Well, you can't get what you want,
But you can get me,
So let's set out to sea,
Cause you are my medicine,
When you're close to me
Blaire
The sun sets long before I give up on radioing Daryl. I count the minutes off on my fingers, calling out to the bowman every half hour. Although he never responds, I don't give up hope. Daryl is strong and smart and resourceful. If he can, he'll come looking for us. I know he cares, even if he pretends not to. Just like everyone else in this world, Daryl just wants people he can trust, who he can rely on. Carol was right when she told me that once someone has a place in Daryl's world he defends them fiercely. All I wanted since the day he rescued me was to understand who Daryl Dixon was as a person, who this world shaped him to be. In doing that, I've developed a soft spot for the man. My heart aches knowing he may be out there hurt or worse.
"I'm smoking one of your cigarettes, guess you shouldn't have left them with me. You know I quit when this whole thing started. Damn you for putting temptation back in my lap," I take a drag from the cigarette held between my fingers, watching the smoke spiral up into the night. "We need you to come back...I need you to come back. There are still things I wanna know, stuff we can teach each other. You can deny it all you want, but you're learning just as much for me as I am from you. Sorry I didn't fight harder to go back," I bit my lip, trying to hold in tears that threaten to spill down my face. "You probably can't even hear this, but I'll kill you if you don't come back, Daryl Dixon, I swear to it," I chuckle, rolling my eyes at how ridiculous that sounds. I shouldn't care, not this much at least. No sane person would be almost in tears over the thought of losing someone they only met a month or so ago, but here I am.
Static crackles back at me, once again reminding me that there is no one on the other end. Leaning back against the brick wall, I close my eyes, the feedback slowly lulling me to sleep.
Bright light beats against my eyelids, my limbs stiff from falling asleep on the roof. Beside me, the walkie-talkie sits disregarded. Groaning, I rub my eyes, squinting against the brightness of the sun. I stand up, attaching the radio to my hip as I wander to the edge of the building. Across the way, Abraham shimmies across a piece of fencing, reaching out towards a walker suspended in the air. Curious, I climb down the fire escaping, dropping onto the road. By the time I reach the redhead he's sitting in the back of a military vehicle, cigar clamped between his lips.
"What? If at first you don't succeed, give up and smoke a cigar?" I jest, leaning against the vehicle.
Abraham shakes his head, letting out a puff of smoke, "Don't go mouthing off." As he goes to say more, the suspended walker begins to shift, the fence making its way through decayed flesh and bone. The dead one plummets to the asphalt below, a squelching sound echoing off the abandoned buildings as the body makes contact. Left behind is what looks like a rocket launcher. The man gives the scene a pointed look as if to silently tell me that sometimes those with patience win the day.
"Should I get it or do you wanna bask in your glory for a little?"
The man motions for me to go ahead, "Don't get hurt. If he comes back and you're even a little banged up we won't ever head the end of it."
"He doesn't care that much," I shoot back, dragging myself across the fencing. Slowly, I slide my fingers under the thick strap, allowing it to fall into my palm. The weight throws me off and for a second. I worry I won't be able to hoist it up. Fitting the toe of my boot into the empty space between the wire fencing, I'm able to get leverage. I pull the launcher up, cutting my elbow on a piece of jagged metal. Pressing my fingers to the spot, I can feel hot sticky blood. Certain it's no more than a flesh wound, I slide off the fence, returning the launcher to Abraham.
For a minute the man looks over his new toy before setting it aside, "There's an elephant here and it's getting bigger by the second. I figure I'm just as qualified as anyone to shoot it down. We didn't go back for Daryl because he wouldn't have wanted us to. You want to be angry, I will not stop you, but you cannot be angry with Sasha or me."
"Why did you offer to go with Sasha in the car?" The question has been eating away at me since the ambush. I can see it in Sasha's eyes that she's given up. It's the same look I had the day Daryl found me. Abraham's need to exterminate the dead is beginning to worry me as well. He seems enthralled by increasingly dangerous situations as if he's hoping to get in over his head. The adrenaline rush that comes with the risk seems to be the only thing keeping him going.
Abraham stares back at me, avoiding eye contact as if he's embarrassed to admit the truth, "Has nothing to do with nothing."
"Look, if you two are planning on going all kamikaze Joe and suicidal Barbie on me, I deserve to know," I throw my hands up in a sign of defeat. "I won't stop you. Hell, I won't even try and feed you some bullshit about being stronger than that. Just...don't blindside me. Don't run into every battle guns blazing hoping that it'll be the end, that next time you won't be strong enough or fast enough. I'm damn tired of losing people, Abraham, especially the good ones. At least let me know, so maybe when you do it'll hurt a little less."
The man holds my gaze, puffing on the cigar held in his hand. After a moment's hesitation, he gets up, casting his smoke away. A strong arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close to a sweaty body, "I swear on my left nut that I will not do that to you or anyone else back home." Fingers curl under my chin, forcing my gaze up. "He's coming back, Blaire, he always does."
Daryl
Against my better judgment, I went back. As the gun Dwight's carrying clicks I know helping these people was a mistake. They don't want aid; they want to take and benefit from anyone who's dumb enough to offer assistance. I should've taken the bag, medicine and all, and gone to find the others. Trying to be nice doesn't get you anywhere anymore. Whoever these people are, this group that kneels, they're a bunch of cowards. Turning, I release the motorcycle handles, letting it fall to the ground.
"I'm sorry," Dwight says, stepping forward and yanking the bike back into an upright position. "Give her the crossbow."
He keeps the gun pointed at me as the brunette creeps forward. Maybe he has the upper hand today, but he won't always. I'll keep coming after him like a bat out of hell until the day he dies. "You gonna go back? You gonna be safe?"
"Shut up," Dwight hisses, brandishing the gun, taking a step closer.
No way I'm not going to make him think about his decision. He's going to leave this place knowing he's a coward. This made up safety that his group preaches is a lie. I hope he finds that out sooner than later. "Ain't nowhere safe no more."
"Give her the crossbow," the man answers back, his finger curling around the trigger of the gun.
"You gonna kneel?"
Dwight pulls the trigger, the ashen bark of the tree behind me exploding as the bullet makes impact. I jerk away from the noise. Not once during our trip through the woods did I think Dwight would actually shoot me. Something's changed. He would now if he had to if it meant he got his way. Slowly, I pull the crossbow over my head, handing it to the man. He takes it, strapping it on as he hands the gun over to Honey.
As the bike roars to life the female tosses the bandages out of the bike satchel, "Patch yourself up. We're sorry."
"You're gonna be."
I watch the couple disappear through the trees, the sounds of the engine fading. Only two options left now, patch myself up and start looking for Sasha, Abraham, and Blaire or sit down and admit defeat. I'm not giving up. Shaking the dirt off the roll of gauze, I wind it around my arm, tying the two ends together to hold it secure. I wander, coming back to the place I started.
The melted down plastic of a once been motorcycle helmet turns, the thing inside groaning as I approach. As I go to kick the walker's head in, finally putting it out of its misery, the earth stirs. Squatting down, I move more of the ash, revealing a slab of metal with a fuel logo painted on it. Continuing forward, I follow the path of the disturbed earth, clearing away charred branches. Behind them sits the fuel truck that Dwight talked about. I walk around the side of the tanker, banging along the metal siding. As I reach the driver side window, a hand smacks back. Yanking the door open, I let the walker fall to the ground, crushing the fragile bone under the heel of my shoe.
I follow the road I came in on, letting it lead me back towards the point of ambush. If I don't see any signs of Abraham, Sasha, or Blaire I'll head back to Alexandria. As I near the town, a spot of brown flies down the road. I stand on the brakes, trying to get the machinery to stop before it blows down the female heading my way. The engine hisses breaks groaning as the tanker halts in the middle of the street.
I step down out of the cab, "Dammit woman, you tryin' to get hit?"
"Daryl," Blaire throws her arms around me, breathing heavily as she holds herself close to my chest.
After a second, I wrap an arm around her. She smiles up at me, a look of relief in her light grey eyes. I'm glad she's okay. In just a few short weeks the brunette has become a welcomed staple in my life, "You worried about me or somethin'?"
"Or something," Blaire answers, taking a step away from me as Sasha and Abraham join us on the street. She keeps her fingers curled around my arm as if she's worried letting go would risk me disappearing again.
Abraham carries a case, a launcher of sorts thrown over his shoulder. He pats me on the shoulder, glancing down at Blaire's hand, giving an approving nod before climbing into the passenger side of the fuel truck. Sasha follows suit.
"Ready to go home?" I keep my eyes set on Blaire's thin fingers, riddled with thin white scars. For the first time I notice a small black star tattooed on the inside of her thumb.
Steady grey eyes stare back at me. Something about her has changed. The fear is gone, replaced by strength. Blaire holds her head high now, the demons she's been fighting since the day we met put to rest. "Let's go."
We cram into the truck, heading back in the direction of Alexandria. Reaching forward, I grab the walkie-talkie that has been discarded on the dashboard. I have no idea if the other half of the herd got to the walls or if Rick survived whatever went down on his way to meet up with us. We have to try though. There have to be people back home. "Rick, you copy?" Static crackles then silence. "Anybody?" Through the feedback, I hear what sounds like a voice. Everyone in the cab goes silent, eyes fixed on the walkie-talkie. "Say it again?"
"Help."
Blaire grabs the radio from me, holding it up to her ear. The static has taken back over, no voice coming through. Everyone remains quiet, waiting for the person on the other end to say more, for some kind of confirmation that we aren't all just hearing what we want. Eventually, the brunette sighs, tossing the walkie-talkie back up onto the dashboard. "Whoever it is sounds hurt."
"That doesn't change anything," Abraham interjects. "We need to go back to Alexandria. Those people there need our help. If it was gunfire coming from back home our family is in a whole heap of trouble."
Blaire leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, "We could split off. You and Sasha could go back to Alexandria in the truck. Daryl and I could out looking. Whoever it is can't be far, not if the walkie picked up their signal, maybe fifty, seventy-five miles. I'm sure we could pick up a trial."
"You really wanna split up again?" Sasha questions, raising an eyebrow. I wonder how much trouble Blaire gave them about staying put instead of going out to try and find me.
As Blaire goes to answer, her attention is pulled. A group or bikers sit, positioned across the road. Getting around them would be impossible. There are no other roads; to our left is a ditch, on the right a line of trees. Whoever these people are, they picked their cut off point with a purpose. I wonder if they're with the group Dwight was talking about. If so he must have gone back, probably told whoever is in charge about us. If I ever see the prick again, I'll kill him. Seeing no other option, I stop the truck.
"Why don't you come on out, join us in the road?" The man at the front of the group takes a step forward, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
The four of us get out, lining up along the front of the truck. Each of us only has one gun. The ammunition and the launcher Abraham brought along are tucked in the back of the tanker. Even if we wanted to fight, we're outnumbered.
"That's great. It's going well right out the gate," the grey-haired man smiles, taking another step forward. "Now, step two, hand over your weapons."
"Why should we?"
My question seems to throw the leader off for a second, his eyebrows drawing together. I have a feeling whatever group he's with isn't used to being challenged, "Well, they're not yours."
"Not yours either," Blaire crosses her arms over her chest, taking a step towards the man. I hope she knows what she's doing with this newfound fire guiding her actions.
The man in front of us frowns, "I wouldn't start that."
"Whose are they?' Sasha challenges, taking a lead from Blaire. We might be outnumbered, but the girls don't seem to want to go down without a fight.
The man stands tall, eyes scanning over our group, probably trying to figure out if he should entertain the questions or just kill us on the spot. "Your property now belongs to Negan. If you can get your hands on a tanker, you're people our person wants to know." He takes another step towards us. "So let's get those side arms, shall we?" With one last step, he stops in front of me, holding out his hand. "Right now."
Reluctantly, I hand over my gun. This is the third time in less than forty-eight hours that I've been stripped of my weapon. This time doesn't sting any less than the others. I hope these people know who they're dealing with. If they think we're just going to quietly oblige without any kind of consequence in return, they're idiots. We'll hunt them down and kill every one of them, just like we've done in the past.
"Thank you." He continues down the line, collecting Sasha's gun. Abraham stands tall, staring out into the distance over the man's head. The biker frowns, letting out an agitated sigh. "If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. It goes quicker."
Abraham pulls out his weapon, handing it over.
The leader of the biker group turns to Blaire, "Now for you scarface."
"Well," Blaire says seemingly unfazed by the man's comment about her now healed injury. She's accepted the thin white line running down the side of her face. She thinks it gives her character. "I was willing to cooperate and then you started with the personal attacks."
The man shakes his head, sucking his teeth as he shrugs, "Come on honey, I'm just calling it like I see it. It looks to me as if you've gotten in over your head one too many times. Could be the attitude. We can work on it though."
"You want it-" Blaire pulls the gun from the holster on her thigh, making sure the barrel is pointed towards the man's chest "-go get it." She tosses the firearm into the underbrush lining the road.
Instead of lashing out, the man motions for another behind him to retrieve the gun. Blaire and the leader of this group stare each other down, neither one wanting to be the first to look away.
"Who are you people?" Sasha questions.
With a sigh, the man turns away from Blaire, resting his gaze on Sasha, "I get the curiosity, but we have questions ourselves. And we'll be the ones asking them while we drive you back to wherever it is you call home. Take a gander at where you hang your hats. First though, your shit. What've you got for us?"
"Yeah, you just took it," If we have any chance of getting out of this situation, we need to keep them away from the launcher. It may be the only way we're able to get the upper hand.
The grey-haired man frowns, shaking his head, "Come on. I mean, can we not, okay? There's more. There is always more." He turns to the same man he made get Blaire's gun. "T...take my man to the back of the truck, start inside the back bumper, work your way to the front."
I'm lead behind the tanker by a chubby man, his small black eyes shifting around uncomfortably. As he begins searching under the bumper, I throw myself against him, working to get the knife strapped to his hip. The man spins, slamming me into the back of the truck. Quickly regaining my balance, I charge again. The man steps to the side, pulling his knife. Son of a bitch. Ducking, I get behind him, once again running him into the fuel truck's back end. He swings, getting me in the wound on my arm. I grab his wrist, twisting it as I try and get the knife. The man struggles, pushing me backward onto the ground. As he goes to attack again, I roll to the side, popping back up. Hurrying forward, I get an elbow wrapped around his neck. Trying to break free, the man thrashes around, stabbing blindly. He gets me in the back before I'm able to get the weapon from him. Slitting the man's throat, I let his body fall to the ground. Bending down, I slide the knife in through his eye socket, piercing his brain. I gather the launcher, loading one of the rockets. Walking around the side of the tanker, I aim the weapon at the group of bikers; taking in a deep breath I let it out slowly as I squeeze the trigger.
A cloud of fire and smoke engulfs the group, pieces of flesh and metal littering the road. Coming around the front of the truck, I see the members of my group, all on the ground.
Blaire pushes herself up, leaning on her arms. She looks over to me, smiling, "Damn."
Reaching down, I help the brunette up off the ground, "Son of a bitch was tougher than he looked."
"Did he cut you?" Sasha questions as we move to get back in the truck.
"A little," I flinch as someone touches my back. Glancing over, I see Blaire holding the red rag to the cut. She raises her free hand, letting me know she doesn't mean any harm. "What a bunch of assholes."
Sasha pulls open the truck door, "Let's get you fixed up at home"
"Yes ma'am."
Blaire
"You think that was it? I mean, who the hell is Negan?" I question as we continue back to Alexandria.
Beside me, Daryl shakes his head, "Naw. There's more of 'em."
He's different now. Whatever happened to him after we got split up changed him. He's fighting something inside of himself, an anger of sorts. Yet, as I catch his glance, I can see a softness brought on by an understanding of needing to be a solid unit now more than ever before. I want to ask what happened, to see if I can figure out what the change is, but I don't. He won't talk with Abraham and Sasha around. Even with them out of the picture, I might not get anything from him.
Sighing, I lean back against the seat, propping my feet up on the dashboard. Slowly, I tilt my head to the left, letting it grow closer to bowman's shoulder. As my hair brushes against his skin, he twitches, turning to look at me. I hold his gaze, silently asking him to let me do this. When he doesn't pull away, I let my temple land on his arm. He doesn't stiffen under my touch. Instead, he takes a hand off the wheel, squeezing my knee for a second before turning his full attention back to the road.
"Here," I dig in my pocket, pulling out the crushed packet of cigarettes.
Once again, Daryl shakes his head, "Keep 'em. Least till we get back." His voice drops to a low whisper. "Glad yer okay-" he turns his head, addressing Abraham and Sasha "-glad yer all okay."
By the time we reach the walls of Alexandria, the sun has set. I can almost instantly tell that something isn't right. Gunfire can be heard from behind the metal plates, the groans of the dead filling the air. Daryl stops the tanker outside of the gate, flashing the lights. As expected, no one comes.
Abraham throws his door open, quickly getting out of the vehicle, "I'll go over the wall, open the gate. You be ready to drive this tank through. Sasha, will you be my backup?"
The female climbs out of the truck.
Daryl and I sit in silence, listening as the sound of gunfire fills the night. The passenger side door is yanked open, Glenn sliding inside. He's covered in blood, panting heavily. Others pile in, all of us squishing together. Leaving anyone outside isn't an option. Walkers have begun to spill out of the now open gate, beating against the side of the fuel truck.
"What the hell happened?" Daryl questions Glenn.
The other man shrugs, shaking his head, "I don't know. I just got back. Listen...we can-we can lead some of them away, but they're scattered."
"No," Daryl asserts, settling into his seat a little. Whatever plan he's got, I hope it's a good one. Everyone inside is at risk of getting overrun if we don't help. There's too many of the dead to fight off hand to hand. "We get 'em all together. Won't have to lead 'em away."
Daryl drives us towards the lake in the middle of Alexandria. On the far side is a grate, the water flowing under it leading into the lake. As he drives, the bowman describes his plan.
"We fill the source with fuel, let it run into the water. Shootin' one of those rockets into the lake'll light the whole thing on fire. The walkers will go. We've seen it before."
Everyone in the truck nods, agreeing that the plan is better than trying to lead the herd out of the walls. The sound could potentially draw in more from outside, creating an even bigger problem. We can't have the group we lead away start to funnel its way back. Daryl climbs out of the cab, connecting the tanker's hose to the water source. Once it's complete, he comes back to the door, breathing heavy, "You drive, get us as close to the lake edge as possible."
"Where the hell are you gonna be?" I demand.
Daryl glances up, "The roof. Go!"
As he climbs onto the hood of the truck, I begin to roll forward. This better work. Plan B is nonexistent. As I grow closer to the lake edge, Daryl bangs on the top of the tanker. "All right! This is it!"
There is a hiss, the surface of the lake erupting in flames. The dead begin stumbling towards the light. Dozens reach the edge, tumbling into the fuel filled waters. Shoving the door open, I shake off Maggie's protesting grasp, clamoring onto the roof. Daryl stands tall, the launcher held down by his side. The bowman looks over at me, finally accepting the packet of cigarettes. He slides them into his pocket, setting the weapon down on the top of the fuel truck.
"You wanna fight?"
Nodding, I jump down onto the hood of the fuel truck, "Let's go."
The flames licking at the water's surface have begun to die, glowing a pale yellow against the pinks of a rising sun. Bodies litter the streets, the stench of death lingering, blood forming puddles in the streets and sidewalks. We lost people, good people not just because of the dead. Rick paces back and forth, heels of his boots scraping against the floor of the infirmary. Everyone waits in a strained silence, hoping that Carl wakes up. The specifics weren't shared, but from what I gathered Rick's son was shot by one of our own. The chances of him making a full recovery are slim.
Daryl sits over on the window ledge, chewing at his thumbnail as I pull a needle through the flesh of his back. The knife wound inflicted by the biker was deeper than we originally thought. I try to be as gentle as possible, pulling his shirt to the side only as much as I have to. Each time I initiate contact with the tanned skin, Daryl twitches, quickly settling. Making the last stitch, I tie the end, cutting off the excess. The bowman turns to face me. There is a trust in his eyes that I've not seen before.
"You ain't half bad smart-ass," Daryl says in a low voice.
I smile, sitting down on the window ledge next to man; "We make a pretty good team when we aren't trying to push each other away."
"Yeah," Daryl answers after a few seconds. "We do."
Slowly, I rest my head against Daryl's shoulder, careful to avoid the shallow bullet wound that runs across his bicep, "It could be like this always."
"How?"
"No more fighting, no more pushing me away. Just this; working together, trust, friendship, from now on."
For a long while, Daryl remains quiet, chewing at his bottom lip. I begin to wonder if my suggestion was too much. It's possible, that even with everything we've been through together over the past few days, he still doesn't want to let me in. The bowman's arm wrapping around me silences my worries. He holds me close to his side, cheek coming to rest on the top of my head.
"Just this."