Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Fast and Furious

"Merle can take any route so long as he doesn't use the main road until the highway 7 intersection," Glenn explained, Merle and I standing side-by-side in front of him. "Alex will take the 420 to 402 which meets up with highway 7 just north of the high school. First one back here wins."

"I'm gonna beat you so bad they're gonna need a straw to suck you off the highway."

I frowned at my brother-in-law, "Huh?"

Rick took a measured breath, eyeing us then the crowd standing a few feet away. He may have agreed to this madness, but he wasn't happy about it. Too bad, there was no going back now.

"We've got Sasha, Abraham, Aaron, and Noah positioned along the route. They'll track your progress, and let us know if we attract too many walkers," he explained, turning to face the crowd. "Everyone knows the fallback plan. If we give the signal we all head back to Alexandria immediately."

Everyone gave their assurance they would run like hell if things went south while Rick clucked his tongue and walked away. Deadpool gave me a brief hug before following, no doubt promising all kinds of sexual favors to get him to hold his shit together for another half-hour.

"See ya at the finish line lil' sister."

I hugged him. "See you in my review."

He chuckled like the idea of me winning was absurd, walking to his vehicle. Daryl stepped in front of me, his chest rising and falling as he let out a deep breath. He didn't look any more thrilled about today's extracurricular activity than he did when Merle first suggested it a few days ago. Not that I could blame him. The two of us racing for the sake of racing was hardly a genius idea, but we were desperate.

Ever since we'd killed The Saviors at the satellite compound no one had been using their time productively. Sure, we went through the motions, but there was a heaviness that followed us we simply couldn't shake.

I saw it in Carol's eyes every time she sat on the porch, smoking cigarettes she didn't enjoy with a distant, restless look in her eyes. It was obvious on Maggie's face, a face that somehow still looked far too pale after the slaughterhouse. I felt it whenever I crossed paths with Mr. Miyagi, his silent condemnation ringing loud in my conflicted mind.

The weight of our choices made it feel like we were trudging through knee high snow each day. Every task was harder, every emotion heightened. We'd done what we set out to do, but we were having a difficult time living with the aftermath.

It felt as if we were waiting for the metaphorically other shoe to drop. Something bad was coming. We all felt it. We just didn't know what to do about it. We needed a vacation, or a winning lottery ticket. Hell, I'd settle for a day without bullshit. Honestly, was that too much to ask?

So when Merle floated the idea of a friendly race to lift morale during breakfast no one laughed. Instead we immediately started plotting. Glenn and Ariel searched until they found a route that would accommodate the race while keeping us safe. Daryl and Aaron worked late into the night restoring an old Suzuki Hayabusa, adding modifications in an effort to boost the speed of the high performance machine. Maggie spent day and night attempting to sway the naysayers who believed our time was better spent on more pressing issues. She eventually sold them on the idea of a mini-vacation, apocalypse style. The woman could sell Popsicle's in Hell.

Deadpool had the hardest task, convincing Rick this wasn't stupid. The group toyed with the idea of trying to keep the event a secret, but honestly, we were crap at keeping secrets. Also, if anyone needed a break from the stress it was our resident dictator. The guy was wound so tight the next time he farted he was liable to float away.