Bad Luck

XX

Daryl was just putting on his shoes when the pickup truck came careening through the camp, almost running over a tent as it screeched to a halt. The sun had only just begun to rise, not yet lighting up the copse of trees where their group was sleeping, and the truck's headlights cut through the gloom straight into Daryl's face. He held a hand up to shield his eyes and blinked a few times as a figure stumbled out of the driver's seat. The noise was starting to wake everyone else up; Rick and Lori stumbled out of their own tent, and Glenn and Maggie crawled out of another. Daryl frowned at the sight. How'd a guy like that get a girl like that, anyway?

"What's going on?" asked Dale as he ran into the camp, woken up from where he had been sleeping in his camper parked nearby.

"I dunno," said Daryl. "Looks like Shane and Otis are back."

His eyes were getting used to the truck's headlights, and now he could see it was Shane who had gotten out. He had gone around to the back of the truck and grabbed some kind of cooler from the flat bed, which he now dropped onto the ground in the middle of the camp as everyone gathered around, wondering what was going on. Shane flung the cooler's lid open and grabbed a container of some kind from inside; he ripped off the lid, looked into it, and then threw his head back in a spasm of horror.

"Nooooooo!"

"Shane!" said Rick, racing over to his friend. "Shane, what's wrong?"

"It's melted – all melted!"

"What is it?"

"Ice cream," said Shane, flinging the container to the ground. Daryl caught the words 'Blueberry Bonanza' printed on the side as a runny blue liquid spilled out onto the grass. "It's all ruined!"

"Can't you just put it in the farmhouse?" asked Rick.

"There's no way Herschel will let us do that! You know he ain't got no room in that fridge!"

"That's right. I don't."

Everyone turned to see Herschel approaching the camp, apparently woken up by all the noise. He looked down disapprovingly at the cooler full of ice cream as Shane sat forlornly on the ground. "Where's Otis?" he asked.

"Oh, him? He died. Zombies ate him."

As the group gathered around Shane, shocked at the news and eager to hear what had happened, Daryl couldn't help feeling suspicious. Something about the way Shane had said it – and the way Dale was staring at Shane really hard, his bushy eyebrows furrowed and his eyes opened wide, which Daryl always found pretty creepy, like the old guy was on drugs or something.

"So he just couldn't run fast enough?" asked Herschel. "Why didn't you two drop the cooler of ice cream?"

Shane stuttered for a moment, at a loss for an answer. "Look," he finally said, getting tired of the third degree he was getting from everyone, "He just couldn't run fast enough, okay? And don't worry, I got your damn medical supplies in the backpack here. Why don't you go help Andrea instead of wastin' time?"

"Hey guys, what's up?"

Shane gawked at the sight of Andrea, who had appeared out of nowhere.

"You? But you were shot!"

"I'm feeling a lot better. I guess it wasn't that serious. But thanks for getting those medical supplies!"

A collective groan rose up from the group.

"So Otis died for no reason," said Herschel. A dark glower fell over his face. From the looks of it, he was getting tired of his new guests. Daryl didn't think that was a bad thing, really – the sooner they got away from this place, the better, especially seeing as the man seemed to think zombies were best handled with a friendly conversation instead of weapons.

"By the way," said Andrea, "I was hoping Shane could give me a little practice with the guns. I wouldn't want to almost shoot Otis again."

"You don't have to worry about that," said Glenn cheerfully. "Otis is dead!"

Herschel threw his hands up in exasperation. "I thought I said no weapons on my farm!"

From what Daryl could remember, Herschel had only been talking about guns; but just to be safe, he edged away from the camp and went off towards the stables before the man could notice the crossbow hanging from his back. Herschel probably wouldn't mind if he borrowed one of the horses. Dawn was breaking, and it was time to look for Sophia again – judging by the big argument everyone was having at the camp, nobody was going to help him. They'd just slow him down, anyway.

XX

The feel of her soft skin, the rustle of her clothes as he snaked an arm around hers, steadying the gun in her hand; it was almost too much to ignore. Shane hadn't been this close to a woman since Lori started going all queen bitch on him just because of his white lie about Rick. He was getting annoyed at Andrea's poor aim, but that was probably just impatience on his part, coupled with the fact that he'd rather be doing something besides target practice.

"Aim higher," he said. "Let me go move the log, it stopped swinging-"

Andrea fired the pistol, barely missing Shane's head as he approached the swinging log they were using for target practice. "Dammit, woman!" he yelled. "Wait 'till I get out of the way!"

"Sorry!"

Shane hurried back to a position well behind Andrea after giving the log a strong heave. Andrea fired off several shots wildly, causing him to let out of a huff of frustration. He was having a lot of women troubles lately. Otis had been right about Andrea being a juicy piece of blonde ass, but Shane got the feeling she had a thing for Dale, as creepy as that was. She'd been angry at the old man for saving her life, but everybody knew anger in women was just repressed sexual desire.

It was the same reason Lori was so angry at him lately. Lori, he thought with a grimace. Like he could have known Rick was still alive when he ran out of the hospital. The man was as good as dead, really – and all Shane was trying to do was comfort Lori and emotionally bond with her over her loss. And what could be more emotionally bonding than really quiet sex in a tent while you hope to God the kid sleeping three feet away from you doesn't wake up?

"I'm out of bullets," said Andrea.

"That's because you shot 'em all into the air."

Andrea looked crestfallen, and Shane felt a flash of sympathy as he reached for his own gun. "You gotta feel it," he told her, taking aim at the log. "In a life or death situation, you can't panic, you can't hold back – you have to kill the other guy before he kills you, or bites you or whatever. If that guy's gonna steal the girl you wanna sleep with, if he's gonna slow you down so the ice cream melts before you can get back to camp, well, you can't think about it – it's him or you! You just gotta fire!" he yelled, shooting the log. He fired again, and again. "You gotta kill! Kill him!"

He emptied his slip into the log before throwing the pistol itself and letting out a hoarse scream. The two of them stood silently for a moment as the log's swinging died down. Andrea gave him a worried look.

"What was that about ice cream?"

"What? Ice cream? Nothin', nothin' at all. Hey, all this shooting's got me in kind of a mood – you interested in finding some spot in the bushes and lettin' off some steam?"

Andrea shook her head, and Shane cursed inwardly. Too quick. Should have turned on that patented Shane charm a little more. "Thanks for the offer," said Andrea, "but, uh – maybe when you're acting a little less crazy."

She turned to leave and ran into Dale, who was standing under a nearby tree. Shane wondered how long he had been there, and he caught Andrea flashing Dale a glare as she passed by. "Can't you forgive me for saving your life yet?" asked Dale.

"No! How dare you care about me!"

Andrea was about to storm off towards the farm when she ran straight into a pack of zombies.

Shane and Dale gasped in surprise and drew back impulsively at the sight of the zombies falling on Andrea like a horde of starving hobos. Where had they come from? He realized he and Andrea must not have heard the telltale groans and growls while they were shooting randomly into the woods and yelling about stuff.

Shane felt a blinding bolt of fury go through him. He had totally been getting to her; another day or two of turning on the charm and Andrea would have been in bed with him, no doubt about it. But, no, of course not. Just as soon as something started going his way, the zombies had to come and take it from him. He drew his weapon in a rage, clicking several times before he realized the clip was empty. "Dammit!" he screamed, throwing the pistol at one of the zombies. It bounced off the zombie's head, catching its attention. It looked up, bloody mouth hanging open.

"Watch out, Shane!"

Dale pushed him aside and drew a pump-action shotgun out from under his shirt. He blew the zombie's head clean off, then took aim at the three others who were busy tearing Andrea's remains apart. They barely hide time to realize their dinner was being interrupted before Dale turned their faces into a fine red mist. The sound of the shotgun blasts reverberated through the forest as the zombie's corpses lay splayed in the undergrowth. Dale put the shotgun back under his shirt. Andrea lay on the ground, where she had been pinned by the group of zombies. They were about to take a look at her corpse when – to their amazement – she got up.

"Wow," she said. "Looks like none of them broke the skin!"

Shane stared at the zombie corpses in amazement. "Maybe they were all real old. You sure you're okay?"

Andrea nodded. The two of them stood close to each other, and Shane felt a thrill of sexual tension. There was just something about almost getting eaten alive by walking corpses that made his blood start running. All he had to do was keep killing zombies around her, and she'd ignore Dale and stick to him!

"So where'd you get that shotgun from?" asked Shane.

"Personal collection."

"Seems like you know how to handle your weapons."

Dale nodded. "Vietnam. And also squirrels. Me and the wife had a lot of rabid squirrels at our old home."

The three of them stood silently for a moment. Then, Dale stared at the bullet-riddled target practice log handing from a tree branch. He raised an eyebrow and gave Shane which was enough to let him know he had heard everything. Shane sighed; Dale had been giving him a lot of looks lately, ever since the man had caught him aiming his rifle at Rick out the woods that one time. "Seems like you know how to handle your weapons, too," he said. "Not the kind of person who aims at something without meaning to fire."

"Look, I know what you're talkin' about, Dale. That wasn't what it-"

"I know who you are. I know what kind of person you are. You don't fool me, Shane – I've got my eye on you. You'd better keep an eye on him too, Andrea. He's a danger to the group."

"I was just aiming at his back in case a zombie popped up behind him, that's all!"

Dale widened his eyes at Shane's protest. From what Shane had seen, that seemed to be the man's default reaction to everything. "Shane's done a lot for the group," said Andrea. "Sure, maybe he's boiling with barely contained frustration at whatever weird three-way situation he's in with Rick and Lori, but I'm sure he won't go crazy and kill people in a tragic standoff!"

"Thanks, Andrea."

"Not a problem."

Shane pointed to the bag he noticed slung over Dale's back. He had the feeling he knew why Dale had come out to bother them, but he'd ask anyway. "What'd you come out here for?"

"I'm here to collect all the guns," said Dale. "Herschel doesn't want any around the farmhouse."

"What about your gun?"

"Oh, I'm going to hide mine, too."

"After we just killed those zombies, you don't see how useful guns are?"

"It was your firing that caught their attention in the first place."

"It was Andrea's hot meaty body that caught their attention!"

Dale ignored him, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. "If you don't mind-"

Shane took a step back, pocketing his pistol.

"You can have this when you pry it from my cold, dead hands."

Dale gave another wide-eyed look and pointed from his eyes to Shane's face to indicate he'd be keeping an eye out, and then headed off through the woods. Shane grumbled and looked down at his pistol as the man left. No bullets left, anyway; he had fired them all in that fit of anger. Why was everybody on his back lately? Lori, just because he forgot to mention that whole Rick-maybe-being-alive thing; Dale, just because he had thought about murdering Rick when his friend wasn't looking. So maybe Shane wasn't perfect. Maybe he'd let a man die for ice cream. It was a freaking zombie apocalypse! Didn't these people understand ice cream wasn't gonna be around forever?

Things were definitely looking like he was the odd man out. The black sheep. And with Dale and Rick listening to that crazy old man about stowing away all the guns and being nice to the zombies, Shane began to wonder if it was about time to make a move. At least Andrea seemed to be on his side. Maybe he had been wrong about the weird sexual tension between her and Dale. Maybe it was just his jealousy getting the better of him.

XX

Daryl was definitely feeling like the odd man out. The black sheep. Shane had let somebody die for a cooler of ice cream, or at least it looked that way; Rick and Lori were spending all their time arguing about abortions and zombie kids a few feet away from the camp where they thought no one could hear them; Carol spent all her time in the farmhouse dabbing her eyes and worrying about her kid instead of learning to ride a horse and helping him out with the search; Glenn and Maggie were usually screwing in the bushes; and even Dale and Andrea had some kind of bizarre February-December sexual tension between them. Daryl was amazed to find himself actually missing T-Dog, even though he barely knew the guy. Maybe T-Dog seemed more reasonable because he never talked much.

And out of everyone in the group, he was the only one who knew his way around the woods, despite the fact that they seemed to be spending every second of the day in and around the forest. If this was a TV show, Daryl thought, damn would it be boring! Since he was the only person who could handle the forest, that meant he'd be keeping everyone alive if something went wrong and they had to run like they did on the highway – and if Herschel kicked them out, which was looking more likely by the minute with his crazy rules, that might not be a long time coming. Daryl was tired of being the reasonable one, of holding up the weight. Back when Merle had been around, he usually followed along with his brother's ideas.

"Sophia!" he called out. "Sophia, where you hidin', girl?"

He was pretty sure there was a better chance of attracting a zombie than Sophia, but it was the only way to get her attention if she was hiding somewhere. And that was a big 'if'. He supposed that was why he was in a bad mood; most of the people around camp annoyed him, so he knew he should be enjoying this time alone, but he felt sorry for Carol. He knew the truth about her daughter. If Sophia was still alive, she would have shown up by now, or at least Daryl would have found her already. She couldn't have gone that far, and Daryl was an excellent tracker. He could find anything, see any clue; nothing in the forest could take him by surprise-

And that was when he smacked face-first into a hornet's nest.

"Dammit!"

Daryl jerked wildly to the side, almost falling off his horse as the hornets began to swarm around him. He swatted wildly for a moment before regaining his control and gripping the reigns tightly, but the sudden appearance of all the angry bees had also spooked the horse, which reared up on its hind legs, smacking Daryl's head into a tree branch. He swore loudly before toppling off the horse and hitting the ground with a painful thud. The sound of the horse racing off through the forest reached his ears. Daryl turned over, groaning-

And that was when the rattlesnake on the ground in front of him struck.

"What the – aargh!"

Daryl got up and flailed around as the rattlesnake clung to his arm. It let its fangs loose and flew off into the forest after he gave his arm a particularly powerful flail; unfortunately, it was also enough to set him off balance. He stumbled a few feet, tripped on an exposed tree root, and went rolling down a hillside, hitting a number of rocks and tree branches on the way down. It felt like every inch of his body was being pummeled. After what seemed like forever, the hill finally led to a rocky stream, which he hit with a loud splash.

There was a painful, stabbing feeling in his back, and Daryl realized one of his crossbow bolts had cut into him. He was just about to get up when he saw something floating downstream towards him; a stray log. Before he could move, the log smacked right in the middle of his forehead with a loud thunk. Daryl saw stars exploding, and his vision grew hazy as the log floated off past him.

Today was not his lucky day. He lay in the running water for a moment, gasping for breath. The sun beat down on him from a break in the trees above. To his side was the rocky hill down which he had just rolled. He tried to drag himself towards it, but crossbow bolt sent a shooting pain through his back. He barely managed to get to the stream's bank before he settled down on his side and lost consciousness.

XX

"Wake up, fool."

The voice came to him faintly, from a great distance. Daryl fluttered his eyes and groaned, lurching on the sandy bank of the stream and blinking in pain as bright sunlight streamed in. He saw the vague outline of the hill nearby, tree branches swaying in the breeze – and someone standing over him. As he regained consciousness, the figure took form.

Daryl's eyes opened wide with shock. It was Merle.

"You were touch an' go there for a while, little brother."

"Merle? You're alive!"

"Most of me," said Merle with a laugh, holding up his stump of an arm. "Lost a little bit along the way."

"Where you – how'd you find me?"

"Not that hard, with you howlin' like a little girl and fallin' down that hillside. Never thought I'd see you layin' in some stream and dyin' because you were stupid enough to shack up with a group of morons."

"How did you know-"

"I been watchin' you," said Merle. "I been around for a while, little brother. I'm disappointed in you. Hangin' out with some cop, with a black boy and some yellow boy like they was your best friends-"

"Come on, Merle," said Daryl. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the pain in his back was still too great. Still, he could feel that the arrow was gone; Merle must have taken it out. "They ain't that bad. Yeah, maybe we wouldn't be around people like that before, but it's a zombie apocalypse, you know? You gotta meet some new people seeing as there ain't many left that'll talk to you instead of bite your face off."

Merle shook his head. "You're gettin' soft, Daryl."

"Am not."

"What are you doin' layin' there on the ground, then?"

Daryl forced himself up. He'd always been under his brother's shadow, and right now was no different. Literally, since Merle was standing there and blocking all the sunlight. All this time, when he'd been fleeing Atlanta with the group, when they had to leave his brother behind, he had thought he missed Merle, that things would be better with him around. But now Daryl wasn't so sure. To be honest, his brother was kind of a jerk.

"I'll show you," he said.

"Yeah, right. I bet you can't even get up halfway-"

Daryl was already up the hill. Now that he looked around, it was a lot smaller than he had expected. Must have just been all those rocks he hit on the way down.

"Well, that was no fun," said Merle, who took a few steps up and joined him at the top.

Daryl turned to gloat, but noticed his brother was no longer there. He frowned and looked over the side of the small hill; the stream was empty. His brother was nowhere to be seen, until he felt a painful chewing feeling on his foot, and looked down to find Merle gnawing wildly at his shoe. His brother gave him a hard time sometimes, but chewing on his foot? That was a new one. "What the hell are you doin'?" he asked.

"Sibling rivalry, grrr!"

Daryl began to feel woozy as the light in the forest twisted and swirled around him. Merle faded away, and in a haze of confusion, he blinked several times; all of a sudden, he was looking up at the sky. He felt running water beneath him. Was he back at the stream again? He must have dreamed the whole episode with his brother. Daryl looked around unsteadily, wondering what was going on.

It took several moments before he noticed the zombie gnawing at his foot.

He jumped in shock, kicking at the zombie and scrambling back up the shore, but it was too late – his shoe was torn open and he could see one of his toes in the zombie's mouth. And it was his big toe, too. That was the best one! Several more of the undead were shuffling toward him, mere feet away. Before they could reach him, he pulled the crossbow from where it had fallen off his back and lodged itself in the stream, loading it with a bolt and firing it off into the closest zombie's face. Two others were on him before he could fire again, and Daryl screamed as one bit into his shoulder. The other clawed at his face, and he went down into the stream in a splash of water. They smothered him, their hands tearing at his flesh, the water roiling red with his blood-

And then he woke up again.

Daryl blinked as he looked up at the tree line for the third time that afternoon. He looked around; no zombies. At least he had been dreaming his own death instead of actually being eaten. Something about the dream with his brother had been unsettling, too, like he wasn't as happy to see Merle as he had expected, even if it was only in his mind. Although it had been a pretty convincing hallucination. And now that he looked, he could see a bloody crossbow bolt on the sandy shore beside him. He reached back and felt a bandage applied to his back wound. Strange; had he put it on without remembering?

As Daryl got up and looked around, he saw the hill where he had fallen from up above. Now that was disappointing. Instead of the small hill in his dream, it was definitely a few dozen feet up a steep, rocky slope. And bandage or no bandage, Daryl was feeling like he could barely stay on his feet. This'll be interesting, he thought as he took his first foothold and began to claw his way up. But Merle was a damned fool if he thought Daryl Dixon was getting soft.

Thanks to his unbelievable tracking skills, Daryl knew that it was well into the afternoon now, seeing as the sun had gone down a little since he first went out to look for Sophia. Let those fools over in the camp figure out something like that, he thought to himself.

Unfortunately, the horse was nowhere to be found, so he had to walk his way back to the farmhouse. Daryl trudged in the sweltering heat for a few minutes when, in a stroke of luck, he suddenly broke through the trees and stepped into an open field, the barn and farm house in full sight ahead of him, along with the camp where the rest of his group was staying. He must have been already close to home before he smacked into that bee's nest. Daryl noticed several figures in the distance, out by the parked camper.

One of them, it looked like Andrea, was standing on top of the camper with something in her hands. He waved to get her attention. "Hey, I'm back! I couldn't find-"

The bullet smacked into the side of his head, sending him toppling to the ground. He lay back in the grass and looked at the sky once again. This was really getting old.

XX

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"

Andrea raced to Daryl's prone body in the grass and dropped to the ground, laying the rifle she had taken from Rick by his side. Fortunately, it looked like he was only dazed, and while the bullet had hit him in the side of his head, it was only a slight graze. Daryl groaned as he came to. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

"I thought you were a zombie."

"I was wavin' at you!"

"Who says zombie's can't wave?"

Daryl had no answer to that. Rick and Dale rushed up beside Andrea to see if he was alright. "I told you to wait until we checked him out!" said Rick. "What are you doin', firing off like that?"

"I had target practice with Shane earlier," she said. "I'm an expert marksman now. I hit him in the head, didn't I?"

Daryl suddenly let out a scream of pain and rolled over. Andrea and the others leaped back at the sight of a rattlesnake attached to his back, and Rick flung it away with a swipe from the butt of his rifle. "Not again!" said Daryl. "Snakes everywhere – this is the day from hell!"

"Let's get you inside," said Andrea. "We gotta get you some medical attention. We can use some of the supplies we were going to give to Carl – he doesn't need those anyway, he's going to turn into a zombie soon. Er, no offense, Rick."

"None taken!"

Andrea and Rick helped Daryl up as they went off towards the farmhouse. In their hurry to help, neither one of them noticed Dale grabbing Rick's rifle from the ground and heading off in another direction: towards the barn.

XX

Now that he had Rick's rifle, pretty much all of the group's weapons were in Dale's hands. The only person left with a weapon that he knew of was Shane with that pistol, but Dale knew better than to take that from him. Unfortunately, it kind of undermined the whole point of getting the weapons, seeing as Shane was the one who seemed to want to kill people. The way he had aimed at Rick, and the way he had been so evasive when he was talking about Otis dying. Dale definitely didn't trust the man; he'd have to get that pistol while Shane was sleeping, maybe.

Dale tried to look into the barn through the wooden slats, but he couldn't see anything inside. Too dark. He strained his ears, listening for the sounds of telltale moans, but he couldn't hear anything either. Maybe the zombies didn't really get excited until they knew prey was nearby. Ever since Herschel had told them he had family members locked up and zombified in the barn, Dale had been skeptical. Could a man really be that crazy? It seemed to him like it was a lie, a distraction. Something else was in the barn. But what?

The barn's front door was closed and padlocked, so Dale had to go around and find an alternate entrance. Eventually he managed to climb a ladder with the bag of weapons tied over his back, reaching an open window that led inside the barn. He stepped through onto some kind of hay loft. The afternoon sunlight streamed in behind him, but it was still dark inside the barn itself. He couldn't see anything below him, at first, and as he leaned over the side, he had to adjust his eyes to get used to the shadows. He looked closer. No, there was something there alright. He could see vague shapes in the darkness. But what was-

Dale gasped as the shapes took form.

And then he fell down from the hay loft, straight into the barn.