"I was leaving the pharmacy, everything was fine, and by the way it is crazy how well stocked a Wal-Mart pharmacy is. Anyway, there was a gunshot, and another and another, and then he started screaming," Glenn's voice is quiet, wavers at the difficult points, but he plows forward. "I was pretty sure I was too late but I ran for him anyways, because there was a chance, you know? But I wasn't quick enough, got there just in time to see them, uh, finish with. Well. Someone. I couldn't really tell… Anything." He closes his eyes for a second, then a dog squirms in his lap and he comes back to himself.
"I was ready to turn around and leave, really quick and quiet, they were too worked up after having eaten, but then I heard barking. It sounded so. God, it was terrible. I just- I had to. So I followed the barking, to here, just a little bit outside the office.
The dog was trying to fight off this walker, but it'd already got- I think it had one of them already, I think there was something in its hands and she just, went crazy. And then another one showed up and the-" he looks away, swallows hard and blinks a few times. "They were eating her. I couldn't- The noises she was making- And then I realized there were puppies, and- I shot her, I had to, and them too, and then I had to run for the office and block myself inside. I was going to wait until the geeks lost interest and then find a way out. Then I saw them. And I couldn't bring them with me, not by myself, but. I couldn't leave them either. Not after that, knowing what they'd," he stops talking, suddenly looks really young, and as though he's about to burst into tears.
"Jesus, Glenn. That's awful," Rick sympathises. He is watching the hallway as Shane wedges the door shut, and neither is looking over to notice Glenn's distress. Daryl crouches down next to him. Glenn looks over, eyes glassy, scowling and blinking hard, just daring Daryl to make fun.
He nods at him, just once, reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. Glenn gives him a watery smile, diluted by the sadness but a smile and that's enough. "Let's see 'em, then," Daryl says gruffly, reaching out to pluck a dog from where they'd piled into and around Glenn's lap and mostly fallen asleep. It isn't quite fit-in-one-hand small, but it is pretty damn small, and clearly exhausted. He smiles despite himself as it wakes up when he lifts it, blinks at him and bites his finger. Right then Daryl decides he likes this dog, scratches it gently along the back. Glenn, watching, snickers and Daryl has to clamp down on the frankly retarded urge to stick his tongue out.
Shane walks closer almost hesitantly, drops to his knees unceremoniously in front to Glenn. Picks up a dog and brings it up close to his face with a smile and it licks him right on his big, freaky nose and you can see him fall in love with it, face going soft and open and unexpectedly handsome. Daryl blinks. Frowns. Shakes his head sharply until the thought goes away.
Thank fucking god for the small mercies, at least.
"I- I don't even like dogs," Glenn confesses. He's sitting cross-legged on the pile of bedding, one dog lying across his lap, petting the other where it is curled up next to him. It is a fairly ridiculous thing to say, all things considered. Daryl, still scratching the fuzzy little creature that's sprawled trustingly across his thighs, just quirks his brow skeptically. Glenn catches his look and laughs weakly.
"Okay, I guess that's not really true. They seem to like me, and, and I like them too. But I don't know the first thing about dogs, I've never had one. I just couldn't let the geeks get them. I couldn't. And I thought, maybe it'd be good if the kids had something to think about, you know, something to take care of, be happy about. And." He swallows, lowers his voice until it's barely audible, and looks at the floor. "Um. You said you missed your dog. So I thought of you, too, I guess."
Well. Shit. "What, little ole me?" he says it teasingly, adds some extra twang for effect, but he's surprised and a little flattered. He had mentioned the dog a while ago, the night they stayed at the CDC.
He had been in the dining room with Glenn and T-Dog well after the rest had gone off, probably to screw each other, or to drink and cry alone in their rooms. Daryl is uncharitably certain that that is all the fuckers do when they're not busy running for their lives.
Daryl had been imagining Merle's head exploding if he'd walked into the room at that moment, his little brother sitting around drinking and laughing in such mixed company.
T-Dog, rapidly approaching maudlin drunk, started off on how he missed his girlfriend. Daryl, who had been in a surprisingly good mood for once, had half a mind to toss his bottle at him for bringing bitching into it. He had, in fact, threated to do just that before Glenn took the bottle from him and downed way more than was wise, and both Daryl and T-Dog had had to cheer him on (or jeer, in Daryl's case) when he slammed it down afterwards, coughing furiously.
Then, he said that he missed his grandmother. He hadn't been too good with his parents, but the old lady was apparently something else. He doesn't know what happened to her, when the world ended. He misses her cooking, and the way her house would always smell a little bit like jasmine. Daryl had told himself firmly (and probably not out loud) that he was a pussy for wanting to tell the chink that he was sorry for his grandmother, and to just keep his damn fool tongue inside his damn fool head until they stop talking about this.
They'd both glanced to where Daryl sits on the table, one leg drawn up to his chest, and he glared back. Informed them they were both giant moaning bitches and that he wasn't going to oblige them by growing tits, thank you very much. They had turned away, T-Dog first and then Glenn after some hesitation.
When neither was looking at him, he'd sighed. Dropped his head back to look at the ceiling. "My dog," he said, still staring striaght up. Easier to talk if he pretends there's no one there. "Big, mean old bastard. Some Rottweiler in him, mostly mutt. Wouldn't let anyone touch him, not even Merle. Almost bit his hand clean off once." He laughed, almost fondly. "But he took to me. If I'da let him, he'da slept in my bed with me. Dog was loyal as, well, as a dog. Wagged his tail like a puppy for me," and then his throat started getting tight and he'd shut up. It could have ended there but Glenn asked him what happened to the dog, and his voice was so much closer that Daryl had had to look down to check where he was. He'd caught Glenn's eye, and then had a bit of trouble looking away. And for whatever reason, he had answered the question.
"When I wised up to what was going on with the geeks, about the biting, I knew he was fucked, poor bastard. He bit things that he didn't like, and he didn' really like anything but me, and I wouldn' let him turn into them. I didn't know if it happened to dogs, but I wasn' taking the chance.
Lived way out from town; I had some time before the real crazy showed up. So I let him sleep on my bed that night. Next day I took him out to the woods. Let him run wild. Gave him his favourite food. And I shot him. Left to go get Merle and get the fuck out of there that same day."
He and Glenn were still sharing that strange, intense look, and Daryl was horrified to feel a hot stinging in his eyes, promising salty humiliation if he stuck around. He had snarled, cursed, and shoved himself off the table. He was attempting to storm out when Glenn put his hands on Daryl's shoulders, said I'm sorry you had to do it. T-Dog added in, that's really awful. He may even have allowed Glenn a quick, heartfelt hug before retreating hastily to his room.
He hadn't even thought that Glenn remembered then night; he'd had enough to drink that if he were the forgetting type it would be gone, and apparently the mother of all hangovers to prove it. That he bothered to remember is a little flattering. Daryl can feel the back of his neck getting hot; can feel the corners of his lips curling up. But he is also acutely aware of the other two men in the room.
So he looks at the dogs instead. They've got German Shepherd colouring but they could easily be mutts, it's too early to be sure. They look maybe seven or eight weeks old. They're smaller than they should be, a little underfed, but not starving. The comically oversized paws, like dinner plates at the end of sweetly fuzzy limbs, hint at a lot of growth to come, and the one in his arms is waking up and looking lively and clever.
They've got a pretty good chance at survival, Daryl decides. He is completely unaffected by the gutsy little creature currently attacking a dangling thread from his shirt. Completely uninfluenced. One look at Shane, clearly won over completely, says he has reached the same conclusion.
Rick is still by the door, uneasy and antsy to be back. He can't stop thinking about the last time he left the group all alone to go retrieve somebody. But he's really not sure about the dogs. "Look, I don't know about this. I love dogs as much as the next guy," Daryl watches Glenn curl over the dogs protectively as Rick continues, "And full-grown dogs? I'd love to have one around. But puppies?"
He sees Glenn, almost heartbroken and Daryl already bristling before Rick can suggest anything. He looks at Shane, with an honest, happy, uncomplicated smile for the first time in weeks and the sight of it has him crumbling like a cheap pastry. The rest of his objections die on his lips. Even the one about zombie dogs, and how truly goddamn horrific that would be.
The dogs are coming with them. But there are going to be some serious rules about this, damnit. And if he's really lucky people will listen to one in ten of those rules. He sighs. "So, dogs are coming with us, then. Glenn, you have the stuff you came for?"
"Yeah, it's all in there," Glenn jerks his head towards his backpack, not quite relaxing yet.
"Okay. We can't risk them running off and bringing walkers down on us; we'll have to carry them. I'll carry that; the dogs go in Shane's bag, Glenn, can you carry them? I need the rest of us to have free hands," Glenn gives him a quick nod and Shane slides his bag over. The bag is big, meant to be slung over a shoulder, and once they are done Glenn dissolves into helpless laughter at the sight of four irritated heads and assorted paws peeking out from the zippered opening. But none of the dogs are whimpering or in pain, and they really need to get going so it will have to do.
"We parked next to you, we just need to get out there. If we get split up I'm with Shane, Daryl you're with Glenn. We head for the cars, and wait there until dawn, and then head back to camp. Alright? Let's get gone, then."
Getting out of the Wal-Mart turns out to be easy, leaving through the staff entrance since there are still walkers pressing their horrible rotting faces to the front windows. Getting out of the alley that leads to it is going to be harder, as it has filled up with walkers.
"Fuck!" Glenn yelps, just as Rick is yelling "Run!" They don't really need the encouragement. Shane takes off down the alley, the opposite direction from where they need to be but that is a concern to be considered when there are ravenous zombies beginning to pay attention. Rick and Daryl are hard on his heels, but Glenn's got the dogs and he's being too careful with them, not moving fast enough. Daryl glances back and he's losing ground. Not much, still several yards ahead of the shambling mass and they won't catch him right away, but if this turns into a real pursuit Glenn is screwed because Daryl knows, just knows that Glenn isn't going to let the dogs go when they're too slow to escape on their own.
He struggles with himself for a long moment, the pounding of running feet and the rasp of harsh breaths making the world seem so simple, the darkness turning it into a moment from a nightmare, a scenario straight from the hindbrain. Black and white, do or die. It would be easy, completely forgivable, to just keep running and let the kid take care of himself. Daryl knows Glenn's completely capable of it, that if it came right down to a real do or die moment Glenn would do what he had to rather than give in. Daryl likes that about him.
But. It would kill something in him to have to let those damn dogs die, and it would probably be one of those somethings that Daryl likes about Glenn.
Shit.
"Shit," he mutters, partly because it bears repeating and partly because he is a little astonished at his own idiocy. They skid around a corner into a residential area and he figures this is the best chance he is going to get; the geeks might not see them duck inside a building, if he's quick and lucky. Because he's lucky all the fucking time. Shit. "Go on ahead, draw them off," he pitches his voice for the two men just ahead of him. "We'll catch up." Rick looks over his shoulder at him, confusion writ plain on his face. Then he sees Glenn, holding the bag steady and slowly falling behind, and nods, grabs Shane and slows right down.
"Understood. We'll bring 'em after us, meet you by the cars," Rick stops, catching his breath and getting ready to run again when the geeks round the corner.
Before he can talk himself out of it Daryl slams a shoulder into a likely-looking wooden back door leading into a house that looks mostly intact and structurally sound. It gives too much under his weight and he's afraid for a moment that it will break completely rather than breaking the lock. But the door gives and the wood stays solid. As Glenn catches them up and skids to a halt, Daryl grabs him by the collar and yanks him into the doorway. "Good luck," Rick says, low and urgent, and slams the door as the distinctive wet, scraping of the geeks' footsteps get closer.
Which leaves Daryl standing in the doorway, one hand on his crossbow and the other full of Glenn's shirt. Glenn, who is panting and confused and holding an armful of squirming, agitated dog. The wide-eyed staring gets old pretty quick, right about the same time that Daryl realizes that this close to the door the walkers can probably still smell them. And that it is stunningly stupid not to have checked the place for walkers.
He lets go of the kid's shirt, steps back, looks away. Stalks off in the direction of the stairs, throws back over his shoulder, "Make sure the ground floor is clear. Yell if it's more'n you can kill on your own." He's pissed with Glenn and the dogs and the walkers for making him do this idiotic thing, and Rick and Shane for letting him. And himself, if he's being honest. But fuck honesty. Honesty is for the kind of idiotic, sentimental twats that run around risking their lives saving puppies. Puppies, for god's sake.
…Of course, that'd be Daryl as well as Glenn, or else he wouldn't be holed up in a shitty little house in Buttfuck, Nowhere, hiding with a soft-hearted chink and a bucketful of dogs and a hoard of undead hungry, hungry hippos outside the door. Fuck's sake. Puppies. Daryl might as well start wearing a little rainbow flag like a motherfucking cape, it'd be about as subtle.
Note: As I have it planned, this should end around fifteen chapters. They're getting away from me a bit, though, and the next part in particular is being difficult, so I'm ending it on that weird mental image.
