A/N: not too much of a change...yet.


Rick was trying to reason with Hershel. It wasn't going well, but at least he was trying something. I didn't pay much attention to the group anymore, not after they separated themselves from me, not after Daryl…

Daryl. Damn Daryl. Damn him to the deepest depths of hell.

I often went out on walks, not near the woods, but in the fields where I could easily see a walker coming just in case. The labor was minimal, mainly because I let myself go. I hadn't bathed, I ate only enough to stave off hunger, I hardly slept…and when I did sleep, my dreams were plagued with Daryl. It began the same every time. Nolan was stroking my face, and the second I began to wonder how he was still alive, he would morph into Daryl, who would go from gently touching my cheek to kissing me with a fiery passion. I would wake with my knees weakened and goosebumps over my skin.

Carol came to me once, bringing me some food, but when I didn't speak to her, she left crying. She never returned, mainly because when Shane found out he screamed at her so loudly that even I could hear him.

It was pretty clear that Hershel wasn't going to let us stay. The only questions now were, when would he make us leave? Would Maggie go with us, seeing as she'd connected with Glenn? Would Hershel start loading up his barn again, filling it up with live walkers, after we'd left?

I still remembered my last conversations with the group after my so-called exile. They'd been digging graves for the dead walkers—not Shane, he couldn't be bothered to dirty his hands for these un-people—Lori and Daryl and Glenn.

I'd looked over the bodies once, twice, saw my father, saw little Sophia, and stepped up to Lori. "Got an extra shovel?"

She'd stopped digging to stare at me for a little while.

"If you don't have one, I can take over when someone needs a break."

Wordlessly, Lori handed me hers, and when I took it, she covered my hand. Her gaze was fierce when she responded slowly, "I am so sorry about what happened to you."

Then she dropped her hand and walked up to the house. Glenn had been conversational, claiming he didn't believe I could have killed my father in cold blood.

"I believe you," he said. "He must've deserved it."

"It doesn't matter if you believe me, if anyone believes me." I bit back my sarcastic tone. "It's the truth."

He'd nodded like he understood, but could he? Could he really?

Even Daryl hadn't understood. He had pretended, pretended damn convincingly, but in the end he hadn't.

If he had, he wouldn't have made this separation so painful for me.

He was doing it on purpose, of that I was sure. He purposely put himself in places where he knew I'd be. There were four wells on the premises with drinkable water—yet, when I went to draw some up, going to the farthest well for a reason, he was there. He didn't speak to me, didn't look at me, not ever, but he was always there.

Look at me, he was saying. I'm doing damn fine without you. I can still function without you. Ha ha.

I tried to come up with a plan for my departure from the group soon after that moment at the well. I was still trying now as I sat in my tent, staring at the pad of notebook paper I'd secured from Lori. I was trying to be strategic about this, drawing from my vast knowledge of television and movies, but all I could think of was old M*A*S*H reruns and the movie version of The A-Team. Neither of those really helped me in this situation. At all.

It was almost nighttime. I'd lose the light soon. I glanced up from the notepad and debated building a fire. The pile of wood Daryl had cut for me—had it really been only two days ago?—lay unused at the edges of my little camp. No. I would go to bed with the sun. I didn't need a fire.

The notepad currently had a list written on it. It was my list of possibilities, of places to go, places to escape to. I'd started out with a little over two dozen, but as I began running the names through my mind and eliminating places that were probably too far gone—if Atlanta was any indication, a city or suburban area was out of the question—the list was rapidly shrinking. I was down to about five now. The more I thought, the more it occurred to me that despite the list starting at two dozen, only two options were really plausible.

Option 1

I remembered Nathaniel once, telling me about a lake house his parents owned down by Old Hell Lake. Seeing as they were dead now, and the house was pretty far off the beaten path, the house was a pretty good option. He'd told me all about it, where it was, how we'd get there, and now that I thought about it, I realized he'd been planning on taking me away from my father once we got close enough to the lake house. He'd been planning on us stealing away in the middle of the night, living at the lake house together. The realization made my chest ache, but I pushed it away. Not now.

Option 1: Lake House

Option 2

I knew if I traveled to the coast that there were islands, barely populated islands, that were probably safe. On the Georgia coast alone, I knew, there were three islands—Sapelo, Cumberland, and Wassaw—that were only accessible by boat or plane, and therefore isolated. Walkers couldn't run a boat or a plane, so if I went to one of those islands, I'd have to deal with the walkers already there, but once they were gone I'd never have to worry about walkers again. I'd been to Sapelo only once before, on a trip with my mom and Grant when Mom was still healthy, and I'd seen the little community of Hog Hammock, with its small general store and two little churches—

Option 2: Sapelo Island

I dug out the map I'd borrowed from Hershel's house—alright, I stole it, but Rick borrowed it so often nowadays that Hershel wouldn't even notice it was gone—and used my pencil to mark the general location of where the farm was.

Let's see, Old Hell Lake…Sapelo Island…

Having then marked off those places as well, I paused for a moment. Daryl had told me about Rick and the group going toward Fort Benning. After a second's hesitation, I marked the fort too and then sat back to observe.

My heart leapt and fell at the same time.

The lake house was literally on the way to Sapelo Island. It was practically perfect. I could stop by the lake house, see how safe it was, and if it wasn't, head right on past to the island. Or, even if the lake house was safe, I could stay there for a while and then I'd have a secondary location that wasn't more than a few days' travel away.

The downside?

Fort Brenning was on the opposite side of the state. When we left Hershel's farm, it would mean going in the completely opposite direction as the group. I'd never see any of them again. I'd be really, truly alone, on my own, no Daryl to save me, no nobody. Was that what I wanted?

And, at the same time, had they really given me much choice?

I packed up the map and shoved it in the golf bag I was still using. We were closer to Fort Brenning than we were to Old Hell Lake. If I wanted to survive, I'd have to plan very, very carefully, because I was going to be alone for a long time before I came anywhere close to a possible safe haven.


I didn't know if it was the lack of sex or just the lack of general human interaction, but I was more high strung than ever. Rick had called me over to join them, now on the third day of my exile, as he addressed the group.

My leg was bouncing almost uncontrollably as I took the only available space on the ground next to Daryl—it was like he'd planned it, just to be fucking cruel, Daryl wouldn't do that, you know this hurts him too—and I was more short-tempered than I had been in a while.

"Hershel has asked us," he began, licking his lips, "to leave."

Nobody spoke. Apparently they'd all resigned themselves to this fact. Except for—

"That's horseshit," said Shane. "Where are we gonna go?"

I snorted rather loudly. "Funny how you're concerned about that now, didn't seem to occur to you when you were gunning down Hershel's friends and family—" I had to stop when Daryl elbowed me in the stomach rather harshly.

"Fort Brenning—"

"Fort Brenning was your idea, Rick, and it's brought us nothing but trouble," Shane snapped. He stood, getting angry again in his classic unstable way, and then he whirled on me, pointing his finger with the expression of a madman. "And what 'bout our resident murdering bitch, huh? You gonna tag along with us, riding on our backs like a fuckin' parasite?"

"Shane, that's not fair," started Lori weakly. Everyone was so tired of dealing with him and his toddler-like temper tantrums, it seemed, that it was easier just to nod their heads and say, Yes, Shane, okay, Shane, whatever you say, Shane.

"No, no, it's okay," I said to her. "Murdering Bitch is a cute nickname. I love it." I glared at him. "To answer your question, King of the Assholes, I have a plan to go my own way when it's time to leave the farm. When's Hershel kicking us out?"

Everyone was staring at me, slack-jawed. Rick recovered the quickest, answering me with a stammering, "Uh, he said he'd give us a little time to rest and restock—"

"You're leaving?" asked Carol. "Is this because we were so cruel to you? Jane, I'm sorry, you must know, I never meant—"

"That's not what's important, Carol," I said, as gently as I could. "I'm not going to be a part of this group. I have other places I can go."

"Where?" she furrowed her brow. "Were you heading somewhere before—"

She stopped. Before. When Owen and Nolan and Grant and I were our own group. When Owen found those few campers after Noland and Grant…

"We hadn't been going anywhere specific," I answered. "There's a house that Nolan told me about, isolated by a lake, and it should be safe…"

Daryl stood up, leaving the group without so much as a word. I followed him with my eyes, so focused on his reaction that I didn't even realize my sentence had been trailing off. If anyone noticed, they had the courtesy not to say anything. Except, with Shane, I was beginning to notice a trend…

"Good fuckin' riddance," he said. "Don't think you're stayin' just 'cause you got a thing for Daryl—"

I'd sprung to my feet even before he was finished with his sentence. Rick, Carol, and Lori all seemed about to jump to my defense—did they all know?—but I beat them to it. "You are just as much of a bastard as my father. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Comparin' me to him, huh?" he snapped, immediately getting in my face. "You gonna get rid of me too, like you did to him?"

His shoulder bumped mine, and I pushed him. "At this rate, jerkoff, people would thank me for killing you. How the fuck do you contribute, huh? It's your fault everyone has to leave! You couldn't just leave well enough alone!"

"It was a barn fulla walkers!"

"Who gives a shit? They were locked up before you went around like a lunatic breaking the locks!"

It wasn't clear who threw the first punch. It was probably him, but this time, I punched back. He was bigger than me, burlier than me, but I was faster. I'd grown up having to be fast, and I had another trick up my sleeve—this wasn't my first time having a larger man take a swing at me.

I was able to duck under one of his swings, getting an uppercut to his jaw. Lori was shouting at Shane to get off of me, Rick was heading toward us, but for now, I was winning. Then Shane got a hold of my shoulders, throwing me against a tree so that the wind rushed from my lungs. I wasn't against the tree long—my back hit the ground next, and Shane was on top, making good work of my face with his fists. There were stabs of pain, but mostly I felt frustration and anger, flowing out of my fingertips, and I jabbed him swiftly in the solar plexus. He doubled over, and I pushed him off of me, my instincts directing me to get as far away from him as I could, recover, and then go back in.

"Don't you run away from me," he growled, grabbing my jeans by the belt loops and pulling me back. I clawed at him before I fumbled my hand into a fist. There was the sound of ripping fabric.

"For Christ's sake, Shane, get off of her!" Rick was behind the other man, holding him back by the waist.

"No!" Shane threw Rick off, the two tussling for a little bit. "She asked for it! She—"

"This isn't helping, Shane!" Lori screeched.

Carol's arms were around me from behind, shielding me in a maternal manner, and when Shane looked at me with eyes full of bloodlust, I scrambled back in sudden fear. He would kill me if he had the chance.

Rick had Shane's arms locked behind his back while Shane panted like an animal, glaring at me, when a blur appeared in the corner of my vision. That blur appeared in front of Shane, and then Shane's head suddenly flew back, and he slumped slightly in Rick's grip.

Daryl.

"Don't ever fuckin' touch her again," he growled in a low voice.

"She—"

"I don't care if she cuts off your balls and puts them in a jar, you don't fuckin' touch her."

Daryl looked at me, his eyes meeting mine, and I felt myself holding my breath. Was I doing this all for his attention? Was that why I was acting out? So he'd have no choice but to see me? To notice that hey, I'm still here?

"Jane."

My breath released in a whoosh. Carol was still holding me, shielding me, but her grip relaxed slightly. "Daryl."

"What'd you do that for?" His gaze lingered on my lip, which I could tell was split, and at the bruise that was probably blossoming on my already-tender cheek—from the last time Shane hit me, ironically.

"I—" I don't know. He deserved it.

"I thought you weren't gonna do anything stupid, Jane."

"I never promised that."

"No." His gaze hardened and my arm lifted halfway as if to reach out for him. "Guess you didn't. This is the last time, Jane."

"Last time?" came Carol's voice in my ear. "Last time for what?"

Last time.

"You won't always have him protectin' you, bitch," snarled Shane.

He was right. Because this was the last time. This was the last time Daryl would ever do anything for me again.

No.

Yes. You've really fucked up, Jane. Congratulations.


A/N: alright, so i really really like this chapter. xD review please!