On Christmas Eve, Rick, Rosita, and Bob stopped at the scene of the slaughter on their way to Terminus. They burned the bodies of Franco and Big Tiny, dug through the pockets of the slain bandits, and traced them back to their camp. It wasn't hard to do, because along the way, the bandits had left graffiti that read WOLVES NOT FAR. They were, Rosita said, "marking their territory like pissing dogs." The camp was deserted, and after investigating the evidence, Rick judged that up to six Wolves had remained behind during the attack and were still on the prowl.

At Terminus, Rick reunited with Morgan. Morgan's story was, like most people's, a story of learning to survive. A week after Rick left Morgan's house and moved on in search of Lori and Carl, Duane took it upon himself to kill his walker-turned mother. The eleven-year-old boy snagged Morgan's rifle (the one Rick had left him) one afternoon while his father, who'd had a splitting headache that day, napped. Duane couldn't stand to keep seeing his mother like that, and he couldn't stand to see his father struggling to bring himself to shoot her walker corpse only to lower his rifle in sorrowful defeat again and again.

While his father slumbered, Duane crept to the upstairs window, opened it, and took aim at his mother's walking corpse below. He'd only ever shot a B.B. gun before, at Boy Scout camp, and the recoil startled him. He ended up hitting a car with his first shot, but he persevered. He hit his mother's chest with his second shot, her shoulder with his third, and finally, her head.

Morgan was awoken by the gunshots and ran to snatch the weapon from his son's hands. By then, Jenny Jones's walker was dead, and the sound of the shots had drawn a pack of the creatures to the house. In the distance, Morgan could see a much larger herd approaching. Father and son were forced to flee out the back door. They got into Morgan's work truck (he'd been a welder) and barreled from the neighborhood, plowing down walkers on the way. They hadn't had time to pack or to grab anything but the rifle and some ammunition. In his frenzy to escape, Morgan left the radio Rick had given him behind.

They looted some food on the outskirts of the suburbs and then, to get farther away from the walker-infested streets, followed dirt roads through the woods. They spent two night sleeping in the truck. On the third day, they stumbled across a solitary cabin in the woods inhabited by a man named Eastman.

Eastman had a goat for milk and had started some gardens, and he was welcoming, so they settled with him. For almost four weeks, Eastman trained father and son several hours a day in Aikido and in the use of a staff as a weapon. But an uncontrolled forest fire threatened the cabin, and all three were forced to flee. They piled into Morgan's truck with Eastman's goat and fled the flames.

Three days later, about the same time Daryl was being shot by Otis in the woods, they settled in a camp in a high school career center in Mount Zion, near Georgia's border with Alabama. That was where Morgan met Michonne's friend Jocelyn. She'd had her share of losses, but not so many or so depraved that the world had made her brutal. She still retained the helpful spirit she had once shared with Michonne, and Morgan gradually fell in love with her over six weeks of surviving together. The camp lived off the cafeteria food and some canned food that had been collected in boxes in the hallway for a schoolwide food drive before the collapse. They began to garden in the plots and greenhouse that had once been used for the school's agricultural program, and they even had a couple of chickens.

In Morgan's Mount Zion camp were some faces familiar to Rick, though Morgan didn't know that at the time. The Morales family had settled there on its way to Birmingham, finding the people welcoming and the food in abundant supply. Sophia still had the doll Eliza Morales had given her when they parted ways at the quarry camp. That doll had been a marker that had helped Daryl to find her and rescue her from that tree house in the woods. Sophia had tied the doll by its hair to a branch as though to keep it safe from walkers, and that clue had told Daryl which path to take at a fork in the forest where her trail had otherwise seemed to vanish.

But after Morgan had been in the camp for a little over a month, it was beset upon by a herd of walkers in the middle of the night. They shattered the glass front doors. Eastman sacrificed himself so others could escape, and Morgan and Duane's mentor was consumed by the herd. They lost three other people that night, and the chickens and Eastman's goat. But ten of them got out, including the Morales family, Morgan, Duane, and Jocelyn. They all fled in the school bus, with the walkers lurching hungrily behind them. They had to plow through several undead bodies, and the yellow bus was black with blood by the time they made it to the highway, barely able to see through the gut-stained windshield, with the wipers smearing the blood across the glass.

It was on the CB radio of that school bus that they heard the Terminus broadcast the next day. Morales didn't trust it. He wanted to go on to Birmingham, which was where he was originally headed when he left the quarry camp. Morales said his brother and sister-in-law had been eccentric prepper types and had a compound of sorts outside Birmingham, with her sister and her sister's husband and seven kids between them. Morales thought they might still be alive, and even if they weren't, maybe there was still storage water, food, guns, and seeds at that compound. Morgan, however, wanted to go check out Terminus. They argued and ended up deciding to go their separate ways. Jocelyn and another man went with Morgan and Duane in an SUV they had discovered with the keys still inside, while the other two surviving members of the camp went with the Morales family in the school bus. It was everyone's hope the school bus contingent had made it to that compound and were now settled in for the winter.

Morgan was willing to return to Woodbury with Rick, but not without Jocelyn. Rick radioed Woodbury to obtain permission of the Council to bring her along with Morgan, Duane, and the aunt of the Woodbury orphan Eryn. The Council approved.

Terminus was sad to lose four of their productive community members, but also slightly relieved. The camp was growing crowded with all the refugees they'd welcomed. The last of their storage food would likely run out in the next two months with such a large population, and they'd have to rely exclusively on the gardens, their single bird hunter, whatever their small game trapper could snare, and the rabbit farm he had managed to start after catching three does and a buck.

Rick, during his visit, convinced the Terminus triumvirate (Mary, Gareth, and Alex) that it was time to roll in the welcome mat. They needed to stop the regular broadcasts and take down the signs and concentrate on protecting and feeding their own before their resources became strained or they ended up in another fire battle with bandits. "You can still welcome people you find while out scavenging," he assured them, "But there's no need to make yourselves so vulnerable." Where Shane had failed, Rick succeeded. Terminus was beginning to see it couldn't keep taking this risk forever, at least not until it's food sources were better established. The broadcasts ceased. The signs came down.

Because Jocelyn had settled in Woodbury, Michonne hadn't needed to go to Terminus after all to catch up with her friend. Instead, she had spent New Year's Eve and New Year's Day in Woodbury reminiscing with her "sister." Morgan and Jocelyn had moved into Andrea's old room in the Grimes family townhouse, while Duane was rooming with Carl. Despite an almost two-year age difference, the boys were becoming fast friends. Michonne conveyed all this information to the family at the House of the Future when she returned from her visit.

January 2, 2011

"Where's Andrea livin' then?" Daryl asked Carol in bed the night after Michonne returned. The candles in the black iron candelabra on Carol's nightstand flickered and bathed the room in a gentle light as they snuggled for warmth beneath the covers.

"Michonne said she moved into the second bedroom in Milton's townhouse," Carol answered. "She said it would be easier to do her job as chief of staff if they shared a house. She wouldn't have to commute."

"Commute? Ain't Milton's house a ten-minute walk from Rick's place?"

"Milton told Andrea he thought it was wasteful for him to have an entire townhouse to himself, even if that's what the Governor had done, and since Woodbury was taking in more people, it only made sense," Carol said. "And Rick thought he'd be the one to work his way into the mayor's inner circle."

"Think the mayor's workin' his way into Andrea's inner circle."

Carol chuckled. "I suspect he's already succeeded."

"She doin' it for influence you think?" Daryl asked. "Or does she actually like him?"

"I think she actually likes him."

"Good." Andrea had grown on Daryl, even if she'd annoyed the hell out of him at first. For all his surface callousness on the matter, he'd been worried she was going to kill herself after Amy died. She ought to have a chance at happiness, as much as the rest of them. He'd seized his chance, after all. He nuzzled Carol's cheek. "Love you, Miss Murphy."

"Soon to be Mrs. Dixon. On March 20."

Daryl pulled back slightly. "Yeah? You want my name? Thought you liked just being Miss Murphy?"

"We're a family – you and me and Sophia. And I think Sophia would like to take your name so that's clear to all her friends."

"Really?"

"Why so surprised?" Carol asked.

He shrugged. "Just…Dixon name…wasn't exactly reputable 'round where I grew up. Can't imagine anyone wantin' to take it. Was always…you know…those Dixons. Dixon name's long been 'sociated with drunks and bums and rabble rousers and ne'er do wells."

She rolled on her side to face him and lay a hand atop his white shirt, over his heart. "Well, now the Dixon name is associated with a great hunter, a rescuer of children, a defender and leader of Fun Kingdom."

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip. She sounded serious. Is that what people really thought of him, people who had never known him before the collapse? "I ain't the leader of Fun Kingdom."

"You're one of them, at the very least. We might not have elected a mayor, but people listen to you. They count on you. We all count on each other."

"Really want to be Mrs. Dixon?"

"I do. I'd be honored to be Mrs. Dixon."

He smiled. His chest was swelling with pride. "I'd like that. If other people called you Carol Dixon. If they knew you was mine."

Carol raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't mean to say it like that. Ain't tryin' to sound possessive. 'S just – "

"- I understand." She smiled. "And I'd like it, too."

"But if it's all the same, I'm gonna keep callin' you Miss Murphy. Just 'tween us. 'S kind of stuck with me."

She laughed. "That's fine. I like your pet name for me."

"Ain't a pet name."

"You keep telling yourself that." Carol turned and blew out each of the candles in the candelabra until only the star light filtered through the window. "Goodnight, Pookie."

"Nite, Miss Murphy."

January 3, 2011

Daryl took some venison out of the freezer and put it in the fridge to defrost for tomorrow's dinner. Then he began putting fresh, wrapped chunks of venison in the freezer. He'd butchered the aged deer he had hanging in the root cellar today. He was hoping to hang another one in there by the end of the week. Dixon's ankle was healed and they were spending time in the deer blind together again.

He glanced out the window and saw Sophia in the walkway in front of the house practicing swordsmanship with Michonne. She was slicing big pink and blue balls taken from the prize pit at one of the carnival games as Michonne tossed them in the air. The girl was growing deadly with that thing.

Daryl was shifting things around in the freezer to make more space when the CB on the kitchen desk crackled. "Come in Warrior Princess. Come in. This is the Dungeon Master. Over."

That wasn't Carl's voice. But it was a boy's voice. A young teenager maybe. Daryl slammed the top of the freezer shut, walked over, and picked up the microphone. "Who the fuck is this? Over."

"Uh…it's Patrick. Calling for Sophia. Over."

"Hell you calllin' my daughter for? Over."

"She uh…she's expecting my call. I call every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 3 p.m. It's what we agreed on, Mr. Dixon. Sir. Over."

Daryl was not aware of this arrangement. He was usually still hunting at three in the afternoon. This must be the fourth time this kid had called Sophia without his knowledge. He wondered if Carol knew about this.

Daryl pressed the talk button of the microphone again and was about to say something when Sophia came bursting in the door, her wakizashi sheathed on her back, panting from having run inside. "I almost forgot!" she exclaimed and jogged through the kitchen and took the microphone from Daryl's hand. She pressed the talk button. "Hey, Dungeon Master. This is Warrior Princess." She sat down in the chair before the kitchen desk. "How's the new dungeon coming along? Did Mr. Meyers give you that drafting paper? Over."

As Patrick began to reply, Daryl stood behind Sophia's desk chair, a little stunned. Sophia turned back to look at him. "Dad," she complained. "Don't just stand there. I'm having a private conversation."

Daryl, not knowing what else to do, went back to putting the venison in the freezer, listening to their chatter as he did so – most of it about Dungeons and Dragons, some about a flute Patrick was whittling to give her next time she came to Woodbury. They talked, too, about Patrick's schoolwork – he had a science project due soon – and the math Carol was making Sophia learned that "is so boring and why do I have to learn Algebra in this world anyway? What, I'm going to be an engineer? I doubt it. Over."

"Well, I'd like to be an engineer, actually," Patrick replied. "I'm starting my apprenticeship under Mr. Andrews next week. He's the head engineer in…Rome. I'll still have to go to the upper school in the afternoons for three hours a day, but I'll shadow him in the morning from nine to noon and he'll teach me things. Over."

"Well, then you need math. I don't see why I need it. Are you still whittling wood dice? Over."

Daryl made slow work of putting the venison away as the conversation shifted to the flute Patrick was whittling because Sophia had once mentioned she played the flute. Sophia turned again. "Dad. Don't you have something to do outside?"

He did have his butchering knives to clean. "Mhmh." He put the last piece of venison in the freezer chest and shut the top door. Then he made his way ever so slowly out of the house. He didn't clean his butchering knives, however. He left them on the picnic table and walked to the petting zoo and then the pony ride ring where he found Carol helping Hershel put warm blankets on the horses in the stables and asked her to take a walk with him.

"Cold day for a walk," Carol said as they strolled past the "King of the Rodeo" bucking broncos ride. Her breath made a gentle cloud on the air.

"Did you know Patrick was callin' Soph three times a week? That he just called her for the fourth time since we left Woodbury?"

"Sure," she said. "They've been planning their next D&D game."

"Ain't this one of those parentin' things we're s'posed to discuss first?"

"What did you want to discuss?" Carol asked, looking confused.

"How old is that kid? Ain't he fifteen?"

"He turned fifteen last month, yes."

"And Soph is still twelve."

"Daryl, he's not trying to get her in the backseat of his car at the drive-in movies. They're friends. Sophia is mature for her age and Patrick is…well…a little sweet and innocent for his."

Daryl murmured uncertainly.

Carol chuckled. "It's fine, Pookie, I promise you. He's not up to no good. A mother has a sixth sense about these things. What would you do? Tell her she can't talk to her friend?"

"Guess not," he murmured. "They bein' careful 'bout the code?"

"Yes. For locations and dates. Sophia knows it forward and backward. I'm sure Patrick does, too. And anyone listening in would fall asleep halfway through their D&D talk anyway."

"Dungeon Master," Daryl muttered. "All I can think of is that damn Ghostbusters' scene."

"That was the Keymaster, Pookie." She laced her arm through his and smiled.

"Oh. Yeah." Daryl looked up. From the clear blue sky, a few light snowflakes began to fall.

The kids would be thrilled by the sight, he thought, though they wouldn't likely get more than an inch of snow, and in two days, after it creeped into the low fifties again, it would all be gone. It rarely got below freezing here, and when it did, it never stayed for long. The most snowfall he could remember was that month after Dixie left Merle, when it snowed almost twelve inches in a day in Cherokee County, but that was a freak blizzard, and they were in the mountains.

Good thing they'd settled in Georgia for the apocalypse, he thought, and not some place that routinely got two feet of snow every winter. It would be harder to hunt in such conditions, sinking into the snow, not knowing if there was a walker beneath.

He looked down again and put his bare hand over Carol's leather-gloved one on his arm. "Happy New Year, Miss Murphy."