Greek Tragedy | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 9 | Keep Yourself Quiet

As Cassandra approached the farmhouse, she watched Carol break off from the very loud group and flee into the forest. Jimmy held onto a hysterical Beth while Shane followed, yelling at the family about some new plot he had fabricated in his mind. The girl did not know, but neither did she care. She stood back, around near the back porch of the house, and heard Hershel's final word on sending Rick's group away. Maybe it was for the best... Just as long as she did not have to follow.

Cassandra stiffly put down her bag and gear, wanting to at least get the wet chafing off her shoulders. It was then that Daryl stormed around the house, presumably on his way to sulk or shoot something in the forest, but stopped short when he saw her. She wasn't looking at him at that moment so jumped when he spoke.

"The hell happened ta you?"

The girl's mouth moved like a goldfish for a bit before she came up with a viable answer. "I-I was hunting near the swamp when I heard the gunshots. I fell into one of the ponds."

Daryl eyed her suspiciously. "You're bleedin'."

"Oh," she exclaimed, reaching to touch her forehead where it stung and hissing when her hand came back down covered in the blood and mud that caked her hair and forehead. "Hit ma head on the way down, thought it was just bruised because I was wet anyway." It was an excuse much akin to those she had given her teachers and, even to some extent, her brothers during her childhood. It seemed very little had changed for her now. 

"Here."

Cassandra looked up to see Daryl handing an orange do-rag to her and a bottle of water.

"Th-thanks."

He just grunted. 

She began to wipe the blood and dirt from her face, hoping maybe Maggie would allow her use of the shower before she went back to the forest.

"Hey, um, I caught a doe just before the gunfire. Hid it before I came back to see what was up. Any chance you'd come out with me later to get it?"

"Sure," Daryl said, chewing something then spitting it out. Get cleaned up first and we'll go out near sundown. Shouldn't take long, right?"

"No, not at all. It's just a few miles out. Half hour walk there, same back. Might be a bit longer carrying the game but not too much."

"Okay."

*****

Shane approached the blue pickup truck, noticing Dale standing sullenly by another one of the cars looking disapprovingly over at him. He wondered briefly where the girl was but promptly decided he didn't care. He scoffed at Dale and got into the truck. But that seemed not to be enough to satisfy him, because - after watching Dale in the wing mirror for a minute - he got back out.

"You got something to say, Dale? Go ahead, man. Mr. Moral Authority, huh? You're the, uh, the voice of reason, right?" Dale didn't say anything, but that didn't matter because Shane wasn't really looking for a response. His temper flared and he hit the door of the truck before advancing on the older man. "Lemme ask you something, what do you do? What do you do to keep this camp safe, huh, what do you do? You fix up an RV? You babysit some guns. Now, you pointed one at my chest and I don't care if the girl got in the way, you just couldn't pull that trigger, could you? If I'm such a danger, I'm such a prick, what did you do to stop me, huh? I smashed that barn open, I saved Carl. That's me. That ain't you, that ain't Rick, that's me!"

He turned around, not having heard any response from the shocked Dale, who had no need to even say a word for Shane's instability to become evident.