Daryl knelt down in front of the man waiting for his eyes to open, with a patience he did know he had. He had tied his hands behind his back, executioner style and had propped him up against the tree. Close up, the man was even uglier than he had been when Daryl had been in the tree, same mottled skin, same fine veins running across his nose. His hands had been covered in blood, dried into the nail beds and under them. Daryl had a feeling that he was the one who had cut Ricks hand off.

"C'mon ya son ofa bitch." Daryl pulled his hunting knife out of his trousers and lay it in front of him. He didn't have as impressive an array of weapons as Adele and Georgie, but he bet he could find some good uses for his one knife. He reached out and slapped the man around the face. "Wake up." The man groaned, and shook his head. Daryl leant forward, bringing his face closer to the semi conscious man. He slapped him again, harder. The man swore and his eyes flickered open and shut. Picking up the knife, Daryl pointed the tip of the blade into the man's face, so that it was the first thing that he would see.

"What do you think you'll achieve?" Daryl started at the sound of the man's voice. It was too calm, too controlled. It wasn't full of fear, like he wanted. But it would be soon.

"Nothin'." Daryl brought the knife closer to his face. "I jus wanna hear ya squeal like th fuckin pig ya are." The man curled his lip and laughed.

"Go ahead." Daryl started. He hadn't been expecting that. "You think you're so much better than me. You think I'm some sort of monster. But I only did what I had to do to survive. Why are you doing this?"

Daryl glowered at him. "Because you're a piece of fucking shit." He plunged the knife into the side of the man's nose and dug in deep. With a quick jerk, he pulled the man's nose off his face. Pieces of skin and sinew hung ribbon like from his face, exposing the yellow cartilage. The man screamed in agony and a grim smile started to spread across Daryl's face. That was more like it. He tossed the nose aside and wondered where to cut next.

In his mind, the man in front of him was responsible for everything-or may as well have been. He had killed Matthew and Harry's dad; he had shot Carol; he had shot Katie; he had tried to shot Georgie; he had tried to kill Rick and T-Dog. And Daryl was gonna take his time making sure he got what was coming to him. He waited for the man's screams to subside, and listened as he started to breath heavily through his mouth, the blood choking his ruined nasal passage. He placed the tip of the blade into the top of the man's thigh and started to press down, so that the knife entered his leg slowly, and twisted it to widen the hole.

"Daryl."

Daryl looked up to see Georgie coming towards him. She knelt down beside him, and reached towards the man's chest. Daryl hadn't noticed the chain that had fallen out of his shirt, not the ring that was hooped onto it.

"This was my friends." Georgie pulled the chain with a quick practised jerk and the chain snapped. She threaded the ring onto the crucifix the Mexican in the prison use to wear. After a pause, she reached out and pulled the knife from the man's leg. Pulling up his shirt, she angled the blade so that it lay against the pale skin of his chest. At first, Daryl didn't understand what she was trying to do. Then she dragged it down and the skin peeled off, like the peel of an orange. She gritted her teeth as she did it, as if she could feel the skin coming off. As she pulled her hand away, Daryl could see her usually steady hand shaking. He reached out and placed his hand on hers, guiding it to the next spot on the screaming man's chest.

They worked together-Daryl didn't have any idea how long for-pulling the man apart piece by piece in silence. It was Daryl who did most of the cutting. Occasionally Georgie took the knife to administer a particularly nasty cut or stab, usually to the torso, but mostly she just watched Daryl. By the time Daryl felt the last of the rage seep away from him, the man had been dead for a good half an hour.

"You're just poking at a corpse Daryl." Georgie's voice was dull and lifeless. Daryl looked at her. Her vest was soaked in blood, and it was splattered across her face too. She passed Daryl the shot gun he had laid on the floor. "Better make sure he doesn't come back. Fucking dickweed." She stood up and looked down at her top. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." She made some sort of attempt to brush herself down, then put the heel of her hand to her forehead. She breathed in through her mouth and lowered her hand, looking away into the distance. "I guess we really did him in." She didn't look happy about it. Daryl didn't understand why. He looked around for his checked shirt. When they had started to really go for it, he had removed it. He tossed it to Georgie. She turned her back to him and pulled her vest off, pulling on his shirt. It was too big and baggy for her, and when she turned around, it seemed only to emphasise her collar bones, making her look weak, like she couldn't take care of herself. But at the same time, it kind of looked good on her.

"Thanks. But you really should..." She motioned at the body. Daryl looked, to see the corpse start to twitch. The familiar sounds of a walkers moans were starting to emerge from its mouth. Daryl raised the gun and shot through the walkers head. Georgie hugged herself, pulling the sleeves of Daryl's shirt over her hands and holding onto them.

"We should go back. Check on Rick, Carl. T-Dog. Rick must have lost a lot of blood..." Daryl shrugged. His head felt fuzzy and he felt sluggish. The rush of adrenaline he had felt whilst chopping the leader into pieces had left his blood and now he just wanted to sleep. His shoulder was still hurting, only now he couldn't ignore the pain. Georgie looked at him sympathetically.

"Let's get back. You'll feel better once you lie down. Get some rest." She walked past, picking up her crossbow, placing her hand briefly on his shoulder. "Just a heads up...you might have some bad dreams. They...they'll go eventually." She started to walk ahead, then stopped and looked back at him. "Come on." Daryl took one last look at the mangled remains of the man who had hunted them, and followed Georgie back towards the hotel.