Merle had said Arron couldn't keep secrets once, a very long time ago. The reason for that, Merle had theorized, was because Arron was too honest. Arron was what one would call 'Mistaken Bad Guy,' a certified genuine nice guy who was always mistaken as a bully. The man was too blunt to even realize he was telling the secret you just told him to anyone and everyone who asked. Daryl and Merle understood Arron's weaknesses and steered the waters of Arron's vast personality like experienced sailors out at sea. All it took was hitting him in the right mood. That's why Merle tended to start fights Arron a lot when he was around. Daryl, generally, resorted to hitting Arron in some way when he noticed the man withdrawing to keep the secret to himself.
The only secrets Arron kept was Daryl and Merle's. Daryl didn't know why it was only his brother's and his secrets the man kept. It sometimes made Daryl feel a little special thinking about it. Other times, Daryl just thought it was because so much of Arron's own life was so tangled up in theirs that he couldn't tell any of them without letting his own slip out.
Thinking about it, Daryl supposed it was Glen's fault they were all gathered here today in front of the infested barn. The kid should have known Arron would never hide a secret like this; especially, when Daryl was the one asking directly.
"I say, we break the chain and kill them all before they escape and kill us." Shane and Rick were fighting again.
"Now, hold on," Rick said firmly, hands on his hips like the action was going to make him look like the bigger man, "we don't know why they are in there. Herchel could have a good reason, and this isn't our place to interfere."
Arron was standing off in the back of the group of people. While he wearing his arm bands of pointy objects (mostly because he didn't trust Shane or the group of people carrying guns), Arron was just there to see how the scenario played out. He found it all hilarious, if you asked him, how fast the group ignored Mr. Greene's no gun law and stalk over to the barn like the modern day version of a pitch fork mob. He was as thrilled about the idea of living next to flesh eaters as the next guy or gal in the group, but Arron thought it was just easier to leave than it was to waste ammo or energy on exterminating the ugly monsters. Leave the Greene's Group to deal with their consequences, Arron would have voted if there was one. Everyone had to learn eventually.
Daryl was even less thrilled than anyone in the group. He had no idea how he, of all people, got swept up in the crowd heading to the barn doors. Daryl didn't want to be anywhere near the moving door, knowing that Walkers stood on the other side pounding on them. On principle, Daryl had his crossbow aimed at the old doors, just incase they managed to break them down while he and Arron stood so close. It was always better to be prepared than to be caught with your fingers up your ass.
"What about Arron's theory of hive mind?" Glen was asking Rick in the most serious tone.
"Wait," both Shane and Rick stopped arguing for a moment to look at the Korean, "what?" Then they were turning to Arron with a shocked look.
"What theory?" Rick was asking.
Arron had this deer in the head lights look on his face. "Wait," the man was saying, tone filled with confusion, "How did I get brought into this?" Clearly, he had forgotten all about it.
"You remember, you theorized that Walkers might have had a way to communicate with each other over long distances," Glen was trying to remind him.
Realization lit up Arron's scared face for a moment before the man was frowning again. "I was just talking out my ass." Why was this a thing all of the sudden, Arron was wondering mentally.
"So you didn't see a horde meet up with another group of walkers in a foresty area."
"No. That had happened." That was how they lost Daryl and Merle's childhood cabin.
"So, your theory was sound, and backed by evidence." Glen looked way too proud of himself for one who was putting someone on the spot.
Of all the times someone had to call him out on his bullshit, now would be the time, Arron thought as he rubbed his chin. Well, Glen did seem like the type to believe the shit that came out of Arron's mouth. "I suppose you could think of it that way," Arron relented. Then, he was adding, "But, still. It would just be a theory. Nothing concrete."
The only vote put into effect that day, Much to Arron's ire, was whether or not Arron could talk to Glen unsupervised. It was astonishing the things the group agreed with each other about, Arron thought in discussed as he watched the overwhelming amount of 'Yay's versus his one 'Nay.'
"Anyway," Rick said, trying to bring them back on topic, "let me speak with Herchel, first. I'll try to talk the man into some sense."
"Fine," Shane spat, "but I want round the clock watch on the barn. We deserve to be able to protect ourselves."
"Agreed," Andrea and T-dog were adding their 2 cents in, immediately after Shane's comment.
"I don't like this, guys," Glen added as the group started heading back to their tented area. The kid shot the barn another nervous look over his shoulder. "I really don't."
"Ie," Dale agreed, "I don't, either."
Both men jumped as the Walkers banged on the wooden doors again, listening as the wood groaned.
"It's just a matter of time before there's too many in there for the doors to hold them back," Arron was muttering, fighting the most vicious smirk off his face, as he was walking by the two, overtaking them to catch up with Daryl.
"Pa!"
"What?" Arron blinked innocently at Daryl, "It's true."
Daryl put his head in his hand with a sigh.
Horses galloped steadily through the forest, following the master's command. The steel on the heels of the riders boots flashed rays of sunlight upon the tree bark as they rode past.
One little head of dirty brown hair shot up in anticipation towards the noise.
Two horses whined, one after the other, as the riders pulled them to a stop just outside the field Little Walker was in the process of wandering through in search for food. Front hooves just touching the ground as the oldest, male, rider motioned for the younger, female, to circle around. He, then, detached a metal pole with a plastic loop from his saddle, clicking a button, extending it, and handed it to the girl.
The smaller brunette nodded, even as she took the pole. Then, she was urging her steed along the outside of the clearing.
Little Walker stopped in its tracks, confused as to who to follow. Should it go for the woman, who was circling around it, keeping an even distance between it and her horse, or should it keep going towards the elderly man, who smelled of weakness and old age? The annoying thump, thump, thump of the woman's horse's hooves ended up winning out.
That was precisely when the other rider decided to strike. The man pulled a metal rod from his vest pocket in a speed that suggested he wasn't as elderly as he looked, spurring his horse into a gallop towards Little Walker, just as it turned its attention away from him. There was a click as the rod grew to be a good adult arm's length.
Little Walker growled as the rod collided with its shoulder. The walker lashed out, like an offended beast, trying to strike at the already moving horse. The man guided the horse back a few feet before turning it in an almost ark, galloping back. The rider raised the rod again, throwing out his arm to smack Little Walker across the chest.
Little Walker's dirty body stumbled as it tried to follow the man. Reaching its hands out, Little Walker tried to grab something, anything, of the riders, groaning in frustration when the horse moved just out of reach. Little Walker's left foot hit a tree root in its desperate flailing to catch the man on the horse. There was a sick crack echoing through clearing as the walker pulled the ankle out of place to free it.
Suddenly, the plastic loop was flashing over Little Walker's eyes like quick movement of eyelids over glassy eyes. Then, Little Walker was being jerk to a stop. Little Walker's frail arms waved in the air just a centimeter from grabbing the man's boot. Little Walker gave a yell of frustration, turning its head to the woman on the other side of the pole. It waved its arms in the woman's direction, trying to grab at her, before slumping in defeat after a few seconds.
If walkers could pout, the little brunette who use to be Sophia Peletier would have pouted at the unfairness of it all.