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Shit.

Oh holy shit.

Lori is now gaping at me wide-eyed, horror and hatred all filling her face in one swift motion.

If Carl never came home, then who's to say that he's still alive?

He was with me last. I should have made sure he got home safely. He wouldn't know what to do. A walker he could handle, but those dogs? Those huge, angry, hungry dogs that are running rampant around the estate? There's nowhere to hide, and who knows how far away he could be from the house at this point. Something cold and heavy hits my chest with painful impact. It might be guilt, or fear, but I can't tear myself from Lori's eyes for long enough to work it out.

Rick's head falls to the ground, and his arms seem to jerk wildly, a small groan escaping his lips. It's almost as if he's about to lose control completely.

Air rushes in and out of Lori's lips, and she begins to sound like she's drowing. "My son is out there?! Oh god, what if-" Her voice comes out high, and slightly breathless.

At hearing her, Rick snaps back into himself, and straightens his back to face her. His hand flies gently to her arm. "Lori, it's okay. We'll find him."

"But-"

"We'll find him," he says again, this time more firmly. They both look to each other in a private gaze. As I watch, my stomach seems to tighten into a hard ache. What if we find him in pieces? Or worse, what if we don't find him at all?

Daryl doesn't let the thickening silence in the room stop him, as he turns towards me and loads a new arrow into the crossbow. "Alright, Lyla and I will make a round, pick up the strays and clear some mutts. If anyone comes back, keep 'em here."

At the mention of my name, everything seems to come back to me. I look over to him, and he's staring back at me, his eyes fixed on mine. Probably wants to make sure I'm still in the land of the living.

Rick's head turns towards Lori and Shane for a brief moment of hesitation, but when he turns, his shoulders are straightened, and his hand is reaching into his belt to pull out his handgun. "I'm comin'. You need more firepower."

Shane shifts in the chair, and pushes himself up onto his feet. "I'm goin'," he says, but his knee gives way and he keels over into the side of the chair. Lori turns and reaches a shaking hand to his shoulder.

"You're hurt, you have to stay," she demands, her voice finding it's way back to her. "We'll wait for the others."

"You expect me to just sit here?"

"That's exactly what I expect you to do," she snaps, firmly pushing him back down into his seat.

"Okay," I breath, forcing my heart to slow to a calmer pace. "Last we saw, Andrea, Shane and Glenn were by the garage." I look over to Shane, who's watching me with his head hung low. "You're here, and I saw you and Andrea run down different paths. Did you see Glenn?"

After a moment of thought, he shakes his head slowly. "I turned around to look for someone, but you'd all gone. Got chased by a mutt."

Daryl turns his head to Rick. The thought quickly ripples through my mind that he never addresses Shane. Just Rick. "I think I saw Glenn duck down the road towards the gates."

"You didn't follow him?"

"No, I went for her," he replies sharply, motioning towards me with the end of an arrow.

Rick looks towards me, lifting his eyes up and down. "Neither of you are hurt? Bit?"

"No," I reply quickly.

"We're losin' daylight," Daryl interjects, moving towards the front door. "Gotta move if we wanna have the upper hand against those hounds..." He leans forward and peaks out the curtain slowly, and I watch his eyes swiftly focus across the front. "We're clear for now."

"Let's go." Rick grabs his jacket hanging from the wall, and after placing it on himself tightly, he turns to Lori and sends her one last calming gaze. "We'll find him. And the others."

4 Dogs.

7 People.

The statistics are running through a loop in my head, getting louder and louder each time. It seems impossible.

The air feels colder as we run through the estate, seemingly cutting against my skin.

"T-Dog?" Daryl asks, his voice just above a whisper as we duck behind a car. I'm just behind him, ready to reach out and yank him back if he plans on jumping out again.

Rick shakes his head. "Last I saw he was by the RV. Still tryin' to fix those stupid brakes."

I look towards his paling face. "I can head out there, see if he's stayed put."

"Nuh-uh, no way." Daryl's voice is sharp and cutting. "We ain't splittin' up. Gonna be dark soon."

I look towards him, confusion lacing my features. He's a hunter, he knows which is the better option for a search party. "We'll cover more ground. Might find people quicker."

He suddenly turns on his heel, facing me just inches away. "Either that or we'll lose more."

Annoyance and impatience begins to bubble inside me. Why is he wasting time arguing? We've worked together just fine on a hunt, but he chooses now to disagree? I try and mustle up a glare to match his.

"Fine. We'll split up now, then after the sun has gone down, we'll meet back up. Better?" My voice comes out rough and bitter, enough to make him look back at me with a mild face of contempt.

"Okay, enough!" Rick hisses, his face contorting into anger. "Now's not the time to disagree with our methods. Daryl, how do we do this?"

Daryl looks behind my shoulder towards Rick for a few beats, before lowering his face back down to mine. I desperately want to go and search already. The guilt of Carl is already weighing me down, and the impact of what a violent death would do to the group is nothing I exactly want to think about. He knows which way is more effective.

"The minute the sun goes down, we meet by that house there-" He turns and points to one of the far houses. "-The one with the sundial." When he turns back, his eyes are cold and narrowed. "I'll be there for ten minutes, and if you ain't back, then you're dead."

Rick nods, and before anyone can say anything else, he's taking a run in the other direction, out of our eyes and past a house. I stand and cast Daryl a brisk look of thanks. He didn't undermine me in front of Rick.

"Don't get distracted," he says, an eyebrow elevated at me.

After a beat of silence, I turn around and speak just loud enough for him to hear my mutter. "Just be at the sundial, Dixon."

It's about half an hour after we've split up that I begin to think that there's a very real possiblity that I might never see Daryl or Rick again.

For some reason, that really bothers me. More so than it normally would. I try and ignore the fact that it's Daryl that worries me the most.

It's the same thought that has crossed my mind several times over the past few days. He's saved my ass multiple times, and I owe him. He interests me, pisses me off, and makes everything seem a little lighter all at the same time. When he ran into the road and counted on me to shoot that mutt, I panicked that I wouldn't be able to. He thinks we have a good dynamic, and all I want to do is survive by any means necessary.

This is what I was afraid of. I make a point of never getting too attatched to any group I come across, especially one person. But Daryl is starting to seem less and less like someone I've bumped into, and more like a someone that I need. A friend, a partner to have my back, something that I've never had in my life.

He certainly seems different to how he was when I met him. Although it feels ridiculous to think that he might feel the same way, the looks he gives and the things he does makes him appear like a changed person. There's more to him than what meets the eye.

In sudden realisation of the thoughts that have been running through my mind, I snap myself out of it. I have to focus on the task at hand.

No use in getting all fussed in something that won't be here in a week at the most.

When I reach the Winnebago, I'm disappointed to find that it's empty. After searching it inside and out, I hope that maybe someone will be nearby. "T-Dog?" I ask aloud, just above a whisper. "...Anyone here?"

The silence is eerie, and I look towards the sky to see the last trickles of the sun streaming over the rooftops. It'll be dark soon, and I'll need to be at the meet up spot. Dammit.

Maybe T-Dog went back to the house. Or the place where he's been sleeping. Still, the fact that the RV is as empty as anything is a little unnerving.

I turn to leave the area, but something echos in the distance that I can't place. My fingers grip tighter around my gun, and I listen out.

I can't quite make out what the sound is until it gets louder.

Feet. Paws. Pounding against the pavement.

Someone yells something. I can't hear the words, but the voice sounds familiar.

"Help! Help- AH!"

Dale.

My legs are moving before my head can figure everything out, and soon, I'm sprinting down the path.

If I can get to him in time, then I can help. Maybe he knows where everyone else is. Dale probably can't defend himself on his own.

He had no idea about the dogs, and is probably being chased now.

When the thought clicks, I run around the corner before I can stop myself, I let out a small yell of horror. "Dale!"

The ground skids to a stop below me as I almost collapse at the sight.

Dale is running- well, half running. He's out of breath and almost tripping over himself. Just feet behind him, a large, black and grey hound is sprinting after him, creating the same ferocious growling sound that had come from the others.

The instinct is immediate. My hand flies up, and my fingers tremble as I try and flick back the safety. My eyes fall down to the gun as a furious hiss escapes my lips.

The pained scream ripples through the air and makes my spine freeze.

There's also the sound of something else. I hate to think of it, but it almost sounds like silk tearing.

When I look up, Dale is now on the ground, the nose of a dog buried deep, too deep, into his stomach. His claws are scratching furiously against his chest, and blood pours from the torn skin, seeping onto the ground in a horrific image. Dale is screaming now, but it can barely be heard over the verocious growling and knawing of the mutt on top of him.

"Dale, no!" I yelp, not able to hold back the horror in my voice. I begin to run, fearless against the fact that the creature might turn on me. I swing up my arm and fire a shot, then another, straight into the mutt's chest. It jerks and whimpers, falling to the ground beside Dale in a bloody heap.

When I get my way to Dale, I drop to the ground and cast my eyes over the gaping wound. Something red and thick spills through the fabric of his shirt, and I don't think that it's purely blood. "Hey!" I snap my fingers in front of his face, which is pale and pained. His eyes frantically search the air until they meet mine.

"Dale! Talk to me!" I say over the sounds of his moans and quiet cries. The wound is too deep for me to fix. For anyone to fix. Half of his stomach is ripped to pieces. "Oh god, oh shit..."

"H-Hel-" He whines, breaking off into an anguished cry.

What do I say? How can I make this better?

A weight hits the ground beside me, and I spin around, prepared to rip the head off whatever dares come near us at this point. It's only Daryl, skidding to the ground beside me, and placing his crossbow down on the dirt. His eyes frantically search Dale's mangled body. "What happened?"

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a small gasp of air. The smell of blood is stinging my nostrils, and the only thought that I can process apart from the fact that Dale is bleeding out right in front of us is the fact that someone else might be in this exact position. Maybe more than one.

A pair of hands grab at my shoulder, and I look around to see Daryl watching me with narrow eyes. "Lyla! Keep it together, girl." His fingers dig harshly into my shoulder, and I shrug him away, nodding my head.

"That thing," I mutter, nodding my head towards the still body of the dog. "Caught up to him."

"Dale, you hear me?" Daryl asks. Dale doesn't respond, just continuing the pattern of movement, pain, and the gasping out.

"We can't take him back to the house," I breath. "They'd smell the blood trail."

"Ain't nothin' to stop it now," Daryl mutters under his breath, gently running his hand across the stomach wound. Dale squirms and groans under his touch. He looks towards me past his shoulder. "You get what needs ta' be done, right?"

I look down into Dale's contorted face. His breathing is fast and shallow, and his hands are shaking unlike anything I've ever seen. Tears are beginning to brim in the corners of his eyes from the pain. Suddenly, his torso jerks upwards, and both Daryl and I reach forward to hold his shoulders down. Something unspoken crosses between us as Dale cries out.

The thought suddenly occurs that either we end this now, or Dale will come back.

In the distance, a howl echoes through the air. Daryl and I look upwards to the sky, which is now a dark blue and dotted with grey clouds that shadows over the moon. Rick will be at the meeting spot now, with or without the others. I look towards Daryl, who's staring down at the trembling body with a hard stare, seemingly lost in a thought. "He's dying," I say at an attempt to pull him back into the present.

He lets his eyes flick towards Dale's face then, and the two watch each other for a few seconds. A cold wind rushes through the air as Daryl begins to move. He reaches behind him, and pulls out his gun.

There's a moment of panic inside me. I reach out and place my hand around the barrel of the gun. Daryl and Dale must have known each other for far longer than I have known either of them. He shouldn't have to have that weight on his shoulders. "Wait, you don't have to do that."

Without bringing his gaze back from Dale, Daryl gently reaches up and pushes my hand away. I can feel the warm blood slipping from his hand to mine. "I'll do it." His voice is quietly dark.

He pauses for a moment, and I realise that he's waiting for me to leave. I look down towards Dale, who's staring at me now, his eyes wide and fearful. As I bring myself up from my knees, I reach down and squeeze his arm softly. There's no goodbye I can muster. I've seen people die before, and as bitter as it sounds, Dale is just another mark on the wall. A nice man, and probably someone I'll remember the name of in a few months from now.

I'll definitely remember this night.

Grabbing my gun once more, I stand up and take a few steps back, turning away from the both of them. I glance into the darkness ahead, thinking of how scared the others must be. These poor, lost people that have no idea what has just happened. Who they are about to lose forever.

The sound of a safety being pulled back clicks into the night, and behind me, I just hear the quiet mumble.

"...Sorry, brother."

A second later, the sound of gunfire rings out.

Dale's quiet whimpers go quiet.

I don't turn around just yet, and I wait to hear something else. Daryl speaking, maybe. However, he says nothing as he stands, wipes his bloody hand against his shirt, and walks towards me.

There's nothing to say. I can't comfort Daryl. I don't even know if he's hurting or something. They weren't family, and Daryl doesn't seem to give a rat's ass about anyone that doesn't personally effect him. I glance towards his face out of the corner of my eye, and see that he remains cold and calm as ever.

"Can't leave his body. It might get..." Eaten? The thought is sickening. It's obvious that it crosses Daryl's mind too by the way he reaches up and rubs his hand slowly across his face. "...You know."

"They'll wanna bury him," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "We bury our people."

I nod in silence.

How many graves are going to have to be dug by morning?

Beside me, Daryl turns and walks back towards Dale. I follow him, and when I cast my eyes down onto the pale face, blood spills from between the clouded eyes.

Without warning, it floods back to me.

It must have been a couple of months before I joined this particular crew, I was making my way around for a few days with a group I met just outside the city. A nice bunch of people, if not a little lacking in survival knowledge. One of the worst groups I'd seen. There was one girl in particular, must have been about 15 at the most. If I remember correctly, I think her name was Claire. Maybe Clarissa. Either way, she had the brightest green eyes I ever saw, and was just about the happiest person you could find at the end of the world.

Anyway, she was moving along with this group with her stepmother and father. Nice enough people, but they were sticking to the whole 'things will get better' theory, which of course, is complete bullshit. I remember the day quite clearly. A couple of the group and I went for a supply run, including the father. I don't wanna get into the details of it, but at the end of the day, three out of five who had gone came back to the camp. I was one of them, and the father was the other. Only not all of him made it back. It was just about half of him. If that.

I had to watch as they treated him and made him drink and eat. Fuck, he was in so much pain. They were idiots, trying to salvage hope from something that couldn't be saved. For hours, they made him live through his agonising last moments. The young girl, his daughter, was begging them to put him out of his misery.

Nobody could do it. I said I would, but they warned me not to go near him.

When this guy finally died, I swear, his daughter had lost every single one of her smiles.

She had to watch him drown in blood and fear, and there was nothing anybody would do about it. I don't know what happened to her; I left a few days after. All I know is that she might have had a little something left inside her if her father had gone quickly and with some peace.

I look at Daryl, who's gently lifting Dale's legs from the ground, with care and precision. He'd just done what nobody else at that old camp had the nerve to do. A hundred things hit me at once, but respect is the one that sticks. This redneck, the guy who was pissed at me the first time we met, cares about who he's with. Even if he doesn't want to.

Even if he doesn't know it.

I quickly make my way over, and lift Dale's arms. When we both have him lifted from the ground, Daryl looks up at me. His piercing eyes are observant, watching me as we begin to move. Dale's body feels limp and like a heavy weight. We make our way towards the nearest house, and when we finally get there, Daryl opens the door and we move in.

We place him gently on the floor, and Daryl is the only one of us that looks back as we leave, shutting the door behind us.

When we walk across the yard, there's a thick tension in the air. Daryl turns his head a little to survey me, and I keep my eyes dead ahead, only looking towards him when we reach the road. I'm about to ask him what we do next, but there's something odd in his eyes that makes me go quiet. His hands are fisted weakly, and his sharp eyes are moving across my face.

He opens his mouth to speak, but a shrill shriek from the distance cuts between the both of us.

"Help! Someone!"

We both snap into instinct. We both run into the road, weapons at the ready, scanning the darkness for signs of movement. "Who is that?" I ask, the voice sounding too panicked and rushed for me to indentify.

"Help!"

Daryl's confused expression switches in a heartbeat. He glances towards me and gestures to the East, already beginning to run towards the cries.

"Carol."