The Walking Dead, Rude Awakening

Joe gave Amy a quick glance, almost instinctively. Before stepping forward and grabbing the rear legs of the deer.

Daryl, already at the front, met his eyes briefly. There was no smile, but a slight nod passed between them.

Mutual recognition. Gratitude.

They lifted the animal together, carrying it easily despite its weight.

As they followed the others back to camp, their steps in sync, Joe's sharp hearing caught a familiar voice.

Lori.

She was scolding Carl, her tone tight. "You do not run off like that again. You understand me?"

Carl, cheeks red, kept glancing at his dad for help. "Yes, Mom…"

Rick stepped in smoothly, placing a hand on Lori's shoulder. "Give him a break," he said with a small grin.

"He was off on a little adventure... with his girlfriend."

Carl turned scarlet. Sophia didn't fare much better, casting a shy look sideways before glancing away.

Lori sighed heavily but relented. "Within my sight. From now on."

Carl nodded quickly, grateful for the save.

Rick smiled and gave Lori's hand a squeeze, clearly unaware of the burning eyes locked onto his back.

Joe noticed, though.

Shane.

The man was standing just a couple feet behind rick, his stare focused entirely on Rick and Lori. Obsessive, angry, aching.

Joe's body tensed instinctively. Something wasn't right. Something reeked of betrayal.

Joe's eyes narrowed, and for a heartbeat, their gazes met. Shane stiffened slightly at the challenge in Joe's expression, then turned away, jaw tight.

Joe thought grimly: 'I don't like him. Or her. They're hiding something. Maybe an affair? Started before the world ended?…'

His eyes drifted to Carl, 'brown hair, blue eyes, same jawline as Rick. No… definitely his.'

He cleared his head of such thoughts. His impression of Shane worse than ever.

They reached a flat work table near the edge of the camp. Joe and Daryl lifted the deer onto it and stepped back.

Daryl gave him a sidelong look. "Ever skin a deer before?"

Joe shook his head. "No. Worked at a butcher shop for a bit. Cows, the occasional pig. Never deer."

Daryl nodded, then walked over to a tree where a pulley system was rigged. He wrapped the deer's rear legs with a length of rope and gave Joe a glance.

Joe caught on quickly, walking to the rope's end. With a strong pull, the deer lifted cleanly into the air. Joe tied off the rope and stepped back.

Daryl grabbed a blue bucket, placed it underneath, and slit the deer's throat.

A spurt of blood poured out before slowing to a steady drip. They waited a few minutes until it was mostly drained.

Without speaking, Daryl began skinning. His hands moved with the ease of years, peeling away the hide in long, clean strokes.

Joe watched for a moment as Daryl butchered one side of the deer. Then stepped to the opposite side and began carving meat from the shoulder and ribs, following Daryl's lead.

Daryl glanced over.

No words.

But something passed between them... recognition. Competence. Respect.

They worked in silence. When Joe finished, his side was stripped just as clean as Daryl's.

Daryl gave a single approving nod.

They lowered the carcass and completed the butchering. Daryl, grabbing a tenderloin, muttered, "Thanks," before walking off toward his corner of camp, already preparing to make jerky.

A couple of guys came over quickly, packing up the meat. Some salted to preserve, the rest for the day's meals. No one wasted anything.

Joe wiped his hands in a bucket of gray water, then dumped it.

He glanced at the bucket of deer blood, an idea forming.

He cracked the deer's skull open with a rock and scooped out the brain, dropping it into the blood. Then he added other unusable bits. Organs. Fat.

Glenn spotted him mid-scoop, face scrunching in horror. "What the hell are you doing with that?"

Joe turned slowly, eyes blank. Then smirked deviously, raising the bucket as if he was going to drink it.

Glenn's face turned white.

Joe chuckled, lowering the bucket and as he moved past Glenn. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax."

Glenn let out a heavy sigh. "Jesus, man… I thought! Never mind. I almost pissed myself."

Joe walked off, still grinning faintly.

At the campfire, he found a big pot with a lid and some moldy cheese someone had tossed aside. He stirred the fire back to life, adding some more wood, hung the pot over it, and dumped everything in.

People nearby watched with mixed disgust and dread.

"What the hell is he cooking…?"

Rick finally approached, wary but curious. "What you got "cooking" there?" he asked, already half-wincing at the thought of the answer.

Joe glanced over. "Fish bait."

A collective sigh passed through the onlookers.

Glenn in particular looked like he dodged the massivest bullet of his life. He had been wary of Joe coming over with a bowl and asking him to try it.

Rick chuckled. "You had me worried. Where'd you learn this... recipe??..."

Joe stirred the vile concoction, watching the blood and fat simmer into sludge.

"My grandpa used to make it," he said simply.

Rick nodded, deciding not to ask any more questions.

Best to leave the man and his bait in peace.

...

Joe stirred the thick bait mixture methodically, not letting it settle too long at the bottom.

The fire beneath it crackled and popped, filling the air with the acrid stench of blood.

Everyone steered clear of it, everyone but Joe, who stirred with practiced patience.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement, Amy.

She was hurrying away from her sister, cheeks flushed, a laundry basket pressed tightly against her chest.

Joe spotted his worn clothes from the day before folded at the top. Her head was down, lips pursed, clearly avoiding Andrea, who followed behind with a smirk plastered across her face.

Other women, baskets in hand trailed after them laughing and giggling. Laundry duty.

Joe's eyes lingered on Amy for a moment longer, watching her shapely figure.

A sudden commotion yanked his attention away.

Voices rose... tense, angry.

Daryl Dixon, face twisted with fury, stood toe-to-toe with T-Dog. Joe caught the last of it:

"You couldn't pick it up?!" Daryl shouted.

T-Dog clenched his fists, shoulders taut. "It fell down a damn drain!"

Daryl snarled and lunged forward, knife flashing in the sun.

Rick and Shane moved instantly.

Shane reaching first, expertly grabbing Daryl's wrist, twisting the blade free before slamming him into the dirt with a precise takedown. His knee pressed firmly into Daryl's back.

Daryl groaned, face contorted in pain, fury still blazing in his eyes. Grief clear on his face.

Joe had seen enough.

He stepped forward, giving Rick a pointed look.

Rick exhaled and muttered, "Let him up."

Shane didn't argue, but he lingered just long enough to make a point before easing off.

Daryl shoved up to his knees, chest heaving, but didn't lash out again. He settled for a venomous glare at Shane.

Rick straightened, walking between them. "I'll go back," he said. "Back to the city. We get Merle out. We do it clean."

"You're kidding me," Shane said. "After everything? He's a ticking time bomb. We need to focus on whats important"

"And I say we don't leave a man behind," Rick shot back.

Shane increasing his tone, "It's a waste of gas. You don't even know if he's still alive!"

T-dog exclaiming to Daryl, "I chained the door shut!"

Daryl shouted, "is that supposed to make me feel better! Cause it dont!"

Rick getting between them, looking at Shane, "There's a high chance he is still up there. Baking in the sun. That's no way to leave a man, it's cruel."

Lori, drawn by the arguing, approached. "Rick, you can't be serious. We just got you back. Carl just got you back. You go out there again..."

Joe cut in, voice calm but firm, "I'll go."

All heads turned to him.

Rick and Daryl stared in surprise. Lori blinked, almost relieved.

Joe nodded once. "I don't mind the risk. In and out, quietly."

Lori looked to Rick, seizing the opportunity. "Let him go! Please, stay."

After a long pause, Rick finally nodded.

Joe motioned him aside, his tone low. "Keep an eye on Amy while I'm gone."

Rick gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "She's in good hands."

Joe turned to Daryl. "We leave as soon as the bait's done."

Daryl gave a stiff nod and disappeared into his tent to prep his gear.

Joe pulled the pot from the fire and set it beside the RV, placing the lid on to trap the putrid smell. It would keep, barely.

Walking over to Dale, he asked, "Can I borrow some bolt cutters?"

Dale responding gruffly, "I don't like loaning tools. Last time I did, they didn't come back." Glancing at T-dog.

Joe continued to stare at Dale.

Uncomfortable with the situation, Dale relented. Walking over to a locked toolbox and pulling out some bolt cutters.

Handing them to Joe, "I expect to get these back." Joe nodding before starting to walk away.

Dale calling out a little softer than before, "If you come across my other tools..." Joe nodding, toning him out. Dale sighing.

He made his way to the construction van, where they stored their weapons. He grabbed a shotgun, racked it, then slung it over his shoulder.

A Glock followed, tucked into his belt, his holster and vest were still with Amy.

Grabbing a medium sized backpack as well.

By the time he arrived at Daryl's tent, the man was beside a gritty rat rod Harley, gassing it up with a rusty can.

They exchanged a quiet nod. No need for words.

Daryl capped the tank, then pushed the kickstarter down with his boot. The bike coughed. Onve more... the engine roared to life before settling into a low, gravelly purr. He straddled it with practiced ease.

Joe swung on behind him, resting one arm behind him on the backrest, body steady. No awkwardness. Just purpose.

The group gathered to watch as they rolled out. The engine echoed against the trees, kicking up dust in their wake.

Among the onlookers, Shane muttered, "Riding like a bitch."

Rick turned, giving him a long, cold look.

Shane shrugged but said nothing more.

Rick didn't know what was going on with his friend, but there was bitterness...

Resentment.

Something twisted and festering under the surface. Uncovered so far.

Rick walked off without a word.

Behind him, Shane called to Carl. "Hey, Carl! Wanna learn how to catch frogs?"

Carl face lit up. "Yeah!"

Rick paused just long enough to watch his son's joy, then kept walking.

Still wondering when the world had changed... and how people once familiar had changed with it.