Part II

Daryl could strangle his brother. Unreliable piece of shit. Daryl sighed as he slid his crossbow off his back and tossed it into the passenger seat. Sunset would be upon them soon. Daryl wanted to be on the road before dark. The engine turned over with a groan and the station wagon came to life. He threw it in reverse and backed out of the driveway without checking the street first. There wouldn't be anyone there.

Dust billowed behind his car as he sped down the road. His brother's house, or shack is more like it, wasn't far. It was the house they grew up in. Pop had died several years ago and Merle wasted no time moving into the old place. Daryl fiddled with the radio stations, as he did every time he got into the car. All he ever got back was static. Some time ago he was able to pick up a broadcast from a group who hadn't yet made it to Atlanta and they were giving daily reports of the area. But he hadn't heard any transmissions from them for days. He angrily switched the radio off. Humanity was quickly losing this battle.

Daryl wasted no time getting to the house. What usually took him ten minutes to get there took five. Who gave a shit about speed limits anymore? It was a long dirt driveway. A dilapidated two story house was at the end of it. Daryl hated the place. Its white paint peeled from every surface of the house. Shutters were missing or hanging by a nail. The roof was falling apart. Not to mention it was infested with bad memories. Daryl wished he could just put a match to it.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to the door. It was wide open. Then he noticed them. Bodies littered all around the yard. Their heads either blown off or mangled beyond recognition.

"Shit." He breathed. When he got closer he slammed on the breaks. Grabbing his crossbow he jumped out of the car and hurried up to the porch. It creaked under his boots as he tried to stealthily enter the house. He had the crossbow up and ready as he went through the threshold. It was its usual mess. Dust and dirt and torn apart.

"Merle!" He whispered and listened for the tell-tale shuffling of the dead. Nothing. He took a deep breath and turned the corner to enter the living room. And there he was. Daryl exhaled and lowered the crossbow.

"Goddammit, Merle."

His brother sat in an armchair by the hearth. He was surrounded by empty bottles. A bloody ax leaned up against the chair. A shotgun was in his lap. A whisky bottle rested in his hand. Merle looked up at him with lazy, drunken eyes. A half smile creased his face in recognition and he raised the whisky bottle.

"Darrryl! Hah, you ol' son-ofa-bitch," He motioned to the ripped up couch beside him. "Take a seat there, lil' brother. Join me for a drink."

Daryl stomped into the room and right up to his brother. Without hesitation he knocked the bottle out of his hand. It hit the floor and shattered, but hardly any liquid spilled. Merle had drunk most of it.

He put up his hands in defense. "Heyyyy, lil' brother, you need to calm down."

"What the hell, Merle? You're supposed to be packed and at my house! You're sittin' here drunk as a shit. And what the hell happened out there?" Daryl pointed out the window where one could see the bodies splayed out in the yard. Their blood glistened in the setting sun.

Merle unsteadily followed his brother's direction and stared out the window. "Ohh, yeah. Had myself a lil' party." He chuckled, "I don' think anybody'll come to the next one."

Daryl secured his crossbow and started going around the house gathering clothes. He found a bag in Merle's bedroom upstairs and stuffed it with any linen he laid his eyes on. He spotted an old pair of shoes that belonged to Pop and tossed those in the bag too. He went downstairs quickly. Merle was still in the chair and had his hand in the shape of a pistol pointed at the window. He had one eye closed and was making little "pow, pow" noises. Daryl continued his search on the first floor for anything useful.

"You shoulda been there, Daryl," His brother called from the living room. Daryl was going through all the cabinets in the kitchen looking for anything nonperishable, "They came stumblin' outta the woods and thought they was just gonna squat in my yard like a buncha undead hippies," He heard him spit, "Pussies."

Daryl came back into the living room and tossed the bag at his brother. He let out a grunt when it landed in his lap. "How long ago did it happen?"

"Oh, I dunno, coupla hours ago."

"You used the shotgun?"

"Well, yeah, it works pretty damn well."

Daryl grasped his brother's arm and pulled him up. "That means they'll be comin'. Hold on to your gun, now."

His brother stumbled and Daryl had to hold him up as they left the house. Daryl took the bag and hurled it into the backseat, then pushed his brother into the passenger side. Merle settled into the seat and whistled, rubbing his stomach. "Oooh, boy, I sure hope your woman has somethin' on the stove. All that killin' worked me up an appetite."

Daryl ignored his brother and turned the car around, speeding down the driveway. He briefly looked at the house in the rearview mirror, and took a moment to hope he'd never have to see the place again. Lightning bugs were starting to come out as dusk approached. Daryl inwardly cursed. He didn't like Gina home alone this time of day. This was when they were most active.

Merle examined his shotgun, running a hand along its length like he was stroking a woman's body. "Sooo, you still thinkin' 'bout a sailboat, eh?"

Daryl shrugged. "That's the goal anyway."

Merle gave his brother a sidelong glance. "And you think you're gonna get there with a screamin' baby in tow?"

He concentrated on the road in front of him. He didn't need to see his brother's sneering face. "She still has a few weeks. I'm hopin' to get to shore before she gives birth."

"And if not?"

"Then we'll deal with it."

Merle grunted in response, then spat out the window. Daryl knew there was definitely a risk of Gina having the baby on the road. Particularly with all the stress she was under. But it was a risk they were going to have to take. They couldn't stay here.

"Lord, I'm gonna hurt in the mornin'." Merle massaged his forehead.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "That's cause you're not twenty anymore, dumbass. And you better start soberin' up. Gina won't let you in the house stumblin' round like an idiot."

Merle chuckled as he glanced out the window, watching the scenery speed by in a blur. "That woman needs to lighten up a lil' bit. It's the end of the world, lil' brother. Ya'll will depress yourselves to death if ya not careful."

Daryl ignored him. He was obnoxious enough sober. With alcohol, he was just about unbearable. But they were brothers. And they would see each other through the best and worst of times. He knew no matter what happened, his brother had his back. Best of all, they weren't afraid to point out the stupidity in their decisions.

"Merle," He hesitated at first, then gave in, "you don't think it's a dumbass idea, do ya? Findin' an island? Hide out till it's all over?"

Merle was silent for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts in his whiskey-riddled brain. "See, this is where we differ, lil' brother. I don't believe there's some bastard in a white coat sittin' in a hole somewhere figurin' out some cure. This is it. This is our rapture. We can run and shoot as many of those moanin' sons-a-bitches as we can, but in the end, what's left? A few hundred poor souls with a whole world to themselves? Well, those sorry folks won't be able to find each other and they'll die off and that'll be it. Man is extinct." Such a speech took a lot out of him and he leaned his head back, offering no more on the subject.

In his heart, Daryl was certain his brother was right. They were alone in this world. An endangered species. What sort of future did his kid have? If his plan even worked? Daryl shook the thoughts away as the car approached his home. He pulled into the driveway, and his foot slipped from the gas pedal. The car slowed against the gravel as the brothers took in the sight of the wide-open front door. In the fast approaching dark of the evening, one might assume the stains on the door frame were dirt. But they both knew it was smeared blood. Daryl stared for only a second more before grabbing his crossbow and jumping out of the car. Merle was close behind.

"I'll check the yard." Merle tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkness. Daryl hardly registered his brother's words as he climbed up onto the porch. The lights were off. The wooden boards creaked under his feet as he stepped carefully over the threshold. His crossbow raised, Daryl aimed into the foyer. His eyes adjusted at a frustratingly slow rate to the dark, and finally he was drawn to the figure on the floor. He sucked in a breath, tainted with the smell of blood.

"No." It came out a strangled plea as the crossbow suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and his arms dropped. The weapon clattered to the floor as Daryl approached her. He fell to his knees next to her body, and immediately he felt wetness soak through his jeans.

"No, no, no, no, no, baby—" He put his hands on either side of her face, which was still warm. Her body gave a start at his touch and a moan broke her lips apart. It wasn't the dry, rattled moan of the dead. It was still his wife.

"Gina? Gina, baby, do you hear me? Come on, say something'." He brushed wet, sticky hair out of her face, his hand traveling to the swell of her belly. Beneath her sundress, he could feel his son kicking. But not the gentle, curious kicks he was used to. He struck at the inside of his enclosure like he wanted out—like something was after him. Daryl pulled his hand away when he felt another fierce thump. Her whole body then stiffened and she wheezed painfully as she tried to inhale.

"Daryl," She croaked, her hand found his and she squeezed it like a lifeline. "Daryl, I'm so sorry."

"Shh, shh, shh, darlin'. Where did it get ya?"

Shakily, she moved his hand to her shoulder, which was warm and wet. Though he couldn't see the wound, he could feel the deep gashes where chunks of her shoulder were missing. He swallowed back a lump in his throat.

"Alright. Okay, we'll just—we'll get you up to bed, and I'll get a good look at it."

Her hands grabbed at the front of his shirt. "Daryl, it's no use—"

"I said I'll take a look," He growled, "It—it might not be so bad." The lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

Suddenly a creak in the floorboards could be heard from behind them. Daryl whipped around and stood up, his dagger unsheathed. He relaxed when he saw his brother standing in the threshold, shotgun in hands. What was left of the sun, low on the horizon, allowed him to make out the features on Merle's face. His expression was a mix of sympathy and cold determination. He stared right past Daryl and focused on the ugly, marred shoulder of his sister-in-law.

"Merle. Merle, help me get her upstairs."

It was like he didn't hear him, and Daryl could see the subtle movement of his hands tightening the grip on his shotgun.

"Merle!" He risked shouting. Gina's body shook and she whimpered. It was enough to distract Merle from his trance and he glared at his brother, jaw set.

"Lock the door, man," He said with a softer tone, motioning to the door, "Help me get her upstairs."

Merle complied without a word. He placed the shotgun against the wall before locking the door securely and taking a gentle hold of Gina's legs, he helped Daryl pick her up to cradle in his arms. Merle went up the stairs ahead of them as Daryl carefully ascended the staircase. All the while, she protested weakly. Once they reached the bedroom, he placed her on the bed as Merle hurriedly covered the window with heavy blankets before daring to light the room. Briefly wondering how long they were going to have electricity, Daryl turned on the bedside lamp, and he was finally able to take in the sight of his wife. She was ashen, her face the color of wet cement and slick with sweat and tears. Her once vibrant blue eyes stared at him dully from deep within sunken sockets. Her black hair was matted, crusted from lying in her own blood. This all contrasted violently with the ruby red blood that stained her yellow sundress. Her shoulder indeed bore the wound, a mangled bite that had torn through muscle down to the bone. Blood still dribbled from it.

Daryl couldn't look back into her eyes. He couldn't let her see the despair in his own. Instead he focused on the task at hand and grabbed one of his shirts from the open suitcase on the bed.

"I'm sorry, baby," He said before pressing the shirt into the wound. To his surprise, she only released a small gasp. She should've shrieked in agony. Taking advantage of whatever shock she was in, he pressed harder and she gave no further reaction. Merle stood in the doorway watching, and offering no assistance.

"Get some water, would ya?" He said distractedly, "And the First Aid kit in the bathroom."

"Daryl, why don't ya come out here for a sec—"

"Now, goddamnit!" Daryl roared. Gina let out a choked sob, and absently brushed at her husband's hands while she gazed up at the ceiling. His brother grunted in response before disappearing from sight.

Daryl returned focus to his wife. Already the shirt was soaked through. He tossed it to the floor where it landed with the slapping noise of a wet dishrag before grabbing another shirt. Without hesitation he pressed it into the wound. This time she seemed to feel it and she cried out, grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"I know, baby," He tried to whisper comfortingly, "I know." It didn't come out as confident as he would have liked. The pain seemed to jolt her back to reality and she concentrated her wet eyes on him. Hesitantly, he matched her gaze and saw his own fear reflected in her eyes.

"Daryl," Tears dribbled over and slid down her pale cheeks, "It was so stupid, Daryl. I just wanted to let Buck out. He kept pacing the door. It was still light out," Her lip trembled as she tried to stay focused, "It came up behind me. Buck didn't even see it at first. It bit me, then Buck attacked it. I dunno what happened after that, I just tried to make it back inside."

He wasn't sure what to say. If the dog was in this very room he would turn around and shoot it. It was the damn dog's fault. No…he should've let him out before he left. Then this never would've happened. It was his fault. It was like she could read his mind and the smallest of a smile turned the corner of her mouth.

"Get that look off your face, Mister Dixon. You're the survivor. Not me. You're the one meant to get through this," He looked away, but her hand let go of his collar and took a hold of his face, bringing his gaze back to her, "I didn't really think I would get too far. Certainly not to the ocean." Her expression creased as a sudden pain rippled through her. Her breaths came rapidly and Daryl put a hand to her forehead. The heat coming off her was so shocking he took his hand away as if he'd been burnt.

Merle cleared his throat from the hallway and stepped in with a bowl of water, towels and the white First Aid kit. He placed the items on the nightstand before backing out into the shadows once more. Daryl soaked a washcloth and laid it on her forehead. He then took a towel and went to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. In the back of his mind, he knew it was a useless effort. But he continued anyway. He would have his wife's last hours as comfortable as he could make them. As he worked, she slipped in and out of consciousness. Each time she woke, she was in a different state: calm or panicked, confused or lucid. When he was finished, she finally seemed to fall into a fitful sleep.

He quietly went downstairs into the kitchen and stood over the sink, washing his hands and arms where her blood had smeared onto him.

"She's finally asleep." He murmured. Merle merely grunted in response. In the dim light of the single light bulb in the room, he watched the brownish red clouds swirl down the drain. Merle sat at the kitchen table, a pile of sunflower seeds in front of him and empty casings lay wherever he spat them. Drying his hands, Daryl sat heavily into the chair across from him. They sat in silence for some time, the only sound the occasional spitting of casings from Merle.

Finally, Merle sighed deeply. "I found the walker outside. It was eatin' your dog. I put it down," He stared at his brother, who wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, man."

Daryl locked his jaw, determined not to cry in front of his brother. "She ain't dead yet, Merle."

His brother scoffed mirthlessly as he popped another seed in his mouth. "Might as well be."

Daryl glared at his brother. He wanted to clamber across the table and strangle the life out of him until his eyes popped. Instead, he clenched his fists and looked away. "I'm gonna take care of her till she..." He bit back the sob in his throat and gesticulated with his hand as he searched for the word he didn't want to say, "till she…passes. Then I'll—I'll take care of her." He didn't know any other way to put it. He couldn't bring himself to say he would shoot her in the head, to make sure she didn't turn. He still couldn't believe it. Not two hours ago he had been certain they would all be on the road by now. Headed for the sea. Now here he was. Hours from burying his wife.

Merle coughed as if to get his attention and crossed his arms on the table. He had that look on his face that Daryl hated. It always meant that he was about to point out a flaw in his plan. But this was different. He saw a darkness behind his brother's eyes. For a moment, he didn't want to know what he was going to reveal to him.

"Daryl, it's not just her you have to worry about. I've been thinkin' about…you know, the kid."

The shock of the entire situation had nearly wiped all concern for his child from his consciousness. Daryl sucked in a breath. His son. His child. The kid. The kid inside her. Sharing the same blood, the same everything with her. The poison. Merle didn't have to elaborate and he knew it. Once he saw his little brother's face, he knew it. Daryl started to breathe heavily.

"I'll need to—to take care of him too." Daryl stood suddenly, the chair falling over from the movement, "No. No, wait, I can get him out, before she passes. Merle, we've done c-sections on cows before, we can cut him out."

Merle stared at him like he'd gone insane. "And what, lil' brother? The kid's been poisoned same as her. He's gonna turn."

"We don't know that for sure. He's not wounded, you have to have a wound—"

"Yeah, for the poison to get in. He's already infected from Gina. He probably has the fever too."

Daryl felt defeated by his brother's words. He backed up and leaned against the wall, staring past his brother at the boarded up window behind his head. So what would they do? Wait until she dies, the baby would die shortly after that. Put a bullet in her brain, then cut his son out and put a bullet through his head? Daryl felt the contents of his stomach rising and he barely got to the sink in time. He vomited into the basin for several minutes until he had nothing left. With a shaking hand, he turned on the faucet and watched as the physical representation of his utter disgust and sorrow washed down the drain. And then it came. Before he could even think of stopping it, it came. The tears sprung from his eyes followed closely by a strangled sob. His hands clamped down on the edge of the counter as he felt the muscles in his legs weaken. They finally gave and he sank to his knees as another sob escaped him. Slowly he turned around and collapsed to the floor. The tears flowed freely as he cradled his head in his hands. He sat there, crying as he'd never cried in his life. He released howls of frustration and agony in between the weeping, punching his elbows into the cabinets behind him until he felt blood. Until he was sure ever walker in the county could hear him.

Merle remained at the table, arms crossed, looking down at the floor. He knew what he had to do. Slowly, he rose from his chair and entered the hallway. He spotted where he left his shotgun lying against the wall. He grabbed it and silently made his way to the staircase. He made it to the top of the landing. The glow of the bedroom light shown under the door. He opened it quietly as he could. There she was. She was asleep, but having spasms. The cold compress had fallen to the floor. She pulled at the material of her dress. Her hands kept moving to her pregnant belly, pressing on it, and her back would arch as she whimpered with pain. He walked up to the bed and looked down at Gina. She was a real sweet thing. Beautiful. She had been good for his little brother. Hell of a way for things to end.

With a sigh, he racked the shotgun and the sound seemed so loud. It even stirred her a bit and her eyelids fluttered open. Her milky blue eyes settled on him.

"Daryl?" She uttered. "Daryl, baby, I think I've got the flu."

Merle bit the inside of his cheek as he aimed the butt of the shotgun against her skull. She didn't even notice. "You been a good girl, Gina. I'm sorry, darlin'." She merely whimpered in response as his finger slid over the trigger.

Hands grabbed the back of his shirt. Daryl pulled him and slammed him against the wall, landing the biggest blow into his face that he ever thought possible and his head hit the wall hard enough for him to see stars. The strike took Merle off guard and he shook his head, seeing double until he could make out Daryl's enraged face in front of him. His little brother had his shirt gripped in his fists and he shook him.

"What the fuck you doin', Merle?" He bellowed.

Gina released a scream, like a child, and gripped the bed sheets, seemingly reacting only to the noise, not the fact that a gun had just been pressed to her head.

Merle let the shotgun slide down and he laid it against the wall behind him, then raised both his hands in surrender. "You can't do this, lil' brother. You shouldn't do this."

Merle could see the red in his brother's eyes. The absolute rage in his face. And for a moment, for the first time in their lives, he was afraid of him.

Daryl's voice shuddered with anger as he spoke. "They're my family, Merle. I'll take care of 'em." He shoved him against the wall again to emphasize his words.

"Okay, okay, take it easy there, lil' brother." He tried to force a little smile on his face, "I got the message."

Slowly, Daryl released his shirt, the material wrinkled under the force of his hands. He nodded to the door. "Get out." Gina thrashed in the bed, her legs getting tangled in the sheets. Her yelling quickly died down to her feverish whimpers. Daryl picked up the compress, soaking it once more and laid it gently on her forehead. She calmed at the touch and laid mostly still, though her breathing was rapid. Merle backed out of the room to the staircase, watching his little brother tend to the woman who was already dead. Her brain being eaten away by the infection. He shook his head and descended the staircase. Daryl would call on him when he needed him. And he would be there for him. Just like always.

Daryl tried to pull the sheet up around her but she wasn't having it. She kicked it off, crying out as she did so. Frustrated, he tossed the sheet to the floor, then inspected her bandage. It was soaked through. Sighing, he carefully pulled it off. She protested and tried to push him away.

"Baby, stop it, I'm just tryin' to help you." He whispered it, hoping his voice would calm her. It helped and she stopped thrashing. "Thatta girl. Lemme just clean this up, get a new bandage on."

Her breaths came rapidly as he worked and she whined as he worked on her. He just kept talking to her. "Hey, you remember our first anniversary?" He dabbed at the wound with more antiseptic, knowing full well that he was wasting medical supplies that he could have use for in the future. He didn't much care. He was tending to his wife. "I had finally scraped enough money together to get us to that cabin?" He smiled at the memory. She didn't. She moaned as she looked at him with her diseased-looking eyes. "Man, I was so excited to give you a nice romantic weekend. I could finally give you a honeymoon. And, damn, we opened that door and the place was a piece of shit. Fridge didn't work. Air conditioning was out. Bed had stains on it. Damn. But we made the best of it didn't we?" Her brow creased as she studied him. Could she understand him? Did she even know him anymore? He put a new bandage on her wound and pushed the hair out of her face. She closed her eyes at his touch and a certain peace seemed to come over her features.

"It's just not fair, is it, baby?" He whispered. "We got so little time together. We were supposed to grow old and sit on the porch swing and watch those sunsets." Tears threatened him again and he let his eyes get moist. Even let a few tears run down his cheeks and get lost in his beard. He wiped at them with the back of his hand and sniffed. She opened her milky eyes again and seemed to look through him. He knew she was going soon. He had to say goodbye.

He moved down her torso and to her belly, where the kicks from his son had stopped. Perhaps he was even already dead. He kissed her belly. "I was lookin' forward to meetin' you, lil' man. I'll see you on the other side, kay?" He rubbed her belly the way he did every night before they went to bed.

He moved back up to her face and leaned down to kiss her parted lips. If he used his imagination, he thought he felt her lips kiss him back. He bit back another sob, letting his head fall to her rapidly moving chest. He could hear her heart beating like a hummingbird under his ear. "I love you, Gina. I could never love anyone else like I've loved you."

He moved to the other side of the bed, climbed in and pulled her against him. He kept a hand on her belly as he watched her struggle for every breath. He buried his face into her neck and listened as she wheezed, fighting and clinging to the last shred of life. And sometime in the night, she finally let go. When dawn approached, Daryl finally felt for her pulse after watching her for some time, knowing that she had died a while ago. He felt nothing, as he expected.

Swallowing back every emotion coursing through him, he got up from the bed and retrieved the loaded .38 revolver from her nightstand. The gun he'd gotten for her. It wouldn't make much mess. He stared at his dead wife for a moment longer.

"Keep an eye on me, Gina," He murmured, "You were always good at that." He pulled back the hammer of the gun and pressed it to her skull. Before he lost his nerve, he squeezed the trigger. Her body jolted from the impact. And it was over. He let the gun fall from his hand and didn't even hear it clatter to the floor. In that moment, he felt something change him. A switch pressed. His duties as a husband and father, that shell, shattered and fell away. In its place, an armor passed over him. He realized he had nothing to live for. And nothing to lose.

Stiffly, he turned around. His brother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as much of a look of sympathy as was possible for Merle Dixon to conjure up. Daryl ignored it.

"We'll make a pyre." He didn't recognize his own voice, "I figure a good fire will be enough to take care of the, well, you know."

Merle nodded. "That's fine, but, why did you bother with the revolver?"

Daryl glanced down at the fallen weapon. "It's the way she would've wanted to be put down. I was with her."

They spent the morning in silence gathering wood to make her funeral pyre. Once constructed, he placed her gently upon it. Merle soaked the entire thing in gasoline and lit the match. They watched until the fire died out and made sure her body was reduced to ash and bone. The brothers finished packing up provisions and luggage, and drove away. They left the little yellow house, with its crooked mailbox and vines of morning glories. They left the place where once a man and a woman had dreams of sitting on the porch and watching the sunset.

A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Comments are appreciated :)

Sancti