Three: Griffin Town Line

No matter how little sleep he got, no matter how much his tired, sleep-deprived mind fizzled, Daryl always got the squirrel. It was a matter of survival so missing his target simply wasn't an option. He looked at the arrow which had pinned the lifeless animal to the tree. It died instantly. It was a good, clean shot. Satisfaction sank in as he tied it to the rope that lay across his chest, now accompanying three other squirrels already tied to it. Dinner. The others would be thrilled at the prospect of meat. No one could tell him that he wasn't a valuable part of the group now.

Their past two meals had consisted of black-eyed peas and the vilest, cold canned collard greens he thought he'd ever eaten. The stuff was hard to swallow, but it silenced his growling stomach.

Stringing a fifth squirrel to him on the way back to the road was the hope. A rabbit would be a real prize. He watched his feet, taking care to avoid stepping on any dry branches that might snap underfoot, scaring anything away. Ambling toward the direction of the road, he noticed an area of leaves that looked like they had been recently stirred. The semi-wet, rotting oak leaves under the top layer of dry ones poked through, signaling an animal had been digging around there very recently. He crouched and looked to the left of the tree, seeing several acorn hulls and caps strewn at the bottom of the nearby oak. He heard rustling from above, loaded, and aimed his bow in the general direction the sound came from. There was a blur moving in the high branches of the tree as he released the bolt, moments later the squirrel came falling to the earth below.

Daryl looked at the sun through the top of the tree canopy. The road wasn't far and it wasn't quite time to be back yet so Daryl decided to sit for a spell and admire the slight breeze that was coming down through the trees. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow that threatened to fall in his eyes.

This was where he felt his best; in the forest alone with plenty of space for his thoughts to wander. No one to butt in and ruin a daydream, no one making him feel like he needed to return polite conversation. He watched as another squirrel darted around, fifty or so feet away, oblivious or maybe just uncaring of his presence. He was about to grab his crossbow and take it down, but something made him take pause.

The sounds of shuffling and hissing came from behind him, and a snapping twig alerted him further. Daryl slowly peered from behind the tree, his right hand on his crossbow, only to see a walker wandering a ways away. The thing went in a triangle formation and wobbled over a fallen branch. "Clumsy mother-," he mumbled to himself as he sent the bolt sailing into the walker's skull. He checked for more before leaving, not wanting to lead any walkers toward the others, and headed out.

Once he reached the group he heard a quiet whoop, "Yeah, Daryl!" It was Glenn at the sight of the squirrels. Daryl didn't pay much attention to the praise Glenn had uttered. It made him uncomfortable, never sure of how to take it, and merely responded, "Got one walker. Easy kill."

Rick nodded and thanked the hunter who had become his right-hand man of sorts, taking the gain from him and handing it to Lori for safekeeping. "I think if we stay on this road, head west a little way, there's a gas station we may be able to siphon some gas from the cars there. Maybe find some food." Everyone nodded in acceptance of the plan. Hershel was the only one to voice acceptance saying, "Sure thing."

Daryl and Rick went in ahead of everyone else. The station was small, with no need for anyone else to go in to help secure it. Daryl scanned the aisles for walkers while Rick checked the bathroom. Nothing.

The two men nodded at one another in silent agreement to check the small storeroom down the corridor at the back of the store. Daryl went first, looking at the blind spot mirror which hung in the upper-hand corner of the hall where it veered right. He pointed at the reflection of a body that was sitting, leaning against the wall around the corner and Rick raised his gun in case it was needed to subdue the situation.

Daryl turned the corner cautiously and made his way towards the body. He couldn't tell if it was "alive" so he tapped it with the toe of his boot. The thing sprung to life as if it had been awakened from a state of suspended animation. It was still hard sometimes to understand the walkers. Why they did the things they did or why some moved faster than others were still unclear to everyone. They seemed to group up and travel in herds. Daryl guessed they got the memo that there's strength in numbers.

One arrow was all it took. The storeroom was free of walkers. Rick poked his head out the back entrance and waved the others forward.

"I found TP!" Glenn held up several four-packs of toilet paper, his face animated with excitement. Maggie smiled at him and went to help him stuff the packs into an old, discarded milk crate.

"Thank God," T-Dog said, "I was gettin' tired of wipin' my ass with leaves." It took so little to boost morale.

Maggie scanned the rows for the feminine hygiene section of the mini-mart. Out of the already limited selection, not much remained on the shelves. No tampons. Only two travel-sized packages of pads. Carol joined her and shook her head. "You need them now?"

Maggie shook her head no, "In a week maybe. Should be that time soon."

The two looked up to see Daryl staring at them from the other side of the row of shelves, accidentally overhearing their conversation from between bottles of engine oil and packs of replacement headlight bulbs.

"Not my problem," he grumbled and turned away awkwardly, abandoning the supplies just at his fingertips. He'd come back for them, he decided. The two women chuckled at his awkward reaction.

"Not too much canned food left." Lori was saying to Rick. Carl was loading another crate with canned green beans and mushrooms. "Make sure you check the expirations on those, Baby," Lori said to Carl who nodded at his mother's request. "Mostly stuff no one else wanted." She was turning over a box of noodles, staring at the label so she didn't have to look at her husband's grim, distracted face. She wondered if there would come a time when he would cease to look at her with blame and veiled disgust. She took each box and neatly piled them in the crate next to the beans and mushrooms.

She moved to the next aisle and her eyes fell on a gold mine. Meal replacement bars, granola, and two cases of Ensure were pushed to the back of the bottom shelf so it was slightly out of sight. "Rick," she said and pointed. The way the tension on her husband's face melted broke her heart. She'd gotten so used to his perpetual grimace that it felt odd to see a half smile creep across his parted lips. She did feel guilt over Shane and her mistakes, but trying to be strong had caused her to seem callous to Rick. She wasn't sure if pushing him away was a conscious act or not, but she'd begun to realize the week prior that she was doing it.

Hershel and Beth kept watch by the back door as T-Dog and Daryl siphoned gas from the abandoned cars in the parking lot. They'd done alright on food and other goods, but the few cars in the lot didn't yield much gasoline. Maggie found some jugs of water in the store room. Racks of soda lined one wall. Daryl opened a box, still taped up from the time the store's last shipments came in. It was full of chips. "Yes 'r no?" He asked Rick's opinion on the matter of whether to take or leave the box. Rick nodded.

Daryl was loading the box into the back of the Suburban when Beth squealed. He saw three walkers at the edge of the woods and whistled to the others to get going. One wore a dirty sundress, the other two only had, cloth shreds left to cover their bodies. They all piled in the cars and Daryl revved his bike, leaving just as they were noticed.

They drove at a low speed down the back roads, Daryl taking the lead as usual. He'd taken to driving a little ways ahead of everyone else in the event that he needed to warn them of impending danger down the road. It was much easier than their caravan getting hung up, and having to try to turn around all piled up on top of each other if there was a herd or a blocked road ahead.

About three miles down the road, Daryl rounded a curve. He slowed and held up a hand signaling the others to slow as well. Two walkers lingered about a quarter mile up the road. One stood on the center line, the other rambled a little ways ahead of that one.

Rick pulled up in the Suburban. The two men looked at one another for an answer. If they went on ahead, it was possible they were driving into a herd and they were a little hand shy of an occurrence like that.

"Take our chances?" Daryl cocked his head and squinted in the sun. "Area should be pretty safe. Haven't run into much up here at all."

Rick nodded, "Stay alert." Daryl restarted the bike and side by side they slowly made their way, the Hyundai following close behind.

Maureen stood with the men, keeping one hand on the wall in case she lost her balance again as she had almost fallen over moments prior. She was looking at the supplies they'd amassed, searching for her belongings. Her large, mustard yellow backpack stood out at her immediately. Her supplies had been removed, but most of her personal belongings including her clothing were intact seeing as the men had no use for it. "Where's the sketchbook that was in this bag?" She asked hesitantly.

"That yours?" Mack reached behind him to a stack of books that were in the 'leave behind pile' and thumbed at the pages before he handed it to her. "You're talented." She ignored the compliment. She looked at the books and grabbed the soft cover of obscure short stories she'd hastily packed before leaving her home when it all began. She could see the photo of her mother poking out, still saving her place in the old, ratty book which she had since she was nine. "Might want to think about things you'll actually need." Still looking down, she glared to herself at his comment and continued looking in her bag, making sure the few pens and pencils she had left were still accounted for.

"As far as food goes, we've set this pile aside for you. A few cans of soup, some crackers, spam, and your favorite: baked beans." Maureen surveyed the rations, wanting to make sure she got her fair share after all she'd been through. She was a little more bold now that she knew she'd be leaving soon.

"I want that bag of rice and those dry beans. That can of chili instead of the pork and beans," She spoke quietly, but firmly. Her hand slapped the wall as she once again caught herself. Floating black spots that curled and twisted, and turned into white sparkles which danced in front of her eyes.

"You do, do you?" At first, he looked as though he was about to tell her to fuck off, but he relented, seeing as it didn't make nearly a dent in what they had. And they did have a lot. They were set for a very long time. They had all they would need to make it through the winter if they were careful. He began to swap the items, "A lot for a little girl to carry, but I guess you did earn it."

It was a fine line, making sure she didn't pack too heavy. She was small and weak now. Before this began, when food was plentiful, she weighed a mere 110 pounds at five foot two. She was under a hundred pounds now and she made sure to pack as light as possible otherwise. On foot, she wasn't sure when the next time she would come across food would be. She wanted to be prepared in case she needed it.

Next, he handed her a blanket on which rested a filled 24 oz. water bottle. "Good?" He asked. She nodded, glancing briefly at a rope that would come in handy to tie herself up in a tree to sleep if there was no other safe option, but she didn't dare ask for fear that they would finally be set off by too many requests. The last item on her mental list was a weapon.

"What about weapons? I need to be able to protect myself." Protecting herself was something that by now, she was used to. She'd been on her own most of her young adult life. Being alone once again stung, but it wasn't a shock.

"We have that all set for you. You take a left outta here and walk a half mile or so up the road you'll see a sign for the Griffin town line, and you'll find what you need under it. Can't have you shootin' or stabbin' anybody here, can we?"

Maureen shook her head. "I'm not walking one step out of here empty-handed. Do you really think I stand a chance if I run into anything out there?" When he didn't respond she added, "Please, something. Anything."

He sighed, but relented. "Figured you ask. Here," He handed her a fire poker which satisfied her. It was firm in her hand and the point on the tip was shockingly reasonable for penetrating a walker's skull.

She kept her voice soft and innocent "What's waiting up the road for me?"

"Smith and Wesson revolver and a fair-sized hunting knife."

"What about ammo?"

He reached for a small handful of bullets in his shirt pocket. "Shoots 38's, holds six rounds. There's plenty, as thanks for last night," he said with an amused grin. She opened her palm to count the number he'd just dumped into her hand. It was a mere, insulting six shots.

Maureen's teeth clenched and forced down a wave of anger along with a bout of nausea thinking back to the previous night. Her body ached and her burns were tender.

He leaned in, and she stiffened and curved her body away from his as he whispered just loud enough for his closest man to hear, "You know you liked it. You're gonna be begging every man to do what I did last night from now on." Her eyes watered and she cleared her throat to distract herself. She didn't dare cry in front of him; the mocking she was sure would ensue.

"I'll be going," She said gathering her things and turning for the door, just wanting to make a smooth escape.

But he grabbed her upper arm, squeezing hard. "Don't you think you might wanna say thank you?"

"Thank you for the opportunity, but no thanks." The man looked stunned and faltered for a moment and so did she, utterly surprised at her own words. It was the redhead in her, her mother had always said that sometimes caused her emotions to flare. She'd always had a ferocity that boiled beneath the surface. She regretted it then even before the man even reacted.

"Told you she was an ungrateful little bitch and we should kill her, Mack," said one of his acomplices. Maureen was too busy thinking of the closest exit to register which man had spoken. This comment angered him as there had been much debate between the four men regarding the girl's fate. Mack had made the final call to let her go and now she was making him look like a fool.

The next thing Maureen knew, she was being slammed against the cement wall, the wind practically being knocked out of her. "Wanna try again!" It wasn't a question at all.

"Thank you," she stuttered and said slowly, a little stunned.

"Thank you," he said in return and smelled her neck, taking in her scent one last time before he let her go on her way. He felt her stiffen at the advancement and laughed out of his nose. "Run along."

Maureen opened the heavy office building door. It took leaning all her weight against it to open it. The sunlight made her advance slower than she wanted, having to let her eyes adjust. She heard the door close behind her. With one weight lifted, she was now worried for a different reason. There was strength in numbers and she was alone. Again.

"You havin' second thoughts, Mack?" The man asked as the boss stared at the door the young woman had just exited through.

"Get back to it. We leave in thirty," was his only response.

It's funny how that survival instinct kicks in. The girl's eyes immediately took to scanning for any movement. Her hands, stiff from dehydration, didn't seem to want to do what her brain told them as she fumbled with her bag, but she managed. Each step was painful, except it didn't seem to fully register. She didn't let her mind wander to the aches and pains that plagued her. She stared straight ahead, only glancing back at the building long enough to make sure she wasn't being followed. She forgot any possible thought of giving up.

A half mile down the road, under the Griffin town line marker, as promised was the revolver and hunting knife. She was pleased with the two. They looked easy to handle if she needed them. Making sure the gun was loaded with her measly six rounds that she "earned", she tucked it into her waistband and buckled the knife, safe in its sheath around her waist. She had learned to shoot out of necessity. She'd only touched a gun a few times before the outbreak and while she was an okay shot, she wasn't absolutely confident in her abilities.

The trek so far had been quiet, but she wasted no time getting out of the tiny town and moved as quickly as her shaky legs would allow, which wasn't very fast. They wobbled under her like a newborn calf. It dawned on her that she should have asked for a map or at least been given the chance to look at one to get her bearings. After a month of being cooped up, her sense of the area was waning. Not to mention, being out in the world after being held captive required some adjustment. She made a mental note to look for a map at the next safe gas station she came to which she recalled seeing a way to the south. Maybe she could find a car. She missed her old, beater of a Cadillac. She sighed at the thought of it sitting abandoned on the side of the highway where she'd left it months ago. Her heart ached for its memory. She had so many memories in that old thing. "Sentimental dummy," she mumbled to herself. "Focus."

Not knowing exactly where she was in relation to anywhere safe, she made the decision to remain on the back roads that she assumed ran parallel to the main ones, and look for a place to spend the night. If she really needed to she would sleep in a tree. It wouldn't be the first time. She was used to tying herself up in a tree when she was really desperate for a safe place to sleep. "Shit," she said to herself. "That rope would've been real nice." She couldn't go back and change it now so she tried to keep her thoughts together as she roamed toward her destination, the gas station that she hoped she wasn't misremembering.

The afternoon rolled around and the sun was at its highest. She felt woozy once again and stopped to take a small sip of water. Her body ached, especially her hips which felt like they were grinding against the sockets of her pelvis with every stiff, robotic step. She stretched and looked around.

Maureen had been moving at a snail's pace for the past two hours and she quickly surveyed the area for a safe place to rest for a while. The adrenaline that had kept her going back at the office building was dwindling. She didn't like not having a plan. She liked to be prepared for as much as possible. Too much uncertainty made her feel like a child again. She walked up the middle of the road a bit further, shakily, hoping she would come across a spot soon before she passed out. Maybe she should just duck into the treeline to be safe. She decided to make it around the curve in the road before stopping.

After continuing on for a minute and rounding the bend, she stopped still as a post, a walker was meandering ahead of her in the road. She know for a fact she had no strength to take it on. What if there were others nearby and the sound of her fighting it off drew them in? She could turn around, but that idea was entirely unappealing. If she cut through the woods she might get lost. She stared up at the thing through her long bangs. The thought of death crossed her mind. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Sure, the getting ripped apart part would be shit, but actual death might be okay at this point. She was close enough that she didn't dare move as not to draw attention. She felt her heart racing and her anxiety building. She wanted to cry but shook the idea out of her head along with that of death. She sat her bag down, feeling as though she might pass out or throw up. Or maybe both.

Her internal debate seemed to go on for a long time as she stood holding only the fire poker for defense. Her head throbbed and her hearing faded in and out. Everything was fuzzy and she didn't like her chances against the roamer. Her vision blurred and she was terrified that she would pass out, only to come to while being torn to pieces. She was drawn away from her thoughts, straining her ears for the sound. She thought she heard an engine. After a short time, she knew she wasn't imagining it. She turned her head and saw a motorcycle round the curve in the road and slow to a stop, idling a ways away.

Fear and insecurity rose inside her and her adrenaline buzzed. They'd seen her. The last time she came across another group, she'd ended up in her current predicament. She was turned toward the group now, her attention completely off of the walker down the road. The caravan began to move again and she stumbled, moving to the side of the road when she realized there was a particularly tough-looking man on the bike bearing down on her. She dropped her fire poker, the iron clattering to the pavement, and reached for her gun.