Jaywalking

by Vexel

Jaywalking: (intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner. "The creature fell on top of him and latched onto Danny's clavicle, its rotten teeth forcing their way through his flesh like a blunt, rusted knife. He screamed."

2. Jog

Chapter 2: Jog

Jaywalking: (intransitive) to cross a street at a place other than a regulated crossing or in a heedless and reckless manner.

…

Danny heaved Sophia higher up on his weakened shoulders. They had been walking for days, barely able to stop as they cut through the forest. He was exhausted. There was no time to sleep, his stomach gurgled loudly every few steps and his throat was parched – his tongue more like sandpaper than flesh. He stumbled over another root, nearly falling head over heels as Sophia's head lolled on his shoulder.

He could see a clearing in the distance through the trees, a wide field of yellow straw spread across its length and a large barn sat neatly in the centre of it, an RV and a double-storey house not far behind. It was his first sighting of humanity in half a week and he hobbled toward it with glee.

Edging around the last of the sparse growth of forest, Danny dragged his legs forward. The handcuffs bit into his wrists, not for the first time, the sun was hot on his back and made it difficult to see. His eyes pinched tightly as he wandered forward, half-hunched over by Sophia's weight. He could hear yelling in the distance, but they were too far away for him to understand – not that he would have made sense of it anyway, his mind was too delirious to see anything but the path in front of him.

There was more yelling and Danny lifted his head. Half a dozen people were heading his way, another was stationed on top of the RV with… was that a rifle?

The group was making their way over, trampling through the long grasses, armed with knives and guns. Danny stopped in his tracks, too tired to walk anymore.

"Help me, please!" he called out, voice cracking under the strain. The group halted and stared in surprise and Danny called out again, "Please! I-I need—"

The sound of the gunshot ricocheted throughout the clearing before Danny felt a sharp pain besides his right eye.

Screams fill the air and everything went black.

…

"You 'wake?" a gravelly voice said. Danny felt something incessantly tap at his side and he groaned in agony. His head pounded so hard it felt like someone was jabbing it with a rusty pitchfork, but his throat was no longer dry. Peeking an eye open he was surprised to find himself lying on a wood floor, dust motes tickling his nose. There was somebody next to him.

Danny's blue eyes swivelled in their sockets, struggling to focus on the man beside him. He was older than him by a few decades, dressed in a leather vest with short-cropped hair, a scraggly case of five o'clock shadow and narrow, beady eyes. He wasn't smiling.

His stomach tossed uncomfortably as he struggled to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the bikie.

"Doc says ya shouldn't move much. Migh' end up hurtin' yerself s'more," the man said.

Danny ignored him, shoving the arm off and heaved himself upright to lean heavily against a wall. The man huffed but didn't stop him, instead taking a seat on top of a disused barrel, peering through a gap in an old wooden door. Light streamed through the crevices of the room and Danny concluded that he was in some sort of tool shed.

"Where'd ya find her?" the man crossed his arms, looking pointedly at him.

"Find who?" Danny was surprised to find his voice was so rough, like it hadn't been used in a long time.

"Sophia."

"Sophia?" Danny swivelled around on the spot, arms flailing, ignoring the ache in his head. "Where is she?"

The man looked surprised for a moment before his face settled into cool disinterest, "Whazzit to ya?"

Danny was having none of it. Gripping the wall, he hauled himself to his feet in a surprising show of strength. His legs struggled to hold his weight and his arms trembled, but he stood upright, marching rather bow-legged and snatched at the front of the man's vest, "Where is she?" he hissed.

The man snorted, shoving Danny off, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground if he hadn't reached out and caught a sheep's hook from above, "What does some dead girl even matter?" he barked out angrily.

"Because I promised her I'd help her!"

The man turned furious eyes on Danny as he roared, "She was going to die anyway, what was the point? We saw the bite!"

"Because I screwed up! If I was just a little faster I could have saved her!" Danny yelled just as loudly.

The man stared at him for a long time, unmoving before he kicked himself off the barrel, "Whatever," he snarled, "Girl gave 'erself her own countdown the momen' she took off."

He yanked open the tool shed door and Danny raised a hand to block the sudden burst of light before the man slammed it shut again.

Adrenaline escaped him and Danny collapsed on his knees, flinging his arms out to catch himself. He stared at his fingers as dust swirled around them like a tragic ballet. His wrists were wrapped in bandages and he noted for the first time that his hands were free of their cuffs. He lifted one to feel strapping tightly wound around his head; his temple was rather tender as his fingers ghosted across the spot.

Shimmying himself back to his wall, Danny let his eyes fall shut. They had Sophia. He didn't know where, and he didn't know if he would be able to get her back. He bit back an angry curse at the bikie who had locked him up in the near-darkness, letting his head fall back against the wood panelling. There was nothing but the sound of his own breathing as he sucked in the musty air and Danny would have fallen asleep again if he hadn't heard the tell-tale crunch of feet on gravel making their way toward him just a few moments later.

The door creaked open and Danny squinted open an eye to see a man in a filthy button-down step inside. A taller, bulkier man followed, limping and sneering down at Danny. The bikie stood some little ways behind them, staring uncaringly out at the scenery.

"How're you feeling?" the first man asked, crouching down to Danny's level.

"Fine," Danny gritted out.

The man looked up at his larger comrade, sharing a look with him before turning back to Danny.

"What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Danny asked, snarky.

The man chuckled, "The name's Rick Grimes, this here is Shane and over there is Daryl. We're here to help."

Danny raised the eyebrow not covered in bandaging, "You lock everyone you help up in tool sheds?"

Daryl snorted from the doorway. Danny glanced over to see a dangerous-looking crossbow resting in his arms.

Rick shrugged with a small grin of his own, "It's just a precaution. We can't be too careful nowadays."

Danny gave the room another glance and sniffed, "No, you can't."

"He asked you what your name was, kid," Shane spat, his hands curling into fists as he stepped threateningly toward him.

"It's Danny. Danny Fenton," he said resignedly.

A knock on the door distracted him and an old man dressed in suspenders walked proudly past Daryl who rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Hershel," Rick nodded in greeting. Hershel didn't nod back, striding over to where Danny sat.

"How's your head, son?"

"Fine, I guess. It still hurts from whatever hit me."

Hershel huffed, throwing a glower over his shoulder at the others, "It seems that Rick and his friends ignored my request to leave those that were sick to me and judged you too quickly."

Rick looked down in embarrassment, "One of our group members mistook you for a walker. Clipped you with a bullet. You were lucky, an inch over and you would have been dead."

"Or unlucky. An inch over I wouldn't have been shot at all," Danny sneered. Daryl coughed back a laugh.

Hershel leant over and began unwinding the bandage around his head, "You seem to be healing rather nicely. No sign of infection – looks like a clean graze. You were dehydrated too – we had to hook you up to an IV for the night; get you stable again. But if you keep your fluids up and don't irritate your wounds you could be on your way in a couple of days. Once you're feeling better I'll let you walk around. Try and get some strength back. Now I warn you, two days is all you get. I don't do charity cases, and I refused to be pushed around by anybody else. We'll give you some water and food, but then you have to get out. Same with the rest of you," Hershel glanced at Rick before rebinding the bandages.

"But I need to leave now," Danny argued, trying to duck out from under Hershel's nimble fingers, "I have to find Sophia's mum… and my family! I promised—"

Rick, still crouched beside Danny, placed a comforting hand on his non-bandaged shoulder, "Danny. Sophia is with her mother now, she was one of our group before she disappeared."

"W-what?" Danny spluttered out.

"We're holding a funeral for her tomorrow morning. You're welcome to come."

"S-Sophia and her m-m-mum?"

Danny felt an overwhelming amount of emotion well up in his chest before a gurgle of laughter burst out. He laughed, long and hard before the tears finally caught up and he was sobbing. He didn't know what he was feeling; happiness, sadness, guilt, compassion. They all crashed down inside of him like a tidal wave and he curled his legs up into himself, shoving his head onto his knees and desperately clinging to his shoulders, his body wracked with hiccups and laughter.

He didn't hear the others leave, and he cried late into the night. He was pretty sure he was happy. Maybe.

…

Another sharp nudge woke Danny the next morning; he grunted in a prehistoric manner. Cracking an eye open he looked up to find the glaring face of Shane.

"Get up."

His bones ached as he slowly stood to move, but they didn't shake like they had yesterday. Shane dogged his footsteps as he shuffled his way out of the tool shed into a boundless front yard. There was a tree drooping sadly above a large pile of dirt heaped off to the side. A small, narrow pit had been dug out of the ground by the roots, barely five feet long by two feet wide. Danny swallowed thickly as Shane shoved him toward to dirt mound. People he didn't recognise milled around the area. An old man stood by the RV with a blonde woman stationed on top, a pretty brunette was talking solemnly to a man in a baseball cap and a woman with short-cropped silver hair stood around aimlessly, looking lost and lonely. Daryl leant against the tree, purposely not making eye contact with anyone.

As Danny stepped into the clearing the lost woman looked up and rushed at him. Her arms flew around him as she tucked her head into his shoulder. Danny, shocked, patted her on the back softly. Wetness dripped onto his bandages and he could hear her whimpering quietly.

The woman pulled back, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes, "Sorry," she muttered, giving Danny a wan smile.

"It's okay," Danny replied, "Were you… Are you Sophia's mother?"

The woman gave a soft nod when Rick strolled over, placing a hand on her arm.

"It's time, Carol."

Carol snatched Danny again, giving him a hug that made his ribs ache, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Danny wheezed.

The funeral was a blur. He stood off to the side beside a pretty blonde girl a couple of years older than him as the group mourned over Sophia's lowered body and symbolically over a grave for a man called Otis. Two rock columns were erected, built stone by stone, underneath the tree and Danny watched from a distance as Carol disappeared behind the house, hand clenched to her heart.

Shane stomped over, as intimidating as ever and roughly bunched a hand up into Danny's bandages, dragging him along, "Alright, you've had your pity-party, now get back in the shed."

"Hey! That wasn't part of the deal!" Danny snarled, shoving at Shane's meaty hands, "Hershel said I could leave if I wanted!"

"Shane! Let him go!" Rick cried. The old man from by the RV and a man with dark skin and a bald head, both dressed in casual shirts, followed, concerned expressions on their faces.

"Why should I?" Shane asked, shaking Danny roughly, sending a sharp pang through his head, "We don't know anything about him – he could be a spy for all we know."

"Who could I possibly be spying for, you idiot?" Danny slurred out.

The old man spoke up, "Shane, this isn't right. He's just a boy…"

"This doesn't involve you, Dale! Why don't you go back to your little toy truck and actually fix something for a change!" Shane shouted.

The bald man stepped forward, "C'mon, man, that's not right. Give the kid a break—"

"Last time we gave anybody a break we nearly ended up trapped inside a madman's lab about to be blown into a thousand tiny pieces!"

"T-Dog," Rick raised a hand before the other man could counter, turning to Shane, "Look, we might not know anything about Danny yet, but we will… He brought Sophia back to us—"

"Not before driving a knife into her head," Shane cut through.

"I didn't have a choice!" Danny yelled. Shane twisted him into a headlock.

"Shut up, you little pip-squeak!"

"Hey! Lemme go!" Danny tried to elbow the man in the ribs, but his grip was too tight. Danny's sight was becoming fuzzy.

"Shane!" Rick sounded furious, "Remember, this is Hershel's farm. We are guests here and he said Danny could stay."

"Oh, so we're supposed to just let the kid shove a knife into our skulls while we're sleeping too?" a voice called out. A blonde woman strode forward, hair pulled back in a ponytail with large blue eyes and sharp cheekbones.

"Wouldn't blame 'im if he tried, considerin' ya tried t' shove a bullet into his, Andrea!" Daryl called out from under the tree a few yards away, favouring his right side.

Andrea grimaced but didn't speak again.

"Now, Daryl, there's no need for that. That was an accident," Dale tried to pacify. Daryl snorted and looked away.

Rick stared at Shane with sharp eyes, "Let him go."

Shane didn't budge, and Danny was beginning to have issues breathing as his massive forearm threatened to cut off his air supply. Finally, Shane sent a disgusted look in Rick's direction and released him, nearly shoving him to the ground. Danny picked himself up, gasping, and sent him his own filthy, wavering glare.

Shane kicked a tractor tyre angrily before he set off toward a copse of trees on the far-side of the farm, Andrea following shortly after. The group watched them leave, T-Dog helping Danny stand.

"Y'all right?" Rick asked.

Danny nodded, "Yeah," his voice was raspy but strong as he rubbed his bound chest, "Yeah, I'm good."

"What happened to your shoulder?" Rick asked, eyes flittering toward the bindings.

Danny panicked, "Dog bite," he lied quickly. He didn't want another repeat with the soldiers, "It's not serious. Nothing to worry about."

The creak of rickety stairs distracted Danny and he saw Hershel making his way over to the group, "Danny, son, how about you come here so I can check up on you? You too, Daryl. I want to see if those stitches in your side are still tight."

Daryl rolled his eyes and trundled up into the house. Danny hesitated only briefly, "Um… okay."

The farmhouse looked like he expected; white-washed panelling and antique furniture littered the rooms, with traditional knick-knacks sitting on the fireplace mantle. It was nice, in a simple way. Danny spied the dining room where tables had been shoved together and mismatched chairs squeezed into any free space. A guitar was propped up in the corner.

Hershel stood in the centre of the room with Daryl, who had lifted the edge of his shirt to reveal a short row of stitches. The older man prodded them gently before giving Daryl a sharp nod, "Try not to move around too much anymore. Some of the sutures have already started to loosen – if you do any more damage to them I'm gonna have to restitch them, and I don't want to be wasting any more anaesthetic on stupid mistakes."

"What happened?" Danny asked as Daryl twisted for the good doctor, revealing another set of stitches on the other side – like something had been lanced right through him. There were other marks too. Old, malformed scar tissue peeking out from what little the shirt bared.

"It's stupid," Daryl grunted out, "Damn horse threw me from a cliff when I was out tracking Sophia – landed on one of my arrows. Had to climb all the way to the top again – nearly lost my dang crossbow in the water."

"It went clean through. Luckily the wood didn't splinter inside of him, otherwise we would have a high chance of infection." Hershel nodded, letting Daryl drop his shirt into place.

The man scoffed, reaching down to grab his vest, slipping the leather on, "Didn't matter. Girl ended up dead anyway. Waste o' my time – all I got was a damn doll."

Danny and Hershel watch Daryl storm out of the house before the old man motioned for Danny to follow him.

They passed through the living room into a bedroom. A boy a couple of years younger than Danny lay there looking rather bored, "Hey Hershel. Who's this?"

"Carl, this is Danny. You'll be keeping an eye on him for a while. At least until he's fully recovered."

The boy blinked up at him. Danny supposed he probably looked more like a mummy than a person with the number of bandages wrapped around him, "What happened to you?"

"Got shot," Danny shrugged.

Carl gestured at his stomach almost proudly, "Me too."

Danny didn't know what to say to that, lowering himself into the chair beside the bed carefully.

Hershel shuffled his way over to a chest of drawers, pulling out a familiar black wallet, "Here you go, boy. We found this tucked away in your trousers after we got you back here. Thought you might want to keep it."

Hesitantly, Danny took the proffered piece of leather and unfolded it. Tucked inside were a few dollar bills, an old movie ticket and a photo of his family. Tugging the photo out of its clear plastic sleeve, Danny stared at it fondly. Jazz was next to him, a comforting arm around his shoulder as she smiled at the camera. His mother and father stood behind them, beaming happily with obvious love.

Danny took a rattling breath – the photo was hypnotising, filled with false promises of what could be…

But his family wasn't here. He didn't even really know if they were alive.

Hershel placed a hand on Danny's shoulder making him jump, "May I?" he gestured at the bandages.

Danny's tongue was swollen in his mouth, so he jerked his head in acceptance. Hershel went about silently removing the strips of cloth, either clucking his tongue or giving throaty appraisal at each new cut or bruise he discovered.

"Who are they?" Carl asked, trying to lean over the side of the bed to see past Danny's shoulder. Danny forfeited the picture for him to see.

"It's my family; my dad, Jack, my mum, Maddie, and my sister, Jazz."

Carl stared at the picture in childish curiosity before asking, "Are they dead?"

Danny flinched both at the question and at Hershel pressing too heavily on his temple. He sat for a moment, thinking hard.

"No. No, they're not dead," he concluded. He'd just know if they were.

Carl furrowed his brow, "If they're not dead, then where are they?"

"I don't know, but I'll find them. Hopefully, they're back home in Illinois."

Hershel stretched his back, "You're recovering fast. You head definitely needs at least another day, but your wrists and shoulder should be near fixed for the most part by tomorrow morning if you don't irritate them. Although you're going to have some rather nasty scars."

"Battle wounds. Cool," Carl murmured enviously.

A knock came from the door and Danny glanced up to see Rick standing there, leaning against the frame with his thumbs weaved through his belt loops, "Hey."

Danny nodded a hello, not sure what to say to the man. Rick took it as an invitation and shuffled further into the room, taking the seat closest to his son.

"I wanted to apologise for what happened out there. With Shane. He— he's been a little bit antsy lately, with everything that's been going on."

Danny opened his mouth to speak, but Rick raised a hand with a tired look as if this wasn't the first time he had had to apologise for his friend's behaviour, "And I know that doesn't make up for what he did – but he had the best intentions. We don't know you, and nowadays strangers can be just as dangerous as walkers."

"Walkers? Is that what you call them?"

Rick nodded, "You had a different name for them?"

"Biters, lame-brains, flesh-feasters… Whatever came to mind really."

Rick bobbed his head again before pointing at Danny's shoulder, "And that bite mark? You said it was a dog that did it?"

Danny swallowed. He sucked at lying, "Y-yeah. Broke into the wrong yard when I was looking for supplies in Arkansas. Must have been hungry."

"Arkansas? That's over 500 miles from here."

"He's from Illinois, dad," Carl chimed in helpfully.

"Really now? That's twice as far. What brings you down to the south?" Rick reminded Danny of a police officer who had visited his middle school once when someone had set off fireworks in the boy's bathroom. Inquisitive and straight-forward – it was intimidating.

Danny glared at the suspicious tone in the man's voice, "We were visiting my aunt – my family and me. The place got overrun and we got separated. I was heading to Knoxville in Tennessee when I got picked up by some army dudes. They were heading to Fort Benning."

"And the handcuffs?"

"I wasn't as willing to go with them as they liked," he didn't have to lie about that part at least.

"How'd you end up in the woods then?"

"Same way I guess you guys did. Got overrun on the highway by those 'walkers'. Thought I'd be safer in the woods."

"What about the army men? What happened to them?"

Danny shrugged, "I dunno. I think they all got bit – I saw three go down… the rest…"

"And Sophia?"

Danny swallowed thickly, glancing out the window that overlooked the front yard where the graves sat, "I— I washed up in some riverbed, I don't know how far it is from here… We were attacked by walkers. Next thing I know I hear screaming, and… and…"

Danny slammed his jaw shut angrily, the tendon in his throat pulsing in anger at the memory – he had been so close. She could have lived.

"Okay, I get the rest," Rick said resignedly in his deep southern twang, reaching over to pat Danny's uninjured shoulder. He gave a smile to his son as he stood and said to Danny, "You best rest up. The others will want to meet you properly, make sure themselves that you're not a threat."

He had nearly stepped out of the room when he turned to face him one more time, "Thank you, by the way. It might not have been the outcome we'd been hoping for, but we can all rest easier with Sophia back."

Hershel cleared his throat once Rick had disappeared.

"My step-son, Shawn, is ill at the moment but I don't think he would mind if we loaned you some clothes of his, considering most of yours seem to be missing. You look to be of similar size," Hershel offered Danny a plain white shirt and jeans, "Bathroom's right through there. Take a bath while you're at it… for all our sakes. And try and keep those bandages dry."

Danny thanked him and headed into the bathroom. Stripping himself of his clothes he reached out and twisted on the taps of the bath, water gushing into the cream tub. The water burned at his skin as he dipped a toe, but the pain was welcoming. The bath quickly filled up and he shut off the taps, sinking into the scalding water, ignoring the way the bandages quickly became sodden. He didn't rise for air again until his fingers began to prune, and Danny was once again shocked at how long he could hold his breath. It was like he didn't really need air – it seemed more out of habit than necessity.

Picking up the bar of soap, Danny scrubbed at his skin, removing days of dirt, grime, guts and blood. The water quickly turned a murky brown and Danny had to refill the tub twice before he felt properly clean. His skin now resembled a boiled lobster's and stung, but he grinned happily, emptying near a quarter of the shampoo bottle into his hands and scrubbed at his skull, foam threatened to fall into his eyes.

Emptying the bath a final time, Danny patted himself dry with a spare towel hanging behind the door and donned Hershel's step-son's clothes. They were rather loose, Danny having to stab a new hole through the belt to keep the trousers on his narrow hips. The shirt hung loosely at the collar, baring the ugly puckered teeth-marks that nearly encase his entire clavicle.

He wasn't surprised to find Carl still in the room, legs hanging over the side of the bed while he kicked at the air in a bored manner. He still held Danny's photo in his hands, staring at it. He looked up when Danny entered the room.

"Wow! You have white hair? I couldn't tell from under the mud!"

Danny shrugged and Carl seemed to tamper down his curiosity about the streak and instead asked, "Are you really from Illinois?"

Danny grinned at Carl's curiosity, "Yep."

"I've never been out of Georgia. What's it like?"

He shrugged, taking a seat next to Carl, "It's not as hot as here, and we usually get snow by December. And there's more people – I live in a city, Amity Park, it's just an hour out from Chicago. It's nice, and they've got skyscrapers nearly as tall as New York! Dad always said that—"

He stopped. Think about his dad made him feel guilty. Here he was, freshly washed, dressed and bandaged when his family could be struggling to even find shelter for the night.

"I— I need to go…"

Danny stood up and strode out the door, ignoring Carl's spluttering who hobbled to his feet, following after him. "Danny! Didn't you hear what Hershel said? You still need a full day before you're better! I'm supposed to be watching you!"

Danny heaved an irritated sigh, twisting on his heel to face Carl, "Look. I know what Hershel said, but—! Do you hear that?"

Gunshots echoed across the yard, followed by yelling. Danny shoved open the screen door and ran outside, Carl dogging behind. He spotted Rick and Shane yelling angrily over the corpse of a biter. Hershel was on the ground, kneeling next to the body of what Danny supposed was once a woman; the rest of Hershel's family and Rick's friends stood nearby as Shane screamed at who Danny was told was apparently his best friend.

"Enough risking our lives for a little girl who is already gone! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Enough! Rick, it ain't like it was before!" Shane paced the length of the yard. His eyes were wild as he threw his arms about him, "Now if y'all wanna live, if you wanna survive, you gotta fight for it!I'm talking about fight – right here, right now!"

"Shane, no!" Rick cried, a biter hanging from the end of an animal catch pole, its blue coveralls stained with its rotting flesh as it tried to bite anyone within reach, growling and hissing through malformed lips. Shane ignored him and was charging for the barn doors. Rick begged Hershel to take the pole, but the old man was in a state of shock, staring blankly down at the dead biter's body.

Shane had reached the doors and hefted a pick axe lying nearby over his shoulder, slamming it over and over into the thick chain that was barring the doors shut; Danny didn't think as he tore away from Carl and sprinted after Shane, running faster than he ever had before. Shane barely had time to flinch as Danny rammed his minor weight into the much larger man's side, sending them off-kilter and tumbling into the dirt. Danny tried to wrench the pick axe out of Shane's surprised hands, but he held on, his mouth twisting into a snarl.

"You!"

Shane snatched Danny up by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him to his feet. Danny cried out in frustration, trying to wriggle free of Shane's grip, but he was too strong.

"You want proof, Rick? Is that what this is going to take to accept the truth? To get that old man to realise that these things are already dead? Well here's your god-damn proof!"

In an amazing feat of strength, Shane lifted the pickaxe again and brought it down on the lock, snapping it, and with one hand shoved the heavy barricade plank off its supports.

"Shane! Don't do this!" Rick cried out.

Shane banged on the barn doors, gripping Danny tighter, and coaxed, "Come on! Out you get!"

"Let me go!" Danny screamed, kicking furiously at Shane's shin, but the man dodged out of the way.

"My pleasure!" Shane yelled and shoved Danny through the narrow crack in the doors before slamming it shut behind him. Danny heard screams come from the group outside as the world went dark.

A sharp snarl made Danny flinch and he jumped back. A burst of rotten-smelling air rushed past his face and Danny was certain that he had narrowly missed a biter.

He hurried to the doors, banging the palms of his hands against the wood, "Hey! Let me out! Let me out!"

He could hear the others yelling from the other side, but Shane's voice was closest, blocking his exit. Danny ducked out of the way as he heard another biter, only to end up in the grasp of another. Hands groped at his arms and legs and Danny nearly tumbled over in his mad rush to get away, edging deeper and deeper into the barn, his mind reeling.

His shoulder clipped a support post and Danny cried out in pain as splinter-ridden wood bruised his spine. The sound of scraping feet and rattling breath was edging closer far too quickly for his liking.

'I'm dead, I'm done!' Danny's whole body was shaking. He was about to keel right over on the spot, 'I can't see anything! It's too dark! I— I don't—!'

"Don't touch me!"

A burst of green filled his vision and Danny screamed. Then, suddenly, he could see everything in clear definition. The biters that had turned to him quickly slithered away into the farthest corners of the barn. Danny watched amazed as they stumbled back, arms falling by their sides and jaws slack. The bridge of his nose tingled like he had to sneeze every time he blinked and green still flooded his peripheral vision, but he had never seen so clearly in his life – if he hadn't been thrown into the pitch black he would have sworn the midday sun was baring down on him.

He took a step forward and the closest biter reeled back as if electrocuted, shuffling over to its companions by the far wall. His confusion was only drowned out by his never-ending fear and Danny didn't stop as he bolted for the barn doors, barging his way through…

Only to be met with the barrel-ends of four guns.

Danny quickly lifted his hands in surrender, causing T-Dog, Andrea and Daryl to lower their guns, staring at him in stupefaction. Shane didn't move, handgun at the ready.

"What's your problem?" Danny screamed, "What is wrong with you?"

"Shane! Put the gun down!" Rick ordered. Danny heard Lori, Rick's wife, call Carl to safety behind her.

Shane glared at his friend for less than a second before turning his gun on Rick's trapped biter, the bullet lodged into its brain and sent it tumbling to the ground. Rick instantly dropped the catch pole and strode forward, placing a hand on top of Shane's gun, forcing him to lower it, "That's enough."

Danny heard growls emerge from the barn before a hand grasped his wrist, tugging him away. Daryl dragged him to the far side of the yard by Lori, Carl, and Hershel's youngest daughter, Beth.

"Ya good?" Daryl asked.

Danny didn't think he would be able to talk without throwing up whatever meagre amount of food was in his stomach, simply nodding instead.

Letting his wrist go, Daryl gave him a reassuring nod of his own before striding toward T-Dog and Andrea.

The biters flooded out of the barn like fish trying to escape their bullet-ridden barrel, and the group with what Danny could only describe as military efficiency began to shoot at the biters, forming a line and taking them down one after the other. Danny flinched with each of Hershel's oldest daughter, Maggie's, hiccupping breaths and Danny swore he saw an older woman who once may have looked like Beth fall with a shot to the neck. The Greenes wept furiously as each body fell and Danny was overwrought at the idea of how he would feel if it was his own friends and family.

With a final gunshot the yard fell silent. Bodies littered the entrance like a Jackson Pollock painting and Danny felt physically ill at the sight. Then, from the depths of the barn came a soft gurgle; a hand crept around the edge of the door and the soulless body of a little girl shuffled out. Carol gave an almighty cry from behind Danny and he instantly knew why – the little girl was the same age as Sophia; with long brown hair, pale skin and a tall, thin build. There was a nasty bite on the girl's leg and the skin around her milky eyes was beginning to decompose.

Nobody moved, reeling at the image in front of them as she shuffled forward, carelessly stepping over dead bodies as she made her way toward the group, arms already outstretched.

The little girl had nearly reached Rick when he gave a long-suffering sigh and untucked his handgun from his belt. Danny watched as he carefully levelled the gun at the biter's head.

There was a bang, and the little girl fell dead, just like all the others.

"Don't look," Daryl warned a distraught Carol, hoisting her to her feet, "Don't look."

Carol let out a mournful wail before shoving Daryl away fiercely and scurrying off out of sight. Beth stood a few feet away, shaking so hard that her legs looked as though they would collapse beneath her. She softly pulled herself away from her father and trod forward, choking sobs escaping her with each new biter she passed, "Mum," she cried over and over, skipping around a sympathetic Rick with a distracted shove, "Mum!"

She fell to her knees beside the corpse of a woman lying face-down and half-covered by another body. Beth pushed the biter off, still breathlessly whispering to herself. She carefully grasped the corpse's shoulder and lovingly turned her onto her back, only to screech when its eyes flew open and it snatched at her with a hungry snarl, hands fisting into long blonde pigtails and pulling her face toward its gaping maw. Danny bolted forward as Beth screamed again, the others right behind. Rick and Shane reached her first, struggling to pull her from her mother's grasp.

Danny leapt at the biter's arms, snatching both wrists up in a tight grip. The biter howled as if it was in pain, and Danny felt it trying to pull away from him, its head shaking from side to side, neck craning as far as it could reach.

"A little help here?" he hissed as the biter gave another frightful tug, trying to free itself. T-Dog jumped forward with his thick boots, rapidly stomping at its skull, but it only seemed to renew the biter's hunger as it snapped at the sole of his shoe, then reached for Glenn who grabbed the wrist Danny had nearly lost control of. He struggled to keep himself steady as the biter twisted and turned, baring its teeth at anybody that went near it while desperately trying to escape him.

T-Dog scampered back all of a sudden and Danny barely had time to look up when there was a call for "out of the way!" as a long-armed scythe flew past him, the thin curved blade piercing right through the biter's skull, cold steel slipping through its head like butter only inches away from Danny's nose, splattering brown-black blood across his face.

The biter collapsed to the ground as Andrea yanked the farm tool from its head and Danny fell back onto the seat of his jeans, panting hard. Beth was curled around her father, shoulders shaking.

Danny heard his name being called. He glanced over to see Glenn kneeling beside him, staring him dead in the eye, "Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

Danny gave a rattling sigh and nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so…"

The tingling through the bridge of his nose receded and Danny felt a calmness wash over him. He gave Glenn a soft grin, "Yeah, I'm good."

Glenn blinked in amazement at him, "Your eyes!" he exclaimed, "They're blue!"

Danny frowned, "They've always been blue."

But Glenn shook his head, standing to his feet and offering Danny a hand which he gratefully took, "I swear they were green just now, man…"

He moved away to hover by Maggie as Hershel and his farmhand bundled up his youngest, gently tugging her back to the house. Beth had fallen near silent as she was dragged along. Rick and Shane following a few feet behind them. Danny felt anger flutter in his chest at the sight of the burly man's retreating form. He'd barely given Danny a second-glance since he threw him in the barn.

Danny raced after them, receiving a weak smile from Maggie when he touched her shoulder, giving his own consoling one in return.

Shane, as apathetic as ever, tossed his arms in the air, cursing Hershel loudly as they made their way up to the main house, "We've been out— we've been combing these woods looking for Sophia and you had a little girl almost exactly like the one we were looking for! You knew—"

"Leave us alone!" Maggie snapped over her shoulder. Danny levelled a glare of his own but was ignored.

But Shane wasn't done. Jogging a few steps he met Hershel by Beth's side, ignoring the way Rick tried to pull him back with an obnoxious slur in the sheriff's direction, "You knew there was a little girl, and you kept it from us!"

"I didn't know," Hershel's voice quivered with emotion.

"That's bullshit. I think you all knew!"

"We didn't know!" Maggie snarled as the Greene family stepped up onto the porch. She grabbed Danny's hand, pulling him beside her. Hershel passed Beth onto her sister who lead her inside and turned to face Shane. Danny hovered close by, not sure what to do.

"Otis put those people in the barn… maybe he found the girl and put her in there before he was killed," Hershel offered as an explanation.

Shane shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to intimidate the old man, "Do you expect me to believe that? What do I look like? Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Rick leapt forward, placing a hand on Shane's chest to calm him.

Hershel stood stubbornly on the spot, "I don't care what you believe—"

"Okay now everybody just calm down," Rick tried to pacify, but Hershel snapped.

"Get him off my land!" he screamed, jabbing his finger at Shane's face.

Shane stepped forward, towering over Hershel, "Now let me tell you something, man—"

"Hey!" Danny pushed himself forward, ramming his shoulder into the much bigger man's sternum, sending him stumbling down the stairs, "That's enough! Just back off!"

Shane's face fell into a deep sneer, "What are you even doing here, you little dip-stick? I thought for sure the walkers would have at least used you as tooth floss or somethin' by now."

"No thanks to you," Danny huffed. Adrenaline flooded through him with a wave of confidence and a drought of common sense, "All you ever seem to do is walk around trying to bully everyone into doing what you want because you're bigger than them – pushing people around… trying to cause fights—"

"Cause fights? You wanna go or something, little brat?" Shane yelled, stepping up onto the porch, forcing Danny to look up at him despite standing on the top stair.

"Shane," Rick looked drained, "Stop it."

"You know what I think?" Danny spat, staring the larger man directly in the eye, "With what everyone says about Otis… about how good he was with the biters… and after everything I've learnt about you… I don't think he would have gone down without a fight…"

"Wha'chu trying to say, kid?" Shane bent down right in Danny's face.

Danny shrugged easily, feigning disinterest. Honestly, he didn't really know what he was saying, but he had listened to what the others had told him about Otis at the funeral –with his courageous sacrifice to save a boy's life – and it was obvious that the subject had struck a chord with Shane.

"Whatever you think I'm trying to say. It's just, with you and the busted leg and Otis knowing the lay of the land – Carl told me he was a professional hunter too – it makes me wonder how it was that you escaped and he didn't… Some might say he was persuaded to stay behind."

"Danny!" Rick cried reproachfully, giving him a disappointed look that reminded him of his own father's. But Shane took more drastic actions.

Danny barely had time to duck as the ham-like fist flew at the spot his head had just been. Glenn jumped forward on Rick's command to wrap his arms around the strong-man, the two of them hauling Shane off the porch onto the dirt road who was hurling obscenities every which-way he could.

"Cool it, Shane. He's just a kid!"

Danny gave out a soft gurgle as the neck of his shirt was tugged back and he found himself following Maggie inside, who had switched her grip to his shoulders as if she was worried he was going to make a run for it at any second.

She led him into the kitchen, yanking out a glass and shoving it under the tap, filling it close to the brim before handing it over to Danny who immediately took a generous sip.

"What in the world do you think you were accusin' him of? You don't make men like Shane angry, Danny, that was a very stupid thing to do."

The adrenaline was draining out of his body as quickly as he emptied the water glass, and shame began to itch at the back of his mind. But then Maggie smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder in a way Jazz always had in the past when he received anything over a B-grade, "But I'm glad somebody brought him down a peg."

…

"'M callin' the bed," Daryl said.

"Oof!" Danny cried as a dirty rucksack filled with who-knows-what collided with his ribs, sending him toppling off the side of the mattress onto the floor, "What was that for?" he asked the dust bunnies beneath the bed.

He spotted Daryl slipping his mud-ridden boots off from the other side before they disappeared from sight, the mattress creaking in response, curving under Daryl's weight. Danny heaved himself off the floor, dog-earing the chapter he was reading – one of Dale's books. It wasn't very good, but it was worth something to pass the time.

"What are you doing in my room?" Danny asked, annoyed. Daryl had spread along the length of the bed, arms tucked behind his head and eyes closed as if he was preparing himself for an afternoon nap.

"Y' mean our room? Hershel's got me under surveillance since I pulled a few o' my stitches out."

"So why aren't you on the couch?" Danny shoved Daryl's shoulder, trying to push him off the bed.

"Couch is taken," Daryl creaked open an eye, "Supposed you'd be lonely in here by yerself with yer own private room and ev'rything. Thought I'd be kind and keep ya company. 'Sides, this is the only spare room."

"How thoughtful of you."

Daryl gave a wheezing chuckle and reached behind his head, yanking out one of the many pillows stacked on top of the covers, tossing it at Danny, "Here. 'Preciate you givin' up yer bed for me. Respectin' yer elders and whatever."

Danny felt his hackles raise, "Hey! You can't have the bed! I was here first!"

The older man snorted, sitting up and resting his forearms across his knees, "Pretty sure it belonged to tha' walker from the barn with a hole in its head."

Danny clammed his jaw up at that. If he listened close enough, he could still hear Beth crying down the hallway, grieving over her lost brother and mother.

But he really wanted that bed.

"I'll fight you for it," he boldly claimed.

Daryl stared incredulously at him, "Fight me? Ya look like ya ain't made of nothin' but swallow's bones."

He knelt by the bed and stuck his hand out at the bemused man, "Arm wrestle. Winner takes all."

Daryl rolled his eyes, but offered his own hand, but not before jabbing a finger at him, "Now I don' wanna hear no complaints from you after this, ya hear? An' no cheatin' neither."

Danny nodded. He could do this – that familiar thrumming when he was stuck in the barn with the walkers was rushing through him now. Promising him greatness; strength; ultimate power… and a really comfortable mattress.

His grip tightened against Daryl's and he furrowed his brow in concentration.

"What are you two doing?" Danny heard Rick's voice call from the doorway.

Daryl grunted, repositioning his elbow as he flexed his fingers with an evil smirk in Danny's direction, "The ultimate challenge; winner gets the bed. Loser gets comfy with the floorboards."

Rick chuckled, "Alright, well let's see how you two go. Need a call-in?"

They both nodded and Rick counted down, "Three."

He could feel the energy simmering under his skin, like a hot poker jabbing at him, trying to sear its way free—

"Two."

Calling… Beckoning—

"One."

It was so close. His eyes watered, flaring hot – but cold, like liquid nitrogen —

"Go!"

Daryl slammed Danny's hand down on the mattress. He didn't even make it two seconds.

A thin smile spread its way across Daryl's face as he sat up, bouncing on the bed a few times as if to test the springs.

Danny pouted sullenly, ignoring Rick's sympathetic shrug, "Best out of three?"

Daryl smacked him in the face with a pillow.

…

Danny shifted himself for the sixth time, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hardwood floor. The thin blanket he'd pulled on top of himself had been shoved down by his feet with the sweltering Georgian weather. He gave another huff as he fluffed his pillow, desperate for sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind was wide awake, flitting through memories at break-neck speeds of his friends and family.

"Stop that," Danny heard.

"Huh? Stop what?"

"Stop movin' 'round so much – can't fall asleep with yous tossin' and turnin' like ya got night terrors or somethin'."

"I haven't got night terrors," Danny frowned, fluffing up his pillow with indignant punches, "I just can't sleep 's'all."

Daryl just grunted from where he faced the wall, blankets pulled tightly up to his neck until he resembled nothing but a tartan-printed lump with a smattering of greasy hair peeking out of the top. Danny didn't understand how he wasn't dying from the heat.

Collapsing back on his pillow Danny heaved a great sigh. The waxing moon trickled its way through the sliver in the curtains, sending a splay of light across the ceiling. He followed the trail with his eyes, raising a hand to trace a spidery crack in the far corner before giving out another heavy sigh.

He pulled himself up to rest his arms on his thighs and looked at Daryl. The man was so still he could barely tell if he was breathing.

Daryl suddenly rolled over and glared at him from beneath the covers, "What?" he gritted out.

"Nothing," Danny said quickly.

"Obviously ain't nothin', otherwise ya wouldn' be starin' at me like tha'."

"Like what?"

"Like ya can't tell the difference 'tween the front and back end of a skunk," Daryl rolled his eyes, before shoving himself up onto an elbow, pointing at his forehead, "What's with the stupid hairstyle anyway?"

Danny slapped a hand on his hairline, "It's not stupid!"

Daryl chuckled sardonically, "Looks like ya got in a fight with a bottle of bleach and lost."

"It's natural…" he pouted, "My sister thinks it's late-occurring piebaldism."

Daryl squinted down at him, "Don't look like yer goin' bald…"

"That's not what… never mind," he tugged at the white hairs that tickled his forehead. The patch of pale hair had appeared almost overnight after the run-in with his mum and dad's portal.

His parents had barely noticed (too busy with their experiments) apart from his dad pointing at him over breakfast a few days later and announcing that he thought he looked 'cool'. Jazz had clinically labelled him as going through a rebellious phase until she found him one evening in the bathroom with a bottle of black hair dye and the kitchen scissors. She had done extensive research then, concluding that their family history must have had some dormant strain of Waardenburg syndrome brought on by the extreme conditionings of stress.

Danny wasn't sure he believed that.

The room was quiet for another beat before Danny finally spoke.

"I got it after a run-in with one of my parent's experiments." He could feel Daryl's eyes staring at him through the dark, but refused to meet his gaze, "They're inventors you know… My friends, Tucker and Sam, wanted to see one of their projects," He chucked drily, "It was supposed to be a portal – to the ghost world of all things, can you believe that?"

Danny snorted in disbelief more for his own sake than Daryl's, "My friends dared me to go inside. We didn't realise the power was still on, or that my dad had put the 'on' switch inside the machine – dad always did stuff like that. Always forgot where he put things or how he made them or if he left the stove on..."

"So ya got shocked," Daryl said bluntly.

Danny nodded his head before realising the man probably couldn't see it in the dark. "Yeah. Tucker and Sam think I turned my hair white with fright – had a good laugh at me once everything calmed down…"

The two were quiet after that. Every so often they would hear the hiccupping sobs of Beth down the hall, followed by Patricia's sorrowful hushing.

"Izzat how you got those scars?"

Danny jolted, automatically pulling his left hand toward his chest to cradle it. He traced the flesh of his palm with his thumb, feeling the hoarfrost pattern that travelled from the centre of his hand up to his elbow and creeps under the sleeve of his shirt. The skin had healed quickly, turning from an ugly reddish-purple to the faintest of pinks in less than two weeks, barely visible in broad daylight unless you were really looking at it.

He lifted his hand to the moonlight twisting it slowly and watching how the moonlight caught on the raised skin; casting mottled and ugly shadows.

"Yeah," he whispered before turning to Daryl's silhouette, "How'd you get yours?"

He watched the way the form beneath the duvet froze, shoulders hunched and eyes narrowed at him, "None o' yer damn business," the older man barked sharply.

With a flurry of bedsheets, Daryl turned away, curling into a ball without another word. Danny cringed and fell silent.

The house was finally quiet. Danny fluffed his pillow again before twisting to follow the spider-crack on the ceiling, prepared for a sleepless night.

…

The sun had long past set the next day by the time leaving occurred to Danny. He had contained himself to what was once Hershel's step-son, Shawn's, bedroom. I felt like a mausoleum, with Shawn's belongings and memorabilia strayed throughout the room – Danny even found a dirty magazine in a backpack stuffed in the closet. He sat at the desk, bored as he stared out the window. Daryl had left in the early hours before the sun had even risen that morning, and Danny hadn't seen him since. The room had quickly dissolved into a black so deep that he couldn't even see the RV parked less than fifty yards away. Every so often one of the women would skitter past the closed door toward where he suspected Beth was recuperating from the trauma of her deceased mother.

He shook himself; what was he even doing here? He didn't belong here. Nobody really wanted him here. He should be out looking for his family.

Pensively, Danny stood and crept toward the door. Creaking it open, he glanced through the narrow gap to find the short hallway empty. The door at the end was firmly shut. Feeling more confident, Danny strode out of the room, bypassing the kitchen and headed for the front door. The air was still warm as he skipped out onto the porch and down the steps, the sky dark except for a sliver from the growing moon. The dirt path made his feet crunch lightly as he travelled down it and he scoffed at the large RV as he passed by, throwing a silent insult at Shane who he was sure was lurking around somewhere, and headed out toward the field he had first appeared from.

The wheat field skimmed his thighs as he trundled through it, and the little glint of moonlight reflecting off the swaying grain made him feel like he was wading through knee-deep water. He grinned as he reached the edge of the forest, slipping past the branches without a backwards glance toward the farm and nothing but the clothes on his back.

Quickly though Danny damned his lack of thought to bring a flashlight; he nearly barked out loud after he tripped over another root. The forest was silent as he struggled to make his way through the thick foliage until, expectedly, he ran head-first into a low-hanging branch.

"Ow! Darn it!"

He clutched at his aching forehead as he muttered angrily to himself. Maybe it would have been smarter to have waited until daylight, where he could see where he was going. If only he could see like he had in the barn…

Whatever happened in the barn was certainly not natural, he knew that. But with everything going on Danny had barely had time to consider it; it was as if the biters had beenafraid of him.

He began to pace on the spot, wary of running into another tree as he asked himself in a mantra, 'How did I do it?'

Halting stubbornly, Danny pinched his eyes shut as the forest chattered quietly around him with cicadas, birds and frogs. He could remember the thick blackness that had absorbed him when he was stuck in the barn; the rattling breath and horrid stench of off-flesh, he could remember the fear and how his body had gone into overdrive, every nerve acting as if it were on fire, but most of all he remembered his desperate want to live. Not just survive, but to truly live.

The familiar tingling sensation ran down the bridge of his nose before his senses were flung into acid green and he slammed his eyes open, the world around him flaring to light. Blinking, Danny stared dazedly around; it was like somebody had switched out a black and white television for one with a full-colour, high definition multi-platform set. He could see each individual leaf that sat in the tree-tops, see every pebble that lined the waterbed of the nearby creek, see each crater that threatened to crack the moon's surface from millions of miles away.

Danny gave in as a burst of laughter escaped him and he spun around – the dark hadn't diminished any less, but he could definitely see more. The green tinged the edges of his sight but it was easy to forget it as he raced from tree to tree, fingers ghosting over brittle slivers of bark as if to prove what he was seeing was true. And it was, it truly was.

A final giggle escaped his lungs before Danny heaved a great sigh, slumping onto a nearby tree, careful to avoid crushing the army of ants that marched their way adamantly up the trunk. He watched them lazily for a few minutes. It was peaceful out here. Nothing like the farm. He could get used to this.

A twig cracked from his far left and Danny jumped, swivelling around on the spot. He peered through the trees, hoping to catch sight of a deer or a badger, but a sliver of brown cloth dashed that hope.

Danny snatched a branch off the ground and held it at the ready. He wasn't going to let a biter sneak up on him anytime soon. Not after everything he had been through.

Another twig cracked and his breath caught in his throat. He tried to fight the trembling in his arms but the leaves on the branch rattled like a wind chime.

Whatever it was stumbled closer and Danny began to feel faint. His vision blurred and the tingling in his sinuses disappeared along with his eyesight. Everything was dark again. Not even the moon could penetrate the tree tops.

He could hear breathing now and the bush beside him rustled. Danny snapped. With an almighty heave, he swung the branch—

"Woah! Hey, watch it with tha' thang!"

"Daryl?" he called. Daryl's silhouette appeared from the bushes before Danny felt the branch being snatched from his grasp and tossed aside.

"Wha' the hell wazzat for? Ya nearly took my dang head clean off!"

"I thought you were a biter— I mean, a walker!"

"Do I look like a walker to you?" Daryl snipped.

"Well, it's not like I can actually see anything."

Daryl scoffed, "Yeah, well it was a pretty dumb thing t' come out here in the middle of the night, wasn't it? What're ya doing out here, anyway? Taking a moonlit stroll or somethin'?"

Danny's cheeks heated, "I don't have to explain myself to you!" he yelled.

Danny imagined Daryl's eyes were rolling "Whatever. Was just wonderin' where ya been was all… first with Lori pissin' off and then you goin' Hansel and Gretel without no breadcrumbs – come on, we'd better head back to camp before the other brat does a dissapearin' act of his own..."

"I'm not some stupid kid! I can look after myself!" Danny bellowed, fists curled. He was sick of being treated as insignificant and inept.

"And look how good you've done. You're over two miles out from camp – if it wasn't for me you'd be stuck wanderin' these woods for weeks if a walker didn't get you first."

"That is exactly what I meant to do," Danny hissed out.

That pulled Daryl up short, "You're leavin'? Why?"

"Because, unlike you, I have places to be. I need to find my family—"

"Izzat why you took off? T'go and find your family? Well reality check, kid; if you haven't found 'em yet, you're not gonna. They're gone, and they're never comin' back—"

"Shut up! You don't know that!" Danny yelled.

But Daryl wasn't done, "—and I'm warnin' ya, if you head off now, you're gonna be just like that little girl you dragged here, 'cept you're gonna be all alone and nobody's gonna be haulin' your useless ass back to mama!"

"Why do you even care?" Danny snarled, "Why'd you even follow me in the first place?"

"Well someone's gotta do the thinkin' since you've got nothin' workin' up there," Daryl quipped in a rare flash of wit, "You know, you're really somethin'. After everythin', you're just gonna take off in the middle o' the night without even a 'thank you'?"

Danny whirled on the spot, "'Thank you'? What am I even supposed to be thankful for? Should I be thankful for you guys shooting me? Or should it be for locking me up in a tool shed? Oh, no, wait, I know what I should be thankful for; it's for that giant lug-head you and all of your friends are hiding behind who threw me into a barn full of flesh-feasters!" Danny huffed, fighting down the anger that was boiling through his veins, but the sarcasm didn't leave his tone, "You're right, Daryl, you're so right – I should say thank you. Maybe you could pass on a message for me; 'thank you, you bunch of psychopaths, for nearly killing me. Not once, but twice! I truly appreciate it'."

Daryl scoffed, "I ain't no messenger boy, you can go tell Shane yerself how ya really feel if ya wanna so badly. I'm not gonna do it. Now stop actin' like such a baby and let's go."

Danny paused speculatively, his eyes staring at the dark spot he heard Daryl's voice emerge from, "I know what this is about," he finally said, "You feel guilty – about Sophia, don't you? I've seen the way you act around Carol… It's because she died and you—"

"You don't know nothin'!" Daryl's voice cracked, before he whispered, "I— I told her mama that I'd find her safe. I swore that I'd bring her back alive! And then you showed up cartin' a dead lil' girl wearin' that stupid rainbow shirt and… and…" there was a long silence before Daryl finally muttered, "Aw, screw it, I'm done helpin' people. Do whatever you wan'. See if I care. See if anybody cares."

Danny heard Daryl turn and storm away through the underbrush, leaving Danny to sink into the darkness. Guilt swelled his insides and battled furiously with his pride. He blinked a few times in hopes seeing the flashes of green, but it had long disappeared, so with a regret-filled sigh, Danny followed after Daryl.

He shortly caught up with the older man and the two trundled their way through the woods in silence, Danny following a good distance behind when Daryl called out, "Why're ya still followin' me?"

Danny considered apologising, but after many gruelling minutes pride won the battle, "I'm just heading back to thank Hershel… for the medical supplies. I'll be gone by tomorrow, I'll say goodbye then."

"Don't bother. Goodbyes are stupid," Daryl grunted in response but didn't say anything more.

By the time they reached the boundaries of the forest the sun was beginning to peek its way across the horizon, and grey light filtered dully across the ocean field they swept through. Trundling up the steps the two of them made their way to the dining table which was laden with food despite dinner being over nearly eight hours ago. Danny caught sight of Lori in the sitting room, holding a piece of linen up to a cut on her head.

"What happened to her?" Danny wondered aloud.

Daryl hefted his crossbow off his shoulder, snatching a plate of cold leftover chicken and vegetables, "Dumb bitch can't drive for shit, that's what."

Danny grabbed his own plate of food and nibbling at it. He childishly ignored the broccoli and noted dryly that Daryl did the same.

They ate in silence, only the clatter of cutlery filled the air when he heard Lori in the other room jump to her feet, rushing past the dining room to slam through the entrance door. Danny, curious, dropped his knife and fork and followed. The Greene family along with the rest of Rick's group milled around the front yard as a car flew down the dirt road, coming to a halt just a few metres from them. Rick was the first to appear from the car and Carl flew into his arms, crying "Dad!" alongside Lori, followed by Hershel and then Glenn, who Maggie rushed to happily much to her father's disgruntlement.

"Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery," the vet ordered, ignoring Danny who stepped out of the doorway to let him past.

"Who the hell is that?" T-Dog asked, pointing to the car. Danny squinted his eyes, staring into the dark interior of the car and spotted a boy with a strip of red cloth tied across his eyes, head lolling loosely to the side.

Glenn gave a shrug, "That's Randall."

…

Danny heaved himself up the porch steps, sweating, and shoved open the front door, happy to be out of the blazing sun as he made his way to the kitchen. After Randall's appearance he hadn't had the chance to talk to Hershel and thank him for his hospitality. He had breached the two-day mark that morning, but nobody paid enough attention to him to call him on it.

Rick and Shane had gone with Randall to drop him off in the outskirts of town, decidedly at eighteen miles out. Danny hadn't had the opportunity to meet the kid, but with how the others had described Randall's group, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Maggie and Beth were still yelling at each other from down the hall as he made his way into the kitchen, Beth's screeches full of tears. Andrea and Lori leant against the countertops, both looking dazed and far away. Danny knocked on the doorframe softly and Lori glanced up.

"Need anything, honey?" she said distractedly.

Danny shrugged, making his way to the refrigerator, "Just wanted something to eat."

Lori bustled her way over, reaching into the open fridge and pulled out a plate of the previous night's meal, "Here. This was for Beth, but she wasn't exactly… feeling up for it."

Danny took the plate with a polite smile and placed it on the island, taking the fork Lori offered him.

"Er, could I have a knife too, please?"

Lori seemed to jolt herself to life, "Right! Sorry, of course. Here," she opened the cutlery drawer and offered him the handle of a steak-knife. Danny took it carefully, eyeing Lori's strange behaviour, but the woman had already receded into herself and the room filled with the angry screams of the Greene sisters.

Danny ate slowly. This could possibly be his last meal before he headed off and he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

He chewed silently as Andrea asked, "Where's Hershel?"

"I don't really wanna know yet," Lori admitted, "It's a family affair. Let them work it out."

"That's working it out?" Andrea asked sardonically.

Lori stepped forward and stole a zucchini slice off Danny's plate, making him frown. Lori didn't notice, "When Beth stops fighting that's when we should start to worry."

"I can't believe you're being so selfish!" Danny jumped at the sound of Maggie's voice echoing from Beth's room.

Andrea heaved a sigh, "This could have been handled better."

"How so?"

"You shouldn't have taken the knife away."

Lori frowned with obvious disapproval, "Really?"

"You were wrong," Andrea continued, manner-of-factly, "Like Dale taking my gun. That wasn't your decision. She has to choose to live on her own – she has to find her own reason."

Danny nearly choked on his carrots. Wheezing, he stared with wide eyes as the blonde woman, who simply shrugged at his dumbstruck expression.

"You wanna tie a noose for her?" Lori asked, picking up Danny's half-eaten plate despite his still-poised cutlery, and scraping the leftovers in the garbage bin, but Danny barely noticed his meal being snatched away as he sat slack-jawed.

"If she's serious she'll figure out a way."

Lori put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on full-blast, "Doesn't mean I can't stop her or let her know that I care."

"That has nothing to do with it, Lori. She only has so many choices in front of her. And she believes the best one is suicide."

Danny couldn't take the simple talk, "You're kidding me, right? Death isn't a choice – it's an ultimatum."

Andrea snorted, "Hardly. If she wants to kill herself then let her. She'll figure out where she stands."

"That's not how it works!" Danny shoved his seat back and leapt to his feet, "You don't always get a second choice after you made your first!"

"I came through it," Andrea said stubbornly.

"Oh, really?" Danny felt his fists wrap themselves against the edge of the tabletop. The wood creaked loudly, "You just admitted it less than a minute before! Can you honestly say that you would be here if Dale didn't help you out?"

"That was different."

"How? How was that different?" Danny was yelling now. Something in Andrea's attitude rubbed him all the wrong ways, "All you're trying to do is make everything worse! Shoving someone in a corner and making them think that suicide is the only choice isn't helping; it's murder!"

Andrea frowned standing from her spot against the cupboards, "I watched my sister die right in front of me! She was all I had left—"

"I don't even know if my sister is alive – or the rest of my family! I don't know if they're safe, or warm, or freezing or starving or if they're already dead – which is a hundred times worse! At least you have peace of mind that your sister isn't suffering! So, come on, tell me, huh, should I go and off myself? Should I, Andrea? Is that my only choice now? Tell me!" Danny roared.

The sound of lightning cracking echoed through the kitchen and the wood under Danny's hands burst apart under his grip. The three-inch thick plank of wood lay in ruins, dimples marked where his fingers had crushed the varnished wood into nothing more than two handfuls of shredded pulp.

Andrea and Lori stared, and Danny's eyesight wavered in and out of focus as rage consumed him. His chest was heaving and he was sure that he looked near-manic judging by the looks playing across both women's faces.

Lori cautiously walked over, placing a cool hand on his shoulder and pushing him to the door, "Come on, Danny. I think it's time for you to get some air."

Danny shoved her off moodily as he stormed out of the house, sending a final dirty look in Andrea's direction. Lori followed him out onto the decking, carefully closing the fly-screen door. There was a hint of a breeze and Danny inhaled through is nose as he stared around at the peaceful scenery. His chest was still tight and his fists were clenched, but the farmlands helped. A little.

"Wanna show me your hands?" Lori asked. There was the slightest of trembling to her voice, but she stood in front of him firmly.

Danny shook his head, only now noticing the sharp sting emitting from both of his fists. Lori ignored him, gently grasping his wrist and coaxing his right hand open. Danny looked on at the mottled mess of his palm which was soaked in blood. Tens of hundreds of tiny slivers of wood poked out of his skin and Lori hissed.

"Come on, let's go grab some tweezers and clean up this mess."

Danny stared at the woman who refused to meet his gaze. She didn't really want to help him, not really. She just wanted a way to avoid all the disaster around her, and he was the perfect distraction.

Danny curled his hand away, pulling it from Lori's grasp with a grim smile, "It's okay," he tried to say evenly, "I've got it."

Lori didn't try to fight him as he trekked back into the house, his footsteps deceptively calm as he passed by the kitchen. Andrea had long since disappeared and Danny, feeling much freer, headed for the main bathroom, snatching a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet and closed the door to Shawn's room behind him.

He sat there for over an hour, arduously plucking the tiny shards of wood out of his hands. There was a small, ever-growing molehill of splinters that lay as evidence of his actions in blood-soaked ruins. It was painful, and tiresome, but overall satisfying when he pulled the final stubborn piece from under his thumbnail.

He released a sigh and collapsed against the head board. The house had long quietened down and Danny laid there lazily, watching the sun play against the ceiling.

The calm was broken when a shriek followed by hiccupping whimpers filled his ears and Danny jumped to his feet, tearing open the door and racing down the hall to Beth's room. He found Lori and Maggie pounding on the bathroom door. Maggie was screaming.

"Beth! Don't do this! Beth, don't do this, please!"

"Where's the key?" Lori cried.

"I don't know," Maggie snapped back, turning to rummage frantically through a chest of drawers, "Beth, honey, please open the door, I'm not mad!"

There was a smashing of glass and Beth gave out another wail.

Danny shoved his way into the room, "Move," he ordered sternly.

The two women dashed out of the way as Danny charged forward, and just like how he had rammed Shane by the barn, his shoulder smashed into the thick oak door so hard that one of the hinges fell off with a metallic clatter. The door flew in and Danny nearly ran into a sobbing Beth who was gripping her bleeding wrist tightly.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered to the room.

He grimaced as Maggie shoved him out of the way, stretching out to embrace Beth and the two girls plus Lori quickly left the room, closing the broken door behind them, leaving Danny alone with nothing but to stare at his broken reflection through the mirror shards.

…

The next day left Danny feeling hollow. He sat in the shade by Sophia's grave, watching as Rick's group milled about their campsite. Daryl was the only one missing, locked in the shed that Rick, Hershel and Shane had held him captive in when he first arrived. It wasn't long before Daryl emerged, his knuckles split and covered in red. Danny watched him pass but he barely received a glance from the man.

He ignored the group as they swept into a tight circle, arguing between one another. Rolling his eyes Danny returned to staring at the shed; it was old and looked like a strong gust of wind could send it tumbling to the ground in a heap of rotting planks and termites.

By the time he looked back, they had long since left and now only Glenn and Maggie hovered nearby, sitting in near silence by the empty fire pit.

Danny heaved himself to his feet feeling rather lost; to leave while the sun was brightest would be the best, but everyone had been on high alert since Randall's appearance. He wasn't sure if any of Rick's group would even let him leave. Shane was especially paranoid; Danny could practically feel the man's glare whenever he was nearby.

The shine of a badge caught his eye and he watched as Carl dressed in his usual sheriff's hat crept his way from the Greene's house to the shed where Andrea stood guard, talking to Shane emphatically.

Making sure to stay out of sight, Danny followed Carl's lead, sneaking behind the decrepit wood shed. He peered through the gaps to see a badly beaten Randall speaking to somebody in the rafters.

"Sheriff-guy – that's your dad? I like him. Yeah, he's a good guy, I can tell…" Randall said in monologue. Danny couldn't see Carl, "Your mum out here too? You're lucky you've still got your family, I lost mine—"

Danny nearly pulled away then, shrugging off his worries as paranoia; Randall seemed harmless enough…

"My camp, we got lotsa supplies. You help me, I'll take you and your folks back to my people. We'll take good care of you – keep you safe. Just help me pick the lock or find the keys, okay. Please?"

Danny didn't hesitate to clamber up on top of the wood piled behind the shed, slipping through the narrow gap in the rafters, "Carl! What do you think you're doing!" he hissed down at the younger boy.

"You followed me?" Carl sounded annoyed.

Danny leapt down from the rafters onto a bundle of hay and latched onto Carl's shirt, dragging him back from where he was approaching Randall.

"Hey! Lemme go!"

"Be quiet," Danny hissed in warning, "Do you want Shane to hear you? Or your dad? What would they say if they found us in here?"

"I know you," Randall whispered. The shackles behind his back jingled as he leaned forward, squinting up at Danny's face, "At my camp, there were army men. They said theys were looking for you. Had a picture an' everythin'. Said yous were mighty important. Secret mission stuff."

Danny blinked in horror. Pearson had said that all his men had died from the attack by the herd – but maybe a few got away...

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled finally, "It must be someone else."

Randall looked confused but Danny ignored him, turning to Carl who crossed his arms stubbornly, bottom lip jutting out.

"It's either we go out the back door now or I call Shane in through the front," Danny reasoned. He didn't have the patience for this. His older sister was the one who inherited that particular trait. He was the one who got the bad hair and the even worse temper.

Carl turned to climb back up the side of the shed onto the narrow loft. Randall called out, "W-wait! You can't leave me here!"

Danny heaved himself up after Carl, and called back, "I could always ask Daryl to keep you company?"

Randall clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, so Danny pulled himself into the rafters, awkwardly wriggling himself through the narrow hole onto the wood pile. With barely a sound he leapt to the ground beside a sulking Carl.

"What was that?" Danny hissed flinging his arm in the direction of the shed, "You can't just… you could have gotten hurt—"

"I can handle myself," Carl argued loudly.

Danny snatched his arm and dragged him down the road, warily glancing over his shoulder at where Shane and Andrea stood, "What were you thinking going in there with that guy? Didn't you hear what your dad said?"

Carl looked suddenly nervous, "You wouldn't tell him, would you?"

Danny heaved a sigh. He didn't do the babysitting gig – especially with kids who were nearly the same age as him. Carl seemed to take his silence as a no.

"Why's the army after you?"

"They're not," Danny said dismissively.

"That's not what Randall—"

"Look," Danny ducked down the few inches that separated Carl and himself height-wise, "How about we make a deal? You don't tell anyone about what Randall said, and I won't tell your parents that you snuck in there, capisce?"

Carl looked terrified at the idea of his parents finding out and nodded fervidly. Danny stood up again with an easy grin, "Good. Now go find your mum or something."

Danny gave him a push and Carl stumbled forward unhappily. At about ten feet away he turned back to Danny and said spitefully, "You know they're dead, right?"

Danny froze, "What?"

"Your family. They're dead – that's what everyone says. They're just letting you stay here because they feel bad for you."

Arrogantly, Carl turned on his heel and dashed away to the farmhouse, but Danny barely noticed. He didn't know what to say or what to even think. His knees gave way beneath him and he slouched onto the ground, his legs sprawled in front of him as he stared out onto the horizon. Of course they thought his family was dead – deep down he knew that. But to be housed here only out of a show of misplaced pity?

He thought of how everyone treated him. As if he was insignificant – unimportant. No one really made eye contact with him, and when they did they never really saw him. He was just another orphan kid – another mouth to feed – an obligation.

Daryl was right; nobody really cared.

Slowly, on shaking legs, Danny stood up. His steps were low and quiet as he made his way into the house. He could hear Hershel and Beth in the nearby room, happily singing a nursery rhyme to one another. Danny shoved his way into Shawn's room snatching the backpack from under the bed and tossing the dirty magazine hidden inside into a waste paper basket. He yanked some clothes out of the closet, stuffing them into the bag. The shoes were too large, so Danny was left with his sneakers before moving to tuck his water bottle into one of the pockets.

He left the room to make for the kitchen, happy to find it empty and pulled open the cupboards, grabbing some of the loose-packet energy bars and a collection of cans and a large knife, stowing them away deep inside the bag. He angrily zipped it shut, heaving it over his shoulder and stomping out of the house, snatching Glenn's favourite baseball cap which was sitting innocently on the hat rack as he passed.

The day was hot despite the sun having long since passed its zenith, with pinks and oranges barely beginning to flitter their way across the sky, but Danny just pulled the hat down tighter over his ears and pressed on. He only made it halfway through the field when he heard his name being called out.

"Danny!"

He turned to find Dale in his ridiculous bucket hat and Hawaiian print shirt, a rifle hanging loosely over one shoulder as he treaded his way through the grass toward him.

"Danny! Where are you going?"

"Away," he said shortly.

"Away? Alone by yourself? Why? You could get hurt if you did that. No, no, no, Rick wouldn't want you wandering around on your own."

"Rick wouldn't even notice, I'm sure," Danny gritted through his teeth, "What do you want?"

Dale shifted his weight, "It's about Randall…"

"What about him?" he asked, suddenly nervous. He'd sworn Carl to secrecy, but what if Randall had said something? Rick and his friends would be suspicious – they were desperate. And suspicious people did desperate things.

"It's about the execution call tonight…"

Danny nearly gave a shout of relief. He clocked the brim of the cap off his eyes and stared at Dale, "Okay… so why do you want to talk about it with me? I've got nothing to do with it."

"Well, you see, I was hoping maybe you could talk some sense into the group. You're a smart kid, and— and— and you could relate to him. Give Rick and the other's a different perspective, shed some light on the group of what it's like to be a teenage boy—"

"I was a C-student," Danny said shortly, "And from what I heard he was shooting at Rick and Glenn, right? And Hershel? He doesn't really sound like someone I could really relate to."

"He made a mistake!" Dale burst out, and Danny suspected this was neither the first nor the second time he had claimed this argument, "Just like Andrea did to you. You wouldn't let her be killed if she was in the boy's shoes, would you? We need to show the others that we can still be a civil society with rules and guidelines!"

Danny rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well, Andrea isn't exactly my favourite person right now, all right? In fact, none of you are, really. I mean, Daryl's okay I guess, but he's still a jerk half the time..."

"So— so you're just going to leave then?"

Danny stared pointedly at the farm then at his backpack before giving a derisive nod, "Yeah. I am."

Dale sputtered profusely before bursting out, "You can't just leave!"

"Why? Because you'll feel bad? Because you'll lay awake at night feeling sorry for the 'poor orphan kid' lost in the woods? No? Face it, you don't really care. You just want your conscience to be clear—"

Dale raised his hands in what Danny guessed was a coaxing manner, "Now, Danny, that's simply not true. Please, if you would just listen—"

"A 'civil society'! Sure, that's what we are. Nothing I do is good enough for you people, is it?" Danny spat, "I know how you all look at me, what you say about me behind my back. You all think I'm stupid – that my parents are dead and I'm too deep in denial to admit it—"

"We don't think that, we'd never think that! You're just as much a part of this group as the rest of us—"

"Will you stop lying? That's what's wrong with you people – you all think you know what's best! But you're all looking out for yourselves first! You don't care about me, not really – and don't you dare deny it!" Danny screeched when Dale opened his mouth to argue, "The only reason you're talking to me right now is because you need something from me, all of you have. I may be stupid, but at least I know how to be a decent human being!" Danny's chest was heaving and his throat ached from his tirade, but the look on Dale's face proved that he got the message through.

Hefting his backpack higher, he sniffed, "I'm going to go find my family," and stormed off into the woods without a backward glance. There was nothing worth looking back at anyway.

The cool green lushness enveloped him and Danny felt he was finally able to breathe again. There was a babbling creek that stretched its way through the woods and Danny fell into an easy pattern beside it. His backpack clanked every so often as the cans inside jostled, but otherwise there was nothing but the sounds of nature.

Hefting himself on top of a large fallen log, Danny opened his arms wide and tip-toed along the length of it, like a tightrope walker, hopping off into the squelchy mud to turn with a flourish to an imaginary crowd.

Only that he did have an audience.

Grey-skinned and with malting reddish-blond hair stood a walker. The flesh around its lip had been torn clear off, a scraggly beard clinging to the remains of a chin and its bare chest was thin, close to nothing but bones as it stared ravenously at him.

The walker marched forward through the water and Danny felt oddly angry – he had only just left the farm. There shouldn't be any walkers so close to Hershel's lands. It should have been safe for at least another mile out.

'Of all the luck,' Danny thought. Any sense of fear of this creature was overridden with indignant fury.

The walker had nearly crossed the creek bed now, its arms groping for him. Setting his jaw, Danny strode down the low slope and raised a sneaker-covered foot, shoving it straight into the walker's chest. It stumbled back, water-sodden feet slipping right through the muddy embankment to sink shin-deep. The walker tugged its legs, trying to break free while ravenously reached for him, snarling and hissing loudly.

Danny barked out in a sharp tone, "Stay!"

The walker froze in its frenzy and its arms dropped placidly by its side. Danny stared in amazement, creeping a foot closer to the corpse. Its milky eyes followed his every motion, but it didn't move.

'Huh,' Danny mused, backing away up the hillside, 'That's… different.'

...

Chapter two complete! This story takes quite a while to write because I have to write in direct correlation to the scripts of the TV series, and I only have so much free time. This story will probably come out monthly. At the moment there's an outlined ten-twelve chapters branching out across the seasons. Please leave your thoughts and a review.