Head of the Snake

PenPatronus

Chapter 4

Blood splashed across Rick's untouched plate when Dwight ripped the stitches from Daryl's shoulder for the eighth time. A frustrated Negan rose from his chair, snatched up a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice and launched it at the wounded archer. Acid hit the open wound, and Daryl's howls echoed across the woods.

Rick wrapped his arms around his head—elbows against his ears—and pressed his nose into the white tablecloth. "Please," he groaned. "No more. Stop it, please."

"I will!" Negan bellowed. "If you eat some damn scrambled eggs, and swear on his soul that you'll devote yourself to the Saviors for the rest of your piss-poor life!" Negan smashed the glass carafe against the table, and then pressed the largest shard against Daryl's throat. "NOW!"

Rick couldn't read Daryl's eyes. It was almost like he wasn't behind them anymore. The only reason why he was even conscious was because of Courtney the nurse's shots of adrenaline. Daryl's blood had turned a whole corner of the tablecloth red. Untouched pancakes and waffles were ruined. Blood had pooled in the bowl of his spoon, decorated his silver fork, and his butter knife…

Where was the knife?

Rick's own adrenaline soared. He and Daryl shared a look, and the briefest nod.

In one fluid move, Rick plucked up his silver fork and launched it across the table. Negan didn't even flinch. He barely blinked when it soared past his right ear. Chuckling, he turned half way around and watched the utensil smack against some faceless Savior lounging in a lawn chair. Daryl took the knife out of his pocket and shoved it into Negan's thigh. It was then that Rick sprang around the table and stabbed Daryl's arrow into Negan's chest.

Gasps from every direction. Men got to their feet and raised guns. Rick took a step backwards and—after a brief, desperate look at Daryl—closed his eyes and waited for the bullets.

Laughter. Deep belly-rolls of laughter. Rick's heart sank into his stomach, and his stomach sank to the dirt. He opened his eyes and found Negan practically giggling at the sight of the arrow sticking out of his leather jacket. "You, Rick Grimes," Negan said as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, "owe me a new suit." He yanked the arrow out and fingered the tear it left behind. He wiggled his leg and the knife thudded to the ground. "And some new body armor. I think you boys scratched it."

Rick's legs felt boneless. He leaned against the table and stared, unmoving, at the wasted weapons in the dirt. "Ah, shit…"

Daryl slouched in his seat. Negan yanked on his hair like it was the reins of a horse, and pressed the glass against his Adam's apple. A light stream of blood trickled down to Daryl's collarbone. "In ten seconds," Negan said so quietly that Rick almost couldn't hear him, "when you're watching your friend bleed to death, remember this: I gave you a chance."

Daryl blinked at Rick. He shut his eyes. "No!" Rick cried when Negan's hand tensed.

"Orange!" a voice suddenly squawked from Dwight's walkie-talkie. "Code Orange! Runners!"

Negan glared at Dwight, who nearly dropped the walkie twice as he raised it to his lips. "Say again?"

A female voice, stunted and out of breath, shouted back, "The Philly survivors are all making a run for it! They raided the whole freezer. We need back up at the county line!"

Negan tossed the glass over his shoulder and swiped the walkie out of Dwight's hands. "T, you and H take care of it! We're in the middle of something here!"

"Negative, Sir, we're being overrun by—" Garbled gibberish preceded static—and then silence.

"Shit!" Negan hissed. He let go of Daryl, marched back to his chair, and hoisted Lucille. "Mount up!" he ordered. "Take them back to headquarters," he ordered Dwight while pointing the bat at Rick and Daryl. "When I slit their throats I want to take my time and enjoy it! Move out!"

Dwight pointed Rick's own Colt Python at him. He spoke, but Rick couldn't hear him through a rushing sound of relief in his ears. He stumbled to Daryl's side and helped him stand. When Daryl couldn't, Rick summoned all his strength and lifted Daryl over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Oh, good," Daryl muttered against his sleeve, "that doesn't hurt at all…"

"Hang in there. Stay with me." Rick winced when he felt warm blood on the back of his neck. He couldn't help but smile a bit though as Dwight shepherded them back to the van. At least they were alive…

"Didn't cut if off…" Daryl mumbled when Dwight shut the doors behind them, leaving them alone in the semidarkness.

Rick only paid Daryl half his attention as he ripped up his own shirt to bandage the shot-up shoulder. "Cut off what?"

"The head of the snake." Daryl sighed.

"Nope," Rick said. "No, we didn't."

"Failed Eugene…"

Rick's fingertips found Daryl's chin. They could barely see each other, but Rick wanted Daryl's eyes pointed at him anyway. "No, we didn't," he said firmly. "We didn't give in. You didn't. That's how we honor him, Daryl. That's how we honor them all."

The van started up. It lurched forward over hundreds of tree roots before it reached a road and picked up speed.

"You grinning?" Daryl flapped his hand in the darkness until it smacked against Rick's cheek. Like a blind man trying to interpret someone's facial expression, he slid his fingertips across Rick's lips to confirm that there was a smile there. "You're grinning. Why are you grinning?"

"You didn't recognize that voice?" Rick asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. "You didn't recognize her voice over the walkie? T?"

"T?"

"Tara," Rick chuckled. "That was Tara. I know it."

Daryl frowned. He licked his dry lips. "Tara's a Savior?"

"If I'm right, she's about to be our savior."

Daryl snorted. "The hell are you talking about—"

Suddenly, the tires squealed. The van swerved left, right, and left again. Daryl started to slide, but Rick already had both of their bodies braced for it. They heard shouting, guns going off, more shouting, and then an abrupt hush. The pair waited, hearing nothing but their own gasps, for a full three minutes before human hands fumbled with the lock on the door. A key turned, the doors flew open and there, standing in a halo of sunlight, stood Tara and Heath.

"Rick!" Tara scrambled into the van, slid across the floor on her knees and practically scooped Rick up into a hug. "You're ok," she gasped, and kissed his cheek before launching herself at Daryl.

"What the—" the shocked Daryl stuttered when Tara planted a wet kiss right on his lips. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Heath held his hand out, palm up, and helped Rick out of the van and into the middle of a back road. "You're ok, now," the Alexandrian announced. "We'll get you to the Hilltop in twenty minutes."

Rick clapped Heath's back. "How'd you find us?"

Tara helped Daryl slide out of the van. "Had a successful supply run, you could say. Met a new group—these Amazon-like chicks who have been slowly building a rebellion in the next county to take out Negan and his guys. We agreed to help them by infiltrating the Saviors. Joined Negan a week ago. We've been spying and reporting in every day and then, last night, when our friends visited Hilltop, they heard about you. And," Tara said, clapping her hands together once for emphasis, "we planned a rescue mission and here we are!"

"Son of a bitch," Daryl whispered in awe.

"Can't thank you enough," Rick told them both. "If you hadn't walkie-ed when you did, we'd both be dead."

Tara flinched a bit. "Sorry we didn't intervene sooner. It took a while to come up with a distraction and set up the ambush." Near the front of the van, a woman called Tara's name. Tara waved back. "Come meet our new friends," she said. "Then we'll get to the Hilltop."

Dawn had just peeked over the horizon when Daryl woke up. He was in a bed so soft he thought he might sink right through it. Clean sheets covered his clean clothes. He wiggled his shoulder. Where he expected a sharp throb to be, there was only a dull ache. He cleared his throat and directed his question at the man half-dozing in a nearby chair. "How long was I asleep?"

Rick slid his boots off the bed and sat up straight. "Two days," he said through a yawn and a mighty stretch of his arms. "You snored so loud a herd showed up at the gate."

"Liar," Daryl grumbled. Rick didn't deny it. "Carl? Maggie?"

Rick nodded. "They're ok. Everyone's ok. And I told Tara about Denise. She's…she's coping." Rick squinted at Daryl. "Think you can stand? I want to show you something."

Daryl brushed his bangs out of his eyes and frowned. "Better be a toilet or a glass of water."

Rick gave his friend a fond smile. "It's better. Come on."

With Rick's help, Daryl shuffled to the window and looked down. Below in the grass and gravel between the building and the gate, people were gathering to eat breakfast together. They came out of tents, off wagons, and from the insides of half a dozen RVs. Daryl spotted Michonne and Carol passing out bowls of fruit while Glenn and Spencer roasted a pig over a fire. More and more people came up the hill. Men and women on bicycles, on motorcycles, in cars and trucks, and on horseback. One family arrived on a golf cart towed by a cow. Members of Alexandria, the Hilltop, the Kingdom, and half a dozen more camps of survivors gathered to eat.

"Holy shit," Daryl whispered. He looked at Rick with a slight glaze in his eyes. "We have an army."

"Groups from three counties have joined forces. It's just a matter of time now before we cut off the head of the snake, Daryl," Rick said. He put a hand against Daryl's spine and nodded at him. "We're fighting back."

The End