Disclaimer: I sadly do not own The Walking Dead.
Spoilers: References to Season 1 and 2.
Warning: Rated for themes, language, and violence.


Packages in Zombie Zone, Area S - 29

The first day went by quickly for Daryl. The morning consisted mostly of taking inventory of his supplies and watching over Merle. He had somehow lost two arrows in the past few days, bringing his total down to three. His pantry became more substantial after some donations from Rick, who forced food upon both Daryl and Andrea—Andrea, receiving more than half in condolence for Amy.

Merle's snores were louder than before. Daryl poked his head throughout the early hours of the day into Merle's room to take a peek at his brother, who, aside from his stomach moving up and down, never seemed to budge an inch.

Daryl milled about, sorting the cans by eating preference and which ones could be eaten cold. So Daryl spent a bit of time tallying how much food would be left if he rationed it. Throwing Merle into the equation shortened the days of food left and Daryl knew he would be out hunting soon. Venison was rare in the Zone since most of them had been hunted down in the early days of the walker takeover. Perhaps he could sneak into the Clear and snag a few rabbits. Squirrels might be less obvious. But then again, they had little meat on them.

He was in the middle of weighing the merits of bringing canned corn on his next job when three soft knocks came from the front door. With a great sigh, Daryl remembered he still needed to get a new peephole for his door. After he opened it, he was greeted by an unsure smile on Lori's face. Daryl furrowed his brow.

"Where's Rick?"

Lori shook her head, whispering. "Not here." She briskly stormed into the apartment and took off her bag, placing it on the first stool she saw.

"I came with your pay. For the test." Reaching into her bag, she pulled out something other than food. Daryl was surprised. "Sorry, I know the deal was a few cans of food, but I think I'll be needing them. But I won't be needing these."

Daryl reached out, taking two boxes of condoms from her. "Damn."

"Yeah, I know right. The world has ended and here I am popping out another one." Lori sighed, rubbing her palms on her jeans. She rocked back and forth on her feet, with a look that clearly asked for him to keep quiet about all of this.

"Does he know?" he asked.

Daryl had asked her two questions in one—if Rick knows about Shane, or if either of them knew she was pregnant. Lori shook her head, not affirming nor denying either. She thanked Daryl with a quick handshake before she left his apartment. She closed the door quietly and he didn't hear the floorboards creak as she walked, or probably tiptoed, away.

Resuming his chores, Daryl spent most of the afternoon readying his weapons. If he was to go hunting, his weapons needed to be ready. He cleaned his crossbow piece by piece, dismantling it while looking at the door every so often. He took a leak after he put it back together. He sharpened his blades with his whetstone. He tested their sharpness on an old shirt of Merle's. They cut well.

He was in the middle of picking the gunk off the bottom of his boots when he heard the knock from the door. Daryl got off the floor and moved for the door. He nodded at Sophia, who was holding a pile of folded clothes with outstretched arms. Dangling from her right hand was her doll.

"Hey, kid," he said, leaning against the doorframe. He crossed his arms and raised a brow.

She smiled shyly. "Mr. Dixon."

"You messin' around? Givin' your mother trouble?"

"No, Sir." She shook her head exaggeratedly. "I came here to give you these."

Daryl watched as she gestured for him to take the clothes. He took them, thanking her as he went back inside. What he didn't expect was for her to follow him. He turned around and found her there, standing, arms behind her back, rocking back and forth her toes.

"Need somethin'?"

"Yeah." Sophia nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Daryl shrugged. "But just 'cause you ask me don't mean I'll answer it."

She moved forward and looked up at him with the most expectant look on her face. He remembered how far she came from when he first saw her in the alley all those months ago, pushing a ball with a stick, bored out of her mind. He remembered the way she acted and wondered how they ever came this far.

"Did you hit him?" she asked.

Daryl smiled, telling her, "Sure did. I knocked him out."

And with that, she gave him a satisfied smile, walked to his kitchen, climbed up on a stool, took three cans of food, stuffed them into her doll, and walked out of his apartment.


Lunch was more of the same. Cleaning, waiting, inventory, Merle. It was a repetitious thing but Daryl had no idea what else to do. He ended up napping after he ate half a can of pork and beans. For some reason, he felt that his rest was going to be cut off short. So of course, there came a knock on his door. This time, however, came someone he didn't expect.

"Daryl." Dale greeted him with wide eyes and an annoying beard that was in need of a good trim.

"What do you want?" he snipped, arms crossed.

Dale's eyes moved back and forth, staring at Daryl, assessing his face. "May I?" Dale asked, but Daryl knew it was more of a statement than a question. He sighed and let Dale pass him by. The old man's goofy hat flopped up and down with each step. Daryl rolled his eyes. "How was the Old City?"

"Fucked up. I'm sure Andrea told you all about it." Daryl walked past Dale and made his way into the kitchen, where he was now sorting the cans by size.

"Not exactly," Dale denied. "She hasn't told me much at all."

"Listen, the less you know about it the better off you'll be," he said, shuffling the tins around. He moved a can of sardines forward because it was dented. Merle hasn't eaten yet.

"But don't you wonder? What'll happen when they run out of food?" Daryl shot him a look to see that familiar face, that stupid face of disbelief. "The only way they can go is out, out of the Old City, into the Burbs, and into here."

"You sayin' we're next on the menu?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying! We need to have a backup plan. Get ready to leave just in case. We're trapped inside the Wall!"

"So what? We get to choose where we get eaten? Inside or Zone or out of it? Don't sound like good options to me." Daryl closed the cupboard and faced the man, giving him a grave stare, "Look, we're already on the menu. To walkers. To humans. Hell, I'm sure one of the Clears will go crazy and gnaw on their neighbour the second they hear there's no more food left."

Dale pressed his lips thin. "So, are you in? Will you come with us when we leave?"

"If we get that far, I'll let you know. Why ask me?"

"Because of all you've done to help Amy and Andrea. How you gave Amy business, how you helped find her in the Old City, how you helped them come back to me. It feels weird," Dale babbled, making his way to the front door. "…To be needed. I never thought I would feel like this after my wife, well…"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, weird."

"We're having a vigil, of sorts, more of a get-together really, in a few hours," Dale said, just as Daryl was about to close the door on him.

"For Amy?"

"Please come." Turning to face him, Dale gave him an expectant look. "And if you see Glenn, tell him to come too."


He knocked on the door to enter the gloomy apartment. People were milling about, chatting in hushed tones. In the back corner, he found Rick and Lori, the former with clenched fists, the latter with her palm on her face, shaking her head. Daryl wondered if she told him. To the side he found Shane brooding against a wall, with arms crossed, staring at the couple.

Carl and Sophia were on the couch, whispering into each other, leaning their entire bodies and cupping the other's ears with both palms. When Carl whispered too loudly, he received a hush from his mother, who said that it wasn't appropriate to be making jokes. When Sophia realized she was being watched, she waved at him with a small smile. Carl did too.

Dale was sitting on a chair, with a fond look on his face as he watched over Andrea, who was sitting slumped forward, with her hands clasped tightly together. Daryl could see the tears streaming down her face as she sniffled quietly, ignoring everyone around her. With a quick glance, Dale saw Daryl and nodded, acknowledging Daryl's presence. But a look of confusion spread across his face. Probably wondering where Glenn was.

He saw a Latin family chatting amongst themselves. He saw other people standing in a dark corner of the room. There were a few other people he didn't recognize. Other hunters, he assumed.

He found Carol in the kitchen, warming a small pot of tea over a small tropical-scented candle. She yanked the bag around by the string, letting the flavours diffuse into the water.

"Hey," he said, leaning on the counter. There was a small carton of eggs, with a handwritten note. It appeared to be from Maggie and the rest of her group, offering their condolences. There were different scrawls on the slip of paper, each describing how they knew Amy and how she helped keep them safe when they were in the Old City.

"Hey," Carol replied softly, dragging the bag through the water. It took him a while to realize she was talking to him. "Want some tea?"

"I'm good."

"Can't stop thinking about him, huh?" Carol chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. Daryl scoffed. "I can see it all over your face. You're not here."

"I'm right in front of you," Daryl retorted, gesturing to himself. "You blind?"

"You may be physically present, but you're not really here. You're worried," she prodded.

He crossed his arms and took a quick look at Rick and Lori, at Carl and Sophia, and at Dale and Andrea. Suddenly feeling winded, Daryl swung his view back to the pot, which began to simmer lightly above the candle.

"Do you know how?"

"Amy?" she asked, to make sure. Daryl nodded. "They were packing up her belongings when it happened. A bunch of walkers came their way. She got bit in the arm. Glenn had his back turned on them when he heard her scream. He was looking at some quiz in a magazine. He killed a few and managed to drag her away with Michonne's help. She— she turned shortly after."

"Did he—"

"They burned her after. She told them that's what she wanted. That's what Glenn told me anyway."

"Doesn't make sense," Daryl grumbled. "The Helm's in a clearing. Should've saw them comin' from miles away."

Carol looked up from the pot. "Think he lied?"

"Think he made a story up. To lessen the blow. Didn't tell me that but he didn't tell me much at all. No idea what he told her though," he gestured to Andrea. "Wouldn't talk to me about it."

"It's hard, when you lose someone you care about."

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, following Carol's hand as it moved back and forth. When she was done, she poured out a shot's worth of tea into a small mug and passed it to him. He took it, grumbling at how Glenn was stupid for going off on his own on another run, not letting anyone go with him. He was about to ask her where Michonne was. Since she was Amy's protector in the Old City, he assumed she would be here. But Carol cut him off before he even opened his mouth.

"Glenn. He lost two people in three days. I don't think he can lose another without feeling like he's lost everything."


After stumbling a long day searching for game and not finding any—aside from a half-eaten hare that he didn't think was wise to touch—he sliced a small incision to the wall opposite the foot of his bed. Tallies hung from the wall, three in all, with another that was fresh just joining them. With a great sigh, Daryl slumped his shoulders, sliding his bow's strap down his arm. He lowered it carefully to the ground beside his bed. He didn't bother getting out of his clothes before he crashed onto the crappy mattress.

Daryl jolted awake when he felt a dull pain in his side. Grumbling, Daryl clenched his fists and opened his eyes to find his brother's foot nudging his torso. "The hell do you want?" he mumbled, giving the stink eye to Merle.

With a smug grin, Merle chuckled. "Get up, Princess. Big brother Merle's gonna teach you how to hunt crazies."

Sitting up on the bed, Daryl blinked repeatedly. He rubbed the gunk out of his eye and found Merle's hand in front of his face. Merle made a joke about there being no need to cry so Daryl swatted the dirty palm away. Daryl could still see the marks on Merle's wrist. He had asked Merle who did it but Merle didn't know. "Some cop," was the best Merle could come up with at the time. The more Daryl asked, the less Merle seemed to remember.

Hunting crazies seemed to be the same thing as hunting walkers. Merle gave Daryl tips disguised as mocks and jeers at his character. Daryl rolled his eyes, wondering how things could remain so domestic. They killed a bunch of walkers together, Merle slashing many with a large buck knife. He didn't want to waste any of his rifle ammo when he could save them for real crazies.

They ate dinner together that night. Their chairs were pulled up to the counter, where the red cap sat, out in the open, not shoved in some drawer. Merle spent most of his time talking about trying to console Andrea. Make her feel better. "If you know what I mean," he had said.

When they finished, Merle returned to his room, snickering to himself that slicking up is a new sensation. Daryl sat, stroking the red hat, eyes intently on it as if it was going to disappear, ears open, listening for that familiar knock on the door, that familiar call.

But it never came.

Daryl trudged, back to his room, and crashed onto his mattress once more. He closed his eyes but could not fall or will himself asleep. He rolled on the bed, covering his face and ears with his thin pillow, trying to block out the haughty moans coming from the next room over.


Someone knocked on the door, three knocks in a row. Recognizing the rhythm, that familiar knock, Daryl shot straight up. He fixed his shirt, kicking empty cans to the sides of the apartment, moving them out of view. He rifled his hair with his fingers, mussing it up, making it look neat yet messy. He wiped his cheeks, taking in deep breaths, and slowly brought his hand to the knob.

Daryl wasn't surprised to see that it wasn't Glenn on the other side.

Rick stood in the hallway with an oversized bag with the word sheriff stitched on both sides. A few rifles were sticking out one side. Although he seemed stoic, Daryl could tell the man was upset. He nodded, asking Rick what was up. Rick explained that since Amy passed, Lori ended up taking over her stall, that she has jobs—new and old— if Daryl was interested. The Hunter's Helm apparently set up shop in the first building on the main level, each stall sharing apartments with the others, the ones that had more business and were able to pay larger dues got their own apartment. Daryl said he would check it out. He did, leaving his apartment shortly.

It was interesting, to say the least. Zombie Zone Express had the first apartment on the first floor. There were guards at the front door. He entered the space to find people milling about. Each room had been sectioned off, some for storage that he wasn't allowed to access, some for personal use. The living room had been sectioned off and seemed to be the main place to request supplies. Those in the kitchen made food and sold it for a profit.

He found Jacqui, who gave him a wave and a warm smile. He felt compelled to greet her so he walked up to her and asked how she was doing. Her smile melted, becoming weaker at the question. Daryl bit his lip, realizing what he had done—reminded her of Jim.

She spoke after exhaling one long breath. "I don't know. How about you?"

"No idea."

"It's weird. To be alone." She rambled with jaded eyes. "One can only go so long just surviving."

"Y-yeah." Daryl, not knowing what else to say, left. He wished her luck and said he'd come by for a job later, and insisted that he would check up on her sometime, that he'd return, that' he'd come back for her.

"Jim said that too."

"I'll come back. I promise," Daryl muttered. That's when it flashed in his mind, that's when he remembered: so did Glenn.

With tears welling in her eyes, she retorted by telling to avoid making promises he couldn't keep.