All That's Left (The Walking Dead FanFiction)

Chapter 7

He grunts.

We end up sacrificing two jackets, three pairs of jeans, some knives, and a few blankets. Everything else we manage to fit in the packs.

“When are we leaving?” I ask.

“Probably two days. We’ve got some supplies here that we should try to use and then we’ll leave,” he answers, lining the backpacks next to the door.

“Do you think everyone made it out okay? Like Glenn. And Rick and Natalie?” I look at him and hope he won’t be moody with his answer. He probably saw more than I did, he might know.

He stops what he’s doing, but won’t meet my eyes. “I saw Glenn and Maggie leave in the truck. So they’re all right. And then I saw Rick, Laurie, and Carl leave in my car so they’re all right. I didn’t see Natalie or Scott or Hanna. I don’t know about them.”

I know other than Sam, he cares about Natalie’s safety the most. “I’m sorry you didn’t see Natalie,” I say.

“It’s all right. I’m sure she made it,” he sighs. Just by looking at him I can tell he doesn’t believe it.

“I bet she did. I bet she made it. Even if a walker tried to get her, she’d talk her way out of it.”

He laughs. “Jesus, she talked a lot.”

“She talks a lot,” I correct.

He smiles. His smile is really beautiful. I need to stop thinking that. He’s got to be at least twelve years older than I am.

“Right,” he says with a slight smile. “You’re right.”

We have squirrel for dinner. I’ve never had squirrel before so I just kind of stare at it. It’ll be the first time I’ve had meat in ages. That wasn’t human. I’m almost to the point where I don’t want to start eating it because then it’ll be gone. And I don’t want the meat to be gone.

“Are you gonna eat or what?”

Daryl’s voice brings me back to reality. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at my plate. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s just squirrel. I promise there ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“I know that. I just don’t want it to be gone.”

He chuckles. “I can catch more, you know.”

“Eat! Eat!” Sam giggles, taking a bite of the peaches on his plate.

“Okay, okay Sam, I’ll eat.” I turn to Daryl. “When did your kid get so bossy?”

“Ever since we started livin’ with you,” he answers.

It takes me a second to catch it. “Hey! I am not bossy!”

“Yes you are.” He raises the pitch of his voice, attempting to sound like me, “‘Daryl, fold the clothes. Daryl, you can’t just shove everything in the bag, it won’t all fit. Daryl, are you even listening to me?’”

“I don’t even sound like that,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“You’re right. You sound a little more impatient than that.”

I start to laugh even though I don’t want to. It’s moments like these when I actually like Daryl. But I know I’m going to say something or do something that ruins it. I’m going to do something that makes him hate me. And it’s this aspect of our relationship that I can’t take. I can’t take the walking on egg shelves, being so careful not to break him. Our relationship requires too much, it’s like having a relationship with a child. It’s far more than I can handle.