This story takes place near the end of season 4 of Walking Dead. This is my spin-off version of what could have happened if Daryl hadn't run into his group of misfits while attempting to track Beth (and, therefore, hadn't ended up at Terminus).

I've been out of the writing game for a while (I've been editing professionally for the past five years and I have decided to give writing another go), so I'm not sure how long this story will be. Reviews will be helpful and appreciated. Enjoy.

Daryl crashed through the woods, pausing for a quick moment to lean against a tree to catch his breath. He glanced behind him and saw with dismay that the herd that had been chasing him seemed to have grown in size. They had been lumbering after him for several miles, but in his exhaustion, Daryl had no idea how far he had actually been running. They were closing in, as if they knew he couldn't run forever.

Panting, Daryl slammed his knife into the head of a walker that had caught up with him. He wrenched the blade from her skull and forced himself to keep moving. His muscles burned in protest and he knew he couldn't keep this up for long. A few walkers were now beginning to shuffle toward him from a different direction. They were everywhere! Daryl quickly looked around and noticed a tall hill looming up ahead. If he could make it to the top of the hill, he might have a better view to determine the safest direction to head in. Gasping for breath, he ran toward the hill and scrambled up the incline as fast as his exhausted legs would allow. Finally, he reached the summit and quickly scanned the area.

Most of the herd remained to the west, but more walkers were joining the growing herd from the south. The way was clear to the east, but that was the direction the herd was heading. He noticed a few straggler walkers to the north and weighed his options. As several walkers began to reach the bottom of the hill, he saw it: a treehouse.

It was about a quarter-mile to the northeast, high up in a tree. He had no idea if the structure would be able to keep him safe from the oncoming herd, but it was the best option at the present moment. Anything was better than constantly running on the ground. Daryl took off toward it as the herd stumbled up the hill behind him, thankfully being slowed by the steep incline.

As he neared the treehouse, his stomach filled with dread when he saw that someone had brutally hacked down the steps leading up to it. He frantically looked for a way to climb up the tree to the house, but it was too far up with nothing to hold onto to climb.

"Fuck!" Daryl shouted to himself. He had to keep moving. He refused to let himself become the dead's next meal. He was about to press on again when a flicker of movement in the tree house caught his eye. He blinked, thinking that perhaps he had hallucinated in his sheer exhaustion. Suddenly the door to the treehouse opened and the figure of a woman with dark hair appeared on the tree house balcony.

"Hurry!" she hissed, rolling down a rope ladder from the balcony. Daryl took one last look at the herd of walkers behind him before rushing to the ladder and climbing up as fast as he could. When he reached the balcony, the woman grabbed him by his shoulders and tossed him unceremoniously on the wood planks. She hurriedly rolled the ladder back up.

"Get inside, now," she demanded. Daryl scrambled inside the treehouse and she closed the door behind them and locked it.

Daryl slipped his crossbow off his back and crouched low to the floor, trying to catch his breath. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The treehouse was quite large for what it was; it was clearly built with the intention of being more than just a child's playhouse. A quilted double bed was pushed into a corner opposite a ratty-looking couch, and a small wooden table surrounded by four rickety chairs stood in the center of the room near an old wood-burning stove. Books, random articles of clothing, and other personal items were littered about, and he concluded that the woman who was now his savior had been holed up here for a while.

Daryl heard the unmistakable moans and shuffles of the oncoming herd as they began to pass below the treehouse. He aimed his crossbow at the door and tried to slow his breathing. The woman came away from one of the windows and crouched next to him.

"They can't get up here," she whispered. "But we need to be quiet until they pass. If they know we're here, it can take days before something else grabs their attention."

Daryl gave her a curt nod before slowly lowering his crossbow. He eased himself into a sitting position and leaned his head against the wall behind him. He closed his eyes, exhaustion threatening to completely overtake him. He tried not to think about what probably would have happened if this woman hadn't come to his rescue. He opened his eyes to see her studying him.

"Thank you," he muttered quietly.

She smiled slightly and shrugged. "Got a name?" she murmured.

"Daryl."

"Nice to meet you, Daryl. I'm Stella."

Daryl's hard blue eyes studied her warm brown ones, searching for any reason not to trust her. He reminded himself that she could have just stayed hidden in the tree house and let him die, but she hadn't. And without her, he knew he would not have made it much farther.

"Get some rest," Stella whispered. "Hopefully they'll be gone when you wake."

Daryl nodded and closed his eyes again. He had never felt more grateful for the walls protecting him from the undead, and he was even more grateful for the beautiful woman who had saved him.