Title: One More Breath

Rating: T for some language and violence

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and its affiliated characters do not belong to me. I mean no copyright infringement. I only use them as a means to de-stress myself.

Summary: Daryl and Merle are on their own, trying to survive, when they come across a blond girl in need of help. What will happen when Daryl insists that she come with them and he starts feeling more than he should? (Takes place in the zombie apocalypse, but does not really follow the show). Bethyl

Chapter 1

The arrow sailed through the air and hit its target with one-hundred percent accuracy. The walker crumbled. Daryl knew he would have to retrieve the arrow eventually. After all, he couldn't exactly go to the nearest store and pick up some more. Every arrow was important. Every arrow meant one more breath he got to take. But retrieving the arrow was going to have to wait. A second walker approached Daryl from the left. Realizing it was too close for him to get a good shot, he whirled his crossbow around and hit the walker square in the face. The head caved in with a fracturing crunch. Daryl stepped back as it fell at his feet. Glancing to his right, he saw his brother battling an emaciated female walker. Merle was teasing her, taunting her to get closer. He bounced back and forth on his feet like a boxer. When she lunged towards him, he hit her hard with the butt of his gun. She definitely wasn't worth wasting a bullet. It was then Daryl saw a fourth walker approaching Merle from behind. He lifted his crossbow, aimed, and fired. The walker dropped to the ground.

"I had that one!" Merle shouted.

"Yeah, right," Daryl yelled back, turning his attention back to two walkers as they approached him. He kicked the one closest to him, sending him falling on its back. While the walker tried to get up, he hit the other with an upper cut. She too joined the walker on the forest floor. Daryl stomped on both their skulls. Blood and guts oozed out, sticking to his shoes. The smell was unbearable. That was the worst part about killing walkers. The smell.

"Leave some for me, little brother," Merle said as he took out another walker, this time with the knife he always kept strapped to his hip.

"Score's five to two," Daryl replied.

"Won't be for long!"

Merle plunged his knife into another walker's forehead. It was a game they played. Who could kill the most walkers when they were surrounded. It seemed ludicrous to care who killed what. After all, the bottom line was survival. But it made killing walkers tolerable if you thought about it as some kind of game.

It took them another fifteen minutes before every walker was dead at their feet. They both stood, back to back so they could see every angle around them, panting. Killing walkers was hard work. Neither of them had lowered their weapons. Rule number one to surviving a walker attack was always be prepared.

"Still beat ya," Daryl said.

"Only by one."

"Two," Daryl corrected. "That last one was mine."

"The hell she was. My knife went through her before your arrow even left your bow."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Tell me something, little brother, if your arrow went through first as you claim, how the hell did I even manage to stab her then?"

"Luck."

"You're lucky I don't turn around and kick your ass right now."

"Yeah? What's stoppin' ya?"

Merle laughed. "Let's get outta here. This place is startin' smell."

"I thought that was you," Daryl said.

Merle turned and threw his arm around Daryl's neck, capturing him in a headlock. Daryl protested and sputtered, turning his body every which way to get Merle to let him go, but he held on tight. Merle dragged him for a few yards before finally letting him go. Daryl slugged him hard in the arm, but then they both composed themselves and started walking.

It had been like that for months, since the world had turned to hell. It had just been Daryl and Merle, two brothers on a mission to stay alive. When they weren't killing walkers, they were practically killing each other. They would insult each other or get pissed at each other, have a little scuffle, and then walk it off like nothing had happened. That's really how they had lived their entire lives. Daryl couldn't remember a time when he and Merle weren't fighting over something stupid. Everything was a competition. That's just the way it was.

It was starting to get dark, the sun beginning to dip below the tree line. Daryl guessed it was about seven. They probably had about an hour before the sun went down completely and they were left in the dark. There was no way of knowing what time it really was. He couldn't remember the last time he had looked at a clock or a watch, but Daryl didn't need to know the time. It barely mattered anymore anyway. The only sense of time that mattered was when it was time to rest or time to run.

"We need to find somewhere to stop," Merle said.

"Yeah," Daryl agreed.

It was best not to be caught out in the dark. Even with someone keeping watch, things had a better chance of creeping up on you in the dark. And it wasn't just walkers you had to worry about. Other people were sometimes more of a danger than any walker.

"Maybe we should find the road. Might come across a house or somethin'," Merle suggested.

"I think we should stay in the woods. Houses don't cause nothin' but trouble."

"Houses have beds, food, supplies."

"Fine, but I ain't goin' nowhere infested with walkers. We almost didn't make it out the last time."

The last house they had found had been teaming with walkers. They were both so sure of themselves that they could handle anything, they went in with little planning. At first they were able to pick off the walkers one by one, but when they got trapped in the kitchen with the walkers blocking the only exit and more and more of them coming in, they weren't sure they would get out alive. If it hadn't been for a far off gunshot in the distance, they would have turned into walkers themselves that night. Enough of the walkers went off after the sound for Daryl and Merle to kill the few that were left and get out of the kitchen. The next day as they traipsed through the woods, they found a body, ripped to shreds by the walkers. A gun sat right next to it.

"Fine," Merle agreed.

They walked in silence out of the woods. As the road came into view, they slowed their pace. They knew they had to be careful when approaching a road. No telling who or what could be out there. Daryl stepped out first, looking both ways. He didn't see anything. No walkers, no people, not even any abandoned cars. They started walking along the edge of the road, staying close enough to the woods that they could run back into the trees if necessary. Both Daryl and Merle felt more comfortable in the woods than anywhere else. It was practically where they had grown up.

"I see something," Daryl said after they had walked for about a mile. Although it was getting darker, he could see the outline of a building in front of them. They walked towards it. As they got closer, they realized it was an old barn. It looked like it had been abandoned long before walkers began walking the earth.

"Don't look like it's gonna have beds," Merle groaned.

"We can't walk any further. It's getting' too dark. This'll have to do."

They approached the barn slowly, not knowing what to expect. Sometimes the best way to detect a walker was by sound. They both listened for the moaning and groaning of the undead, but didn't hear anything.

"You ready?" Merle asked.

Daryl put his hand on the handle of the barn door. He locked eyes with his brother. Merle had his gun out, ready for whatever was behind the door. As Daryl was about to open the door, he heard a blood curling scream.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I expect this story will be about 16 chapters long and there will of course be a lot of Bethyl. Please don't forget to review – I love reading what everyone thinks!