Author's Note:

I've been suffering from terrible writer's block, and the best way I've found to get out of it is to write shorter, more frequent chapters. My apologies if this bothers anybody.

OOO

He was wrong.

That became apparent to him as time went on, and more and more people gathered in the campsite.

He didn't think he had the manpower, he'd said. But they were here.

Andrea was there, Dale, Lori, Glenn, and T-Dogg, Carol and the children. Rick had returned with Renee, Bastian, and Guillaume, Candy with the black woman, Maryann, Dereon, the man he'd met in the woods, and the pilot, Murphy. They'd brought soldiers with them, men he had not met, and the blonde, Dasha. People had drifted in from every part of the camp from curiosity about the gathering, and now all stood, looking to him.

"I…I…" He looked to Rick, felt deeply ashamed at the anxiety emblazoned upon his face.

Rick shook his head slowly.

"This is your show, Daryl."

He swallowed, ground his teeth together, took another breath.

"We don't have much time," he started, felt well on his way to a heart attack. "We need to find out what is wrong with her… what is wrong with Aleda… She doesn't have much time. He's removing the respirator tomorrow."

"What!?" the black woman nearly screamed, and Donovan became the second man nearly twice her size Daryl had seen cower from her. "You're doing what? Has this shit gone to your head, David? You think you've got the power over life and death, you think you get to make that decision?"

He found that he had no way out as the soldiers bunched around him, Maryann stalking toward him.

"I told you… Hard decisions had to be made. You said you weren't going to be the one to make them." Donovan stuttered.

"I said I wasn't going to make them. If its gas you're worried about, I'll go siphon it myself."

"Morrison," he began.

"Fuck Morrison! He's already tried to kill her once, you're gonna let him finish the job?"

"There's no proof," he tried again.

"I saw it! With my own fucking eyes, that isn't proof enough for you?"

"You're biased. Everyone knows how you feel about him. It would never stand up in a tribunal—"

"Fuck a tribunal! He should have been killed with his brother! I'm biased, because I know what a sick son of a bitch he is, him and his whole fucking family? If it wasn't for him, she'd never be in this situation. He put his shoulder in her back, and he pushed her off of that roof. I saw it. She trusted you, and you give up on her like this? After all she's done for you?"

"What she's done for all of us," Daryl spoke up. "We all owe her for what she's done. It's time we did something for her. He's got books in there, that lists things… things that could be wrong with her. I can't look through all of them on my own. She doesn't have that kind of time. She's getting weaker. She's shutting down. I've been there, every day, watching her die. She needs our help. I need your help."

They murmured amongst themselves, looked between each other. He saw nodding heads, heard 'Yeah's from the crowd, growing louder.

A soldier grabbed a handful of Donovan's shirt, sent him stumbling forward.

"Grab a book, David," Maryann spat. "You're not getting any sleep tonight."