He knew guys like this. Hell, he'd grown up around them. Most were just degenerates. Maybe a few were psychos. It didn't take him long to get a pretty good idea of which was which in this bunch, and the pecking order they kept to. Joe, the leader, was smooth - doled out praise like sugar cubes and kept the rest competing for his approval. Len, the one who'd already set his sights on Daryl's wings, was a bad package - strong, nasty temper, fancied himself Joe's second in command, but a hothead, apt to swing first and ask questions later. Reminded him a bit of Shane Walsh in that way. The others, Harley and Dan and Tony, were probably regular guys who'd grown up rough and used to scrapping for what they needed. In any case, they didn't seem to have had too much trouble coming on board with what Daryl guessed was Joe's preferred method of survival - kill the strong, take from the weak, and fight it out between themselves when there was a difference of opinion about division of the spoils.
The only one who really gave him the creeps was Billy - washed-out eyes watching everything and everybody, and the only time he showed much interest was when talk turned to what they'd do with any women they might find. Then those shifty eyes lit up, and he fucking giggled. Made Daryl's skin crawl. Made him think too much about Beth, and what might be happening to her right now.
He knew before that first night went by, he needed to get clear as soon as it was humanly possible. He wasn't like them - not anymore - and he didn't plan on sticking around while they figured that out.
"You been on your own long?" Joe asked, coming alongside Daryl as they followed the tracks.
"A while," Daryl said, noncommittally. "Was with a group for a time, but we didn't see eye to eye. Figured I was better off alone."
"Or with kindred spirits." Daryl didn't feel a need to respond to that, and Joe didn't seem to expect one, just clapped Daryl on the shoulder and moved on ahead. There didn't appear to be any plan to their movements, only scouting for supplies in the buildings they ran across, but Daryl got the sense they had a destination in mind. Whatever it was, none of them were inclined to share it with the new man. He was a little surprised they'd let him hang onto his weapons, but maybe they figured he'd be more of an asset armed than he was likely to be a threat against so many. So far they were civil but wary with him, and he'd kept to the same attitude.
On the afternoon of the second day Daryl saw the first sign - the cut of a boot heel, a big one, the crumbled dirt at the edge of the mark suggesting it was already a few hours old. After that he watched more closely, and before long he was seeing faint traces as they went. They were following along behind someone, a small group, at least one adult, maybe two, and at least one smaller person, like a kid - whether they were friendly or not remained to be seen. There was no way to stop and examine the marks without giving away what he hoped to keep to himself.
A flash of white off to the side of the tracks caught Harley's attention, and he bounded up the bank to check it out, only to turn away with a curse. "Gross, man, fuckin' dirty diaper," he spat, sliding back down to the railroad bed.
"Well, don't that sound promising," Joe chuckled. Harley squinted at him, confused. "Where there's a baby? there's likely a woman, dumbass. The way you been bitchin' about no pussy, I figured you'd think of that." He winked at Daryl, who fought to breathe normally and not let his face cloud in disgust.
He knew it was completely possible for there to be a baby in the area other than Judith, but the thought that the group ahead might part of his family got his heart racing. Stay cool, Dixon. Won't help them none to blow this now.
"Big man," Joe said, close by Daryl's ear and making him jump. "'Course, big don't always mean hard."
"Who you talkin' about?" Daryl grumbled, and prayed he didn't already know.
"C'mon, you got better eyes than that. We been followin' 'em for more than a day now, I know you've seen the tracks."
Daryl silently cursed himself for not realizing sooner that Joe was more observant than he'd given any of them credit for. "Yeah, I saw, just didn't figure they was any threat."
"Well, there's threats and then there's opportunities. You gotta learn to look at the bigger picture," Joe mused. "My boys could use a chance to blow off some steam against something a little more challenging than a bunch of deadheads, and if there's females with them… could be a win-win all around." This time Daryl was pretty sure Joe was probing for his reaction, and he shut it down before the hate blazed in his eyes. Hadn't lost the knack of that, apparently.
By sunset, when they stopped to make camp for the night, nothing much had changed. Daryl thought they were gaining on the group ahead of them, but it was hard to be sure. He was up for second watch with Dan, and if things went the way he hoped he'd be on his way by midnight.
Daryl put his head down and crashed through another thicket. He was about as screwed as it was possible to be - no moon, no real idea where he was or what obstacles lay ahead, only the barest clue which direction to turn to get himself safe, and behind him he could hear the yips and howls of Joe's crew. They were coming for him, and they liked this sort of thing - chasing something scared gave them a feeling of power. They were damned amateurs when it came to woodscraft, but at the moment that hardly factored in - all they had to do was listen and they could easily follow him. The dark was the only thing balancing the odds, that and the covering noise of their own pursuit.
He'd waited until Dan got himself good and comfortable and maybe a bit dozy in his position at the far end of the camp before he made his move, slipping further back into the trees and heading away from the tracks, hoping to get well away before circling back and picking up the trail of… whoever it was. He didn't know what had tipped them off - maybe Joe had been keeping a closer eye on him than he'd realized, but he hadn't gotten more than a couple hundred yards when someone, probably Harley or Len, had yelled out, "he's runnin'!" and then they'd been hot on his heels like a pack of hounds, and he thought he'd never before felt so flat-out alone.
Breaking free into a small clearing, he stopped to catch his breath and gauge how far back they were. He put his hand to the blaze that seared across his side, wincing as he felt the sodden cloth under the slit in his leather vest. The pain almost made him puke, and as he leaned against the tree beside him a hot bead of sweat slid into the cut, making him suck a sharp breath through his nose and grit his teeth. He knew enough to count himself lucky - if Len's broadhead arrow had been angled a little to the left and an inch higher or lower, he'd be dead or dying already with a punctured lung or liver. He didn't have time to figure out exactly how bad the wound was, though, just tore a strip of fabric off the end of his shirt and stuffed it into the gap, hoping it would stay in place well enough to soak up the blood and keep it from providing a pointer directly along his trail come sun-up.
The voices seemed to be moving away from him somewhat, headed downhill - the easier path, one he'd avoided for just this reason. Harder going initially his way, but every bit of distance he could put between them would help, especially once his injury began to override the adrenaline and his steps started to slow. He intended to be well out of reach by that time.
Daryl staggered up the slope, every breath surging hard and painful against the burn over his ribs. Against the paling sky he'd seen the roofline of a house as he encountered the tracks again, and he made for it, knowing his strength was about at an end. If they still managed to catch up with him now he was dead, no two ways about it, and a part of him almost welcomed the thought. He wasn't even sure why he was trying so hard to stay alive - it hardly mattered anymore, not to him, sure as shit not to anyone else. Like Andrea had said all that time ago - seemed like years, but he knew it was nowhere near that long - he didn't know if he was making the choice or if it was just habit.
The back of the old farmhouse loomed above him, and his eyes fell on an old hand pump that stood out in the yard. He held his breath as he pushed on the pump handle, feeling for the resistance that might tell him the relic was still in working order. His hands slipped as the rusty metal gave way under his grip, and as he raised and lowered it again a gush of cold water splattered over his boots. He slumped onto the edge of the well cover, ducking his head under the icy sluice and turning his face into it, gulping down greedy mouthfuls that nearly cramped his belly.
The house itself looked long abandoned, but he knew that didn't mean it wasn't occupied, and at the moment he didn't have a scrap of energy left to fight his way through anyone left inside. He eyed the panel of lattice that screened the space under the porch, unable to think of anything except how tired he was, and how dry and safe it looked under there. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he pulled his knife and pried one side of it loose, shoving his crossbow into the dimness and letting the lattice fall back in place behind him as he collapsed into the dirt.
The sun was headed toward the treetops when Carol spotted the roof. They had walked in silence, mechanically, since they had risen that morning from scant rest to pick over the small amount of food they still carried. Each of them prompted the other to eat, knowing neither had much appetite or interest. Only Judith's needs spurred more than an apathetic effort.
"Tyreese," Carol said quietly, drawing his attention to the distant house. "We should stop there if we can. I can't go much further today." The big man nodded, his eyes shadowed with his own pain. He'd held her while she cried that first night, crushed by the weight of having failed to protect another child. Two more children, both in her care, doomed by this malevolent world and her own inadequacy.
Ty preceded her up the hill, pausing at the top to scan the area before motioning her forward. Together they cautiously approached the aging structure, but the only sounds were the whisper of the wind in the trees and the creak of old wood settling on itself.
"Look," Carol murmured. "Think the pump might still work?"
"Only one way to find out," Tyreese noted, and set his rifle aside to take hold of the handle. It gave surprisingly easily under his hand, and after a few pulls the spout began to stream fresh, cool water. Handing Judith off to Ty, Carol took a seat on the well's rough wooden cover, cupping her hands below the spout and drinking thirstily. As soon as her initial thirst was satisfied she gave up her spot to Ty and rummaged in her backpack to find Judith's bottles.
"I thought that went a little too easy," Tyreese said. Carol raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to explain. "Someone else has been at that pump, I'd say earlier today." He nodded toward Carol. "Back of your pants are damp where you were sittin'. Hasn't rained in two-three days." Carol's hackles went up, and her hands automatically sought her weapons. "Figure they're long gone, though," Ty said reassuringly, "no danger to us."
Keeping a wary eye on the house now that her suspicions had been aroused, Carol filled two bottles with water and gave one to Judith. "What are you thinking?" she asked Ty. "In through the back, or go around front and see if we can get a better look inside?"
"Don't figure it matters," Tyreese shrugged. "Front might be easier to see in. I want you to hang back with the baby, okay? Not that you can't take care of yourself, but we gotta keep her safe." Carol nodded grimly, knowing he was right - the only task that mattered to either of them anymore was ensuring Judith's survival.
Tyreese quickly established that the front rooms of the house were vacant and leaned his considerable frame into the center of the split front door, easily forcing it open without too much commotion. He kept his hammer up, his senses on high alert for any noises, and Carol couldn't resist creeping up behind him, feeling more secure at his back than standing below, fully exposed to anyone or anything approaching the house.
As she reached the top of the steps, a groan made her whirl around, her hand going instinctively for her knife, but there was nothing there. No one. She must have made some noise, because Ty was quickly by her side. "What?" he whispered, and Carol shook her head.
"I don't know. Nothing, I guess. Ghosts," she smiled sadly, and both of them jumped as the sound recurred, directly below their feet. They nearly leapt back down the steps and stood nervously, their gazes flickering from the porch to each other.
Carol nodded toward the bushes on either side of the stairs. "Behind there. It's under the porch," she whispered urgently. Tyreese motioned toward the exposed end of the porch, and both eased around the corner, keeping their ears open for sounds of movement. Carol stood back with Judith on one hip, her pistol cocked and ready, and Ty hooked the claw of his hammer into the lattice and yanked, sending the sheet of woven strips flying.
For a long moment they waited for whatever it was to come at them, but nothing moved, and Carol, compelled by a strange impulse she couldn't name, handed Judith to Tyreese before stooping to look beneath the porch.
In the falling twilight she saw a dark form huddled on the ground, and the faint shape of Daryl's angel wings.