AN: Sorry, it's been quite a while since I've updated this. I've been busy with starting a new nursing position. I'm more grounded now, traveling less, so I hope to be more regular with updating. If you're still reading this story, thanks for bearing with me.
Part Four, Night
He'd been at it for days and days now. The sun had come and gone several times. He continued to watch Beth from a distance. Daryl even tracked her when she ventured out into the forest for hunting. He was proud of how much she seemed to have grown. Beth had managed to become very self-sufficient. Daryl idly wondered on occasion when and if she planned to leave the funeral home. Surely she wanted to find her sister and the rest of the group. He couldn't be sure of what she did inside the home. Maybe she was gathering supplies, planning a course.
Every now and then he saw Beth take pause and look all around herself. She'd look in all directions when in the forest, looking as though she wanted to call out. She would stand on the porch of the funeral home and scan the edge of the forest. He couldn't be sure if she was just looking for anyone or if she was looking for hm. He didn't know which he wanted to be true.
Merle's visits became less during the day, which gave Daryl a measure of relief, but he remained his constant companion at night. Tonight was no different. The sun had set a couple hours ago by Daryl's estimate, and just like clockwork Merle wandered out from the woods, smirking at Daryl.
"How goes it? Any food?" Merle asked conversationally, as though he'd been with Daryl all day and was returning from a stroll.
Daryl didn't answer. He absentmindedly messed with his crossbow, halfway cleaning it. He'd settled on the edge of the woods as he had been, keeping a visual of the funeral home. Merle came over to stand over Daryl.
"Not in a talking mood tonight huh?" he teased.
"Leave me alone. You aren't here" Daryl said gruffly.
Merle gestured to himself incredulously. "Well, damn, coulda fooled me. Sure feels like I'm here to me"
Daryl didn't reply. Merle shrugged and sat down hard near him. "What we need is a good fire. Get some shit to cook. A fat deer would be nice. Some hooch or blow for dessert"
Daryl grunted at Merle. He'd been relying on nuts and berries for food lately. A fire was out of the question, he didn't want to spook Beth with the light. But he wasn't all that concerned that his conscious/ghost-brother would be able to start any fire. Merle rolled him eyes and lowered himself further on the ground, moving to a lying position.]
"I'm getting some shut-eye. You'd be half smart to do the same" Merle said, rolling away from him. Daryl put his crossbow down and glanced toward the funeral home. He saw some faint movement on the porch and focused his attention on the area. Beth was moving things around on the porch, arranging what looked like bags from a distance. Maybe she was planning to leave. He hoped she had the sense to wait for dawn. Beth continued her task for about ten more minutes until she'd put roughly five bags on the porch. Once she stopped, she walked slowly to the steps. She craned her neck and scanned the edge of the forest. Daryl studied her, wondering what she was up to. It was as though she was considering something.
Beth leaned down to fish something out of one of the packs. She stood back up and put binoculars to her eyes. Before he could manage to react, she scanned the perimeter and stopped facing Daryl. He froze. If she'd seen him, she'd seen him. Moving now would change nothing. Beth stood looking in his direction for several moments before she removed the binoculars. Her expression was unreadable.
Daryl held his breath. He didn't know what to expect. He couldn't be sure she'd seen him, but he felt she had. He wasn't sure what reaction he hoped to see if she had. Beth put the binoculars back in the bag. To Daryl's surprise and confusion, she wiped her forearm across her eyes. Was she crying? Beth wrapped her arms around herself and hugged herself lightly. She dipped her head slightly in a half-nod and turned. Without further, she went back inside the funeral home.
He let his breath out in a long sigh. He stood abruptly. He didn't want to dwell on what had just happened. He decided to patrol the perimeter one last time for the night. He hadn't managed to sleep during the day, nor the night before. Coupled with his lack of substantial food, Daryl felt and overwhelming fatigue throughout his body.
The patrol proved to be uneventful and walker-free, something Daryl was grateful for. He didn't allow himself to consider what might happen if he'd encountered any walkers. He was tired. He felt sloppy. His senses seemed dulled, his reactions slowed. He wasn't totally sure he could handle more than one walker at time.
Once his patrol circle was complete, Daryl collapsed dramatically near Merle. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the night sky. As his mind shut down for sleep, he idly wondered why he chose to settle near his brother mirage. It didn't matter one way or the other, but he worried that he may be subconsciously becoming receptive to his own hallucinations. He weighed the consequences of his observation and made a small, silly unaddressed prayer for a dreamless night as he fell asleep.
His prayer went unanswered. Daryl was sitting in the cramped backseat of his brother's beaten up four-door pickup. In front, Merle argued jokingly with some guy about something political that neither of them seemed very well-versed in. As he usually did, Daryl sat silently, awaiting his cues.
Daryl couldn't recall the name of the guy, although they'd met him a few hours ago at a bar. The guy sat up in his seat to maneuver a cigarette box out of his pocket. He shook a cigarette and a sparse joint out of the box. Daryl smirked and named him Doobie Passenger in his head, something he liked to do for fun.
"-either way you wanna slice it, they're all of them a bunch of figurehead drones. Politicians don't give a fuck about me, you, and little Joe Blow down the street. The land ought to be something we take back. We took it once. We can take it again, get it back from the drones and all them different kinds of weirdo ooga-booga coloreds" Doobie Passenger finished windily, lighting up both simultaneously. He took a long, exaggerated drag off the joint, held it in, and passed it over to Merle.
"Now, brother, that's the problem right there. It ain't that cut and dry. Anarchy and the like is only good on paper. If you turn on the man and us regular folk become the man, we'll start turning on each other," Merle retorted, pausing to take a drag off the joint, finishing his thought with a strained and held breath "which could be fun, don't get me wrong. But won't be no clean resolution with that either. Just a lot of violence bullshit that'll lead to more violence bullshit. You, me and, ol' Blow would probably wind up dead by midgame once new 'peace-loving' windbag leaders rise up with their little tribes of yes-man followers. A smart man has others to do his bidding. Only little kids on playgrounds think of just taking their toys back themselves"
Merle passed the joint to Daryl. He followed suit, taking a very deep drag and filling up his lungs. He felt the immediate, familiar sting and desire to cough. He stifled the urge, deciding the next pass he'd only pretend to inhale. He was a cheap date with weed. Or he just knew how to maximize his first hit. He passed Doobie Passenger his joint back.
The man squinted his face momentarily at Merle's use of the word "anarchy" and his implication of childishness. One thing Daryl could always credit Merle with was his ability to read people and find what would most piss them off. Doobie Passenger didn't like to be talked down to, not one bit, even with Merle's playful tone.
"No fuck that. You're out of your damned mind. Pussies think like that. If I want something, I take it. Ain't no fucking child thing, it's what a man does" Doobie Passenger said, raising his voice. He went quiet for several minutes and finished off his joint, without offering it again.
Merle smiled and shrugged, "Hey agree to disagree, man"
"How far is this strip joint?" Dobbie Passenger said, his tone short. The mood of the truck had changed, Doobie Passenger was sick of his present company.
"Not long. Just need to have a pit stop. Gotta piss something fierce" Merle answered. He abruptly pulled off to the shoulder. They were nowhere particular. A stretch of backwoods between small towns. No cars in sight, it was a rarely used road. Not a happy coincidence, just something they'd planned out, as per usual. Merle killed the engine, throwing the door open.
"Jesus fuck, dude. You can't hold your shit a few more minutes?" Doobie Passenger said.
" 'Fraid not. Afflicted with that prostate condition. Bathrooms at this place can attract the occasional butt monkey anyways. There's good stuff on stage, but they're only there for the audience, if you get my drift. You'd be smart to relieve yourself as well if you have the inclination" Merle answered, hopping out the truck and disappearing around the back.
"The hell kind of place is that then? Y'all some fucking losers" Doobie Passenger scoffed angrily. He opened and kicked the passenger door. Jumping out, he walked around to the front. Daryl took the time to reach down to the floorboard, where his metal pipe waited on him.
In a fluid and almost choreographed minute and a half, Merle came swiftly around the back corner of the truck and landed a heavy blow to the back of Doobie Passenger's skull with his own pipe. Daryl slid over and came out the opposite side door of the truck. He was instantly around the truck and landing the second blow to Doobie's face, he felt he crunch of the man's nose vibrate through the pipe. Merle followed with a gut blow, Daryl with a knee blow, Merle to the other knee, Daryl to one foot, and Merle with one last blow to the remaining foot. And as sure as he was rattling off politics not five minutes before, Doobie laid incapacitated and gurgling on blood the next. The man rolled weakly back and forth, making guttural noises of pain. Merle bent down and frisked him quickly, taking his wallet and his box of cigarettes. Daryl yanked his watch off.
Merle bent down over the man, smiling. "I did say it'd be fun, the dog-eat-dog. Just not constructive. Also, it's really not all that polite to start a joint in rotation and not finish it. Take care, brother, have a good rest of your night" he said, mock-tipping an imaginary hat. They got back in the truck. They drove off.
Daryl rummaged through the wallet. He removed what he wanted, the money. The cards he left, the liability wasn't worth it. Merle had spotted his liquid potential back at the bar as Doobie opened his tab. Merle got into his front pocket and produced a few ecstasy tabs. He swallowed a couple and passed the others to Daryl. Dutifully, he downed his pills too. Wiping the wallet clean of his prints, Daryl rolled down the window and carefully threw it out. "Only 78. A couple twenties, several fives, and a bunch of ones"
"Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. The strippers will be happy" Merle replied.
They finished the drive in silence. They usually did. After a mugging, the brothers had two different reactions. Merle had a cheerful afterglow, Daryl just felt numb and quiet, honestly. Merle fished a small leather bag out of the glovebox. He took out supplies and hummed as he prepped some heroin needles. Daryl watched quietly and took one of the tourniquets his brother had pulled out the bag. He idly tied off his brachial vein. His brother prepared heroin deftly. He distributed, heated, and diluted quicker than anyone he'd ever saw. As he held the needles up for a bubble inspection with one hand, Merle tied himself off with his free arm and his teeth. If it weren't illegal and they came up with a timed competition, Daryl thought Merle could probably set a record.
He handed Daryl his needle and set to work on applying his own. Daryl was slow-minded from the weed. He felt as though it took him ten whole minutes to isolate his vein and put the needle in. Once he got his blood drawback, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly pushed the liquid into himself.
Daryl always became acutely aware of his heart for a split second before a sudden rush of warmth spread from his center out to the rest of his body. The warmth reached his fingers and toes and looped back on itself. He idly became transfixed on idea of ocean waves being made up of hot water. He imagined fish boiling alive and dying and lapping up on the beach. The fabric of his pants felt soothing to the touch as his fingertips brushed them. He studied the flickering piss-yellow halos cast by the dingy street lamps lining the club. Daryl acknowledged the faint sound of some rap song's bass undercut by muffled conversations through the cement walls of the club in front. Daryl felt the sudden urge to fuck. The taste of red velvet cake crossed his mind.
"You know, Sam had the right idea about some things" Merle broke the silence.
Pulled out his thoughts, Daryl took a second and processed what he'd heard. Who was Sam? Doobie Passenger, he guessed. "What's that?" he asked.
"A man does indeed take what he wants" he laughed as he picked up the cash from the console and fanned it. Daryl scoffed quietly and smiled out the window.
"He takes it, and he takes it any cost" came a small feminine voice from the backseat.
His felt his heart seize up inside him. Daryl instantly recognized it as Beth's voice. The warmth and coursing of his blood turned to stagnated ice. His breath caught in his throat and he snapped his head around to look into the backseat, and sat upright into early daylight.
Daryl panted and allowed his swimming head to settle. A layer of dew covered him and the grass. Panic ebbed off as he became realigned with reality. He shot a glance to the funeral home, the bags remained on the porch and nothing hinted of any change. Reaching over to grab his crossbow, Daryl noted that Merle remained next to him, snoring away. He was dismayed by this, he'd hoped a lack of daytime Merle meant whatever issue he was having was wearing off, but apparently not.
Standing up on stiff, noncompliant legs Daryl surveyed his immediate surroundings. Nothing had changed that he noticed. He gathered up his pack and a few random straggler items. Daryl stretched for a few moments and set off to patrol the perimeter, leaving Merle to his sleep.
Part Four, Day
As the morning wore on, Daryl felt a growing fatigue in his muscles. He kept an eye on the funeral home and did patrols of the field more frequently than he usually did, hoping he could work out his soreness. Every now and then he'd eat a handful of sour, almost-turned blueberries from his pocket. After a few hours, Merle woke up and began following behind him.
"You know, little bro, that spa food your downing ain't gonna help you get any more energy. Neither will all this stupid walking" Merle quipped, arms crossed.
Daryl heard a slight rustling a few feet away off in the woods, and readied his bow. He moved carefully towards the sound, scanning for the coming walker. As he got closer and closer to the noise with nothing in view, he glanced down and saw it was just a crawler. An old man, maybe late 60s, and severed entirely just below the waist. He absentmindedly named it Carl Crawler to himself. Daryl shouldered his bow and took out his knife instead.
"Persistent little fuckers" Merle clucked. Daryl moved in to stab the crawler in the skull. As he got within arm's reach, he stumbled on a large branch he hadn't noticed, doubling forward in surprise and falling toward the crawler. Going down, Daryl reevaluated his plan and braced himself to put one hand on the shoulder as the other hand drove the knife home. He connected and the crawler ceased to garble and writhe, but he was now sprawled on top of the crawler. The smell was overpowering and the crawler was slick and crumbling to touch. He felt the weight of fleshy slime on his torso as he quickly pushed himself up and off the ground. He wrinkled his nose and attempted to brush most of the slime off himself.
Merle was surprisingly silent for all of this. Daryl didn't spare a look back at him as he turned and headed back to the perimeter of the open field to continue his patrol. Once back on the path, he looked off to his side and checked the funeral home for activity once again. Nothing so far. He turned his head forward again, and abruptly stopped short. Merle was directly in front of him, blocking his path.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, incredulous.
Daryl ignored him and stepped around him. He only made it a few steps before Merle put himself in front of Daryl again and put his hand on his chest to stop him. This sent an icy pang of surprise and horror through Daryl. He really felt his hand. His hallucination was deepening and maturing. He looked all around before meeting Merle's gaze.
"What. The. Fuck. Was. That" Merle repeated.
"I tripped. Shit happens" Daryl answered, reaching up to shove Merle's hand off.
"Maybe to other dipshits. But not you, Daryl. You didn't see that fucking branch? It was thick as my leg. A goddamn crawler could have just killed you. A crawler, for fuck's sake" Merle said.
"Yeah, well it didn't, did it?" Daryl answered. He stepped around his brother again, walking away from him briskly.
"You're slipping up, man. Doing simple, dumb shit. Basic, rookie mistakes. Daryl, you're a tracker, you're a lot better than that shit. You need food. Real food" he said. Merle's usual tone of sarcasm was gone. He was using his 'big brother' voice, a voice that somehow always managed to both scare and piss Daryl off.
"The fuck you know about anything. You're a damn mirage" Daryl snapped.
Merle stayed where he was and yelled out after him, "Even if you ain't gonna do a fire, you could get something better than shit berries. Find some lizards, a snake. Anything, fuck. You fall out over not eating, you're liable get attacked and to die out here. Don't be a dumbass, Daryl"
Daryl rolled his eyes and replied over his shoulder, "Ain't got time to look for no damned lizard. I'm walking this perimeter"
He stormed on, pissed and feeling like a chastised child. Merle had that effect on him. Even a fake, extension-of-his-own mind Merle hallucination could make him feel twelve and stupid. He was relieved to not hear Merle following him. Once he'd walked a quarter more of the perimeter, he saw that Merle stood where he'd left him, watching him with an unreadable expression.
He'd gotten distracted from checking the funeral home. He looked over to notice Beth had come out and was on the porch, rummaging through bags. Daryl knelt down and moved back a bit in case she looked up. He watched her in silence for several minutes. She moved things from one bag to another. She picked one bag up and paused before putting it down. She took a few steps in one direction or another, picking up bags and setting them down. Her actions were erratic, it was though she was hesitant about what she wanted to do. Every few seconds she'd glance up and scan the perimeter, but Daryl was out of view. After about twenty minutes of messing with the bags, Beth turned and abruptly walked back into the house. Daryl was confused. He stood watch for another half hour, curious if she would return.
When he decided she wasn't coming back, he walked a few feet into the forest and took a few minutes to scourge for edible plants. He only found a few and immediately ate them. Merle was right about his intake though. He wasn't paying enough attention to his body's needs. His water reserves had run out three days ago, and he'd resorted to drinking from stagnant pools on the forest floor, something he knew to not be all that smart, he could easily pick up any number of bad stomach bugs that way. A stream existed about a half mile into the woods but he couldn't manage to allow himself to leave the view of the funeral home.
As far as food went, he doubted he'd cleared more than 800 calories a day for the better part of a week now. With this in mind and with the fatigue in his muscles, he found an area of brush in the field and sat down in it. He remembered Merle then and glanced up to see where he was. To his slight relief, he saw that Merle was gone. However, for the first time since his hallucination had showed up, he felt a small pang of regret for that fact, too. Even though he felt Merle was a manifestation of Daryl coming unglued, he'd started being constructive for once. But he knew he was ignoring his starvation, and he didn't really need a hallucination to tell him that.
The morning turned to late morning and eventually meandered on to early afternoon. Beth repeated her bizarre ritual a few more times, doing something a bit different each time. One time she even went so far as to gather up all the bags and begin walking across the field towards the woods before stopping short, looking wildly around the edge of the forest and turning on her heel to walk quickly back to the porch. Each time she seemed more flustered. The last time she threw the bags on the porch and sat down on the steps. Beth crossed her arms and lowered her head. Daryl thought she might be crying. He wanted so badly to cross the field and do something to help her, but he maintained his distance.
Beth sat on the porch for a long time after that. Early afternoon passed, then late afternoon, and eventually the sunlight began to dim as dusk approached. She stood up and checked a bag, pulling out a can. She momentarily scanned the field one last time and disappeared into the house. Daryl had a feeling she was in for the night.
He stood up and walked into the forest to forage. He took Merle's advice and took a bit more time in the woods, catching and killing a few tree lizards. He returned to the edge of the field and watched the funeral home. Fire still wasn't happening so he ate the dead lizards raw. As he watched the home, he considered her behavior. Was she afraid of setting out on her own? Was she weighing whether she should hold out for someone to wander up or if she should set out to find someone?
Daryl finished the last lizard as a final possibility entered his mind, pricking the edges of his consciousness, the idea making him feel wounded even though he had no right to feel that way. It was probable, and honestly highly likely, that she'd spotted him before and was scared of encountering him when she set out. If that was the case, he figured she'd hang back a few more days and watch for another sighting of him. Eventually, she'd feel compelled to leave after not seeing him out for a while. He'd have to be more careful. The idea that he might be cornering her into the funeral home and driving her to deplete her stocks bothered him. But there was nothing he could do. He could only commit to not being seen again.
"Or, and here's a real kicker of an idea, how about you actually leave the damn girl alone. Looking like she don't want your hovering no how. Let the little bitch fend for herself. We could keep moving already" Merle chimed in from behind him.
Daryl turned and cut his eyes at Merle in a look of warning. He felt his skin flame up, his rage reflex beginning to stir. He spoke slowly and deliberately, "Don't call her that"
"Sorry, Sir Daryl" he said in overly exaggerated voice, throwing his hands up. He bowed slightly, "the Honorable Little Lady, if you please"
Despite himself, Daryl cracked a small smile at that. Even in death, Merle still maintained his undeniable penchant for knowing just how to piss you off.