A/N: I've just acquainted myself with the fic "Road to Nowhere" by JadeSun12 (my only regret is that I hadn't read it sooner, it rocks) and imagine my surprise when I discovered that story also has its own Big Rock. I swear, I hadn't even glanced at JadeSun12's story when I wrote the previous chapter. It's just one of life's coincidences!
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead isn't mine. This fic is simply an homage to another's genius. It's only theft if I make money off of this, which I definitely won't.
Jessie indicated when to turn by pointing over Daryl's shoulder, the motorcycle's roar making verbal communication difficult. They reached the Big Rock far sooner than the girls had on their bicycles, the trip having taken a little over fifteen minutes. Daryl killed the engine and he and Jessie dismounted. He could see Lia's bike and backpack where she'd left them leaning against the boulder.
"Where'd Tanya see the smoke?"
Jessie pointed. She followed Daryl as he rounded the boulder and squinted into the distance. The plume of smoke was still there, a blatant signal to someone's presence. Daryl turned his attention to the ground and soon picked out Lia's tracks leading away from the Big Rock. He turned to Jessie. "Take Lia's bike 'n' head on back."
The girl's jaw dropped. "What? Bu-"
"No buts," the man snapped, "I let ya come this far, but if y' think I'm bringin' you along to whatever the hell Lia's headed to, you gotta 'nother think comin'. Lia would fuckin' kill me, fer one thing."
Jessie balled her fists, her pretty face set in a stubborn scowl. "I'm not some little kid. I can help! There could be twenty guys out there holding Lia prisoner and you won't be able to rescue her alone!"
Daryl growled in frustration. His first instinct was to get in the girl's face and bellow her into submission. It was the sort of tactic his old man always resorted to. Daryl paced back and forth to walk of the initial frustrated anger, then turned to the girl and said as calmly as he could, "I know yer scared fer Lia and y' wanna help, but if sumthin' bad is out there somebody's gotta warn everyone back home."
"That's crap," Jessie spat, "You're just trying to find a reason for me not to go with you."
Daryl suddenly lunged forward and gripped the girl's shoulders in his large hands. Jessie stared up at him, wide-eyed and slightly scared by the intensity in his expression. His fingers dug almost painfully into her shoulders. "You ain't a little kid anymore, but yer still a kid, and I ain't lettin' you take any stupid risks with yer life," he gave her a firm shake for emphasis, "Understand me?"
The girl swallowed her protests and gave a reluctant nod. Daryl released her and stepped back. She rubbed the dull ache from her shoulders, her glare sullen and resentful.
Daryl pointed at Lia's things. "Now take th' bike and Lia's pack 'n' head for home. Don't try anythin' cute like circlin' back 'n' followin' me, 'cuz I'll know if yer there."
Jessie's eyes stung and her lip began to tremble. She hated to show such weakness, but didn't know how to hold it back. "I wanna help," her voice cracked.
Daryl's features softened just a fraction. "I know."
Jessie sniffed and walked over to the boulder. She picked up Lia's pack, slung it over her shoulders, slipped her bow into the clamp on the side of Lia's bike and grabbed the handlebars, mounting the bike and pushing off in one fluid movement. She paused in front of Daryl, meeting the man's gaze with her own solemn look. "Bring 'er back safe."
Daryl nodded.
Jessie pedaled away, vanishing down the rocky hill. Daryl turned and headed the opposite way, following Lia's trail.
Lia sprawled on top of a ridge staring through the binoculars. She'd been careful to pick a shaded spot so as not to give herself away by sunlight reflecting off the binoc lenses. Gazing at the scene below, she felt as if she'd slipped into a Mad Max movie. There were four people in a little clearing just off the side of an old paved road so overlooked the asphalt was more cracks than anything. Three men and one woman, all of them filthy, all of them (except the woman) armed with at least two weapons. But it was their vehicle that brought on the Mad Max vibe. Once upon a time it was some yuppie's luxury Hummer, now armored in layers of sheet metal, coils of barbwire, and metal spikes, leaving only the barest slits open at the front and sides for driving and shooting through. It was the most ridiculously impractical thing Lia had ever seen. She could just imagine the quantities of fuel that monster guzzled.
The woman seemed to be doing all the grunt work while the men just stood around passing a bottle between them and occasionally barking orders at her. At one point one of them got mad and hurled the now empty bottle at the woman's head. She barely ducked in time and the bottle hit the ground and rolled off into the underbrush. The men all had a good laugh at the cringing woman's expense.
The fire which had given their position away was being used to cook a large hunk of meat set on a spit. Lia had no idea what kind of animal it came from, but it wasn't little, whatever it was. The woman licked her lips hungrily while she turned the spit. Judging from her gaunt features compared to the men's robustness, it was doubtful she'd be getting much if any of the meat for herself.
These people were trouble. Lia was just grateful there were so few of them. She would need to tell the others to keep a low profile for the next few days. If they were very lucky, this small gang would pass them by, none the wiser. If not...well, they knew how to fight back.
The woman prodded the meat with her finger, hastily licking the juices from her fingertip. She called out and quickly darted aside as the men approached with knives drawn. Lia watched as they hacked into the meat, cramming hunks into their mouths and smearing their faces with grease. Not a pretty sight. The woman crouched a few feet away and watched anxiously as the meat steadily dwindled. Finally, when there were just a few scraps clinging to the bone, one of the men lifted the spit and tossed it carelessly in the woman's direction. The woman scrambled to pick it up. Heedless of the dirt embedded in it, she began to gnaw hungrily.
Lia felt her stomach churn, not at the woman's wretchedness, but at the sight of the bone. She wasn't an expert, but she recognized a human femur when she saw it. Shit, cannibals on top of everything else! All they needed was an old nuclear missile to worship and their cliché apocalyptic villainy would be complete.
Lia screwed the caps onto the binoculars' lenses and inched away from the ridge. She'd seen enough. Time to head for home and warn everybody.
A distant hum reached her ears and she tensed. Below she heard the men's voices rise. The hum quickly rose into the distinctive growl of a motor. Curiosity got the best of her and Lia cautiously scooted back up to her previous spot, uncapping the binocs once again and raising them to her eyes. A fourth man arrived riding an old four-wheeled ATV. Judging from the sharp gestures towards the fire and the yelling, he wasn't too thrilled the others ate dinner without him. Something was tethered to the back of the four-wheeler, a wadded mess of netting concealing something that moved feebly. Lia felt a glimmer of dread.
The fourth man dismounted and led the others to the bundle. A jab of someone's boot motivated whatever was in there to struggle more energetically. The men laughed as they bent down to disentangle their captive. The struggles grew more violent, the men's amusement increased. Two of them grabbed hold and dragged their captive free of the netting, and Lia felt the bottom of her stomach fall away. Bloodied and battered, snarling with impotent rage...Daryl.
Oh god. The words repeated themselves over and over, Lia's atheism momentarily washed away in a tide of fear. Ohgodohgodohgod...
Daryl should've shot the fucker the second he laid eyes on him. He'd been following Lia's tracks, hoping he wasn't too late, when he heard the sound of a motor coming towards him. At first, he couldn't pinpoint what direction it came from, the sound reverberated all around him, off every tree. He only had a couple seconds to aim his crossbow before the ATV emerged from the undergrowth. The rider looked just as startled by the encounter as Daryl. He brought his four-wheeler to a halt and held up both hands. "Whoa! Don't shoot, now!"
"Who th' fuck 're you?" Daryl growled, glaring down the length of his crossbow.
"Nobody! Who th' fuck 're you?"
Daryl ignored the question. "You travelin' with anybody else?"
"Nah, man," the stranger lowered his hands a fraction, "Jus' me, all by my lonesome."
"Keep yer fuckin' hands up!"
"Easy, man! I ain't here t' give ya grief. Yer the one who's pointin' arrows at folks." The guy looked genuinely hurt by Daryl's lack of social graces. His face and hands were smeared with grime, and he dressed like someone who'd raided an old army surplus store. Combat boots, camo pants, vintage army jacket, and an old army cap worn backwards. He looked like one of those crazy military enthusiasts Merle used to hang out with. Daryl bet the guy used to spend his weekends shooting empty beer cans with an M16.
The stranger's hands dropped a little lower.
"I said keep yer hands up!"
"C'mon! My arms 're gettin' tired," the man whined.
"Get off th' four-wheeler."
"'Kay. Cool." He shifted as if to dismount, then without warning his hands grabbed the handlebars and the ATV surged forward. Daryl hastily leaped aside with a curse as the vehicle cannoned past him. He spun and aimed his crossbow again. The stranger looked at him over his shoulder and grinned. There was a loud bang, something rocketed from the back of the four-wheeler and quickly unfurled. Before Daryl had a chance to react he found himself covered in synthetic nylon mesh. A net launcher? Are you fuckin' kidding me?
His feet were suddenly yanked out from under him and he fell with a hard thud. The next thing Daryl knew, he was being dragged through the woods, thumping against rocks and jutting roots, sideswiping tree trunks, so hopelessly tangled he couldn't even reach his knife to cut himself loose. His captor whooped as they sped through the woods. Bastard seemed to choose the roughest terrain to drive over. An interminable time later they finally stopped. Through the haze of pain, Daryl was surprised to discover he was still conscious. He heard several new voices, but was too addled to make sense of what they said.
He felt tugging on the net and began to thrash. Hands grabbed his ankles and dragged him into the open. Daryl lost his grip on his crossbow, leaving it still tangled up in the net. He blinked up at four sneering faces.
"Damn, son!" one of them exclaimed, "You brought us a lively 'un!"
Another one prodded Daryl's ribs. "Looks like he's been eatin' regular. Lotta meat on 'im."
The way he said meat, the way they all leered down at him, hungrily. Daryl knew he was in deep shit.
"Get offa me!" He lashed out, clipping one of them on the jaw with his fist, little more than a glancing blow. The guy was pissed anyway and kicked him viciously in the side. Daryl grunted in pain. His hand scrabbled at his hunting knife, but one of his captors beat him to it.
"Uh-uh!" the man waved the blade in front of his nose like a chiding finger, "Ain't nice pullin' knives on folks."
A swift, slicing motion, and Daryl felt a searing pain as his cheek was laid open. He roared, thrashing against his captors even harder. Fists and boots connected in harsh blows. His body was flipped so he lay face-down in the dirt. A savage stomp to the kidneys caused his vision to whiteout for an instant. Through the agony he was dimly aware of his arms getting yanked back and his wrists tied. The rope binding his wrists was then looped around his neck.
He knew what was coming. He tried to brace himself. But really, there was no way for anyone to prepare themselves for something like this.
A hard pull and the rope tightened around his throat. Daryl's upper body reared up to ease the pressure. Another pull, he was on his feet. Another, and another. His feet left the ground. He choked as the loop cut off his air. It wasn't tight enough to cut off his air completely, because the same rope was also tethered to his wrists. Daryl's shoulders screamed as he forced his arms to take his weight on the rope, easing the pressure around his throat just enough to keep him from passing out. He heard the men whoop and howl with laughter at his flailing legs and reddening face. It was only a matter of time before his arms gave out and he'd suffocate. Already he was becoming tunnel-visioned, the edges of his sight lost in a gray haze. Daryl could hear the desperate thrum of his heart, all but blotting out the sadistic laughter. He knew he was going to die.
Then an arrow shot out of the surrounding woods and skewered the neck of the man who'd taken Daryl's knife. His companions fell into stunned silence as he slowly turned to face them, one hand touching his pierced throat, the other still clutching the knife. The man gurgled and blood spattered his lips.
"What th' fuck!" one of the others shouted just seconds before another arrow embedded itself in his shoulder. He shrieked.
The ATV rider raised his rifle and started firing wildly into the woods until the largest member of the group slapped his weapon down. "Quit wastin' ammo, ya dumb shit!"
"There's fuckers out there shootin' fuckin' arrows at us, Bill!"
The man with the wounded shoulder yanked the arrow out, probably causing more damage in the process. He flung the arrow aside and grabbed up his weapon. "I'm gonna kill you fuckers!" he screamed and ran out into the woods. The others quickly followed, shouting incoherent threats as they charged.
Lia crouched in the thick underbrush and watched as the three men barelled past her, not even glancing her way. She was right, these idiots didn't know the first thing about tracking. They plunged in bellowing at the tops of their lungs, scaring off every animal and probably drawing every walker for miles. She waited until the noise of their passage faded, then jumped out of hiding and dashed for the strangers' camp.
Please be alive...please be alive...
The man she'd shot through the neck had fallen to his knees. His eyes widened at the sight of her, but before he could react any further, Lia's ever-present club smashed into the side of his head. She snatched the knife from his slack fingers and ran to the tree where Daryl hung. His legs had stopped kicking and his face was a horrible purple, but his eyes were still open. They stared a silent plea at her.
"Hold on, baby." Lia sawed at the rope tied around the tree's trunk. The rope snapped and Daryl fell in a graceless heap. Lia was relieved to hear him immediately start coughing. She hurried over and cut his wrists free, then helped him sit up. Her arms went around him in a desperate hug. "I'm so sorry. Please tell me you're okay."
"I'm...I'm okay," he wheezed, forcing his rubbery arms to embrace her. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep away his agonies. But they were nowhere near safe yet. "We gotta go."
Lia helped him to his feet. Daryl stumbled over to the discarded net to retrieve his crossbow. While he did that, Lia used his knife to slash all the tires on the four-wheeler and the Mad Max vehicle. She wished she had time to do more damage, but this would have to do. She caught a glimpse of the woman cowering in some bushes. Lia held her hand out to her. "Come on. You don't hafta stay here."
The filthy woman cringed as if her hand was poison. Lia was saddened by this, but not all that surprised. If she had more time, maybe she could convince the poor thing to escape with them. But there wasn't time.
Daryl straightened with his crossbow in hand. Lia gave him back his knife, which he returned to its sheath. "Let's go," his voice had a raw edge from his near-strangulation. He and Lia left the camp behind and backtracked through the woods, alert for the slightest hint of danger. Despite the beating he took and the obvious pain he suffered, Daryl somehow found the strength to lead the way. Luck smiled on them and the made it back to the Big Rock without mishap.
"Where's my bike and backpack?" Lia asked in alarm.
Daryl mounted his motorcycle. "Jessie took 'em back. Get on." He started the motor.
Lia quickly sat behind him and put her arms around his waist. They pushed off and sped for home, bumping along the uneven terrain. Lia hoped the bastards didn't hear the motorcycle. She hoped they would give up and leave altogether. She didn't want another confrontation with them, not even out of a sense of vengeance for nearly taking Daryl from her.
Daryl. Lia trembled and clung to him tighter. He'd almost died because of her. She knew he'd been out there looking for her. It was her fault. She should have known it wasn't just her life she was risking out there.
She buried her nose against his back, breathing in the smell of him. Never again, she promised. Never again would she put herself in a situation where Daryl felt he had to come after her. Nothing was worth his life.