Watcher in the Woods

Daryl knew he had a few more hours of daylight. He knew he should find somewhere safe to crash for the night, but he remained crumpled on the hot road. His body aching from running all night; his heart heavy and sore. Someone kidnapped Beth. He didn't save Hershel or any of his family, and now he sat alone and unsure if he wanted to keep going at all. He finally understood why all those other people had killed themselves. They had lost hope.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Too late to grab his crossbow — let alone aim it, but when he turned his head to look it wasn't a walker. A wolf eyed him warily from the side of the road. It paced on long lean legs, and Daryl could see its nostrils flaring to catch his scent. Wolves weren't native to Georgia, not for a long time. He flipped open the snap holding his knife. So, he hadn't reached bottom, and he wasn't going down to no damn wolf.

The wolf's head turned away from him toward a woman emerging from the forest. She had an arrow trained at Daryl's head. He slipped his knife out of its leather sheath and held it against his thigh. Rick used to have a rule: Don't kill the living. That rule got broken as soon as the Governor showed up and destroyed everything he touched. Somehow, Daryl hoped he could reinstate the rule to honor Rick's memory, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"Good boy, Loki," the woman said, lowering her old-fashioned bow and patting the wolf's giant head. "What did you find?"

Daryl held up the knife for her to see. "I'm armed."

"And I'm pretty sure I could kill you from here." She grinned, and he felt disarmed.

He took a moment to size her up. She wore military boots laced up her shins, camo pants that were clean but patched over in a dozen places — pockets jammed full, and some kind of army vest with shoulder and arm guards and a radio on her shoulder. The left side of her head above her ear was shaved, but the rest of her dark hair was braided and kept away from a face covered in green and brown paint that showed off her high cheekbones.

She looked athletically built and healthy. And she was armed to the teeth, hunting knives positioned on the vest in various places, a gun strapped to one thigh, a weird flare gun on the other thigh, and the obvious bow and arrow she kept pointed at his head.

A survivor with a good set-up. He could use a central location from which to search for Beth and any other survivors from the prison, and he wasn't against the idea of using this woman to do it.

Daryl lowered his knife. Yes, he wanted to live, if only to spend another day tracking down whoever took Beth in the Cadillac, license ending in 781, and save her like she'd saved him.

"That's better," the woman said. "I'm going to walk over to you nice and friendly like. Loki, sitte. Opphold!"

The huge wolf, Loki, sat down and yawned. The woman laid her bow down near his side. She walked toward Daryl with her arms up, palms showing. Not that it mattered, she had more weapons within reach than he ever did. He sighed and tossed his knife down near his own crossbow. He had a single bolt left, and this wasn't the time to use it. Beth said there were good people left. He hoped this woman was one of them. Her accent had city written all over it, and they were both a long way from any city.

She stepped within arm's reach and stopped, staring at him. Daryl almost laughed at the intensity of her gaze. He felt like a three-headed squirrel on display and stared down at his shoes willing himself not to blush. He never could stand people judging him, looking down on him. This woman was literally doing both.

He bored holes into the soles of his boots. They wouldn't hold together for many more miles. He'd need to scavenge replacements soon. She leaned closer and brushed his hair back from his face. The coolness of her fingers tracing across his forehead made him flinch back and glare at her. She ignored his death glare — impressive — and put a finger under his chin to turn his face. He pulled his knee closer to his chest, turned his shoulders inward.

He almost reached up a hand to slap hers away, but her wolf looked able to bound over and bite his face off without much provocation. They weren't friends.

"Daryl?" she breathed his name in shock. A shiver went down his spine as he stared her down. Her eyes were wide and confused. She knelt down beside him. "Daryl Dixon?"

"How'd you … I don't know you."

Before she answered him, Loki made a low growl in the back of his throat. Her head darted left. She didn't give Daryl a second look, as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Shit. Later. We have to go. Now!"

"I ain't scared of walkers," Daryl said, stooping to retrieve his knife and crossbow. Seeing his single arrow, he wished he could take the words back. Bravery was easier with a handful of bolts. What he said was just plain reckless.

She pulled on his elbow, Loki whining and pacing between them and the forest. She dropped his elbow only to scrap her bow and arrow off the side of the road. Daryl noticed the helmet hanging off her quiver, the metal arrows interspersed with homemade wood ones. The second set of knives strapped near her kidneys. Scratch good setup, this chick had the perfect setup.

They hit the trees at a jog, Daryl's muscles screaming for rest and food and maybe a smoke. The woman moved on silent feet across the underbrush, just like his daddy had taught him when hunting skittish prey. Her hand clutched his elbow, and she never looked back.

About thirty feet in, she dropped his arm. "It's not walkers I'm scared of," she whispered, not taking her eyes off the road through the trees. She pointed. "It's them."

A group of men materialized from a heat mirage further up the road. Six of them, all carrying various weapons, passing a lighter between them. They reminded Daryl of a biker gang Merle and he had ridden with for a few months before everything went to shit.

He dropped to a knee, lifting his crossbow up to his eye. The men hadn't seen them run, but they could catch their movement in a heartbeat. The woman dropped next to Daryl, holding her bow horizontal instead of vertical. Her hand hovered over the quiver full of arrows on her back. It tickled a memory he couldn't quite recall. He shook his head and concentrated on the present. On the strong wolf smell that emanated off her. On the danger he might or might not be in. This world had no room for pansy-ass daydreamers.

"Loki, ned," the woman whispered. The wolf cocked his ears and lay down near her. He continued to growl, low and insistent, making the hairs at the back of Daryl's neck stand on end. "Stille."

She continued murmuring comfort to the wolf. Daryl never took his eyes from the group of men, but sensed her crouching low to whisper near Loki's ear. The men's shadows grew longer, daylight burned on the horizon like a warning. Before they disappeared over the hill, a crunch and moan echoed through the trees behind them.

Daryl tensed and slowly, slowly swung his crossbow around to face the sound. From the surrounding wood, five walkers shambled out. Loki sprung from the ground, shaking off the leaves that clung to his fur. The woman spun on her knee and drew two arrows on her bow, still held horizontally. The walkers gurgled and stepped closer and closer. Daryl waited, stomach taut, for her to take one down. If they got too close, it would get messy. It always got messy. The men might hear the struggle and return. Daryl or she might get bit.

He allowed himself a side-ways glance at her. She kneeled with closed eyes, breathing deeply, waiting. What the hell was she waiting for? The first of the walkers limped forward no more than fifteen feet away. He gripped his knife and readied to take the nearest one out. Held his breath until he almost saw stars, and then sucked in a quick lungful of air.

He'd psyched himself into lunging, when she opened her eyes, hazel and wild, and loosed both arrows at the same time. They hit two of the walkers with no more sound than the twang of the bowstring. Daryl whistled low under his breath. She let another arrow fly into the walker closest to them. The body thumped hard and final to the ground. She smirked at him across the downed walker. Show-off. Not to be outdone, Daryl sighted another walker and bolted the bastard clean through its eye socket. He got to his feet to retrieve the bolt or be stuck out of ammo.

"Luna, come in, Luna. Over." The speaker on her shoulder hissed and popped.

She fumbled with the radio at her belt, cursing the entire time, until she twisted the volume off.

"Hold up. I heard somethin'," one of the men said. The echo of his voice gruff and low through the trees.

Daryl stopped mid-step, fuming at his stupidity. But mostly hers. At least he had his knife, and he could run or fight. Or see what they had to offer. He didn't owe this chick nothing.

After a few whispered commands and hand gestures from the woman, Loki slunk off low, herding the other walker in the direction of the men and the road. Daryl watched the wolf nudge the walker, nearly getting caught, surprised at the way he was rooting for the animal. The woman crouched back down, keeping her eyes on the wolf. Loki flew out of the forest cover and crossed the road.

"It's a just a dog, Tony."

"Bigger 'an a dog. And that's not what I heard."

"Please, please, please." The word became a litany in her mouth.

Daryl crept to her side and slouched down. The woman laid her bow across her thighs, her fingers all crossed and bone-white from gripping the wood so tight. He took his eyes off her hands to track the walker crashing through the leaves and after the wolf.

"On yer right."

The men made short work of taking the walker down. Daryl couldn't help but be impressed. One of the men stepped away from the road edging closer to the line of trees. He nudged the nearest branches away with the barrel of his rifle.

Daryl didn't think before he grabbed the woman by the back of her neck and pushed her forward into the dirt. They faced each other, cheeks pressed against rotting leaves, her eyes shooting murder, but he moved his hand off her neck and pressed a finger to his lips. She blinked once, twice, and gritted her teeth.

"Stop being so damned paranoid, Len." A chuckle rose up from the group.

"Don't feel right," Len said, not moving away from the tree line.

Daryl clutched his knife again. The woman removed her handgun, held it close to her vest. The rustle of leaves told them both the man had entered the brush. He might spot them, but he might not. He would definitely spot the dead walkers with brightly colored arrows sticking out of their heads if he lingered long enough.

"We need to find shelter, dummy, not chase "feelin's" off into the woods." Another round of laughter.

Daryl breathed through his mouth, willing his heartbeat to stop racing past his ears so he could hear better. His breath made a stray hair flutter against her cheek. Felt her breath against his mouth and goatee. Close and intimate. They were not friends. So why had he chosen her side so easily? Why did she know his name? And why did those wild eyes of hers remind him of things best forgotten?

He didn't dare move his head or his hand, which cramped the longer he held the knife at such an awkward angle. Her lips formed the word "Please," though no sound escaped them. He no longer knew if she were begging for Loki or for herself, as she stared through him with her eyes of emerald fire ringed with honey.

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A/N: Like it? Review it! Tell a friend! This story will be an amalgamation of events from both the comics and the AMC show. It's not Daryl-only, so expect Rick and the gang to show up in later chapters. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.