Ch. 1

Then:

Don't go.

It had been the last words Lori had said to him. The last words he'd ever hear from her.

But he'd gone. He'd clasped her cheek in one hand and promised he'd be back and gave her a kiss to hold onto that promise with, and then left with Daryl at his side. He'd looked back before the road turned, saw her standing in the distance on top of that hill, Carl at her side, hazy figures in the bright sunlight. It was the last image he had of her, of his son, and he held onto them as best he could. Saw them at night when he slept, conjured them in his mind in the times when the world stilled and they had a moment to breathe, to relax, to prepare for whatever blow was coming next.

He'd gone, scouting up the road with Daryl to see what was ahead before they attempted to navigate the bulky RV through the pack of cars that clogged the road. He'd gone, eight miles down the road, where he and Daryl found the remains of a military barricade and together had killed the few walkers that roamed behind the sandbags and in between the tanks. It had been a joyous moment when they'd found the stash of ammo and grenades in one of the tanks, obviously some poor soul's last stand against the walkers. It was Daryl who had stumbled upon it, using his buck knife to take out the walker in BDUs inside the tank. He'd whooped loudly, the sound echoed and enhanced by the metal of the tank, and Rick ran over grimly thinking that Daryl was being attacked, but the other man just stuck his head out of the top of the tank with a huge grin on his face, holding a handful of weaponry, and Rick couldn't help the smile that spread across his face in return.

He'd gone, and by the time they returned to the hilltop rest stop they'd left the others at, it was too late. The miles back to their impromptu camp had flown by, their spirits buoyed by the thought of more supplies, of something besides beans and squirrel to eat, of new guns and ammo and even grenades to help keep them safe. They alternated between a fast walk and an easy jog, eager to recruit the others to help carry their newfound wealth back to their caravan since there was no way they would manage to snake a vehicle through the mess of the road. The good mood disappeared when they turned the corner just before the hill, and in the blink of an eye both men had their weapons out and were ducking for cover. Walkers milled around the cars on the approach to the rest stop, at least ten of them stumbling mindlessly through the abandoned vehicles. Daryl put the closest four down with his crossbow, and Rick took out two with his knife, sneaking up behind them and sticking the thing in their heads before they even knew he was there. They moved forward in the same manner, using stealth rather than their guns, hiding behind cars to shield their movements as Daryl retrieved his arrows from the heads of the dead and Rick covered him, stabbing anything that moved too close.

They had crested the hill, keeping to the edges of the road, where the trees might provide some cover or at least a quick escape, and Rick had stopped to stare in horror. Every time he closed his eyes, he still saw that scene, still felt like he was trapped, helpless, watching as his world crumbled.

The RV stood abandoned, its door wide open, dozens of walkers stumbling about outside it. The rest of their cars still sat parked in a semi-circle around the RV. Rick's gut clenched as he recognized Shane amongst the walkers, his stomach torn open and most of one arm gone.

He could feel the tears start to stream down his cheeks as he took in the whole scene. Another walker bumped into Shane, obviously female, her face unrecognizable but he saw the long brown hair, partly burned away. Near the front of the RV, Rick recognized his sheriff's hat lying abandoned in a pool of blood, the rim stained crimson.

"No." Rick didn't even realize he'd spoken aloud until Daryl clamped a dirty hand over his mouth and dragged him back behind one of the abandoned cars. Didn't realize he was shouting incoherently even with Daryl's hand over his mouth until the walkers turned and started ambling towards them. Rick fixated on the thing that had once been Shane, on the way its head twitched at the noise he was making, on its slow, stumbling steps as it approached. There was none of the grace in its movements that Shane had possessed in life.

"Shit." Daryl was dragging him back, away from the approaching hoard, and Rick fought him, struggling out of his hold and taking a shaky step towards the walkers. Towards what had once been Shane and possibly Lori, towards his old hat, maybe all that was left of his son, lying in that pool of blood. A hard blow staggered him to his knees, and he realized Daryl had punched him when the other man hauled him bodily up by the front of his shirt.

"What the hell's wrong with you? We gotta go, now! C'mon!" He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the walkers that were closing in on them, muscles twitching as though he needed to fight or run or both, but he didn't, just shouldered his crossbow and pulled out his gun and shook Rick, hard. "Snap the fuck out of it," he growled, leaning in close. "That ain't Shane and your family ain't here. We gotta move. Let's go."

There was the usual anger in Daryl's voice, but underneath it was a desperation that pulled Rick out of his daze and let him push the reality of what had happened out of his mind, gave him something to focus on, someone to help. He drew his gun and fired at the closest walker in one smooth motion. The thing dropped mid-step, and a few behind it tripped over its body, but the hoard pressed closer. Beside him, Daryl raised his own gun and took out ten walkers in rapid succession, until his gun clicked on empty and he shoved it back into his belt with a curse, reaching for his crossbow instead. Ten walkers was not nearly enough to keep them safe, not when dozens more were behind them, but it cleared out the front of the herd enough that Rick could target the thing that had been Shane in the crowd, then the faceless woman with brown hair. They dropped bonelessly to the ground with two quick shots. It was as much of a burial as he could give them.

"'Bout fucking time," Daryl muttered, sounding relieved, as Rick grabbed the other man by the arm and started running back down the road. They sprinted to the bottom of the hill, putting some distance between themselves and the approaching walkers, eyes alert for any more that might come from the side, attracted by the gunshots. At the bottom of the hill, they slowed to a fast jog, a pace that would keep them ahead of the slow-moving walkers but wouldn't tire them too quickly. They wove their way through the abandoned vehicles, weapons at the ready, eyes alert for more danger. Daryl barely paused as he shot what had once been a woman through the head when she stumbled out of the trees towards them. Rick killed another by bashing it in the head with the butt of his gun as it lurched out of a nearby car.

"What now?" Daryl asked after they'd rounded the curve of the road and the herd of walkers dropped out of sight. They slowed but kept moving, not foolish enough to think that the walkers would stop the chase that quickly.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, looked over at Daryl. The man was reloading his gun, the crossbow slung over one shoulder, resting on the small backpack of food and water and ammo he carried. Rick realized with a start that he must have dropped his own pack at the top of the hill. The rest of their supplies were back at the RV where…

Don't think about it, he reminded himself. Don't think, don't think, don't think. Just think about what's ahead. What you're going to do. Daryl needs you, think about Daryl.

But who was he kidding? Daryl didn't need him. Daryl didn't need anybody. The man had proven that time and time again. Rick still wasn't sure why Daryl hadn't left him for walker bait, why Daryl had dragged him back away from that herd when all he'd wanted to do was run into it, to find some kind of sign that Carl was still alive and that faceless woman with brown hair wasn't Lori, when all he'd wanted was to die with his family. He didn't understand why Daryl had stood by him as the walkers stumbled nearer, had raised his gun in Rick's defense when Rick stood unthinkingly in the path of the herd looking for a chance to shoot the monsters wearing the shells of the people he'd loved. He didn't understand why Daryl didn't just leave him now, why he asked Rick what they should do rather than heading off alone into the woods. He didn't understand, but he didn't ask because Daryl was the only thing holding him together at this point. The only thing familiar in this brand new ugly world.

Rick swallowed, pulling himself together and back to the present. "We need supplies. Won't last long without them. We'll head back to that barricade, find a car, pick up what was there. Too many cars on the road between here and there to take one of these – we'd never get through. We also need to get out of the open. You think you can lead us back there through the woods?"

Daryl squinted up at the sun, glanced around at the hills surrounding them. "I can try." He gestured to a distant hill with a rocky granite tor on its top. "That barricade was just east of that mountain. Long as we can keep that sawtooth in our sights we should be able to find it."

"Then that's what we'll do," Rick decided. "We'll get supplies, a car, hopefully some gas, and figure out where to go from there." It was the best he could offer. The best he could think of when he was trying so hard not to think at all.

Daryl nodded and began to pick his way down the steep embankment to the side of the road. Rick stopped and turned around, his gaze going immediately to the hill just beyond where the road curved, his thoughts going to a darker place.

Daryl paused at the treeline, looking back at Rick standing in the middle of the road. "You comin'?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rick nodded, turning away from the sight of that hill. "I'm right behind you."