A simple supply hunt for a source of water in the middle of Atlanta turns sour quickly for Erin as she come fist to face with a fuming, handless Merle Dixon.
Alone in the middle of the apocalypse with only a racist guy who doesn't know the differen...
"Don't give up on you // I won't give up on you either." - Fever. The Tragic Thrills.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
--)->
It was hardly easy to leave the camp so soon after Erin had done the same, but fortunately none of the members felt confident enough to try and take on one Dixon, never mind both. Even then, it had still taken some doing, and Daryl was intently aware that every minute they spent arguing was another minute Erin was ahead of them.
He'd been silent through most of the exchange, letting his brother do the talking since Merle had a knack for making people happy he was leaving. There was resistance from a few people, mostly Lori who was concerned about a lack of food as all three hunters were jumping ship. Merle had essentially told her she should have considered that before they all stood by and watched Shane attack Erin.
Carol had been the only one not to argue with the Dixons' decision. While the others had been shouting, she'd seemingly quietly gathered a bag of supplies, which she slipped over Daryl's shoulder as she was saying goodbye.
"I hope you have a plan for when you find her," she muttered softly, quiet enough that only he could hear, "She told me to look after you so... stay safe."
The darkness was fully rolling in by the time they got on the road, both men crammed uncomfortably onto Merle's bike. Due to his crossbow, Daryl had been relegated to the back of the seat, leaving him as lookout while he simultaneously held on to anything he could grip. It wasn't long before he wished they'd stolen a truck or a horse at the very least, but they hadn't wanted to give the camp any incentive to come after them.
Night time in Georgia was usually hot. He'd handled it fine for about forty years, but the added heat radiating from the engine left Daryl feeling like he was sitting in a furnace. His forehead felt slick with sweat, his hair sticking to his skin as the warm breeze whipping his face did very little.
As they sped up the dirt road that led back to the highway, he kept his eyes on the woodland to the left of them. The opposite side was open fields, darkened by the nightfall but still visible enough that any threats would be seen by Merle. The woodland, on the other hand, was pitch black.
Daryl watched the trees, their forms blurring into one continuous streak of brown, green, and black. His eyes caught on some movement, the blurs becoming starkly clear as he zeroed in on it in the darkness.
A walker staggered out onto the road up ahead of them, likely drawn by the roar of the motorcycle's engine. In a matter of milliseconds, Daryl's gaze was following it, his neck craning round to keep an eye on it as they passed. It was moving far too slowly to be a threat, as he'd suspected, but making assumptions when it came to walkers was a trap he wouldn't fall into.
As that figure disappeared behind them, more started appearing, stumbling out of the edge of the forest and towards the bike. Again, each of them was too slow and too far to be an issue, but again, Daryl kept a keen eye on each and every one of them.
