Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead. It is just my favorite show on television right now, so of course I have to write about it.

Author's Note: Because I got this question, I figured I'd answer it... Other than Tyreese who you all saw/read him die in the first chapter, everybody that was alive in the season 3 finale is alive in this story. Don't worry; there aren't any other secret deaths just waiting to be discovered. If anybody else dies in this story (I won't say one way or another, mwahahah), you will see it happen. I actually really like how one particular scene in this chapter came out, and I hope you all like it, too.

Enjoy!

Chapter Three

When Daryl next woke up, it was light, and a scorpion was standing about an inch from his face.

He stared at it. This close, it looked alien, gigantic, like something out of some B-rated horror movie that Glenn would have gotten a kick out of before the world went to shit. It edged closer, and he edged back. He flicked his fingers at it, and it retreated.

His headache was worse. So much worse. He squinted in the harsh sunshine and shaded his eyes. The sun actually felt good. He was cold. His hand felt frozen, like it didn't even belong to him. It was someone else's hand, stapled onto his arm during the night.

He watched the scorpion shamble away. For a moment, he wondered what the scorpion tasted like. Maybe they were wet on the inside. Was the whole thing poisonous or just the stinger part? Martinez probably knew. Maybe the fucker would come back just long enough to give him that piece of information.

"Hey, amigo, feel free to bite the heads off of scorpions while you're out here! It won't kill you… yet." But unlike before, the voice was most definitely not there. No confusion this time. It was just in his head in a desperate attempt to amuse himself from this fucked up situation.

Rick was gone. There was no one around. The coyotes were silent. Just the wind brushing against his face was present, like greedy little fingers as they explored him.

"You're ours now, honey," it was saying with every wisp. "We'll keep touching you until you fall over, and you can't get up anymore. We'll hold you and rock you and cradle you against the sand, and suck the last drop out of you, scour the skin from your bones, and leave your skeleton like a warning in a white ribcage and long white bones. You can't fool Mother Nature. You dumb shit."

Actually, Mother Nature sounded a lot like his father again. Not feeling up to another visit from that bastard, he brushed the thought aside.

A buzzard landed about ten feet away, flapping its wings expectantly.

Daryl recoiled, uttering a harsh bark of wordless disgust. He couldn't get the words from his parched throat, but the message was all too clear. Oh, hell no, you do not get me yet, ya fuckin' carrion sack of garbage. Feasted on Tyreese's remains but ain't got your fill so ya come for me? FUCK you, no fuckin' way.

Panting, he took off one of his boots and flung it at the staring bird. The shot went way wild, soaring at least three feet to the left of his target, but it did the trick. The buzzard cawed and flapped its huge wings, taking off into the sky. Daryl watched, breath hitching in his chest, while it rose higher and higher. It started to circle overhead, refusing to leave behind its next meal.

"Not dead yet," Daryl croaked out. "Not yet, sonuvabitch."

After a minute longer, he finally sat up. It was a stupid idea, throwing his shoe like that, but he didn't regret it. He stood and immediately hunched over as waves of dizziness washed over him. This was way worse than the day Merle got out of jail back in '06, and he'd forced him to get shitfaced drunk with him that night. He still wasn't sure what the hell happened most of that night, just that he somehow ended up waking up in the bed of his truck. He was dizzy as hell then, too, but Jesus, nowhere near like right now. His stomach turned over unsteadily.

When the landscape steadied a little, he stumbled over to find his boot. He sat on a rock while he put it on. His toes were blue with his foot amazingly cold. He couldn't figure that part out. It was already warm and quickly getting a lot warmer. Why were his feet and hands cold? He tied the boot awkwardly and pushed himself off the rock.

x X x

Daryl had just calculated the time based on the sun's height from the horizon – approximate 9 o'clock – when he saw a glint just to his right. He looked over at Beth who lifted her chin, curious.

"What do you think it is?" she asked.

He shook his head.

At her side, Maggie gave a shrug. "Check it out, Daryl. It could be important."

The glint was the sun reflecting off of a plastic bottle. His heart made a tiny painful lurch in his chest upon seeing it. Bottles held water. Fluid. He knew this. He all but ran over, fighting back the cries of pain at how much it hurt to move like that, with purpose, with speed. His body ached all over. He bent down to pick it up.

The bottle was as dusty dry as the dirt in which it had laid for untold days. Weeks, months, probably. He emptied out the dirt inside and looked over at the Greene sisters, as if expecting them to be able to tell him what to do now.

"Hold onto it," Beth said gently. "You might be able to use it later. Find a puddle or maybe it'll rain."

Holding the bottle, he turned to stare at the horizon. There were no roads out here. There should have been, but there weren't. Godforsaken empty nothing. Where was he? Where was the highway, the wash, the houses? Tyreese had been fucking dreaming; there was nothing out here. Nothing but dirt and rocks and mesquite and tumbleweed. Bugs and buzzards. Maybe a few mummified walkers if he looked hard enough.

There was an outcropping to the right. Maybe a few miles. A cliff facing, maybe shelter. It was going to be pretty toasty out here today. He could already feel it.

"Let's go over there," Maggie said, walking up next to him. "I'm getting a sun rash just standing out here. Aren't you? Let's get some shade, rest a while. What d'ya say?"

Daryl eyed her for a moment before giving a sharp nod. "Alright."

Maggie stayed on his right when he started to walk again. Beth joined them on his left. Bookends. Daryl almost smiled as he shaded his eyes.

x X x

It was much too far. He was never going to make it. Sorry, cowgirl, gonna have to sit down. He just needed a little break. And, really, this would be so much easier if one of the sisters had some water on them. They sure as hell didn't look thirsty to him, which meant that they must have had water somewhere. They weren't fucking sharing with him, though. Leaving him out of their little water-filled secret. Stuck-up bitches. Sneaky bitches, too.

"The farmer's daughter ain't here," someone said directly behind him.

Daryl wheeled around and stared. Merle was grinning as he shook his head slowly.

"Poor lil' brother," he said with a mock sympathy. "Your group really did abandon you, after all. Just like I said they would. It sucks when people abandon you, don't it? Just when you need them most. Trusted them the most. Where were they, eh?"

Daryl took a step away from him before he even realized what he was doing. He tried to adopt a believable snarl. "Where are they? What did ya do this time, Merle? Drag 'em off to some other sicko for own damn fucked up reasons? Huh!? If ya've hurt them or gotten them hurt—"

"You'll what?" Merle challenged a smirk on his lips. He held a bottle of beer in his hand. There were droplets of condensation sliding down the sides of the glass, plopping on the ground around his feet. He could hear the fizz of the recently opened brew from here. Merle took a sip from the bottle and sighed happily. "You couldn't hurt a damn fly, baby brother," he said easily. "Ya seen yourself lately? You ain't lookin' too good."

"You're not here," Daryl whispered, almost desperately as he took another step back. "You're not. You're dead."

Merle Dixon cocked his head to one side as his mouth moved up into a smirk. "I'm always gonna be with you, Darlina. The way you remember me. All the good memories are shit when you have a fucked up load of verbal abuse to sort through. This is how you'll always get me, and I'll always be there. Don't ya realize that?"

"No," Daryl protested uselessly. "I don't wanna see this shit… Go 'way. Leave me alone!"

Merle just laughed. "Go 'head, lil' brother. Sit down. You ain't gonna make it there anyway. What's the point in trying? Might as well give up like the lil' bitch you are."

Daryl turned away, and before he even realized what he was doing, his hands had found his ears, clamping down over them hard, trying to block out the words as if he were a child. "Shut up. Go 'way."

He could still hear him, like Merle was inside his eardrums, inside his head. "You're gonna die out here, Darlina. All alone. Just like I did, 'cause you weren't there. Ya chose that damn group over me, and now they've left ya for dead like the useless pussy you are. I told ya… I told ya, ain't nobody gonna care 'bout you 'cept me, but you didn't listen. Now, look where it's got ya. Exactly what you deserve. All alone. Miserable. A three-year-old buzzard is gonna be eatin' your liver by tonight, and you'll be eatin' his tomorrow mornin'. Then you're gonna drag your mummified corpse all the way 'cross this damn desert to find that lil' group of yours. And then you'll eat them too. Rick. Carol. They all gonna be dead by your peelin', decayin' hands. You'll rip off their faces and lick your chops when you're done. They'll be so goddamned disfigured by the time you're done that they'll have to identify them usin' their damn teeth. Except they won't, because nobody will ever find them. They'll all be dead. Carl, Judith… They gonna die 'cause of you, boy. And the only reason any damn soul will remember Daryl Dixon is 'cause of the fuckin' misery you caused every damn one of them. And finally, you'll cease to exist, not even a blip on anybody's damn radar… and you'll rot away to nothin'. Bones to dust. And just like that, you'll be gone. Forgotten. Nothin'."

His hands were pressed to his ears so hard that it felt like his skull was caught in a vice grip. "Shut up!" he screamed. "You're not here! Shut up, shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

When he next opened his eyes, Merle was gone. He really was alone.

"I ain't dyin' yet," Daryl whispered hoarsely. "Not yet."

After another moment, he gathered himself up and walked on.

x X x

The buzzard continued to shadow him. It never landed. At least, not where Daryl could see it, but its shadow kept flitting overhead. And then that one was joined by a few more. They were waiting, patient as the desert itself, patient as death. They were waiting for him to fall, waiting for him to stop moving, stop fighting, stop living. Then they would swoop down and have lunch with Daryl as they munched on Daryl.

He was in trouble. It was painfully obvious at this point. He could feel it, even if he couldn't see himself. Walking was a damn chore now. He was still doing it, but he was not sure how much longer he could keep on. His legs felt incredibly heavy. His muscles burned relentlessly, worse than he'd ever felt before. It felt like he had damn cinder blocks strapped to his ankles.

But there was other stuff, too. Stuff like the way his eyes weren't working all that well anymore. They were too dry; he couldn't focus. Stuff like the way it was getting harder to breathe. It wasn't like asthma; no, this was just plain hard to get his lungs to keep going in and out. Out and in. The air was so hot. It was like trying to breathe with your head stuck in a goddamn 400-degree oven. His lungs didn't want that kind of air. They didn't like it.

His lip was bleeding. The blood actually tasted kind of good in his mouth. Wet. It was a bit too thick to be mistaken for the real thing, but it was so wonderfully wet. He sucked on it. He was practically a walker already, craving the sweetest morsel of anything that could quench his thirst. The crack on his lip widened, and it started to sting. But the pain wasn't bad, not compared to everything else his body was going through. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and sucked out more.

The little cliff was closer than before. He could make it. He would. There would be shade there and maybe a tree. That could mean water. Underground, probably, but he could still dig. If he had to. Sure.

A few minutes later, he had to pee and into the bottle the little droplets went. His urine was the color of the strong tea, the way his Uncle Jess used to make it. A handful of teabags, boiling water, four scoops of sugar, all in a plastic milk jug. He made the best damn tea. He would even give Daryl a few sprinkles of whisky, sometimes even using the good stuff after he had a particularly bad day with the old man. Uncle Jess never interfered, but he knew. Uncle Jess made serious tea with ice and a squeeze of lemon, best damn thing on a hot Georgian afternoon.

He tried not to think about it when he drinks. It didn't really matter. Piss, blood, whatever. It was liquid. It tasted horrible. His tea fantasy disappeared in an instant. It was salty and acrid and stunk something awful. But it was wet. Oh, thank you, JC, it was wet.

There wasn't much of it. When it was gone, he threw the bottle to the side. He had a feeling that he wouldn't need it again. His days of writing his name in the snow that never fucking fell were over.

His stomach gurgled unpleasantly. He licked a thick warm bubble of blood from his lip and squinted at the cliff in the distance.

x X x

"He must have stayed here at some point."

Rick gazed down at the pretty put together fire pit. He knew the likelihood that Daryl had wasted valuable nighttime hours was probably low unless he had no other choice, so the fire hadn't been for warmth. It had been for them. He wanted to be found. His stomach lurched with guilt that he couldn't even tie to anything. He wasn't sure what he could have done differently, but he was responsible for Daryl's safety. He had been responsible for Tyreese's too. And here they were now.

"I think you're right," he said dully, squatting down next to it.

An indent in the dirt was just a few feet away, practically hiding under the rock. Rick could almost make out Daryl's body shape as he hid from the sun in the only shade he could find. Daryl was a smart man, but the desert was definitely not his element.

Michonne pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Question is… where is Daryl?"

Rick's knees popped as he stood upright again. He was getting old. "I don't know."

He was not the tracker of the group. That was Daryl's damn job. But who the hell was supposed to do the tracking when he was the man they were looking for? He ran a tired hand down his face. For all he knew, there was nothing left to find except a walker. Maybe he was wasting everybody's time. Maybe he was chasing another ghost. But, no, Rick knew that if it had been him, Daryl would make sure not to leave him as one of them. He would make sure he didn't suffer that fate. He had to do the same in return.

"See any more buzzards?"

Rick shot Michonne a wounded look, but the pinched look of despair on her face and the dread in her eyes stifled whatever rebuke he had been about to make. Michonne was just seeing the situation for what it was. It was bad. God, it was worse than Rick would have ever imagined.

"How good are your skills in tracking?" Rick asked.

She gave him a level look. "Not good enough." She looked away, facing vaguely east. "We're going to need a dog."

Rick gave her a confused look. "Karen's dog? He's not trained to track."

"We're going to need something," Michonne pointed out. "Our resources are limited, Rick. We don't have a lot of time. If we don't find him fast, it's not going to be just him that we need to worry about…"

Rick glanced around to see everybody else looking quite exhausted, already drained by the desert heat. Maggie and Glenn were taking turns dabbing each other with wet cloths. Carl was fanning himself with his hat. Sasha's tears had long since dried up, and she was using the rag that had been used to wipe her face of her sorrow to now wipe her forehead of her sweat. And Carol… Carol was just staring off into the horizon, barely fazed by the sun at all, her thoughts a million miles away.

He thought of Tyreese, the mummified walker that had been worked on quickly by the overbearing sun to look like he had been dead a lot longer than 24 hours. He tried to imagine Daryl's face where Tyreese's had been. He tried to picture him alive.

He couldn't.

"Okay," he whispered.

Michonne lightly touched his shoulder causing him to flinch. She didn't remove her hand. "We'll find him," Michonne stated softly. "We will."

Rick nodded. "I know." He swallowed. "I just hope we're in time."

"Me too."