A/N: Oooohhh, cliffhangers :)

xxx

The horse returned to the farm in late afternoon, galloping at break-neck speed, eyes wild with fire; her back leg was seeping blood from two, tiny puncture wounds, and sweat ran down her dull brown hair. Maggie spoke to her in soothing tones while Herschel examined the leg, then fled into the house when he grabbed his shotgun; she hid in the kitchen, her hands over her ears, unable to block out the noise. She was fifteen when her father bought her Nellie . . . "Nervous" Nellie. In the grande scheme of things, she supposed losing a beloved pet seemed minor, but she sobbed just as harder as she had the day she lost her stepmother.

Herschel was walking slowly away from the stables when Rick hurried over to meet him. "That's the horse Daryl took," he said.

"I figured." Herschel adjusted the gun in his hand, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Snakebite. Hours old, there was nothing I could do."

Rick sighed, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. "Maybe she threw Daryl when the snake bit," he suggested.

"It's possible," Herschel agreed, coming to stop at the porch and placing one foot on a step. "There is a lot of dangerous ground out there. Hidden cliffs, rivers . . . "

"He could be hurt," Carol spoke up, from where she stood on the porch, clutching a dish towel in her hands. "We have to find him."

"It'll be dark soon," Rick pointed out, "and none of us are that good in the woods. Best wait 'til morning."

Carol was silent for a moment, her gaze darkening. "That's what you said about Sophia," she said, her voice low. "Four days ago! If we'd just found her that first day, she'd be fine. What are the chances of that now!"

"Carol . . . " Rick reached out to her.

"Don't touch me!" Carol snapped, jerking away from him. "My little girl is gone, because of you. And now you're just gonna leave Daryl out there, too!" She threw the towel down. "Give me a gun. I'll go out there myself."

"No, you won't."

"You don't tell me what to do!"

"Carol, listen to me." Rick came onto the porch with her, his hands falling on her shoulders. "We'll find Daryl, I promise. But if we go out there now, we could lose more people . . . and Daryl knows better'n anyone how to take care of himself." He paused, cracking a small, hopeful smile. "He'll probably show up in another hour or two . . . all pissed off at the horse for leavin' him."

Carol tried to meet Rick's eyes, to be strong, but she found hot tears welling up in spite of herself; unable to say another word, she brushed by him and hurried away, her gut clenching painfully. Something was wrong, she knew it. Her hands shook uncontrollably as they opened the RV door and she went inside, she sat down at the table, staring hopelessly toward the woods. Images of Sophia flashed in her mind . . . alone and scared, hungry, hurt. Then her beautiful face, so changed, gray and dead, almost unrecognizable. She shuddered, bringing her fist up to her mouth to stop the sob that ripped from her throat. The images of Sophia faded, only to replaced by Daryl . . . laying in the dirt, his head bleeding, face flushed with fever. And a Walker, unseen by him, slowly reaching . . .

xxx

"Mr. Dixon?"

"Christ, kid. Just call me Daryl."

"Daryl . . . it's gonna be dark soon. Isn't it?"

Daryl grunted, too focused on staying upright to actually answer her; Sophia glanced at him, searching his tired face for answers. She stepped around a fallen tree branch, her tiny feet crunching on the sticks and leaves beneath them. "Are we gonna make it back before then?" she asked.

"Yeah." Daryl winced, rubbing his chest. "Not too much further."

"How can you tell?" Sophia looked around, confused; it was all the same to her, trees and rocks, a little sunlight filtering through the leaves but fading quickly. It was getting colder, too. She rubbed her arms, trying to make the goosebumps disappear; the nighttime was always the worst, the scariest.

Daryl gestured to the ground. "Just gotta track . . . the prints," he answered, mildly. "The horse left 'em on my way in this mornin'."

Sophia squinted. "I don't see anything."

"You just don't know how to look."

"Maybe . . . " Sophia chewed on her lip, flinching as it cracked under the pressure. "Maybe you could teach me sometime? When we get back." Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she'd eaten anyway? "That way, if I ever get lost again. I'd find my way back."

"You kiddin' me?" Daryl smirked. "Girl, your mama ain't never lettin' you out of her sight once we get back." He took a breath, exhaling heavily after a second. "Hell, if she does . . . then I won't."

"I . . . I really didn't think anyone was gonna find me." Sophia sniffed, rubbing her fingers over her nose. "I thought you were all gone."

"Think we'd just leave ya' behind?" Daryl's eyes widened when he looked at her.

Sophia nodded. "I mean . . . you couldn't wait forever," she said, quietly. "It'd be too dangerous." A chill ran up and down her spine, her eyes were burning now, and a tear leaked out. "I thought I was gonna die."

"Well, you didn't. You're fine. Everything's okay now."

Sophia scrubbed her face, hard, trying to rid herself of the tears; they came anyway, trickling down her cheeks, and her breaths grew shorter, coming out as little gasps. Daryl's deep voice rumbled softly: "You gonna cry again?"

"N-No."

Daryl sighed, hesitating for a long moment before wrapping his arm around Sophia's shaking shoulders and pulling her tight. "No need for that," he said, "you're gonna really like where we're stayin' now . . . ain't on the highway. We found a farm. Got horses 'n chickens, your mama even fixed up the RV. She said . . . " he coughed, turning his head away. "Said she wanted it to look nice for ya'."

"I really miss her." Sophia nuzzled against Daryl's side, enjoying the heat radiating from his body.

"She's missed you, too."

They fell silent after that, walking side-by-side only to the sounds of the forest around them; Sophia kept focused on straight ahead, every now and then glancing at Daryl, who was intent on keeping his eyes peeled for any dangers lurking nearby. He was getting worse, Sophia realized fearfully, his face having gone from a deep red to sheet white; sweat beads had formed on his upper lip and his forehead, and his breathing was painful to her ears. Still, he kept on, trying to hide it from her whenever he would stumble (cursing an imaginary rock that "tripped him") or cough ("Something in my throat" he claimed).

By the time the sun finally fell from the sky, Daryl was panting heavily, and stopped to brace himself on a tree. Sophia stood still, watching him as he struggled to catch his breath in between coughs, his hand pressing to his chest while he bent over, resting his forehead on the bark. Sophia took the canteen from his belt, removing the lid before offering it to him. "Drink," she urged.

His eyes met hers as he took the canteen, he tried to mutter out a "thank you" before taking a long drink; he choked, tried to force the liquid down his throat anyway, then collapsed back in half as another coughing fit won him over. It went on for another couple minutes, until finally, he was still, his eyes closed, focusing on breathing in and out. "Not far . . . now," he gasped, "maybe a mile." He stifled a cough, straightened his back; he swayed dangerously and Sophia grasped his arm, trying to steady him.

"We're almost there," she encouraged, tugging just a little. "C'mon."

Daryl's jaw clenched, but he pushed himself away from the tree and took a step, his legs shaking but supporting him. Sophia smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes, hoping that she could give him the hope he'd given her; truth be told, she didn't really know how long a mile was, but she had to believe it was close. She kept her hand on Daryl's arm as they walked, moving slower than before, until finally the treeline broke and she could see the wide field stretching out in front of them. It was fully dark, and hard to see, but it looked like a big white house stood strong in the distance, and there was lights beaming in the windows.

"Is that it?" she asked, excitedly, forgetting for a moment how ill he was and shaking his arm.

Daryl groaned, then cut himself off to reply: "That's it, girl." They staggered out of the woods, Sophia's face lighting up with a broad grin as the view of the farm became clearer; but they only took a few more steps before Daryl moaned and sank to his knees.

"Daryl!" Sophia cried, almost toppling to the ground with him.

His eyes were squeezed shut as he breathed harshly through his mouth, a strange rattling noise coming from lungs; a cough had him bending forward, his hands hitting the dirt before the rest of his body fell down as well. Sophia placed her hands on his cheeks, wincing, the heat from his skin almost burning to the touch. "Daryl!" she pleaded.

Daryl's bleary eyes cracked open, he tried to speak, but only a small sound came out; he braced his hands on the ground, tried to push himself up. His arms shook with the effort, then betrayed him and he was on the ground again. "Just go," he whispered, eyes drifting shut.

"No!" Sophia pulled on him, her skinny arms straining with his weight. "It's right over there, you can make it!"

Daryl tried to breathe, but coughed instead, the fit taking control of him; he rolled onto his side, spitting into the grass, his body trembling. "Just . . . tell 'em I'm here," he said, his voice so quiet Sophia had to lean in just to hear him. "I'll be fine for . . . a minute."

Sophia looked up at the woods again, then around the field. It was too dark to see anything. "What if a Walker comes?" She shook her head vehemently. "You can't fight one off by yourself! You have to get up . . . " looking back down at Daryl, she stopped mid-sentence. "Daryl?" She nudged his shoulder, trying to rouse him. "Daryl, wake up!" She shook him harder, sick to her stomach at the way his head lolled to the side and his eyes remained closed. Bracing herself, she bent over his chest, listening until she finally heard his ragged breaths and saw his chest moving up and down unsteadily. "Please . . . " she whimpered, "get up."

xxx

Carol slipped on a sweater before leaving the RV, the aroma of freshly cooked vegetables drifting over to her and awakening her tastebuds; sure enough, Lori was walking out of the house with a steaming plate in front of her, and headed straight for Carol. Rick's wife offered a hesitant smile as she handed over the plate: "Patricia still had some vegetables left over from their harvest this year. We did what we could. Nothin' fancy."

"Thank you," Carol murmured, "it smells delicious." She took the plate gratefully, then followed Lori back to the campfire that was being set up by Glenn and T-Dog; she sat down in a lawnchair and had just taken her first bite, when suddenly her attention snapped to the trees behind them. She didn't know why, but something had made her look, so she strained harder, trying to see.

"Carol . . . " Andrea said, carefully. "What is it?"

"I-I don't know," Carol answered, honestly, "just had a strange feeling." It was so dark, there was no light out in the field; the moon cast an eerie glow though, and she could swear there was someone out there. "Who's on watch?" she asked, abruptly.

"Shane." Andrea looked up at the RV. "Hey! You see anything out there?" she called.

Shane leaned forward in his seat, picking up the binoculars he'd set down only a few minutes ago; he looked for a few seconds, before lowering them. "Maybe," he said, "hard to tell. It's too dark."

"Walkers?" Lori's alarmed voice spoke.

Shane looked again, this time standing up. "I don't think so . . . " his voice trailed off, then suddenly got louder: "Looks like somebody running!"

The food was forgotten in the frenzy to gather weapons, all except Carol, who rushed as far away camp as she dared; it was the same feeling she had yesterday, before Andrea shot Daryl, and she'd be damned if the same mistake was going to happen again. "Daryl?" she shot the question to Shane.

"Naw, too small."

For a second, Carol's spirits soared with hope, before she quelled them; Sophia was gone for four days, her heart couldn't take another disappointment. Then, a tiny voice, screaming as loud as it could . . .

"Mama!"

"Oh my god!" Carol choked, her hands flying up to her mouth. She watched in disbelief as the slight figure came closer, until finally the light hit her and it became clear; Sophia saw her mom before anyone else, and burst into tears, quickening her pace. Their bodies collided, Sophia burying her face in her mother's chest and sobbing, while Carol remained frozen, in shock.

"S-Sophia . . . " she cried, her hands pressing into the girl's back, gripping her tattered shirt. "Oh my god, baby. It's you!"

Shouts began echoing around the camp, Lori calling to Carl: "Carl, Sophia's back!" and Herschel's family voicing their confusion as they came out of the house; Carol squeezed Sophia tighter, her body wracked with sobs. She wanted to talk to her child, to comfort her, but the only sounds that came out were unrecognizable even to her own mind.

Then, Sophia found her voice: "Mama, we gotta help him!" She struggled out of Carol's arms.

"What? Who?"

"Daryl!"

"Daryl . . . " Carol's eyes widened. "Where is he, honey?" she asked, even as Sophia took her hand and pulled her toward the field. They began running, Carol dimly aware of Shane's voice shouting at them, and Rick following; the three of them raced across the grass as quickly as their legs would allow, and it didn't take long before Daryl's prone form became visible.

"Oh, God," Carol gasped, her hand around Sophia's tightening. "Rick, is he . . . ?" The Sheriff's Deputy was already hurrying by, kneeling at Daryl's side and pressing his fingers to the redneck's wrist. "He's alive," he said, breathlessly. "Barely." He muttered to himself as he adjusted Daryl, then swung him onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Hurry on ahead," he said, harshly, "tell Herschel we need his help."

By the time Rick staggered into camp, Patricia had the bed ready and he lay Daryl down in the same bedroom Carl had been staying in; Carol rushed to Daryl's side, her hands flitting around nervously. Now that she could see him in the light, her worry was intensified; she'd never seen anyone so pale, and every breath seemed like it took far too long to come. When it did, it took a huge effort.

"Take off his shirt," Herschel instructed, as he readied his stethoscope.

Carol and Rick worked quickly to remove the sweaty shirt, Daryl rolling under the hands easily, completely limp; Herschel listened to his chest for only a second before muttering something about "fluid in the lungs" and "pneumonia". Carol backed away from the bed, shaking, and clutched Sophia to her chest; they were both crying, a bizarre mix of joy and sorrow.

"I may still be able to save him," Herschel said, glancing up at them. "With enough antibiotics . . . " Daryl's gasping brought his attention back down. "Daryl? Can you hear me?" Daryl struggled in his unconscious state, every breath creating a tremor through his body. "He's going into respiratory arrest," Herschel stated, gravely. "His body isn't getting enough oxygen."

"What can we do?" Rick demanded.

Herschel placed his hand on Daryl's forehead, held it still for a moment as Daryl thrashed, his body searching for air; the sick man coughed feebly, hardly a sound coming from his mouth. His lips were gradually turning blue. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, his struggling stopped, his body suddenly going unnaturally still . . .

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."