Author's Note: Before getting started, I'd like to say that this is my first time writing for this fandom, and I apologize if my handle of the characters is a little shaky. Also, this story is in large part a writing exercise for myself; I haven't written anything in nearly a year and I want to get back into it and it's an opportunity for me to try writing a (mostly) omniscient narrator for the first time. Finally, this story could be abandoned at any point - I have the unfortunate habit of not finishing the stories I start - and I'm not sure just yet where I want to take the plot so, we'll see where it leads us.
And if I haven't dissuaded to read this by now, I guess nothing will so, here you go. Enjoy!
Prologue
As they left behind the burning shack and all the bad blood and memories it represented, Beth and Daryl disappeared into the forest. With darkness all around them, the sound of walkers shuffling toward the blaze rather than toward them for once, they felt almost peaceful. A brief relief from their painful lives.
Even though they'd gotten safely away days before, neither of them had gotten much sleep since they'd been torn from the prison which had become their home by the Governor and his people. But now, Beth was yawning, her movements slowing as the alcohol made its way through her system. As soon as he noticed, Daryl began looking for the best place to make camp for the night, setting up a small perimeter where his companion could lay down as he stood guard. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep any time soon. The moonshine in his blood was making him restless, itching for something that might calm him down.
As Beth fell asleep, he leaned against a tree, crossbow by his side as he surveyed the forest around them. They hadn't seen a soul since that day when everyone they cared about was taken from them. In that moment, it was as if they were the only two people left alive in this world. How could it have come to that...
He shook his head at the question. It wasn't worth thinking about. This was the way of the world now; survival and loss. People could choose to adapt to it or become one of the flesh eating terrors that hunted them. In a way, he was lucky, survival and loss had been the ways of his world for as long as he could remember.
Daryl sighed, rubbing a hand over his face to bring himself back into the present rather than dwelling on the past. That was when something caught his eye, shining in the distance. It was about two hundred yards away but still felt too close for comfort. He raised his crossbow as he stepped over the stringed up cans that lined this side of their camp. With every careful step, he listened for the snarling of walkers; he wasn't about to let them take the last member of his group away while she slept.
As he approached, the remains of a foil balloon became clearer. Whatever message once appeared on it had long been stripped away by the elements, leaving only the reflective silver to shine in the moonlight. He tore it from branch it was caught on, dropping it to the ground as a twig snapped behind him. He spun around, finger on the trigger, ready to put a bolt in whatever had sneaked up on him. How had he missed this balled up mass of entrails on the ground? A real mess of a walker without limbs, just guts and a misshapen head. He aimed, and it was only at the last millisecond that he heard a soft snoring coming from the body. Lowering the weapon, he stepped closer to the sleeping shape.
From up close, Daryl could make out the fabric underneath the walkers guts the person was using as a blanket, reminding him of the story of Rick and Glenn's attempt at the same camouflage back in Atlanta what felt like a lifetime ago. The deformed head wasn't in fact deformed, it was simply covered by mask. A gas mask more specifically. Raising his crossbow again, ready to strike in an instant, he nudged the sleeper awake.