Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to The Walking Dead.

Other Stuff: This chapter requires a leap from reality: Yes, I know that solitary confinement cells probably don't have locks on the inside, but go with it. Enjoy!

SPLINTER Chapter 3: The Break

Daryl was not having a good day, and the walkers kept coming.

Luckily, Rick's path was easy to chart by following the trail of freshly slain biters, but Daryl had finally lost count of his kills.

Shooting three arrows in rapid succession, he then plunged his hunting knife into two closer corpses. They snarled at him, and he snarled back, barely perceiving how his reflexes had become attuned to fighting this new prey. It had become a frightening necessity.

And it was also kind of fun.

Daryl paused as the corridor widened and he checked his breathing, consciously noting his muscles flex, confirming that he was not already exhausted. He still had to bring back Rick after all.

As Daryl slashed into two once-elderly walkers, he realized that he didn't blame Rick for his recent nuttiness. There was a time and place to go a little crazy, and Grimes definitely deserved to display any lunacy he wanted to, especially after what happened to Lori.

Unfortunately, Daryl knew that the situation between the Governor and their group had become critical, and Rick was needed now more than ever.

Dixon was prepared to find Rick in a state of disillusionment, perhaps lost in a corridor and fighting his way out. Daryl was not prepared, however, to find Rick in a place of undeniable toys-in-the-attic.

The hallway literally crumbled away and Daryl stepped carefully, shielding his eyes from the piercing sunlight. He felt each step before walking forward, aware that the floor he was standing on had little left beneath to support it.

It must have been dynamite.

As the prison gaped wide open, like an old wound that never healed, Daryl spied Rick ten feet in front of him.

Daryl immediately froze and all of the hairs along his neck stood on end.

It might not have been bad if Rick had been alone, caressing his dearly departed invisible wife. Daryl would have gently awakened him and the two could have dashed back together, back to the others and pretend-sanity.

But Rick was standing on the edge of the prison, totally oblivious of the fifty-some ravenous walkers directly beneath him.

Well, shit.

Daryl moved stealthily, sneaking up behind Rick so as not to create more noise, and not to startle the ex-lawman.

"Rick?"

No response.

Daryl was well aware that they stood right above a dangerously ticking time-bomb.

"Rick," he said a little louder. "It's me."

He reached out and touched the other man's left shoulder. Grimes flinched slightly then turned around. Daryl stifled a gasp when he saw Rick's face: tear-streaked, blood stained, and eyes glazed. Rick looked like he had no idea where he was, and if he did, he didn't care. His eyes opened wide at the sight of Daryl, opening his mouth, but no words came out.

"We . . . We gotta go," said Daryl eventually, grabbing his arm.

Rick shook his head, innocent eyes again pulling at Daryl's empathetic side.

"I can't," Rick mumbled. "She's here."

Daryl said in a firm voice, "Trust me, Rick. We gotta go. Now."

Still, Grimes hesitated.

"What about Carl? What about Judith?"

And then, Grimes woke up, stiffening at the sight of the swarm below him.

"Rick! Wait!"

But it was too late. The walkers went into an instant frenzy with the heightened motion from up above, and Rick bolted, not taking into account the disintegrating prison under foot. He took one unsteady step, and suddenly the floor gave way. Crying out, Daryl grabbed his arm.

There was a split-second where Daryl Dixon knew exactly what choice he had to make. He could either let go, and allow Rick to fend off the horde of walkers, or he could go with him. Whether the choice was subconsciously made or not, Daryl found himself falling head first through the hole in the floor, right after Rick.

As Daryl fell through the air, in a manner of seconds before the break, he took in the full scope of their imminent problem: There were many more walkers than he had previously thought- about a hundred all around—and they were closing in fast. In fact, Rick fell on top of one, bashing in its skull with his boot as he met the ground.

Daryl didn't have as quite a soft cushion. He hit the prison floor in between his left shoulder and head. In one second, he heard something snap close to his neck, and a burning ache, like a whiplash flame, curled up and down his body. He cried out, rolling over and easing to a crouch-position. Lights were dancing in his eyes, but he hadn't hit his head as hard as his collarbone. Rotating his left shoulder even slightly caused intense and almost overwhelming pain. Just what he needed: a broken clavicle.

However, the tracker didn't have time to accurately assess his injuries before he was overrun by walkers. Immediately, he was at Rick's side. The older man lay on the floor, motionless. Daryl reached for his crossbow only to realize that it had flown well beyond his reach during the fall, as had Rick's knife. Frantically grabbing his own knife from his belt, Daryl felled two walkers just as they reached Rick. Even basic movement sent shockwaves of pain through his collarbone, and killing the walkers left Daryl breathless, his vision darkening and blurring.

But more were coming.

"Rick!" he yelled gruffly. "Get up! Get up!"

No luck. Grimes remained on the floor, unmoving.

What now, genius? Is someone else going to save the day? You were supposed to be the rescue party!

When Daryl saw the oncoming mass of walkers, he realized that neither fighting nor running was going to be the answer. Instead, he noticed a small cell farther down the corridor with a sturdy-looking door and a bolt-lock on the inside.

There wasn't much time: He could smell the stench of the walkers, hear the snapping of their moldy jaws as they plodded along, and see his beloved crossbow lost in the throng of their feet.

Although his eyes watered in agony at the movement, Daryl held his hunting knife in his teeth and hoisted up Rick in his arms, dragging him quickly down the hallway to the empty cell. As he hurried, the flash of dead bodies ambled along after him. Daryl deposited Rick on the floor of the cell as lightly as he could, and then slammed the door shut after them, securing it.

Knife at the ready, Daryl stood before the metal door, his breath heaving raggedly in and out, in and out, faster and faster as the pain in his shoulder heightened. He waited until he heard the pounding of walker-hands on the door. They growled and scraped and groped, but they couldn't get in.

Dusty sunlight flickered through a small upper window on the far wall. The cell was tiny, and perhaps it was once used only for solitary confinement, but it would do for now.

Somewhat satisfied that they were in a secure place, Daryl could turn his attention to the fallen Grimes. He knelt down, grimacing at the movement, and turned Rick gently over onto his back. A red trickle of blood ran down the side of his head from a small gash that Daryl spotted through his curly dark hair. The fall must have knocked him out temporarily.

Or it was worse than he thought. Maybe Rick's concussion was more serious. Maybe he had suffered internal injuries. Maybe he was in a coma. Maybe . . . he was dying.

Some rescue party you turned out to be! Can't even bring Rick back alive.

Daryl felt tears welling up his eyes; either from pain, exhaustion, or frustration, he couldn't be sure, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand in annoyance. There was only going to be one way they would be able to get out of here alive: if they could think rationally and clearly. And that's exactly what Daryl aimed to do.

He took the water pouch from his belt and poured a miniscule amount over the cut on Rick's head, cleansing the area. Then he poured a bit over his lips, moistening them. Daryl picked up a ragged pillow from the one cot in the cell and put it under Rick's head.

When he stood up, Daryl felt dizzy again, and he leaned against the door until it subsided. The pain in his collarbone began throbbing harder and harder. He reached up with his right hand to feel for the bone, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. Instead, he turned his attention back to Grimes, making him as comfortable as possible on the floor. He wanted to move him to the cot, but not being a doctor, he was afraid to cause more damage to the other man.

It was while he was leaning over him that Rick woke up with a start, causing Daryl to fall over onto his left side in surprise. Daryl cried out and Rick started upright, eyes wide like a wild animal.

"What happened?" he snapped. "What's going on?"

Daryl picked himself up and held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. "Woah, Rick. It's okay. We just had a little run-in with some walkers."

"Walkers?" the other man asked. "How many?"

"About a hundred."

Rick Grimes shook his head to clear it, and then ran a hand over the cut on his head. "What about the others? Where's Carl?"

"It's all right. We're on the other side of the prison from them."

Another loud bump on the door from a curious walker caused Daryl to flinch and he bared his hunting knife. His breathing heightened again, and he felt as if his heart was going to fly out of his chest. When did the cell shrink down to half its original size?

Rick's voice was suddenly very quiet behind him. "This is all my fault. You came after me."

The pain in Daryl's collarbone was now a pulsing flood that began to drown out the sound of the walkers as well as the sound of Rick's voice. Daryl spoke in between breaths as he turned back around. "No, it's not your fault. It just happened. It was an accident. I don't blame you . . ."

Rick then glanced up at him, his eyes narrow, clear, and scrutinizing. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Daryl managed, but he could feel his body shaking, and the world was turning brighter, each wall shrinking in upon him.

"You're hyperventilating," said Rick, and he quickly got to his feet beside Daryl.

"It's my collarbone," Daryl rasped, but then he could no longer control the pain that was beating against his chest, and his legs gave way underneath him.

"Daryl!" came Rick's voice from far away.

The last thing Daryl remembered before he drifted off was the feeling of Rick's supportive hands around his waist, and the words he muttered, almost as a curse:

"I'm so sorry."