In the Sound

Hunting with Daryl was painful.

Refused the chance to help. Rarely spoken to. Left behind. When he asked me for a walk, he should have mentioned he just wanted a portable carry bag.

I should’ve brought Kit. That damn dog was living it up, cuddling and running and playing with Carl. The group probably thought I abused the little beast for every day of his life. More like that little shit abused me. But I loved them. Carl warmed to Kit the same way Kit warmed to Carl. Boy and dog. They missed that frequency we had in the old world. Everyone missed little things like that.
They were certainly better than these days.

I was wearing a belt of small dead squirrels, and two bush birds. My jeans were streaked with blood and fur, their little heads bobbing against my thighs with every step. It was romance like somethin’ else.

Leaves crackled under my heavy boots. Daryl was far ahead of me now. He stood with a slight slant, crossbow slouched over one shoulder. Chin raised, he looked off beyond trees, pretending he wasn’t waiting for me to catch up.

The morning was cold. Freckles of due still dangled from prickly leaves. It was colder than the morning I woke to check in on Randall. Rick and Shane should’ve dumped him somewhere, we all felt it. They took him out. Brought him back. And now Dale was petitioning for his life, like one of those religious door to door knockers.

I felt Dixon’s eyes on me now. Pained, annoyed, eyes. Sallow cheeks rose like he was straining his brow. I met his look for an awkward moment. Finally. A break.

“Has Dale spoken to you yet?”

Brushing his nose, he plopped onto a mossy log. “Bout the kid?”

I set my palms over my hips firmly, trying to keep them away from the bloody lumps that snaked around me. “Yeah, did he try an’ sway you over?”

Daryl shrugged rather uncomfortably at that. He brought the crossbow from around his shoulder and leant it against the log beside him. Legs stretched out, he picked viciously at his muddy finger nails. Eying him, I twiddled my fingers around the string of animals and tore it away from my hips. I pinched the string between two fingers, gently tilting it away from me. And with that, I sat on my ass in relief.

“What’d you tell him?”

He seemed to glance over his knuckles, “that kid’s done some bad things. Could see it in his eyes, ya know. Best jus’ to send ‘im on his way, hell that’s a luxury these days. Better than bein' geek chow."

Daryl twirled his hand to get a better look at his knuckles in the light. They were fleshy and red, as though he’d battered them down to the bone. I cringed. Not for Daryl, for the kid whose head was probably half caved in.

Noticing my curious stare, he laced his fingers together to hide the sores. “How ‘bout you?” He muttered in an uninterested tone, “What’d you tell ‘im?”

I sighed softly, “I told him- I told him I’d think about it.”

He sat up at that. “Wha’s there ta think ‘bout?”

My brows furrowed a little, eyes welled with confusion. Daryl watched me with furious focus, like he’d never seen a bigger deer that he’d wanted to shoot in his life. I was the game, caught in his crossfire. Ears up and twitching like I’d been caught just being me.

“He’s just a boy,” I began slowly, “He deserves a second thought. Everyone does.”
“Tha’ little shit wouldn’ think two thoughts before ‘e took ya,” he growled.

I gave a heavy shrug. Daryl probably couldn’t care less about something like that. Ever since I left the tent the morning I saw Randall, I hadn’t even seen him. Early mornings and late nights. I knew he was sneaking back into his tent at night. Quiet feet, no light. Didn’t take an idiot to figure he was avoiding me.

Till this morning.

My shoulders felt heavy all of a sudden. I stared at the little open mouths of the dead squirrels, their bodies warm and snuggling against each other. I stared at them with a curled lip, “What is this anyway?”

“A dead squirrel?”

“No,” I bit back harshly. “Are ya hiring me as a dead squirrel carrier? Cause for once, I think ya may have missed the mark.”

He snorted. “Don’t know what ya talkin’ ‘bout. Ya arms are too damn skinny to carry a twig.”

I raised a tentative brow, mirroring his snort. “What’d you ask me out here for then?”

Daryl withdrew into his shell. He picked at his thumb nail again, dropping his head until his dark eyes met the forest floor. I could see his sallow cheeks twitching, hear the quiet drumming of his fingers against the knee rips in his jeans. Thin lips tightly shut. Shutting the words in.

“You have words Dixon, you can use them,” I said, crossing my arms tightly.

“I’ve been thinkin’.”

I waited. Gave him time to gather himself. Daryl was that kind of guy. And they needed time like that. He looked back down to his palms and studied them. The corner of his mouth pressed into a deep frown.

An awkward hush lingered over our heads.

Dixon met my eyes with a warmth I’d never felt before. And all he said were stupid little words that didn’t feel any more stupid than in that moment. But somehow, my heart fluttered in my chest.

“Guess I jus’ like you, or somethin’.”