Walking With the Dead

They drove for maybe only a half hour, but it felt like an eternity to Emma. As the sun sank further behind the clouds, the winter wind blew colder and fiercer. Snow flakes and shards of ice struck Emma’s exposed skin, thousands of tiny needles of ice. Emma tried to protect her face by leaning forward and hiding her face in the back of Daryl’s shirt, but the constant weaving motion as Daryl drove between stalled cars made Emma’s stomach churn, and she’d have to sit up right in the end.

The town they stumbled upon was small and desolate, a skeleton of the idyllic place it once had been. As Daryl and Emma puttered through the streets, scouting the abandoned town for stray walkers, Emma could imagine the fathers and sons that would play catch in the park. She could envision the children that would play on the swing set during recess, the women who would go jogging around the town square every morning.

But all of Emma’s imaginings came crashing down when she saw a small pink bicycle lay abandoned in the streets, half buried in snow. The pink and silver streamers attached to the handlebars danced weakly in the wind. That idyllic town, like everything else, didn’t exist anymore. It was part of a world that had fallen apart, and the living were left to put together the broken pieces.

After finishing their slow circuit around the town, Daryl parked his motorcycle in front of a daycare. He swung his leg over the motorcycle, dismounting, and Emma followed suit. She grabbed a backpack, handed it to Daryl, and then grabbed a second bag, which she slung over her shoulder.

“Should find some formula in there,” Daryl said, hitching his crossbow off his back and into his hands, prepared for anything.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

First they peered through the grimy windows, using flashlights to illuminate the abandoned rooms. When the coast was clear, Daryl broke open a window using the hilt of his knife to clear the glass. Daryl climbed through the window first, and then helped Emma through the window.

She landed on her feet and immediately went into defense mode, with her knife in one hand and flashlight in the other. She quickly scanned the room, searching for any walkers. Even though she and Daryl had checked from outside, there was always the possibility of a lurker hiding in the corner. The daycare was completely void of all life: living, dead, or undead. Emma relaxed, relief spreading through her. She had expected to find the worst inside the daycare, the abandoned daycare was like a rare blessing.

Emma and Daryl made eye contact. She shifted her head towards an open doorway, indicating she was going to search that direction. Daryl nodded his understanding, and walked through the opposite door.

Emma found herself in a kitchen. She wrinkled her nose against the stench of decayed food and made a mental note not to open the refrigerator. Searching through cabinets and drawers, Emma found an assortment of canned foods which she swept into her bag. Under the kitchen sink, she found a supply of baby bottles, which she quickly nabbed, and two sealed containers of powdered baby formula.

She found Daryl in the playroom. A thick layer of dust covered the random dolls, plastic balls and brightly colored cardboard bricks littering the floor. Daryl was standing in the center of the room, looking at a wall decorated with fading paper handprints with children’s names on it. He seemed to be looking at one hand in particular. Emma looked closer and saw the name. Sophia.

A twinge of sadness passed through her chest, but Emma pushed it aside. Now was not the time for mourning. “I found some formula.”

Daryl nodded, but it still took him a while to look away from the handprint. “I found dinner,” he said, lifting a ragged, bloody creature in the air.

Emma’s stomach churned when she identified the creature as a possum. She hoped Carol had fixed up something more appetizing for dinner back at the prison. She was not in the mood to eat rodent.

“Let’s get goin’,” Daryl suggested, and Emma eagerly agreed. It was growing darker, growing colder, and the snow was falling faster than it had just fifteen minutes ago. Together they crawled out through the broken window, Daryl going first and Emma following. Halfway out the window, a sudden dizziness overcame her, and Emma would have fallen to the ground if Daryl hadn’t caught her in time.

“You okay?” Daryl asked.

Shaking, Emma nodded her head. “Yeah. Fine.” It was a lie. She was shivering and cold, and her head was spinning, but that was most likely because she was cold and hungry. Once she got back to the prison, put on a fresh set of clothes and ate something hot, she would be feeling much better.

Daryl, however, was still looking at Emma with concern. She mustered up her energy to stand up straight and appear strong. “I’m fine. It’s just been a rough day, is all.”

Daryl seemed to buy that excuse, and even if he didn’t believe her, he didn’t press the issue any further. After brushing away the snow that had accumulated on the seat of the motorcycle, Daryl straddled the bike, and Emma climbed on behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned her head against his back, and closed her eyes. She was so cold, so tired.

Daryl turned the key in the ignition. The motor sputtered into life for a few heartbeats, and then died out. Daryl tried the key again. The motor briefly whined to life before dying again. “Shit,” Daryl cursed. He got off the bike, and Emma nearly fell over without having a support to lean against.

“Is something wrong?”

“Of course not. Everything is just fine and dandy,” Daryl spat, his sarcasm falling from his lips like acid.

Emma frowned, but said nothing. She hated when guys got like that: sarcastic and angry. There was nothing Emma could say or do that would make things better. It was best if she just stayed out of the way.

“We must be outta gas,” Daryl said finally after checking everything on the bike twice.

“How could that happen?” Emma asked. “Glenn topped off the tank yesterday.”

“Haven’t got a damn clue,” Daryl said. He knelt to the ground, looking at something with interest. He picked it up. It was the cap to the gas tank. The cap must have fallen off at some point, and the gasoline leaked out. But then where was the gasoline? Emma looked around on the ground surrounding the motorcycle. She couldn’t find anything but snow. Something wasn’t adding up.

“We’ve been siphoned.”

“What?” Emma looked at Daryl, surprised. “Th-that’s impossible. There’s no one here.”

“Maybe not now. But they were. Look.” Daryl pointed at the ground around the motorcycle. Several sets of footprints were inlaid in the snow.

“So? Those could be ours.”

Daryl pointed towards one footprint. “This one is mine.” He shifted to another, smaller footprint. “This one is yours.” He then indicated a third set of footprints.

Emma gasped. “The tread is different.”

Daryl nodded. “Someone was here.”

A jolt of fear shot through Emma. Strangers were dangerous. You never knew who was friendly, and who was malevolent. And there was no telling how many strangers there were. Daryl and Emma could easily be outnumbered.

“Only question is where they are now,” Daryl said, searching the snow for more foot prints.

Suddenly, something caught Emma’s eye. “Daryl…”

“What?”

Emma lifted her hand, and pointed at the street. It was difficult to make out, because the snow had filled in the empty spaces, but there were definitely two parallel ruts in the snow running down the street. “Tire tracks.”

Daryl slipped his crossbow off his shoulder and into his hands. “You stay put. I’m goin’ to check this out.” And he stalked off down the street, closely following the tire tracks in the snow.

Emma stayed on the motorcycle for only a few short moments. She wasn’t going to sit behind and miss out on all the action. She swung her leg around the motorcycle, slid off, and hurried to catch up to Daryl.

When Emma was just a few paces behind him, Daryl turned his head over his shoulder and frowned. “I told you to stay put.”

“Yeah. And when have I ever let anyone push me to the side.”

Emma could see Daryl’s jaw tighten in annoyance, but he didn’t reprimand her. “Fine. Just don’t get in the way.”

Together, Emma and Daryl slowly stalked the tire tracks, until they led them around the corner of what had once been the town’s library. They hugged the side of the building, and Daryl put an arm in front of Emma, indicating she should stop. “There it is,” he whispered.

The tracks had led them to a white Toyota truck parked right in front of the library. Emma frowned. The truck looked familiar. Of course, there were probably thousands of that same truck nationwide, but still… Emma focused her eyes, and when she saw the faint blue outline of a mountain on the license plate, she froze. “This truck’s from Washington.”

“So?”

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t think of a way to explain it to Daryl in a way that didn’t sound crazy. Instead, she took a step forward, closer to the truck. She left the safety of the building and walked into the open street.

“Emma? What are you doing?” Daryl hissed.

“I just need to see something,” she whispered back.

Walking closer to the truck, seeing the truck in better detail, Emma felt like she was in a dream. The truck was so familiar: the chipped paint in the driver’s door, the Seattle Mariners decal hanging on the back window. Emma was so close to the truck now that she could touch it. She reached her hand out, feeling the edges of a dent in the back bumper. It was the exact same kind of dent someone would get if they accidentally rolled the truck back against a fire hydrant.

Emma backed away from the truck, shaking her head in disbelief. She knew that truck. She knew it. But… “It’s impossible.”

“Emma!” Daryl shouted in a hoarse whisper. Emma looked back to see Daryl gesturing wildly towards the door of the library, which was swinging open.

Emma didn’t have any time to think, just react. She quickly scurried away from the car and dove behind a snow-covered bush. Then, she carefully parted the branches of the bush to try and get a clear view of the people.

There were three of them, all carrying large packs on their back. They were bundled up in heavy down jackets with the hoods pulled up, so Emma couldn’t make out any faces. But she could see handguns holstered on their belts.

The three tossed their packs in the back of the truck, and then climbed inside. And before anything could be said or done, the truck roared to life and drove away.

Seconds after the truck was gone, Daryl was at Emma’s side. He had a tight grip on her arm, and was pulling her to her feet. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Emma opened her mouth, tried to explain why she had done what she did, but she couldn’t find the words.

Daryl muttered a curse in frustration, and bent down to brush the snow off the knees of Emma’s coveralls. “C’mon. We need to find a safe place to stay the night.”

Daryl was walking off, but Emma stayed put, looking over her shoulder at the fresh tire tracks in the snow. It can’t be…

“Emma, c’mon.” This time Daryl grabbed onto Emma’s wrist, forcing her to follow him. Emma stumbled through the snow with Daryl, still looking over her shoulder. It can’t be.