Credit goes to my Australian, Sammy, for the joke Connor makes after they get Daryl to the house.
"Oh God. Is he dead?" The blond sprinted across the field, feet pounding the grass. Connor had one arm under Daryl, helping him to his feet before his own people even reacted. It was instinctual, just like with Murphy.
"What the fuck do ya think you're doing?" he asked. "He's alive, but ya very nearly killed him."
"Oh thank God." The blond sighed with relief and almost immediately tensed back up. "Just who the hell are you?"
"That's a very good question, Andrea, but we need to get Daryl up to the house first." The man helped support Daryl's other side, nodded at Connor. "I'm Rick."
"I was kidding," Daryl muttered. "And I told you not to follow me."
Connor ignored the statement. "Connor, and I'll help of course," he said, glancing back at the woods. Murphy took it as a signal and stepped out of the treeline, walking quickly but casually toward him.
"There any more of you?" asked a man with broad shoulders and hair shaved down to the scalp.
"Just the two," Connor said, and then Murphy was beside him and keeping stride. It was the Asian boy who noticed first.
"Guys..."
"Shut it," Murphy said. "Sick of fuckin' hearin' about it already."
"That's just uncanny," Andrea said, following them into the farmhouse. A quick word with the doctor and they had Daryl settled somewhere.
"Goin' outside to smoke. Least I don't think I can in here," Murphy said.
"No ya can't," the old vet, introduced to them as Hershel, said.
"And no ya aren't." Connor put his hand on Murphy's shoulder, and Murphy shook it off, the pack rattling on his back.
"Fuck you."
"I'll ask you watch your language too," Hershel said. "And to put away those guns as soon as you can."
Connor nodded at the old man, and then looked back at his brother. "Need to slow down on 'em or we'll be out before we find more."
"Bulls—Ya just want me in here with him." Murphy stared down at the man on the bed who glared up at him while he tried not to wince at the stitches. At least someone else hated this as much as he fucking did. Murphy turned to walk out, and Connor stopped him again. Murphy waited for something else, another bullshit attempt to keep him inside.
Instead, Connor reached up and touched the side of his head, the same spot where the bullet had grazed Daryl.
"Can ya...can ya feel anythin?" Connor started to laugh, and Murphy shoved him.
"Screw you," Murphy said. Connor started to reach for him, to get him into a headlock, but Rick stepped into the room, a map wadded up in his hand.
"I need you two out while I talk to Daryl, but don't go too far. I'll be talking to you next."
"We'll be outside," Connor said, and he and Murphy headed out of the farmhouse and sat down on the edge of the porch. They took their packs off, setting them down next to the front wall of the house. And then they sat, sharing a cigarette between them.
Murphy thumbed a hole in his jeans. "He's not me. He's not your brother."
Connor sighed. "Think I don't know that, Murph?"
"Maybe I do. Runnin' after him and shit. Makin' me follow his stupid redneck ass through the woods. Now we're at some farm in the middle of nowhere. We're supposed to be in Atlanta, remember? Not playin' the fuckin' Red Cross."
"Did you say Atlanta?"
Murphy looked up. Rick stood behind them, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"Aye," Connor said, snuffing out the cigarette butt and dropping it into the weeds next to the porch. "We were headed to the CDC."
"Mhmm," Rick said, sitting down next to Murphy. "Hate to break it to you, but the CDC is gone."
"Ya sure?" Murphy asked. Great. That was all Connor needed—another fucking excuse to hang around here.
"We all nearly died when the place went up," Rick said. "I'd say I'm pretty sure."
"We'll just need a new plan then," Murphy said, turning to look at his brother. "Plenty of other places we could go."
"Think we'll be stayin' put here tonight." Connor looked at Rick. "That is if it's alright with you. We've got our own shit. Don't want to cause any trouble."
"I think we should take off. Camp in the woods again." Murphy looked back at his pack. If he grabbed it and started walking, would Connor follow? Of course he would. How could he even fucking think that? Connor must have sensed what he was thinking. He reached out and clapped his hand down on Murphy's shoulder, gave him a simple glance. But it was enough.
"Connor's right," Rick said. "It's getting late, and you'd be a lot better off here with us. Didn't catch your name yet by the way."
"It's Murphy."
"Told you, didn't I?" The man with the buzzcut stepped around the corner of the house where he'd clearly been listening.
"Yeah, Shane, you did."
"Told him what?" Connor asked.
"Told him that we've got ourselves a couple of saints here," Shane said. "How many police drawings did I see of you two? We got 'em even down here in Georgia. Something about Daryl always felt familiar. Guess I know why now."
"Is that gonna be a problem?" Murphy tensed up a bit, ready to jump and defend his brother at a moment's notice.
Shane started to laugh. "Hell no. Always thought you two was right." He looked at Rick. "Besides, we need some more real men around here."
Things fell silent for a second, Rick looking at Shane, his jaw taut. Murphy could tell there was something wrong there—bad blood in what had once been a strong friendship. Guess the dead getting up and walking around can put some real strain on a relationship.
"Look, I don't know if I condone what you two did," Rick said. He shook his head. "You are still about not harming the innocent, right?"
Connor smiled and clapped his hand down on Murphy's shoulder. "Fuck. Haven't killed anythin' actually livin' in months, eh Murph?"
"All I see are a couple of men who actually know how to handle a gun," Shane said. He smiled and shook his head. "The saints, man. Can't believe it."
"You'll need to put those up somewhere," Rick said, pointing at the guns holstered on their sides. Shane's face twitched at the suggestion.
"Aye, the old man told us as much," Connor said.
"Then just set up camp wherever you're comfortable." Rick pointed toward the campsite. "Don't give me a reason to regret this."
"Be on our way soon enough," Murphy said, fiddling with the cigarette pack and wishing he could take another. Connor was right though. He needed to slow down. But life was pretty fucking stressful lately, and the cigarettes, well, they also seemed to numb his ability to smell the stench of the dead in the air.
"Now," Connor said, "I'm betting that little private campground there belongs to Daryl." He pointed at the tent far away from the others.
"You'd be right," Rick said.
"We're not sleepin' near him," Murphy said. "You'll be sleepin' alone."
"Don't get your panties in a twist, Murph. I'm just gettin' the lay of the land here." Connor ruffled his hair, and Murphy smacked his arm before standing up and grabbing his pack. He walked toward the tent city, determined to get there before Connor. He would be picking the fucking spot, ensuring they were as far away from Daryl's site as possible. Fuck, if he never saw that man again, it would be too soon.
He sat his things down a little ways from the main group, on the side opposite of Daryl's camp.
"This is a nice spot, Murph," Connor said. Murphy looked at him, ready for a sarcastic remark or a smirk, but Connor just opened his backpack and started to pull out tent stakes. Murphy paused to look out across the fields, at the vast expanse of farmland. He noticed Connor looking too.
"Do ya miss him?"
"Who? Da? Course I do." Connor helped Murphy spread out the corners of the tent. "But he went down fighting. All any of us can hope for, really. Especially now."
They had the tent up in minutes with all of the efficiency of two men who spent every night in one. They took their guns off and put them in the corner, both feeling a little naked without them.
"Guess we don't need to take turns keepin' watch tonight," Connor said. "We could actually get a full night in for a change."
"We've only got the one sleepin' bag." Murphy took it off the back of his pack and laid it down inside the tent. Connor pulled out his tattered pea coat from the bottom of his bag and laid it out on the ground.
"Give me yours."
Murphy dug his out and Connor laid it down too. The two of them looked at the sleeping bag and the little makeshift pallet of coats, then at each other.
There was a brief moment, a stare-down, where they looked into each others' eyes. Then Connor squinted and cocked his head, smirking. Murphy lunged for the sleeping bag.
"Oh no ya don't. Older brother gets that privilege." Connor grabbed him around the middle and pulled him away, stepping around him in the process.
"Like hell ya are." Murphy pushed Connor toward the coats, smiling. "Ya heard what Ma said. Makes me older."
"Ya fuckin' wish," Connor said, tackling Murphy and sending them rolling into the wall of the tent. The whole structure shook. "Do we need to see if blondie out there will take a little look for us?"
"Wouldn't be nothin' little about it." Murphy got the upper hand and pinned Connor face-down to the floor of the tent, smacking him playfully on the back a few times. "I'll be takin' the sleepin' bag then."
"Go on, then," Connor said, laughing. Murphy stood up.
"Givin' up that easy?"
"Want to go back up to the house before dark," Connor said. "We'll trade out tomorrow."
"Are ya fuckin' serious?" Murphy spat. "He doesn't need or want you up there. Motherfucker doesn't even deserve you carin' about him."
"I won't be long," Connor said, stepping out of the tent.
"Fuck you," Murphy called after him, but Connor kept walking. Murphy zipped the tent up and crawled inside of the sleeping bag. Christ, he wanted a fucking smoke. He could feel the pack in his back pocket. Maybe he'd smoke 'em all before Connor got back. Yeah, then Connor would fuckin' kill him.
It was dark inside, dusk settling into night. He left the sleeping bag half-unzipped, letting a little air filter in. It was still too hot to cocoon inside of it.
He thought of Connor up there in the farmhouse, fretting over a stranger just because he had his fucking face. He half-wished the motherfucker would have just died, and then he shook the thought away as a terrible one before curling up.
Normally, it would be too early to for him to even consider sleeping, but nights of only half-resting had caught up with him, and even though he tried to wait for Connor to come back, his eyelids wouldn't cooperate. He was asleep within minutes, his jealousy fading away into dreams, nightmares.