15. Looky Here.
Daryl and I sit in silence as we drive along the deserted road. I tap my fingers against the steering wheel.
I sit up straighter in my seat and break the silence. "So you caught yourself a young one?"
Daryl cuts his eyes over to me, "Do we have to talk about Beth? She's only 6 years younger than you."
"Only." I say rolling my eyes.
We go back to the awkward silence. Daryl has gotten older looking since the last time I saw him. Although he looks hotter than ever, the stress of dead people and assholes is a lot to handle.
"So what are we lookin' for? Where do you wanna go first?" I ask keeping my eyes on the road.
Daryl starts laughing, "You're still a bad driver. I woulda' thought you learned something in the military." He leans his head against the back of the seat and continues to chuckle.
I give a tight lipped grin and turn to face Daryl for a moment. "Yeah, I had a bad teacher."
Daryl sits up slamming his hands against his legs, "I was your god damn teacher. You’re just a bad learner."
I drop my jaw playfully, "Am not, I am the one who learned to get people out of hostage situations, survive in horrible circumstances, and resist interrogators."
Daryl shakes his head and rolls his eyes, keeping a smile plastered on his face.
I pierce my lips and raise my eyebrows. I stop the car, and turn to face Daryl. I open my mouth and pull back my cheek, reviling one of my missing molars. It was in the way back and hard to see, beside that my teeth were absolutely perfect.
I speak although hardly audible. "See that missing tooth back there? Yeah, some Iraqi asshole pulled it out."
My mouth returns to normal as I press down on the gas and continue to drive forward, to wherever we are going. I like the sound of the open road and the peacefulness. There isn't really all that much to worry about, it is my favorite past time now. If there is any errand to be ran I volunteer, because driving is the one place where I feel like nothing has changed.
Daryl laughs again, "It's not like you didn't already know how ta' do half that shit. We both had to know, member'?" Daryl props his feet up on the dashboard, "We use ta' sneak out in the middle of the night and go to our tree house in the woods. Parents never even knew we were gone, they were too drunk to even notice. We would survive on nuts and berries, then of course the occasional squirrel your mazin' snares caught. Damn, we were gone for days and they didn't even give one shit bout' us." Daryl looks over to me with a smile.
It's true; Daryl and I were best buds since we were 7. When I moved in next door, I came to introduce myself and he knocked me flat on my ass telling me, 'Merle said girls got cooties.' Ever since he and I were friends, I was his escape and he was mine. We both had hard lives, parents who didn't even give rats as about their little mistakes, but we cared for each other, that's all that mattered. Last time I saw him I found out his father beat him, that’s one thing my parents never did.
"That was us. The good old days." I say letting out a sigh. "Okay where we headin'?"
"Well we are near where we last were. A prison, magine' that. Can you stop on the side of the road? I need to piss."
I turn the steering wheel and pull over. Daryl opens the door and hops out of the car. It's crazy to think that his group was actually living in the prison. It's actually pretty smart if you think about it.
I turn to look out my side of the window and notice something move in the brush. I look closer and see it again. It looks like a person. I slowly open my door, grabbing my gun.
“I’m gonna’ go check something out.” I say to Daryl.
I walk down into the tree line and into the forest. I hold my gun up as I search my surroundings. I hear a crunch of a branch and turn around to see a man and his son. They both have their guns raised. The older man is very attractive with his beard and lengthy body, his muscles glisten with sweat. His son has long brown hair and is very composed, they don't look very well.
"Looky here assholes, no one’s gotta die. I'm with a friend searching for some people. They were held up in a prison. Run into anyone named Rick?"
Something clicks in both of their eyes. The man talks with a slight southern draw, “How can we trust you?”
“You can’t, but you have ta’ try.”
“Who are you with?” The man questions, keeping his pistol up.
I fret answering this question, but if it will help, “Guy named Daryl. He was my old friend. He carries around a crossbow, does that ring a bell?”
They both slowly lower their weapons and look at each other. I keep my gun raised in confusion.
The older man blinks multiple times, runs his hands through his hair and steps forward. "Uh. I-I'm Rick."