Lake by the Quarry
The boat rocked gently in the water, the sun glinting off the rippling surface like a shard of broken glass. Cicadas hummed lazily in the trees beyond, and for a while, everything felt normal.
Andrea sat toward the back, wearing a straw hat, protecting herself from the glaring sun. Her line was cast out far, floating aimlessly. Amy sat at the front, swinging her legs over the side, one hand on her rod, the other resting in the water.
"You keep staring," Amy said, without looking at her sister.
Andrea blinked. "What?"
"You were looking at me."
"I wasn't."
Amy turned, a knowing smile forming on her face. "Come on. It's never nothing with you."
Andrea sighed. "Did Dad ever teach you to tie nail knots?"
Amy blinked. "Why would he? He always used a fisherman's knot. Just one know. That's his thing."
Andrea looked at her, confused. "No, he didn't. He tied at least three."
"Clinch knots?" Amy asked.
"Hell no. Okay, maybe I'm making it up. Did dad teach you mostly dry lures?"
Amy nodded, "Yeah, you?"
"Wet."
Amy's brows shot up in surprise, "You're kidding me." Amy said, half laughing. "But he was always so adamant. I mean, you know, Dad on the fishing thing."
"Gee, you think? I only spent my entire childhood with my ass in a boat." Andrea smiled, shaking her head. "But in my day, it was all about getting the hook seated. We were fishing for the dinner table."
Amy's smile faded, replaced by nostalgia. "Not us, we always threw them back. Always."
Andrea looked across the lake. "I guess he changed things up."
Amy chuckled, shocked, "That'd be like changing his religion or something."
"People change," Andrea said, quieter now. "It's not his fault we were born twelve years apart."
Amy's voice grew firmer. "No. No. Because the minute you went off to college, it was my ass in the boat. And from day one, he taught me dry lures. This was not behavior developed over time."
"You think he did it for us?"
Amy shrugged, looking at the water, "He knew we were different. You needed to catch the fish. I needed to throw them back." Her eye welled as did Andrea's
Andrea's voice cracked, "All right, remember his rule: No crying in the boat. It scared the fish."
Amy chuckled, wiping her eyes, "Mom and dad… I mean, maybe Florida wasn't so bad. Maybe it's better there. Do you think?"
"I think you have a bite. Even with wrong knots." Andrea said as a tear slid down her cheek.
"Oh God. So much for the no crying rule." Amy laughed.
Andrea watched her sister wiping away her tears. "I think that was a rule more for Dad than for the fish."
They both chuckled.
Back at the Camp
Dale stood atop the RV, the binoculars in his hands, gathering sweat. The sun had come to its peak in the sky above, washing away any shadow near the camp.
Movement drew his gaze forward.
Off to the side of the camp, near the edge of the trees, Jim stood with a shovel in his hand, his shirt soaked through with sweat, and his arms moved in methodical, steady motions, digging.
Dale narrowed his eyes as Jim was nowhere near stopping; it was like he was possessed.
He lowered the binoculars and muttered to himself. "What in the hell…?"
In Atlanta — Outside City Limits
A white box truck came to a jarring stop right on the train tracks, just outside the crumbling skeleton of Atlanta's outskirts. The air was thick with heat and decay.
Skyscrapers loomed like tombstones in the haze.
The metal doors slammed open.
Daryl jumped out first, crossbow strapped across his back, his face grim. Glenn followed, gripping a machete in one hand, cautious energy in his step. Rick climbed down last, his Python holstered but ready.
Daryl didn't hesitate; he stalked the city with shoulders tense, fists clenched. "He better be okay," he growled, turning his head just enough to glare at Rick. "You're gonna pay if he isn't."
Rick didn't flinch; he understood him better than most. "If T-Dog's right, the door was chained shut. Walkers shouldn't be able to reach him."
Daryl snorted. "Yeah? Merle ain't exactly the sit and wait type."
They started down the cracked path, weaving from alley to street, staying low. The city creaked with distant echoes, moans, dripping water, and the flutter of wings in broken windows.
Rick walked ahead, revolver out now, eyes sweeping corners. Glenn hugged the walls, eyes darting. Daryl brought up the rear, silent but prepared.
As they reached the familiar alley behind the department store, the air grew heavier. The scent of death hung thick.
Inside the building, it was worse.
They dispatched a couple of straggling walkers with quiet, practiced movements—Rick with his knife, and Daryl with his crossbow. Glenn stayed back, holding the machete.
They climbed the stairwell in silence, tension mounting with every step. Daryl was practically vibrating by the time they reached the top.
The chained door was still there, wrapped up tight just as T-Dog had described.
Glenn quickly pulled out Dale's bolt cutter, placed it around the rusted metal link, and snapped it clean.
The door burst open as Daryl kicked it, shouting his brother's name.
"MELRE! MERLE!"
However, the rooftop was empty.
A battered toolbox lay off to one side. The cuffs were still there, well, one of the wrist were still locked tight, the chain severed, crushed, or snapped with something from the box.
Daryl stormed forward, his voice rising. "Where the hell is he?!"
His crossbow came up fast, aimed straight at Rick.
Rick instinctively raised his Colt Python in return. The rooftop felt smaller than it had before.
Glenn backed away.
For a moment, no one said anything
Then Daryl exhaled sharply and lowered his crossbow. "You're lucky he's alive," he muttered.
Rick nodded, lowering his weapon. "My intention wasn't to kill him."
Daryl kicked at the dangling broken cuff. "He cut through himself. He must be somewhere around here."
"You two go take a tally," Daryl said, walking abruptly toward the stairwell. "Do what you want. I'm gonna go and find him."
Rick didn't let him; he put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him, "Hold on."
"Get you damn hand off me?" Daryl shoved his hand away from his shoulder as he turned, "You can't stop me."
Rick didn't back down, "I'm not trying to. I get it. He's family. I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel."
Daryl's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"He's not injured, he could've gone too far, maybe already out of Atlanta." Rick continued. "We'll help you search, but only if we keep a level head. We split up out there with tempers flaring, we all die."
Daryl was silent for a moment. Then slowly nodded. "I could do that."
Rick looked at Glenn, gesturing to the toolbox. "But first, we need the guns. We can't wander these streets unarmed. We'll get them, then look for Merle."
Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder. "Then what the hell are we waiting for?"
Rick looked out over the dead city. "Let's move."
A/N[I know this is dragging at this point, so I'll try to complete Rick's group's journey in the next 2-3 chapters; they'll need to be pretty big(Like the previous one), because I want show how and what each character is about, and the butterfly effect Wesker's presence has taken before they meet him.]
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
First_Endless