Daryl lowers the ramp from the houseboat and walks down it to the wooden planks as the sun rises. Jackson's been on pre-sunrise watch. In the distance, the young man stabs a walker with his bayonet through a chink in the new fence. Daryl walks down the dock toward him as he wanders back toward the houseboats. "We're going hunting. Bring that rifle with you."

Jackson shoulders his rifle. "I was going to take a nap after my watch. I've been up since four."

"Take it later."

"I'm still on watch for fifteen minutes."

Over Jackson's shoulder, Daryl sees Rick emerge from his houseboat and clamberer down to the dock. He waves to him. "Taking Jackson hunting. Take over watch early!"

Rick nods in reply.

"I've uh…I've never been hunting," Jackson tells him.

"That's why ya need to learn."

"My sister will wonder where I've gone."

"Carol will tell 'er." Daryl turns and walks toward the west forest as if he expects Jackson to fall in line. Jackson does. He doesn't know if the young man is hesitant because he's nervous to hunt, or because he's nervous to be alone with Daryl for a prolonged period of time.

Daryl tries to think of something to say as they walk, but he can't. Jackson doesn't say anything either. It's more awkward than their first meeting at the diner, until they're beyond the fence and the last bit of lakeshore and have buried themselves in the forest, and Jackson says, simply, "Damn. It's beautiful in fall, isn't it?"

Daryl murmurs his agreement. The autumn forest is like a quilt of many colors, the threads woven through the top of the trees, some patches already blanketing the ground. They walk in silence for a while longer, until Daryl sees a deer track. He brushes away a leaf with the toe of his hiking boot and nods down to it. "See that? Heavy buck."

"How can you tell? I mean not just that's it's a deer, but that it's male? And heavy?"

Daryl crouches down on his haunches and Jackson crouches with him as he points out aspects of the impression and explains it. "Good thing, too. 'Cause we don't want a doe," Daryl says as he stands and moves along the faint trail.

Jackson follows. "Why don't we want a doe?"

"Male of the species is expendable. Female ain't."

"Interesting philosophy."

"Ain't philosophy. It's biology. Only need one male to impregnate multiple females. But a female can only produce one offspring at a time. Usually. And that takes time. With walkers already culling the deer population, got to make sure we don't cull it too much ourselves."

"Men are expendable in human society, too, I suppose," Jackson says. "They're the ones who typically go to war."

"Not anymore."

"I suppose we're all at war now, for our own survival."

Daryl scours the ground, losing and regaining sight of the trail.

"You hunt anything besides deer?" Jackson asks.

"Anything that's edible. But deer's the best bang for your buck."

Jackson groans. "That's such a dad joke."

Daryl's confused. He wasn't making a joke, and he can't imagine Jackson's calling him dad. "Dad joke?"

"You know, a stupid joke? The kind dads make? Dad joke. The pun? On buck?"

"Oh. Wasn't trying to make a pun." Daryl stops and sweeps a finger over the ground. "See that?"

Jackson follows his finger. "Not sure what I'm supposed to be seeing. I don't see any prints."

"But you see the trail?"

Jackson squints. "The leaves are scattered. There's a different look to them than the area around them."

"'Zactly. Keep an eye out for that sort of thing. We go this way."

Silence again, until Jackson asks, "What was my mother's favorite color? My biological mother?"

"Dunno."

"Why don't you know?"

"Why would I?"

"Well, you know Carol's favorite color," Jackson reasons, "and you aren't even dating her."

"Live with Carol. 'N I didn't date your mother."

"You said you were with her for five months."

Daryl bites his bottom lip. At that diner, the kid asked him, "How long did you date my mother?" Instead of explaining the whole situation, he just answered, "five months." He clarifies now, "Meant I worked with 'er for five months." During those first three months, they barely spoke in passing. During the last two, they had sex a total of four times. "She worked up front and I was around back, loading. We never went on a date."

Jackson looks confused. "But you had sex?"

"She uh…she came onto me one day. Didn't say no."

Jackson's eyes widen slightly. "I thought that only happened at frat parties. Not that it ever happened to me at frat parties. Of course, I only ever went to the one. And I only lasted ten minutes before I just wanted to go home and read a book."

"Thought you were a partier."

"Why?"

"The LSD?"

"Oh." Jackson's eyes fall to the trail. "I took that because of this artsy girl I liked in high school. It relaxed me. I used to have a lot of social anxiety. And tripping on acid…well, it was just easier than trying to carry on a conversation, I guess. But then I got addicted. After I went to rehab, I never touched it again."

"Don't seem like you got social anxiety." He'd seen the young man talk to Beth. If you can talk to a pretty girl, Daryl figures, you can't possibly have social anxiety.

"I think maybe the apocalypse cured it."

Daryl steps over a fallen tree branch the deer he's tracking has clearly leapt over. "How's that?"

"Now, when I meet someone new, I'm not anxious about social rejection. I'm just anxious they'll murder me for my stuff. And once it's clear they aren't going to murder me for my stuff…I don't know. It seems kind of silly to be anxious about social rejection."

Daryl puts a finger to his lips and listens to the sounds of the forest. He turns, levels his crossbow, and waits. A walker stumbles from between two trees, and he sends his bolt flying.

Jackson follows him as he recovers and cleans the bolt and asks, "You heard that coming? It wasn't even growling yet."

The young man sounds impressed, and that hint of admiration has an unexpected effect on Daryl. He stands a little straighter. "I hear things."

"Apparently." As they walk on, Jackson asks, "Why didn't you use protection?"

"Hell do you think a crossbow is?"

"I mean when you had sex with my biological mom."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you?"

"Told me she was on the pill. And I was sixteen and a dumbass."

"How long will the gasoline last?"

This kid apparently had a damn ping pong ball in his head, jumping from thought to thought. But Daryl went with the flow. "With the stabilizer we put in? Dunno. Twelve more months before it spoils, if it don't run out first."

"Can we take the houseboats out on the lake after that?"

"Hybrid engines won't run without at least some gas, but we can still get 'lectricity from the solar panels for inside the boats. We'll leave 'em docked when the gas spoils. Take the rowboats out to fish instead."

"And how long will the solar batteries last?

"Eight more years, maybe."

Jackson slows his pace. "And then what?"

"Ain't thought that far ahead." Hell. They'd put up a fence. Planted gardens. They were thinking farther than most people in this world. Certainly farther than Jackson was thinking when he was living off of the snacks for heroes at the blood bank. Those siblings hadn't had a canned or fresh fruit or vegetable for weeks. It was all cookies and chips and crackers and trail mix and granola bars and fruit snacks. At least they got vitamin C from the fruit snacks.

"I just wonder what we're doing sometimes," Jackson admits. "Those of us who haven't checked ourselves out. What we're surviving for. Are we supposed to rebuild the earth? Repopulate it? I guess Lori and Maggie are getting a jump on that."

"Maggie?" Daryl stops walking.

"Uhh…" Jackson shifts on his feet. "She hasn't said anything yet. I don't even think she's said anything to Glenn. Just…Addison and I share that boat with them. And I've noticed she's been sick in the mornings. And she's been hungry."

"Fuck." Daryl shakes his head. "Can't wait to see Hershel's reaction."

Jackson smiles. "Think there'll be a shotgun wedding? With Hershel actually holding a shotgun?"

Daryl snorts, and they track on. He makes Jackson go silent when the trail begins to look fresher, and when they reach the deer in the distance, he holds out a hand and motions Jackson to do the shooting. But he raises his own crossbow at the same time, in case Jackson misses. The deer's ears prick up, and it bolts just as both fire. Jackson doesn't miss the deer, but he doesn't get a good shot either. His bullet hits the hide as the deer flees. Daryl's bolt, however, goes a few inches behind the shoulder and into the lungs. The deer doesn't get far before it collapses. They catch up to it quickly and Daryl puts it out of its misery.

"Did I hit at all?" Jackson asks as he shoulders his rifle.

"Got one it's hide. Not bad for your first time, but you got to be quicker and aim better so you can get an ethical shot."

"Ethical shot?" Jackson asks.

"One that'll kill it right away, or at least slow it down enough for you to catch up quick and finish it. Otherwise, could be blood tracking it for hours. Could die real slow." He rips his first bolt out of the deer. "That was a lung shot. That's where you should aim. Best bet for a beginner. Gives you the largest margin of error. But it won't kill right away. Deer loses oxygen slow and keeps going." He points with his bolt. "Shoulder shot there could get you an aorta or even the heart. That'll kill it in an instant."

"So why didn't you shoot there?"

"Wasn't in the best position to. Now, if the deer is quartering away…" He moves his bolt again and describes a variety of shots, depending on position, one by one.

"Ethical shot," Jackson repeats. "Even deer hunting has a philosophy."

When it's time to field dress the deer, Jackson gets a little queasy. Daryl can tell by the way he swallows and looks away, tilts his head up for air. He remembers the first time he went hunting with his father, and how he looked away from the blood for a moment. His father called him a pussy and made him feel like shit. "Take a walk. Get some air," he tells Jackson. "Come back when you're ready."

"I've killed walkers," Jackson says. He doesn't call them deadheads anymore. "I don't know why this bothers me."

"Walker probably bothered you the first time, too. And you didn't have to gut them." Not like Daryl had gutted that walker for Carol, to see if Sophia was inside. Even Rick couldn't stand that. He'd hesitated, and Daryl had taken charge, because he didn't get queasy about anything anymore.

Jackson stands with his hands on his hips and exhales. "I should learn. I can learn. Just teach me."

Daryl does the work, but he narrates what he's doing the entire time. Jackson watches, except when he looks away.

They make a drag sled to pull the field dressed deer home, where Daryl will further butcher it. They'll eat some tonight, refrigerate some for the next three days, and then freeze the rest. The Grimes family boat has a mini upright freezer, and so does T-Dog's. Neither is huge, but they can stuff a lot of meat in between the two of them. Daryl and Carol have a mini fridge, with a freezer that won't fit more than about a pound of meat.

There's not much conversation as they drag the deer back. Daryl tries for ten minutes to think of something to say and finally asks, "Who's Kier-kay-gah-ard?"

Jackson looks confused for a moment and then asks. "Soren Kierkegard?"

"Book I seen you reading."

"He's a Danish theologian and philosopher. He's from the school of existentialism."

"And someone just had that lying 'round their boat?"

"Oh, no, that one I had in my backpack when I first fled college to check on my family. But I have found some good books in the boats. You ever read any philosophy?"

"Pffft."

"Carol said you think you're the only one zen around here."

Daryl didn't know Carol had filed away that comment he'd made while they were searching for Sophia. "I was being a smart ass."

"You do seem pretty zen, though. Or maybe more Taoist. Have you ever read the Tao Te Ching?"

"Nah."

"I've got a copy. I'll lend it to you. Let me know what you think."

[*]

Carol slouches down on the couch next to Daryl, where he sits sharpening the head of the bolt he used to kill that deer. The sun has set, and they've moved on to the living room part of the daily routine. "Are you glad you took your son hunting?"

Your son. She loves to say that. Maybe she finds the whole idea amusing. And why wouldn't she? He's not exactly father material.

"He gave me homework."

She snorts. "What homework?"

"Some book to read. Gonna bring it over in the morning."

"It wouldn't kill you to read a book, Pookie."

"Might bore me to death."

She smiles, and that makes him smile. "You read that book Andrea gave you. Twice."

"'Cause I was laid up and couldn't do nothin' else."

"You think she's still alive out there somewhere?"

"No. I don't. I mean, you saw what a shit shot she was. Lucky for me."

Carol sighs.

"Wish she'd aimed better?"

"I wish she weren't gone," Carol clarifies. "I wish we hadn't lost so many people. I wish..." She chokes and swallows.

She wishes he'd found Sophia before it was too late, he knows. "'M sorry," he murmurs.

"For what?"

"For...for failing you. For failing Sophia."

She blinks, her lashes catching the tears. "You didn't fail us, Daryl. You were the only one who even really tried to find her. And like you said, Sophia wasn't yours."

"All y'all..." He leans forward and lays his knife on the coffee table. He sets the bolt upright on the floor and turns it between two fingers. "You're all mine now. My family."

Carol scoots closer on the couch, until her hip is almost touching his. She lays her head on his shoulder. They sit that way silently for awhile, Daryl twirling his bolt, left and then right and all around, not daring to move an inch, just feeling the weight of her head there.

The electric lamp glows on the end table as the waters of the lake gently lap at the boat. All is dark outside through the windows except the moonlight reflecting on the black waters.

Eventually, she raises her head and says she should get to bed. He rises from the couch when she does. There's no sense in staying up and wasting electricity alone. He picks up the flashlight from the end table and clicks off the lamp. The beam of the flashlight cuts a path the short distance to her bedroom, and he sees that she finds the door in the dark and slips in before he goes to his own room. She's turned on her little lamp in there, he can tell. The glow cuts from underneath the door, light creeping inch by inch into the darkness.