If Tomorrow Wasn't Such a Long Time

Thank you for all the support and positive feedback! Again positive and constructive criticism is always welcome. Let me know if you guys hate or love the way I structure things. I think next chapter I will actually stray away from events of the TV show and work my way into my story as I intended. If not... Sorry guys maybe next chapter.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

Chapter 3

Daryl thrust himself from the wall, rolling his shoulder to rid the kinks. He adjusted as he stood watch in the guard tower. Eyes roaming about the grounds. A walker would linger here and there around the outermost fence but nothing worth alerting the rest of the group about nor wasting an arrow to deal with. The walkers couldn't get in from that fence anyway.

He felt stiff. He'd been standing for several hours and had yet to sleep. He wondered if sleep would even be worth the effort. His mind was filled with so many questions and thoughts he wasn't sure he was allowed to think.

A gentle knock interrupted his overactive mind and he noticed Glenn.

"Go rest up. I'll take it from here."

"Rick, he back yet?" Asked Daryl.

Glenn shook his head. "He hasn't come back. I went to check on him earlier yesterday when you and Maggie went out for formula. He didn't look good."

"Figured."

"Yeah..." was all Glenn could mutter back.

Daryl shrugged. There wasn't much that could be done for Rick. Daryl made his way down the tower. He opened the door and stood at its base unsure of what it was he wanted to do. His fingers fidgeted with the strap of his crossbow. The sun was already streaking across the sky.

There was plenty of food left over from the previous night so Daryl felt no need to go out hunting after having done a double. Instead he made his way to the makeshift graveyard that had been made for their dead. He had gotten back so late he didn't have time to pay his respects. The sun was beginning to creep higher and the sun rays warmed his skin as he crossed the dewy field.

Three graves were lined up towards the edge of the field. The dirt mounds were still fresh. The grave marked to the far right was Carol's. Daryl felt a slight weight in his chest as he made his way closer. He rummaged through his vest pocket and pulled out a Cherokee rose that had dried out. He'd found it in Carol's things. It had been the first time he'd ever given a flower to a woman. There had been no romantic intention. It was just his unspoken way of offering comfort to her as she dealt with Sophia's disappearance. His thumb running over the toughened petal, he placed it over her grave smoothing out some of the dirt around the "C" that had been made out of stones. He placed a hand on the makeshift cross. Eyes moving from the flower back to the cross in his hand.

"I'm sorry." Daryl thought as he slowly got up to go. Chewing his lip as he scanned the graves, Daryl tipped his head to them as a sort of salute and turned to leave. It felt like they'd been gone longer. Their group dwindling before his eyes... Was still something hard to accept. Growing accustomed to people only to know they may not be around the next day.

Daryl huffed. He wouldn't be so foolish again.

Daryl entered the cell-block, keys jangling loudly as he wound his arm through the bars to unlock the door. Everyone was still for the most part asleep besides what sounded like Maggie and Beth. He could hear them softly cooing and making kissy noises at the baby. He snorted at the thought of acting like that towards a baby. He could understand the cooing since it was meant to soothe, but the kissy noise? What was the point? He shrugged. Maybe it was just a woman thing.

He locked the door and made his way to his perch. Daryl laid the crossbow up against the guard rail and set the quiver above his pillow. He sat idly at the top of the stairs. He watched the door. Wasn't sure why. He just wanted to watch the door. Perhaps he thought Rick might amble through or maybe even Carol. He snorted at the last assumption. There was no way she made it out. His eyes moved slowly up and down the bars. The steel was worn from slight rust, bloody finger prints patterned some of them.

Daryl adjusted his gaze to his hands. There was dirt stuck under his nails and small gouges of skin gone at the corners of his thumbs where he'd chewed the skin away. A nervous habit. He figured he'd spent a good chunk of his watch chewing at his thumbs. He only stopped when the skin broke and the bleeding wouldn't stop.

He'd thought about the events of the day. The losses they had suffered. Three people dead in one day. They had never suffered such casualties in one fell swoop. Daryl grit his teeth. No tolerance for outsiders. Not again. The group couldn't suffer any more deaths the way they had yesterday. The threading was beginning to come loose and there was no one to stitch it back together.

At least not now there wasn't. Rick was still somewhere in the depths of the prison either dead or unleashing all his fury on the walker inhabitants. Daryl understood. He probably would have reacted in a similar manner had he had anyone like that to care about. He doubted even Merle would have elicited such a reaction from him. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. Daryl shook his head and adjusted so that he fell onto the bedroll with his arms splayed across it. Fingers curled limply, head nestled in the horse blanket and his feet still on the stairs. He found comfort in the position. Daryl was tired of thinking. Tired of mourning. Tired of being awake. Tired of everything at the moment. He welcomed the limpness in his body and sleep that stole him from the world.

"Daryl? Hey... Daryl...?"

He felt a gentle shake at his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open and he sat up on his elbows. His knees felt cramped and stiff. Maybe falling asleep like that wasn't the best idea.

"Hey... We made breakfast, ya'll hungry?" Asked Maggie as she sat next to him.

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows at the girl. The light made him squint. The cell block was obnoxiously bright.

"How long was I out?" He rasped. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, gently messaging his temple in the process.

"Maybe an hour or two?" She said shrugging. "Hard to say."

Daryl sighed. He figured as much. Sleep wasn't a luxury anymore even in something so protected as a prison cell block. Maggie stood to leave. "We made you a plate anyway. You're welcome to join us when you're ready."

He nodded acknowledging he had heard her. Daryl sat up elbows propped on his knees. He rolled his neck in a slow circular motion. The popping sounds of his neck echoed through the block. He felt a bit better having limbered up. He stood and made his way down the stairs and into their makeshift mess-hall. Daryl grabbed the bowl set on the table and sat near Oscar whom had been leaning against a rail. He still wasn't sure of the newcomers but they had helped to bury the dead and secure the perimeter the other day, so that had to mean something. Still he was hesitant about having them around. It went against his best wishes in what he had initially wanted to be upheld: no tolerance for new-comers.

He spooned the mixture of what looked to be oatmeal and took a bite. It warmed his insides and eased his hunger pang a bit, granted he could have gone without the taste. Daryl glanced over at his fellow group mates. Everyone seemed somewhat at ease. His eyes landed on Carl. The boy looked vacant, hollow, as if nothing lived inside him. His eyes were empty and clouded with something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Everybody OK?" He heard Rick call out as he entered the room. Daryl drew his attention from his food to Rick. He'd spent several seconds spooning the meal around in the bowl trying to decide if he was going to eat the rest or not. Daryl glanced back to Rick whom had cleaned up before coming back to the block. The wild look was still in his eyes, but less crazed as it had been before.

"Cleared out the boiler block."

Daryl quirked a curious eyebrow at Rick's statement. This fascinated Daryl. They hadn't even ventured into that area. There were probably a good handful of walkers down there. "How many were there?" he asked curious.

"Not sure... a dozen or two? I don't know. Just... wanted to make sure Carl was fine." he said and patted the boy on the shoulder.

"We're going to sweep the lower levels. Axel's down in the generator room, fixing it up in case of emergency." Reported Daryl.

Rick nodded and strode out of the block. Daryl hadn't even blinked and he had been gone. Rick was like a ghost. His tone had been calm but rigid and commanding. His body language tense. Daryl figured that there were still things left for him to do before he would come back to the group. Best to leave him be.

Daryl grudgingly finished his food and stood up. "Let's get a move on. Y'all hurry up." he said as he went to retrieve his crossbow and flashlight.

Daryl hoisted his crossbow across his shoulder and adjusted the strap so it laid comfortably against his back as he moved about. He grabbed the flashlight that he'd pocketed their first night in the block. He made his way down the stairs and saw Oscar and Carl waiting for him. Both had their guns holstered and a knife tucked into a sheath at their hips.

He nodded. "Alright, let's sweep."

Daryl led the way. He slipped the crossbow from his back into a cocked, ready position. Thumbing the button of the flashlight on, propping it beneath the fore-grip of the bow for optimal reaction time. No knowing what was hidden in these depths.

"Stay close." He whispered as they moved together as a unit. Oscar backing up the rear with Carl in the middle overlooking both front and back. As they made their way through the halls, they occasionally heard a low growl and would methodically take the walker out in a silent but effective manner. It almost always meant Daryl taking the shot with his crossbow and following up with a swift knife to the skull. If there was more than one, Daryl and Carl took the shots. They would then pause briefly to see if the noise of Carl's makeshift silencer drew nearby walkers to them. If after a moment or two there was no sound to indicate movement, they continued on.

After sweeping through a corridor of walkers, they fanned out a bit to check the closed doors. Oscar took the area that they had come from while Daryl and Carl moved towards the end of the hall. The boy was quiet the entire time. He acted a machine. On point. Executing every trigger pull with nothing attached. It was like Carl was just a shell. Daryl had lowered his crossbow at this point and was stalking the rooms with acute observation. Quietly tugging doors open and peeking inside, listening for shuffling and grunting. Carl stood in place head hung low.

Daryl whistled at him drawing his attention. Carl looked up. He was troubled. He'd lost his mother. He hadn't heard the details since Maggie didn't want to talk about it and Carl wasn't speaking either.

"My mom, she liked to smoke in bed," he said walking and scanning the hall with his flashlight, peering around doors. Daryl looked over his shoulder, Carl followed. "I could play with the other kids when Merle wasn't around. We heard sirens... wanted to see what was goin' on. They had bikes. I didn't."

They turned a corridor. Oscar's footsteps softly echoed behind them. Daryl continued on. "I ran after them. Couldn't keep up, rounded the corner and saw my friends all lookin' at me... hell everyone was... It was my house everyone was at. My mom burned to nothing. Just erased... gone. It seemed like it just wasn't real... ya know?"

Carl sighed and then spoke. "I shot my mom. I ended it. It was real for me."

Daryl looked at Carl stunned by his statement. He wasn't really sure what to think of it. He'd simply retold his memory to try and ease the boy out of his catatonic state, but somehow he'd only seemed to make it worse. Carl's situation had been far more traumatic since he had been the one to shoot her. Daryl grimaced and looked to the ground.

"I'm sorry about your mom." replied Carl, head hung low, eyes hidden beneath the brim of the Sheriff's hat.

He hadn't expected to hear Carl apologize for his own mother. The strength in him was amazing. Daryl admired this in the youngster. For one so young, he kept himself grounded with ease and made the calculated decisions that were optimal for most situations. Yet, Daryl felt sorry for him too. He would never really know what it was like to grow up causing mischief with friends around the city, meeting girls, or go to college. Things most people did in a non-apocalyptic world. Himself not included in those stereotypes he'd imagined. He was just a dirty redneck working laborious jobs on construction sites or under the hood of a car. Daryl had known since he was knee high that he would never amount to anything. He believed it.

Daryl shifted from where he stood and tried to look under the hat brim shaking off his bitter recollection of his Daddy. Carl's head tilted up and he made eye contact with Daryl. There. That's what he'd been seeing. The remorse and anguish of having caused his Father so much pain. Probably recalling all the times he had acted out and disrespected his Mother. Daryl didn't really know how to say what he wanted to tell the boy. He didn't know how to tell Carl that what he did wasn't his fault and that he shouldn't dwell on the past. That what he did had to be done. All Daryl could muster out was, "Sorry 'bout yours." Carl winced back his crying then nodded him.

"C'mon." said Daryl and gave Carl a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. He'd grown accustomed to Rick's offspring. Carl wasn't as much of a pest as he had previously been. Rebelling against being treated like a child and not staying put when told to stay in the house had been habits of his that he'd been notorious for. More or less the staying put would rear its ugly head and take heed of the groups' better wishes; on more account than one it had been a factor in increasing their survival.

The group walked in silence making their way down another hall continuing their sweep. No walkers yet. Suddenly Daryl heard Oscar gasp and head into a cell. Carl and Daryl followed after and watched as Oscar scooped up a pair of brown slippers. For the end of the day, he'd said. Daryl just kind of arched a quizzical eyebrow at him as if he were crazy. End of the day relaxation? Was that even plausible?

A loud hiss and growl pulled him from his thoughts and he immediately drew his crossbow up and fired an arrow into the oncoming walker's skull. Carl and Oscar following suit with a few gunshots. The walker fell backwards and the group let out a collected sigh. Daryl grinned at the unison in which they'd killed it. His heart still furiously beating against his chest from the rush of adrenaline, Daryl took a step forward and shined the walker with the flashlight.

Daryl's expression changed as he knelt near the body. A knife had been rammed under the neck and stuck defiantly into the jowl of the thing. He cautiously pulled the knife, blood spurting out from the vessel that had been severed. He immediately recognized it as he turned it over in his hands. His breath caught in his throat.

"That's Carol's knife." He said as he eyed the weapon. She's alive? He wondered as he wiped the blade clean on the walker's jumpsuit. Daryl brought the handle to his chin in contemplation. Eyes still transfixed on the body and the wound he'd pulled the knife from. It had been wedged rather deep and wasn't an easy pull. Carol must have used enough force to have knocked it down allotting her time to get away, but that was just a hopeful assumption.

Maybe she wasn't. They'd already swept through the entire level and hadn't come across anything alive or anyone for the matter. She couldn't have survived long enough to make it out alive.

Daryl stood up, eyes boring holes into the body. He gave the dead walker a swift kick with his boot and barked, "Lets go. We're through here."

Daryl sat cross legged on the ground and thrust Carol's knife into the cold cement. His hand covering his eyes in anguished thought, Daryl sat fuming a storm. He had sent Carl and Oscar back with the rest of the group while he dealt with the weak walker in the broom closet. This had been their final walker and he had offered to take care of it while they handled the remaining chores for the day. He had kept the knife. Daryl had probably examined the damned thing maybe a hundred times before getting frustrated and ramming the knife into the ground. Did that mean she was still alive? Or as a result of her trying to get away had that been her last thrust of survival?

He stabbed the ground again letting out a frustrated sigh. Daryl snorted through his nostrils, anger slowly rising with each slam of the knife into the ground. It angered him more that he didn't know what happened to her. That there was no real evidence of her escaping or her just dead somewhere in the tombs. Also that that fucking door kept getting pushed open with the most timid of force.

They'd found the knife after making a sweep of the lower levels, which Rick had already gone through himself the previous few days. They hadn't found the knife the day the walkers had been let loose into the prison yard. Had she still been alive then? Carol wasn't completely defenseless as she used to be. She'd learned to use a gun and was taught small close-quarters knife thrusts, but not a whole lot to survive more than one walker at a time. Had she and T-Dog been overrun? Stupid question. It was obvious that they had. T-Dog was dead.

The door groaned as it cracked open but then shut. Daryl thrust the knife into the floor with more force again. He adjusted his grip on the knife handle. Wiggling his fingers loosely then tightly gripping it for another stab into the ground.

He clenched his teeth. What was the big deal? Why did he care so much about whether she was alive or dead? Why? What had she done for him to make him care so much for her? Was it the way she smiled at him from across a room to acknowledge him without ever saying a word? Was it that she was constantly making sure he had something in his belly even when food was scarce and he'd rather go without for the sake of everyone else? Was it that she could always be heard saying: be safe, as he left to hunt? Or was it that she made him feel like he was part of a family? That she made him feel like he belonged and was worth something to these people?

What was it? Why won't that damned walker come through the fucking door already so he could kill it? Daryl stabbed the ground and thrust hard into the wall behind him. Another slam into the wall. He stood up and slammed his boot into the door as hard as he could. He paced up the hall and then down the hall. He was prepping himself in the event there was more than just one or in the even it was ravenous bitten Carol. Daryl's breathing came in haggard breaths. He wasn't afraid of the walkers, but at the same time he was. They were devastating creatures. He knew the limitless extent of their carnage.

He paced past the door, glanced at it one last time. Daryl put the handle of the knife in his mouth and jerked the corpse of the walker body keeping the door shut out of the way. He felt like a feral animal with his pacing and the sudden rush of anger as he threw the walker body from being any more obtrusive than it already was. He was going to lose it if he had to hear that door open and shut one more time. His keys jangled at his hip as he threw the door open and he quickly swapped back to the knife.

Daryl stopped, his breath hitched. He had been in the process of swinging the knife into the skull of the walker inhabitant of the room, but felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. Carol weakly turned to look at him. He blinked back his anger which was replaced with concern, his mouth fell agape. Daryl hesitated, knife still poised to attack. He stepped forward letting out a choked gasp. Daryl cocked his head, peering around Carol. She was alone. He took her chin in his hand, turned her head from side to side. No bites. She pursed her lips, creasing her eyebrows as if in pain. Grime covered her face and clothes and he could see her chest heaving in slow shallow breaths. Daryl quickly sheathed the knife and pulled Carol out of the room into a sitting position against the wall.

Daryl slung his crossbow around his shoulder. He moved so fast Carol did not realize that she was cradled in his arms. She wound her arm around his neck, her fingers twisting sweaty wisps of his hair. Gingerly he stepped around the bodies that lay at his feet careful not to move Carol too much. Her eyes would flutter open and then shut. A small feeble smile tugging at her lips. Daryl's eyes shifted from the woman in his arms then back to the path to the cell block and then back to her.

His heart felt heavy and a lump itched its way into his throat. "'m sorry." He whispered.

Carol rubbed her thumb against the nape of his neck. Daryl ushered a weak crooked smile at her. Words needn't be said. She understood and accepted his apology. Why he was apologizing she wasn't sure of, but hearing his voice again calmed her down.

She had never been so glad to hear Daryl Dixon's voice in all her life. He'd found her.