My choice, not your burden Chapter 5, a walking dead fanfic

Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing but those little thoughts doing laps around my head.

Thank you so much Laughy-Taffy the Grape, WTFdoUwantNOW, Pass the Porn Tea, DucksFan1510 and PhoenixKeir for the reviews on this. I was getting a bit discouraged so it is nice to know I have some readers :-)

I hope you all still like it after this chapter. This is the final 'action' of the story. I did say you would get answers...and I did say not to expect this fic to get any cheerier...

Italics = flashback

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The sun had only welcomed the dawn of another day an hour or so before a light green Hyundai and blue pick-up came to a rest beside the now fallen black Bonneville. The overnight rain had softened the grass so the kickstand had sunk into the soil, toppling the bike in the early hours of the morning. The pick-up stopped yards away and within moments strong hands gripped the handlebars and hauled the bike back onto it's wheels. Tyreese used his abundance of strength and swung the Bonneville so that he could place the kickstand on harder ground. He looked up see three figures making their way towards him from the other car.

Despite Hershel's hesitation it had been decided late in the previous night that Rick, Glenn and Maggie were to return to the factory to try, at the very least, collect the two things that symbolised Daryl; his bike and his crossbow. Even if there was little hope of finding a body it felt wrong to leave what were the very essence of Daryl laying out in the baking Georgia sun, abandoned and unwanted. Each of the three had each expressed a wish to the group to be the ones to make the trip and bring some part of the lost hunter back to the prison, the feeling of honouring the sacrifice the man had made for them unspoken but obvious. Tyreese had also volunteered himself for the trip after encouragement from Hershel, feeling that as the newest member of the group his slight removal from the emotional situation would be a value in case the place was still overrun and the hard decision of turning around without their intended items had to be made.

"I'll stay here," Tyreese directed his statement to Rick, Glenn and Maggie having already made their way to the hole in the chain-link fence. "I can get the bike loaded on the bed while you...you do what you gotta do."

Rick nodded silently at Tyreese, grateful that the man was observant enough to realise the others wished to do this on their own. He made a mental note to thank him later before he turned to follow the others.

Having bent down to duck through the gap in the fence Rick stopped behind Glenn's shoulder and looked at the scene before him. Somehow, in little over 18 hours the numerous herds that had occupied the single field seemed to have moved on almost completely, leaving just a few slow-moving stragglers. Glenn's fists clenched and the younger man looked down, shaking his head side to side as the true nature of their shitty luck crashed into him with the force of a car wreck. If only they had made this trip a day earlier or later. One day. One single day and it would have been completely different. They would have found nothing of use, a fact the four of them would have bemoaned on their way back to the prison, but they all would have made it back safe. A half-smile played on Glenn's lips as he fondly imagined Daryl cursing his way back to the prison on the bike, expletives being lost in the wind that whipped past his face, completely pissed off that a day had been wasted. There always seemed so much that the hunter had to do to keep everyone safe and fed. A deep inhale and exhale of breath shook through Glenn's body. He suddenly felt much more tired than before, the weight of what they were here to do weighing him down. He hadn't slept the night before, too scared to close his eyes and see the terrible things his mind would conjure about his friend's fate. A large part of him didn't want to move forward anymore, didn't want to have to see the things he was undoubtedly about to, images that would no doubt burn themselves on his mind and haunt him forevermore. Another shake of his head had Glenn trying to throw those thoughts from his head. They were here for him, for any part of him they could take back with them. If Daryl could run into a baying mob of un-dead for them then Glenn sure as hell could stop being a pansy and walk into an empty field for him. A hand on Glenn's shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Rick's sympathetic eyes.

"Okay then," Glenn's voice sounded so much surer than he felt inside, "Let's go get Daryl."

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Daryl moved as swiftly through the mob of bodies as he could, his body hitching every so often as one of the walkers managed to get a hold of some part of him. The knife in his hand would periodically move through the summer air and slice into the flesh of one of the monsters desperate to stop his movement forward. He felt a sudden tension on the strap on his shoulder as one of them pulled him back by his crossbow. He had too many other hands grabbing at him to allow the pause it would take to fight for it so he yelled with pure anger as he allowed the strap to be ripped from his back.

Without casting his eyes back, Daryl continued on and sent the final flare spinning through the air, mid-stride, over his left shoulder. He allowed himself a momentary smirk as he managed to snatch a glimpse of it hitting a walker straight in the face. As his eyes turned forward again, another slice of his arm drove his knife hilt-deep in the temple of what had been a young woman. Daryl tried to pull it out but it was somehow snagged on the bone and brain it had just destroyed. With a grunt he released his grip on the last weapon he could use against his enemy but never looked back as he hurtled towards the overturned truck up ahead of him. Getting to it was the only way he wouldn't be eaten alive.

Daryl cursed loudly as his eyes locked onto the vehicle laying on its side, which was quickly getting closer. There was a hole in what had been the roof of the cab, which now left the driver and passenger seats open to the elements and quickly put an end to his only plan; to try and shut himself in there. As the hunter finally reached the sideways truck he acted on instinct and stuck his right foot up onto the body of the vehicle and used it to thrust himself upward. His strong arms gripped onto the metal high above the ground as his feet struggled to find purchase. He managed to get the heavy toes of his steel-capped boots to meet the metal and one mighty heave brought him up and over the top just as the lumbering forms of the walkers crashed into his new-found sanctuary.

Pulling himself to standing, chest heaving deep breaths of exertion, Daryl's eyes frantically searched in the direction from which he had com. He felt all the fear and tension leave his body the instant he saw his friends running past his motorbike and clambering into their own vehicle. He watched from on top of his vantage point as dirt was thrown up into the air by the spinning of the green Hyundai's tyres. He watched as it sped along the road, leaving the Bonneville standing alone outside the fence's perimeter. He could just about make out the man in the backseat of the car turn to look his way. He pursed his lips together and winced, starting to chew on the inside of his mouth; he could just imagine the mask of guilt slipping into place over Rick's already ragged features. He knew that to the man his death would be another chink in his armour, another heavy weight on his already-weakening shoulders, another life lost because he wasn't able to save it. Daryl let out a long, deep breath that came out almost as primal a growl as the noises surrounding him.

Long nails grabbed at his ankles and he swiftly kicked down on the head it belonged to causing the hand to fall away. More hands replaced them and he could feel the herd surging forward, the sheer volume of walkers seeming to almost lift them from the ground and bringing them closer to him.

Jus' brilliant, he snarled to himself, just my luck if they worked out how to climb just 'bout now.

He slowly pulled the handgun from his waistband and brought it out in front of him, routinely inspecting the chamber to check if the last remaining bullet was still safely inside.

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Maggie, Glenn and Rick walked in silent unison towards the last spot they had occupied with Daryl and stopped, each looking at the scene in front of them. Even if Rick hadn't have seen Daryl standing on top of the truck that sat a few hundred metres in front of the warehouse it still wouldn't have been hard to follow the hunter's path through the field. Twice-dead bodies created an almost solid line from the area in which they now stood to the overturned vehicle.

"Jesus, man," Glenn's voice was full of a strange admiration as he took in the sheer number of bodies in front of him. "He must have taken out at least three dozen by himself."

"Guys!" Maggie took off running and stopped a few hundred yards away. Kicking over one of the corpses she untangled an item from it's hands. She held it up as Glenn and Rick came to a stop beside her and they all paused to take in the form of white angel wings on a black, leather background.

A sigh left Rick's mouth as he moved forward again, stepped past the burnt out remnants of two flares and followed the trail of walkers. As he came closer to the truck he felt something crunch underfoot and stopped. Reaching down he picked up a now-broken bolt. His eyes scanned quickly and two steps ahead he saw it; the crossbow. He gulped at the sight of the discarded weapon. It had obviously been trampled, broken, by masses of feet but it still held it's main shape. It was no longer usable, but then there was no longer anyone there to use it. Maggie stepped forward into Rick's eye-line and scooped up what was left of the weapon, before moving on again.

In front of them, less than a hundred metres before they came to the overturned truck, Rick saw Glenn put his foot on the head of a twice-dead female walker and yank something from it's hairline. As Glenn held it up to the light Rick could see, unmistakably, it was Daryl's hunting knife caked in blood and gore. Glenn instinctively wiped the dry mess on his trouser leg before sliding the knife into an empty sheath on his waist. A quick look and nod back at Rick acknowledged the discovery as the three companions moved forward, once again in silence.

Rick slowed his steps as the stretched shadow of the truck loomed in front of him and he brought his hand as a shield above his eyes, squinting through the sun's rays. His footsteps stopped altogether as his eyes fell upon the bloodstain on the side of truck's white cab. His heart skipped as he took in the smear that ran from the very to top halfway down. His mind flashed with a picture of walkers managing to drag Daryl from the top of the truck and his desperate fingers clinging on to the metal frame as the flesh was ripped from his body. Rick shook his head to clear the images and his eyes began to scan the area for any other sign that that had been the case, but he could find none. Glenn, and Maggie came up to where Rick was standing, their eyes falling on the same thing Rick had seen.

Maybe the blood got there as Daryl pulled himself up onto the truck instead of being dragged off. But no, Rick realised with drop of dread in the pit of his stomach, wasn't that just as bad?

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As the adrenaline wore off Daryl took a moment to take stock of himself, his chest rising and falling in quick succession as he tried to calm his breathing to a normal rate. He rubbed his hand over his eyes as he started to become more aware of a persistent sharp pain near his left shoulder, just above his left collarbone. He brought his shaking right hand up to the source of the pain and let out a deep groan as it was met with the unmistakable slickness of blood.

Blood. Lots of fresh, red blood flowing freely from an open cavern in what had been his solid trapezius muscles.

It hadn't been a surprise for him. He knew it would be there.

There was no getting away from the fact Daryl had felt the teeth sink into his flesh almost as soon as he first ran into the baying throng of the un-dead. A walker had managed to grab hold of his leather vest and Daryl spun quickly, expertly shifting the crossbow between hands as he did so, allowing the wing-adorned vest to be torn from his body. As he had returned to face the direction he was running he had felt the weight of clambering hands on his shoulder followed by searing pain. He'd carried on pushing through the herd as he felt skin and muscle being ripped away. Still desperate to carry on and drag the walkers further away to help the others to safety he had only hesitated a moment to drive his knife into the walker's eye socket. He'd had no time to pause and assess the wound, not that it really mattered at that point, as dozens more arms were reaching to him, clawing for any handle on him.

He brought his right arm up and wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead away but was puzzled to find his head felt even wetter once he had done so. Glancing down at his arm Daryl grimaced as he saw the distinct shape of teeth marks, angry-looking and framed with yet more blood, on his forearm. He could see that blood and another clearer liquid oozed from the puncture holes as he held it up to the sunlight for better look. Shit, he hadn't even noticed that one. How had he not even felt it? A stinging sensation from the area began to radiate up his arm and Daryl kissed his teeth with discomfort. The discovery of a second bite didn't faze the man and he didn't bother to check his body for any more; he was sure it was just the two. Hell, what difference did it make if it was two or twenty that littered his body?

The section of flesh missing from Daryl's shoulder had not worried him as the teeth had sunk in deep and it still didn't really now. The additional bite simply made no difference to him. He'd known as soon as he had taken those flares from Glenn's backpack that he was as good as a dead man. He'd known that he'd had no chance of making it through that amount of walkers unscathed, hell he hadn't even expected it to make it anywhere relatively safe before being overcome and torn apart. The fact he now stood out of the reach of the savage monsters, at least for now, and had a semblance of choice in his own death was somewhat of a bonus for him.

He couldn't decide whether he was going to just end it quickly, take the pussy way out and put a bullet through his brain or whether he would prefer to take a leap into the herd, fists and feet flailing and at least try and take a few out before they tore him to shreds. That way he would go out fighting. Go out like a Dixon always should. He snorted at his constant need to uphold the family honour. Hell, there were no more Dixon's on this Earth, why should he care what they would think. Bunch of assholes anyway, the lot of them. He'd go out the way HE wanted. He just wasn't sure what that was yet.

Arms by his side with fingers that nervously tapped against the outside of his thighs, Daryl turned slowly on his heels as he scanned the mob beneath him. While he was surrounded on all sides they seemed to be gravitating mainly towards one corner, hands scrambling to reach up and over the tyre suspended in mid-air. Daryl steadied himself as he felt the vehicle dip slightly, the sheer weight of them clambering to one point bringing the tyre downwards slightly. It was almost as if they were swarming, about to swallow the vehicle whole. Facing in the opposite direction than he had been before, his eyes were suddenly drawn to the back of the truck, where the metal side had unfurled at a join and created an opening into the belly of the vehicle.

The hunter strode over and brought himself down onto his stomach, angling so the hands of the desperately hungry could not reach him, to slowly inspect the inside of the truck. He sighed quietly as he saw it was dark, empty and, most importantly, secure. For now at least. It would be the perfect place for him to hole up and decide how he was going to finish this.

As he glanced up to the road that stretched to the horizon Daryl's breathing suddenly stopped and his heart skipped. The car that was carrying Rick, Glenn and Maggie had stopped abruptly with a glare of red brake lights. He pushed himself even further down onto the truck's surface, drawing his stomach in to bring his spine closer to the metal, trying his best to keep his figure out of view. He knew that if the others could see him they would not hesitate to come back for him now they had the fortification of the Hyundai. As he saw the passenger door open slightly he hoped that his body was far enough out of view that they would think he was already lost and not risk their lives for a dead man. Even if he hadn't already been bit, he knew he would still have pressed his body into the hot metal, scorched in the summer sun, and pray they did not see him. All he wanted was them to get back to safety. To get home. The thought of them struggling through the mass of the un-dead, even with the added help of a vehicle, made him feel sick to his stomach. The idea that they would risk doing it for someone like him made no sense to him, and he quickly swallowed bile that had risen to his throat at the thought of any of them dying for something as meaningless as him.

Mere seconds passed, although it felt like an age, where Daryl was scared to even breath in case the rise of his back as his lungs filled with air caught the attention of eyes that were searching for him. Relief filled him to his very core as he saw the door to the car close and the vehicle suddenly take off again, this time much faster than before. He drew in a deep breath that made his whole body shudder, and closed his eyes as he brought his forehead to rest on the metal. He knew in that instant they thought he was dead. And that meant they were safe. A smile played across his lips, probably the truest smile that ever graced his features, and for the first time since they had made it out of the building Daryl's breathing returned to normal.

Daryl slid himself round on his stomach, swinging his body past clawing fingers and drawing frenzied moans from below, and his legs dipped into the opening in the metal. He shifted backwards until he started to lower himself slowly into the empty chasm that was the truck's body, grimacing as his injured shoulder and arm took his weight. Daryl stole one last glance at the vehicle as it retreated further towards the horizon and let himself drop the short distance into the darkness.

He stood there for a second, feeling the weight of the gun that rested on the back of his waistband and breathed deeply as a calm washed over him. His family were safe.

His family was safe.

That's all that really mattered.

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Maggie continued to walk a wide circle around the vehicle, the broken crossbow and leather vest drawn against her chest as they sat cradled in her arms, looking for any sign the three may have overlooked. On the other side of the truck, with help from Glenn, Rick managed to haul himself on top, and in turn bent down and grabbed onto Glenn's hands, hefting the weight of the other man upwards. As they both stood it dawned on Rick that this was the last place he had seen Daryl, the dense knot of dread thickening in his stomach as he realised they were getting closer to the answers he so dearly wanted to find, but at the same time wished he never had to ask .

It only took a few seconds for the men to see the heavy blood drops forming a tight circle in the middle of the truck and they followed their trail to the bent metal exposing a fissure in the vehicle's skin. The younger man picked up some speed as he almost bounded to the opening, with Rick following tentatively behind. Glenn lowered himself down onto his stomach and attempted to peer into the darkness, with no luck. Rick remained standing as he stared down at the man now laying in a large patch of what must be Daryl's dried blood and swallowed a lump from his throat. For a second his eyes played a trick on him and he could no longer see Glenn but instead it was Daryl in front of him, heavily bleeding from somewhere and looking through the hole for the hope of safety. This was why he lost sight of him, he knew it.

"Daryl...?" Glenn's voice cut through Rick as he realised the young man was calling down into the hole. Drawing his attention back to Rick, Glenn asked, "You think he made it in there?"

Glenn's eyes quizzed as he pushed himself to sitting and Rick pulled his gaze away. Rick hated that he saw a semblance of hope there, the various questions of 'what if?' playing so openly on Glenn's face. What if he made it here in one piece? What if he was sat in there now waiting for them to arrive? What if they found him alive? The young man obviously clung on to the forbidden fruit of hope, despite the fact he had just been laying in blood, Daryl's blood. Despite the fact no voice had responded to his call, not even a whispered response. Hope; she was the cruellest of illusions in the world they lived in.

"Only one way to find out." Rick answered, not daring to look at Glenn as he stepped towards the opening and began the process of lowering himself down. This is it.

The echo of Rick's feet hitting the metal resounded through the confined space as he let go of the jagged opening above him. He landed in a crouch, gently putting his arm out onto the dirty floor in front of him to keep his balance. Eyes darted in the darkness, straining to see, dust littered the air where one ray of sunshine streaked into the space.

"Here, take this," Glenn called, once again on his stomach peering through the opening as he offered a flashlight down to Rick.

"Thanks," Rick managed to get out as he stretched high to grab the torch.

Fumbling slightly, whether it was with nerves or pure fear or both he couldn't pinpoint, Rick managed to turn the light on and use it to sweep over the ground surrounding him, and then further out to the walls. He turned around, shining the light as he went and stopped suddenly as the beam of light found the thing he was hoping and dreading to see in equal measures.

Yellowed laces led up to dark brown boots on two feet that lay, spread, toes facing opposite directions. The light draped on the boots shook as Rick's hand froze there, unable or unwilling to move any further. Now he was here Rick wasn't so sure anymore that this was what he wanted. Maybe being dependant on hard evidence was no longer the way he wanted live.

"Can you see anything?" Glenn's voiced queried from the sunlit hole in the roof. He received no answer but open silence.

Rick pushed the hammering of his heart out of his thoughts and finally found himself able to move his body. He took two steps forward as he raised the flashlight slightly bringing legs of dark denim into view, the telltale hole in the knee showing dirty flesh. Both legs splayed outwards, knees slightly bent and for that second Rick caught a flash of an image of Daryl sitting, relaxed, using a log as a makeshift stool as he sharpened a homemade bolt, looking up and nodding at him briefly. Ricks hand flew to him mouth as the small amount of breakfast he had eaten resurfaced. He tried to swallow quickly but he couldn't stop it.

"Rick, talk to me." Glenn pleaded again. Not that he needed the words to be spoken out loud. Not now. He knew. The silence below was only interrupted briefly by the sound of gagging and vomit hitting the metal floor.

Rick steeled himself and drew the flashlight up to limp arms laying at the side of a torso clad in a grubby, sleeveless shirt, the colour of ingrained dirt and blood almost making the once-patterned material seem plain. The little energy Rick had was sapped from his body as his eyes fell onto the forearm of the limp right arm. The perfectly formed teeth marks, in all their bright red glory, were a stark contrast to the pale flesh they were surrounded by. A shaky breath escaped Rick's lips as his chest quivered and he fought for his composure. His eyes continued to scan, this time taking in the broad shoulders of the body.

Blood covered the vast majority of the left half of the shirt and it didn't take long for Rick to see why as he craned his neck to see round the side of the neck. The top buttons of the shirt had been undone and the collar pulled away from the collarbone, exposing a wound that looked so similar it made the tears fill the deputy sheriff's eyes instantly. Flesh and muscle was missing from the area, leaving a gaping hole that was covered in dark, dirty blood. Rick's eyes fell once again, unable to keep his gaze on the wound. Just like Sophia.

"Tell me!" Glenn's voice pitched in hysteria, the desperate need of a confirmation of the horrible truth evident in those two syllables. "Can you see him?"

Rick stood silently, without the words to answer his friend waiting above. He suddenly felt a rush of air and heard the clatter of feet on metal behind him as Glenn practically threw himself into the truck, unable to wait in the unseeing silence anymore.

"Rick?" His voice just a whisper now. There was no more trace of conviction in Glenn's voice as he stood behind Rick. His eyes followed the path of the light and onto the undeniable proof that sat slumped in the corner of the container.

The gun lay discarded at the side of a limp hand, having fallen there as the hand fell for a final time. The head rested to one side, dirt and grease-caked hair still wet with sweat clinging to an unshaven face. Heavy-lidded eyes were shut, covering the blue eyes that were never to be seen again, and long, dark eyelashes rested on puffy dark circles underneath that seemed a constant part of the face. Even now there seemed to be a scowl playing along the features, absence of dirt on the forehead forming lines to highlight the frequency the expression had been used on a daily basis.

A hole was evident in the skull just above the temple; hair hardened with blood surrounded, and fragments of bone littered the outskirts. Only the way the head had fallen to the side shielded the viewing men from the sight of the larger hole and worse damage of the exit wound. Still, the splatter of blood and brain could not be hidden from the metal wall behind the body, and as the flashlight travelled upwards to reveal the gore Glenn turned his head away swiftly and added to the pile of vomit on the floor.

Heavy breaths filled the air and the shaking beam of light returned on the lifeless body in front of the two men as they stood in silence for a moment. Without saying a word Rick handed the flashlight to his trembling companion, and swallowing yet another lump, made his way to the corner of the room. Glenn watched, tears filling his eyes and spilling over onto his cheeks, as Rick crouched before the body and carefully put his hand to the cold cheek.

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Maggie was waiting at the side of the truck, having seen both men disappear into its depths, impatience obvious in her stance. Her dark hair moved slightly in the cool breeze, green eyes darted, one arm still clutching vest and crossbow and she shifted her weigh from foot to foot. Nervous energy darted through her veins as she stared intently at the side of the vehicle as if she could will herself to see through the metal that obscured her view. She gnawed on each fingernail of her free hand, biting so quickly and furiously that her teeth met the quick and started to bleed within just a few minutes. She paused before starting to chew on her thumbnail and drew her hand away from her mouth; the action threw a vivid picture of Daryl into her mind and she could not bring herself to imitate one of the hunter's many idiosyncrasies.

Maggie's attention was torn away from her thoughts as a heavy door, sitting sideways on the wall of metal in front of her, opened with a loud screech of rusted metal and fell to the floor in front of her. She gasped at the sight that was unveiled, drawing her arms tighter around the items she held as her mind took a snapshot that she knew would be used in nightmares for the rest of her life. She didn't dare look at Glenn.

Rick's jacket was draped around Daryl's lulling head, shielding Maggie from the view of the damage the bullet had done to skull, but she could make out the large wound on the strong shoulder and bite marks on the forearm. Ricks held the body in his arm with one resting in the crook of knees and the over underneath the neck, hand gripping the shoulder. Maggie had once before seen Rick hold someone like this; Carl after he had been shot. This time, though, his expression was different. When Maggie had first seen Rick Grimes he had a look of desperate panic and exhaustion planted across his face, fear and regret tainting the eyes of a man who was afraid he was going to lose his son. The Rick Grimes who stood in front of Maggie now, with the lifeless body of his biggest friend clutched in his arm, showed none of that. He showed nothing at all as he drew his eyes up to hers. She could see his jaw clench and his throat swallow in an attempt to stay strong and not allow his obvious sorrow become more apparent, but his eyes held nothing behind the sorrowful stare. There was no panic, or fear, or worry. She guessed those kind of emotions held no reason once you held the cooling corpse of a loved one in your arms.

No words were spoken between the three people Daryl had died to save. They stood for a few minutes in the rays of the quickly heating sun, none of them willing to make the first move back to the car. Eventually Rick twitched, having to shift the dead weight in his arms and Glenn was with him in a second, offering to take some of the burden. One flanked on each side of the dead man, their arms interlinking behind his neck and free hands holding onto a leg each.

The three figures moved silently back towards their cars, their progress painfully slow. None of them looked back once to the scene of the horrors of the last day. None of them wanted to lay an eye on this place ever again, although truthfully they would see it every time they dared close their eyes. They left the field as they should have the day before, as a group of four, but it was all so wrong. It wasn't how it should have been. Maggie walked past the sombre Tyreese to set the vest and crossbow down alongside the bike on the bed of the pick-up as Rick and Glenn gently loaded Daryl's body into the back of the Hyundai. Rick slipped into his seat and with Glenn's help slid the body so the head lay over his lap. Rick laid one shaking hand on the still chest of his best friend, and never moved it.

Within moments both cars roared to life and began their trip back to the prison, speeding away over the potholed road. No words were exchanged in the Hyundai during the trip, but the sadness that overwhelmed the occupants was littered with a smattering of rueful accomplishment at fulfilling their intended wish.

Daryl wasn't being left behind and forgotten. They made sure of that.

He never would be, as long as they were alive. They would always make sure of that.

They were taking him to be with his family.

They were taking him home.

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I'm afraid you gots to believe it now! It took me so long to decide where to go with this chapter - and I was almost, ALMOST convinced to let him live. Just for a second. And I know getting bit/shooting oneself has been one, but I think it's always going to be a common theme in a zombie apocalypse.

Hope you all enjoyed. I found it quite hard to write this chapter - I hadn't planned it like I usually do and wanted it to take it's own course, but ended up writing it in bits and pieces, having to leave it and come back, and start from the middle of sections and work backwards. I do struggle with "action" so sorry if the quality of the writing isn't there. I much prefer penning those internalised dilemmas!

So, that's it! Well, I think so anyway. I was toying with an epilogue of sorts of Daryl's last moments but not sure if it is needed. I was thinking it would round it off nicely, but not sure if it will now. Maybe I'll re-read in a few days and see...like to know your input!

Thank you so much to anyone who reviewed. This turned out nothing like I planned it to but I enjoyed writing my first ever published fanfic!