For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Daryl kills one walker, but there's still three more coming.

Hell and Half of Georgia

They'd moved with eerie swiftness. It had appeared disjointed, as though she'd seen the walkers appear, blinked, and then they had flown to surround Daryl. She was overcome with petrifying fear, frozen to the spot.

She'd meant what she'd said, even before she realized that her sweet Sophia was gone. She couldn't lose Daryl, too. Instinct kicked in and she splashed across the water, the washboard still clenched tightly in one of her hands.

Daryl took a moment to try to sum up his opponents. In his life, he'd long faced humans and animals, learning how they thought, how they reacted. The problem with the walkers was that they were unlike anything else he'd faced. They were unthinking, driven by the basest of desires. They weren't afraid of fire, wind, or rain. They ran toward loud sounds instead of away from them.

Even with different chunks of flesh missing, they moved with equal speed. They were undeterred by their own horrid scent, or the fact that there were three of them, and only one target. And even if they ate him entirely, their hunger would never be sated. None of that mattered.

While all of that factored into how quickly he needed to sink his knife into the heads of each of his attackers, he hadn't counted on the ferocious yell from behind him.

Carol swung the washboard like a baseball bat at the back of the head of one of the tourists. While the hit landed solidly, it only made the walker fall. The once-living thing turned its attention to her. The board, now bent from the impact, fell from her hands.

Daryl accepted the distraction, plunging the blade up under the drooling jaw of the ranger, burying it to the handle before yanking it out unceremoniously. The camera-toting walker barred its crooked, blood-stained teeth and he put it down just as quickly as the first. When he turned, to see where Carol and the third walker were, he heard the splash of frantic footsteps leading away from him.

Carol was running up stream with the walker reaching its spindly arms out toward her.

"Wait!" he called out. There was no need to go leading it all over hell and half of Georgia when, if she would just lead it back, he'd take care of it. He wasn't sure if she didn't hear him, didn't believe him, or if she was just on auto-pilot but, whatever the reason, she wasn't stopping. Frustrated, he chased after her again.

At the rotted, fallen log, Carol left the water's edge. Moving by memory, she struggled to keep her balance through the thorny patches. Daryl had been right all along. While she'd been running away from a bear in the dream, it hadn't meant an actual bear but a representation of danger. The thing that was chasing her certainly wasn't losing her. While the embedded barbs hurt her, they didn't bother the walker one bit.

Ain't real.

She stumbled when she heard Daryl's voice in her head. As the ground rushed up to meet her, she threw her hands out to try to break the fall. It couldn't be false, though. The meadow had been real, and the stream. Why wouldn't her dream be three for three? Her Sophia wouldn't dare steer her wrong.

Before she had an opportunity to banish the doubts in her mind, sharp fingers grasped her right ankle. Desperately, she kicked at the walker.

"Carol!"

She could hear Daryl somewhere in the distance, which was of some comfort, but he didn't sound anywhere near close enough to help her. "This way!" she called out. Wriggling her right foot and timing it with a solid kick at the walker's wrist, her legs fell free, though she was without a shoe. Scrambling to her feet, she bounded again toward where Sophia had guided her.

The waterfall was just as breathtakingly beautiful as she remembered and she paused, for a brief second, to admire it, to feel the relief wash over her like the cascade itself. The peace was short-lived when she felt rather than heard the presence of the walker. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and the adrenaline flooded her system. She rushed up the steep hill, grabbing hold of gnarled roots that had grown atop the soil, digging the toe of her shoe into alcoves as well as attempting to do the same with her socked foot. It wasn't the prettiest climb ever, and she only nearly slid back down twice, but she made it to the rocky ledge and into the alcove behind the waterfall, exactly like Sophia had shown her.

Once safely in the cave, the exhaustion was nearly too much. Between the sleep deprivation and the exertion, as well as realizing what kind of pain she'd found herself in during the run, she practically fell into a sitting position.

The walker attempted to climb the hill, making only a handful of steps before sliding back to the ground. Hissing and snarling, it tried again, making no further progress. It didn't matter how many times it walked at the hill, it wasn't smart enough to get traction to climb as Carol had.

Exhaling, Carol relaxed. It couldn't reach her; it couldn't eat her. She wasn't going to turn into one of those things, at least not that day. She took the moment to review her wounds, noting the dirt and grass embedded in her palms, and the thorns still stuck in her pants and socks.

Her relief was fleeting as she realized that Daryl was still out there. She tried to convince herself that he was fine, that he could handle himself. He'd told her as much before. And she'd been the one to stupidly say that she could help if she was there with him. She hadn't. He'd gone one way; she'd gone another.

Getting to her feet slowly, she looked out from her vantage point. Surely she'd see him. Surely…

Stay tuned…