After thoroughly searching the town, Calista and the others shifted their focus to the abandoned stretch of highway near the farm.
It was the same massive traffic jam where Sophia had gone missing, and where Leah and Rick's group had first met.
Calista said, "Leah and I will clear this area and collect fuel. Daryl, Merle, you head over there."
She pointed toward a lone auto repair shop near a fork in the road. "There should be tools there, maybe even some tanks that haven't been drained. One hour. No matter what you find, we meet back here."
"No problem." Merle waved the siphon hose and a few empty fuel cans.
Daryl nodded, eyeing the shop. "Doesn't look like it's been picked clean. Might get lucky."
They split up.
Calista and Leah moved between rusted cars, prying open fuel caps with crowbars and tubing, draining what gasoline they could.
Everything went smoothly. A few trapped walkers inside cars had to be dealt with, but they handled them without trouble.
...
Daryl and Merle reached the repair shop.
Just as Daryl expected, it was mostly intact.
Tools were scattered around, a few broken-down vehicles sat in the bays, and the air smelled of oil and rust.
"Hey, this thing still works." Merle nudged a hydraulic jack that could still roll.
Daryl focused on the vehicles instead.
He quickly picked out an old Ford pickup. The tank looked promising.
"This one." He crouched, slid the siphon hose into the tank, and started drawing fuel.
Merle stood nearby, keeping watch, idly kicking scraps on the ground. "Hurry it up, kid. This place gives me a bad feeling."
"Shut up." Daryl leaned forward, focused entirely on the hose as he siphoned.
Then—
Clang!
A guttural rasp followed from above.
From the overhead beam of a makeshift hoist, a walker in work clothes that had been stuck there for who knew how long stirred at the movement below and dropped straight down.
It slammed right onto Daryl's back.
"Fuck!" Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled forward, the hose flying from his hands.
The walker reacted instantly. Its rotting arms wrapped around his neck as it snapped its jaws toward him.
"Shit! Get off!" Merle roared, eyes blazing.
He charged in like a bull, slamming into the walker with his shoulder and knocking it aside, then swung his axe in a wide arc.
The blade bit into the side of its neck, but not deep enough to kill it.
The walker staggered but kept clawing.
Daryl tried to break free, but his foot caught on a scattered tool. He lost his balance and fell hard onto his back.
A muffled groan escaped him.
As he went down, his shoulder smashed into the sharp corner of a tool rack.
At the same time, a screwdriver was knocked loose and slashed across the outside of his upper arm, leaving a deep gash.
Blood burst out, instantly soaking his sleeve.
"Daryl!" Merle saw it clearly, his chest tightening.
He roared and brought his axe down again and again on the walker's head until it stopped moving.
He kicked the corpse aside and rushed to Daryl.
Daryl's face had gone pale from pain and blood loss. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He clutched his arm, but blood kept pouring through his fingers.
"Holy shit. Press it, press it!" Merle's voice came out rough as he shoved his left hand against the artery above the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
The injury looked bad. Flesh split open, blood everywhere. No telling if an artery had been hit.
"I'm fine…" Daryl gritted his teeth and tried to get up, but dizziness made him sway.
"Don't move!" Merle snapped.
He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt with his teeth and quickly tied it above the wound with one hand to stop the bleeding.
"Get the bike. Take me to Calista and Leah…" Daryl panted.
Merle's eyes were red as he hauled Daryl outside.
He hadn't ridden a motorcycle since losing his arm.
And the throttle was on the right handle.
He only had his left hand.
But in that moment, Merle Dixon pushed past his limits.
Using his left hand and teeth, he forced the bike to start. Daryl climbed on behind him, gripping his arm.
Merle clamped the bike between his legs, controlling the left handlebar with one arm. He leaned forward and bit down on the right handle, twisting the throttle open.
The engine roared.
The motorcycle shot forward, swerving wildly but moving fast toward Calista and Leah.
He couldn't keep it straight. The bike shook violently, but sheer grit and raw strength kept it from going down.
Daryl almost made a comment about his terrible riding, but stopped when he noticed Merle's reddened eyes.
The wind tore past Merle's ears.
Only one thought filled his mind. Faster.
...
On the other side, Calista and Leah had just finished collecting several containers of fuel when they heard the engine screaming toward them.
They immediately raised their weapons.
Merle came charging in, barely in control. The bike skidded to a stop, leaving a deep mark in the ground.
He nearly fell off as he got down, his voice hoarse. "Daryl's arm. Bad cut. He's losing a lot of blood."
Calista and Leah's expressions hardened. "Walker?"
"No. Cut." Daryl answered, surprisingly calm.
Seeing half his body soaked in blood and a small pool forming on the ground, Calista frowned.
Leah was already moving. She stepped in, pulled back his sleeve, and examined the wound.
"Deep laceration. Heavy blood loss, but no major artery or bone damage. He got lucky," she said quickly. "Merle, hold him. Cali, clean water and cloth."
Calista moved immediately, pulling out a bandage from her pack and handing it over.
Leah worked fast. She rinsed the wound with drinking water, removed Merle's rough bandage, then applied firm, precise pressure wrapping.
Daryl gritted his teeth in pain, sweat running down his face, but his eyes stayed on Leah as she worked.
She was usually cold, but in moments like this, she was steady. Reliable.
"Can you walk?" Calista asked.
Daryl tried moving his arm. Pain shot through him, making him suck in a breath, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah."
"We head back to the farm. Let Hershel clean it properly and stitch it. He's got the tools and medicine. We can't risk infection," Calista said without hesitation.
...
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