Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

a/n: I would like to say a big thank you to everyone that has taken the time out to read and review, follow and favourite this little story!

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"Daryl," his name hung in the air for a few seconds before Merle rumbled tersely, "has gone taken off with his girlfriend, Officer Prick. Gone an' left us, sweetcheeks. Ain't none gonna save our asses now. Nope. Jus' ole Merle an' lil Mouse."

"They wouldn't leave us..." Carol tried to keep the disbelief from edging into her voice, knowing that she'd failed as she saw anger chase across his brow, the way his eyebrows knitted together as he looked over his shoulder at her. She edged away from him, idly wondering at the fact that the back of his shirt was still bunched tightly in her fist. She shook her hand away from him, taking a few steps backwards, her hands falling and clasping loosely at her sides.

"I ain't lying sister." Merle shrugged, "Be my guest and look yerself. It's jus' you, me and a whole lot'a fuckin' undead ass-holes back there."

She glanced from him to the window, eyes widening in horror as she saw several stumbling rotting faces appear at the furthest edge of the large glass paneled windows. "We need to get away Merle," Her voice trembled with fright.

"And go where?" Merle faced her, raising his arms upwards, "In case you haven't noticed, our options are pretty fuckin' limited," he hissed.

"You said there was a store room. Out back..."

The glass shattered inwards suddenly, the sound crystal sharp and ringingly clear amidst the wretched moaning. A hand clawed itself inwards, ragged over grown fingernails scraping, fingers clutching. Merle spun on his heel, the knife on his prosthetic limb swinging upwards automatically, thrusting under the walkers jaw with a sickening crunch. He grunted with exertion, pulling the blade free before thrusting it at another head.

Carol hesitated a split second, before pulling her own blade free of it's sheath, joining him at the window. She caught a walker, a young man with shaggy filthy matted hair, jabbing him neatly in the throat. Blood shot out and she grimaced in disgust, before stabbing at another.

Merle grabbed her arm abruptly, dragging her back across the drugstore with him. His breath panted out raggedly as his fingers dug into her skin, and she fought back a sob. How could Daryl have just left them? Her heart twisted achingly. Surely he wouldn't just leave unless it was absolutely necessary, unless there was no other option. She thought she knew him, probably more than she knew any other living person.

"Daryl will come back for us," she said, although she didn't know if she was just trying to placate the highly agitated man at her side, or whether she was trying foolishly to convince herself.

"Yeah, maybe," Merle spat, pulling the door open and thrusting her inside. He paused, glancing quickly over his shoulder, before pushing in after her and closing the door with a small firm click.

Carol leaned against the wall, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She tried desperately not to think of the walkers out there, tried not to think of them surging through the store, their dead hands mindlessly reaching out for them, tried not to think of Daryl and Rick fighting for their lives. Her head felt heavy so she let it slump weakly to her chest, her breath shallow. Tears prickled hotly against her eyelids and she let them slip out, glad of the dimness of the room, glad that he couldn't see them in her moment of weakness.

Trying to control her breathing and the tightness in her chest, she opened her eyes slowly, willing herself to be calm. She sighed, and took a long steadying stare at Merle. He was slumped on the ground opposite her with his legs bent, prosthetic arm resting across his knees. In the faint light she could see the dark smudges under his eyes, the worry lines etched deeply into his brow. His eyes were hooded, cast down at the ground-he reminded her of a penned animal trapped in a small confined cage, the way that his shoulders were hunched stiffly, the muscles in his arms bunched tightly, the faint sheen of sweat covering his forehead and grizzled cheeks.

He raised his head slowly as if he felt her gaze on him, steely eyes boring into hers and holding her look steadfastly. He smirked lazily at her, "Say Mouse, if it's right that our boy ain't put the wood to ye yet...ya can always bump some uglies with me while we're stuck in here. Ya know, pass the time? Jus' saying, I'd let ya git some practice in. I'm charitable like that."

Carol felt herself bristle with indignation. Whatever happened-or hadn't happened with Daryl was of no damned concern of his. "Why are you such an ass Merle?" she asked, then instantly wished she could take the words back. Was no sense in goading him when they were stuck together. She'd been better off just ignoring him.

"Got a bite on ya Mouse, I approve," he chuckled. "Wanna show ole Merle later just how much ya can bite?"

Carol shook her head, ignoring him while listening for sounds from behind the door. She knew that a few walkers must have gotten into the store, she could hear their low moans and slow shifting gait, but by all rights- more than a few walkers should be in there. It seemed unnervingly strange, those the only noises apart from the slight muffled blare of a car horn. She listened more intently, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"What you hear?" Merle asked, sitting up more rigidly, hand flat on the ground next to him.

Carol glanced at him, frowning. "I thought I heard a car horn, but it's gone."

"Could'a just been one of them biters thumpin' on a car." He settled wearily back down at his spot on the floor.

"I don't know. Maybe. I hope Daryl and Rick got away safely."

"Baby brother gotta charmed life," Merle said simply.

She nodded at him, not trusting herself to answer. Tears stung at her eyes again. She sighed heavily and looked back down at him, her eyes narrowing suddenly as she saw a spot of blood dripping down his arm. "You're bleeding. Have you been bitten? Did they scratch you?" She felt a deep chill settle uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

Merle glanced at his arm, muttering a curse. "Nope, must'a caught myself on glass when them biters came through the window."

"It needs to be treated."

He rolled his eyes at her, "It's jus' a scratch, quit yer damned worrying."

Carol tugged the bag off her shoulders and knelt on the ground next to him. Reaching in to the bag, she pulled out a small thin flashlight, switching it on so she could inspect the wound closely. Her fingers grazed his arm confidently and coolly, and she felt him stiffen at her light touch. She felt a surge of relief as she saw that it wasn't a bite or a scratch from a walker, just a long smooth clean cut across his bicep.

"Leave it woman," Merle growled warningly at her.

She ignored him, sitting back on her heels, rummaging through her bag until her hand closed on the small grubby white handkerchief with her initial embroidered on it, that she had kept with her for so long. She sadly smiled to herself, thinking back to what seemed now an eternity ago, to when her mother had given her it. It had been wrapped around four hundred dollars in notes, and her mother had thrust it at her, begging her to take it and leave him, just as Ed had pulled up in the driveway, his car door slamming shut. She had placed her hand on her expanding belly and whispered then that she couldn't just go, he was going to be a father, and her mother had stormed out, angry frustrated tears streaming down her face. Carol never really saw her mother much after that, nor did she see any of the money that she had left either. All she'd had was that handkerchief and a burning red slapped cheek, the imprint of his hand lasting for just over a week while he drank the money away and she'd had to hide in the house until the mark had vanished.

Unsheathing the knife at her belt and wiping it briefly on the leg of her pants, she cut a strip of the cleanest material she could see from off her shirt. They hadn't found any gauze or cotton pads, and the irony stung at her. Carol placed the handkerchief to the cut on his arm, binding it with the strip off her shirt. She smiled at him, before patting the metal of his prosthetic arm.

Merle glared at her suspiciously as she edged back away from him, sitting a few feet from him with her back to the wall. "Told ya I didn't want yer fussing," he choked. His gaze dragged away from hers to return to sullenly looking at the floor.

Carol shrugged her shoulders, one eyebrow raised quizzically at him. How could two brothers be so alike, and yet so completely and utterly unalike? "Get some rest Merle. For what it's worth, I'll keep watch."

"Don't need no bitch to tell me what to do." He shifted about on his spot on the hard ground. "You mother hen ma lil bro' like this? Yer making him soft," Merle spat petulantly.

"Needing...or asking for help doesn't make anyone soft Merle. It makes them smart. Now, get some rest while you can. I'll watch." She pushed herself off the floor, turning to pace quietly towards the door.

"What fuckin' ever," he growled, glaring at her briefly before closing his eyes.

Carol looked around the room, waiting as she heard his breath grow shallower. When she felt satisfied that he had drifted off to sleep, she stepped lightly across the room, turning the torch on as she moved. Across from the door stood a small white unit, doors partly opened, and a few racks of shelving with what seemed to be small discarded bottles. She shone the light at them, her hands deftly moving, picking bottles up, discarding them when she saw that a few had already been emptied. At the far back of the unit, her hands clutched at a larger bottle, and she brought it out, raising the light to read the contents. Amoxicillan. Carol felt a small smile rise to her lips and triumphantly she dropped the bottle of antibiotics into her bag. She found a few others, Tylenol and some Codeine which she palmed straight away. She searched for a few minutes more, feeling hopeful that she might find more meds which Hershel would undoubtedly be pleased with. She tried to feel not so disappointed when her search came up empty. She had been lucky enough to find the few that she had.

Switching the torch off, she crept back across the room, pausing at the door listening. She wondered where Daryl was, and she prayed that he was all right. With an aching heart she lowered herself to the ground, keeping her back pressed up against the door. She pulled her gun from her belt, and placed it on her lap, waiting.

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