A/N: I started writing this after Season 8, episode 9, so it assumes canon up to that point. After that, it may or may not coincide with the show.
Chapter One
The scavenged cans of food rest unevenly in the pack that rides Carol's back. A rounded edge digs through the canvass and into her side, and she lets go of Daryl's waist with one hand to shift the load. He cranes his neck back slightly, but when her arm wraps around him again, his eyes return ahead, and he revs the motorcycle up the winding Virginia hill, leaning into the turns, letting the wind whip over them.
Three days it took them to find these goods. Daryl would have been more productive hunting, perhaps, but Siddiq will make good use of the medicines, and Judith will appreciate the applesauce. It's still early in the fall, and the Hilltop's trees have not yet borne fruit.
As they climb the hill, the bike straining against the incline, a gray tentacle of smoke weaves its way over the top and drifts towards them. Then another…and another.
The thick, smoky smell grows stronger as they near the summit, and soon Carol is coughing against Daryl's back. The roar of the fire that licks the fields surrounding the Hilltop is louder than the roar of the motorcycle's engine.
[*]
The flames are eight miles behind them when Daryl loses the trail. The survivors left in two pick-up trucks, he judges. He paces the asphalt at the fork in the road, looks east, looks west, and then tells Carol, "North." He says it with cool assurance, but it's a lie. He doesn't know which way they went. But maybe he'll catch the trail again.
He returns to his motorcycle. Her arms slip around him like a familiar, favorite belt. He kicks the bike into a purr, and off they speed. They head north for another nine miles, away from the creeping fire, until the motorcycle finally putters to a stop, drained of its last ounce of gasoline.
Carol dismounts from behind him and scans the area with binoculars. She spies, in a ditch half a mile ahead, a rusty gray sedan. "We might have found gas. Or another ride."
Daryl takes his pack from the back of the bike and slings it over his shoulders. His crossbow rests easy in one hand. Carol walks beside him, her own pack heavy on her back, her palm resting on the hilt of her knife, her eyes darting back and forth in search of walkers. She doesn't expect a human threat, but she's ready for one. The Saviors are long gone now, except the ones who surrendered and folded into the Hilltop and became productive members of the new community, and perhaps they're gone now, too.
When they reach the sedan, they scurry on opposites sides of it, Carol with her handgun draw, Daryl with his bow leveled, scanning the windows for threats. There's no life inside, but on the rear window, scrawled in thick red lipstick, is a note:
Ten alive. Meet in Leesburg. Dead End Winery. – Rick
Daryl drops his pack on the trunk of the car. The buckle clatters as he tosses the flap open and seizes a map from inside.
"It would have been nice if he told us which ten," Carol says.
The paper crinkles as Daryl smooths out the map. He jabs a finger down on the black word Leesburg. Then he holds two fingers an inch apart and measures the distance. "'Bout 40 miles north west-ish. Dunno where the winery's at, though."
"We'll go to the historic downtown. I'm sure there's a wine trail map in every shop. Let's see if we can get this car started."
They can't. And there's no gas left in the tank.
"I guess we hike," Carol says. She shields her eyes against the sun, which is beginning to set. "Or should we make camp?"
Daryl turns back in the direction of the fire, puts a hand to his brow, and studies the distant plume of smoke. "'S hike. Put some more miles 'tween us and that. Don't wanna wake up the way they must of, flames all around."
How the watchmen failed to see it coming, and why they didn't evacuate the Hilltop before more were killed, Daryl isn't sure. He speculates the fire started in the Hilltop at night, when nearly everyone was asleep, and then spread across the fields and to the forest. The flames were already dwindling among the fallen structures of the Hilltop, but the fields were licked with fire. And the walkers, which had been driven from the burning woods, were too numerous to allow them to survey the damage and identify the charred bodies that lay, like fallen logs, among the wreckage.
Carol nods. She holsters her handgun, rests her hand on the butt, and begins walking, Daryl silent by her side, as the sun sinks slowly on the horizon.