Ain't a baby no more, Darylina. She had that thing cut outta her long time ago. Soon as she got away from here she went to one of them clinics. She don' want no Dixon baby. Ain' nobody want a Dixon baby.

"Sophia!" He was beginning to scream himself hoarse. There was nothing out here. No Sophia. No nothing. There was emptiness. Just like there was in him. "Sophia!"

He'd found the farmhouse. She had to have been there! Somebody had been hiding in that cupboard after all. He was so focused on screaming her name that he didn't hear the click of a loaded gun. He didn't realize anybody was there until a cold steel barrel was pressed against his back.

"Look, mister, I don't know you and you don't know me, but if you keep hollering like that, you're going to bring all the walkers down on both of us." Without turning around, Daryl knew that the voice was young. He knew the person holding the gun was small. It was tilted up between his shoulder blades instead of straight between them like a taller person would be holding it. He spun around quickly and grabbed the barrel of the gun, redirecting the shot and snatching the gun away. With his other hand, he grabbed the boy around the neck and held tight, not tight enough to choke him but tight enough to keep him steady. Then he stared down into the crystal blue eyes of a child about Sophia or Carl's age. He was shocked, but it was nothing compared to the shock of suddenly being tackled from the side.

He felt fists rain down on his face as a woman's voice screamed, "DJ, get in the house! Get in the house, DJ, and shoot if he tries to come inside! Do it! Now!"

Daryl turned his head to watch the little boy run back into the farmhouse that he had just exited. He wondered where the child had been hiding. That was the little child shaped hiding hole in the cupboard. That little boy. Not Sophia. Not the child he was looking for. Daryl turned his face to look up at the attacker that had him pinned to the ground with a knife at his throat and he felt bile rise in his throat. He sat up quickly, using all of his strength to throw the woman off of him. He snarled, "What the fuck are ya doin' out here, Georgia?"

She froze and stared up at the man she'd left behind almost nine years ago. She hated the way her heart still beat faster when she stared at him. She hated the way she couldn't take her eyes off of his crystal blue ones. She said simply, "I'm surviving."

"An the kid?"

"My son."

Daryl frowned. His face hardened dangerously and he reached down to grab her up. Before he could say anything, she repeated, "My son, Daryl. Mine. Not yours. Not anybody else's. DJ is my son."

"Well, it takes more than one of ya to make a baby."

She stared at him solemnly, studying him, studying his facial features and the way his mouth twitched. She said firmly, "His father is long gone. I'm what he has now."

Merle had been right. Georgia had his baby cut out of her. She'd had a baby with someone else. He demanded, "How old is he?"

"Eight."

Daryl grimaced. It had been right after. She left him and so soon after, she had a baby with someone else. She hadn't ever really cared about him, just like Merle said. His brother had been right. Daryl grunted and ordered, "Well get him. Yer comin' back to camp wit me. Yer comin' back wit my group."

"Excuse me, Daryl Dixon. DJ and I are just fine on our own," she snapped. "We've been fine this whole time. We're doing fine."

"If I was someone else, someone meaner, someone like Merle, I'da killed yer boy," Daryl said lowly, looking toward the house. Georgia deflated. He was right. DJ was all she had left, not that she'd had a lot before the world went to shit. She'd never needed anyone else. After DJ was born, the child was her entire existence. When the world went to shit, she hadn't thought about anything. As soon as the announcements for the refuge center in Atlanta came up, she'd grabbed her boy, packed up their things, and left the city. She didn't hold any stock in a refugee camp. She knew it would just bring more people, more infected to the city.

"Is your group safe?" she asked evenly.

"Course it is."

"Is your brother there?" she demanded.

"Nah. Merle's long gone."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No yer not. An he's not dead. He's jus gone. Don' be apologizin' when ya don' really mean it."

She nodded and turned her back on him. She left Daryl in the yard and went into the house to get DJ. Daryl watched her ass as she walked away. Georgia always had an amazing ass. He smirked when he noticed the bumps in her white tank top and her jeans. She was packing some serious weaponry. He could see two knives tucked into the back of her shirt and another two in her boots. He could tell she had a small handgun down in the back of her pants and another one at her side. She was surviving the end of the world just fine. She slipped into the house and called out, "DJ, come here. Come here fast."

Her little boy ran to her and she knelt down so that she could look up into his eyes. She took his hands in hers and said, "I need you to listen extremely well to me, okay? I need you to hear everything I'm about to say. It's all very important."

"I'm listening, Mom."

"We're going to go with that man out there. His name is Daryl. He's a good man and he's going to take us somewhere safe."

"But, you said we don't trust other people," DJ interrupted.

"He's not like other people. I used to know him. He's a good man. But you have to do something for me. Something very important."

"What's that, Mom?"

"You can't tell him that you have the same first name. Okay? Can you do that for me? You can't tell him your whole name. If he asks, just tell him your name is DJ."

"But what about my last name?"

"Tell him it's the same as mine. Tell him your name is DJ Carson."

"How come?"

"Just trust me on this one, baby. You know I wouldn't do anything to get you hurt. You know I'll always protect you."

"I know, Mom."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Okay, go get your stuff. He's not a patient man so we have to hurry. Plus all that shouting probably drew a few walkers."

DJ nodded and ran up the stairs. She followed behind him and slipped into the small bedroom they were holed up in. DJ grabbed his duffel bag and began throwing the things he'd let fall out of it, back into it. Georgia grabbed hers and stuffed everything down so she could zip it up. DJ's was filled with clothes, food, water, and bullets for his .22. Hers was filled with the rest of the clips and hunting knives. She had only a couple outfits. She didn't need anymore. She wanted DJ to have the food and water in case they got separated. She knew how to hunt. He was just a little boy.

When they were packed, DJ followed his mother downstairs and out the front door to where Daryl was waiting by the front door, his eyes scouring the tree line for any movement. Without looking at the little boy that he knew wasn't his, he asked, "Ya'll ready to go?"

"Yes."

Georgia held tightly to DJ's hand and they followed Daryl through the woods. DJ's crystal clear eyes widened in awe as he watched Daryl move in silence. His mother was quiet on her feet, light and graceful. But she had never been as quiet as the dirty redneck in front of him. It was like he was floating above the sticks and leaves. They didn't even crunch or crack under his feet. It was incredible. It was even more incredible that his mother simply followed the man. She'd never trusted anyone, especially not men, even before the end of the world.