"Murph, ya ain't got another twin I don't know about, do ya?" Connor asked, his eyes trained on the man on the ground.
"Fuck you." Murph shoved Connor's shoulder. Connor pulled him into a headlock, Murphy's head resting under his armpit.
"Well, fuck, look at him."
"I am fuckin' looking at him," Murphy said, pulling free.
"Like lookin' in a mirror, isn't it?" Connor asked. "A filthy, sleeveless, redneck mirror. Would ya whistle Dixie for me, Murph"
"Will ya shutup?" Murphy said. "We got company anyway."
Connor followed Murphy's eyes to the corpse emerging from a thicket of bushes. It was an ugly one, clad in denim from head to toe.
"Get him before he gets in the water," Connor said. "Looks like the type might have a pack of smokes on him."
"Me? Why don't you fuckin' shoot it?" But Murph already had his gun aimed.
"I got the last one. 'Sides, there's another one comin' up the river there." Connor drew his gun as well. Two muffled shots rang out in unison.
"I'll check 'em. You stay here with...you," Connor said.
"Fuck you."
"Maybe see if you can do somethin' about that arrow in your side, eh Murph?"
Murphy swatted at Connor who ducked and took off wading through the creek. Murphy watched him for a second, praised the Lord above when Connor threw up his hand, gripping a pack of cigs. While Connor got the bodies ready to pray over, Murphy turned his attention back to the person by his feet, kneeling down next to him.
It really was a lot like looking in a mirror. A little older and bloodier, but hell, he even had a mole right where Murphy did. What were the fucking odds of that happening?
"Merle," the man muttered without waking. Murphy tried to get a good look at the arrow. The man had tied it off, meaning it'd been in there before he passed out.
"At least you're not a big pansy walkin' around lookin' like me," Murph muttered, using his knife to cut away the fabric.
"How's it look?" Connor asked, placing a lit cigarette between Murph's lips.
"Just gonna have ta pull it out." Murphy wrapped his fingers around the arrow, and tugged. The resulting hand flying to his arm made his whole body shake.
"The hell do you think you're doing?" And then the man looked Murphy in the eyes. A glimmer of shock passed over his face. "The hell..."
"I'm tryin' ta help," Murphy said, ignoring the reaction. They could worry about dopplegangers and shit later. At least he knew now that bullshit about dying when you meet yours was a lie.
"I don't need nobody's help." The man pushed Murphy's arm away.
"Well, fuck you then. Go on and do it yourself," Murphy said. He stood up and tugged Connor back toward the two dead ones, pulling his rosary out of his shirt while he muttered obscenities.
They said the prayer while the man grunted behind them.
"Who ya prayin to? Obviously ain't nobody there." he asked when they walked back over to him.
"None of your fuckin' business," Murph answered.
"Wanna tell me what the hell you two are doing here. Long way from the motherland, ain't it?"
"We fell," Murphy said, looking back up the cliff.
"Been a lot of that goin' around," he said, screwing up his face as he pulled the neon orange and green fletching through the wound. He exhaled, the breath ragged and edged with pain. "Damn."
"We've got some supplies. Can help you clean it up." Murphy pulled the pack off his shoulders and dug around for bandages and alcohol.
"Got a doctor back at camp. Just got to get there."
"We'll help ya," Murphy said.
"Already told ya, I don't need nobody's help," he said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "And you ain't coming back with me neither."
Murphy was about to open his mouth to tell the guy to go fuck himself, that he probably would have been corpse food if they hadn't been there, but Connor spoke first. And it had to be fucking reasonable-as-fuck Connor too.
"We understand," he said. "Don't want to be steppin' on anybody's toes. I'm Connor by the way. This is my brother, Murphy." Connor put his hand out.
"Daryl." He eyed Connor's hand for a moment and took it, grunting as he stood up.
"Well, Daryl, we'll just be givin' you these bandages and goin' on our way then," Connor said, nodding at Murphy.
"He's already said he doesn't want our help," Murphy said, tossing his cigarette. "Shouldn't give him shit."
"He's right," Daryl said. "You shouldn't be giving stuff to people you don't know. Not anymore." Daryl pulled off his filthy shirt and pressed it against the wound. Connor snatched the bandages out of Murphy's hands.
"Now, you'll only make it worse," Connor said. He tried to tug the shirt out of Daryl's hands, but Daryl shoved him away. Connor stumbled a bit.
"Look here, you riverdancing leprechaun—" Daryl stopped talking when Murphy shoved his gun in his face, the silencer nearly touching his nose. He shook his head. "Gonna shoot me? Go ahead."
Murphy stared at Daryl a minute, blue eyes squinting at identical blue eyes.
"No, I'm not, but if you touch my brother like that again, I'll fuckin' kill ya."
"Tell your brother to keep his damn hands off me and I won't." Daryl turned around before Murphy had even holstered his gun.
"Well, the bastard's tough. Got to give him that," Connor said after they watched Daryl pull himself up over the top of the cliff.
"Should we just let him go like that?" Murphy said, pulling himself up a little further using a root.
"Fuck no. The state he's in. We've got to follow him and make sure he's alright." Connor reached the top and held his hand out for Murph, hoisting his brother up the rest of the way.
"Bullshit."
"It's the right thing to do, Murph."
"The fuck do you know? He could easily be one of the lost sheep who needs our guidance," Murphy said, patting his gun.
"I just know," Connor said.
"It's just because he looks like me. You feel like you have to protect him or some shit." Murphy lit up another cigarette, blew the smoke in Connor's face. Connor smacked him on the back of the head.
"Just keep your steps light, and make sure we don't lose his trail."
"Keep my steps light?" Murphy said. "The fuck are you on about?"
"I don't fuckin' know. It's covert and shit," Connor answered. Murphy shook his head.
"We're just makin' sure he gets there and then goin' on our own right?"
"Aye."
They followed Daryl's trail, and it was an easy one, cut deep through the leaves from him both limping and dragging his crossbow behind him.
"A farm," Murphy said when they could finally see the house. A pang of nostalgia slithered down into his stomach for his dad's farm in Ireland, and then he was focused on Daryl again, on the men running toward him with weapons.
"Shit, should we...?"
"They're his people. They'll recognize him," Connor said, briefly squeezing Murphy's shoulder. The men lowered their weapons after a moment. "Told ya."
But before the brothers could turn to leave, a gunshot cracked through the air, and Daryl fell to the ground.
"Christ," Connor yelled, taking off through the trees without hesitation.
So much for that doppleganger stuff being bullshit, Murph thought.