Chapter Text
Daryl is fucked. Not having a good time, enjoying himself with a warm body fucked, but truly in the deep shit going to die in the next five minutes fucked.
He knows it was a miscalculation to be this far out late at night but the prospect of the elementary school having supplies had been worth the risk. Or that’s what he’d been telling himself when he’d set out here. He hadn't counted on the herd of walkers that would be flooding the place.
He’s been traveling alone too long and wonders if some part of him is setting himself up to get whacked. It’s the last coherent thought he has for the next twenty minutes as he pushes back against the throng of bodies and grapples with his knife trying to get as many in the brain as he can. He manages to get a small semi- circle of space around him when he hears a shout behind him.
It’s human.
He sees the flash of yellow in the corner of his eye and sees the movement and starts running after it. There is no time to weigh his options and wonder if he wants to align himself with someone new and take on all their bullshit. There is only a simple acknowledgment of not being entirely alone and not really wanting to go out like this tonight.
There is a guy hauling ass in front of him who climbs up onto a busted out school bus that looks like an urban rusted out whale in the middle of the parking lot. He turns and lays his arm down wordlessly as Daryl reaches its edge and they both grunt with the effort of pulling him up on the roof.
“Thanks man.” He pants and wipes the sweat off his palm on his pants.
The other guy just nods at him and starts pacing the perimeter of the roof, hawk eyeing the space around them. The herd isn’t crowding the bus yet but they’re close enough that they have effectively trapped themselves. It’s still an improvement on the situation and Daryl could laugh at how fucked up that is.
Welcome to Zombie Island, free vacation to hell.
Later he’ll find it weird that they never actually had much of a conversation but at the time it makes sense to him. They’re at war and for now it’s a silent agreement that strength in numbers is their best option.
It’s about an hour of sweating his balls off and regrouping his thoughts before he breaks the silence. “Alright, we can’t stay here.” He stands up. “I have a plan. It’s gross but it works.”
They drag the half gnawed off body, crushed in the bus door, onto the roof. Daryl explains the tactic of making themselves smell like death. He’s not sure what he wanted the other guy to do but when he resignedly cracks open the rib cage and only winces a little as he scoops dark liquids out Daryl isn’t sure if he’s impressed or disturbed.
They paint their bodies in black blood and twine intestines around their wrists like grotesque fashion bracelets. This is war.
It works.
They manage to travel among the herd, slow and stupid, like broken robots. They stagger at an awkward half running gait as they get closer to the tree line. The man breaks into a run first and Daryl follows him. It’s mindless and joyful. He is alive. He has made it to see another sunrise. They stop at the edge of a clearing to catch their breath.
“Thought that might have been it for me.” Daryl pants, keeping his eyes on the ground as he gains his breath back. “Name’s Daryl. You traveling alone? Got people waiting on you?”
When he doesn’t get an answer his eyes travel back up and focus on a pair of sharp green eyes studying him coolly.
He feels the shift in mood instantly. The joy is sucked out of the moment entirely. The hairs on the back of his neck are at attention. The guy’s mouth is a flat line and his eyes are shadowed, untrusting. Dangerous. No guarantees here. Daryl steps back.
People. People are fucked up. The dead are living and the living are haunted. He holds his arms out palms open. Not a threat.
“Okay then. I’ll go mine. You go yours.” He backs away and watches as the coldness peels back to more of a neutral distrust.
He doesn’t turn his back on him until there is a great distance between them.
