Thank you for the reviews :3 An update as promised. Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. Only my own ideas and my OC.

Chapter 2

By the time I woke up, I already knew I slept in. It took a few quick minutes to dress into a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt. Unzipping the tent, I blinked my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. I took my previous attire with me to wash, but stopped when Carol called me.

"Emery, you can give me that to wash if you'd like." The woman politely smiled.

Her hair was shaved, but complimented her clear face. So I thought, anyway. That didn't dismiss how tired she appeared to look these days. She folded what looked to be her last pair of pants and set them aside. Carol just had that warm and welcoming motherly look about her that made her like-able.

"Oh, that's fine. I was on my way to wash them now."

"It's no problem. I have another pile to get to anyway. You should get something to eat, you're probably still exhausted from your journey yesterday." She said.

"I'm fine." I told after she lightly took my clothes. Guilt came over me, but it felt like Carol was obligated to do so regardless. I saw a hint of how her husband treats her. She could be overworking herself to please him, or just to keep herself busy and away from the man.

"Thank you, Carol. Really." I flashed a small smile before slowly trailing away.

I stopped when I saw Glenn's downcast expression as the others were stripping away his new car. "Awe, what happened? I didn't even get to drive it yet." I pocketed my hands, but knew that the parts could be useful and the fuel we needed.

"I don't know about driving, but you could have called shotgun." Glenn said glumly.

"Afraid I might scratch it up." I shook my head, walking away with Dale back to the trailer.

"I almost feel bad." The old man rubbed at his white beard with a glance back.

"Sure you do." I smiled. Dale always had a watchful eye on me, like he did with Andrea and Amy. With the way he licked his lips and opened his mouth, but didn't say anything, told me he was holding back. "Talk to me." I said simply, sitting down.

"How's your ankle?" He finally confessed.

"I'm not limping as much, and the pain subsided. It really wasn't terrible to begin with." The subject was shaken off as I ran my fingers through my long hair. "Do you have a brush around here?"

"It keeps getting lost. If you look I'm sure you'll find one." Dale explained.

Pursing my lips, I went into the open trailer and searched around. The man seriously had almost everything. Tools, which were dropped on the roof and left behind, matches, spare keys, old magazines and newspapers. A comb, but no brush. A black hair tie peeked out from beneath an empty bottle and I decided to use that instead.

It was only when my hair was up in a high pony tail that the screams of the younger kids reached my ears.

"Carl!" Lori screamed.

I quickly stepped out to see the others running off into the trees. My hands reached for the first thing near my feet. A wooden bat. My shoes kicked up a little dust as I ran over the dirt and onto the grass that had long since stained the edged of my black and white sneakers. The children were still screaming, and the only thing I could picture was the one major thing everyone at the camp feared.

When I reached the line, set up with empty cans attached to act as an alarm, I stepped over it and automatically reached for Sophia.

"It's okay." I said hurriedly, even though I didn't know the weight of the problem. The little girl's face was scrunched up in terror, until Carol was beside me. Leaving her in her mom's hands, I slowly followed the others forward.

In the small clearing, the guys gathered around what I already new was a walker. The dead always act like they're starved, which half of them probably are when they wipe out the population. I stepped back, turning away from the scene of the walker getting beat on all sides. Mugged would be the term, if this disease had turned everyone into cannibals.

I didn't pick up the small talk about the walker. It was abnormal enough that it found its way here where the kids saw it. If we weren't careful, we'd have to leave and find another place to live. Not something I'm looking forward to.

My green eyes landed on the target, a good-sized deer. It's throat was torn open, the blood was an eyesore. You would think I've gotten used to it by now. There were also three good arrows sticking out of the deer's side. Of course it would belong to him.

A moment later, Daryl stepped into the clearing. He halted, caught off guard by all of us standing there, but that hard look returned in a heartbeat. He wore a stained wife beater; his hair-the color of wet sand-stuck up in some areas and was matted on the side of his face from sweating.

Everyone looked at each other with reflected looks of 'irritation', 'denial', and 'unbelievable'. All the judgments directed to Dixon, like they'd rather have to deal with another walker than him right now. As if he's ever stop to care.

"All gnawed on by this filthy, disease bearing, motherless, proxy bastard." Daryl let off a little steam by kicking the decapitated body.

I rolled my eyes with a shake of my head. But that was the language of Daryl Dixon, shoot first, possibly ask questions later, and lash out whenever something happens that he didn't like.

"It's a damn shame. I got us some squirrel though, it'll have to do." He added, looking around at everyone.

I hated the way his eyes lingered on me, a smirk briefly sculpting his lips.

I turned away and began walking back to camp. It looks like I won't need the bat at least. It seems I can't take enough precautions. I was startled when the object was snatched from my hand.

"What do you think you're doing with this?" Daryl questioned, eyeing the thing before settling his gaze on me. There were bags under his eyes, but then again he always had those, even when we were teenagers.

I shrugged, disliking the scrutiny of his level gaze that ceased to leave my face. "I didn't know what I was up against." A bat wasn't ideally what I preferred as a weapon, but when the time comes, you use whatever is around. Besides, it can do some damage if good force it put into it.

"Let me see." He grabbed my hand, glancing at it. "As if you would have used this. You could have broken a nail." His voice was sarcastic, a quality he always had.

I snatched my hand away with a frown, not allowing myself to think about how surprisingly warm his touch was. "Such little faith in me." I mumbled under my breath.

Daryl moved closer. "Come on, love. It's only me." He whispered in my ear before walking ahead.

A blush crept over my face in embarrassment. I hadn't realized he heard me. The short nickname made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 'Love.' A confession. Something I told him, I'd like (and despise at the same time) to be called, when we were only nineteen. It's sweet, but cheesy and overused. I can't believe he even remembered.

"Merle!" Daryl called for his brother, snapping me out of my crisscrossing thoughts. Another problem fell into our laps. Daryl was back, but his brother wasn't.