A/N: I wrote a prequel to this series called The Nameless Quiet. It isn't necessary but it's there for you to read if you'd like. Thank you!
Chapter One: Haunt
The land is decaying; eaten up by ghosts.
He thinks somewhere along the line the old Rick checked out, the old Rick passed in the night. It was a quiet death, and no one noticed. No one had time to.
Rick takes a machete to the nearest walker that wails at him and its blood gives way to the fog. He stares at it for the longest time, lost within it. It leaves speckled stains on his cheek and clothes. His hands were covered in dirt from crawling in the mud. When had he crawled?
There's a burning raw heat behind him and he can't turn around to look at it. He refuses. Everything they were, everything they were supposed to be is crumbling slowly to ash. He felt snapped loose, released on the world. He's wild-eyed and alone.
He screams for his son into the abyss of trees before him. The woods didn't hold the clarity they used to.
All these dead memories, left to rot inside him.
Rick's grief is a quiet crescendo and he has to use the trunk of a scarred tree to keep himself upright. His shoulders are wracked by his sobs. He lost them. Where had they gone?
He lets another scream rip through him as he slices viciously into the next Walker that crosses his path.
By now he's drenched and he's something else entirely. He stumbles forward through the clacking of the trees. Their branches like finger bones. They are guiding him forward, down a dark slick path.
There's a few corpses lying scattered in the brush, as if someone came through here before him or he's going around in circles.
The closer he looked, the more it appeared to be a wound a crossbow would produce.
"Daryl!" He calls out to the eerie forest-light.
A screeching cry is his only answer from deep in the woods. He doesn't pay it much mind. He just shambles on.
The delirium sets in and he welcomes it.
Dark figures appear from the trees and he crouches behind a cracked rock in wait. As the Walkers pass, he uses his hunting knife to carve through them as if he's painting the sky. The violence of it, leaves a path like bread crumbs.
"I'm here." He whispers. "Where'd you go?"
He lifts his knife above one of the corpses and guts it, spreading the blood and viscera across his face and clothes. These Walkers were part of a migrating herd and he wasn't about to get caught by them.
The moon is a bright reminder, a beacon, highlighting the dead wood. He's haunting these woods now like the rest.
He was right. There was a herd and they pass on through about an hour after he predicted it. They're nothing but dark weeping silhouettes. They're terrifying in this light. He moves through them as if he's traversing a tide. They sway and moan towards him. They want to hear him scream but he's not going to give them that. Not here.
Rick can be a silhouette too, he can blend in with the decay. He'd do this forever, if forever would be what it took to find his group again. To find Carl, to find Daryl.
He'd swim in the dirt into the moonlight, into this nightmare if he could just find them.
"Where are you?" He whispers and the Walkers drag their feet beside him, aimless.
He watches a few tumble down a steep incline, breaking their bones and limbs on rocks on the way. He hadn't known it was there until he watched them fall into the dark. They just disappear in front of him. He makes his way beyond the herd, where a few stragglers roam. He stabs forward quick, to dispatch them and heads straight into the thick foliage.
He could hardly see in front of him and the dark is always moving, drawing his eyes to some sinister shape come to life. It proves disastrous, however. It seems the entire area is surrounded by steep inclines. He slips, his boot missing the ground and rolls forward uncoordinated down a hill. The twigs snap at him and scratch up his arms on the way down. The fall isn't far, luckily. He rolls onto the dried soil beneath him and grunts softly. He could hear a chorus of moans coming from every direction and the sound of rushing water.
He headed forward, his steps guided by the moon, his only source of light he had at his disposal. He'd carve himself a path if he had to.
He followed the small creek to a flooded river. The water is slowly growing dangerous the further he moves alongside it. He would surely drown if he fell in, unable to tell what's up or down.
There's a dilapidated wooden row boat washed up on shore that had been cracked in half years ago.
He wondered how long it would be before the vines claimed the Earth, wrapping themselves around their histories. Rick could imagine being wrapped up too, disappearing into the dirt. He'd become a tree. The kind who's roots sprung up like spider legs.
"Carl?" He asks the woods quietly and they don't answer back. His leg is throbbing and he can feel the warm liquid roll down his knee. He must have cut it on the fall but can't tell how bad it is in this dark.
The moonlight is dimmed by a thinned cloud and Rick grips the nearest tree trunk to get a survey of the surroundings. He listened mostly to the water and moans. There's not much solace to be found here, not alone. Not after Alexandria. They were torn and scattered like lost puzzle pieces. How do they find each other in the dark?
He spots a shape making its way across the flowing river ahead and he just waits, watching. The figure is clumsy with its efforts. It's a Walker. Even in the dark he can tell. They all walk the same, lost forever, looking for something they'll never achieve again. He used ruminate over such things but now he just waits with quiet breath, until he has to use his knife again. There's a screech beside him, a Walker that somehow sneaked it's way through the brush and he falls down into the mud, startled. It screams at him and viciously lunges but before it can snap its jaws, an arrow bursts through its skull. It thuds on the ground in front of him. He cringes, setting his hand to his wounded leg and forces himself to stand. The dark isn't moving. He recognized the arrow.
"Daryl?" He whispers to the trees.
A large dark cloud moves over the moon, blocking out the little light he has. He reaches forward, ripping the arrow out of the Walker.
"You ain't hard to track." He hears from behind him and he turns on a breath. He can hardly see the outline of him but there he is, come up out of the night as if he belonged there.