Double Crossbow (Daryl Dixon) [The Walking Dead]

Chapter 3 ↣ Why else do people run?

"If you call twenty-six years a while... You must be pretty good yourself, considering you're a cop." I gestured up to his ball cap. It was navy blue and read POLICE in white letters. "It kinda gives you away. You didn't work undercover, did you?

The group laughed, and Shane dove into a story about his police work. Frankly, I didn't care. I was just happy my attempt of changing the subject worked.

↣ ↢

Stepping inside the R.V., I was greeted by another blonde. If I remembered correctly, her name was Amy.

"You can have the couch," Amy said.

Taken off guard, I asked, "Are you sure? I'm fine on the—"

She interrupted, "Nope, go on." I set my bag and crossbow on the bench before sitting down next to them. "I like your name."

"What?" I asked, confused as to what was so special about it.

Amy grinned. "It's pretty and rolls off the tongue...Kathryn." The way she said my name almost made it sound as if it was worth something. She continued, "My name is short and choppy."

I hesitated before saying, "Well, y'know, Amy is a French name. It means dearly loved."

Amy's face broke out into a smile. "What does your name mean?"

"Pure." It took effort not to sneer at the hypocrisy.

"That's pretty too!" Amy said. She was so naïve. The poor thing. "Well, goodnight, see you in the morning."

Yet another ideal she knew little of. I'd be long gone by the time she woke up.

↣ ↢

I awoke with a start, my breathing heavy and a thin layer of sweat across my forehead. I had never consider dreamland a place of rejuvenation and peace. It was more my subconscious dancing over my last threads of sanity. I slowly sat up and took a few deep breaths. When I could breathe like a normal human being, I glanced around the R.V. To my delight, everyone was still asleep. I placed my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my crossbow, and slipped out the screen door without a sound.

Glancing around the camp, it appeared no one was up, so I fled into the trees, hopefully to become an odd memory to these people. My thoughts began to wander the farther away I got from the group. What if I were to stay?

They'd realize you're dirt to be wiped off their shoes in less than a week.

I clenched my jaw. People caused problems, and I was better off alone. That was the way it was—the way it had to be. It'd be weird to run with a group anyway, considering I had spent everyday of my life thus far alone. I wasn't sure if I even knew how to function within a group. Not to mention this particular group contained an abusive asshole and a self-centered leader.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I raised my bow with a clean snap of motion. Just up ahead and to my left, the leaves ruffled. I concentrated on the pattern of footsteps. Whomever they belonged to was living. I'd have preferred to deal with the dead. Just as my finger started to hover over the trigger, the figure emerged and turned my way. 

"Gonna shoot?" Daryl asked.

I lowered my bow away from the spot in between those cat eyes. "For a hunter, you sure as hell are loud." We were about ten feet apart from each other, but the distance did nothing to cool the rapidly growing tension in the air.

"There ain't no game this close to camp...and you woulda known I was there either way." He narrowed his eyes then. "You're leaving." It wasn't a question but more so an observation.

"Good job, Sherlock, anything further to deduce?"

He accepted this challenge. "You're scared."

It took everything I had not to laugh in his face. "Is that so?"

Daryl took a few steps closer to me. "Why else do people run?"

"Perhaps I can't breathe with your stench so close." An almost smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Actually, it's more everyone's combined stench, so don't feel too bad."

"Right 'cause you don't play well with others." The mock in his tone was evident and prodding.

As I approached him, his blue eyes continued to hold their intensity. I felt as if I was prey. Dale's words began to vaguely flicker in the back of my mind, but I smothered the flame before it could become a problem. I stopped in line with him, both of us still facing in opposite directions and an understood margin of personal space in between shoulders. "Glad someone got the message," I said.

"Signed, sealed, delivered."

I blinked in surprise; he hadn't struck me as someone who would've listened to Stevie Wonder. "Here's another message: I'm not scared." I was simply saving myself. I couldn't risk becoming attached to any of these people. When you got attached, you made decisions with your heart and not your head, and then it was only a matter of time before you bit the bullet.

Daryl harrumphed. "Sure as hell seems like it, Johnson."

We both turned and were now face to face. "Why do you even care? You've known me less than twenty-four hours."

"I don't care. I just can't stand when people don't call it like it is."

I scoffed. Damn, he was a piece of work. I was growing tired of this conversation, though. My escape would have to wait until a different day. A day I didn't cross paths with an asshole. "Well, if you'll excuse me then. I'll just head out for a quick hunt. That is, as long as you're sure you haven't scared all the game away."

"I'm pretty damn sure," Daryl said, turning his back to me and walking in a different direction. Wait, was he going to leave me alone? He stopped and turned over his shoulder. "Comin'?"

I gave him a pointed glare. I had spoken too soon, but despite every ounce of common sense I had, I started after him.