Chapter 53: Further Understanding
Hanks dropped the deer in the camp's central clearing. The heavy carcass kicked up a small cloud of dust.
"Kenny," he called out, "you handle this deer. Remember to saw off both antlers and clean them."
"Daryl, you look like an old hand at this too. Go with him to the river and dress it. Dispose of the guts far away so we don't attract trouble."
Kenny set down his shotgun and nodded.
Though still wary of these two strangers, he had no objection to Hanks's orders.
He rummaged through the RV's toolbox for decent knives, handing one to Daryl.
Daryl took the knife, fingers habitually running along the handle. He said nothing.
Just silently followed Kenny as they both dragged the heavy deer toward the downstream riverbank.
The rushing water masked some of the cutting sounds. The smell of blood diluted in the current.
Kenny skillfully began bleeding and skinning the deer. Daryl helped hold the legs.
His movements were equally efficient—clearly also skilled at wilderness survival.
Silence continued for a while, only the soft sounds of blade through hide and bone.
Daryl watched Kenny from the corner of his eye, then glanced at camp where Hanks was being pulled into conversation by the little girl called Clementine.
"How long... you been with him?" Daryl finally spoke, voice low—as if asking casually, but his tense tone betrayed the probe.
Kenny's hands didn't stop. He grunted without looking up. "Not long, but long enough."
He paused, using the knife tip to sever a tendon cleanly. "Long enough to know that without him, we'd all be one of those things by now."
Daryl fell silent, knife cutting away a large chunk of belly meat. "He's a hell of a fighter."
"More than just a fighter." Kenny looked up, wiping blood spatter from his face.
His eyes held complex emotions—admiration mixed with a hint of fear. "Damn."
"Never seen anyone this ruthless. Shoots like a marksman, moves fast and brutal. And he never seems to get tired."
"Always at the front. Grabs the most dangerous jobs. Always takes first watch... I mean, is that even human?"
He sounded like he was complaining but also boasting, the tone making Daryl give him a sidelong glance.
"Look at him there," Kenny jutted his chin toward Hanks, "acting like nothing happened."
"But I know—last night he burned through the most. Fired more rounds than me and Lee combined."
"The walkers he put down in close combat could pile into a small mountain... He's just forcing himself to hold it together."
"Because he knows if he goes down, this group falls apart. We die."
Daryl listened silently, his knife slowing as he recalled the overwhelming fight earlier.
That man's terrifyingly calm eyes and precise, vicious movements.
Speaking of last night's blood moon, Daryl felt lingering fear. Good thing they'd stayed deep in the woods.
Otherwise with how fierce walkers were last night, he and Merle would've been in serious danger.
Kenny's words seemed to add another dimension to that terrifying capability.
"Where... you headed?" Daryl changed the question.
"Savannah." Kenny spoke the three syllables, then lowered his head to focus on the work.
"The little girl's parents might be there. He said he'd take her, so we're following."
"Savannah..." Daryl turned the name over, eyes flickering with unknown thoughts.
"Wait, they're not siblings?" Daryl caught the odd phrasing.
"No." Kenny seemed a bit surprised by this himself. "According to little Clem, they met by accident..."
Daryl listened, his heart unable to settle for a long time.
Taking a strange little girl through mountains of corpses and seas of blood just to keep a promise...
Something stirred inside him.
The two worked at the river for a while—gutting, bleeding, washing clean. They found branches, shaved them smooth and clean.
Threading chunks of venison onto skewers, rubbing on salt they'd brought in the vehicles.
Katjaa saw the two children playing together again. They'd clearly moved past last night's trauma.
She finally relaxed. Seeing Merle's bruised and swollen face sitting sullenly in the corner, she retrieved their limited disinfectant and approached to clean his wounds.
"Hiss!" Merle shuddered from the pain. "I... fuck..." He looked at that motherly gentle gaze, words reaching his lips. "I... thanks... for my ma."
"Hold still." Katjaa smiled softly, ignoring the aborted curse.
Lee and Carley sat together again, quietly discussing what happened in the woods.
Backlit by the setting sun, they looked like a young couple just discovering romantic sparks.
Hanks studied the hunting rifle, eye looking through the scope toward the distance.
As someone of Chinese heritage, passion for long-range shooting was practically in his DNA.
The bigger the caliber, the more excited he got.
Because he was a big-caliber kind of man.
Night fell like spilled ink across the sky, the last traces of sunset swallowed by darkness.
A campfire burned in the clearing by the river, leaping flames driving back the night's chill and illuminating the faces of those gathered around with shifting light and shadow.
Katjaa and Carley set skewered venison over the fire. Fat dripped into flames with sizzling sounds.
Rich meat aroma spread, bringing an almost luxurious sense of peace.
Duck and Clementine watched the gradually browning meat with longing, constantly swallowing.
Merle sat by the fire with his bruised face, handed a skewer of sizzling deer loin.
He awkwardly bit off a large chunk, hissing at the heat but not stopping his chewing. Clearly starving.
Daryl sat beside him, silently eating meat, eyes occasionally sweeping over Hanks and the others.
"So..."
Hanks picked up a freshly-grilled small skewer and handed it to the little glutton Clementine beside him, then looked at the Dixon brothers. "What are your plans?"
Merle's mouth was full of meat. He mumbled something unintelligible—roughly a "mind your own business" sentiment.
But under Hanks's calm gaze and the lingering ache in his jaw, his voice grew quieter and quieter.
Daryl swallowed his food, wiped his mouth. Voice low. "Atlanta."
He paused. "We're fleeing from up north. Those things are everywhere..."
"We heard Atlanta has shelters. Figured we'd try our luck."
"Atlanta..." Lee repeated the name, exchanging glances with Carley.
Both saw the same gravity in each other's eyes. The radio broadcasts hadn't been optimistic.
Hanks nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the answer, and continued. "Heading south on this road—are there any small towns nearby?"
"Or know where we could find detailed state maps and a high-powered radio?"
Daryl thought for a moment. "Follow this river downstream, maybe three-quarters of a day's travel. There's a little place called Creekwood."
"Passed through a few times before. Not big, but there's an old post office. Might have the maps you want." He glanced at Hanks. "But that place... better be careful."
"How so?" Kenny immediately pressed, slowing his grilling.
"When things first went to hell, some group took it over." Merle answered.
He seemed to recover some energy, tone carrying his usual mockery. "Call themselves the Moser Gang. Bunch of bullies picking on the weak."
"They rob anyone passing through. We tried getting in to grab stuff once. Nearly got surrounded."
The Moser Gang...
Hanks noted the name and pressed for details. "Is the post office far from them?"
"Other side of town, a few streets over." Daryl took over.
"If you're fast enough and lucky enough, maybe you can get in and out before alerting them."
The information exchange complete.
The atmosphere lapsed into silence again, only the crackling fire and sounds of chewing.
Both sides maintained wariness, but at least the tense atmosphere had eased considerably.
For night watch, Hanks assigned himself and Merle first shift, with Daryl and Kenny taking over.
Both guard duty and a subtle test.
The brothers had no objection. Daryl even volunteered for the toughest second half of the night.
The night passed without incident. Surprisingly peaceful.
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