Three: Losing battle

Ten days later.

Even trying to tune it out, all Daryl could hear – all he had heard from the second he'd killed the engine of his bike – was Lori's goddamn hysterics over her son. He got why she'd be pissed in the first place. Hell, he was too. Kid was nothing but a liability tagging along like that. But wailing all over him when he was still in one fucking piece ...

Rolling his eyes, the hunter left Rick to deal with his wife and stalked to the Jeep, waiting until he'd managed to pull their still unconscious passenger out of the backseat before rounding on the others.

"Y'all think maybe the domestic could fuckin' wait?" he demanded, interrupting some kind of row over just whose fault it was that Carl had wandered off and stunning those who hadn't been part of the unscheduled rescue mission into silence. He could imagine how it must look to them – a half-dead, half-naked girl sprawled in his arms, her head lolling back before he tried boosting her into a more comfortable position.

"W-Who the hell is she?" Lori asked, her eyes flitting from Daryl and his burden to her husband and back again. She was already retreating from the intruder in their midst, helpless as she was, and pulling her son with her.

"We don't know," Rick started to explain. "We found her dumped at the gas station-"

"And you brought her here? What if she's been bit?"

"Jeez, Olive Oyl, you're the only one to think of that," Daryl said, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm as he shifted the weight in his arms again. It wasn't like he was exactly thrilled by the prospect of opening up their group to newcomers either - it had taken him long enough to learn to tolerate those already in it. But the look of disgust on Lori's face, when she had to be able to see how badly hurt the girl was, just didn't sit right with him. "Hershel needs to see her. Ain't no one askin' for your help."


His brows knitted in concern, the elderly veterinarian emerged from the spare bedroom where he had instructed Daryl to carry their unexpected guest and found both the hunter and Rick waiting in the hallway for news.

"Well, we don't need to worry about her turning," Hershel said. "There's no sign of any walker bites. Plenty of other injuries but, physically at least, concussion's probably the worst of it. Maggie's trying to get her cleaned up a bit before she comes round."

"That's ... that's good, right?" Rick said, with an unsure look on his face given the older man's own evident reservations. "Means she's not a threat."

"Maybe not directly. But we know nothing about this girl, her circumstances, or whatever godless animals did this to her. I'm still just a vet, not a doctor – this isn't my area. But that young lady has been brutally attacked. In all likelihood, more than once. Makes my heart sick to think of it," Hershel admitted. "And those responsible ... They're dangerous men, Rick, and in a world that doesn't answer to the law. I'm not saying you should have left her, but you need to consider that someone may come after her. We have the safety of our own people to think about. Your wife and my daughters included."

Folding his arms across his chest and giving a heavy sigh, Rick nodded as he processed that. It was something that had already crossed his mind.

"With or without the girl, they might come anyway," he pointed out. "They went straight to open hostility at the gas station, no questions asked."

"Wasn't exactly what you'd call a proportional response," Daryl added wryly.

"What kind of people see the world gone to hell the way it has and still manage to turn on their own kind?" the vet demanded, anger flashing in eyes. "Times like this, I wonder if we brought this ... this plague on ourselves."

"Bullshit," the hunter scoffed, abandoning even his usual half-hearted efforts to control his colourful tongue in front of the man who had opened his home to them and who seemed to command a certain respect with his gentlemanly ways. "You think that girl in there deserved to be raped? You want to put your faith in some so-called higher power who'd bring that on her? 'Cause if that's the case, I dunno who's sicker – you or your damn God!"

Taken aback by the hunter's outburst, Rick and Hershel could only watch as he stormed off, muttering to himself under his breath – as was his wont, when his frustrations got the better of him. They all knew he was struggling to adapt to life within their group, surrounded by people he probably wouldn't normally have associated with in the days before the walkers.

"That wasn't what I meant," Hershel began, evidently concerned that he had touched some unforeseen nerve.

But Rick shook his head. "Not your fault. Guess we're all working on short fuses right now, some shorter than others. Let me know when the girl comes round. I'd like to talk to her."

"Just take it easy with the questions. By the looks of her, she's going to need food, rehydration and plenty of rest, Rick – not an interrogation. Go on now, go be with your family. I'll call when she's awake."


At first, there was only darkness and the dull ache that seemed to be everywhere all at once. But, by the time the room slowly swam into some kind of focus, she was aware that her muscles were screaming and the pounding in her head was swiftly racing to catch up with her heart as it threatened to beat right out of her chest.

Taking quick, shallow breaths and finding them desperately lacking when it came to trying to get herself under control, she glanced around sharply and bit her already stinging lip to keep from crying out when it felt like the movement would split her head in two. Panic was close to overwhelming her, despite the seemingly homely surroundings. She had no idea where she was or how she'd come to be there.

"Hey, take it easy," a soft soothing voice tried to calm her, making her head whip round painfully again. "It's okay. Really, no, you shouldn't try to get up ... Y'all are safe here, I promise."

Even as she struggled to untangle herself from the rumpled cotton sheets, she shied away from the hand that reached out as if to pat her arm. "Don't touch me!" she rasped, her throat rough with dehydration. "Stay away!"

The hand retracted and was held up in peace. "Okay, just calm down. No one's going to hurt you here and that was a real nasty bang to the head you took - you really should lay back."

Bang ... Numbly, she reached up a trembling hand and touched the back of her head lightly, wincing when her fingertips found the lump there. "Where am I? How did I get here?

"Please, at least lay back. You're bound to be feeling pretty dizzy right now. I'm Maggie. Some of our group found you at a gas station while they were looking for supplies. They brought you here. This is my dad's farm-"

"Dan ... Where's Dan?" she interrupted frantically, her voice rising in her sudden urgency. "Dan!"

"I don't know who that is," the concerned looking young woman in front of her tried to explain. "I don't think there was anyone else-"

"There had to be! I have to go, I have to find him ... Please, let me go!" Struggling out of bed and onto her feet, she first recoiled at the realisation she was only wearing a shirt that certainly wasn't hers, then found her legs barely steady enough to hold her up and staggered even as her stomach rolled and bile rose in her throat. Her hand, thrown out in a bid to steady herself, caught the bedside cabinet and inadvertently swept the few items it held to the floor. The crash only helped fresh pain flare in her head and then somehow she was falling heavily to her knees, her fingertips curling into the rug as she tried to shake off the dizziness. "I h-have to go ..."

"Dad, come quick!" The girl who had called herself Maggie called out to her father in alarm, throwing open the door and shouting again before hurrying to kneel by her side. "Deep breaths," she advised, her tone almost scolding. "I told you to take it easy."

Everything hurt. Her head, her ribs, her back ... Elsewhere. And it was that thought that made her sick to her stomach all over again. She closed her eyes against the burning tears as more and more memories came seeping back into her clouded mind.

"I can't do this anymore ..." she whispered. "I just ... can't."


At the crash from upstairs, Lori knew herself that the look on her face had to be one part fear and the other some sort of vindication. Regardless of what that said about her. Her priority was her family and she made no apology for that. And even if she doubted that the others would believe her for a second, she knew she would take no pleasure in being right if the stranger in their makeshift home came stumbling down those stairs as a walker.

She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the thought. As if they'd have time for petty point-scoring if that was the case. Nonetheless, she didn't want to be right about the dangers of letting outsiders in. There had been a time when she would have welcomed new people with open arms. At one time, that might have meant hope. For the future. For humanity, for Christ's sake – however grandiose that sounded. But that was a time before crossed purposes and flared tempers, before rations and rows.

Balancing the equilibrium of their group was hard enough at the best of times. More people just meant more opinions and more mouths to voice them. No, she was only being practical – they couldn't be expected to take in every waif and stray that came their way. They just ... couldn't.

"Rick," she started in alarm, when her husband made to follow the vet at the shout from above them.

"I told ya, Lori, Hershel says she ain't bit. You think he'd have left Maggie up there alone with her if there was any doubt? Girl's in no fit state to be a threat to anyone – she's probably just disorientated. Scared," he said, trying to take the same patient, reasonable tone she might use on their son. She wondered fleetingly if Carl found it just as frustrating as she did. "Waking up in a strange place after what she's been through, nothin' but strange faces ... It's only to be expected she'd be kinda shook up. It'll be okay."

"None of this is okay," she hissed, hating being made to feel like the bad guy. By him, her own guilty conscience, or anyone else.


to be continued ...