Disclaimer: The story you are reading is a piece of fiction. I own none of the characters from either "The Walking Dead" television show or comics. Those lie within the realm of creative genius Robert Kirkman and his skilled team of artists. Mr. Kirkman, I salute you!

I'm cold and broken

It's over

I didn't want to see it come to this

I wonder

If I will ever see your face again

And I know

That I will find a way to shed the skin

It's simple

I know that I will suffer in the end

Fast I fade away

It's almost over

Hold on

Slow I suffocate

I'm cold and broken

Alone

It's hopeless

The end will come and wash it all away

Forsaken

I live for those I lost along the way

And I can't

Remember how it all began to break

You suffer

I live to fight and die another day

"Are you sure this will work?"

"Fucking Christ, Shane. That's the fifth time you've asked in the past ten minutes."

Trish brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes as she threw the last of the combustibles onto the pile of fireworks and butane. Thank goodness for teenage boys, she thought. Rummaging through porn stashes to find the hidden firecrackers had paid off more than once. The light and noise they created in one location had been enough to drive off a significant amount of walkers to allow an alternate escape route on more than one occasion. But this distraction would have to be large enough to allow the entire convoy of survivors to get past the gate of the housing community and onto the highway. Trish understood Shane's apprehension, but in theory this shouldn't be any different than the other times she had done it.

More walkers had congregated around town in the two days since they had set up in the retirement commune. The plan was to create a diversion two blocks away so that they could get the caravan of vehicles out the front gate and onto the highway before the walkers could swarm. It was an early morning for all of them, having loaded and lined up the cars the evening before. All they had left was to light the fire and make a dash for the others before the walkers came nosing around. Just as soon as…

"There it is," Shane said, pointing in the direction of the brief flash of headlights. It was the signal that everyone was ready to go and the bonfire needed to be lit. Trish lit the rag on the maltov cocktail as they walked away from it, and Shane gave it a toss into the debris once they were at a safe distance. "Now MOVE!"

He didn't need to tell her twice. They ran as stealthily as they could through the street, pistols out and safety's off, relying on the pops and lights from the fire to cover their passing. But they couldn't stay quiet for long, for out of the first alley came a walker with half its throat missing. Shane dispatched it easily, but the sound was sure to draw attention. In the dim light of pre-dawn, she saw at least three more halfway between where they were at and their goal of the rear entrance to the duplexes. It was a small concession that their gunfire was still leading the mob away from the gate.

They were at a full sprint at half a block away, gaining momentum to climb the concrete wall ahead of them. They'd practiced twice the afternoon before with great success, but this time they had the undead to boost their motivation. Shane was up and over in the blink of an eye, but as Trish was halfway up her vault, she faltered and fell back to the ground.

That's when she saw the walker that had grabbed the hem of her pants. Without thinking, she kicked herself free, but it was nearly upon her. One more swift kick to its head gave her just enough time to aim and fire between the eyes. By the time she stood back up, Shane was leaning over the wall, reaching for her hands.

"Where'd that thing come from?" he asked once they were safe on the other side and jogging towards the convoy.

"Hell if I know."

"Well, it's done now, and your idea worked. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Trish would be riding point, but she saw Daryl give her a quick wink as she dashed by his position at rear. Each driver acknowledged her as she passed by the vehicles and a tingle of acceptance rushed through her for the first time since joining the group. She saw Glenn working the chain on the gate as she approached, nodding at him as soon as she was settled on the back of the bike. For a split second, it felt strange to not have Fish in her lap, but the pup was safe in the back of Rick's station wagon, snuggling with Carl. As soon as she turned the ignition, Glenn shoved open the gate and made jogged towards the RV.

Behind her, the other vehicles came to life. As soon as Trish heard the Triumph's roar, she maneuvered out into the street, heading towards the highway out of town that led to the interstate. Behind her, T-Dog was perched precariously out the window of Shane's Hyundai with a rifle, picking off any walkers in their way through the community. There were blessed few, less than a dozen in a two mile stretch, and Trish sighed with relief when they finally hit the open road.

The first two nights hadn't given her any sort of rest, and she had all but collapsed after dinner on the third. Somehow she had grown accustomed to having Daryl at her back as she slept, and the absence was overwhelming. Trish spent countless hours agonizing over why the rugged, temperamental outdoorsman fascinated her so much. Or maybe fascination wasn't quite the word to describe it.

They had scarcely had time to see each other outside of the day-to-day life of survival on the road. She was beginning to understand why he stayed on with this group. It was a family of sorts, much like the one she had formed growing up on the streets of Miami. And if she wasn't quite ingrained in it as tightly as everyone else, they certainly hadn't turned her away. Even the initial tension between herself and Andrea had begun to fade a bit once Blondie realized she wasn't a threat.

But something changed on that ride back to the caravan after finding the retirement community in town. Every night she had gone to bed feeling his hands at her waist and his breath on her neck. Every time Trish closed her eyes, she was haunted by dreams of staring into the blue depths of his eyes as he made love to her. Dreams of a world that didn't exist, because if it had, she would have never met Daryl in the first place.

Her control of the bike faltered for a split second, and as she felt a slight fishtail Trish noticed that she had driven through a puddle of relatively fresh blood. "Fuck." She really didn't want that shit all over the Honda. Slowing the bike and reaching for her pistol, she looked for the walker that was inevitably nearby and saw it lurching out of the trees.

T-Dog saw it at the same time, and within moments, the back of the creature's head was completely blown out from two shots in the face. Trish heard him laughing, and was glad that someone else had taken a certain grim satisfaction in the explosion of bone, blood and brain matter. But this was a reminder that the closer to the interstate they got, the higher the risk for more walkers. Shoving out the thoughts of Daryl Dixon, she settled in for another long and gruesome day on the road.

They had been lucky. There were miraculously few undead on the interstate. Unfortunately, that luck didn't hold out for long. Five miles up the highway, a small herd of no less than twenty walkers hovered around a vehicle that reeked of death every time the wind shifted. Daryl knew that he and a couple others would be able to take them out, but the noise would be sure to draw more and they'd need to move quickly afterwards.

"The four of us can go ahead of the rest of y'all and clear the way," Andrea said, pointing first at herself, then at Daryl, Shane and Trish. Rick looked apprehensive, but he seemed to know there was no other choice.

"Sounds solid," Shane added. "We should have it taken care of by the time y'all catch up."

With everything settled, the two motorcycles and the Tucson rolled up on the mob of walkers, stopping short of the truck they had swarmed by twenty feet. The cacophony of gunfire was overwhelming, and within moments they were moving forward to pick off the bystanders that had wandered away from the road. But when they approached the truck, Daryl caught something snap in Trish's expression out of the corner of his eye. A mask of fury washed over her face as she holstered the gun and picked up a baseball bat from the grip of one of the corpses that had been too badly gnawed on to reanimate.

"What the…" Andrea began, but Daryl turned her attention away from Trish.

"I got her covered."

Her first swing was hard enough to completely smash through a walker's skull, and before Daryl could take time to be impressed, he began aiming towards the dead that were heading her direction. There weren't many left, but that didn't stop Trish. When she spun around, looking for something else to hit but finding nothing, she went back to the first one and began bashing it into a bloody pulp. Tears streamed down her face, but she said nothing. By the time the rest of the caravan had joined them, Trish had worn herself out and begun to walk towards the pitiful creature she had taken the bat from.

Male. Female. Daryl couldn't tell. But when Trish bent over and gently unclasped the bracelet the corpse had been wearing, it finally clicked. This was someone she had known. Closer inspection showed that it had scars on the wrists similar to Trish's, and he guessed that whatever hardship she had gone through, this had been one of her companions.

Daryl had been so busy watching Trish that he didn't see Shane come up from behind to roughly lift her to her feet. Instinctively, she dropped the bat, clenched her fist and clocked him square in the jaw. He reeled for a moment, letting her go, but not before spitting out a gob of blood and glaring at her.

"What the fuck was that for, stupid bitch?" Andrea said, coming up to defend Shane, not realizing that if he had truly wanted to retaliate, he would have. Daryl stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning them towards the cars.

"She knew that person," he told them softly. When he looked back at Trish, she had picked the bat back up and was heading towards her bike. Pain and anger were her weapons now, and the City Girl he had teased for painting her toenails a week before seemed completely oblivious to the armor of blood and tears she was now covered in.

**lyric credit** "Fade Away" by Breaking Benjamin