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...
"Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing." - Vince Lombardi
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Erin let out a whoop of achievement as the buck standing in the clearing ten metres ahead of her fell to the ground, the knife she'd thrown hitting its target square on and burying itself in the animal's chest. She heard Daryl curse from wherever he was lurking in the undergrowth to her right, seeing his bolt fly straight past the carcass, missing it by millimetres.
"This one's mine, too," she called over to him, watching as he straightened up and began walking over to the fallen animal. They'd decided to make a contest out of the hunting trip just to make the morning a little more interesting, but Daryl was clearly starting to regret it as she'd already got three more squirrels than him, a woodchuck and, now, this deer.
"Not if I get to it first..." He picked up his pace as Erin's eyes widened, darting off towards it before she even had chance to move.
"Hey! That's not how it works!" she argued, running after him, the action much harder for her than his agile form. She was still more than five metres away from him as he yanked the blade from the creature's body, hefting the carcass over his shoulder seemingly effortlessly. "That's my kill!"
"And now it's mine," Daryl countered, shrugging despite the weight on his back as he picked up his crossbow and swanned past her on his way back to the horse, "I think I win."
Folding her arms across her chest, she hurried after him to catch up with his strides, the squirrels strung over her shoulder bouncing against her back "You don't win if you cheat. You just lose by default because that was my kill!"
"Ya got any witnesses to that claim? Any proof?" he pointed out as they reached the tree he'd tied the mare to and he set to work tying the deer carcass to the back of it, "Nah, didn't think so. Therefore, it's mine and I win."
"You're such a sore loser, Mister Dixon. You won't admit I've owned your ass twice over and now you're stealing my kills so I don't best you at hunting, too?" Erin raised an eyebrow at him as he seemed to be avoiding her judging gaze, "I'm starting to think this is to do with me being female..."
Daryl didn't comment on her assumption, meaning it was more than likely correct. Once he was done securing her buck to the horse's back, he turned on her and passed her the knife he'd removed from it, "Ya not gonna let this go, are ya?"
She shook her head adamantly, "Not until you admit that I won. C'mon, I'm sure it won't put that big of a dent in your ego. There's already enough in it from when I punched you..."
"I thought you was sorry for that? Feelin' guilty 'cause of this?" he gestured towards the bruises on his face which made him look like a Picasso painting with all the uneven swelling and colours.
"Yeah, but I'm feeling less sympathetic now that you've stolen my kill..." She placed a hand on her hip to emphasise her point, the other resting on her chin in mock thought, "Yep, no guilt here for a thief..."
