A/N: Sorry it's taken me a while to get this updated, this chapter's been kicking my ass since I started it but I finally got the kinks worked out. Warning: these are the Dixons from season 1 so racist remarks/thoughts may be used. Let me know what you think on your way out. Also, looking for a beta if anyone is available to lend a hand.

Chapter 3

A rustling in the trees and the sound of a branch snapping under a foot had my eyes flying open and my hands searching frantically for my bow; immediately I jumped to my feet to scan my surroundings to find the source of the disturbance. The culprit came out of the woods just as I raised my bow.

"Didn't mean to startle you son, started getting a little worried about ya when you didn't come back last night. Your brother made it more than clear that you can take care of yourself but I wanted to see for myself."

The breath that I was holding escaped when I realized it was just that old fart. Lowering my bow, I fell back to the ground and resumed my position against the tree. I took a moment to just breathe; allowing the tension in my shoulders to deflate just a little then pulled the remainder of my last cigarette out for a morning hit of nicotine.

God, I wish I had another pack. Claire always kept an extra pack in the truck for me but I went through that whole fucking pack the first day shit started getting bad.

"Why don't you come back to camp and get some breakfast? Glenn got back late last night, he's got a couple of cans of hash heating up and I've got a pot of coffee brewing in the RV."

"Pass, I'll be fucking fine. Back in a couple of days, maybe scare up a deer or something to bring back. 'Sides, y'all should be more concerned about keeping an eye on that brat."

"Carl? He didn't mean any harm, just curious is all. But I supposed you're right, we need to start keeping better track of where everyone is, can't be too careful these days. Perhaps I should talk with Shane about folks leaving in pairs or small groups, Glenn told us one of the last times he got back from a run that supplies in Atlanta were starting to thin out. Oh well, I'm rambling and I'm sure you'd like to get on with your hunt. You be careful out there, alright? Just one more thing son, Glenn is taking a small group to Atlanta in two days to scavenge a department store; Merle should be back by the time you get done with your hunt."

He offered me a smile and patted my shoulder then wandered back to camp with his rifle slung over his shoulder. Truth be told I was pretty hungry and hash with some coffee did sound real good but that would just mean there'd be an expectation to give back.

Then it hit me out of nowhere.

"You be careful out there, alright?"

Didn't matter if I was just going to work or out hunting or fishing for the weekend, Claire would always ask me to be careful. I never understood why she said it, just thought it was one of those things she picked up from her mom. After the divorce I fell back in with the junkies Merle hung around with. They never cared about the kinda shit they got into just as long as they got their high. Hell, Merle didn't give two shits about whether or not I was alright when his tweaker pal punched me in the gut and I started puking.

Fucking assholes laughed their asses off at me.

Guess I gotta be careful these days, if it ain't Walsh trying to knock us off it'll be one of those biters.

Snubbing out the butt against the tree I got to my feet and stretched my sore limbs out; joints feel like a damn bowl of Rice Krispies getting dowsed in milk…

…Snap, crackle, pop.

When things couldn't get any looser I started off in search of anything that could sustain a group for more than a day. Spit roasted squirrel would only last for a day at most but a deer (or something just as big) would last us a week. Maybe the old man would let me borrow his boat and poles to do some fishing when I got back.

Two fucking days and ain't caught jack shit! No squirrel, no rabbit, sure as fuck ain't no damn deer running 'round these parts! No doubt Merle's already left for Atlanta with that group of bumbling idiots, just hope he can keep his racist ass in check though it ain't likely. Knowing my luck they'd come back without him…come up with some excuse to leave him out there. Hell, Merle's done a lot of stupid shit over the years but he ain't dumb enough to get bit.

My third day hunting was starting out just like the last two, empty and dismal. I was up before the ass-crack of dawn to try and get early start on something, whatever it may be. The camp was probably a good mile or two off to my right and the water was about the same distance to my left. What little I did find during my first two days was just enough to make a few small meals out of, weren't nothing worth bringing back (rattlesnake jerky ain't gonna feed 20 people).

It was going on mid-morning ('bout 10-10:30 if I had to guess) before I came across any real sign of something worth going after. To the untrained eye it looked like just a small pile of debris but anyone who spent a lot of time out in the woods would know it was acorn shells.

Squirrels, and lots of 'em.

Carefully I pulled my bow off my shoulder, making sure there was an arrow ready to go, then proceeded to follow the scattered remains until I found what I was looking for the last couple of days. I ain't gonna say it was a hunter's paradise but four or five squirrels running around like it was mating season was enough to put me in a bit of a better mood (folks back at camp ain't gonna starve). Ain't gonna lie, took a lot longer than I thought it would to get those wily fuckers but they're all strung up now.

The rest of my day progressively got better, got about dozen or so squirrels before I was ready to call it a day. That was when I spotted it ducking its head to the ground. As the image before me got clearer I could see that it was a nice-sized buck; its ear twisted and turned like it was straining to hear something. I hoped, and even said a quick prayer, that nothing would spook it or that it caught a whiff of me if the wind happened to be at my back. As quietly as I could I raised my bow and took aim.

Inhale through the nose, exhale (slowly) through the mouth.

FUCK!

Should've known my luck wouldn't last very long.

Something definitely spooked the damn deer and now it's got an arrow in the ass and suffering. I quickly yanked another arrow from the quiver and got it ready. That arrow was gonna slow it down considerably and no doubt that deer was gonna suffer a slow death if I didn't find it and put it out of its misery. Taking a small leap over a fallen log, I found the deer's tracks and followed them in the direction they went off in.

Fucker was gonna me track it down for miles.

It was just going on nightfall when I found the damn thing again. Part of its body was leaning up against a tree and it was panting pretty heavily. Dried blood was evident on the haunch where the arrow had gone in and I knew that this second shot was gonna have to count if I didn't want it to suffer anymore.

Again I made sure that I had my arrow ready and closed the distance slowly and quietly. I was just a mere 50 yards away with my aim on the side of the animal's chest; pointed at the side where the heart and lungs were hoping this would be the final shot.

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.

My luck (and my aim) can't be that fucking bad!

It was real quiet, nothing could've possibly caused it take off again!

How wrong I was. My arrow landed just below the other one in the same leg and the wind started rustling against my back as I dropped my bow in frustration. But I ain't giving up on this fucking deer, Dixons don't quit just like that when their dinner's on the line. As I stepped out into the clearing to locate the direction it took off in I found that the tracks were circling back around towards camp. If I was able to get it with a third shot it wouldn't be very difficult to drag its dead ass back by the horns.

Unfortunately for me, it was growing dark and I was gonna have to stop my search for the night. These squirrels weren't gonna stay very fresh for too much longer and since there ain't an ice chest or ice maker to be found I'd have to rely on redneck ingenuity.

It was rough growing up with Will Dixon for a father and the only thing he ever taught me, other than how to hunt, was how to keep your meat from rotting. My first hunting trip with my old man was when I was six, Will was so focused on making sure he had enough beer to get him through that weekend that he completely neglected to buy any ice. Naturally he blamed it on me and whooped my ass as hard as he could but that was to be expected.

My granddaddy had a cabin that we'd occasionally stay at; it had one of those old fridges you'd see in the silent black and white movies. Granddaddy would call it an ice box, being the stupid kid that I was I asked why he'd call it that. After he slapped me, my granddaddy said that they didn't have the types of things we do now; they'd have to pay someone to deliver a block of ice just about every week to keep things cold. Only reason he kept it was because he thought that it'd be worth something one day. After he died, we just kept it in the cabin and bring a sack of ice with us when we went hunting. Did a good job of keeping shit cold but we didn't get to use it as often as I would've like to.

Will's idea of keeping meat cold was letting it sit in the stream overnight with the water running over it.

Well, I ain't got a stream but I got a quarry full of water. No doubt there's fish in it, just hope it's cool enough to keep these squirrels from going bad, it's a damn shame I'm gonna have to let that deer go until morning when I could try to pick up the trail again. Hate to let it suffer like this with a couple of arrows in its leg but it's just too dangerous to be tracking that thing down these days. I'll admit, the dark left me a little disoriented but eventually I came across something familiar and was able to get down to the water after an hour or two.

Approaching the water's edge I was thankful that it was quiet (mostly). I could barely make out the faint reds and oranges of the fire that I know was coming from camp for a few seconds before they disappeared into the night. I dropped the squirrels in the shallows and took up residence against a large rock that hid me from view should any biters come wandering out.

Despite the heat of the day it was cooling off surprisingly fast for this time of year, especially in Atlanta. Letting my head fall back against the rock I let the cold surface begin to cool down my heated skin. Times like this make me wish I was back home with her in the air conditioning chowing down on Chinese food. Every once in a while I'd let myself relax and start dozing off but then a laugh would penetrate the silence and it'd put me on high alert.

Sun probably wasn't up for an hour before I was jarred from a sleep I didn't know I was in. Rushing to the water I scooped up the squirrels and high-tailed it into the woods. Staying out of sight I caught sight of Shane's jeep screeching to a stop and him hopping out with a blue container for water. He adjusted his cap in frustration as he bent down.

Won't lie, with his back to me I was tempted to just put an arrow through his skull but if I did that his bitch would be all over my ass.

I crept back further into the woods to see if I could find the deer's track and see if I could finally put it down. Scanning the ground for signs of life, I managed to pick up on the animal's trail and followed it (and the blood trail) in circles for the better part of an hour. It was limping into a clearing, exhausted and ready to drop dead at any moment. Taking a third arrow from the quiver, I notched it into place and let it loose before anything else could go horribly wrong.

They say that the third time's the charm and it was the case with this deer. This third arrow found its mark in the animal's chest and as expected it took off towards camp. With this final arrow it wouldn't be long before it was finally dead. Stepping out from the brush I quickly located the deer's tracks and paused for a moment to take another arrow from the quiver. Securing the arrow between my teeth, I put my bow on the ground and pulled the string back until I heard it click. Once the arrow was in place I started trekking quietly through the woods on the lookout for my deer or anything else that happened across my path.

A scream in the distance had me going back towards camp but I was in no hurry since there were others that could take care of the problem, whatever it may be. I wanted my deer and the tracks I had been following for the better part of an hour were leading me in that direction anyway. The closer I got to camp the more muffled voices I started hearing, including the old man stammering out something.

Since there were others and my deer was (undoubtedly) dead I didn't see any harm in making as much noise as I wanted, what were they gonna do? Shoot me?

"Son of a bitch, that's my deer," as I stepped out of the trees a small group was gathered around it and a headless biter. Looks of uncertainty pointed in my direction as they lowered their weapons. "Look at it all gnawed on by this filthy, disease-bearing, motherless, poxy bastard!" Each word earned a boot in the biter's side.

"Calm down son, that's not helping."

"What do you know about it old man? You take that stupid hat and go back to on Golden Pond."

Turing back to the deer with a sigh of defeat, I ripped the trio of arrows from the carcass that now had its neck torn to shreds. I felt their eyes on me as I kept talking to no one in particular.

"Been tracking this deer for miles, drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison. What do you think, think we could cut around this chewed up part right here?"

"Cannot risk that." Was all the answer I got as Deputy Douche tucked his rifle behind his neck, his wrists hanging limply from either end.

"Damn shame, well I got us some squirrel 'bout a dozen or so," I started, dangling the string a bit, "that'll have to do."

Before I could start to lead the pack of dummies back to camp, the head on the ground sprung back to life; the jaw snapping open and shut the same time the cataract covered eyes seemingly blinked a little.

"C'mon people, what the hell?" Firing off an arrow into the eye socket it ceased its movements instantaneously. Propping my foot against the skull I yanked the arrow out, wiping it against my pant leg. "Gotta be the brain. Don't you know nothing?"

The camp was more alive than I've seen since before I left. Stepping over the string of cans me and Merle had strung up in the hours of our initial arrival I saw a couple of fresh faces; one being a Chinaman by Shane's jeep, the other a kinda lanky guy in a white shirt with a five o'clock shadow and the cleanest pair of jeans I'd ever seen in my life.

"Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel, stew 'em up!" Gingerly, I propped my bow against the growing wood pile and let a handful of arrows drop next to it. I continued on my path to our tent until Shane stopped me.

"Daryl, slow up a bit I need to talk to you."

Turning in the direction his voice came from I noticed his hand rubbing nervously against his lip.

"'Bout what?"

"'Bout Merle. There's a, uh, there's a problem in Atlanta."

The air around us was being sucked dry and was replaced with a palpable tension, like they were waiting to see how I'd react. Glancing all around I saw the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. The way Shane put his hands on his hips and the way he kept turning his head had my suspicions growing by the second. The string of squirrels slid down my arm as I waited for him to tell me exactly what the "problem" was.

"He dead?"

"Not sure."

"He 'ither he is or he ain't!" I was ready to close in on Shane when another voice stopped me. Turning, I saw the one with the white shirt approach me like he was the new sheriff in town.

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."

"Who are you?" He was standing side by side with Deputy Douche as he spoke.

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes? Got something you wanna tell me?" Too damn early for my blood to be boiling like this and now I got two of these fuckers trying to make my day even worse?

"Your brother was a danger to us all so I handcuffed him on a roof hooked into a piece of metal. He's still there."

"Hold on," I started, wiping a bit of sweat from my eye, "lemme process this." Spinning a finger around my head. "Ya sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof? AND YOU LEFT HIM THERE?"

"Yeah."

All I got was a simple 'yeah' from this piece of shit. Ain't even fucking noon yet and my temper reached its limit for the day. In a fit of rage I threw my squirrels at this Rick Grimes and started to charge him but I should've known Shane would be there to prevent that. He blindsided me when his shoulder collided with mine, knocking me on my ass. In retaliation, I did the only thing I could think to do: yanked my knife from its holster, sunk down low, and prepared for a fight.

I was swinging wildly at this Rick Grimes before he caught my arm, Deputy Douche was there to catch the other. Before I knew what was happening the knife was knocked from my hand and I was on my ass with Shane on top of me.

"Okay, okay."

"Best lemme go!" I hollered, still struggling.

"Nah, I think it's better if I don't."

"Choke-holding's illegal!"

"Hey, file a complaint." I continued to struggle against Shane as he applied more pressure to my neck to keep me subdued. "C'mon now, can keep this up all day."

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Think we can manage that?" When I refused to answer he asked again, "think we can manage that?"

From the corner of my eye I saw him nod to Shane and I was finally released, rather I was tossed to my back. The way the two looked at each other I knew they must've known each other before shit hit the fan. Maybe this was the buddy he alluded to that got him that job in King County when Shane wanted Claire to move with him.

"What I did was not on whim. Your brother does not work and play well with others."

"It's not Rick's fault. I had the key, I dropped it."

"Couldn't pick it up?"

"Well I dropped it down a drain."

It quickly sunk in that Merle was most likely dead and the last memory I was gonna have of my brother is his fist meeting my face from the last argument we got into. The only thing I really had to keep my going now was the thinnest shred of hope that Claire was out there, somewhere alive (hopefully.)

Picking myself up off the ground, I quickly let my sorrow pass and let my hand gather something up that wasn't that dick's throat.

"Supposed to make me feel better it don't."

"Maybe this will." I paused momentarily letting this nigger plead his case. "I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him with a padlock."

"That's gotta count for something."

Looking around I saw their faces, each one wearing the same look. They didn't give two shits about my brother and they were all willing to just write him off like he was disposable or something.

"Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is, so's I can go get him."

"He'll show you, isn't that right?"

Rick nodded in her direction and pressed on, his hands on his hips. "I'm going back."

Not knowing what else to do I left the squirrels abandoned on the ground, collected by bow and arrows and sat my ass on a stump near the fire pit, mentally preparing myself for just about anything that could go wrong. What if the geeks broke through that chain and padlock? What if Merle cooked to death on that roof? What if he was still alive? Too many 'what if's' and not enough booze.