Chapter Text
'Youth is made for bruises.'
Shannon Celebi in Small Town Demons
Daryl is twelve years old when the dead start walking.
He’s at home, sitting in front of the television which displays the same emergency broadcast message over and over when his father storms into the small trailer. Daryl watches how his old man throws a couple of cabinets open and starts shoving canned food into a plastic bag. There’s not much there really. A couple of cans of corn, some peaches and beans. Most cans are dented and have missing labels. God knows what’s in them. They clang together when Will Dixon moves over to the other side of the kitchen and wrenches the fridge open.
‘What’re ya doin’?’ Daryl asks when his curiosity gets the better of him.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Will drops the bag and whirls around to face his youngest son. ‘What the fuck are ya doin’ here, boy?’
Daryl shrugs. ‘School’s been closed because of the sickness. No one was out, so I came back here.’ He fishes another strip of their homemade jerky out of a bag and bites down on it. Small blue eyes peer up at his father through a brown fringe.
The older man stalks over to the couch and grabs the jerky, stuffing it in the bag with the cans. ‘So ya just came here, eating my food, driving up the damn bills by watchin’ stupid TV shows in the middle of the goddamn day? Jesus. Get off your ass ‘nd grab your stuff. We’re leavin’ this place.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I were just down at Lindsay’s and some asshole came at us! Walked right down Main, snarling ‘nd biting at whoever got close, like some fuckin’ rabid dog, so Toby shot him, right? Crazy fucker just kept on walkin’. Didn’t even notice the fuckin’ hole in his chest. We ain’t staying here if hell’s flowing over, a’right? Now shut up and get your stuff.’
Daryl glances at the news report that’s starting over again, warning everyone to stay away from the infected people. It lists quarantine zones which have been broken. Whole states have been written off. He sees the name of their state and country, still in the green zone. It probably hasn’t been updated in some time now.
Sharp nails dig into his shoulder as his father pulls him to his feet. The strong smell of alcohol wafts over his face when Will leans close to snarl at him. ‘Don’t make me tell you twice now.’
Daryl squirms away from him and slips into the small bedroom at the very back of the trailer. He grabs his hunting gear, which consists of a large backpack. It doesn’t take him very long to gather all his stuff. He makes sure to grab his watertight jacket, all of the socks and underwear he owns, a couple of shirts and most of his jeans. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he lifts his mattress and grabs what’s been hiding beneath it for years now.
A picture frame with his mother’s photograph. She’s smiling up at him, the same color of blue he sees in the mirror every morning, the same brown hair.
She’s been dead for a long time now. He barely remembers her.
‘Dare.’ Will Dixon’s voice booms through the trailer.
‘Yeah, pop?’ He answers as he quickly stuffs the photograph to the bottom of his backpack.
‘Make sure you pack your bow and got your knife on you. I paid good money for them. We ain’t leaving those behind for some damn looters to steal, ya hear me?’
Daryl jumps onto his bed and grabs the bow from the top of the closet. It’s heavy. He drops it on his pillow before reaching for the sheathed knife. He clips that onto his belt, jumps down from the bed, shoulders his bow and grabs his bag before stepping out of his bedroom again.
Blue eyes narrow when he spots his father throwing bottles of strong booze into a backpack. He recognizes some of their own moonshine but there’s also a bottle of scotch and another one that looks impossibly green. He knows it smells like mint when opened. He hates that smell.
‘I’m ready,’ Daryl announces as he hitches his bow higher onto his shoulder. It keeps slipping because it’s so heavy. The strap cuts into his skin.
‘What, ya waitin’ for a medal or something?’ Will snipes. ‘Get your ass in the truck and stop piddlin’ around.’
With a sigh, Daryl slips out of the trailer.
Their beat up old truck is parked right in front of the house, one of the big wheels on the grass and the bumper almost touching the white picket fence of their neighbors. Will must have either been rushing or too buzzed to notice. Daryl glances warily at their neighbor’s trailer, expecting to see that old lady sitting on a folding chair near the door but for once, she isn’t there.
‘Dixon!’
Daryl turns to see Jake running up the road towards him. He’s a scrawny kid with a mean right hook and one crooked front tooth.
‘You leaving too?’ the boy asks, slightly out of breath from his sprint.
‘Guess so. You?’
‘Yeah, of course. They say there’s dead people walking around, did ya hear? Like, dead people.’
‘Bull,’ Daryl scoffs as he spits on the ground.
‘No, for real,’ Jake insists, ‘you know Dirty Teddy, right? He saw it.’
‘Dirty Teddy is a dirty liar, ‘s why he’s called Dirty Teddy.’
Jake narrows his eyes, ‘why’s y’all leavin’ then, if there ain’t no dead people walkin’ around?’
Daryl wipes his nose with the back of his hand and glances at their front door. He shrugs. ‘My dad said Toby shot a guy when they were down at Lindsay’s. Guess we can’t stay.’
‘They killed a guy?’ Jake’s eyes grow big and he takes a step back.
‘No,’ Daryl says hastily, ‘he said he kept on walkin’.’
‘See? They shot him and he just kept on walkin’? That’s what Dirty Teddy said; dead people walkin’!’
‘Just because Toby shot him, don’t mean he’s dead!’
‘You really are a dumb sack of shit, Dixon,’ Jake sneers. He looks over his shoulder to see his mother waving him over. ‘Gotta go. Hey, y’all goin’ to Atlanta?’
‘Guess,’ Daryl shrugs as he sucks on his teeth. ‘Dad didn’t say.’
‘Hell, everyone’s goin’ to Atlanta. I’ll see you there, Dixon,’ Jake grins before he takes off running again.
Daryl watches how his mother engulfs the boy in a hasty hug, his face pressed against her chest. She wipes the dark hair from his forehead and kisses it lovingly before gently pushing him toward the waiting car. Doors slam. Seconds later there’s a trail of dust and the sound of a roaring engine as the family leaves the trailer park behind.
Daryl spits on the ground again before moving to their own pick-up. He puts his crossbow on the floor near his feet and throws the backpack into the back. He climbs on the wheel and hops into the bed, sitting down on the ridge as he waits for his father to come out.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
Will Dixon throws a tent next to Daryl’s bag and then puts his own backpack down carefully. Bottles clink against each other.
Daryl rubs at his nose. ‘What about Merle?’
‘What about him?’
‘What if he comes looking for us here?’
Will looks at his youngest son. He leans against the car, his broad hands curling around the metal ridge. ‘Merle’s locked up good. He ain’t goin’ to come lookin’ for us. Hell, he’s in the safest place he can be right now, behind a damn good set of bars. He’ll come find us when this is all over.’
‘But we won’t be here.’
‘What’re ya talkin’ about?’ Will asks with a frown. ‘’course we will. We ain’t no city slickers. Just gonna wait it out over in Atlanta, watch this whole thing blow over and then head straight back here. This is just.. it’s like a vacation, a’right? Weren’t you always bitchin’ about wantin’ to go on a vacation? Where did that kid from your class go? That douchebag from down Sixth?’
‘Canada,’ Daryl mutters.
‘Canada,’ Will scoffs. ‘Probably froze his balls off.’
‘He went swimming in a lake.’
‘He went to Canada to swim in a lake?’ the man asks as he walks over to the driver’s side of the truck. ‘What, Georgia’s lakes weren’t good enough for his faggoty ass to swim in?’
Daryl knows better than to answer. He slides off the truck and wrenches the door open, slipping into the passenger’s seat.
The father drums his fingers against the wheel before turning to his son. ‘It’s you ‘nd me now.’
Daryl frowns and puts his muddy boots on the dashboard, biting down on the nail of his thumb. ‘Always were.’
‘For real now,’ Will says. ‘Hell overflowin’, but it’s gonna be you ‘nd me at the end of this, okay? Dixons are tough as nails. Ain’t nothing is gonna kill us, but us. You got that, boy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Say it.’
‘You and me,’ Daryl echoes with a nod. ‘Ain’t nothing’s gonna kill us, but us.’
‘Damn straight.’ Will starts the truck and wraps an arm around the headrest of the passenger seat to turn and back out of the yard.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Atlanta,’ the elder Dixon mutters as he swings the truck around and shifts gears. ‘But we’re going to make a pit stop at the cabin first. Stashed some stuff away there, some ammo, we got the rest of our gear out there too. Think this fuckin’ tent ain’t waterproof or something, ain’t no reason for it to be out here, huh?’
‘One of them poles broke last time we went out,’ Daryl mutters.
‘See? We need better gear.’
‘What the hell do we need a tent for if we’re going to Atlanta?’ the boy asks as he leans forward to catch a glimpse of the last trailers. They’re all deserted. It seems like they’re the last ones to leave.
‘Hey,’ Will hits the breaks hard and grabs Daryl’s shoulder, pushing him up against his window. ‘Now you listen to me, boy. You think this is the fuckin’ flu? That guy down at Lindsay’s was dead, son. He was guts-hanging-out, rotting-eyes, bleeding-from-his-ass dead. If you think the government is going to save our asses, you got another thing comin’, fast. It’s up to us now. It’s gonna turn ugly, like in them movies, a’right?’
Daryl nods. He’s seen a lot of those movies when Merle was still around. The ones in which the heroes survived and got the girl after burning a vampire at the stake. But this isn’t a movie, he thinks. And there’s no chance in hell they are the heroes.
‘We’re going to get to that damn cabin and get our gear, then we’re haulin’ ass for Atlanta. Maybe the army is still up ‘nd kickin’ ass. If they ain’t, we’re headin' for the woods, a’right? Hide out until this all blows over. Jesus, thought pussy-footing ‘round would make ya feel better, okay? Like a damn vacation, just hopping down to Atlanta for a bit, - ugh. Fuck that shit. It’s gonna be nasty, boy. Real nasty.’
Daryl nods again and sags back into his seat when Will lets go of him. They drive down the familiar roads. A couple of cars flash by, heading in the opposite direction, towards Atlanta.
‘We’re gonna be fine,’ Will mutters. Nervous eyes glance around, checking the rearview mirror every couple of seconds. ‘We’re gonna be just fine.’
He doesn’t sound too sure.
Daryl puts his feet on the dashboard again and plucks at his jeans. There’s a hole starting to form over his knee. That bums him out. It’s his favorite pair.
‘You and me, boy,’ Will comments distractedly as he reaches for the radio to try and find something other than the repeated emergency broadcast message.
Daryl sighs and looks out of the windows.
‘Dixons stick together.’
Daryl nods. ‘Sure, dad.’ He bites on his thumb, a nervous habit. He watches how the woods streak past and wonders how true that statement really is. Merle is gone for now, but he’s like a bad penny and he’ll turn up sooner or later. He’s never let Daryl down in the past, even though he sometimes took his sweet time before coming to the younger Dixon’s rescue.
He’s not worried about Merle. Instead, he worries about something else.
What would his dad have done if he hadn’t been home just now? It was just a coincidence that Daryl saw him pack up, what if he’d been out with his friends, what if school had been in session, would Will have waited for him? Would he have looked for him, at all?
Or would he have simply packed up his shit and lit out first chance he got?
Daryl pretends he doesn’t know the answers.