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...
"You can do what I cannot do. I can do what you cannot do. Together we can do great things." - Mother Teresa
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Daryl found himself with nothing to do except pace the porch of the farmhouse. His eyes scanned the treeline, keeping a lookout for the horse girl's return as Rick was preoccupied giving blood inside with the doctor/farmer, Hershel. Originally, Rick had been against getting Erin there as well as Lori, but after Daryl mentioned how she'd cleaned up Merle's stump, Hershel pointed out he would need all the medical help he could get.
Merle hadn't gone into detail about exactly how good Erin was with first aid, but he guessed she probably knew more than his method of wrapping a handkerchief around any injury he sustained. As he thought about it, Daryl realised he was fucked if he did get injured beause said handkerchief was currently in the woman's pocket so there goes his 'first aid kit'.
Maybe he was being selfish by getting her to come to the farm, but he didn't really feel like he was. She would be of more help there than back at the road side, it was just a bonus that he would feel less left out if she were there, too. Sure, Rick and Lori were nice enough people, but that was the issue - they were 'nice enough'. Daryl didn't do nice and, from what he'd seen, neither did Erin.
Erin had secrets. She was guarded, and so far he'd only seen that guard falter when he asked about her tracking skills. There was something there that he wasn't seeing. Now, Daryl was self-aware enough to know he wasn't the best at reading people, but when he looked at Erin it felt like television static. She was hiding stuff, most people were, but something told him it wasn't dark secrets or skeletons she was shielding from view.
At no point since their first encounter had he felt she wasn't to be trusted. Maybe it was because Merle seemed to trust her, but it felt like more than that. As abrasive as she was, he didn't think Erin had it in her to harm anyone.
From inside, he could hear Carl struggling and crying, the noise making him feel sick to the stomach. He should have been more adamant about the kid staying with his mom, he told himself, he shouldn't have let him go near the buck in the first place. If he'd only paid more attention to their surroundings than the animal, perhaps none of this would have happened...
As another cry echoed through the house, Daryl stopped pacing and headed down the steps from the porch, trying to distance himself from the sickening sound. Staring straight ahead, he stormed over to where the shade fell beneath a large oak tree on the grounds, shading him from both the sun and the reality of the situation.
He dropped his crossbow by the heel of his right boot, keeping his hand steady on it in case the weapon was needed, but allowing his shoulder some time to rest from the strain of carrying it for so long. The practicality of the bow was ridiculously low, but he figured its usefulness outweighed any faults it had - nothing could kill a walker quicker or quieter than a bolt to the forehead.
