Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 9 - His Name

"You killed it!" I shouted, turning back to the man angrily.

"No shit," He scoffed, walking past me to pull the poor animal from the tree. "Did ya want to eat it alive?"

"I..." I paused, trying to come up with a suitable argument. I tucked my knife into the large front pocket of my hooded jumper.

"Didn't think so," The man muttered, tying the little squirrel to his belt as if it were routine. He continued to walk away, leaving me stunned.

"Do you just go around killing things? Is that your job?" I called after him angrily. I didn't know why I was so upset by this.

I thought he was going to ignore me again, since he had a habit of blocking out what I was saying.

"Yes. And y'know what?" He turned back to me, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. "It puts food on the table, for fourteen other people." He stared at me, as I sank back from his fierce blue eyes. "I'm keeping these people alive."

"Hell, girl," He continued, "You're not gonna survive too long out there if you're afraid to kill a damn squirrel."

"I'm not afraid!" I argued back, taking two steps towards him. "It's not like I was out taking hunting lessons in the middle of Philadelphia!" I fumed, taking another step towards the man. "I'm not like you, I'm not some grumpy old redneck with blatant anger issues and a psychological desire for solitude!"

I could see the anger in his eyes intensify, but I continued my pointless argument.

"Your whole group just kill people for the sake of it." I pointed out furiously. He knew that we weren't just talking about squirrels anymore.

"I'm not like that. I'm proud I'm not like you." I added, trying to stand as tall as possible, but still he towered over me, looking down as if I were an ant and he was the boot.

I finished my sentence, not daring to say another word, even though I had much more to say. His face was contorted with anger, his blue eyes narrowed down at mine, chest rising and falling rapidly.

I managed to hold his glare, not daring to blink. My legs were shaking, and I had to admit to myself, I was terrified as this man stared down at me with his intense eyes.

We stood there in silence, holding our stubborn eye contact. I couldn't look away, I couldn't lose to this man.

His hand moved from beside him, and I flinched back, expecting something much worse than I received. The man grabbed a hold of my sore wrist, before tugging me behind him as he started to walk towards a large clearing in the forest. I stumbled down the muddy hill after him, not daring to let out a whimper as one of his fingers dug into my bruised skin. He held his crossbow loosely in one hand, and once we reached our destination, he dropped it to the floor.

Without another word, he pulled the small handgun from his belt.

I stared at him, wide-eyed. He still had my arm gripped in his sweaty hand, and I struggled to free myself. I kept my eyes focused on my hand, as I used the other to pry his fingers away.

Two gunshots.

I almost fell back, expecting to feel the sting of bullets penetrating my skin, or anything to hint that I was dead or dying.

He continued to fire bullets; one, two, three more gunshots.

But I was fine.

I looked up to find his other hand in the sky, gun in hold. He was shooting to the sky? The only conclusion I came to was simple. He was insane.