10 Years ago
He paced in his chains, tugging uselessly at his unyielding restraints. They tore and ripped at the skin around his wrists and neck, his mouth biting into the air that held nothing but dust. His teeth sank down into his lower lip as he threatened to cry out in agony. He was hungry; no, beyond simple hunger. This feeling was starvation. Daryl was starving, his gut twisting and jumping at the anticipation as his mouth filled with his own blood. It was warm and metallic on his tongue. Lapping it up he waited for his brother to return and free him.
Current Day
Rick tread through the thick brush of the forest. Cicada's rung out from trees, and still in the distance he could faintly hear them. The hot Georgia sun beat down upon the canopy, which luckily shielded him from it's summer wrath. Several walkers lay dead at his feet, leading him to believe he was still headed in the right direction.
The earth crunched beneath him, along with fallen leaves, twigs, and branches that lay strewn about along the path. He held his gun tightly in his sweating hands to his side. Rick slowly trudged forward, despite being thirsty and more than hungry. The team member had been missing for several days now, and was getting the camp back at home worried. He had assured them that Daryl was just waiting to bring in a big kill, like a buck, but he himself was still unsure. It seemed as he convinced the camp, he was more like convincing himself that the hunter was okay.
In fact, he was confused on why he had gone out in the first place. The townspeople from Woodbury had brought back a sufficient amount of food to keep them a week or two, so there was no clear need to go hunting for game. Maybe it was just a way to keep his mind off of the recent events. Daryl had always been introverted, and group knew that, but now being around those who had cheered him on in a fight against his own brother was too much. Maybe he had left to find some place more isolated.
Rick shook those thoughts from his mind, and kept looking forward. Sweat dripped down from his brow, his shirt heavy with the wet on his back. He had been out here for a few hours know, wondering when he would find the hunter hauling back a deer. There was a river nearby, sometimes he knew Daryl would come out here to sleep when hunting. They had gone out one time, he remembered, and had went there to wash up the blood before drawing any walkers back to them. He decided to head in that direction, though, there were no more tracks to follow.
Being on his own in the unknown forest was intimidating, and with Daryl nowhere in sight, his worry consumed his brain along with fear. Rick didn't know if he could find his way back to the prison after walking out so far. Last time he had Daryl carve a path for him to follow.
The steady flow of the stream could be heard up ahead, washing away the dirt and mud around the banks. A walker blocked his path- it was a man wearing camo, and had a hunting cap stuck on his head. There was a rifle hanging around his body, though he couldn't tell if it was loaded. It would be a good weapon to add to their supply. Quickly, with precise movement, Rick holstered the gun down by his hip, and retrieved the serrated knife. He inched closer, just as the man was about to bite, he plunged the dagger deep down into his head. As the movement slowed, the walker fell down with a thud and a clatter. Rick wiped the blood off on his pant leg, and carefully moved the decaying corpse into a sitting position so that it would be easier to take off the rifle.
It didn't take more than 30 seconds to stand up again and continue on his way towards the sound of the river. The rocky, sandy bank moved beneath his feet, as he stood on the edge of the water. He looked around acknowledgingly, trying to take in every detail of the beauty. For a moment he forgot what he was doing out in the deep wilderness. At least, not until he saw the faint trail of blood leading down and around a curve shrouded by trees. Intense panic filled his mind, which only grew stronger as the trail grew larger.
It was still fresh. The blood sparkled bright run in the hot sun, glistening like dripping rubies. The sight before his made his heart ache. The hunched body of the hunter sat above a deer, his face close to the body. The crossbow lay a few feet to the side, and no bite marks or blood stains were on Daryl as Rick made his way closer.
"'Thought I'd never find you." He quipped, walking at a steady pace with a broad smile..
The hunter jerked upright, becoming stiff as he stood up. His face turned, a surprised and frightful expression plastered across it. Blood was splattered on his mouth, mouth slightly ajar. His teeth were covered in the red liquid, two irregularly long teeth jutting out in front of his lower lip. "Rick." Daryl rasped as he attempted to turn back around. A strong hand held him in place, gripping his shoulder tightly.
"What the hell 're you doing?" The older man asked in an acerbic tone. He reached out to grab Daryl's jaw, but the man jerked away and stepped back.
He huffed, as his canines slowly slid up into his mouth, and back to their normal size. "Hunting. What does it look like, Grimes?"
Rick drew his gun, and held it up to the head of the other man. "You'd better start talkin' fast."
He looked affronted, glancing from the barrel of the pistol and back to Rick's staunch gaze. "It's…" Daryl struggled to find the right words, his usual calm and confident front shattered and slipping away. "I have to. Ain't got a choice."
The leader drew back slowly, his pistol still aimed at his second in charge. He said nothing; just kept staring intently at where the fangs used to be.
"It's been this way since I was attacked, long before the outbreak." Daryl began to explain. "The man kept biting me, over and over again, until I thought I was dead. But then…" He wiped his mouth off, letting his hand linger for just a moment before continuing. "Then I woke up, and nothing was the same. I have to do this, Rick, it's just in my nature now."
"Nature to what, kill things, drink them dry? Huh? You do that to humans, too?"
"No!" The response was vehement, shocking Rick back into being reasonable.
He had almost forgotten- this was the man he had known, had trusted. Nothing had changed, even with this new revelation. Nonetheless, his son had been around Daryl, alone, and nothing made him more worried than the safety of his son.
"We'll talk 'bout this back at the prison." Rick motioned to the buck's corpse, blood running down the throat from where the gash wound was. "Finish that up and haul it back while you're at it. And don't come back covered in blood, don't want'ta scare anyone."
Daryl curtly nodded, and turned back. He didn't start back at the deer until he was sure that Rick wasn't looking, or was in earshot. The man mentally berated himself for being so foolish, he should have known that this wouldn't have lasted. It never did.
