When Daryl Dixon stepped out of the trailer, the morning sunlight was entirely too bright. It stung his eyes, and increased the dizziness he felt since the moment he left the couch. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He doesn't need to feel how many he had left in his pack; the soreness in his throat tells him he smoked a lot last night. He spat out the little bit of fluid still left in his mouth in an attempt to vacate the taste.
He looks over his shoulder at the trailer's door, waiting. Squinting his eyes, he shouts, "Merle! C'mon!" He spits again and walks to the driver's side door of the '72 Ford pickup. He waited all of four seconds before flinging the door open, and firmly pressing the horn. The older Dixon brother just happened to pick that moment to stumble out the door, slamming it behind him.
"'Ey! I'm comin'!" Merle climbed in the passenger seat and rested his head on the back.
"This is all you. Aint this what your plan was? Early in the mornin'?" Daryl asked.
"Yeah," Merle answered. "The vet's already makin his rounds."
Daryl turned they key, and they made their way down the road. Driving through Senoia made Daryl felt antsy. He knew the farmhouse would be there, but he wasn't looking forward to the confrontation that was inevitable.