It is still dark when she wakes, gasping for breath, having been launched from a nightmare that is fading faster than she can remember it. Next to her, Michonne is asleep on her back, her arm flung over her face to cover her eyes. She watches the other woman's chest rise and fall with even breaths and waits for sleep to reclaim her. After a few moments she realizes she is wide awake and her joints are buzzing with anxiety and an energy that is almost uncomfortable. Slipping out from under the sheet, she retrieves her shirt and pulls it over her head, wincing as the movement stretches and tears the fresh skin that had healed over her wounds while she slept.

She can hear the soft cry of the baby from elsewhere in the house that grow louder as she pads through the shadowy hallways and descends the stairs into the living room. She finds Carol sitting in the armchair with red-faced baby squirming on her lap, the little girl's features crumpled into an angry pout.

"Everything okay?" Carol asks, turning the baby to rest against her shoulder, tilting her head away from a flailing balled first that still manages to brush her cheek.

Jane shrugs and moves to collect a pair of shoes from next to the door, deciding that she needs air. The house is stifling and oppressive around her with its looming shadows and windows that appear barred by the thick trees that close in on it. She isn't sure whose boots she is slipping on, and they are a bit big, but she figures it wouldn't matter – she just needs them for a minute.

Carol clears her throat and when Jane looks up she finds that the baby is settling now, cradled into the crook of the woman's arm, her hands splayed across her belly while she is fed from a small bottle. "Daryl's out there somewhere… thought you'd like to know so he doesn't startle you."

She watches the other woman in the dark for a moment and knows that she is thinking about what had happened earlier with Rick. She wonders if Carol thinks she is a threat to the group. Hell, maybe she is… Maybe it was better when she wasn't around. Dropping her eyes again to the drowsy baby, she nods, retrieving her machete that someone had propped up against the front door frame.

She has sweated through her top before she even reaches the end of the path. It is so humid that it is hard to breathe the moist heavy air around her and she wishes she could be anywhere else. She remembers how simple things had been those first few days since her escape from the prison.

Run. Eat. Sleep.

The primary needs had been enough to distract her from anything else. She had been able to suppress everything for so long that she'd forgotten how much there was inside her, held in place by denial or anger… whatever it was she wished she could just go back there and not have to deal with Rick or Carl, or the seemingly endless list of things people expected her to be doing.

She sees him before he sees her. His shadowy figure seated on the hood of the pickup, his feet propped up on the front bumper. She watches the glow of the tip of a cigarette as he inhales and she breathes in the smell of tobacco. Something splashes in the water nearby and she peers around in the dark, but sees nothing.

"Boar maybe… maybe a 'gator," Daryl mutters, taking another drag of his cigarette before offering it to her. She is tempted but declines with a light shake of her head, bracing her palms against the hood of the pickup. "Nah?" he squeezes the tip of the butt with his fingers to extinguish it before tucking what is left into his shirt pocket. "I figured with the weird rogue GI Jane shit you got goin' on I wouldn' hafta ask twice."

Lifting a shoulder she, pushes away from the vehicle, wondering why the hell Daryl Dixon was trying to peer pressure her into developing a tobacco habit. Besides, she figured that any cigarette would be stale by this point anyway. No point in picking up a habit if it wasn't even going to be satisfying.

She leaves Daryl behind her and steps off the road, squinting at the dark underbrush and plants that are as high as her waist. Fern blades swish against her pant legs as she pushes her way through overgrown plants, following the sounds of owls calling out into the night and thousands of insects clicking and ticking around her. She can smell stale water and she knows the mosquitoes are probably eating her alive, she can hear them buzzing in her ears as they get too close. She knows Daryl is following her, but the man keeps his distance so she lets him have his way as she picks her way down to the water, the steady chirp of crickets a creaking of frogs creating a concert like nothing she'd ever heard before.

The sun is rising, though she can barely see the sky through the canopy of hanging moss above her. The forest is changing colour though, from black to a light navy before her eyes.

There is a scattering of broken branches that pierce the silence, disrupting the symphony of insects that had lulled in her into a sense of peace. Freezing, she pulls her machete free and moves her hand over the grip until it is settled snugly into her palm.

Something darts through the shadows to her right, colourless and shapeless in her periphery. She turns quickly to follow it but is frozen by the click of Daryl's crossbow and the zipping sound of an arrow slicing the air before a bush erupts with squeals that make the hair on her arms and the back of her neck rise. Daryl is already pushing past her towards the sound, muttering a laundry list of profanities as he stomps through the ferns. She follows closely, already having deduced that it is a boar long before she is helping Daryl to drag the still squirming, squealing thing out from the underbrush.

Daryl is saying something that she can't hear over the sounds of the pig's squeals and she realizes that the damn thing is probably drawing every walker for miles. Shoving Daryl back, she doesn't hesitate before driving her blade into its throat, silencing it instantly. She twists the machete for good measure and holds the boar in place while she waits for the life to drain from it, warm blood coating her hands in a smooth, crimson river. The woods around them seem to have gone completely still, and she can hear Daryl's breath over her shoulder, his eyes settled onto her back like weights.

She draws her blade back slowly, aware that she is being observed, and retrieves his arrow from the thing's belly.

They work together to butcher the boar, taking as much meat as they need before they drag what is left down to the waters edge for the gators. They work in silent tandem, and are finished before the sun is up. She carries their breakfast back, the meat cradled across her bear forearms, while Daryl keeps a watch, bringing up the rear.

"Pretty badass," he mutters when they arrive back at the house. The blood on her arms is starting to feel sticky and she is sure she looks like something from a slasher flick. They pause at the gate and she turns to face him, hesitant about going inside in her current state. If they think she is danger to the group already, what will they think when she turns up looking like Carrie on prom night?

Daryl seems to be thinking the same thing as he inspects her clothes, and then his own. He doesn't seem concerned about it before long before he takes the raw boar from her and starts inside. "They ain't gonna be complainin' when they're all eatin' bacon."

Sighing, she wipes her hands off on her pants and follows him inside.

XXXX

When the others wake, she and Daryl already have the pork on a spit over a low flame in the backyard. Sitting on the steps that lead down to the garden, she picks at the balled fabric on Glenn's borrowed shirt sleeve and watches Carol soaking a bucket of laundry nearby.

"If you're going to be Daryl's official hunting partner, you're both taking over laundry duty," the grey-haired woman gripes under her breath good humouredly. When she looks up, her impish features are settled into a small smile. Casting her eyes away, Jane goes back to watching the flames licking the meat and the fat bubbling on the stones beneath it.

Later, they spend their morning eating, cleaning up, and preparing for the rest of the drive. Rick is confident that if they take shifts they can get to the coast by sundown. She takes her time gathering her things collecting and useful items from around the house: knives, painkillers, matches… When she makes it to the car most of the others are waiting, and Rick looks surprised when she gets into the vehicle next to him. She'd spent the morning avoiding him, partially in embarrassment for what had happened the previous night. But also because she doesn't want to hear him tell her it is okay or whatever else; it had been a long time since everything was okay. Part of her almost craves his hatred or indifference… maybe that would be easier than whatever it is they're doing now.

She watches the scenery flip by her faster than her eyes can focus on it. Curled up on the seat next to Rick, she props her cheek up on her hand, her forehead resting against the window. If they drive along the shoulder the road is bumpy and almost jarring, but they can clear the abandoned cars more easily than trying to weave through them. The constantly jostling and bouncing around keeps setting the baby off, and she can hear the others passing her around in the back, taking turns trying to ease her tantrums. Rick doesn't say anything other than to curse under his breath every now and then.

"Shit," he mutters suddenly, slamming on the breaks and Jane's eyes fly forward to see what he is responding to. The vehicle in front of them had come to a sudden stop and she drops her feet to the floor and braces her hands against the dash as they skid to a stop, just barely touching the truck's bumper. There is commotion in the back and she hears a variety of expletives and clattering objects.

Catching her breath, Jane peers over the car in front of them to see why their convoy had come to such a sudden stop. Rick wordlessly slides out of the vehicle and she moves to follow him but is stilled by a crisp order of, "Wait here," before he slams his door.

It takes her only a second to decide that she won't be complying, and she gets out to join the others who have gathered around the front of the other vehicle. "Ain't no big deal, we'll just switch 'em out. Got a whole' junk yard right here," Daryl mutters, indicating the highway with his chin. Following their line of sight to the two blown out tires on the front of the truck, she cringes. It could take a bit of time to clear change out the two tires.. "Better question is what did y'all hit."

Glenn pulls off his baseball cap with a groan and tosses it onto the hood of the truck. "A freakin' piece of sheet metal or something…"

"Couldn't'a gone around it?" Daryl asks, looking past the tires to where there is a torn up and flattened duct or something on the ground.

"Alright," Rick steps in, holding up his hand. "We'll do a sweep for supplies. Glenn and Daryl, you guys get these tires switched out." He breaks away from the group and heads back towards the van where they can all hear Judith wailing. "Let's get it done fast. Don't wanna get caught out here."

She moves back towards the van too, her eyes on the ground, mindful of the sharp metal that is scattered like razors under her feet. Collecting a bag from the front seat, she looks into the back where Rick is taking Judith from Beth, his hands sliding under the baby's bottom and around the back of her head to cradle her skull. She is stiff in his arms and trembling slightly as he guides her head to rest against his shoulder and takes her blanket.

He looks up to meet her eyes for just a second and for the first time since finding him she sees nothing there. No questions and no answers. Just a placid expression before he turns his attention back to the baby.

She is shaken by the exchange and not sure why. Maybe it is the sudden change in his mood that reminds her of the long winter before finding the prison. Maybe it is something else… maybe it is because she is realizing that she isn't the only one who has changed – become colder.

Stepping back from the van, she steps around the others who have split off to do different tasks. Most are working on removing the sharp metal from the side of the road to clear the pathway before they lose another tire. Moving away from them she goes off on her own to search for supplies in the abandoned cars that are packed tightly together on the highway.

Her bag is getting heavy with food and clothing when she suddenly feels something clamp onto her shoulder. Before she can spin around she is forced to the ground, her mouth covered by a large sticky palm.

"Shh," the voice is thick and low. "Keep your head down." Tyreese. "Walkers."

She knows this story. She has been here before. Before the farm, before everything fell apart with Shane and Rick. The man releases his hold on her and she slips her bag over her shoulder to find her weapon, belted to her waist, and she frees the blade. She is acutely aware of the silence of their group and the growing sound of the herd, but she can't pinpoint where they are coming from. The sounds of rasping and groaning, shuffling dragging feet, seems to surround them.

Tyreese is already moving, his head low, crouched. Following on his heels she realizes they are making their way back towards the van and the rest of group. She just hopes the vehicles are ready for them to start moving again.

They are barely at the edge of the highway when commotion erupts and there are a series of gunshots. The baby starts screaming and she freezes, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Her gut instinct is to run, but they are close enough now that she can see what has set everything off. Her eyes fly to Rick who is yanking the side door of the van open, Judith still in his arms, firing at more than a dozen Walkers who are quickly approaching along the side of the vehicle. She barely has time to react before she is tumbling, shoved forward from behind and then the world slows down until she can't hear anything.

Tyreese is screaming, his dark eyes like coal and filled with shock and agony, his teeth rows of perfect white, exposed as his head tilts back exposing his neck to the Walker who is sinking his teeth into his jugular from behind, sprawled across his back. Quickly pushing herself away from the scene she gets to her feet and freezes, her eyes darting between the empty tree line and back towards Rick who is helping Carl and Beth out of the front seat of the van where they are crushing themselves against the windshield, trying desperately to avoid the long rotting fingers that are reaching them from over the backseat. The van is overrun…

She doesn't have to think twice before she is running towards them as fast as her legs will move. She feels like jelly all over and her heart is pounding against her ribs, making it hard to breathe, if she is breathing at all. It feels like it all happens in an instant, first she is at Rick's side and then in front of him, swinging her blade at the faceless Walkers that look like an endless heaving wall: toneless, silent. She hacks at skulls, necks, long arms that reach for her, ignoring them as soon as they go down at her feet – but there are too many and they keep coming… and then she is being pulled away, fingers gripping her forearm and it takes no more than that to make her run. She is on Beth's heels, Carl still gripping onto her arm and she isn't sure in that moment who is leading who as thin branches whip their cheeks and she closes her eyes to protect them to look through the slits of her eyelids but she doesn't stop.

They eventually start to slow, their endurance failing and she is aware of a strange sound that she has never heard before. Turning her head, she finds that Rick has slowed to a slow job too and she locates the sound, the baby is still crying is uneven bursts as her head jolts dangerously, like a bobble head, rising and falling with force against Rick's chest.

Putting out her hand she finds the wispy, brown curls and the curve of the baby's head. Rick responds immediately to her prompt and slows them all down until they are stopped in the middle of a small clearing, panting for breath. She leans forward, bracing her palms on her knees and gasps for breath while Rick paces around them, soothing the still crying baby.

She glances over at Beth first, who has taken a seat on a collapsed log, her head resting in her hands, her chest heaving – and then to Carl. The boy has already taken up watch, his lowered gun clasped in both his hands, pointed towards the damp earth at his feet. "We can't stay here," he says over his shoulder. "Some of them probably followed us."

"They came outta nowhere," Beth mutters, lifting her head, finally, her eyes wet with tears. "I didn't see Maggie…"

Jane turns away from the young woman's expression and straightens up, bracing her hands on her backs. She had been so focussed on Rick that she hadn't seen anyone else except Tyreese.

"We gotta go," Carl's voice is urgent and Jane looks up to find his line of sight and then the Walkers that are filtering through the trees. Not too many, but enough that they can't take them all. They start moving again, this time at a light jog. She glances over at Rick's hands to find that he has Judith's head safely secured against his chest, holding her firmly to his body.

They move steadily, picking their way over fallen trees and overgrown underbrush until they are spit out onto the rocky shore of a small creek. The rough forest terrain is enough to slow the walkers down that they have some breathing room to regroup and figure out a plan.

"We need to circle back to the highway; the others could still be there…" Beth looks both ways up and down the creek, as though trying to orient herself.

Jane does the same, flicking her teeth over her lower lip, unsure of which way they are supposed to go. They can't go back the way they came, she knows that… they aren't sure how many of the walkers followed them into the woods. Hell, it was probably a death sentence even considering going back to the highway at all considering that most of the hoard was probably still there.

"We can't go back," Rick seems to have read her mind as he checks the chamber of his gun before clipping it closed, Judith balanced on his forearm. "Don't know how many of them are back there, we can't risk it."

"What are you talking about?" Beth's voice rises and the hair on the back of Jane's neck rises – she glances nervously around them, her fingers tightening around her machete. "We have to get back to the group!"

Rick raises his hand in a calming gesture then slowly lowers it, shifting on the balls of his feet. "And we will. But charging back out there is not the way to do it. We've gotta be smart about this. We'll have to circle back and try to get behind the horde so that we can see what we're up against. If we intersect with them we'll be in trouble, and we can't have them comin' up on us again."

Defeated, Beth slips to her knees, her head falling forward. Carl sinks down next to her, his hand resting tentatively on her shoulder. "You don't understand," she whispers, raising her eyes to meet his, visibly trembling. "We need to get back now."

Jane knows what is about to happen before Beth even reaches for the hem of her shirt and begins to pry the material upwards. As though she has developed a sixth sense for misery, she can already see the ragged, torn skin before Beth exposes it, tears slipping down her cheeks. She reaches for Rick before he can process what he is seeing and react, catches his hand before it reaches his mouth, turns him away before his eyes can widen with shock. She stands with his fingers wrapped tightly in her own, her eyes locked onto his for as long as she can bear it before she is forced to look away from the agony that stings her.

Carl is crying with Beth on the rocky ground, his timid hands now replaced by strong, sure ones, holding her with all the strength he has to offer.

"I need to get back to Maggie…" the young woman says, sniffling. "I just need to get back to her."