So I know I said I would only publish a chapter every day, but I finished the story so I'm just going to post the rest of it. Hope you guys like!

~ Pheather

An hour or so later, Daryl shouldered a small pack and walked off into the woods. He was indifferent to the woods. Some found it rejuvenating; he called them tree-huggers. Some hated the woods; he called those people pussies. He paused to slap a mosquito from his face and inspect a tree with an obvious sign of tampering.

Daryl climbed up the tree slowly and somewhat painfully. He inspected a thick limb close to the trunk. The bark had been worn smooth there and on the base of the tree trunk where hands had steadied bodies. He looked around but saw no other signs of tampering with trees until he saw the next tree over, with more smooth bark. He looked at the branch he was standing on, then prodded his wound.

He took a running leap and clumsily landed on the next branch.

"Tree hopper." He muttered, looking from tree to tree.

It was dark when Lindsey alighted soundlessly on a thick tree. She paused and wiped the sweat from her grimy face. Twigs had whipped her as she jumped from tree to tree, carving thin red marks in her exposed arms and face. Her hair was tangled with leaves and small sticks. She grimaced and silently shouted when there came a pang from her calf and shoulder.

Steeling herself, she peeled back the dirty brown fabric of her shirt and inspected her wound on her shoulder. She felt like vomiting when she saw the ripped muscles and exposed tendons in the shallow groove carved by the bullet. She tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of her shirt and tied it around her shoulder, anchored by her armpit. She shivered when it felt like the rough fabric scraped a raw nerve and sent shocks up her spine.

Daryl camped in the lee of a large boulder by a stream. Only three walkers bothered him, none of whom gave him too much trouble. He lost an arrow, though, when it embedded in the scull and would not come out. He built a low fire and huddled by it's meager warmth. The one squirrel he found was now roasting on a spit, the juices dribbled down into the fire, making faint sizzles as it struck.

Daryl wrapped the thin blanket he brought tighter around his broad shoulders. He peered into the darkness, wondering where the trail of trees would lead him.

The next day, Daryl stomped the fire out, shot an intrusive walker, and clambered up the tree he camped near. He inspected it for signs of recent wear. He mentally shrugged and decided to follow it anyway.

Lindsey ventured out of her tree and stumbled into a lightly flowing river, inspecting it before deciding it was safe enough to drink. She had her back to the dense forest, and faced a small field with trees lining the perimeter. The one worrisome thought that troubled her was the lack of trees surrounding the river. Should a walker or Daryl or something else come crashing through, her only option was one of two trees in hopping distance: one, a thinner, scragglier oak, and next to it a larger, sturdier one.

Glancing around, and seeing nothing, she stripped, yanked off the wrap on her knee, and waded into the freezing water, shivering and clutching her sides as she limped in up to her knees. Her knee reduced to a dull, barely noticeable throb.

Wading further, she was now up to her belly. Taking a deep breath, she dived under and came up sputtering, gooseflesh peppering her body. She dove under again, gently rubbing her shoulder wound.

"Well a'int this a nice place." Said a voice. Lindsey spun around and saw Daryl, leaning lazily against the stronger oak. She cursed. Quickly, she dived to the shore, grabbed the gun she was concealing under her clothes, and aimed at Daryl.

"I'd put that down." He said, aiming his crossbow at her exposed chest. He flicked his eyes down her naked body, pausing at her gunshot wounds.

"You drop yours first." She insisted, keeping her hands on her gun.

"How 'bout you put down your gun, I'll put down my bow, you get dressed, and then we'll talk." Lindsey had a feeling he wanted more to just kill her and get it over with, but she didn't have much of a choice, and she was just as keen to get her clothes on.

Lindsey got out, keeping her arm covering her chest, tossed her gun to the side as Daryl set down his bow, and shuffled to her pile of clothes. She tugged on her underwear and pants, followed by her shirt. Her clothes stuck to her damp form, and, most embarrassingly, became transparent.

She locked eyes with Daryl. None of them moved. A leaf scuttled across their vision, causing both of them to flinch. She stared hard into Daryl's blue eyes, and Daryl glared at her large, green ones.

Suddenly, a growl and the telltale-rasping grunt of a walker broke the silence. From the sound, there were two or more. Glancing at each other one more time, they both dove for their weapons and pointed them at the other. This time they both spared sporadic glances towards the woods.

Two walkers stumbled out. One had his gut torn open and was hobbled by makeshift rope shackles. Obviously he was someone's friend or relative and they had tried restraining him. The other had his neck broken and had the flesh of his right leg sheared off below the knee. He still walked on the stump of his tibia. Lindsey avoided looking at them and instead listened to their shuffling footsteps.

She finally turned around shot the nearest one in the head. Three more tumbled from the woods. She shot a second and, now that she had shown more aggression to the walkers then him, Daryl began firing on the undead too.

Five more appeared from the deepening shadows of the woods. Darkness was falling. Lindsey looked desperately at the two closest trees. She held her ground a little more until twenty or thirty more poured fourth from the woods. They were becoming harder and harder to fend off. She shot one more, spared a glance at the frustration and concentration on Daryl's face, and scrambled up the oak, the numbing effects from the water wearing off and her wounds throbbing with each heartbeat.

She seated herself on the thickest, most sturdy branch, which wasn't saying much. It was still thin, and it shook and creaked with every movement. She carefully walked to the end of the branch and contemplated jumping when she heard an exasperated yell. She looked down to see Daryl, knife brandished, cleaving walker heads in two as the undulating mass converged on the one lone man. Lindsey bit her lip.

Daryl was almost surrounded and was looking for an escape route. He looked up at Lindsey in the tree. He crashed through the mass of bodies and took a running leap. His large arms caught a lower branch and he brought up his knees, attempting to climb the rickety tree but slipping.

In a burst of indecision, Lindsey soared down from the upper branches and, grasping one branch for support and Daryl's hand, began to haul him up. The wound in her shoulder was more intense then ever. She gritted her teeth and dug in her heels.

Daryl looked up, surprised, as he saw Lindsey attempting to haul up his massive form. He finally found purchase among the stumps of long-fallen limbs and grasped a higher branch. With Lindsey's help, he made it to the higher branch, but it was groaning under his weight and wouldn't hold much longer.

"You have to jump!" yelled Lindsey over the moans of the undead. Daryl looked at her critically but made it to the nearest branch and positioned himself so he could easily jump. The branch groaned and sank. He grasped the branch above his head and was about to jump when it gave way. It fell on a pile of walkers and they became entangled in the many twigs and leaves.

Daryl swung his body to and fro, gaining enough momentum to swing over to the larger and sturdier maple. Lindsey flew from one branch to another, dancing delicately on the threshold of death, finally swinging from a rotting branch and letting go as it snapped and fell. She landed with a scuffle right next to Daryl.

Lindsey stood up and looked down at the frothing walkers, enraged that their prey eluded them. A ghost of a grin played at her lips as she saw Daryl next to her in a tree. She reached above her and soon ascended to the very top of the tree where Daryl couldn't reach. She was just reaching for her blankets and knapsack with her food in it when she looked over and saw the walkers had torn it apart and, in their haste to eat her food, tossed her shabby blanket in the river.

She glanced at Daryl, who was unrolling a thin sleeping bag and tied himself to a fat, healthy tree branch not too far from herself. She stared enviously at the sleeping bag, tattered though it was.

Instead she looked at her gun and unloaded the magazine. She checked the number of bullets, and, seeing there were only three left, wished again for her knapsack where her ammunition was stored. She stowed her gun in her pocket and brushed a thin lock of hair from her face.