Walking With the Dead

Everything happened so fast.

Mitch threw his plush red jacket over Emma, who eagerly wrapped it around her shoulders. Mitch was helping Emma into the car when David, the leader of Mitch’s group, came storming up and grabbed onto Mitch’s arm with a vice-like grip, forcing Mitch to freeze.

“What do you think you’re doing?” David asked, his voice at a dangerously low rumble. Emma couldn’t see David’s face clearly because he had a scarf wrapped around it, but he could see his eyes were fierce and hard. They were not happy eyes.

“Taking them with us. My sister is hurt. She needs our help,” Mitch answered.

“I will not allow you taking these strangers into our home,” David countered.

“And I won’t leave my sister out here to die.”

There was a tense moment of silence where David and Mitch stared each other down, David having to look up just slightly in order to meet Mitch’s gaze. Nothing was said, nothing was done; they only stared. There had to have been something in Mitch’s eyes, however, because after a few painstakingly long heartbeats David removed his hand and backed away. Emma saw that David had left a stark white handprint in Mitch’s forearm.

“Fine. But we’re blindfolding them,” David spat. He made a gesture with his hand and another man reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a couple burlap sacks, which he tossed to David.

“What good would that do?” Daryl spoke up, causing David to spin around, turning his stern gaze on Daryl.

“What are you, an idiot? Do you think I’d let punks like you see how to get to our camp so you can go scurrying back to your friends, only to lead them back and attack us?”

For a split second, Emma was afraid that Daryl’s pride would rear its ugly head and he would attack David. But, surprisingly, Daryl didn’t even flinch at being called an idiot. His eyes were stony and cold, which, in a way, was almost worse.

“We already know how to get to this town. Even if you blindfold us, do you think we’d have trouble finding whatever hole you crawled out of?” Daryl shook his head, a twisted scoff on his lips. “And you called us idiots.”

Emma froze, terrified. Daryl, you’re the idiot! she mentally berated. What are you doing? She and Daryl were at the mercy of these people. They couldn’t afford to insult them and make them mad, and right now Daryl was successfully accomplishing both of those tasks. Part of Emma was hoping that David hadn’t heard Daryl’s remark, but she knew that wasn’t the case. It was never that easy.

For a moment, David said and did nothing. Then, Emma saw the corners of his eye crinkle with a smile. He reached behind his back and pulled out a silver revolver, gleaming orange in the light of the fire. He pointed the revolver directly at Daryl’s chest. “How about I end this now? Save us all this trouble.”

Emma expected Daryl to reach for his crossbow, but he didn’t. He just stood there. If anything, he held his head a little higher and stuck out his chest, as if taunting David to act on his threat.

“Come on, boys. Stop comparing penises. We’ve got to get out of here, before the biters come.” The voice was low and husky, but definitely feminine. The speaker was standing behind David, wearing a thick blue coat. Her face was wide and pale, her cheeks tinged with pink from the cold. Emma thought she saw the faded outline of a bruise around her right eye, but before Emma could think anything of it, David had spun around and whipped the butt of his pistol into her face, forcing her head to the side with a loud crack. The girl didn’t cry out in pain. She simply held her hand over the side of her face and stared at David with dark, stormy eyes.

David took no notice of the death stares he was receiving, or the stony silence that had fallen. “It’s time we head back.” He quickly flicked his eyes at Daryl, and then to Emma. “Newcomers ride in the back.”

This caused Mitch to speak up. “My sister’s sick. She should ride inside.”

“I said: Newcomers ride in the back,” David repeated, his voice deadly low.

Emma could feel Mitch tensing up beside her, but she put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Mitch. I’ll be fine.”

Mitch gave a stiff nod, and he stepped aside to help Emma down from the truck. They walked around to the back of the truck. Once there, Emma saw that Daryl was already standing in the truck bed, extending a hand down to help Emma up. Emma held out her good hand, and Daryl effortlessly lifted her into the air. Daryl helped Emma find a place to sit down. Meanwhile, Mitch was busy helping the girl David had hit into the truck. Daryl used this time to talk to Emma.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” his voice barely rose above a whisper. Emma could see the concern in his eyes.

“Do we have a choice?”

Daryl didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened, showing he knew they had no other options. “We can’t trust these people.”

“It’s my brother. I’d trust him with my life.” It was odd for Emma to hear herself saying those words. Their childhood had been filled with wrestling, wet-willies and noogies. Back when they were teenagers, Emma couldn’t stand her brother, much less trust him. The only time she ever told Mitch she loved him was at their grandmother’s funeral when she was fourteen. But here she was, for the first time in her life, trusting her brother with her life, and it felt completely natural.

“I know you trust your brother, but what about the people he’s with? Can we trust them?”

Their conversation came to a quick end when Mitch hopped into the back of the truck and sat down beside Emma. Emma could feel Daryl’s eyes on her, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze because, the truth was, she didn’t know whether she could trust these people, much less trust David.

Emma looked up at the girl in the blue coat. She was holding a compacted handful of snow to her face. She said nothing, but her eyes boiled with rage. It hadn’t taken much for David to lash out at the girl and, judging from the pure animosity pouring from the girl’s eyes, it was not the first time he had turned violent.

Emma closed her eyes and rested her head against the truck, hoping that they hadn’t just hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire.