Five

They were Amarillo bound. With a little luck, Daryl and Lydia had managed to find a car with a full tank of gas after the pharmacy run. It was a rattling old pickup, but it had gas and tires. Lydia had fallen asleep in the passenger's seat an hour ago, and Daryl had his eyes fixed on the road.

He'd never been one who liked to sit for long trips. He always got restless. But today he welcomed the peace of a long stretch of road.

Before she'd fallen to sleep, Lydia had rummaged around under the front seat and came out with a small binder that held a bunch of CDs, so Daryl had put one on just for old time's sake. Even after she'd fallen asleep, he continued to listen, remembering a life that no longer existed except in his memory.

He followed the road signs and tried to stay away from the interstates. He knew from experience there would be nothing but road blocks and abandoned cars to weave around. The interstates weren't the fastest way to travel any longer, and Daryl wasn't going to risk getting stranded far from shelter or food or whatever else he'd be more likely to find on some old country road or even in a small town.

The song changed to a slow tempo song he would've caught shit from Merle for listening to. It was one of those sorts of songs that played during slow dances. And he didn't even know who sang it. All he knew was that the song took him back to a very specific moment in time. A smoky bar. A glass of whisky. A cigarette in one hand, her hand in his leading him to the dance floor despite his protests that he couldn't dance for shit.

He could still taste the cherry on her tongue from the fruity little mixed drink she'd nursed before gathering up the courage to ask him to dance.

The night was a blur, but he still remembered that. He remembered asking her for her number, and he remembered her telling him she wasn't ready for something like that. She slipped a napkin in his pocket, kissed him and whispered in his ear. They were both a little tipsy, but he could still remember the feeling of her legs wrapped around his waist in the hotel room, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she laughed when the stubble of his chin scratched against her thighs.

He took a shaky breath and reached over to turn off the radio. Still, the memory played over and over again in his head like a movie.

She had been the only thing on his mind for weeks. Her and those gorgeous, blue eyes. That smile. That sweet shyness in the kiss she left him with when her cab came to pick her up.

He remembered scrambling gracelessly for his jeans the second she was gone, hoping she'd slipped him her number despite her objections to starting any attachments at that time. While a number wasn't waiting for him, a little shred of hope that he'd see her again was scrawled upon the bar napkin.

Same bar, same time, two weeks. Maybe we can start with our names.

And then the end of the fucking world happened, and he never got to make that date. He wondered about her and what might have happened to her. He didn't know much about her, only what he could gather from small talk at the bar. Piece of that were gone in the blur, too, but he still remembered how soft her skin was and how her toes curled when she came.

He cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat. He had to stop thinking about it and focus on the road.

It wasn't like he'd gone there that night looking to get laid. He'd had a hard day at work, Lydia had been over at Rick's doing homework with Carl, and he'd stopped in. Just for a drink. And there she'd been sitting at the bar all by herself, drinking something that looked too sweet for his taste.

She wasn't even dressed up. She looked like she'd had a long, hard day at work, too, in T-shirt and some tight jeans with her curly hair pulled back and up, tendrils framing her face. She looked tired, but the smile she threw his way when she caught him staring lit up her face like Christmas.

"Dad!" Daryl snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at his daughter who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Are you ok?"

"I'm ok. Why?" Daryl asked.

"You were all spaced out for a minute." Daryl shook his head. "Want me to drive?"

"Hell no. Last time we almost ended up in a river."

"That was one time!" Lydia insisted with an eye roll. "I need the practice." Daryl thought for a moment before pulling over onto the side of the road. Just a few yards ahead was another abandoned vehicle, so he figured it was a good time to stop and see if there was any gas to tap or any food to take.

He rolled up behind the other vehicle and put it in park. Just as he opened the door, two walkers came out from the woods, entirely too close, not allowing enough time for either of them to grab a knife or the crossbow.

"Shit," Daryl spat.

"I've got it!" Lydia offered, hopping down out of the truck and grabbing the shotgun from where it lay on the floorboard. Daryl took a quick look around to assess the situation and kept a close eye while Lydia took out one walker and then the other, each with a clean shot before she reloaded the weapon. It was one of their most basic rules. Always be ready to aim and fire, never be caught in a jam without weapon ready and able.

Daryl grabbed the only thing close to a gas can which was a rusted old watering can with a narrow nozzle. He grabbed some tubing from his pack and headed off to pry open the gas tank.

Lydia finished reloading her shotgun with two shells just before another walker came out from the tree line. She had enough time to grab a knife, but the damage was already done from the first two shots.

"Walker!" Lydia shouted before firing another shot and putting the creature down. A flock of birds rustled through the trees and up into the clear, blue sky, and Lydia watched them in wonder for a moment, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Ow, shit!" Daryl hollered. Lydia lay the shotgun on the hood of the truck before rushing to her dad's side.

"What happened?"

"Ah, just a goddamn wasp. Get me the first aid kit. It's in your pack," Daryl grumbled, yanking the stinger out of the already swelling spot on his hand. Lydia rushed over to grab her pack and find the kit in the truck. She came back with some ointment and a bandage. "Here. I got it. Go look through the front of the car, see if there's anything worth taking. I'll take care of this and get the gas. We're gonna have to hurry. Probably drawing walkers from a twenty-mile radius with them gunshots."

"Sorry," Lydia murmured, brushing her hands on the sides of her pants.

"Don't be sorry. You gotta react. Was a lot smarter to take two out with a gun than to risk the time to grab the crossbow. You did good, Lydia. We just gotta get out before any stragglers come. That was just three. I'm willing to bet there's a hell of a lot more where they came from." He looked around. "Go on. Go check the car. I'll get this done fast." Lydia nodded and hurried to do what her dad asked.

Daryl quickly put some ointment on the sting before slapping a bandage over it. He'd been stung plenty of times traipsing around in the woods as a kid, and it still hurt like a bitch every time.

Lydia threw a glance over her shoulder at her dad before she started rummaging through the car, looking for anything that might be useful. She found a couple of bottles of over-the-counter pain meds and a few bottles of water. She tossed them in her pack before moving around to check the other side.

A loud clap of thunder shook the earth, and she gasped before looking to the west to see storm clouds quacking rolling in.

"Dad."

"Yeah, we gotta get moving," Daryl muttered, spitting to the side as gas began to flow from the hose. He tucked it down in the top of the gas can before catching sight of three more walkers coming up the road. "Shit."

"What?" Lydia asked, following Daryl's gaze. "Shit. Dad…"

"Don't say shit."

"Why not?"

"Just don't," Daryl said with a shrug. Lydia rolled her eyes, and Daryl smirked. "Get in the truck. I'm almost done." Lydia started around toward the truck just as another walker came out of the bushes. "Eyes up!" Daryl let go of the gas hose and started to get up before Lydia tossed her pack into the truck and came at the walker with a knife.

"I got it!" she called, tossing her knife right at it's head, just like her dad had taught her. She got the creature in the throat, and as a black, tarry liquid oozed from the wound, it came at her, undeterred.

Daryl was up in a heartbeat, knife in hand, coming at the walker and pushing Lydia out of the way. The walker got its fingers curled in the arm of Daryl's shirt, tearing the fabric. Lydia let out a scream as she watched her dad stumble back, but Daryl got the upper hand, forcefully kicking it square in the chest. It stumbled back against the side of the truck, going down hard against the front fender. The motion rocked the shotgun from its place on the hood, and it went clattering to the ground.

Before she could process what happened, Lydia's ears began to ring from the bang of a gunshot. Everything slowed down for a moment. Her blood ran cold when she watched her father's knees buckle. The dazed expression on his pale face fell slack before he fell forward on the pavement.

A streak of lightning lit up the sky as the walker fell on Daryl, gnashing its teeth and clawing at his clothing.

"Dad!" Lydia screamed. "Dad!" She reached for the knife that had fell from Daryl's hand in the commotion, and she quickly plunged the blade into the walker's skull.

She struggled to roll the body away before kneeling at Daryl's side. Blood pooled under him from a wound to his side. Too much blood, she was certain.

"Dad. Daddy, wake up!" She shook his arm, sobbing as she lifted the shirt and flinched at the sight of it. "Daddy! Please!"

A pained groan fell from his lips, and Lydia stopped shaking him to watch his eyelids flutter open. His eyes rolled back for a moment before looking at her.

"Lydia. Go."

"Dad, please…"

"You…you gotta go. You gotta take care of…" His eyes rolled back again, and his head smacked hard against the concrete.

"Daddy!" she cried out. "No! Please." She wiped at her eyes and looked around, panicking. "Somebody. Somebody, help!" She knew it was useless. There was nobody around. Nobody would hear her screams. Nobody but the dead. And the ones down the road were getting closer.

The blood pounded in her ears, her tongue went dry, and she felt that sinking feeling like the time her dad took her on her first roller coaster and the car dropped from the top of the track on that first terrifying hill. Only that feeling grew more intense with each shaking sob, and her head was swimming as she fought for breath.

"Please wake up," she sobbed. "Please. Don't leave me, Daddy. Please!"