Chapter 7

Daryl's POV

I killed a man. It was a mercy killing but according to the law (not that the law mattered anymore) what I did is still considered murder. He was alive before I pulled that trigger. I was the one responsible for his death. I am the reason he stopped breathing.

If I found humor in things I might think it was funny how just a few minutes before I pulled the trigger on Dale, a person I liked, I had stopped myself from killing Randall, a complete stranger. All because I didn't want to cross that invisible line. The one Dale had warned us about in the house.

Is that considered irony or just shit luck?

Even though what I did is going to bother me for a while, I don't regret it one bit. I did it for Dale. He was in pain. He even managed to lift his head toward the barrel of the gun I was holding to let me know that it was what he wanted. That it was okay.

He could be one big pain in the ass at times but I'm going to miss the old bastard.

I find myself wondering if she sees me as a murderer now. I look over and can see the girl walking next to me. She isn't screaming at me to get away from her so maybe nothing has changed. At least she stopped crying. I'm not sure how long we sat on that dock while she scrubbed her skin. Eventually she either tired herself out or she finally stopped feeling the nonexistent blood on her. I should have stopped her sooner. I can see that the skin on her arms and hands are now an angry red.

The walk back to the tent has taken a while because I wanted to avoid the area where we last saw Dale. I imagine the others have moved his body and are already digging a grave but I don't want to risk it. She still hasn't said anything and I know she is standing on a scale where one wrong thing is going to tip it. And when it does tip it won't be in anyone's favor.

The fire is extinguished and is nothing more than embers by the time we make it back. Still silent, she takes her seat and stares straight ahead like the flames are still going strong.

"You should change outta those clothes and get some sleep." We both needed to sleep but I doubt either of us would be able to get some tonight. She doesn't move to do what I say. Instead she looks up at me and I notice that her green eyes seem darker now. "Go on." My boot taps her foot for encouragement.

I'm all about letting people do their own thing. I hate when people tell me what to do but sometimes people need a reminder or a good kick in the ass. Luckily, I'm saved from having to deliver that kick because she gets up and disappears behind the tent flap.

Mel's POV

I keep bouncing between a state of numbness and into a state of emotional overload. My mind isn't sure how to react to what happened tonight and I don't blame it. There is no way I could have prepared in any way for what the world is now. I don't think my college offered an 'How to emotionally deal with the apocalypse 101' class. Even if they did how can I even start coping when I can't get a second to catch my breath before being faced with another tragedy?

I'm glad I have Daryl keeping me on track. If it wasn't for him I would still be out in the woods by myself with no idea of what to do. He came along and tethered me back to the ground with nothing more than his presence. Daryl Dixon is officially my anchor. He just doesn't know he has the job yet.

Inside the tent, I start to take off my clothes. My jeans are stiff in places and in other parts they stick to my legs as I try to pull them down my body. I'm still holding Daryl's damp shirt from the pond and use it to clean my legs. It is dark enough that I can't see the red of Dale's blood on me but my mind still knows what it is.

When I remove Daryl's vest I run my fingers over the rough outline of wings before I sit it on the ground next to my sleeping bag. I don't see any blood on it but the black leather of the vest makes it difficult to know for certain. The white shirt, also borrowed from Daryl, is next to come off. It didn't fare as well. The bottom of it is visibly stained a dark brown and I throw it in the corner of the tent.

I'm left standing in only my bra and underwear when I realize I have nothing to change into. I can't bring myself to put the bloody clothes back on but there is also no way I'll allow myself to stay this vulnerable. Since being on the farm I haven't been naked for anything other than to shower and to change. Using a blanket that is itchy against my skin, this thing seriously feels like it is 100% wool, I cover up as much as my body as I can.

My bag that I take into the woods when we go hunting only has a few granola bars and some water bottles. I didn't even realize I have been wearing the same clothes for as long as I have. Now I am screwed and I only have one option.

"Daryl." I call out from inside the tent, my voice surprisingly strong. "Do you have another shirt I can borrow?"

Silence.

Maybe he didn't hear me? But before I can ask again his hand, and only his hand, appears inside the tent. He is holding a dark green long sleeved shirt and once I take it from him the hand disappears again.

I put it on and for once I'm glad I am a short person because the shirt almost reaches my knees. I would prefer to have pants to complete my ensemble but honestly, I don't care at this point and I don't want to bother Daryl again. I'll ask Maggie for some clothes tomorrow. As I gather up the dirty clothes I make a point to add doing his laundry on my list of things to do tomorrow. I don't want to be any more of a burden to Daryl then I already am and unlike cooking, laundry is something I know I can do.

I put the vest back on because I feel a little less exposed with its weight on my back. Then I use the awful blanket as a makeshift skirt and tie it around my waist before getting into my sleeping bag. If I am lucky maybe sleep will sneak up on me and knock me out because I am exhausted but jittery at the same time. It feels like I drank five cups of coffee and downed two handfuls of sleeping pills at the same time.

Is this what shock feels like?

If so, it is awful. Now that I am alone I can't seem to focus. I need a notebook and a pen to jot things down because my mind is wandering all over the place and I keep leaping from thought to thought with no time in between.

Not having a way to sort out my thoughts is making it impossible to sleep! I can't close my eyes because of what I see when I do and every little thing is keeping me awake and on edge.

An owl hooting? Nope. My brain is telling me that it is definitely a walker.

The wind whispering through the trees? Oh, it is probably a group of people in the woods currently plotting our death.

All very logical, right? Well try telling my mind to stop worrying.

I know Daryl is still sitting just outside so I decide to join him. There is no sense is trying to sleep anymore because it isn't going to happen. Plus, if something is outside in the dark I think Daryl would know and I can follow his cue instead of allowing myself to make up potential disasters every time I hear a noise.

It takes some maneuvering but I manage to get outside the tent while still keeping my legs inside the sleeping bag. I'm grateful he has restarted the fire. Every night the sun goes down it feels like it is colder than the one before. I'm from the south. I hate the cold.

He is laying with his head on a log and his arm draped over his face paying me no attention. Slowly, because I don't want to fall in the fire, I make my way over to my own log and wrap my arms around my knees. Still cocooned, I close my eyes as the flames warm my face and the air cools the back of my neck. It is almost the perfect combination of hot and cold.

Maybe it is being around someone else or maybe it is because that person is Daryl but I finally feel myself start to relax. I notice that the stars have decided to come out. There is no way I will ever get tired of seeing them like this. With no light pollution, they really are breathtaking. The night is so clear and they are so bright that I think I could count them all if I had the time.

Right now, looking up at heaven, it is easy to forget that just beyond the reach of this fire demons are out there. Both man and the dead who would be more than willing to destroy the last few things I have left to care about.

I jump when Daryl throws another log into the fire. A shower of sparks rise to join the stars I was just admiring.

He mumbles a quick, "Sorry.", around the cigarette in his mouth. Out of habit, I attempt a reassuring smile but it turns serious when I remember that Dale is dead. I shouldn't be smiling. Dale doesn't get to smile anymore.

It's terrible when anyone dies but after tonight I feel closer to Dale. Knowing that I was the last person he talked to, makes me feel obligated to make sure his memory doesn't die. Everyone wants to be remembered for something they accomplished or for some inspiring words they once said. I only wish I could remember exactly what Dale said to me before he went into the field. I should have written them down but I didn't know I would never see him again.

The stars are no longer holding my attention and neither is the fire. I look at Daryl and see that he is watching me. I don't catch him often but I think he does that a lot. His face is dark and impassive, the light from the flames only deepening the shadows. It looks like he has something he wants to say but he isn't sure I want to hear it.

"What?" I ask and I'll admit I am a little unsure if I want him to answer me. Too much has happened and I don't know if I can take anything else.

He stays quiet before he takes another drag from his cigarette and flicks it on the ground at the same time he exhales the smoke from his lungs. Then I watch as he wrinkles his blue eyes as if he is weighing what he is about to say, "Randall's still alive."

My spine stiffens as a chill runs down it.

…Okay. I wasn't sure what he was going to say but it sure as heck wasn't that. I assumed he was already dead.

- "I can kill him."

Another bombshell has just been dropped on me. And why did what he just said ,sound more like a question than a statement. Was he asking me if I wanted him to kill Randall?

Do I want him to kill him?

Fragments of the last words Dale said in this very spot start to come back to me. Then the whole conversation comes back to me and I know that I can never ask that of Daryl. My life hasn't exactly been steady lately. If I had to compare it to something I would say it was the equivalent to a train car off the rails, bumping over rocky ground at high speeds, and heading into a downward slide right off a cliff. But since meeting Daryl he has stayed a constant middle ground for me. By some miracle, he somehow seems to have his stuff together in this awful world. With him I feel like the car might get back on track.

Hopefully that happens before the baby comes.

"No." I shake my head as I say, "Dale was right."

Daryl's POV

When it came to the opposite sex Merle thought he was an expert. He also drilled into my head early on that if a woman wanted to spend time with you she wanted something in return. I never paid my brother any mind when it came to relationship advice; mainly because I never really had a relationship that lasted more than a month and I can't say that Merle's were particularly healthy either. He wasn't necessarily wrong about this but I always argued it was human nature not just women.

The list was short but when Merle was proven right he never failed to be there with an, "I told ya brother".

I had gone out with a bartender named Jenny a few times but put an end to it after she wanted me to pay off her overdue rent. Then there was Abby. She wanted me to "hook her up" with the "good shit Merle had". The cake topper was Samantha. She wanted me to be a substitute husband/daddy to her and her kid while her old man was serving time in prison. These were all examples Merle would throw in my face whenever he thought I was "going soft."

When I asked the girl about Randall I wasn't sure what her answer was going to be. I had run it through my head a couple of times before I asked her and it could have gone either way.

She said no. I respected that but I don't think I would have blamed her if she had said 'yes' either. There is zero doubt in my mind that the three women I mentioned before would have all said yes in an instant. She is different.

Now I'm confused why the girl is up here in my tent instead of down at the farmhouse. They can provide her everything I have been. Probably do an even better job of food, shelter, and company. So why? What does she want from me?

Maybe she wants nothing. I guess it's possible.

I tell myself that I am overthinking it and that Merle's shitty advice is just drilled into my head.

Mel's POV

I guess I managed to get a couple of hours of sleep after all because I wake up inside the tent instead of outside which is the last place I remember being. I don't know how I got in here but I sometimes switch to auto pilot during stressful situations so I'll chalk it up to that.

I stretch out my legs and I feel a weight on top of my sleeping bag. I reluctantly sit up because I don't really want to start my day. Nothing has happened yet and if it has I am blissfully unaware of it. But I'll have a short life if I refuse to leave this tent so I force my arms to lift me up. When I do I find a clean pair of jeans and underwear at my feet. A piece of paper that looks like it was ripped out of a notebook sits in between the clothing.

The writing is a beautiful cursive and I immediately know it is too feminine to be a man's handwriting,

"Daryl said you needed some clothes. Hope they fit! If you need more don't hesitate to let me know.

-M"

The man is a saint! I don't even care that the jeans are a little tight around the waist. I was cursed, or blessed depending on how you looked at it, with wide hips. My momma's hips. They made finding jeans that fit perfectly almost impossible and I dreaded going shopping because of them. I started buying in bulk after a sale associate who was a very nice older lady that smelled like peppermint, told me that I was "blessed with child bearing hips". Something a thirteen-year-old doesn't want to hear.

The good mood that the fresh clothes put me in turns solemn when I remember those innocent words spoken by someone I will likely never see again. I guess we will see if these hips come in handy in nine months' time. Refusing to let those thoughts ruin the start of my day I head outside the tent.

Daryl is next to his motorcycle probably doing motorcycle type stuff and a plate of eggs is sitting in my spot. I take a seat and start eating. It isn't long before Daryl notices I am up and walks toward me while wiping his hands on a rag.

"What are they doing?" I nod toward the bottom of the hill where the small group is starting to gather together.

"Dales funeral."

"Oh." I say softly because I somehow managed to almost forget what happened last night, "Guess we should get down there."

He gives a silent nod, which is how he usually communicates with me, then he slings his crossbow on his back.

I find the eggs on my plate no longer appealing and scrape the remainder into the fire before making the silent trek down to the others.

I would say that up until recently I have been lucky for the most part, only having to attend one funeral in my life. Looking back on it, my mother's funeral feels like it took place in another lifetime. I guess it did. I don't remember much other than my aunt was staying with us and she made me put on a very itchy black dress that I hated. I remember that she was crying a lot which made me stop fighting her about it because I didn't want to make her sad. Any memories of the funeral itself are very vague. I don't remember who came and I don't remember what was said. I do remember climbing into my bed that night and holding mom's pink and white scarf to my face so that I could smell her perfume. I think I remember closing my eyes and pretending she was still there because I must have known I would never see her again.

When we get close to the familiar oak tree I notice that for once this group is quiet. Normally I hear everyone talking and carrying on their own conversations. But today, it's like everyone is afraid to talk. When I look at the ground I see why that is, the outline of three plots are easy to spot by the overturned dirt and the circle of rocks surrounding them. Beth's mom Jo, Sophia, and now Dale are buried here. Three lives that were cut short.

Three might not seem like a lot but I'm sure every cemetery started out with only one or two graves. The thought that everyone standing around me is going to end up dead puts an unsettling feeling in my stomach. I refuse to think about that right now -it's too negative and we already have an abundance of that around us.

Instead I scan the group and spot Beth standing with Hershel, Jimmy, and Patricia all gathered around her in a protective circle. I'm glad that they have each other but it makes me very aware that I don't know where I fit in among everyone. Andrea, Carol, T-Dog, Carl, and Lori are huddled together with their own tears for Dale in their eyes. Glen has his arm around Maggie but I can tell the support is more for his benefit rather than hers. Rick and Shane stand next to each other but the tension between the two seems to still be there.

I'm not sure what I should be doing, so I look up at the sky and I find that it doesn't match the setting of a funeral. In the movies, it is always raining and a parade of black umbrellas circle around each other. Apparently, Mother Nature didn't get the memo that today is supposed to be gloomy. Birds are chirping, completely unaware of the sadness we are feeling. The sky is a perfect shade of blue with puffy clouds making it even more picturesque. Maybe this is some sort of sign that things are only going to get better.

I doubt it. There goes that negativity again.

I stand furthest away from the graves with Daryl on my right. I didn't know Dale as well as the others and I don't want to intrude on their grief. Standing where I am and feeling like I am doing nothing more than observing makes me very much aware that I am an outsider here. I even think about going back to the tent but Rick clears his throat and breaks the silence before I can make up my mind. Along with the rest of the group I look at him to start.

"Dale could—he could get under your skin. He sure got under mine, because he wasn't afraid to say exactly what he thought or how he felt. That kind of honesty is rare and brave. Whenever I'd make a decision, I'd look at Dale. He'd be looking back at me with that look he had. We've all seen it one time or another. I couldn't always read him, but he could read us. He saw people for who they were. He knew things about us- The truth. Who we really are. In the end, he was talking about losing our humanity. He said this group was broken. The best way to honor him is to unbreak it. Set aside our differences and pull together, stop feeling sorry for ourselves and take control of our lives Our safety our future. We're not broken. We're gonna prove him wrong. From now on We're gonna do it his way. That is how we honor Dale."

By the end of Rick's words, I can feel a few stray tears falling down my cheeks. Not so much because of what he said. But more because I started to realize during his words that couldn't have been truer about the man they were meant for, that If I died today I would have no one that would really care. I'm sure everyone here would have the decency to dig me a grave and say a few words but they wouldn't be anything personal. The closest I have to a friend here is Beth. Even then, Harmony was our only common bond. Without my sister, I'm not sure what it is we have.

Then like they didn't just say goodbye to a huge part of their group everyone starts to leave without looking back; until it is just Daryl and I left behind. I look at him and see that he is staring at the last two graves. Dale and Sophia. A million thoughts of what he could be thinking start to run through my head and for some reason I think he feels guilty. He has absolutely no reason to feel guilty for either of their deaths but, and I can't explain how I know, but I know he does.

Daryl takes out his smashed package of cigarettes from his back pocket and puts one in his mouth. I want to tell him that their deaths aren't his fault but I know from my own experience that those words are meaningless. Instead, I take one last glance at Dale's grave and say my own silent prayer. It's doubtful but hopefully someone is still up there listening.

On the walk back to the others, I think that maybe I can help Rick and Hershel with whatever needs to be done today. But by the time I catch up, everyone is already moving around like a well-trained unit. I'm sure a lot of it is needing to keep their mind off of the fact that they just said goodbye to Dale but it feels wrong. We only gave him a few minutes of our time.

Rick is standing beside Hershel's rusty truck and I hover around the hood trying to stay out of the way of everyone rushing around but hopefully still letting him know that I want to help.

Rick's voice is confident and he sounds sure in every decision he makes. It only takes me two minutes of listening to him to appreciate why they chose him as their leader. It actually makes me feel secure knowing that he is thinking ahead for the safety of everyone on the farm.

It makes me feel like we might have a chance.

"T-Dog you take perimeter around the house. Keep track of everyone coming and going."

I watch as T-Dog glances at me then lowers his voice before asking, "What about standing guard?"

Am I missing something? Because I feel like I shouldn't be here when Rick looks back at me just like T-Dog did. "I need you and Jimmy on double duty."

That was weird but no one else seems to think so and I am probably being paranoid.

The group keeps listing off their plans. Hershel is going to stock the basement with food and water, enough that we can all survive there a few days if we need it. They are also going to build two lookout points and have someone on watch at all times.

I guess Dale being killed on the farm has shaken everyone and now every precaution possible is going to be taken.

Without making any noise at all Daryl appears and stands beside me. I immediately think of that Seinfeld episode where Elaine makes the guy from her office carry Tic-Tac's so he couldn't sneak up on people anymore.

"Let's get this area locked down first. After that, Shane will assign shifts for tomorrow while me and Daryl take Randall offsite and cut him loose." Hearing Rick say Randall's name takes my attention away from 90's sitcoms and back to what is going on.

"We're back to that now?" Shane yells and slaps the side of the truck making me jump. Daryl takes a step forward almost blocking my view but I can still see everyone stop what they are doing to watch what is playing out.

"It was the right plan first time around. Poor execution."

"I'd say that's a slight understatement."

"You don't agree, but this is what's happening." I take a step back when Rick walks closer to Shane "Swallow it- Move on."

"You do know that Dale's death and the prisoner. That is two separate things, right? You wanna take Daryl as your wingman, be my guest."

"Thank you." I let out a relieved breath I didn't know I was holding when Rick starts to walk away.

"-But you're wrong." Shane yells after Rick. I stop breathing again when I see Rick's face when he turns back around to face Shane "When that guy gets one of us killed, I ain't gonna need to say anything because that blood –it will be on you Rick."

Everyone is watching to see how this plays out. Judging by the dark bruises still coloring both Rick and Shane's faces, I know they fought once before and I can only imagine the tension between the two is still on the surface and ready to come out again.

To be honest, I don't know what I was expecting to happen next but it certainly wasn't Rick giving a quick nod, signaling his agreement with Shane before walking away.

Daryl's POV

Rick is finishing up his conversation with Hershel when he spots me coming toward him. Just by looking at him you wouldn't think he was leading a bunch of strangers that have no clue what they are doing. Especially ones that are trying to survive an apocalyptic situation.

Unlike back at the quarry where Shane was in charge, Rick isn't barking orders at people or abusing the power that everyone has tasked him with. Nope, that sheriff training he received is in full swing and he looks about as cool as a cucumber.

Expect I know it is getting to him. He has a tell; and he's doing it now. His hand runs through his hair like he is trying to push down some of those curls. It's nothing like Shane's violent scalp massage that he does but I've noticed it a few times from Rick. Recently it has been happening quite a bit. He might be hiding it well but the man is stressed. Not that I blame him. He has a lot to be stressed about. This is a perfect example of trial by fire because when he fucks up someone could die.

I watch as Rick slaps Hershel on the back then starts to walk over to where I'm standing next to a tree. His eyes stay on the ground and his hand makes another pass over his head again. He stops beside me and looks out over the farm. Everyone is moving around finishing the tasks they were given. Dale's death is still at the front of everyone's mind so the vibe is somber but there is a purpose to what we are doing now. Which is good, we need to remember to stay on our toes.

"You think I'm doing the wrong thing to?" Rick asks without looking at me. I notice his voice doesn't sound as sure as it did back at the truck.

I'm not sure of my answer so I pull out my smokes because I need to buy myself some time. It makes more sense to just kill Randall and it could potentially save us some very big headaches later on. It would be so much easier to kill him.

As I bring my lighter up to my cigarette I seek out the girl. I flip it closed when I see her on the other side of the farmhouse. The combination of her hair and my vest make her fairly easy to spot. She is pushing a wheelbarrow behind Hershel's youngest, Beth, and I can almost see the determination on her face as she gives a strong shove to push the cart over an obstacle on the ground.

I exhale and continue to watch as the air around me turns hazy. The girl already gave me my answer last night.

"Nah, you've done right by us so far. Might as well see how far you take us." I push off the tree and pull my bow higher on my back, "I'm gonna go check the outer fences. See where the one that got Dale came in at."

"You good to go on your own?"

I try to tone down my scoff when I say, "I'm better on my own. I'll be back before dark then we can talk 'bout tomorrow."

I take three steps before Rick calls my name. I stop and look back at him.

"That thing you did last night..."

I already know what he is going to ask, "Ain't no reason you should do all the heavy lifting."

Rick has done more than I would've ever done for these people. His son has been shot. His best friend and wife have had an affair. Hell, she might even be carrying Shane's baby but Rick doesn't care. That same best friend looks at him like he wants him dead. He has killed in self-defense and he had to shoot Sophia. So, I figure I can at least carry Dale's death on my shoulders.

I start back toward the edge of the farm. Thankful for no more interruptions and a chance to finally deal with that added weight on my shoulders.

Mel's POV

I have to stop again to roll up the sleeves of my borrowed shirt and it is getting annoying. Not only do the sleeves keep going over my hands making me look like Dopey from the seven dwarfs but now that I am moving around and working the long sleeves are making me hot.

"Come on slow poke. We've got to start dinner." Beth's sing-song voice reminds me too much of my sisters. Just like Harmony did, Beth always sounds like she belongs in the Broadway play of The Sound of Music.

I have to bite down the jolt of raw pain at her memory and in a forced voice I try to sound like nothing is bothering me when I say, "You go ahead. I've got to fix these sleeves again".

"You know you can just borrow one of my shirts. It'll be easier."

"I might take you up on that offer later." I finish rolling one sleeve and smile at Beth, "I'll catch up with you."

I watch for a second as Beth shrugs and walks on without me. Her ponytail swinging from side to side is similar to one you'd see on a child at the playground. I enjoy spending time with my sister's best friend but everything she does reminds me of Harmony. Just little things here and there like the way she talks or the little skip she adds to her walk. So far, I have hidden the twinges of pain Beth's presence brings. I just need a minute to myself before the memories leave me a blubbering mess.

I start on the other sleeve. It does make more sense for me to borrow a shirt from Beth or Maggie but I like this one. And no, I don't know why I like wearing Daryl's shirt so much. It's not flattering and it already came to me with a couple of unidentifiable stains on it but I find a sort of comfort in wearing it. Just like his vest. It makes absolutely zero sense to me but I can't argue with how I feel. It's new to me. I've always found comfort in people not objects.

I mean I had a boyfriend in high school, Heath, we dated for three years until he went to Nairobi with his church for mission work. He was a good man and like most high school girls I thought I loved him and we would have the perfect life when he got back. That didn't happen but when we were dating, I would occasionally wear his letterman jacket. I never felt particularly safe in it like I do in Daryl's vest. Just warm.

Once my sleeves are secure I look around and see that everyone is headed inside. There is still that feeling of suffocation when I think about being around them but I guess it's something I am going to have to deal with. Even though the day started off crappy it has ended up being one of the better ones as of recently. Having work to do has kept my mind off things and even though being around Beth has been hard at times, I have enjoyed being in her company. It almost makes me feel like I do when it's just me and Daryl in the woods. Normal.

I pick up the pitchfork we left outside the barn and carry it inside. After I hang it on the wall I walk over to Nelly's stall and rub the spot between her ears. Her tail starts to twitch and I wonder if she wants as much as I do to go for a ride. I haven't ridden a horse in years but I suddenly have the urge to. Daddy sold our mares when I was still in high school claiming that we never rode them and they were a lot of work. He was right and last I heard Lemon and Caroline were happily living on a farm a few towns over.

"Sorry girl. Maybe tomorrow." I lay my forehead on hers and I listen to her steady breathing.

"She seems to like you." Shane's voice startles both me and Nelly who raises her head and throws it back.

I just manage to take a step away before I'm headbutted. Then I take a few retreating steps hoping that a way out will present itself. My heart speeds up when I look around the barn and notice that he is blocking the one and only exit. Shane smiles but it is not comforting. The only thing that is comforting right now is that he doesn't move to come closer. I'm sure I look pathetic because I don't know what to say and my eyes dart around looking for anyone or anything that can help me.

There is nothing within my reach so I go back to watching him.

He is an unsettling person. It's his eyes, they remind me too much of those other men. The ones who don't care about anyone but themselves.

"Sorry about that" he raises his hands in a surrendering motion "I didn't mean to scare you. Daryl was just looking for you and I happened to see you come in here. Thought I'd pass the message on. He was headed toward that poor excuse of a watering hole Hershel calls a pond."

He gives an awkward laugh at his own joke. I manage to nod an acknowledgment but he still stands there. I wish he would go away.

I flinch when he violently runs his palm over his shaved head, "I also wanted to –ah- apologize for how I treated you early on. It wasn't fair to you and I'm not normally that type of person. I'm sorry."

I'm not sure if I'm still afraid or more stunned now by what he just said but he does look apologetic. I'm just unsure if it is sincere. I guess my stunned silence has become awkward for him because he clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, "Well, dinner should be about ready."

My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to squeak out a quick, "thank you", as he leaves the barn. I'm not even sure he heard me.

I think the only reason I said anything at all is in case there is a chance that I am overreacting when it comes to Shane. For all I know, he could be a nice guy and I just happened to catch him on a couple of bad days. Obviously, it is no excuse for how he treated me before but the world is now full of people who are having to do things they never thought they would have to do. Plus, if he wanted to hurt me just now he could have done it with no problem. Instead he delivered a message, apologized, and left.

I stay where I am for a few minutes as I wait for the pounding in my ears to stop. Nelly lets out a huff and my hand goes back to try and comfort her. A few more minutes go by and she decides that I am less interesting then her hay and leaves me to eat her dinner.

My stomach lets out a grumble when I think about my own dinner but then I remember what Shane said. Daryl is looking for me. Immediately I think that he is probably worried because I wasn't in the house with everyone else. It's not like I have given him any reason to think I should be alone. I hadn't seen him since that weird Rick and Shane confrontation at the truck this morning and now he is missing his own dinner because he is out looking for me.

I trip over my own feet as I run out of the barn and in the direction of the pond Daryl took me to last night. He has already done so much for me and the last thing I want to do is have him needlessly worry about me. Actually, I'm not sure if he would worry about me but Shane's message means that he is at least missing out on a meal because of me.

The pond looks different in the light of day. Shane was right about the size. It is more like an extra-large puddle but it is a place I could see myself coming to if I needed to relax. I watch as the light breeze makes small ripples on the surface. Combine that with the reflection of the setting sun and it makes the water look like sparkling gold.

I look around but Daryl isn't here. I don't have a lot of confidence in my tracking skills without him by my side telling me if I am wrong so there is no way I am going to keep wandering around looking for him. Chances are he will come back through this way or go back to the house. If he does the latter then Shane will tell him that he sent me here.

Still, I should go back to the house but that heavy feeling settles on my chest when I think about being around all those people. Besides, it is peaceful here and all I want to do is hold on to whatever little peace I somehow manage to find.

Exhaustion is starting to set in. Last night was rough. Every time I would close my eyes Dales agony ridden face would make an encore appearance. Seeing his face right before he died. Seeing that terror, pain, and confusion of what was happening to him is no doubt going to haunt me for a very long time. So, it's no big surprise that those visions are not conducive for a good night's sleep. In fact, it is quite the opposite.

I'll just sit here for a few minutes and see if Daryl makes his way back here.

The ground is still damp from the small rain shower earlier but I take a seat anyway. Grass and mud stains aren't important anymore. If someone decides to comment on them later then that person clearly doesn't have their priorities straight. Not that I would say that to the person out loud but I totally would think it.

I lean back and rest my head on my arm. There aren't many clouds out but the few that are make a stark contrast against the light blue sky. It's more important than ever to appreciate the beautiful things, especially with all of the bad surrounding us. Which is why I find myself spending so much time looking up at the sky. I like to think that enjoying that little bit of natural beauty keeps me from becoming too jaded.

As the clouds slowly glide across the sky, I close my eyes and pull a freeze-framed memory of their faces from my mind. Then I let my mind wander back to that wonderfully pleasant time in my life. Back when I had a loving family that would call me every day after I was done with my classes. They would ask me how I did on that big test that I was nervous about and had spent all night studying for the night before. Then Harmony would ask me what I was eating for dinner. She was the cook in the house and if it wasn't for her, daddy and I would have lived off of ramen noodles or the only two fast food places in town. Then daddy would always finish our conversation with his scripted, "Love ya baby girl. Talk to you tomorrow."

I wipe away a tear that has managed to escape my shut eyelids. It's funny what you remember after someone is gone. I took for granted those moments and would often roll my eyes when I saw their names flashing on my cellphone at what I thought were inconvenient times.

What I wouldn't give to talk to them now.

The sound of the tall grass shuffling makes me sit up abruptly, forgetting about past regrets. I look around expecting to see Daryl's face coming toward me but it isn't his face I see. My throat goes dry, and my racing thoughts start to slow the closer he gets. Prickles of hot panic spread up my spine and neck as a film of sweat immediately breaks out over my skin.

Randall is here. Standing in front of me, and there is no one to protect me. He stops moving at the start of the clearing. Leaving the monster that still finds his way into my nightmares no more than ten feet away from me.

Somehow even though I am afraid, terrified really, I manage to stay calm. On the outside at least. Inside I am screaming and crying. But I know that me breaking down and sobbing isn't going to do a damn thing to get me out of this situation.

First things first. I tell myself that I need to stand up.

I keep my eyes on him. He doesn't move. He does nothing but keep his own dark eyes on me. Which is disturbing to say the least. Slowly, like I am facing a spooked wild animal, I start to pull my legs up so I can get into position to stand. To run if I can. Fight if I have to.

He narrows his eyes and quickly takes a step toward me, "Don't move." He shouts. A gun I didn't see before is raised in his hand. Pointing straight at me. "I said don't move!"

A voice in my head tells me to just make a run for it anyway. But after clearly looking down the barrel of the gun I manage to cold cock that voice into silence.

I stop moving. I'm afraid to speak or nod. I want to be strong but this is the first time that a gun has been pointed at me and I can't help the tremor of fear that runs up my spine. It's completely warranted. Guns kill people and I don't want to die.

My heart is pounding so loud in my chest, I'm surprised I can hear anything else over the heavy thudding.

The world feels like it is spinning out of control as I stare at the small black device that can kill me in a second. It's all I can think about now and my breathing picks up. The ground suddenly feels unsteady.

Oh God, I'm going to faint.

No, wait. Don't faint! That would make my situation a lot worse. I guess it's good to know that my body isn't completely shutting down. That somehow through my panicked breathing and fear induced endorphins that are currently running rampant throughout my body I know I need to stay conscious. Otherwise I will die.

I don't know if I am expecting the gun to leap out of his hands and attack me but my eyes haven't looked away from it. Which is stupid because if he decides to pull that trigger there is nothing I can do to stop it. My breath catches when he and the gun start to walk closer to me. I manage to pull my eyes away from his hand long enough to see that Randall looks like he went 10 rounds with a UFC fighter. His face is swollen and bruised to the point that he is almost unrecognizable. His limp prominent with each step he takes toward me.

"Come on, does it look that bad? Then again if it looks anything like it feels then I must look awful."

I don't respond. There is a chance I am dreaming but I know that if I reply then this is actually happening and all too real.

"I gotta admit that when he said, I could make the guy who did this to me pay I didn't expect to see you here Mel." The flinch was involuntary when he raised the gun to be even with my face like it was an extension of his hand.

How does he know my name? More importantly who's the he that he is talking about? The fact that this is happening is just more bad luck on my part. There is no way that this was planned by someone. Right?

It doesn't matter. Randall is now standing in front of me. I'm looking directly into his eyes and despite the raised skin and discoloration he is intimidating. His irises are nothing more than brown pits of hatred and that hate is fully directed at me.

I shiver as the barrel of the gun, which is surprisingly cold, slides down the side of my face stopping just at the line of my jaw. The threat clear. "How's your sister? She staying back at the farm to? After we are done I'd love to get my hands on her."

Rage that he has the nerve to even mention my sister in such a way, fuels my false bravado as I spit the words, "Fuck you" at him. The sharp pain shooting from my temple is the first sign that I have been hit. The second is when my knees hit the ground, slamming onto a rock with a dizzying flash of pain.

My head is swimming and a groan escapes as my headache starts to grow in strength. I'm dully aware of the blood trickling down my temple before I'm pushed forward. A weight on my back stops me from getting up. On instinct, my hands cover my stomach trying to give an extra layer of protection for the small life growing inside.

A scream is in my throat but before it can escape the sound of a gun getting ready to fire stops it.

I flinch and try to push away from him which only manages to press my chest harder against the ground. My senses are working overtime and I hate it. The rock pressing into my hip feels more like a knife. I can taste the dirt and grass as my face is pushed further into the ground. Then I finally start to cry when I smell his vile breath hot against my ear.

"Stop fighting!"

I do what he says because he jerks my head and I hit the hard dirt again. My head still throbbing as it pulses painfully from the inside out. The metallic taste of blood is now on my tongue.

"You gonna behave?"

I do my best to nod but the quick movement causes a renewed wave of pain that I can't bear. Instead I manage a quiet, "Y-yes" as a response.

His hand runs down the back of my head before he stands up. As soon as I realize I am able, I try to do the same. I ease up slow, trying not to disturb my pounding head anymore then I have to. My lip throbs and I notice blood smeared on the back of my hand when I wipe my mouth. For just a second I get angry again that he made me bleed but then I remember there is nothing I can do about it and that anger turns to fear.

"Come on we don't have a lot of time. We gotta go." He pushes me and I stumble. My only act of defiance is that I clench my fists as I start to walk in the direction I was pushed. Away from the farm.

The seconds feel like hours and with each step I try to send a telepathic cry for help to anyone who will listen. He's been quiet but I notice that his leg is making it hard for him to keep up with me. It might be stupid but I decide to test my boundaries and pick up my pace. I try to be discreet about it. I even stay facing forward because I don't want to tip him off by looking back to see how far away from him I am, but it's no good.

"Slow down." his thick southern accent growls from behind me.

I do. Because I'm scared.

After a few more minutes of silently walking I somehow find the courage to speak. I think it is more for my own sanity then anything else, "Where are we going?"

He is eager to respond, "You remember that town that had the big tractor pull every year? You probably don't, I never saw you there but that's where we're heading. The leader of our group thought it would be a good spot to set up. He was even trying to keep it like it was before. Yeah, I bet you'll like our camp. If they have done what they wanted to do you might even get your own apartment."

He stops talking long enough to see what my response is going to be about my own apartment. But he doesn't seem bothered that I'm not showing the joy he probably expected.

"-I mean it can get a little crazy sometimes but it's a tough bunch of guys. I bet you'll be real popular."

I know what he is implying by emphasizing his last few words and I want to throw up. I've dealt with people from his group before and I know that I won't survive it again. I'll throw myself over a ledge before that happens but hopefully it won't come to that. The urge to run is stronger and I know that I have already broken the first rule that I was taught in that self-defense class I took my freshmen year. Never go to a second location with your kidnapper.

Think. Think. Think.

I force my brain to work overtime and abandon my walking faster than him tactic. It didn't work and I am in no hurry to go wherever it is he is taking me. So, I slow down instead. Hoping to use his injured leg to my advantage. The slower I walk the closer I stay to the farm. Daryl, Rick, and the others will eventually realize I am gone and maybe someone will put two and two together when they discover Randall is missing as well.

When he is talking, he seems to be chatty. Maybe I can distract him and somehow make it out of this alive.

"I—I remember hearing about that tractor pull. Every year the senior class would make a big deal about attending. I always heard it was a lot of fun." I feign interest in hopes that I'm believable.

"Oh yeah. Everyone in the surrounding counties would be there. It was a blast. This one time my friend, Dan…"

I stop listening and realize how easy it is for him to go from threatening me, to carrying on a conversation like we are old friends. What the heck is wrong with him? He has a gun pointed at me!

I realize he has stopped talking and that he might be waiting for me to respond. So, I try to force a laugh at whatever he and Dan got into and respond with something that doesn't show I wasn't listening to him.

"I never made it but wasn't it just a couple of towns north of here? Wood-Woodbridge I think, right?"

"Yeah about 30 minutes from here and it's Woodbury."