Daryl exchanged looks then focused on the road ahead, ignoring the woman in the back seat catching her breath, eyeing them warily.
They rode on for a time in silence.
"Wa's that yer usin'? Looks like rebar", asked Daryl, mildly interested in the weapons she had in the back seat.
"It is", she replied briefly, breathing becoming steadier.
"Looks like you got some kinda skill with it", drawled Daryl.
"If they were made of wood, they'd be called 'escrima' or 'kali' sticks", she shared.
"That's a martial arts weapon." Rick commented.
"Yes."
"You seem pretty capable with them", Rick complimented.
"I was never any good at it. I guess necessity makes us better at what we can do."
They fell again into silence.
Although she had been given a niche in the prison, she didn't last long enough to really learn who she was except that her name was 'Dirk'. That was the only name she gave when they rescued her from that country road. Maybe she'd been lucky they'd come by when they did. Or maybe she was bad luck herself, because not a week later, the prison fell to the assault by the man referred to as 'the Governor'. Maybe she survived and was wandering the backroads again, alone.
Rick didn't know her well enough to care one way or the other.