Chapter 1
A motorcycle sounded in the distance. It was a welcome relief to the group, huddled on the elevated edge of a rock quarry a distance away from the city skyline of Atlanta, now fallen disheveled and dark from an onslaught of bombing.
Survivors of the epidemic, the plague that swept through their entire lives and turned them into characters of a dystopian novel in a cruel twisted irony, swam with comfort to know their lone hunter and lookout was safe. It was days since he went out to scavenge and never returned.
It was never said aloud; no one wanted to give it strength. They thought him dead.
Despite the loss it would be to the unit that depended upon each person for survival, his death would only encourage a fouler, crueler attitude from said survivors' elder brother, by far the worse of the two. The camp was his punching bag when mood struck him. He howled in laughter at vicious comments. His haunted smile as he gutted animals, blood-soaked hands, rolled their stomachs as they watched, still hungry for what he provided. Only sparingly, as it was his kill. He only allowed what he wanted. It was best to keep on his good side.
The good side had not been seen since the disappearance of his little brother.
Now that the sound of the motorcycle approached, his interest was pricked. He rose from his stump stool to observe the long winding road that cut up the hillside to the camp.
"Yeah!" He called. "I told you he'd be back."
"No one doubted him," a young man said. Large damp stains beneath his arm spread through the letters across the chest. Sheriff's deputy.
"Bullshit. Y'all wrote him off," the man mumbled as he watched the shadow of an approaching bike ascended the road. "I raised him a man. He's tougher than anyone in this camp."
It took a while for the motorcycle to reach the approach of the camp. By then, everyone had risen, interested in the story of what happened to their solo lookout on his journey. They never expected good news. The world was soured to good. They only hoped for okay. He was safe, okay. That was all the hope they allowed, in a world turned to hellscape.
His brother approached first. He, the one to notice the passenger attached to his younger brother's back.
"Well, well, well. We was all wonderin' what would keep you," he bellowed. The southern accent appeared thicker. "I guess we don't have to guess no more."
The younger brother dismounted. "Got on the trail of a deer. Took longer to hunt it down."
His brother laughed. "Ah. That'd be it. Couldn't be from the broad." He gestured to the woman still on the back of the bike. Her lips were cracked. A split near the center of the swollen redness dripped blood. "You ain't got the equipment for a girl like that. Hand her on over to a real man, son. I'll show you how it's done."
"Shut up, Merle."
Merle Dixon appraised the woman. Her legs shook as she dismounted the motorcycle. "You don't know how to make a girl's legs shake like that. I do."
The younger brother wrinkled his nose but said nothing.
The devious glint in Merle's green eyes returned. He ran his tongue along the bottom of his lip as he looked at the woman delivered to him like a present meant for unwrapping. "Come on, girl. You're with me now."
"Leave her alone."
The group started to gather around. The lure of a fresh kill tempted their hungry bellies as well as their curious minds.
A new survivor added a flair to the otherwise terrified life they led. It was all they could do to leap for joy to have a new person to distract them – even if it was only a moment – from what they knew to be reality.
"What you gonna do with a woman like that? Tell her that stupid Chupacabra story? Whine about getting lost in the woods for nine days like a pussy?" Merle reached his arm out. His fingertips neared her. "Quick draw won't be enough for you, girl."
Daryl Dixon – the younger brother – took an uncharacteristic step forward. His hand pushed out. "I said back off."
A hardness came to the edge of Merle's eyes. His younger brother in his shadow, below his chin, against him.
"You forget yourself, son? You wasn't nothin' without me. I'm your kin. You gonna trade that for some broad you don't even know?"
A few came close. Arms crossed, question or disbelief written on their faces with the hollow exhaustion of hunger and fear long baked into their skin.
The brothers were thicker than thieves. Neither showed loyalty to anyone, except each other. Both were fire tempered, with Daryl being easier to reason with than his elder, but not by much. The one defining quality that the group knew of the Dixon brothers: they would never turn. Merle and Daryl held their relation above the needs of the many.
A smart person would never guess that a single woman would jostle the bond.
"What's your name?" A black woman asked softly. She took a step forward, which the new woman noticed. Her eyes instantly dropped to watch the motion of the woman's feet. "I'm Jacqui."
The group saw. Their breaths caught collectively. Jacqui stopped her approach.
Daryl kept his narrowed eyes on his brother a minute longer before he relented. "Eloise… That's 'er name."
Eloise said nothing. Her eyes stayed at the group, examining them. She was relatively clean. Dirt and blood smeared against her dark jeans, shredded at the tops of her thighs and knees, with a western style holster loose around her hips. Womanly curves still held at her body, mostly at her thighs and ass with still a show of breast left.
Most of the women in camp had lost all sense of weight from the lack of food. Scavenging was difficult to keep so many fed with their base so far away from civilization. What little they ate was low in fat and calories. Wild mushrooms picked from the wilderness, what little game there was to be hunted from nearby was a sliver for everyone, at best.
Their new survivor showed that she had done a fair bit of surviving without them.
She wore a stylish, black leather jacket, more for show than it was substance. It was torn in some places. The cuffs were stained with the makings of walker death.
"How did she survive so long in the city?" A tall brunette woman marveled as she flicked the length of her hair behind her shoulder.
Daryl shrugged. "Found her tryin' to jack the bike."
"I thought we said stick close," said the sheriff's deputy. He put his hands on his hips, the clear stance of a police officer. Daryl knew the motions. Behaviors did little to erode even in the end of the world. "We can't risk people getting close to the city and getting bit."
"I caught a trail. What you want me to do? Abandon it so a walker can eat instead of us?" He growled.
"Just think we can make safer decisions, that's all." The deputy shrugged his hands away from his hips. He looked off to the group in the distance. His mind thought of something. It eventually left. It brought him back to the new member brought for his acceptance. The survivors were a group together. It was a joint effort to remain alive. Adding another member meant more work to stay alive.
He kicked his boots in the gravel. "We're already stretched the way it is."
"We can't just turn her away," the brunette breathed. Her eyes looked to him in disbelief.
"To hell with her," Merle grunted.
It was the quietest he'd been. Ever.
Daryl dropped the crossbow from his hand. Redness came to his nose as he inhaled. "What's that, Merle?"
"To hell with the bitch," Merle said with a cruel smile. "We don't need any more."
A height gained to the otherwise squinted look of the younger Dixon brother. It read as disbelief.
"She's good with a knife," he reasoned. He turned to the apparent leader of the survivor group. A muscular man with broad shoulders, curly dark hair and a hooked nose. His face read total arrogance at what he saw before him. Heat grew in Daryl whenever he caught that dignified gaze of the so-called cop. "She could cut the sack off a hog with one throw."
On second look, there were blades in her holster. Large knives, smaller blades, a machete. Some were holstered against her thighs in matching black fabric that blended into her jeans.
The eyes of the group focused on appraising her. Eloise took a step away. Her eyes still unblinking, unwilling to let them leave her sight for a second.
"If that were true, you wouldn't be walkin' so straight, little brother."
Merle gave a harsh chuckle. He was resigned to the matter. His back turned. A bottle of something was stashed away in his saddle bag ready to take him far away from the musings of assholes.
An older member of the group, Dale, frowned. "She's awful jumpy."
The tall brunette crossed her arms. "Wouldn't you? Imagine the city. You'd have to be to survive there."
"Hold on. Hold on," Shane said. "We can't just accept anyone into the group. We have to think about the safety of everyone here."
"Another set of eyes keeps us safer," Dale reasoned.
"Another mouth to feed," Shane countered.
Jacqui was quiet. She kept her eyes focused on Eloise, who did very little but look to Daryl every so often.
There was trust built between the pair. She was nervous, but not of him.
"Does she talk?" Jacqui inquired.
It split through discussion of whether another person could be supported. Daryl had gone red faced again at the suggestion that she be turned away.
Jacqui's question stopped the building frustration.
"Can she, I mean."
He nodded. The glisten of ocean blue eyes flashed back to his passenger. Her palms rested against her thighs. Eyes locked at the group before her. It only broke away when Daryl turned.
They caught in each other's gaze.
"Go on. They're too noble to turn you away." His fingertips reached the strap of his bow. It was slung over his shoulder. "I've got a kill to clean."
The trophy hanged from the back end just behind the bitch bar. Its hide only pierced by a singular hole, just wide enough for an arrow. It was slung over his shoulders and walked upward toward the camp.
His older brother stood at the crest of the hill. He watched his brother ascend. They met in a silent acknowledgment before they both took hold of the deer and lowered the body. Merle handed a knife. Daryl grabbed one of his own from his pockets and began the arduous task of skinning, gutting, cleaning and harvesting the meat.
Eloise pulled the satchel from her back. "Got my own stuff."
Although there was give in his expression, the leader remained firm. "We've got rules in this camp."
"We can tell her the rules later," the woman beside him snipped. "She looks traumatized. Let's bring her in and feed her."
Eloise eyes stayed at the man in front of her. A large threat, the trickle of sweat down her back. "Your rules. What are they?"
His hand went to his hip yet again. "Got any weapons? Ammo?"
"Just my knives," she answered.
"What happens when you run out of knives?" His dark brow raised like he'd made a good point.
Her face remained stoic. "Don't know. Hasn't happened yet."
There was a spread of reaction through the people in front of her. They shifted. Glances exchanged one to another.
The addition of another skilled fighter was impossible to pass up. Fighters were few and far between. So close to the city, walkers were aplenty with a growing hunger that would draw them out into the surrounding areas. It would only be a short while before the camp was attacked.
"We're a group. Everything we do is as a group," Shane explained. "Every person is an asset. Stupid mistakes mean you won't stay. Do you understand? We won't share our supplies with just anyone. You have to earn your place."
"I have to turn over my gear?"
The dark arch of her brow furrowed. She shifted her weight.
Dale shook his head. "What's yours is yours. A person can only ask. You'll still have your privacy."
"We have chores. Every one has a chore. Every day it gets done."
Eloise nodded.
Her eyes casually drifted upward a gravel incline where a man, for a split moment, caught her look before returning to a hollow deer carcass.
The deputy sighed. "If you leave camp, tell the watch where you're going. They stand on top the RV. They're our eyes. Alright? Pitch your tent anywhere. Just don't go too far from the group. We're safer in numbers."
Jacqui gave a polite smile. "I think I know a spot."
Eloise followed the lead through the camp which was more of a casual term for people all huddled together with little supplies, dirty faces, and fear stricken in their souls. Only a few gave her curious glances as she passed.
There was an RV parked along the side of the cliff that faced down the long winding road to camp. It was the very road that carried her on motorcycle to this group of survivors.
She kept quiet, asking no questions of the state of their survival. Bare boned bodies were answer enough. Sunken cheeks and jutted hips, the tell-tale signs of starvation. It explained the needy look in their eyes when they noticed the deer. Its blood drained through the gravel, staining it deep red mixed with brown dirt.
Jacqui was a patient woman. Her kind smile was unassuming. She asked if the space for her tent was alright.
Eloise shrugged.
"It's near Daryl's," Jacqui replied gently. A glimmer of hope overtook her eyes. "Merle's, too, though."
The real reason the spot was vacant. It was the edge of camp where the Dixon's lived.
"I can find another spot closer, if you like."
"I can manage," Eloise said.
Jacqui was a dark woman, so skinny and slender. She looked emaciated more than the rest. The type to give up the food on her plate for someone else, Eloise guessed.
But a smile. It was nice to see – even under the pretenses of what it was.
"There's a quarry just over there." Jacqui pointed behind her shoulder. "Down the road. You passed it on your way in. You can swim in it or bathe, if you wish. There's a few fish in it. Little ones. They can't cause too much harm."
The sound of a trickle of water filled the air. She couldn't smell it, but the sense of water was near.
"You're quite clean," the woman audibly observed.
"I found a pool."
An awkward moment stood between them. Eloise had no words to say. Jacqui wanted to be supportive, as it was clear that all survivors were scarred in one way or another, and this woman's few words were signs of a troubled mind.
The group was lucky. They stuck together, battled it out to survive with more bodies to defend the weakest.
Alone. Alone and in an overran city.
The horrors pictured in their minds of what Eloise had to survive were more than they could stand to think. Only dreams to what she truly endured.
Jacqui clasped her hands together. "I'll let you get to it then."
Eloise bobbed her head. She was eager to set up her tent and get out of eyesight.
It was a simple tent large enough for three sleeping bags side by side. There was one, black and densely lined, laid out by the flap at the mouth of the tent. A machete laid alongside it. Otherwise, the pack stayed packed in a corner. Personal items remained tucked away and safe. The knives were a constant accessory. Never to be removed.
Later that day the venison was roasted and divided amongst the group. Eloise was present but made no move for the ration. Instead, she watched the others eat. Their greedy mouths and fingers eating as much as they could without stepping over someone else's cut.
She sat alongside the fire, knees tucked against her chest, silent. Eyes consumed with the flames, expressionless.
The two Dixons were off to their own side far away from the others gathered. Their hands shined from the glisten of juicy fats as they squeezed from the meat. Merle tore at his chunk aggressively. His dirty yellow teeth punctured the golden-brown meat with an audible sound.
The fire was kept small. It never grew beyond a flicker of light, a hint of warmth in the cooling air.
River birch and American Hornbeam trees rustled in the evening breeze. Dusk fell. The glow of the horizon the last dwindling of light brought the survivors closer. Most gathered around the few small fires in the center of their camp.
A certain stillness captured the group. Tension and anxiety at the darkening sky, more glances at the rustle of the leaves, in question if it was the wind or a stalking walker intent to feed on their gushing organs, warm blood, taut white tendons, red flesh of their split muscles, or the contents of their bowels.
Even the loudmouthed Merle stayed close to the fire. He caught sight of their new guest. She hadn't moved since she sat on the ground the hour before.
He cleared his throat. "Don't talk. Don't eat. I'm startin' come round to her. We could do with less backtalk round here."
Daryl gave his brother a wayward look. He made no effort to jump to her defense.
"I'm sure she's in shock." The lanky brunette wore a long flannel over her previously bare shoulders. "Living in the city on her own. Couldn't be easy." Round brown eyes looked to Eloise. "It's okay. You don't have to be scared. We aren't going to hurt you."
Eloise made no effort to reply. A blank stare was all that answered their welcome.
Jacqui set aside her empty plate. "We haven't all been properly introduced. I'm Jacqui like I said earlier. This is T-Dog. Don't worry, we don't call him that because he bites." She allowed herself an unassuming smile. "He might bark a lot, though."
The thick muscled man beside her broke a smile. He wore an intimidating expression most times, blank but direct.
"It's Theodore. But I go by T-Dog."
"We all call him T-Dog," someone said.
A man, who couldn't have been more than twenty years old, raised his hand. "I'm Glenn."
Jacqui spun around in the other direction, not realizing in whose direction she'd pointed. The pair noticed her gesture. The quiet of their introduction, a visible stir in the camp.
"You know Merle and Daryl," she said gently.
Daryl's motions slowed. His eyes turned back to his lasting piece of gristle. A familiar heat touched the edges of his nostrils as he silently chewed.
"That right there is Shane Walsh. He was a sheriff's deputy." Jacqui pointed to the man in the chair. Eloise knew him. He was the group's leader, official or unofficial. "That's Lori, he's with. And they've got a boy named Carl."
The new member blinked alive for the first time since she emerged into camp that afternoon.
"A child?" Her soft voice asked.
Emotion rippled through the camp. For most it was the first time they'd seen her move, a shred of human emotion behind the empty slate of her face.
Lori nodded. Her wide eyes blinked quickly. "Yeah. He's seven."
"There are other children here, too."
A frail woman with buzzed hair, only a patch of lightened grey through the mousy brown near her hairline shifted in her seat. "I have a daughter the same age. Sophia. I'm Carol. There's two more kids in camp here."
"My kids, Louis and Eliza." A man brought attention to him and the woman in the chair next to him whose hand he held. "My wife, Miranda. You can call me Morales."
Eloise settled down inside herself. A distance grew in her eye. The fire, near coals, the only show of life reflected. Her arms cinched her legs tighter against her chest.
The group let the conversation die there. Nothing more was said on the children.
Shane, then, found strength in his tone. He leaned forward, forearms against his thighs, as he addressed the group. "We are gaining in number. The supply runs aren't yielding enough for all of us. A solo runner isn't going to cut it."
"I'll have to make more runs," Glenn said.
"No." Shane rubbed his temples. "It isn't worth the manpower. We need more brought back at once. We need a group."
"But I'm the only one who knows the city -."
"The city?" Eloise awakened once more. She caught eyes of the leader, Shane. "You can't go there. It isn't safe."
There was a visible rile beneath her. She straightened; knees untucked from her chest.
"Ain't you seen the news, girl? Nothing is safe."
It was a rare moment that Merle said much of anything that further conversation rather than hindered it. He set back against a tree. His knife in his hand whittled against a small twig. The sharpened edge like a spike meant to puncture something caught in his trap.
He did not seem the type to hesitate to violence. The way he took insult, at the slight show of disagreement, made him a volatile member.
Eloise clenched her jaw. Volatile men were aplenty in this new world. "That city is worse."
"That's where I go," Glenn said. "I scavenge. Find some supplies that we need, bring it back. Food, gear, if I can find it. In and out. Never more than a few hours before I'm on my way back. Walkers respond to noise -."
"And Glenn's light as a feather," T-Dog commented.
"No one is safe there," Eloise said firmly.
Shane clasped his hands. "Listen, we know it's overrun."
"It isn't just overrun." Fire grew in the deep green of her eyes as orange flames consumed their reflection. "There are survivors there, too. Gangs. Like yours, but worse. Some are noble, taking care of their buildings and fending for themselves." Eloise swallowed. "Others are of a less than honorable."
There was a silent moment between Shane and her, unbroken eye contact, the haunted message of her vague warning laced with implication.
"I would not send a woman in that city if I ever wished to see her again."
"I haven't seen any other survivors." Glenn's soft voice barely punctured the heavy silence.
Eloise loosed a thick breath. Her chest rattled.
"Daryl?" Glenn asked. "You seen anybody?"
The man glanced at the woman he'd brought back. A thought clear in his mind.
He shook his head. "Just her."
It fell silent once more. The blowing of the nightly breeze ceased. An eerie suspicion clawed at their skin as hairs raised at the back of their necks. More than a few glances were shifted around camp, around the fire.
A soft crackling of fire against fresh sticks as it ate through their bodies. The only motion felt throughout.
The desire to forget the terrors that lived inside city limits was not lost inside the twisted mind of the new addition. She relived the moments every waking minute. Scars coated her skin. Each stretch, they gave their resistance like the pull of her past warning her against motions. Woeful aches inside her muscles, never to be gone from life, as she walked.
It all spoke out against Atlanta. The treasures sure to be found within were not but tin compared to the atrocities now alive there, too.
"I was on the run when I found the bike." Her throat clenched in a horrid tightness that took all her willpower to continue speaking. "Outskirts were picked clean a while ago. Thought I caught my lucky break."
The eyes of the entire camp looked to her. Question or caution. A fair mix in their gaze as they sat in wait, silent. It became so still that a walker could have passed by, unaware of their presence.
"Runnin' from what?"
It was Daryl who broke that thick silence.
Eloise shook her head. "I met a group on the road in. Few people who just linked up for protection. They invited me to join. Thought nothing of it. More numbers, easier survival. It was simple." A cold sweat trickled down her spine despite the warm of a Georgia night. "Started to change quick after that. We lost one girl. She got torn apart. Eaten in front of us, then changed. After that, it was only two of us. Women. Six guys, eventually seven when we found another trapped by some of the infected in an apartment building. With only two women…their minds changed. They went from sweet to something dark." Her throat dried. "They wouldn't let us do anything. Fighting, scavenging, clearing buildings. We were just protected, held hostage. Like we were their most prized possessions."
Shared glances went across the fire. She did well to note their anxiety.
Hell, the anxiety was hers, too. It was her story she was forced to remember.
"When the other woman couldn't take it anymore, I was only one left. They, um, started using me not long after." Her eyes went up to the starless sky. It did little to comfort the quivering of her chest. The more she said, the more real it felt.
She shook her head. "I took my chance to get away and never looked back. Neither should you."
The reality pushed her away from campfire. She fled to the only spot of safety she knew. A tent she'd found in a department store while the other guys were busy slitting throats and laughing at the pathetic attempts the bodies made to still try even after removed of their legs, arms, chest, jaws.
The long zip secured her inside. A mediocre layer of protection against a full set of teeth and ragged nails used like claws. Still, it was all she had.
The leather jacket was tossed against her pack. Soft breaths of air cooled the moisture of perspiration atop her flesh. The dilapidated curls at the back of her neck, sticky.
A ripe perfume of her own body odor filled her mind. Parts of her old life shined through. The shaking shiver of feeling disturbed by her own hygiene in spite of water being a luxury, and bathing nonessential.
Eloise stripped out of the distressed jeans. A pair of spandex boy shorts were pulled from her pack. Still soft, new. Her fingers caressed the smooth texture like it was an indescribable miracle to have something so precious. It was a rarity in the world now. A sting came to her eyes as the fabric brought her to her knees. How much she needed to forget…
Emotions forgotten, she removed the simple grey T-shirt, tossed it down, and exited in her makeshift bathing suit. There was not time to consider what was lost.
The quarry was larger than expected. Ripples of the falling water shimmered atop its surface in the faded light of a crescent moon.
Daryl and Merle walked back to their tents on the outer rim of camp. Too much group bonding put hot tension at the back of their throats. A reminder of how little the pair blended, apocalyptic world or not. They were two backwoods' hicks everyone else lifted their noses at.
It was no different than the dead world. Except now they had to accept them. They needed their skills, their labor.
A cruel sense of irony, the ones who sneered at them in high school now needed them to survive.
Daryl breathed the night woody air. Free of others, it lifted the weight of his chest.
The crossbow slung at his back swung with each step. A reminder of his weapon as they left the inner protection of the group to their personal cots hoisted in grey tents. The leather saddle bags laid against boots. A tattered fleece blanket was rolled at the edge of his sleeping bag.
He slid the strap of his bow off his shoulder as his fingers grasped the cool metal of the flap. A shift in his brother caught his eye. The glint of moonlight off his glass bottle.
There on the edge of the quarry pool was a figure. Short blonde waves just brushed the edge of the shoulders, light almond skin paler in the pure white light of the moon. Her body was free of its outer layers. A bra and underwear with thigh holsters still in place, the hilt of her knives within reach.
"Now lookie. There's a fine piece." Merle straightened.
"Merle. Don't."
"Watch and learn. I'm about to show you how to score."
He was forced to watch his brother stride confidently toward an armed woman still primed for a fight.
His mind neared resignment of his brother's troubles when the trickle of curiosity emerged.
The air was cool near the quarry pool. A light mist from the water filled the air. The white foggy haze casted a sort of thickness to each breath, the depths coated lungs in a humid hold, unable to gain breath but not yet starved enough for oxygen.
Grass was quiet as he walked. Not a step betrayed.
Boulders sat at one edge of the pond's shore. Eloise stood firmly planted on its edge.
Merle approached. The sound of his greeting carried on the wind. Something like 'if you wanted me to come fuck you, all you had to do is ask' followed by a 'you're awful armed for a woman. Lookin' for a big strong man like me to protect you, ain't you?"
Daryl grimaced. He didn't need to see his brother fuckin' try.
The wind to his back caught a breathy gust of air across his ear. "Do you still bleed if a bitch cuts you?"
A blade was pressed against Merle's throat. Moonlight caught the edge of the knife.
Fear caught in his brother's chest. Both of his hands lifted in defeat. One leg leaned back behind him.
"Take it easy there."
"Come near me again and I'll slit your throat before you can form a single ugly word."
Daryl clenched the strap across his chest. The tension mounted in his fingers released when he heard the crisp crackle of the strap.
"Fuckin' pussy," he muttered to himself.
Merle staggered away. His heavy steps shook the still ground on the path back to his tent.
"Bitch has somethin' comin'." His brother ripped the zipper from its seat before falling inside.
It was a long minute until Merle was settled enough inside his tent that he wouldn't reemerge to make a point – usually done with his fists – until Daryl was convinced it was safe. He slipped a path to the north side.
The pool was still. Boulder's edge abandoned. Eerie white fog through the air.
There was a gentle lapping. Water moved in waves from the sounds of quiet treading. Just at the base of the grey boulder shore was a head, only a head, above the water, bobbing along in gentle strokes below the surface. Hair lengthened and flat atop the surface.
A light steam, like subtle smoke, lifted from the water.
Georgia was warm in the evenings. It was a rare night that it cooled. The moving air was to blame. It spread droplets of sweat into a sheen of cold across the body.
The nightly swim was short. The crunch of her feet on the rocky shore that she emerged on, the music of the pond, as the backdrop of the camp was nothing but a faint hum of hushed voices. Her hair flipped back behind her shoulder. A single hand smoothed it back.
Darkened flesh split the bicep. A sharp line of deeply bruised flesh through the upper muscle on both sides.
"You got something to say?" Her voice said out to the darkness.
The moon was not to her advantage. It showed just enough to cut a silhouette through the dim.
His step faltered as he emerged from the outlet of haze. Face swallowed in the light of the splintered moonlight.
Clothes clung to her frame. Their fabric, wet and sheer, exposed what little there was to be imagined.
The height of jutted bones beneath her waist was gripped in purple bruises the size of a palm.
He ducked his eyes away. The middle of the quarry his focus, as he waited for a shred of cover to her exposed body.
"That gang you were with," he questioned. "How many of 'em were there?"
A shiver ran through. Her limbs twitched, back spasmed at the touch of the cool breeze.
"Seven."
Daryl shrugged, eyes still fixed far away from her person. "You know, that woulda been nothin' for us to clear out if you'd have said somethin'."
The soft pitter patter of water against stone ceased. A shivering breath from her throat, despite the relative warmth.
"Not easy to spot the difference," she replied.
"I gave you a ride," Daryl said. Heat spread across the back of his neck. "I took you with me. Didn't lay a hand on you, did I?" The crossbow shifted as he stood awkwardly. "Doesn't matter. Might've said something later. We camped for three days. Close enough. Coulda turned back."
He knew better than to be lured by the temptation of curiosity. Its taste, a poison.
Eloise did not shy away. Her body exposed; she revealed very little issue with his view of it.
She looked away; jaw relaxed. The whites of her eyes glowed strong through the haze of foggy light. "Can't say I had high hopes for a man with a Nazi symbol engraved on the tank." She took a short sniff. "Birds of a feather. Couldn't risk you being one of them."
Blinding hot red pulled at the tips of his ears.
All his life he felt the assumption of his character through the eyes of everyone. The pity of strangers on the streets of his hometown, teachers, cops as they stopped by to grab Merle from his bed. Disgust of the girl's in school when he came with dirty jeans. The wide-eyed stares of the group as he heaved in kill after kill, despite their growling bellies, the look of judgement and suspicion in their gaze.
Daryl wrinkled his nose. "I've never hurt a woman."
"Peeping on me at night doesn't prove your innocence," she retorted.
"I was only makin' sure Merle didn't do somethin' stupid." His eyes stayed fixed forward, confident, coming closer to her face. "I don't give a fuck what you do."
That night, he replayed the moment over and over. The tossing and turning at the humiliation of her words, a deeper wound through his exterior. A foulness atop his tongue as he rose the next day for a morning hike through the woods.
It was done under the guise of a hunt. They were too desperate for food to question.
Eyes burned as they fought against the dry air. Every motion burned. A night of rubbing them, in hopes of rest and in need of relief, wore against their state.
Wilderness offered sanctuary as it had done all his life when Merle was gone on a bender or in jail and his father was too occupied to notice his existence. Friends were a business he never bothered with. People. He didn't need them. Nature gave him a place to belong, alone, unquestioned by his isolation and quiet.
He liked the trees when Merle was home, too. The only reprieve from the constant talk. At least beneath a canopy with a gun in his hand, his brother knew when to shut the fuck up.
A pair of squirrels and a rabbit caught the edge of his wrath. They were tucked away in a pocket at his lower back.
By the time he returned to camp, everyone was awake with a task already assigned. Laundry, boiling water, foraging, cleaning, camp watch. It was pathetic how little there was left in life to do, and how long it took to complete that.
Daryl took time to skin his catch. The raw meat delivered to Carol – the unappointed camp cook – for a worthy meal. She knew the best way to cook a rabbit without turning it to leather.
Pelts were laid to dry. They had yet to discover a purpose for them, but he refused to throw them after taking all the effort to trap them.
Word was there was a coming run to the city. Glenn had mapped out an area to run through. Shane wanted more. The group needed more. Volunteers were needed to go into the city to scavenge for a bit of something to make their lives easier. Food was too good to hope for. Medical supplies was a close second.
Guns, ammo, knives, all a pipe dream.
Shane was on his rounds when Daryl caught him. "Hey. Next run. I'm in."
The former deputy scrunched his mouth. "Ooh. Not sure I can do that."
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Camp needs someone who can hunt to stick around. With Merle in Atlanta too, we won't be able to spare the manpower. I need you here."
"Man, whatever."
The afternoon passed into early evening. Daryl walked on his way to fill his canteen from the camp jugs of fresh, boiled water, sounds of whispers captured his notice. The two blonde sisters and Carol were in quiet discussion. Huddled close like it was great congress.
Stupid women gossip. They didn't have anything better to do than run their mouths about stupid shit?
He rolled his eyes intent to keep walking, but he heard his name mentioned.
His eyes squinted against the height of the day. "What's that?"
Attention at his presence stirred them from tight congregation. One of their shoulders raised.
"We have to say something," Carol said. Her arms hugged her chest.
"It's only been a day." It was the older blonde, Andrea. Her self-entitled tone set his teeth on edge like the grinding of gears in a manual truck.
They debated amongst themselves. It left Daryl in the blinding light of day to wait.
An arm rested against his forehead for a hint of shadow to his eyes. "I got stuff to do."
Amy swatted Andrea's arm. Two palms went up in defeat. The crunch of footsteps as she walked away, washing her hands of the mess, which Daryl was ready to do himself.
"Spit it out," he barked.
Carol and Amy neared. The worry on their face irritated him. The entire world was shit. Soon they'd all be walker food. Worries were a waste of time.
"Your friend," Carol began. "The one you brought."
Friend. There were no friends here.
"She hasn't eaten," Amy said, as if she couldn't hold it in any longer. "I offered her some mushrooms after she didn't eat last night, but she won't take it."
Daryl scoffed. "Why you tellin' me? I just found her. I ain't her keeper."
"We just thought she might listen to you."
He took a long inhale. Camp was busy with their daily work. Jim and Dale at the RV, repairing the million things not working, while Morales stacked a fresh pile of firewood at the edge of camp from the nearest tree cover. Merle was off taking a dump somewhere. A fishing pole was pulled from the RV by Andrea for a look over.
The kids were at their own table. Not even the apocalypse excused them from homework. There were instruction sheets that each worked on at the oversight of one of the moms.
"Where is she?" He then spat at the ground. "Washin' clothes or somethin'?"
Amy pointed down the road. "She went off that way."
"Into the woods?"
Carol nodded. "She took her knives. We thought she might be hunting."
Tracking was a skill that any hunter worth their salt should know. None of that put-the-ear-to-the-ground shit either. Actual observation, the flow of nature and the disruptions that made a trail.
The gravel road showed steps easy enough. An entry point to the wood was cut through the long grasses. He slung the bow off his back. Each hand gripped a black tape grip under the body of the weapon as he emerged through the lush green of late summer wilderness.
Her path emerged as he observed the space ahead of him. Broken stems, bent grass, then the smudges in the bare dirt floor.
It was far enough from camp for not a sound to be heard. A noticeable slunk carried. The steady thud, hollow, against a tree filled his eyes, leading him deeper to the darker parts of the trees.
Then it stopped.
Daryl walked silently over twigs and leaves as he centered upon the noise.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from a leafy green wall. Limp chestnut hair laid against jutted shoulders on a tall, lanky figure. Lori. Her face was flushed red. Eyes fluttered with each blink as her feet beelined back in the direction of camp.
"I don't know what you thought you saw…"
Shane's voice splintered the serene quiet of the light leaf rustling and chitter of birds.
Daryl gripped the crossbow as he peered from the edge of the clearing.
Eloise stood near the edge. A spread of trees across displayed broken bark from the sharp edges of knives thrown into their trunks. She tapped a single blade against her palm. Three knives jutted from the trunks.
The man before her was puffed, shoulders back and high in their sockets, as he glared down with those dark eyes of a madman.
His hand raised. "This doesn't need to be said, right? I don't have to say that we keep our business to ourselves around here."
Daryl watched on as Shane threatened her with implied repercussions if she repeated what was presumably Lori and Shane fucking in the brush. As if their shared disappearances into the woods weren't obvious.
He scoffed as the bastard trudged through. Boots stomped against the ground in an audible march. The man kept his chin high as he left. Not a shred of regret or second thought over the words he'd spoken to another person.
Daryl sighed and dropped his crossbow away. He took a long step inside the green leafy brush of the clearing. The body of his bow tapped against his thigh.
"Hey," he said.
She casted him a wary glance. A hesitant jump of her gaze went to the way of Shane's exit.
"You good?"
The knife tapped against her open palm again. "Peachy."
There was no resistance in his presence or his approach, so he proceeded closer.
"Seen anything?" He asked.
She shook her head. "It's been quiet."
Her arm retracted, blade held between her fingers, and threw the blade forward with a resounding thud. It hit the trunk with an audible sound, splitting the bark with ease.
Daryl shifted his weight. The crossbow hit against his thigh again.
Eloise high-stepped through the tall grasses to her target trees, having to exert a fair amount of effort to pull the blades from the trunks. Sweat beaded atop her forehead. Heat of the day poured in through the space of the clearing. Humidity thick with each breath. She dragged a sleeve of her leather coat across her face. A sheen coated her face as she stepped back, knives in hand.
"Where'd you learn that?" He gestured at the weapons still placed at her thighs. Each holster was fitted with a blade. Plenty spread through the thick meat of her upper leg. "Don't see many girls takin' an interest in stuff like that."
Her green eyes squinted in a bright ray of light. "How many girls you even know?"
He blinked. A reply escaped him, unable to form an answer that didn't make him sound like rube.
"Let's just say, I was the girl who had to play baseball. Couldn't play softball with the girls." She appraised the collection of knives within her grasp. Black, olive, and camo-colored hilts, different designs and edges.
"Must've had some arm."
"Still do."
Daryl reached his arm down and took hold of the grip on his bow. He was not responsible for who he brought in the camp. Each person was liable for their own self. Eating, chores, what they did with their time. That was their own.
Whether Eloise ate or not was not his business.
Still, his finger tapped the bow, debating the urge to feed her himself. "You know how to hunt with those?"
Her eyes lifted from the blades. "Sure. A bit." She shrugged. "I mostly use snares in the woods. Small game. The blades cut up what little meat there is."
"I'm headed out if you want to come along," he said. Then he added in a harsher tone, "It ain't any fun. Won't be talkin' and laughin'."
"I think I can handle that," she replied.
They traveled far from camp. Hunting near camp was frivolous. The sparse game was too small for the effort. If it was to be worth the while of two abled bodies, a deeper, untouched, unhunted section was needed.
She knew to keep her mouth closed as Daryl tracked through the trees, bending so often to analyze the ground for tracks or catching a broken stem in his fingers, all the while her eyes circled. Any hint of sound brought her hand to her thigh, another shoved in the pocket of her jacket where he guessed another blade sat.
They happened upon a pair of ducks. Their deep emerald, green heads bobbed as they waddled along.
He raised his bow. One eye squinted as one body centered at the crosshairs of his sights.
The trigger moved under his touch. An arrow silently soared through the air as the other duck flew back off its feet.
"What the -."
He stomped over to the pair. One was punctured by an arrow in its chest. Right through the heart.
The other lacked a head. The bloody stump of its neck laid against the ground; a knife stuck just above the lifeless body.
Daryl glanced at his companion. His brow lifted.
She shrugged.
He grabbed the two birds and tucked them behind him. The knife he plucked from the ground was embedded in filth. He wiped the brown grime on his jeans.
"Here."
The blade was handed back.
"Camp will eat good today." She sighed as she dug her fists into her pocket.
"Nah. These won't be any good if we wait," he said.
They gathered a bundle of sticks. A small line of smoke emerged after a while of clicking flint stones together. He tucked them back into his pocket as he fed little bits of dried brush into the small greedy flames. A soft blow of his lips sparked a smoldering smoke to hot orange flame.
The two birds were splayed on a stick over the growing flame. Juices and fats dripped into the fire, growing it further, perfuming the air with the heavenly scent of food.
Pale flesh turned golden brown. Juices sealed into the meat as it was turned over the fire.
When it came time to eat, Daryl's fingers picked at his own bird while hers remained largely intact.
"Better eat up," he mumbled as another strip of the juicy duck meat when into his mouth. "Can't keep goin' on nothin'."
She looked down at the roasted bird. "Camp needs it more than I do."
He sighed. "Either you eat the damn bird, or I will." A horrified look crossed her eyes. The trickery of ultimatums. "It won't make it back to camp, so you best get off your high horse and eat the sum bitch."
Begrudgingly her fingers tore into the body of the bird. Steam rose off the meat. She blew on it gently before slipping it between her lips.
"Didn't take you for the noble sort," she grumbled.
An insulted narrowing of eyes scrunched his face. "And why not? Because I'm just some dumb hillbilly?"
The change in his tone did not alter her comfort. She simply looked at him with the most indifferent stare.
"You didn't give a rat's ass if I starved after you picked me up."
He settled back against his palms. Disgusted, still, but less so. "That's because I wasn't certain if you was worth the effort."
"And now?" Her head tilted. "What makes me worth the calories now?"
Dryness came to the back of his throat. A struggling clench at the back of his throat, in need of water.
He cleared his throat. "Another hunter is good to keep round." The pressure of the question added weight to her gaze. Daryl felt the heaviness against his body. He looked away to keep it off his mind. "With how much this group eats, we'll be needin' more."
"Hmm." Her mouth hummed.
Silence drifted on the wind. It was a quiet reprieve. The dense heat beneath the canopy was an unbreakable atmosphere that drained sweat from the body, only relieved by the slightest breath of wind.
Eloise kept her thick jacket on despite the growing sheen on her face.
Sometime later, when they doused the fire, and headed back to camp, Daryl's mouth started speaking before he thought to contain it. "It's not my bike."
"What?"
He faced her. "The symbol. On the tank. It isn't mine."
They fought through the overgrown grass of the ditches as they ascended from the tree line to the gravel road. It was farther down the way than they'd entered.
The steady crunch of their feet filled both their ears. Nothing but the sounds of rocks and dirt underfoot, crisp and musical.
"Your brother's then." She shook off his curious look. "You don't die over a stolen item. Not even one as good as a motorcycle. You were willing to die fighting me for the bike. I could tell that much."
Dale waved from atop the RV as they neared camp. His rifle hanged off his back.
"You had me by the balls. Coulda killed me. There was nothin' to stop you."
A twitch was at the corner of her mouth as if in anticipation.
He stopped. "What stopped you?"
"It wasn't your pretty scowl." A coy smile twisted her lips for a split second. It was the first shred of emotion since that first night that he'd seen. She gave a shrug as the expression dropped away. "Most people want to die. They're scared of living. Not dying. But you. You were willing to fight me. Figured that must mean you had something good enough that kept you going on." Daylight ignited the green of her eyes with shimmery hazel glint. "Wanted to know what was so good you wanted to live for."