Rick stopped and held his hand up, pistol raised. His back to the wall, he slowly craned his head around the corner. He felt quiet eyes beside him, watching, waiting for a word.
Carefully, Rick lifted his gaze, finger brushing the trigger of his gun. It was heavy in his hand, heavy as the silent air in which he held his breath. A soft shift of fabric next to him and the scuff of a notched arrow. Daryl was waiting for a signal, a confirmation, anything. He wasn't the kind of man to charge round a corner, guns blazing. No, he'd let the leader go first. Rick was grateful for that.
Around the corner shuffled seven walkers. Two female, one withered and limping, the other sinewy and wide-eyed under its lank blonde hair. Five males. All groaning, aimlessly shambling in circles. Rick turned back to Daryl, whose eyes flicked up to meet his. He was leaning low, ready to move.
"Seven," Rick whispered. Daryl didn't speak but his head nodded a fraction. He raised the crossbow to his face, squinting down the sights. Again, waiting for Rick's signal. The sheriff breathed in slowly then exhaled. He nodded.
The two burst around the corner. Rick swung his knife into the nearest walker's head, splitting skull and spraying brains across the ground. It fell, gurgling bloodily. The next went down as easily as the first. Across from Rick, Daryl swiftly took the two female walkers down before they could even turn, arrows shooting straight into their eyes. He drew a serrated blade from his belt and slashed another across the throat before driving the blade into its eye. Daryl looked across, gaze matching Rick's. The crossbow swung up and an arrow was fired. Rick barely had time to blink as it whistled past his face into the forehead of a walker directly behind him.
"What're you lookin' at?" Daryl shouted. "Get your ass moving!"
Rick shook his head before turning, drawing his knife back and plunging it into the rotted cheek of a walker. The blade crunched upwards, into its brain, splattering blood over his hand. Behind him, Daryl dispatched the final walker with a nightstick to the eye. The sound fell back to wind and bugs chirping, above which Rick could hear his and Daryl's panting as they caught their breath. Daryl slung his crossbow back and fixed the sheriff with a narrow eyed stare. Rick looked back.
"What?" he asked. Daryl snorted, a dry 'pffft' sound Rick had heard often.
"You know what," he said as he crouched to search the walkers' bodies, rummaging through their pockets. He tossed some rusted coins, lint and wrappers over his shoulder. Rick watched one roll past his foot and ran a hand through his hair.
"I know?" he asked. Daryl stopped and looked up at him.
"Don't play dumb. You stop fightin' just to stand and watch? What, you want my bow or somethin'?"
Rick didn't reply. He kept his eyes out towards the fields they had crossed for any stray walkers. Eventually, Daryl stood, wiping his hands on his pants.
"Nothin'," he muttered. No bullets, pocket knife, no useful items at all. He snorted again. "And you. Stop lyin' or this ain't gonna work out."
"I ain't lying," Rick replied, though he hesitated slightly. He knew Daryl would've caught on to his tone. If he had, he said nothing, just shifted his crossbow again. Fixed Rick with another stare.
"Let's go."
They continued on, pushing past the parking lot and towards the abandoned gas station store. No walkers inside. Rick rattled the door and groaned – it was tied on the inside with rope. Daryl looked across.
"Come on, idiot, just cut it with your knife."
"I can't, the door's too heavy to do both," Rick shot back, holding it open with his back. Even then it was a strain. Daryl drew his knife and wordlessly reached across, elbow brushing Rick's chest, sawing the rope. It was tougher than it looked and he had to pause, readjust the knife. He glanced at Rick – that half-second flick of the eyes he often did, possibly checking Rick's face for expression, maybe just ... looking. Rick felt a strange tightness in his chest but he swallowed and it went away. Mostly.
"Goddamn door," Daryl muttered, sawing with the knife again, this time leaning in so he wasn't sawing at an awkward angle. Rick had to draw his arms in as to not touch Daryl's side. Finally, the rope snapped and the door swung in, causing Rick to fall into the room. A thin smile crossed Daryl's face.
"Nice goin'," he snorted, walking past Rick and stooping to pull a pair of handcuffs from his backpack. He locked the door shut, handle fixed to metal display cabinet. The magazine cabinet itself was bolted to the floor. For the first time since they set out to scout, the two could relax.
Rick checked the windows. All were boarded over with wood and nails, the slivers of light streaming in bright enough to illuminate the interior. Daryl had placed his crossbow down and was peering at the food in the store – cereal bars, old protein shakes, stale bread and melted ice cream. He snatched up the least torn plastic bag and began to pack items into it. Rick watched. After a while, Daryl slowed. He looked at Rick with a scowl.
"Man, stop watchin' me so much!" he snapped. He turned back to the bars. "It's fuckin' weird."
"Sorry, I ..." Rick had no excuses. He just trailed off, tearing his eyes away from Daryl reaching to get cans at the back of a shelf.
His arms were stretched out. Muscles shifted under the skin. How did Daryl keep them that way? Rick wondered. Probably from lifting the crossbow all day.
The same feeling returned to his chest. He rubbed it but it wasn't pain, nor ... physical. Rick sighed and went to gather supplies too. As he went, his eyes drifted to outside. He froze.
On the other side of the room, Daryl saw him stop and stood slowly. His eyes flicked to his bow.
"What is it?" he hissed. Rick held up a hand to still him. He leaned in to the window, squinting one eye shut.
"Walkers," he breathed.
A whole herd of them. Heading towards the gas station. Drawn by what, Rick couldn't say, but he knew they couldn't make a run for it. Even as he considered it, he heard the telltale footsteps of walkers moving past the outside walls too. They were surrounded.
Daryl seemed to have heard too as he turned, eyes moving to the back door of the store. Outside, walkers moved slowly, milling around, able to smell the survivors without locating them. He crouched low and moved quick, getting to the door. Rick ducked so he couldn't be seen through the gaps in the window boards. Metres away, Daryl was drawing the nightstick from his belt and slotting it through the D-shaped handle of the metal back door, jamming the other end so it couldn't be forced open. He stood then, breathing out, back to the wall. Something scratched the door from the outside and they both tensed.
"Now what?" Daryl asked, his voice hushed. Rick shrugged a shoulder, sweat beading his brow. The herd was large and didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. He licked his lips.
"We wait," he replied.
*
Daryl and Rick sat with their legs side-by-side, backs to opposite aisles, cards in hand. Rick flicked one onto the ground between them.
"Y'sure?" Daryl asked, eyes lingering on Rick's. Piles of bottletops sat beside each of them. Makeshift chips. Rick nodded. He added another card to his five and frowned at them. He pushed some tops to the middle.
"Call it," he said. It sounded right to say. Both had forgotten how to play poker exactly, but neither cared. It passed some time.
Both showed their hands. Daryl held out four of a kind. Rick sighed and handed across his pair of queens. Daryl laughed, a quiet, harsh sound.
"Come on, man. You can do better than that crap."
Rick set his head back against labels reading old names of products and faded prices, letting his hands fall to his lap. Daryl's head tilted.
"What, you bored?" he asked. It was ambiguous as to if he sounded amused or offended. Rick's head lolled forwards as he moved to look at Daryl.
"What do you think?" he asked dryly. Daryl snorted – that soft 'pffft' sound that made Rick's chest tighten – as he stood.
"Man, you're so weak," he said, looking across the store rather than at Rick.
Then Daryl stretched. One arm up, the other bent, loosening a crick in his back. Rick found himself staring and cleared his throat, turning his face as Daryl opened his eyes.
"I'm checking the windows again," Rick said, pushing himself to his feet. The back of his throat was burning, a choking feeling. Daryl scratched the back of his head.
"Alright. I'll watch the door."
They went opposite ways and for a moment, Rick thought it was clear.
"Hey, are you ... feelin' okay?"
He turned to see Daryl, awkwardly turned, looking at him from near the door. Rick swallowed and nodded wonkily.
"Uh, yeah. Fine. Why?" he asked. Daryl's gaze held.
"Just been actin' a little weird, s'all," he murmured, shaking his head and going to the door. Rick's hands clenched as he tried to stop them shaking.
Shit. Shitshitshit.
Daryl had noticed. What the hell could he do now? They had been in the store for days now, and God knew how long they'd be stuck. The herd had just grown and was hanging around the store. Trying to leave would be suicide for sure. Rick rubbed a hand over his forehead as he checked the glass and windows boards. He'd just have to suck it up and stay quiet. Keep his eyes to himself.
Over by the door, Daryl's arms were crossed as he thought hard. The sheriff had been looking at him. A lot. He'd first noticed it when the stupid ass had stopped fighting to what – watch? And now he was just ... gazing. Daryl itched his cheek, brow furrowing. No way that guy was trying to hint anything. His wife and son were at their homestead. It meant nothing. Just stares. Maybe Rick was suspicious of Daryl himself. He shrugged it off. No use worrying.
Even so, Daryl found himself watching Rick more, just to see if he was looking again. The man kept his eyes down and shuttered. Daryl shook his head. He should just forget how he'd caught Rick watching as he stretched.
But he couldn't.
*
Rick awoke. It was early evening. His shoulder hurt from the metal shelf digging into it, the back of his neck aching from being craned sideways. He sat forward, rubbing it and wincing.
"Eat this. We gotta map our way out for tomorrow, the walkers are on the move," Daryl said. His eyes still shut, Rick didn't see the cereal bar tossed at him. It hit him in the chest and he jumped, eyes opening. Daryl smirked, sitting on the counter by the cash register, checking his crossbow. He slotted arrows into it and tested it before sitting back on his hands, the weapon in his lap. He was oddly pensive-looking.
"Look, I ..." he began, stopping. Rick looked at him questioningly. Daryl rubbed the back of his neck. "I saw you ... lookin' at me. Yesterday."
Rick went very still and cold. His mouth dried up. Not this confrontation. Not now.
Daryl looked him in the eye.
"Got anythin' you wanna tell me?" he asked. Not accusing. Open. Rick felt his skin burning inside.
The silence hung between them, a tense thread. One wrong word and it would snap. Daryl didn't even blink, his eyes burning through Rick's. The sheriff blinked first, looking away.
"No," he said. The lie was bitter on his tongue. Daryl said nothing for what felt like entire minutes before finally blinking too. Rick turned his vision back to him. "You got anything you wanna say to me?"
Daryl paused. Hesitated. Then –
"Nah."
Rick felt as if both of them had lied then, the line taut with deception. But neither was about to accuse the other of lying when he himself had lied. Daryl went to a window and sat looking out. Rick cleared his throat.
"I reckon we could make our way across the lot there," Daryl said, pointing to the glass. He glanced at Rick to get him to come over. Rick heaved up and crossed to join him. Both men squinted out the slats between the wood. A path snaked between cars to a low wooden fence. Over the fence was a car and, past the car, a clear path down a small river.
"If we get to that car, it could run," Rick whispered. Two inches away, Daryl squinted.
"And if it doesn't run?" he murmured, not turning to look, just speaking facing out. Rick tried to hold his gaze out – stopping himself looking at the man inches away, who had lied about having nothing to say.
"Then we keep pushin'," Rick replied softly. He and Daryl turned at the same time, the latter narrowing his eyes. That same painful silence was strung tight.
"Fuck, man," Daryl breathed, breath warm on Rick's face. Rick felt something trickle down his back. Cold sweat. His fingers twitched.
"What?" he asked. Daryl snorted. Rick couldn't breathe.
"Ya need to stop doin' these weird-ass moments," Daryl said, moving away quickly. "It's damn annoying."
"I'm not doin' anything," Rick retorted, looking back out the window. "You're dreamin' it."
"Yeah, sure," Daryl said, a dry humour in his voice. "God, man, are you goin' nuts or are you just distracted easily?"
"I just – stare sometimes," Rick said. Another lie.
"Well, stop. It's irritatin' me," Daryl said. Another lie.