Disclaimer: Don't own them

Notes: I'm trying to keep the POV for each section straight, I hope I'm not confusing anyone. Fin is generally told in the first person since she's my main character and this is supposed to be (mainly) her story.

I tried writing Daryl and Rick in First person as well but I couldn't get comfortable with that. So sections from the other characters POV is more third person omnipotent so you get what's happening to everyone but also some of their thoughts.

Hope that clears up any confusion!

Thanks for Reading!

(Updated 3/31 for typos/wording)

Chapter Eight

(Fin's POV)

We headed out at dawn the following morning, took one of the still functioning vehicles sitting in the lot—it's low on gas but it's got enough to get us to the forest where we exited the woods yesterday. Daryl and Beth ended up this far from the main roads after the attack, so I thought it would be worthwhile to check the area again-no telling how scattered everyone might be.

After most of the day in my current company I'm wishing I'd dropped him off and kept driving.

"You spend a lot of time in trees for someone named after part of a fish."

I huff air out in a quick breath that ruffles the wisps of hair around my face. "It's safer to sleep out of reach."

I don't know why we're still having this conversation. At this point I'm more than a little annoyed.

It started when Daryl noticed the kind of tent I'd packed for our trip into the woods.

It's a tent made for hanging suspended from cliffs while rock climbing; but it works great in tree branches. They wanted to know how I survived for three years, I'm not about to start sleeping on the ground now with the dead people wandering all around.

They might not eat me, but that doesn't mean I want them tripping over me in my sleep.

"I ain't no damn squirrel."

Ugh! Just focus on what your doing, I tell myself. The faster I got this tent up the faster I could possibly hang him by his ankles with my spare time. I glare at the back of his head 'til he turns around more dry broken branches in his hands for the fire.

"Would you rather be something else's dinner?" He stares at me, mulling over his next response. When he doesn't answer for a while I keep talking. "I get it, you don't like heights, but there are only two of us."

Not enough to sleep in shifts and get enough rest. "And I can't stay alive if I'm so dead tired I fall asleep while standing up."

There are no walls out here; no houses or storage sheds. Nothing to use for shelter. This used to be a state forest reserve. We're following the creek up towards the meeting spot; as it's logical that most people would follow the water so they wouldn't go in circles around the woods lost until something finally ate them.

"How do you know it isn't going to fall?"

"First of all, I'm going to be in it-I don't want to plummet to my death; and second these ropes are made to support 900 pounds each; and I'm using 4 of them!"

I nock another arrow and send it flying between the V in the trunk I'm aiming for, walk to retrieve the other end where it's fallen on the ground.

"You shoot Walkers with that thing or just trees?"

I wind the rope up gathering both ends. "Walkers, trees," I glare at him as I attach the pulley and clip I need. "People."

He doesn't even turn to look at me. "How about food?"

I will not grind my teeth…

"I'm a little busy right now, I'll make you a deal. You go shoot something and I'll cook it."

That will get him off my back for a while. I pull out the harness attachment I need for climbing the next trunk as he watches.

"I've got this, why don't you go beat something over the head with a club and drag it back?" Caveman.

He stares at me then walks away, a bit more stomp in his step then his usual gait.

I take the opportunity to climb without the distraction.

:: walking dead ::

When he returns it's almost dark, not that I was worried.

I poke the small fire I've built with the wood he gathered, we can't keep it for long. A fire in the woods after dark is a beacon to Walkers and humans alike.

He tosses three squirrels to the ground near me, sits down without further comment. I scowl at the top of his head, but he doesn't look up from the flames.

I did say I'd cook. How domestic. I snort, and his eyes shoot to mine for a second then dropping again.

I've eaten worse. I pick them up, he's a good shot even with something so small, through the head on all three. I'm positive he's showing off.

They're fat for winter too…well fat for squirrels.

They're also gutted already, which I didn't expect. But appreciate; I don't like burying guts near where we will sleep. Sometimes Walker's still find them in the night.

Nothing gives you vivid nightmares like something ripping open flesh within ear-shot while you sleep.

I take a nearby branch quickly sharpen it with a knife and dice the meat into strips I can cook quickly. Squirrel is tough when you can't stew it, so the small pieces will make it easier to chew as well. Squirrel-shish-kabob, culinary delicacy of the apocalypse.

It's done in only a few minutes and the water I set to boil earlier is ready.

I pull the water off to the side to cool so I can refill the canvas water bags to drink tomorrow. Just because the creek water is moving doesn't mean it's safe to drink. Out here a simple stomach bug could kill. Dehydration is no joke; but it's also impossible to fight off anything when you're puking your guts up so hard you can't see straight.

He watches me but doesn't say a word, occasionally lifting his head to look around; keeping an eye out for the dead. We eat in silence, when he's finished he takes the canvas water bucket to the creek to douse the flames with water before I even have to mention it. Smart, he must have spent some time outdoors before all this.

He's shoving dirt up onto the fire's embers and tamping them in with his boot when I stand to hook our packs to the lines I already ran to the tent now suspended a good 15 feet in the air between the branches. There is almost no light now that the sun has set and the fire is gone.

You forget just how dark night actually is; out in the woods with my cousins on camping trips it always shocked me. No street lights or buildings to artificially light the world, just the moon and stars.

I put my hands on the rope ladder that hangs from the tent's opening. I've done this so many times its second nature to climb the rungs in the dark mostly by feel. I can tell it's awkward for him, but he follows me without a word.

The good thing about using four tie down anchors for the tent is it barely shifts with both our weight. The sides are shallow, but with the tarp roof draped over the fifth rope like a big top circus tent and the base clips attached all along the edges there is only a narrow crack; if it was light enough I'd be able to see just a sliver of the ground.

I don't worry about tipping out or falling, but I've been sleeping in a tent like this for years.

I can tell by the braced posture he has even in the dark that he's still not convinced.

I pull the ladder up securing it with ties to the side, no human who passes will see it now, and I don't know many people who walk through the woods looking up these days.

The dead don't fly. People tend to look for the most obvious danger.

I pull the flap from the roof down and secure that too before pulling my boots off and hanging them off the ropes securing the roof.

Daryl watches me then follows suit.

"There's not a lot of room." He sounds nervous.

Walkers don't bother him, girls make him nervous. Interesting.

I'm not sure if he's being a gentleman or if he thinks I might stab him in his sleep.

"Do you kick in your sleep?" I can't make out his face in the dark but he sits very still for over a minute.

"No, but I aint slept next to anybody in a while."

"Worried you'll snore?" He shifts around a bit. I wait.

"Something like that."

"Well if you do I'll shove you out."

This is the most verbal he's been without arguing since I found him helping Carl out of the tree, even around Rick and Beth he rarely speaks.

I move towards his side in the dark and I can still feel him tense and shift away despite the fact that moving up here seems to unnerve him a bit. I can barely make out his outline as my eyes adjust.

"Feet down there, heads at this end." I shift myself over, I do not want to smell feet while I sleep. "If you hear something in the night, tap me three times on the shoulder like this." I reach out and give him a tap. His shoulder is so tense beneath my fingers you'd think I was stabbing him with a knife.

I lay down facing away from him, trying to give him space even in the tight confines of the tent. If sleeping like this was really going to bother him so much, why did he insist on staying out here?

There are two sleeping bags I packed; but it's much more comfortable to sleep on one and use the second as a blanket, there is a definite chill to the air, that's slowly getting worse with the sun down. If the temperature plummets too low in the night sharing body heat will help protect us.

Sometimes it's the little things like weather forecasts you miss the most. Funny how I never even thought about them until they were gone.

That and Google. God do I miss Google.

I shift lower pulling the blanket up and feel him lay down finally behind me, after a moment I can feel his back against mine; kind of hard to avoid in such a small space.

I close my eyes and try not to think of all the thing I miss from my old life. Eventually I stumble into sleep.

Dawn finds my eyelids. I snuggle beneath the warm blanket and hide my eyes for a moment. It's warm, and I'm not ready to get up just yet. A comforting weight is settled across my waist, just below my ribs, heat seeps through my shirt into my back.

I've never been a morning person, gathering my faculties always seems a slow and arduous process I sift my way through. I always envied my college roommate who could spring from sleep like she'd already had two cups of coffee.

Coffee, I miss coffee.

Someone shifts against me. A hand presses to my ribs and I am instantly awake the surge of adrenaline does not help my brain function however, my thoughts are still scattered and foggy with my usual morning haze. I lift the cover and peak at what my muddled brain has already told me. Someone's arm is wrapped around my waist, one long fingered bare arm.

Bare arms. Daryl. Shit.

It comes back to me and I relax just enough that my muscles won't start to ache, and take three slow deep breaths. No big deal; it's a small space, and it's nice and warm this way. I ponder for a second if maybe that's why he cuts the sleeves off everything, the man is like a human furnace.

I poke my head out of the blanket and blink in the early morning light.

I was right, cold has set in overnight. I can't see my breath as I exhale but it's a good bet by tomorrow night I will. We need to hurry and be done with this search; if we have another winter like last years with the freezing rain and sleet things might get ugly; fast.

We also need to move, daylight is wasting for us to search, and it will take me at least thirty minutes to take apart and wrap up the tent.

I flex my muscles ready to sit up when I feel Daryl's breathing change, he slips his arm from around me and pulls away like he's been burned.

"'M sorry." His face is flushed, he runs a hand through his hair not looking at me.

"Don't be." I'm determined not to let this be weird. "It's no big deal." I get the feeling he is more embarrassed than I am. "We need to move though, it's getting late"

"Temperature dropped last night." He grabs his work boots, shoving his feet in them as I do the same, fixing my laces before opening the tent flap and dropping the ladder.

"Go ahead down, I'll pull the roof apart and we'll get out of here as fast as we can."

I'm already removing the cover tarp as I say it. Undoing the clasp that holds the rope for the tarp roof line.

Daryl lowers my pack and his from the tree and climbs down.

He immediately starts folding and rolling the tarp roof. He's a handy guy to have around, especially in a camping situation. I climb down and shimmy up the two trees to release the ropes spin the pulley rope to lower the release clamp on the other two and

Daryl has already wound up the other ropes and stored them in my bag. He helps me collapse and fold the hammock tent rolling and securing it's ties to the underside of my pack.

I hand him a pop tart from the front pocket of my bag. He stares at it in my hand like I'm trying to offer him a severed head.

"How the...?"

You'd think I just pulled a rabbit out of his ear.

"I spend half my year living in one of the largest big box stores in 4 counties. I have access to pallets of food, pop tarts last forever, and they're easy to pack."

He takes the wrapper, "You always live there by yourself?"

I nod zipping my pack closed. There was no one else when we dropped off Rick and the kids; what did he expect? College students home from spring break?

"People hurt you. They either want what you have, or you get killed trying to save them." Like I might do now, I don't add.

He doesn't comment at first, we eat as we walk for a few minutes.

"What made you take a chance on us then?"

I keep walking, looking down. Try to decide how to answer that. "The truth is, I have no idea. The last group I was with ended a disaster."

The kind of disaster where Mark shoved a gun in my face; while everyone else ran the other direction screaming at the top of their lungs.

I take a deep breath, "I'm hoping this time it will be better."

Though I can't see how.

::walking dead :: dead walking :: walking dead ::