Chapter Eight

Daryl was surprised the woman actually caught the canvas backpack he tossed her way. After so much abuse at the hands of her bastard husband – ex-husband, he corrected himself – it surprised him when she didn't flinch away from the seemingly harmless projectile. He'd be wary of things thrown at him. "This one's for y'. Try to limit it t' about three sets of clothes. Roll 'em tight; don't fold 'em. Takes up less room. You want t' be able to keep everythin' packed in case we have t' leave in a hurry. I'll show y' when we get back t' camp if y' want."

He kept the crossbow at the ready, not trusting Marty or any of her family to have secured the store very well. All he needed was to be caught off guard once. Then what would happen to Carol and Sophia? He threw a disgusted glare in his brother's direction across the wide room where he was immersed in conversation with the raven-haired woman. Trust had never been something which had come easy to him, and he had more than one reason to distrust that one. The one highest on his list was the indisputable fact she supplied Merle with more than half of his drug supply. It was never a good idea for them to be in each other's company, in his opinion. Even now he could see the blown pupil's the woman sported. She must be buzzing good. He really hoped Merle didn't try to score something with Sophia right there next to him. Drugs or otherwise.

Daryl chucked a backpack across the store and smacked his brother with it across the back of his head. "Oy! Get Sophia movin'."

Merle cursed and swung his head around to scowl blackly at his brother. "Cain't y' see I'm tryin' t' do business here!?" He winked down at Sophia. "G'on, Peach," he said in a gentler tone, retrieving the pack and handing it to her. "Find some stuff y' like and load it in there, ok?"

"I want that," she squeaked out, her eyes riveted to the wall behind the counter. When he arched a brow, she pointed to the shiny black recurve bow hanging there. "It's not as cool as Daryl's crossbow, but I want to learn how to protect us too."

"Is she fer real?" Marty asked, her brows shooting up towards her hairline. "She's just a kid."

Merle watched her shrewdly, was still studying her as Daryl and Carol came over to see what was going on. "Y' think y' could handle a weapon like that?"

"Do you?" she countered. "If you teach me, I know I could."

Daryl clenched his teeth, feeling the weight of Carol's stare. It was making him uncomfortable, as if she were waiting for him to discourage Merle from allowing Sophia to have a weapon. Why did she think he had any influence on his brother? And why the hell would she look to him for guidance with her own kid?

Then Merle surprised them both by turning a questioning look up at the girl's mother. "Up t' you, mouse. Lot less dangerous than givin' 'er a gun."

"Please, mom? I don't want to be coddled any more … like Carl." As much as she loved her friend, she didn't want Carol to continue to hover protectively over her like Lori did with Carl. She wanted to do her part and be able to contribute to her new family … and that included being able to protect herself and them. "I want to be strong like Merle and Daryl. I know you want that for yourself, and if you're gonna learn to take care of yourself, then I should be able to learn too," she declared, her mouth finally closing and pressing into a stubborn line.

"I think I'm startin' t' like her; she's ballsy!"

"Shut up, Marty!" both the brothers growled in unison.

Carol crossed her arms over her chest, biting at her lip as she looked between the wall of weapons and her daughter's hopeful gaze. "Daryl, do you think she could handle it?" Merle may be her daughter's choice of friend – and she'd never seek to break them up after the man had gotten her to come out of her shell of despair – but Daryl was hers, and she trusted him.

He shifted his feet in agitation and shrugged. "She's gotta learn sometimes I s'pose. Merle taught me," he mumbled, uncomfortable once more to be the focus of everyone's attention. "I turned out ok."

"Family, mouse. We all gotta protect each other," the elder Dixon said, his big hands curled over Sophia's shoulders in a show of support for her daughter's decision.

"You're right," Carol smiled, taking a deep breath and squaring her own shoulders. "In this new nightmare we can't afford to be defenseless."

Sophia squealed in delight.

"A'right, now let's get what we need an' get th' hell outta here." Merle dragged Sophia behind the counter and lifted the ebony bow down from the wall, placing it into her hands. "Daryl, get over here an' let's get started with the weapons. Marty can help Carol pack up some clothes an' supplies."

Daryl's eyes narrowed, not at all liking the thought of Carol out of his line of sight. "Merle – "

"Don't 'Merle' me, Darylina. Get a move on!"

*.*.*

Carol repressed a shudder as she followed the young woman down into the 'bunker' below the store by way of a rickety wooden staircase. Her mouth fell open as she took in the living area complete with a large flat screen TV and a DVD collection to put Blockbuster to shame. Comfortable leather couches, a recliner, a cheery woven rug over what looked to be a polished wooden floor in the dim light. "Do you … uhm … live here alone?"

Marty led her through the living area, past a bedroom with bunk beds, another with a large queen size bed, and a bathroom. "Nah … m' brothers are out on a run. Daddy got bit not too long before Atlanta was bombed so it's just me, Randy, and Digger. I'd offer ya'll a place with us, but Daryl don't take much to th' indoors, if y' know what I mean."

Carol smiled slightly. Next, she was led down the corridor into a huge storage area where shelves lined the wall filled with all manner of canned goods. Against one wall was a generator, and next to it were several drums which she could only assume were filled with fuel. "Daryl mentioned the owner being a survivalist. I guess he wasn't kidding."

"This ain't nothin'. We've got two more rooms just like this. Got enough stuff t' outlast th' deaders," Marty said proudly. "C'mon, I got some suitcases th' boys brought back I haven't gone through yet. Might be able t' find some underthings for you and yer girl."

Carol set her bag down next to her as Marty dragged several suitcases over to them. Upstairs she'd been able to find several pairs of jeans and a pair of brown cargo pants she'd fallen in love with, along with a few tank tops and a black button up. She'd even found a pair of boots, which were much more sensible than the flats she wore now. She knew Daryl had wanted her to find things for her and Sophia, but she couldn't help herself from stuffing a few things for the brothers into the bags. She already owed them so much.

"Y' gonna look through them things, or just sit there starin' off into nothin'?" Marty chuckled as she moved to grab a large plastic bin to fill with foodstuffs.

Carol unlatched the first one and dug through it a little guiltily. It just didn't feel right rummaging through someone's belongings. It didn't matter if they were deceased or not in her opinion. But she quickly changed her mind when she found several pairs of boxers which looked as though they'd fit Daryl. By the time Marty was done filling the bin and had started on another – this one to be stocked with all manner of meat from a deep freezer shoved against another wall – Carol had found socks, underwear and even some toiletries for all of them. The two packs she had were well stuffed, and she mentally snubbed her nose at Ed just for good measure. He probably thought he'd left her with only the clothes on her back and hadn't counted on Daryl being able to provide for her. He was definitely in for a surprise.

Carol grimaced as the woman locked the lid on the second bin. "We have no way of keeping that cold at our camp. You should keep –"

Marty waved her off and lifted it in her arms to carry upstairs. "I'm sure your camp will be more than grateful t' have some bacon and eggs for breakfast in th' mornin'. When they get a whiff of salty cured meat they'll go all caveman on you, and y' can always trade for favors. Money ain't worth shit now, but food an' favors … that'll getcha far." She paused a moment at the bottom of the stairs to level Carol with a look. "Look, honey … I owe them boys a debt I'll never be able t' repay. Just take care of 'em an' we'll call it even, ok?"

Carol stiffened her spine with determination, knowing well the feeling the woman carried for the Dixon brothers. "I will, Marty. Thank you."

*.*.*

Merle watched silently as Sophia laid everything out on the counter. She meticulously folded her new clothes, opened up a box of granola bars and bound them together with a rubber band she'd found, gathered three bottles of water, and stuffed everything inside the canvas pack with room to spare. "What's 'at?"

"Survival pack?" she ventured with a mischievous grin. She wasn't about to tell him what she'd found under the counter. She cared for him and didn't want him expiring on the spot. It was a surprise to be saved for later … much later if she had her way about it.

The redneck gaped at her. "I was gonna do that for y'," he grumbled. Before she could zip it, he shoved a quiver filled to the brim with arrows inside.

"I need to learn this stuff, though, for myself." She nodded sagely, the weight of the new world on her slim shoulders. "I'm not gonna let you down, Merle."

"No, I don't guess y' are, Peach." He watched her skip off, the pack now securely fastened to her back. What the fuck was wrong with him, he wondered. He was Merle Fucking Dixon, bad ass. He'd been in and out of trouble since he'd come squalling from the womb, and had earned his reputation. He did not go all mushy over trusting little twelve-year-old girls. He didn't even like kids. He needed to kill something … or at least beat the crap out of someone. Gawd, this sucks!

He'd have to settle for taking the stuffing out of his brother. The boy was zipping the bag of guns, concentrated on his task – well, when he wasn't stealing surreptitious glances at Carol. Merle sauntered over to Daryl's side, a slow grin curling his mouth. His brother had it bad, and instead of taking what he wanted, Daryl was the type to suffer in silence. Pussy! No reason he couldn't have a little fun.

Merle let his fingers tap against the handgun laying on the counter, one of a matching set. Maybe he'll have them engraved. Better than wedding rings! They were sitting there next to a belt, a large hunting knife, and a leather jacket. "So," he said, drawing out the word. "Y' bidin' yer time before y' hit that, or are y' jus' too much of a pansy t' handle a woman like her?"

Daryl rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the flush rising in his neck. "Piss off, Merle. It ain't like that – "

"Yet! I see how y' watch 'er."

He bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to egg his brother on. But damn, he wanted to haul off and sock him in the mouth. Why did he have to belittle everything nice he'd ever had? He wasn't going to let Merle ruin his friendship with Carol.

"Fuck this," Daryl muttered under his breath. He opened the bag slung over his shoulder and stuffed the items on the counter inside. "We need to get the truck loaded and get back."

"Aw," Merle snickered. "Not going t' give yer girl th' jacket, at least." He leaned closer to Daryl, his voice laden with filthy connotation. "I bet she loves it, brother. Bet she'll be all sweets an' cream fer y' between those shapely thighs o' hers."

Rage hazed his vision red as Daryl grabbed two handfuls of his brother's vest and bent him back across the display case. "Don't y' fuckin' talk about her like that! Don't even fuckin' look at her! I swore I'd protect her, and I'm not gonna let my own brother disrespect her," he snarled.

Merle smirked and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Well … this just gets better an' better," he couldn't resist getting in one last jab.

"What's goin' on?" Sophia asked as she tugged on Daryl's arm. "Ain't the world messed up enough? You have to fight your own family?"

Daryl looked down at the girl, releasing Merle so he could straighten his clothes. "This ain't really fightin', Soph."

"Nah … jus' a bit of brotherly love."

He cast one more scathing glance at Merle, picked up the jacket and stalked off to join Carol by the still boarded doors. He was going to make sure she had the protection of the thick leather covering her before he brought her back out there, be damned what Merle Dixon had to say.

*.*.*

"Son of a bitch!"

Daryl raced across the gravel parking lot, kicking up the tiny pebbles beneath his boots as he made for the open front door. The truck was loaded, even the empty gas cans filled and stowed in the bed. He should have known it had been too easy for something not to go wrong. They were Dixons, after all. Trouble followed them wherever they went. He'd pulled the driver's side door open with one hand, moving the crossbow into position with the other as they began to file out of the woods. Ambling along at their shuffling pace.

He felt the adrenaline surge hot and fast through his veins. They hadn't seen him yet, but he knew they would. He stood frozen, fear a distinct twang at the very back of his tongue. Fear – not for himself – for Sophia, for Carol, and yes for Merle, his family. Fuck! He had to get them out. They were his responsibility, one he shouldered alone. If something happened to any of them … his fault. He should have insisted they leave sooner. Move, idiot! There's still time!

So, he ran, fleet of foot across the gravel. He pounded up the short staircase and barreled into the store, his icy blue gaze frantically searching for her. Everything was loaded but the most important cargo. "Carol!"

She hurried to his side, her entire body trembling as she noticed the urgency of his tone, but she didn't hesitate when he thrust his hunting knife into her shaking hands, his own wrapping around it to close her fingers upon the handle. "What's happening?"

"Oh shit!" Marty hissed, pressing herself against the boarded windows. "Where th' hell did they come from?"

Merle pulled a 9mm Beretta from the waistband of his jeans and hoisted Sophia onto his back. "Hang on, Peach; you're with me. Don't be scared."

Daryl snapped his fingers before Carol's wide eyes. "Hey, focus. Eye, temple, ear … if they get too close. Don't y' fuckin' die on me, woman. That's a surefire way t' piss me off."

"C'mon, Marty, move it!" Merle yelled as he prepared to bolt out of the door. He gaped at her as she pulled back. "Did y' hear me, y' stupid girl?"

"I can't … I can't leave my brothers. If they come back from their run an' I'm not here …"

Daryl shot her a look of disgust. "For fuck's sake, man, c'mon! Drag her out if y' have to."

"I'm sorry," she said, those moss green eyes filling with tears. With a mighty push – more than he'd thought her capable – she shoved him out the door and bolted it behind him. Her voice was muted, but he could make out her promise to cover them from the roof.

Merle didn't waste time, pounding down the steps, Sophia clinging to his neck and practically choking off his air. He flew towards the bike, praying it would start. The dead were gaining ground, ten … fifteen … twenty … he was losing count. He raised his gun to fire. "Fuck it! Ain't got time for this bullshit!"

Daryl dragged Carol across the parking lot. This was not the time for those damn shoes to trip her up, he thought randomly. Her hand was like ice within his own, her name cartwheeling through his mind with every forward step towards the truck. He literally tossed her across the seat, shoving his crossbow into her lap as he turned the key in the ignition. He looked up, relieved to see Merle already tearing out of the lot with Sophia on the bike, her arms wrapped around his waist and her face buried against his back. He didn't waste any time following.

Daryl didn't let up off the gas, not even when he was sure they were clear. He chanced a glance at Carol, to see her clutching his crossbow to her chest, her eyes riveted to her daughter on the back of the bike ahead of them, tears streaming down her cheeks. He shook his head, his gut twisting as the rush of adrenaline began to wear off.

"Are y' ok? Why're y' cryin'?"

She just sat there, frozen in fear. "Yeah," she murmured weakly. He was stunned, however, when she turned her watery blue eyes up to him. "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

"First time with walkers? Never saw 'em up close?" he asked.

"No … but next time I don't want to be afraid. I want you to teach me how to defend myself … to defend my daughter."

His mouth quirked up at one corner, his chest swelling with pride that she was ready to step up and become the woman he knew she could be. The woman who lived beneath the broken shell just waiting to show the world who she really was. "Hell yeah!"

Carol stared down at her hands, one clinging desperately to the knife he'd thrust at her, the other holding his treasured crossbow. "I know if anyone can, Daryl, it will be you."