Be Good

5. Live Bait
There was an uncomfortable silence between us for the following hours. I tried to ignore it, whistling to the birds, and listening for which ones would sing it back, after a while, I stopped trying.

It was beautiful in the woods, though. I couldn't deny that. Even though nothing was the way it should be, the world had lost all order, I loved how it looked... Nothing was tainted by human hands out here. Trees free to grow, vines covering every house and shack we passed, being reclaimed by nature. Flowering plants spreading out across the cracked asphalt roads we crossed, small tendrils reaching towards the gaps like hands.

We saw wildlife, well, I saw it. Daryl shot it when we did. After he'd killed three rabbits and two squirrels, and tried for the buck I pointed out, I stopped telling him when I saw it. Not only because we no longer required the meat, but because they deserved to live a little longer. These days, it's hard to tell when it's your last day, when it's your last words and last breaths, you just never know, and soon you take it for granted when it's gone.

I saw a few frogs along a stagnite pool of water that we tromped past, they hopped off into the underbrush at sight of trouble. I hummed a few songs I had liked when I was in school. Sometimes having trouble recalling what order the verses had come in. Realizing I hadn't actually heard music in a long time saddened me.

I honestly thought the anger would just drag out between us, but when Daryl pushed aside branches webbed with moss, we stepped into a small circular clearing, with a group of mismatched sheds in the middle.

"What is it?" I ask, stepping up beside him, where he stands motionlessly, staring at the building as though it's his own reflection. "Did you live here?" I ask quietly, looking back at the main building. A faded, wood cabin, a front porch with broken windows and overgrown bushes on both sides. Around it, was plastic sheds bolted together in a sloppy fashion. Trashed vehicles left to rot by the previous inhabitants.

"No." He grunted, walking towards it. "Found this place on a run with Michonne."

"So we're near the prison?" I ask hopefully.

"No." he repeats, not going into any detail.

"Oh..." I look around us awkwardly, wordlessly... We advance towards one of the sheds in the back. Daryl paused outside the door and kicked it in with the heel of his boot. Shards of sunlight pierced through the stirred dust, revealing a collection of pots and trashcans with lids, plastic tubing, and gages.

"What is it?" I ask in distaste, an odd smell drifts out the opening.

"It's a moonshine still." He replies vaugely, leaning over to pick up a small wooden crate full of sloshing, capped mason jars, the substance inside clear, like water.

Daryl leads the way around the group of buildings, to the front porch of the cabin. He cradles the crate in one arm and holds his knife in the other and walks through the crooked front door, setting the crate down on the small two person breakfast table in the miniature kitchen, he turns and bangs loudly on the wall above it, the pictures on the wall shift.

We are silent, listening for the shuffles and groans, none came.

"'Ight, here." Daryl grabbed a cloudy glass off the table, wiping it out with his red bandanna and slammed it down onto the table, a cinnamon stick posed between his teeth. He uncapped one of the mason jars from the crate and poured a small amount into the glass.

"That's it?" I wonder, picking it up and sloshing it around inside.

"Ya might wanna start slow." He advised with a small nod, turning away to fiddle with something on the kitchen counter behind him.

I looked at the clear liquid at the bottom until he turned around again. "What, not gonna drink it now?" He demanded.

I just shook my head a little. "No, it's not that, it's just..." I sighed "My Dad used to say bad moonshine could make you go blind."

He shrugged, placing his palms on the back of the chair across from me. "Ain't nothing worth seeing out there anymore, anyways." He muttered, his eyebrows pulled together in a confusing mess of sorrow and frustration.

"Guess not." I replied quietly, recalling briefly the beautiful hike we'd had earlier. The way the sunshine splintered through the webbed branches and hit the forest floor like a prism. It was definitely something worth seeing.

I lifted the cup to my lips, this time successfully avoiding thoughts of my father, his disapointment and my own. I took a sip gracefully, trying to imagine it being a classy, neat little sip, instead, it blew out my mouth like a pressurized bottle of soda. I coughed afterwards, wiping my mouth on my arm.

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted..." I frowned, looking up at him. The smallest of all smirks was on his face, hidden in his eyes... He found this funny. I sighed, wiping my hands on my jeans. "You could have warned me..."

"Wouldn'tve done much good, you wouldn't have listened."

I looked at him carefully to tell if he was joking or not. It didn't look like it. I brushed off his comment and picked up another glass and began to fill it with moonshine.

"What are you doing?" He asked flatly, a hint of annoyance in his tone like you'd use on a child who just dug out one toy and then another.

"Getting you some." I insisted, handing him the glass.

He just stared at it, then shook his head and I set it back down onto the table with a frown. "Why not?" I demanded.

"Someone's gotta keep watch." He mumbled in reply.

"Daryl..." I sighed, looking up at him again. "I don't need a chaperone."

"Dun' matter." He grunted, grabbing the mason jar that still contained some moonshine and walked out of the kitchen area into the connected living room. Looking around, examining the room without touching a thing, as though he was familiar with the setup, and just appreciating it.

I got up and followed him, when something caught my attention. I pulled it out from a stack of foul-smelling moldy newspapers from a year and a half ago. It was a large, pink bra ash tray. It baffled me why anyone would want something like that in their home.

I held it up for Daryl to see. "Who would go into a store and walk out with this?" I ask, giggling at the thought. Someone casually purchasing a bra shaped ash tray for their living room like it was a finishing touch to some classy decor.

"My dad, that's who." Daryl replied, turning back to peer out the window into the sunlight of late afternoon. "He'd buy shit like that all the time, set it on top the television set, shoot at it with a BB gun." He added on nonchalantly.

The vision horrified me. "You're dad shot stuff in your house?" I asked quietly, trying to understand the lifetime Daryl had faced.

He shrugged, looking back at me with saddened, blue eyes. "It was just a bunch'a shit, anyways."

He was quiet for a few moments, careful with every move he made as he walked around the living room, crushing ancient cigarette butts into the dirty mud and urine stained carpet. "You were right, though..." He barely whispered it.

"About what?" I wondered, standing back up and taking a small step towards him. He lifted his head and looked back at me. "You asked earlier if I lived here. I didn't, but... I, I lived in a place just like this. See, You've got your newspapers, that's your television." He picked up a wadded up newspaper and waved it at me as an example.

"Your spittin' can, that's for when your ol' lady tells you to stop smokin'. You've got your dumpster chair, that for sitting in all summer in your drawers. Wasting time..." He shook his head. "Can we change the subject?" He murmured in a pained voice.

I nodded, racking my brain for something else to do. "We could play a game." I suggested.

He snorted. "A game?" He echoed sarcastically.

"Yeah, uh... My friends used to play it all the time. You say, 'Never have I ever...' and then add something you've never done, then if the other person has, they take a drink." I filled him in quickly, waiting for him to acknowledge the idea and say yes or no. He crossed the room and dropped onto the ratty couch, and looked at me expectantly.

I sat down on the floor behind the coffee table across from him. "Okay, I'll go first.... Um, I've never fired a crossbow."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Really?"

"That was just an example." I sighed, "Take a drink, and then you go."

He took a sip from his personal mason jar and looked at me with an expression between intent and distant. "Never have I ever gotten a pet pony..." He sneered, something dark and angry stirring in his eyes.

I took a sip. "Okay, never have I ever been in prison."

His eyes narrowed and the flash of anger brightened. "Is that what you think of me?" He muttered in a low voice.

"No, I just meant like, drinking and driving, even my Dad got locked up for that... Back in the day." I shrugged to brush it off. He took a drink.

"... It's your turn again." I said awkwardly after a few moments had passed, and the pink tinge to my cheeks felt like it had faded.

"Never have I ever been outside of Georgia." He admitted at last, nothing else lurked in his eyes, and I hoped the worst of his mood swing had passed.

"Never?" I wondered out loud. "Not even on vacation?"

He shook his head.

"And your hunting skills? Your Dad taught you, right?"

He shook his head again. "Everything I know now, I learned because I had to. I'd be dead if I didn't." His voice was low and cold.

"Okay, never have I ever... Or will... Finished high school." I concluded lamely, I couldn't think of anything else that was harmless.

He took another drink, standing up.

"Daryl, where are you going?" I called after him in a hushed voice as he walked towards the open coat closet in the kitchen.

"I can't hear ya'! I'm takin' a piss." He shouted back obnoxiously.

An awkward silence passed, my cheeks flushed again and I fought against them while I waited on him, listening carefully to see if all the noise h made attracted walkers.

He came back then, annoyance visible in his walk and expression. "Let's see.... I ain't never had a frozen yogurt, never got shit from Santy-Clause! I never sang in front of a big group, like everything was fun, like everything was all a big game!"

He was definitely angry now, towering over me, it flashed in his eyes.

"Daryl, be qui-"

"You said you ain't never shot a crossbow before?" He interrupted. "Well c'mon, I'm gonna show ya."

"Daryl, no!" I shouted angrily as he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, grabbing his crossbow off the cabin's floor and marched out the front door, towing me along with him. "Daryl, not right now." I repeated, but we kept moving.

When we got outside, a walker had emerged from the trees and stumbled around aimlessly in the clearing. "Hey, asshole!" Daryl shouted, the walker turned towards us, his head lolling to one side.

Daryl kept his arm crossed across my collarbone so I wouldn't run or stop him. When the walker passed the tree in the front yard, Daryl fired, pinning him to the trunk.

"Here." He shoved the loaded crossbow into my arms, gripping the trigger and firing into the walker's left shoulder, it growled angrily at us, clawing at the air. Daryl set down the crossbow and pulled back the string again, placing his second to last arrow in the opening, and firing it into the walker's right shoulder.

"Daryl, stop!" I shouted angrily, getting upset.

"C'mon, it's fun!" He yelled back as he loaded his last arrow.

I shoved his arm off of me and marched forward, driving my knife into the walker's skull and turning to face Daryl. Sweat rolled down my forehead, my pulse was hammering and I was beyond furious with him.

"Why the hell did you do that?" He shouted "I was having fun!"

"Daryl! Killing walkers is not supposed to be fun!" I shouted in exasperation.

"What do you know?" He spat angrily, "You don't know me. Your dad get's killed and all you can think about is going out and getting drunk like some dumb collage bitch! You ain't never gonna see Maggie again!" His face was red with anger, he pointed his finger at me with every word.

"Don't say that!" I wailed, "You just think they're all dead, because you're afraid. You don't think I'm strong because I'm not Maggie, or Carol or Michonne. I'm just me, and that's not good enough for you! You think you can just talk down to me because I'm not them!" Tears started to form in my eyes, but I kept going.

"I ain't afraid of nothing!" He shouted back, getting in my face.

"You're afraid to lose people! You hate goodbyes." I reminded him breathlessly, pain of so many losses squeezed my heart then.

"I- I had the Governor in my sights, I could've killed him!" He cried out, surprising me with the sudden turn of anger. "But instead, I stood back and watched him roll right up to our gates and... And kill your father."

It was then that he had broken through the last of the strong, uncaring shell he surrounded himself with. Tears forming in his eyes, he blinked them away rapidly and turned away bowing his head in pain.

I couldn't stand to see him like this... Weakened by everything he had faced, but even so, I had never seen him more human. I marched forward and wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly, my cheek pressed against his ribs.

"You'll never have to say goodbye to me." I whispered, squeezing him tighter so he wouldn't disappear in a puff of smoke.