Enjoy

Tension weighs heavy in the air as Daryl glares down the end of his crossbow at Noah, who is standing against the brick wall with his hands raised, being careful not to make any sudden movements. His body is lean, but does not appear fit, which causes Daryl to wonder what Noah's been doing for the last two years since the turn. His clothes, like their own are caked in blood, dirt and sweat from the fight with the walkers, but to Daryl it makes no mind. He remains apprehensive. Glen is also leary and has his gun pointed at the kid with no intention of lowering it just yet. It doesn't take a genius to know that trusting strangers will get you killed fast in this world.

Noah's eyes are hallow, and the bags beneath them tell a familiar story of pain and sorrow. It's clear this kid has suffered loss, but even so, Glen sees something shifty in his cold, lifeless gaze as Noah fidgets under Daryl's scrutinizing glare. "What are you doing here?" Daryl growls.

The kid's jaw juts forward and he squares his shoulders as if preparing for a fight he cannot possibly win. His stiff demeanor matches the blazing intensity in his eyes, and surprisingly he holds Daryl's stare. "Scavaging, same as you. Needed food."

Daryl doesn't lower the crossbow which is fixed at Noah's head, but he does take a step back to study the kid. He strokes the stubble at his chin with his free hand and tilts his head to the side before letting out a grunt of indifference.

"How many walkers you kill?" Glen asks.

The answer Noah gives shocks him. "twenty maybe. Killed six of them today."

Oddly enough the kid seems proud. "twenty? Since the start?"

Noah's voice suddenly becomes defensive. "My group had a home. There were fences. No need for me to go beyond them, at least not until a couple of months ago."

"What happened then?" Daryl bluntly asks.

"There was an explosion and the place went up in smoke. My group scattered after that. I stuck close to my cousin Albert. He was one of our best hunters. My job was to keep watch. I mostly just stayed in the woods and tried to sneak around the dead unseen. Albert was the killer."

Glen's eyes dart around the alley while Daryl keeps his trained on Noah.

"Where's Albert now?" Glen ask cautiously.

Not a beat passes before Noah replies, "eaten." He gives a quick flick of his head, motioning in the direction of the grocery store, yet he doesn't seem too broken up about it.

Glen narrows his eyes. Somethings just not adding up here.

Daryl's stern face gives nothing away as he picks up the line of questioning. "How many people you kill?" He snaps it out for effect.

The kid's eyes open wide and he begins scanning the alley. His body is rigid and Daryl watches as his hand slides closer to his gun.

"I will kill you dead boy!" Daryl makes no bones about it. He is not playing games.

Glen watches the scene play out before him. There is something off about this kid, but he just can't put his finger on it. Upon first glance Noah doesn't look like much of a threat, but moments ago he shot those creatures like it was nothing. Glen scans the ground until he finds them. The two walkers, each with a bullet hole right between the eyes. Seems pretty good for a kid who's spent all his time avoiding walkers in the woods.

A crash of thunder hammers through the air, and with it comes the wind. It blows omminous black storm clouds over the abandoned town, blocking out the sun and leaving a grey cast to the sky.

Storms are common this time of year, but it does nothing to ease Glen's worry. They've all seen what happens when a storm blows in. The walkers become unpredictable. Something about the sound of the thunder only adds to their unnatural aggression. They gather in larger groups until the inevitable happens and lightening sparks. Instinctually they will vear towards the light and it makes them exceedingly hard to avoid.

The sky grows darker as Noah slowly raises his hands back into the air. His hazel eyes are ice-cold, the black pupils in the center, but tiny pin pricks now. When he finally answers Daryl's question his tone lacks emotion, but Daryl can sense fear floating just below the surface. "One," Noah answers, shifting uncomfortably under Daryl's impenetrable stare.

The hunter's eyes narrow further. "Why?"

As if on cue, the gusting wind current blows the putrid stench of decay straight up Glen's nostrils, causing his stomach to lurch and twist, The sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh mixed with bloods metallic odour burns at the back of his throat and stings his eyes as he tries to keep focus on Noah. Daryl eyes lock onto the kid, and Glen is amazed how unaffected Daryl seems by the un-Godly smell, or if he is he never allows it to give way on his face. He is a machine.

"I asked you a question boy. You best be answering it."

Another loud boom echos all around them, followed by a bright flash light in the distance. Fat drops of rain slowly begin to fall.

Noah clears his throat and concedes to the demand. "There were thirty-nine of us at the start. My mother wanted to form a community, a sanctuary for all people. My older brother Gareth was leary, but he wanted to please her. For the first time since the start she felt safe. We started growing vegetables in makeshift gardens and organizing runs. Everyone helped each other, and a council was formed. They decided that the best way to bring in more people was put up signs and maps leading the way to our home. My other brother Alex helped push the project along, while Gareth handed out tasks for me within the confines of the Terminus."

"Terminus?"

"It's what we called it."

Daryl just shakes his head. He just cannot believe what he hears. How the hell could these people be that stupid. He looks over at Glen only to find the same shocked expression residing there. They already know were this story is going.

The level of Daryl and Glen's surprise is not lost on Noah, and his now sad eyes dart between them. "You've lived out there, I can tell. Can see it in your eyes. You already know what happened don't you?"

Daryl relaxes his bow slightly. "Got an incling to it, yah"

The kid just shakes his head. "The wrong sort came. They were friendly at first but very quickly they took the place by force. They did terrible things...To the women... the kids."

Daryl feels like throwing up. "There were kids there?"

He nods. "For a time."

No longer arrogant, Noah's voice carries with it a deep sadness. "Those men were the true monsters of this world. They locked us up and used us as slaves. Worst of all they laughed. Said we were stupid and that we asked for it, and maybe we did. Either way we got the message loud and clear. Gareth refused to give up and when our moment came he lead the charge to victory over our captures. Lost a lot of friends though."

Daryl pauses, then gives a slow nod of understanding. He too knows what it feels like to lose good people. It happens all too often these days. The hunter lowers his crossbow and relaxes his shoulders. The menace and disdain that dripped off his tongue earlier is replaced by a somber tone of compassion. "Grab your shit kid. We won't hurt you. You're free to go."

Noah doesn't hesitate. He sifts through the bodies for his swich blade, grabs his worn duffel bag, and runs off in the oppisite direction.

Daryl stands quiet as watches him go. A part of him is still unsure if it's the right call. Rick usually makes these decisions though, maybe that's what's bothering him.

"Daryl man, we need to get back. This isn't going to be a sun shower!"

A slight pattering can be heard as the drops of rain hit the ground at their feet. Glen grabs his pack and begins to scour the pavement for the security bar he dropped, turning over the hulking brute of the walker who nearly ended him to retrieve it. Next he slings the rifle over his shoulder and watches as Daryl pulls four bolts from four walkers and grabs his pack as well.

They move quickly through the rain and along the back alley, heading in the direction of their next stop. The street is eerily calm, but for two stray walkers that Daryl easily takes down. They pass the car and then continue to weave a short ways down the back streets of town before Daryl points to the sign.

"You want to do the honors, or should I?" Glen asks.

"Pheff." Daryl bangs on the glass of Joe's Ammo and Hunting Supplies, then takes a seat on the narrow ledge just outside the door, with Glen taking a seat beside him. The small overhang does nothing to shelter them from the steady rain that has already soaked through to their skin. Glen looks over to see Daryl fishing out the last cigarette from his soggy pack and retrieving a lighter from inside his shirt pocket. After a few shakes the hunter manages to get a spark and quickly draws back on the cigarette to make sure its lit before he tosses the lighter on the ground. "Guess it's good that this is my last smoke. Lighter's cooked."

While waiting for walkers to show themselves inside the store Glen begins to contemplate all that has occured. He looks at Daryl and then back at his feet, as it seems his friend is deep in thought. Glen has never been good with comfortable silences and always feels the need to break them. He turns to the hunter, "You do know you made the right call, right? Rick would've done the same. Any of us would."

Even if Daryl doesn't voice it out loud, Glen can tell that it bothers him. They've been friends a long while. Saved each other's ass on more than one occassion, and he can plainly see that Daryl questions his decision to let the kid go. "We can't take people in the way we use to. It's too risky. And then there's the matter of..."

"Rhee! Will you shut the fuck up! This has nothing to do with wanting to take the kid with us."

"Really?"

Daryl takes another long pull from the cigarette and exhales slowly. "I just don't like loose ends is all."

Glen is startled by a sudden scratching on the glass. He jumps clear off the ledge and stumbles backward, slipping on the lighter, and falling flat on his ass. The dower expression on Daryl's face is immediately gone and replaced with an amused smirk. He grabs the crossbow from its resting place against the wall, then casually walks over and extends an arm out to Glen. "A bit jumpy aren't we." He doesn't hide the laughter in his voice when he says it. "Honestly, how you lasted this long is a wonder. Now quit messin' around and lets get this thing done."

They dispatch the walkers in the store with ease and then seperate to go gather what they can. Daryl finds some much needed bolts for his crossbow on the back wall of the delapitated store as well as some fishing line and tackle that the shop owner kept behind the counter.

Glen searches through a collection of long blades, but upon further inspection finds most of them rusted through. He understands why when a drop of water hits his head, and he looks up to see a gaping hole in the roof. Glen turns to leave and out of the corner of his eye spots a machete hanging on the wall. It's further down from the hole, and appears to be in near perfect condition. As Glen walks over to retrieve his prize the floorboards groan in protest under his weight, and he suddenly finds himself praying that it doesn't buckle beneath him. Grabbing the machete, Glen quickly attaches it to his belt and moves off of the rotting floor, heading over to where Daryl is hunched above the display case.

"Don't you have enough knives in your collection."

"S'not for me. It's for Beth. The one she has is dull as shit." Daryl looks down to the cut on his finger that's still tied with the piece of his shirt.

Glen's lips curl up at the corners, and the smug look on his face is enough to make the generally stoic hunter squirm. Glen's just about to make a small joke at Daryl's expense when Daryl smashes the glass and picks out a knife. Its nice too. Perfect for the petite blonde. The Gerber locking knife he chooses comes complete with hand grip, serrated blade, and black leather sheath. Definitely one of the better knives there, and Glen is impressed. "Good choice. She will really appreciate that."

"Stop!"

"I'm being serious man, it's a good choice. Suits her well." The more Glen studies the knife, the more he realizes how much thought Daryl put into chosing it. The handle is small enough it that it won't be awkward for Beth to hold, and will be useful for multipal tasks, not just killing walkers. Glen chooses his words carefully. "She'll like it."

With that Daryl shifts his feet and looks to the floor. "Just want her to be safe," he says in a low voice. A red tinge touches the tips of his ears and he quickly clears his throat in hopes Glen won't notice. "Come on, let's go."

The sky is still dark grey when they leave the shop, however the rain has subsided some. It's now just a dull drizzle. Since Daryl's pack contains the medicine, they throw the newly acquired weapons and ammunition into Glen's bag and make their way back to the civic.

Daryl sets a good pace and before long the vehicle is within eyesight. Just steps from the car Glen slows to a walk, and a moment later feels the hollow end of a gun press against the back of his head. He hears the click of the safety being released, and the sound of it echos in his ears.

With crossbow in hand, Daryl whips around as Noah's familiar voice cuts through the air. "Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. You really didn't think I would let you leave did you? Not without me. Like I said, my people are hungry. They need food."