I'd like to thank Dawnfire11, Emberka-2012m iAllyD, JackAndHoney, dj475, Petteroes3, MakaylaLovesZombies, Guest, and Ashvarden for reviewing my story. It really means a lot and inspired me to write this chapter so soon. You all get a Daryl plushie!

Enjoy!

That morning was very quiet for the survivors. They ate canned beans, everyone mourning the loss of Daryl's hunting prowess, and of course, Daryl himself. Carol never let Sophia be more than a few inches from her, and Sophia didn't seem to mind. Chores were finished as quickly as possible, and the hours dragged on until it was about four in the afternoon – time for Daryl's funeral.

Rick, as the sort-of-undesignated-group-leader, began to speak, as Daryl hadn't really developed any friends in the group.

"Daryl was a good man. He hunted for us, gave us medicine, saved our asses and never once did he ask to be thanked. And I don't think we appreciated him enough. I know I certainly didn't. Yesterday he saved Sophia, brought her back here, to safety, all the while knowing he could die any second. He didn't want our pity, that's why he chose to leave and die by himself. And we aren't going to give him pity." Here Rick looked up and started at the mound of rocks that marked Daryl's grave.

"We are going to remember. We will remember Daryl Dixon, and we are going to live. We are going to live for him, because of him, and that is how we honor his memory." A solemn silence followed his words, and slowly Rick reached his hand onto the rocks, and whispered, "Thank you."

Slowly each group member followed his example, reaching towards the stones and saying their own parting words. Carol went last, with Sophia in two.

"You saved my daughter's life. You did more for her than her daddy ever did in her whole life. You're a good man Daryl Dixon. I hope, wherever you are, you can hear me. Thank you, thank you so much," Carol whispered, tears shining in her eyes. Then both she and Sophia turned away, and the group dispersed to do what Daryl wanted them to do….live.

-Meanwhile, about two miles away-

Daryl Dixon was not a happy man. He felt like shit and his shoulder wound wasn't helping. The fever had died down to a small nuisance, which he was very grateful for. When he could stand up and move without feeling too much pain he had redressed the wound with the rest of his shirt, using some herbs he knew of in the woods to help stop infection from setting in.

After he was done with that, he went to find some water. By the time he found some and had a good long drink, it was mid-afternoon. So he leaned against a tree, let his eyelids slide close, and thought.

Daryl was not stupid. He may not have gotten a good education, but he had common sense. He was also a hunter, and hunters were observers, and he was a pretty damn fine hunter if he said so himself. This also meant he was good at observing, and right now he was putting facts together on how he was alive.

Fact one: He had been bitten and scratched

Fact two: Everyone else who had been either bitten or scratched had eventually turned into a walker

Fact three: This was because the fever killed them, and somehow the virus or whatever restarted the brain into a killing machine

Fact four: He had gotten the fever

Fact five: The fever was gone, and he was alive

Conclusion: He had been infected but had fought of the fever, therefore he had not died and could not be resurrected as a walker

Question: Why?

Daryl sighed, placing his head in his hands. Had he really fought of the infection, or had it just passed for a bit and was going to come back and kill him? How had he not died in the first place? He had been in enough pain to believe he was dying. Maybe he was immune. Or maybe you are just thinking that and you are going to go back and eat one of your friends when you think they're not looking, A voice whispered in his head.

He pushed the thought away, annoyed. He wasn't going back there. He was dangerous, and besides, none of them liked him anyway. He was a tool; he hunted for them and killed for them, but when they got tired of him they would just kick him away. Well he wasn't going to let that happen. They could all die and he wouldn't care!

Instantly he regretted the thought. Sophia was just a little girl, and though they didn't appreciate him, none of them had really made him pissed. Okay, so Rick had pretty much killed his brother, but it's not like Rick had meant to. Shane, maybe, but he didn't want the man dead. Daryl just wasn't like that.

But what would he do? He wasn't dying soon, as far as he could tell. He couldn't go back. He was on his own.

Daryl heaved himself to his feet, mind made up. He knew what he had to do.

-Time Skip-

A week had passed since Sophia had been returned to the group, and they were beginning to worry again. Without Daryl hunting, the canned foods were going fast, and though Maggie and Glenn kept making runs, it wasn't going to last forever.

Rick was just about to send the pair on another run when T-Dog came running up, panting.

"What happened? Someone hurt?" He demanded, instantly assuming the worst. T-Dog shook his head, beginning to get his breath back.

"Edge….forest….come now," T-Dog gasped, pointing in the direction he had come from. After making sure he had his gun clipped to his belt, Rick took off at a sprint towards the forest, not sure what he would find.

He could see Dale and Glenn in the distance, and as he neared them, breathing hard, he could not believe what was lying behind them.

It was a deer.

But not just a deer, oh no. This dear had been skinned, cleaned, and gutted, and was laying on some cloth that Rick recognized as one of their spare sheets.

"Who did this?" He asked in wonder. Dale and Glenn both shook their heads.

"Dale and I were wandering around there to see if there were any mushrooms," Glenn began, pointing a little ways back from where they were standing, "And we heard really loud whistling. We came over here and this was waiting for us."

"You didn't see anything?" Rick pressed.

"Nothing. And I already checked, it doesn't seem to be poisoned or anything. But there was one thing I noticed," Dale squatted down and pointed to a part of the deer. A small incision was still present in the flesh, and as Rick squinted, he came to the conclusion that it was probably made by an arrow.

Before he could comment, T-Dog came running back.

"I did what you asked Dale, and you were right. I can't find Daryl's crossbow or his arrows anywhere," He reported.

The four men glanced at each other, as the grim truth settled in.

Somehow, somewhere, Daryl was still alive.

Dun dun dun….CLIFFHANGER! Sorta….lol. I hope you guys liked it, please review! Oh, and updates will be coming slower, more planning and stuff will be needed for later chapters. Just a heads up!