[ vii. the concrete jungle ]

october 24th, 2010

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THE DRIVE TO ATLANTA felt endless.

A tense, uncomfortable edge had long since gripped the cramped van. Astrid was doing her best to ignore it and had decided to lean her head back against the side of the steel frame, eyes closed as she desperately sought to try and get some more rest. She struggled to find comfort, though. Rick's driving seemed intent on hitting every pothole known to man—and maybe even the occasional dead body.

"You feeling okay?"

The break of everlasting silence came in the form of T-Dog, and it was not until Astrid opened her eyes that she realized the question was directed at her. Confusion pulled at her features. "Why wouldn't I be?" She returned.

T-Dog's gaze shifted downward, and Astrid stiffened, understanding. He was addressing her side, where Daryl had struck her earlier in the afternoon. Instinctively, her hand twitched, wanting to cradle the tender spot on her abdomen. She hoped it would not bruise, but—either way—it was a mark she could easily bear. She had experienced worse and seen worse in her line of work with endless patients revolving in and out of her medical career.

Astrid was convinced she could downplay the pain as she answered, "Doesn't hurt at all."

Daryl scoffed, ripping into her false face. "You're a terrible liar," He muttered. Astrid shook her head, stubbornly insisting that the pain was nonexistent. The hunter only rolled his eyes and looked away, unconvinced.

Astrid released an exasperated sigh. He might have been as stubborn as her.

Looking away from the brooding redneck, Astrid glanced back at T-Dog, but his attention now averted her.  Following his eyesight, she noticed his cautious observation of Daryl, and she could guess he was contemplating whether to provoke him further. Seemingly deeming it worthwhile, T-Dog spoke up again:

"You hurt women often?" He questioned, his tone challenging.

Daryl retaliated swiftly, his response sharp and cutting. "You lose keys to handcuffed men often?" He snapped back.

"Okay, no," Astrid intervened, her irritation evident. She was not going to let T-Dog unleash another rageful Dixon explosion while using her as its catalyst. "We're not going to do this," She reprimanded. "This trip is about Merle, and nothing else."

Daryl's voice dripped with venom, unrelenting. He did not even look at Astrid as he began to snarl, "If Merle isn't okay–"

"He's okay," T-Dog sternly reassured, firmly cutting him off. "I chained the doors up real tight. The geeks can't get to him."

"Geeks?" Astrid repeated, perplexed. "I thought they were called walkers."

"Does it matter?" T-Dog brushed her off.  "A dead one's a dead one."

Astrid chuckled, trying to find the humor in it all for herself. She had never given the undead a specific name. She had simply thought of them as infected. For a while, she had even thought they could still be people. How wrong she had been then. Geeks, monsters, demons, biters, crawlers, walkers, it really was all the same now.

The conversation of namesakes for the undead continued in a subdued manner between Astrid and T-Dog—and eventually Glenn—for a few minutes until the van suddenly came to a halt. Rick threw the gearshift into park with a sense of finality. Baited, Astrid gathered her gear and rose to her feet, peering out of the windshield to see they had reached the outskirts of Atlanta. It was a looming force, beckoning them into its deceitful depths. Eventually, Glenn was the first to open his door and step down onto the cracked asphalt, declaring their transition to traveling on foot.

"Welcome to the concrete jungle," T-Dog muttered under his breath.

Daryl wasted no time in setting forth, swiftly opening the back shutters of the van, and jumping out. Astrid followed suit, with T-Dog close behind, while Rick joined them a moment later. Cautiously surveying their vast and empty surroundings, she tightened her grip on her machete as they began to jog together down the road toward the skyscrapers. The burn in the muscles of her legs, of the endless running was familiar to Astrid, as she had navigated the city numerous times with her brother before and after his death. She wondered if Glenn was familiar with the same shortcuts she had once known.

The scorching sun bore down on them all as Astrid chose to run alongside Glenn in silence. Her gaze was constantly shifting in direction as she moved, vigilant for any lurking walkers ready to ambush. So far, none could be seen or heard nearby, but she knew the city held thousands of them. Astrid inwardly hoped, no matter how futile it was, that they might avoid a crossing with the undead altogether.

Soon enough, Glenn led their group of five from the main road, and their jogs slipped into brisk walks. Crossing to an empty underpass, he held open a small hole in a chain link fence for them to slip through and reenter into a desolate alley. Venturing ahead of the others, Astrid wandered down the narrow pavement that was littered with trash and took in her unfamiliar surroundings. She had never been to this part of the city. Her brother had never let them venture too deeply into places where they did not belong.

"Where do we go from here?" Astrid called back, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the group. She did not want to linger. Her heart was already a persistent, nervous thrum against her ribcage.

Daryl readjusted his crossbow. "Wherever China-Man says," He huffed.

The unnecessary remark nearly slapped Astrid in the face, and her eyes narrowed dangerously at the derogatory term. "Really? You're choosing to be an ass now?" She retorted. "In case you've forgotten, Glenn is going out of his way to take you to your brother. He didn't have to agree to do that, but he did, and you can't even call him by his name?" She rolled her eyes. "Maybe we should just leave you here, let you take your own chances."

"Oh, yeah?" Daryl challenged. "What? No more of you 'no-man-left-behind' bullshit?"

"Not for you."

"Good. You'd be doin' me a favor by leavin'. I could get to him a hell of a lot faster without all of you. You, especially," Daryl spat, pointing an accusatory finger in Astrid's face. He had crossed down the narrowed alley and now nearly towered over her. "You're only goin' to slow us down."

Astrid laughed back in the hunter's face, cold and sharp. She met his challenge with ease. If he could tear others down so easily, surely, he would have no problem getting it thrown back at him then. "That's odd," She snickered. "Because I thought I was running faster than you back there."

"That ain't what I meant," The redneck barked.

Raising her eyebrows, Astrid taunted him further. "Then what did you mean?"

Daryl's response was an icy and bitter silence, as she expected it would be. He was nearly reclusive in the means of conflict, and Astrid could not stand his temper when it thrashed with her own, so wildly unperceptive and unpredictable.  With her blood boiling, she abruptly turned away from him and continued stalking further down the alley, desperate for fresher air. Behind her, he muttered in her wake, but she did not hear him—did not want to hear him. Clenching her fists in frustration, she wished she had a better outlet for her hands—she wished she could just punch him in his smug little face. Who did he think he was? Daryl Dixon had no right to belittle her, or Glenn, or anyone else when they were only trying to help him.

Moments later, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling around, Astrid instinctively raised her curled fist, ready to strike at Dixon. Her eyes widened as she realized it was only Glenn cowering before her, expecting the consequent blow of her startled wrath. Quickly dropping her arm, she let her hand dangle at her side and hastily proceeded to avoid eye contact with the young Korean man. "Sorry," She muttered.

Glenn breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to be left unharmed by the Lancaster woman. "It's okay," He reassured. "Daryl's an ass."

"He is," She agreed. "But he doesn't get to just talk to you like that." Astrid could still feel his gaze on the side of her head—she could feel Daryl's somewhere, too—but she refused to meet any of them. Instead, she looked forward down the long alley. "So, where are we going?" She asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Merle's closer. We'll grab him first, and then we'll loop around and get the guns," Glenn answered, tightening his grip on his backpack as they walked. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed the distance between Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl, as they navigated the alley behind them, each keeping their own respective space. Daryl's still festering expression caught Astrid's attention again. When their eyes briefly locked, she hurriedly looked away.

"Just get me out of here," Astrid grumbled.  Glenn hastily nodded his understanding and motioned her onward.

The hostile group continued their journey in silence, the five of them making their way toward a nearby building designated by Glenn. From what Astrid could tell in the distance, it was not necessarily a skyscraper, but still tall. Still countless flights of steps to climb to reach its roof. Astrid tried not to dwell on her future excursion as she brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes and twisted her remaining locks into a tight knot at the base of her neck.

Needing to keep her vision clear, Astrid rarely stared down at the pavement as she walked, knowing she needed to keep her eyes up and focused. The further they ventured into the city, the more openly threats lurked. Lone walkers could now be seen, wandering aimlessly on distant streets, but they were not necessarily close enough to worry about just yet. Occasionally, one might take notice of Astrid and the others if they were engaged in quiet conversation as they plotted their course of action, but Daryl was quick to take aim with his crossbow, dispatching the infected from afar.

"This is it," Glenn finally announced, nearly ten minutes after their last undead execution. He led them across the street and toward the main entrance to the building of Merle's capture. It appeared to be a department store of sorts.

Astrid did not like the bold sight of the shattered sliding front doors. "Walkers break through?" She assumed.

"Yeah," Glenn confirmed sheepishly.

"How many were there?"

"You don't want to know."

"Oh. Great." Astrid sighed deeply, tense as she unbuckled her machete from her hip. Her fingers curled tightly around the weapon's slim black handle. "Who knows what's in there now." Sparing a glance over her shoulder, she looked swiftly from Glenn to Rick, to T-Dog, and then finally to Daryl. "So, who wants to go in first?" She asked coyly. Without a word, Daryl bravely—or stupidly, Astrid could not decide just yet—pushed past the others and crossed the shadowy threshold with his crossbow raised. Exchanging nervous glances, the remaining four followed cautiously behind.

Astrid gasped in shock as she entered the ransacked store, witnessing a nightmarish scene of chaos. She had seen countless looted places since the world had supposedly ended, but this was on another level. Destruction reigned, with objects strewn and shattered on the floor. The mere act of walking caused the crunch of broken glass beneath their heavy boots, a seemingly deafening sound that sent shivers down her spine.

At the front of their pack, Daryl raised his hand, signaling for silence. Astrid followed his gaze, spotting a lone female walker aimlessly wandering at the back of the store. He prepared to take the shot, his finger hovering over the trigger, but she instinctively—and perhaps stupidly, too—surged forward, shoving past him, and swiftly dispatched the walker herself.  Detaching the sharp blade of her machete from a mess of rotten skull, the pale walker's body thudded dully to the tiled ground, and as she turned to meet Daryl's expectant glare, she held his gaze, defiance evident in her forest-green eyes. Without uttering a word, she strode off towards the rooftop staircase, Daryl now trailing closely behind as they began their long ascent.

Each flight felt like an arduous climb to hell, the burning in Astrid's legs intensifying as she ascended toward the roof, and after what felt like an eternity and a half, she and her four male companions reached the department store's final level. Eyeing the chain barricade, Astrid stepped aside to clear T-Dog's path. Wielding large bolt cutters, he effortlessly severed the heavy chain and freed the door with a defining snap.

Before its hinges were even pushed all the way back, Daryl then surged through the doorway's narrow opening and was followed closely by a guarded Rick. One by one, Astrid and the others charged onto the roof and together they all crossed over to a small landing and then swiftly dropped down to a small platform where Merle Dixon was expected to be.

Only there was no one there.

Astrid came to a rash halt behind Daryl, where his steely gaze was fixed on something obstructed from her view. Her curiosity got the better of her, compelling her to approach slowly and maneuver around his tall figure. However, she instantly regretted it. Gasping in shock, Astrid cautiously glanced back at the man beside her, and witnessed the profound breaking of the hunter's trembling grief.

Tears welled in Daryl's eyes. "No!" He screamed, his crossbow slipping from his grasp in devastation. "No!"

Helplessly, Astrid stared at the crumbling ground of the roof, her voice and thoughts paralyzed. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut—Merle Dixon was gone. The evidence of the gruesome scene lay before her eyes: a pair of bloody handcuffs, a hacksaw covered in blood, and the severed hand of Merle himself.

Astrid's gaze returned to Daryl again, observing as he retreated rapidly into the recesses of his own tormented mind as he cried, suddenly desperate to escape those who watched him in his inevitable shattering. She dared not move closer, knowing he was a ticking time bomb about to explode. As a single tear traced its path down Daryl's cheek, he let out a gut-wrenching scream that surely echoed throughout the entire haunted city.

A shudder ran through Astrid, not due to the fear of the undead but out of dread that Daryl Dixon was about to lose himself once again in his callousness, consumed by a torturous past she could not dare begin to understand. Slowly, she shifted her attention to the others behind her. Each of the men stared back, their gazes fixed on her, or more accurately, on Daryl. Despair etched deep lines on their faces, a shared sense that echoed back into Astrid Lancaster's very soul:

A sense of hopelessness.

~~~~~~~~~~