Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

The Final Strike

They stood at the window in stunned silence. Daryl glared at the empty tracks. The gears in his head spun but couldn't find purchase on any solution except one: someone took the train and led the horde of the dead away from Genesis. This solution created another problem; the escape had demolished the fence and now the roundhouse's defense was reduced to a partial brick wall.

It was just one thing after another. Go, go, go, run, run, run. Last night, him and Carol pressed together, had been like a dream. If for no other reason that for just a few hours he forgot about Jonathan, the pain covering his body, and the end of the world. Now reality came crashing back. His left eye throbbed. They couldn't sit back and hope someone else would deal with it. They also couldn't hide up here and pretend there wasn't work to do.

Except, he didn't want to leave. Especially with Carol next to him, wearing nothing but a wrinkled bed sheet. Daryl snaked an arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. While he tried to piece together something to say, he kissed her forehead.

"At least we aren't surrounded anymore," Carol said, still focused on the new development outside. She rubbed comforting circles on his back.

Daryl huffed an agreement into her hair. "Yeah, but there's still some out there. We gotta figure out what ta do about it and the fence."

"I better get dressed then." Despite everything, Carol giggled lightly under the sheet. Then, seeing his frown, she added with smirk, "Don't get too upset. If all goes well, we can come back here later."

A tantalizing promise, one he wasn't sure would actually come into fruition. But since Carol made no move for privacy, he side eyed her as she slipped on panties and a bra. Much like last night, she was efficient and graceful in her movement. The dead outside and the mysterious disappearance of the train weren't enough to distract him from taking in her form, even if it was from half lidded eyes.

Clothed, Carol quirked an eyebrow at him knowingly. "Ready?"

"No." He kissed her and enjoyed his fleeting confidence for once. Once the parted he said, "Alright, let's go."

Everything hurt. His face, his ribs, his knee. Fuck his knee. With a frustrated growl, Daryl nudged Carol down the stairs ahead of him. She could get the conversation going and it would let him limp at his own pace.

Below, Rodney paced across the dining hall. Sam had her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapped impatiently. Rod was a grim stone. All three sets of eyes shot to the newcomers as soon as Carol reached the landing. She swung her arms, ready to jump into whatever needed done.

"The train's gone," Carol said.

Rodney stiffened. "We can't find Kenny."

"He must have taken the train then," Carol said.

"No, he wouldn't have," Rodney said.

"Why not?"

After what felt like an embarrassing descent, Daryl finally made it to the long table. Daryl half groaned as he eased himself into a chair. "Who else would have taken it?"

Rodney floundered for an answer. Rod covered his mouth in thought. Sam shrugged. The dimness of the room added to the overall sour feeling. Unnamed, it could be betrayal, or fear. Perhaps confusion and disbelief. As Daryl rubbed his sore knee, he figured it was a combination of all those feelings that stupefied the three people closest to Kenny.

A corpse bounced off one of the large train doors. They all flinched.

Carol placed her hand on his shoulder in a smoothing touch, but she addressed the other people in the room. "You said you couldn't find him." It was a gentle reminder, a nudge toward the conclusion.

It shook Rodney out of his stupor. "Maybe I haven't check everywhere." With that, he stormed down the hallway.

"Kenny?" Rodney called out. His call went unanswered.

Sam followed on his heels. Rod stomped behind her. They raced up and down the stairs, checked every window, every angle. Even though they hadn't moved from the dining area, Daryl was certain he could name everything they saw. A peak out the window would show that the guard tower had been flattened; no one had seen Neal, and no one had it in them to say the truth just yet. The chain link fence laid in pieces. It had already collected a few tumbleweeds in its jagged cage.

"They're in denial," Carol said. Above them, the trio opened a door for the second time and disappeared into the hallway beyond.

"Scared, maybe."

Carol scoffed lightly. "I know it's bad that Kenny left without saying anything, but this is good for us."

She disappeared and then came back with breakfast; granola bars and a can of peaches. They ate in silence. Daryl alternated between eating and rubbing the ache out of his knee.

He hadn't given it much thought before, but Kenny's group didn't quite piece together. An older gentleman, local, driving a train with a married couple, and two single men? One of whom was a sharpshooter. What had brought them together before the world collapsed? Daryl didn't believe for one second that it was serendipity; they worked together like a well oiled machine and that type of comfort took time to build.

Military?

He said as much to Carol, who tipped her head in thought.

After a while, Kenny's three friends returned empty handed. Rodney shook his head slowly. "Some canned goods are gone."

"And a lot of the local maps are too," Rod added sharply. Anger simmered in his words and in his clenched fists.

"I just can't believe he went off by himself," Rodney lamented. "What was he thinking?"

Sam put a hand on his arm. "We can't help Kenny until we deal with the dead. So let's start there."

"What the hell is the story here anyway?" Daryl said as he scraped the bottom of the peach can with a spoon.

"Pardon?"

"Your crew and Kenny. You're definitely not related," Daryl said, eying Rod's gym meathead body, Rodney and Sam's black hair, and remembering Kenny's leather-like skin and gray eyes.

"Oh!" Rodney chuckled, instantly drawn back to a better time. "We all volunteered at a train museum not too far from here, an hour at most. Kenny was-is-a retired engineer. Gave tours, fixed up old engines and cars. That sort of thing..."

"It's a hobby?" Carol huffed in disbelief.

"Yes," Sam said. "A lot of people get into those small train models, but well, we went for the real deal."

"But why Atlanta?" Daryl sputtered. "That's pretty fucking far for a bunch of hobbyists."

"It was for me," Sam said. Rodney wrapped a long arm around her shoulders. "I was there for a work conference when it all went down." At their puzzled look she answered the silent question, "I am, er, was a hotel chef."

"Kenny had called me up, told me about his plan for this place," Rodney muttered. "When I told him Sam was in Atlanta, he just said, 'Well, we better go get 'er.'"

"And that was that," Rod said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Which is why we need to find him!"

Thoughtfully, Daryl finished his breakfast with one last spoonful. "If Kenny was willin' to drive a train ta Atlanta just ta pick up a friend, what would stop him from taking that same train ta protect us?"

It was the final nail in the doubtful coffin. Rodney, Same, and Rod, bowed their heads in acceptance. "I wish he would have told us," Rodney said. "It's so dangerous."

"Well, we can't help him from in here," Daryl said, guiding them back to the immediate problem. He leaned his elbow on the table and asked, "So, how are we going to get rid of the dead?"

An hour later, they were still brainstorming ideas. A trickle of people filled the room over the course of the discussion, families who had come down for breakfast and stayed after hearing the news. Jules, one of Jonathan's former cronies was one had joined the conversation. Daryl had eyed him suspiciously at first, but Jules hadn't been one of the men who attacked him.

"Maybe he's trying to make up for it. Or," he paused, considering, "He's trying to distance himself from Jonathan by throwing his lot in with us."

Whatever Jules' reason, he had a lot to say but no new ideas. Besides him, nobody beside Double Rod, Sam, and Carol, added anything to the conversation. Many slunk away when the chatter circled back around to going outside and taking care of the dead themselves.

Daryl could barely see out of his one eye but it didn't take two to notice the air of fatalism choking the room. The blank stares, the wringing of hands. Like sheep they had followed Kenny here with his promises of safety and now he was gone. The apocalypse had found them and was banging on their front door. Daryl pitied them almost as much as he scoffed at their weakness.

Doing nothing would get them killed.

When the idea to just wait it out was brought up again, Daryl stepped forward. "We're just gonna do it ourselves."

Rodney sighed heavily and then slapped a palm to the table. "Right. We've wasted enough time. What is the plan, Daryl?"

"There's only a couple dozen. They're slow. We can have a few people shoot from the upper windows. And the rest of us can go outside and end them."

"Why can't we just shoot them all from the upper floor?" Jules asked.

It had been the same argument all morning. Why can't they just stay inside? Won't the dead wander off on their own?

His patience on thin ice, Daryl said bluntly, "We won't be able to shoot 'em all from the building. That would be stupid anyway, the gunshots could bring more."

"He's right." Rodney shook his finger at Daryl. "Wasting bullets won't do us any good."

"Well, who the hell is going to go outside?" Jules asked with a sniff.

"I will." Daryl braced himself on the table and pushed himself up with a quick wish that his knee wouldn't wobble.

Rodney crossed his arms. "Are you sure? You aren't exactly in good shape."

"Ain't anyone else who's been outside as much as me." Daryl flattened his palms on the table. "I gotta."

"Me too." Carol jumped up next to him.

For a split second, he was about to protest. He wanted nothing more than to have her stay safe inside the roundhouse. At the same time, there wasn't anyone else he trusted as much as Carol. Daryl bit the inside of his lip and nodded at Carol's determination. He slid a hand to clasp hers before his fear got the better of him.

"Rodney and I will help you," Sam said with a nod at her husband who sighed and held up his hands in surrender. "Rod can stay here and organize everyone inside."

Decision made, they laid out the details. It was easy to divide the group by capability. Samantha, Rodney, Carol, and Daryl comprised the outdoor team. Lookouts upstairs, including Jules, would fire at the dead, prioritizing aiming for the ones furthest from the squad to prevent friendly fire and to try and keep the corpses from clustering.

Rodney clapped his hands. "Alright! We will meet back here in fifteen minutes."

As soon as they opened the door to their room Sophia launched herself into Carol's arms.

"Mama, did you see? The dead are gone!" Even with her face buried in her mother's shoulder, her excitement couldn't be muffled.

"I did see! Daryl and I were just talking to the other adults about it."

Daryl grabbed his knives and loaded his crossbow, letting them have a moment. He recalled a shaking Sophia from the first night the horde surrounded the roundhouse. His chest constricted, knowing their announcement would destroy Sophia's momentary happiness.

Right on cue, Carol pulled her daughter away from her shoulders. She pressed her lips together and then started gently, "Sophia, Daryl and I have to go outside. We have to get rid of the dead one still out there."

The girl's smile melted. She looked from her mother, to Daryl, and back to her mother again. "No!"

"Yes. We have to. To keep you safe, and everyone else too. You'll be safe here and we'll be back before you know it."

Sophia sucked back tears.

"I won't let anything happen to 'er." Daryl chimed in with a reassuring nod.

Through her sniffles, Sophia whimpered, "You better. And you better come back too!"

Carol kissed the top of her daughter's head and took a deep breath. Then, Carol straightened slowly and said to Daryl, "Let me wrap your knee."

"No time for that."

She pierced him with her gaze, anchoring him to his spot. In tense silence, Carol guided Sophia to sit at the table and made sure she had books and other distractions. Then, without looking at him, Carol dug into her side of the file cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit.

"The dead aren't going anywhere, Daryl," she countered, already pulling a chair from the table. "Sit." When he hesitated, she added, "Please."

His resolved crumbled. "Ain't gonna be able to roll up my jeans. Give me a minute."

Daryl grabbed a pair of shorts from the drawer and changed in the side room. With his knee on full display, Daryl winced at the bruises and the puffiness around the joint. Daryl caught his reflection in the mirror and sighed.

"Look as bad as I feel."

He lifted up his shirt and eyed the fading black and blue splotches. They were still tender to the touch. Daryl hid them quickly. He pinched the bridge of his nose knowing he was this goddamned place's best fighter and he was in the worse condition.

"Can't fuck it up. They need me. Carol and Sophia need me."

Resigned to Carol suggestion, he exited and sat down in front of her. She settled on the floor and tenderly rested his heel on her thigh.

"You have to let me take care of you," she muttered as she ripped a piece of medical tape.

He looked down his body at her and flushed. With a careful finger, Carol prodded. He flinched.

"It's probably just your meniscus," Carol mused as she taped and wrapped. It didn't take long. A couple of pieces of tape, a soft fabric wrap, a little humming from her. He didn't have to guess why she was so familiar with wrapping injured joints.

"Am I gonna make it, Doc?" He joked with a huff.

She playfully slapped his good knee. "Yes. Though you'll feel better if you stay off of it for a few days."

"Fat chance," he muttered.

"Starting tomorrow," she promised with a final pat. "There. Was that so bad?"

Daryl tested it out. The wrapping took away some of his flexibility; not that he had had complete range of motion to begin with. To his surprise, it did help stabilize his gait.

"Thank you," he said. She took his offered hand and he pulled her up from the floor.

"I'll be right back." Not a minute later, Daryl had changed back into jeans and recollected his weapons.

After a shared nod, Carol gave her daughter last minute instructions. "Sophia, you stay here. Listen to Jackie if she comes looking for you."

"Okay." The girl embraced her mother fiercely and then, without hesitation, jumped over to hug Daryl.

It was awkward since he couldn't bend down fast enough to meet her. But he mirrored her fierce embrace. "We'll be back before ya know it," he promised.

The air in the hallway was thick and heavy. Squeezed by the dead, left without an escape route, of course everything would feel suffocating. Daryl grabbed Carol's hand and gave it a light tug. "You sure about this?"

"Are you?" She pointedly looked at his bruised eye and his weak knee.

"No," he said, honesty making him hoarse. In case she'd misplaced his concern, he tucked a finger under her chin. "I don't wantcha out there."

"There's no one else." Her blue gaze blazed with determination.

He slid his hand from her chin to cradle the back of her head, just for a second. "I know."

"Then, we don't have a choice." She stepped away from his grasp and rubbed her arms.

With a shaky inhale, Daryl dropped his hands to her shoulders. He hoped it would steady her as much as it grounded him. "I know you can do this, just cover my back, alright? And if it comes down to it-" He fisted the fabric across her collarbone and held her at arm's length. "Grab 'em like this and then strike."

He mimicked a kill. She copied him.

Pesky images of the dead ripping into her skin flooded his mind. His pounding headache intermixed with ghostly visions of Carol screaming and him too slow to save her. Daryl grit his teeth and willed the nightmares away.

"Don't do anything reckless alright?" Daryl embraced her.

Her grip around him tightened. "Same goes for you."

The dead milled about the yard in twos or threes, bumping between the downed fence and the brick wall and the building itself. Daryl watched their swaying bodies through a narrow window, trying to find any patterns. One group kept getting stuck along the crumbled fence, another repeatedly bumped against the side wall.

"They're spread out," he said, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. "That's good for us. But we'll have to strike fast and not give 'em time to clump together."

"You would know best," Rodney said. "We will follow your lead."

Daryl stiffened, letting the responsibility rest on his shoulders. It was on him to protect the three people before him, not only for their lives, but for the life of the roundhouse. Rodney, with his reason and status as Kenny's right hand man, and Sam, a steady rock and irreplaceable organizer would leave gaping holes in the event of their deaths. There were thousands of justifications to put Carol's life before his own. Daryl set his jaw; he had to keep them all alive.

The memories of the runs he made for Kenny coupled with old survival instincts buzzed under his skin. Tension gathered in each of his joints. Daryl cracked his knuckles and said, "Let's go."

Jules and Jackie manned the back door, ready to lightly barricade it until the strike team's return. At Daryl's nod, they pulled it open just enough for the four of them to sneak through. They eased it shut behind them. Daryl took out the closest corpse. Rodney stepped forward to kill the next.

"We're gonna hafta hope the shootin' distracts some of them," Daryl said, keeping his head on a swivel as they rounded the corner and stepped out into the yard. As if on cue, the first gunshot rang out from the other side of the Roundhouse. Even if the bullet missed, the nose should ideally be enough of a distraction to give them some cover.

"Let's go," Rodney said. They formed a diamond. Daryl and Rodney alternated between taking point. Samantha and Carol covered their backsides. Daryl did his best to swivel their formation so that he and Rodney were always facing the nearest threat. They took winding paths around obstacles if necessary. Thankfully, his injured joint throbbed, but held steady.

He checked on Carol in between kills. Each time she was a little dustier, breathing a little heavier, but alive and focused. "Good work," he said.

There was only time for a nod in return.

They stepped over previous kills as they looped around the yard. Sam made good use of her crowbar. Carol followed her lead. They were all splattered with gore and dust. The shooting continued with mixed success. The noise jarred Daryl with every shot. It drew the dead away from their small crew, but he kept an eye on the horizon, holding his breath in case more dead were drawn in by the racket.

Then, as they dropped more and more corpses and they closed in on the last dozen, the dead lost interest in the shots. They saw food and lunged after the four visible people.

"Look alive!" Daryl ran his hand over his thigh to sop up some of the sweat.

"Those are the last ones. I'm with you!" Rodney raised his knives. Without hesitation they marched forward and took out the three closest corpses. A body fell behind them. Daryl whipped around and exhaled seeing Sam splatter brains all over the ground with a swing of her crowbar.

Carol gave no reaction to the droplets of blood flung on her arms. Her fingers turned white around her crowbar as she grit her teeth at something at the end of the yard.

Daryl's heart pulsed. "Carol?"

She took off.

"Carol!" Daryl ran after her, cursing his knee. Over his shoulder he gestured toward two outlying corpses, "Get those ones!"

Rodney and Sam pivoted and launched an attack.

"What is she doing?" Sam yelled. Her crowbar connected with a skull and sprayed a bloody swirl.

Daryl ignored her and the carnage, frantically watching Carol run further and further from him. She dodged out of the way of one corpse's grasping hands, intent on some target. She sped off with a hop over an earlier kill. Wincing, Daryl pushed the hungry corpse down and knifed it. His knee cried out, but he did not slow down. Even so, Carol moved like water rushing around river stones; he wasn't gaining any ground.

Daryl risked a glance behind him and saw Rodney and Sam team up to take down the last shuffling corpse near them. He spun back around just in time to see Carol halt. It was only then he saw what had possessed her. There was a walking corpse caught in the trampled chain link fence.

It clawed for her.

She spat at it.

Ed.

A bloody, broken dead Ed. Eyes milky, shin the color of ash.

Daryl jogged to a stop as best as he could.

Carol ducked out of her dead husband's grasp. She pushed the horrid thing, whipping her hands out of the reach of its rotten teeth. With its leg wrapped up in mangled fence, the dead thing staggered. She pushed it again.

"Fuck you, Ed! Fuck you!" Spit flew from her lips.

Daryl struck down another target. As he regained his balance, one last group of the dead emerged from around the back corner of the roundhouse. He could barely hear Rodney and Sam yelling their warning over the blood pulsing at his temple. But instead of rushing forward and knifing Ed's corpse himself, he played defense, choosing instead to let Carol take the attack.

Not because he wasn't afraid. Every time the dead corpse gnashed its putrid maw at her, his chest tightened and his gut twisted. Fear sent his pulse into a rapid fire. But it was right for her to have the final blow, this impossible closure. He watched in awe as she approached her dead ex-husband for the final blow with the predatory grace of a lioness.

Corpse Ed slumped over with a sick crunch as his ankle bone failed. Carol cocked her elbow, raised her chin high. With tears glistening on her cheeks, she stabbed him in his right temple. He dropped like a bag of trash.

Daryl smirked with pride and the spell anchoring him in place broke. He nodded sharply at Rodney and Sam. They split off to finish clearing the yard while Daryl grabbed Carol's shoulders.

"Hey." Shaking, he wiped the dirty streaks from her cheeks.

Carol actually laughed, a loud and chaotic cackle. Placing her hands over his, she stood on her toes and kissed him good. "I got him, Daryl. It was him and I finally got him."

She was all dirt and sweat and trembling muscle, alive and relentless. Daryl deepened their kiss, celebrating her victory and the completed mission.

As he pulled away he rasped, "Right through that mole, right?" He caressed the side of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair searching for the small scratches. Satisfied, he looped his arm around her shoulder in a tight tug, exhaustion and relief getting the better of him. He staggered.

"Yes. Just like I practiced." Carol caught him, put his weight on her shoulder, and together they shuffled toward the roundhouse.

Author's Note: Wooowwowie. It's been awhile!

Quarantine stress is real, man.

I feel like this chapter is a bit rough, but I posted it anyway. I imagine some further editing will occur at a later time. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me! Love you all.-randomcat23