A/N: This was pretty much the most awesome chapter to write ever. I had a lot of fun with it, especially coming up with all the references. Big high fives to anyone who can pick them all :D Please review, follow etc. I love to know people are enjoying what I'm writing and I promise I have lots of crazy/awesome things planned for this fic! As always, much love to my beta, Calcifer179. He is the coolest!
Enjoy!

3.

Daryl snuck a sideways glance at his niece, who was sitting next to him on the bench seat of the pickup, her legs stretched out and feet crossed casually over the dashboard.
Logan seemed completely relaxed, bopping her head along to some imaginary tune and cleaning dirt from under her nails with a small pocketknife. She hadn't made any mention of Jess or how she had been forced to kill him, and Daryl was partially thankful seeing as he didn't want to face the subject either, but he was also worried that she might be bottling up her emotions.
After Logan had shot Jess, Daryl had had a brief moment of weakness, falling to his knees and choking out dry sobs. But within seconds, the young girl had pulled on the sleeve of his jacket saying,
"You can rest when you're dead, get up Broseph. We've got work to do."
Her words, while cold, were exactly what he needed to hear to snap him out of his misery and soon they were dragging his uncle's body back to the cabin and digging a shallow grave for him.
Originally, Daryl had wanted to carry Jess' body back to their truck, to take home so he could be buried properly, but Logan had laughed off his suggestion.
"Wow man, you are such an idiot. Have you never seen a zombie movie? I bet this wasn't just a couple of random Hannibals…this, my friend, is the start of the apocalypse," she'd gestured grandly. Daryl had shaken his head dumbly, knowing that she was probably right; something was going on and they needed answers.
They had bunked in the cabin for the night, darkness had fallen shortly after they had buried Jess and then made the hike back to where the truck had been left, traveling much faster than they had the previous day. Logan, to her credit, didn't run and hide, but rather stuck to him like glue, keeping up with his much bigger strides and whistling quietly as they jogged. She was apparently unfazed by the events of the day before, and Daryl thought back to Becky's words; "…She doesn't experience emotions like other people…"
The memory of Logan's mother made Daryl stiffen in the driver's seat and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He hoped that whatever this was had remained localised, that things weren't as bad as Logan was assuming they were. Logan had mentioned her mother was honeymooning on some island called Banoi, maybe it would be safer there where it was so remote? But as they drove through town, back towards the Dixon property, Daryl knew it was just wishful thinking.

In just a couple of days, his home town had changed dramatically. Most people appeared to have evacuated at the first signs of danger, so the streets were deserted and eerie. Abandoned vehicles littered the main road and every now and then he spotted evidence of physical confrontations such as dried blood or broken glass.
Daryl didn't stop the truck to investigate anything closely, he just wanted to stock up at home and get out as quickly as possible, keen to head to Fontana and collect Merle.
Shortly before he had received a phone call from Becky requesting his help in looking after Logan, Merle had been arrested for a handful of charges, including assault and substance abuse. He was, as far as Daryl knew, still being held in the Fontana county jail, and so that would be their ultimate destination. Merle may have been a bastard at the best of times, but he was now one of only two members of Daryl's family left, and he wasn't about to let his brother rot in a cell until things calmed down. Or worse, get attacked like Jess had been.
Fontana was a full day's drive away, so they would need more supplies then they had on them and a more gas for the truck, and Merle's bike was still parked in the shed at home. Daryl definitely wasn't going to leave that behind.
"Holy shit! Check out that ugly mofo!" Logan called out, breaking his train of thought. She pointed eagerly out the window, at a particularly battered looking individual who was stumbling along the footpath. The man raised his head at the sound of their truck and they heard his throaty growl as they drove by, making a dash toward them futilely.
"I want to see him bleed!" Logan grinned, "Come on dude, we can take him."
Daryl shook his head,
"Screw that, we got bigger things to take care of. We still don't even know what this is yet."
The redhead snorted and kicked the dash half-heartedly,
"You suck Dixon! Live a little…tomorrow we might be dead."
Choosing to ignore her, Daryl continued their steady space, driving between obstacles on the road, which included several more of the 'creatures', some that seemed vaguely familiar. It was possible; in fact likely, that many of the people he had known were dead, just like Jess.
Sighing, and trying to forget the image of his uncle's cold, limp body, Daryl pulled the Ford into the driveway, slowing to a stop as they arrived at the front of the house.
He hadn't bothered to lock up before they had left. He had nothing of value for people to steal, and everyone knew not to fuck with the Dixons. However, Daryl was now regretting his decision, worried that an unwanted intruder may have entered the premises while they had been camping.
Before he could stop her, Logan had sprung like a cat out of the van and sprinted toward the front door, ripping it open and strolling inside and out of his sight.
"Shit," Daryl muttered, quickly exiting the car and following her.

The house was quiet, and gloomy as per usual, and there was no sign of Logan or thankfully, anyone else.
"Logan," he hissed, "Where are ya girl?"
Daryl caught a glimpse of her fluffy head as it popped out of her doorway down the hall,
"Sup Daryl? You want something?"
"What the Hell is wrong with you?! One of those things could have been in here," he tried to hide the panic in his voice as he approached her.
His niece smiled cheerily and stepped back into her room, already a mess after just a few days of sleeping there.
"Wow kid, make yourself at home! Hey, is that my radio?" Daryl grunted angrily, noticing the portable stereo, now in pieces on the bedside table.
Logan shrugged dismissively,
"I was bored."
"You're lucky we've got shit to do or I'd kick yer scrawny arse!"
"Think you can take me old man?" She taunted, raising her fists in a mock fighter's stance, "Bring it!"
"I told ya, we got shit to do. Pack yer bags and then go to the kitchen and get anything we can carry. We may not be coming back," Daryl ordered as he left her room.
"Are you planning on telling me where we are going?" She queried as she followed him, her pixie face lit up in curiousity.
"Nope," he replied shortly, heading into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. He heard Logan kick it roughly, grumbling something inaudible as she returned back up the hallway. Daryl turned to survey the clutter of his sleeping area, and grabbed a few empty backpacks, stuffing them with clothes that were only mostly clean and some other bits and pieces. He left space for toiletries and visited the bathroom on his way out of the house, pausing to observe his niece as she tore apart the kitchen, throwing what little food she found there into garbage bags.
"Think we'll be cooking much?" She asked, holding aloft a frying pan, "I could always use this for skull bashing I guess."
"We've got stuff like that in the truck already, from camping, leave it."
Logan nodded once and went back to her task obediently, and Daryl ran from the house, carrying the first load of backs and securing them in the bed of the truck alongside their camping gear. He ensured he left space for the Triumph Bonneville, Merle's bike was old, but hard wearing and he knew his brother would kill him if he didn't think to grab it.
He loaded the remainder of the stuff and made sure Logan was comfortable in the front seat before heading around the back of the house to grab the motorcycle. He swung his crossbow so it hung over his back opened up the shed quietly, noting happily that like the house, it was free of danger.
The Triumph started up easily, after Daryl had turned the key in the ignition and he kicked it off, half wheeling, half riding it out of the large shed. Rounding the corner of the house, the sound of guttural snarling and high pitched laughter filled his ears and he sped up, racing toward the truck.
A person who somewhat resembled his distant neighbour, Buck Redford, was trying to corner Logan against the side of the vehicle, grasping clumsily for her. The little redhead was giggling hysterical, shamelessly baiting the crazed man, ducking his swings and lightly swatting him with her fists. She bored of their dance quickly, however, and placed a well-aimed roundhouse kick to his chest, sending the large attacker sprawling.
"Logan!" Daryl yelled, stalling the bike and jumping off it, loading his crossbow on the run.
"It's cool dude, I totally got this one," his niece chuckled, pulling the frypan out from the cab of the truck, holding it in front of her as if it was a sword.
"Hello. My name is Logan Lehane. You killed…well probably a bunch of people you son of a bitch. Prepare to die," she intoned, seriously, before swinging the kitchen utensil down across Buck's skull, cracking through the bone and into the brain below. He crumpled to the ground in front of her and Logan spat at his body, before peeking up through her hair to catch Daryl's eye and winking.
"And that's how it's done."
"Ya could have been killed!" Daryl bristled, walking towards her and checking her up and down for any sign of injury.
"Well as you can see I'm fine and dandy. Can you get that bike on the truck already? I'm rearing to go!"
Shaking his head in shock, Daryl examined the corpse at his feet, wondering what had happened to poor Buck to make him into one of those things. He must have asked the question aloud because Logan bent down lifting the tattered sleeve of Buck's flannel shirt to reveal a weeping bite wound on his forearm.
"They bite," she answered in explanation, throwing her weapon through the truck's open passenger side door and climbing in after it.
After lowering the lift at the back of the Ford, Daryl expertly loaded the Triumph into the truck bed and secured it, then joined the teenager in the cab and turned the truck around, starting back up the driveway.
There was silence for a few minutes, as they were both lost in their own thoughts. Daryl couldn't stop thinking of his niece's assault on Buck, the word "badass" inadvertently coming to mind, no matter how much he kept reminding himself she was just a young girl.
Logan glanced affectionately at the cast iron frying pan beside her and looked up at her uncle with a sly grin,
"And you said I should leave it behind. Wanker."