I can't take it anymore. I can't. I just can't.
That was the thoughts running through Daryl Dixon's mind as he allowed his legs to finally give out after running all night. Some part of him knew he wouldn't be able to catch up with the car that had taken Beth. He just didn't want to accept it. After everyone he had lost. Why her too? It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair. But now he sat, legs crumpled beneath him, crossbow lying next to him on the ground. Out of breath. Out of energy. And most of all. Out of faith.
He was lost in his mind. In his pain. If a walker had come up on him he would have let it have him. He didn't care anymore. At least, that's what he told himself. But he proved himself wrong when he heard the sound of a car approaching. He felt his heart jump in one last hopeful breath as he looked up. But it wasn't the black car with the white cross. It was a truck. A beat up looking red truck with a long white stripe down the side.
Daryl didn't bother to move out of the road. Instead he just watched it drive closer and closer until eventually it was right in front of him. He didn't even react as the truck came to a stop and its two occupants stepped out. A man and a boy in his late teens. He watched as the boy shot a wary look to the man, most likely his father, before pulling out a gun. Based on the boy's careless handling Daryl could tell the boy hadn't used it often, if at all.
"Hello." The man greeted, taking a step closer to Daryl. "Is it just you out here?" He asked. Daryl looked the man in the eyes for a long moment. Not feeling the mood to put up a fight, Daryl sighed.
"Yeah." He answered simply. The man took another step forward.
"How long has it been like that?" He continued. At this question, Daryl let himself drop the man's eye contact. He looked down at the pavement in front of him.
"I was with a group. We were attacked." Because he was looking at the ground, Daryl missed the worried expression the man and boy shared. Instead, he continued. "I was with a member of my group. A girl. 16 years old. She was taken last night by a black car with a white cross. Have you seen it?" He asked, now looking up. Something about Daryl's story seemed to have calmed the pair. Without a word, the man and boy both lowered their weapons.
"We haven't seen it but we've heard of it." He explained. Now the man closed the gap between himself and Daryl, who was still sitting on the ground. With a kind expression the man held out his hand. Daryl looked at it for a moment but allowed himself to give in. The pair seemed harmless enough. "What's your name?"
"Daryl. Daryl Dixon." As he spoke Daryl leaned down and picked up his crossbow before slinging it onto his shoulder.
"My name is Ray Ferrier. This here is my son Robbie." Daryl nodded to man before he turned his attention to the boy and nodded once more. Robbie returned the motion before Ray continued. "We have a camp not too far from here. If you want, you can come with us." He offered.
Part of him wanted to say yes. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He used to think he didn't mind being alone, but it had been a lie. It had always been a lie. Even though he knew this, and the pair seemed like good people, Daryl found himself thoughtlessly turning down their offer. The man nodded as if he understood. Perhaps he thought Daryl was saying no because he was planning on going after Beth. And maybe he should. But that wasn't it.
Ray turned, nodded to his son, and the pair made their way back to the truck. Just as he was about to open the driver door, Ray looked back to him.
"If you change your mind just go two miles down this road. There is an old broken van in the road. There is a dirt road not far. If you go down our camp isn't but 3 miles in." Daryl gave him a nod and then the pair were gone.
Without putting into thought as to why, Daryl found himself walking down the road in the direction the truck had gone. As he walked he allowed himself to think about the others. Rick, Carl, Judith, Maggie, Glenn, Beth and all the others. Were they all dead? They had to be. Right? Part of him wanted to cling to the hope that they had made it out and that he would find them. But then he felt the cold sting of reality. Hoping that they were alive felt too similar to how he felt when Sophia went missing. Looking back on it, he hated himself for the certainty he had felt. What had made him so sure? How could he have been so dumb?
He continued on like this, lost in his thoughts, until he came across the broken down van Ray had mentioned. Daryl looked at it for a long moment. A battle going on in his subconscious. Should he go? It wasn't like he had any better options at the moment. He couldn't find Beth or any of the others, if they were even still alive, on foot. And though he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to be alone. Perhaps that was the real reason he began walking down the dirt road.
Whatever he had hoped to find vanished once he heard the familiar sounds ahead. Moaning and screams. The dead had come. Even though it wasn't his fight and he didn't know what he was getting himself into, Daryl found himself running the remaining distance until he reached the camp. There he saw it. An assortment of cars and tents were parked together. In many ways it reminded him of the camp he used to stay at back when Merle was with him.
From his vantage point Daryl could see it all. He saw families climb into their cars and drive away down a road on the opposite side of camp while others were dragged to the ground by a herd of walkers. For a moment he wondered if he should head back to the road before the walkers noticed him, but then he saw Ray's truck. The engine was still running but both doors were open and the pit was empty. Even though they weren't his friends, Daryl found his eyes scanning over the panic and mess looking for the friendly pair. Then he saw them. Without thinking, Daryl ran into the camp, crossbow drawn. He took out several walkers before he got to the spot he had seen Ray and Robbie. He was too late.
Something in him snapped. With a feral yell Daryl pulled out his knife and barred down on the remaining walkers one by one. He didn't feel any fear or pain. Just anger. Anger towards the cruel world that had raised him. Anger for the good dead and the bad living. He let it all out. All his rage. He plunged his knife into the skull of one walker and turned around and shot another. It was only once there were nothing but dead bodies on all sides that Daryl finally let out one last yell and fell to his knees. He cried. He felt the hot wet tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobbed into the dirt.