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."

3. Run

Chapter 3: Run

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

…

Daryl leaned heavily against the solid oak cabinet by the farmhouse's front door. It was an ugly thing, all polished wood with those weird little embellished legs that looked like someone had hacked some poor cat's feet off and jammed them to the bottom with varnish and glue. If his brother was still around he was sure they would have been able to make a pretty penny out of selling the thing.

His spot by the cabinet was a vantage point to the sitting room where the others were milling around, each one looking more despondent than the next. Dale had stormed in only a short while ago, mouth pulled into a harsh, jagged line to stop moodily by the piano where Glenn sat, fingers clenching and unclenching as he stared through the window out toward the farm borders. Hershel sat on the couch opposite, his daughters hovering nearby.

He forced down a sigh as the others nervously shifted about and glanced down at the cabinet; it even had those stupid door-knocker handles; all shiny and gold. Maybe if he propped open one of the drawers he'd be able to screw one of them loose without anyone noticing…

Rick and Lori pushed their way through the front door with their brat following shortly behind. Daryl raised an eyebrow when the kid stood in the doorway, lip jutting out like someone had just stolen his ice cream cone.

"Go play with Danny, Carl," Rick waved a hand with a firm voice.

"No! I hate him!" Carl yelled back.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering, "Fine. Just go to your room then."

The kid stormed off down the hall and Daryl rolled his eyes at the loud slam the door down the hall made. Turning back to the adults in the room, he watched as varying shades of guilt flickered across their faces before crossing his arms, snorting under his breath at the morose scene.

Glen was the first to break the ice, stuttering out, "So how do we do this? Just… take a vote?"

"Does it have to be unanimous?" Andrea asked, "Or majority rules?"

"Let's just think about this first, then… talk through the options," Rick paced them, moving forward to grasp at the back of another one of the Greene's ugly antiques; a squat-looking couch with wood trimming. Probably expensive too – was there a market for velvet sofa cushions?

Was there a market for anything nowadays?

"Well, the way I see it, it's the only way to move forward," Shane shrugged.

"Killing him. Right?" Dale spat out before his shoulders dropped, "Well why even bother taking a vote? It's obvious the way the wind's blowing…"

"Well if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know," Rick declared.

"Well I can tell you it's a small group, maybe just… me and Glenn."

Daryl watched Glenn squirm in his seat and Dale's face turn into one of betrayal, "I pretty much think you're right about everything, all the time, but this—" Glenn started guiltily.

"They've got you scared!" Dale burst out, shoving out an arm to the motley group.

"He's not one of us!" Glenn argued back, mirroring the old man, "And we've… we've lost too many people already."

Dale seemed to flounder for a second. Daryl could hear his wheezing breaths from across the room before he stabbed his finger at the old farmer, "How about you? Do you agree with this?"

Maggie rolled her head in Rick's direction, "Couldn't we continue holding him prisoner?" she asked passively.

Daryl shoved himself off the cabinet to instead lean against the wall closer to the group, "Still 'nother mouth t' feed."

"It may be a lean winter," Hershel agreed.

Lori looked unimpressed, "We could ration better."

"Or he could be an asset! Give him a chance to prove himself!" Dale said loudly. Daryl could see the confidence rising in his shoulders.

"Put him to work?" Glenn suggested.

"We're not letting him walk around," Rick said firmly.

Maggie shrugged, "We could put an escort on him."

"And who'd wanna do that duty?" Shane sneered.

"I will," Dale quickly said.

Rick raised a hand, "I don't think any of us should be walking around with this guy."

"He's right. I wouldn't feel safe with him around unless he was tied up," Lori quickly added.

"We can't exactly put chains around his ankles and sentence him to hard labour," Andrea said sarcastically, throwing Lori a dirty glance.

"We could ask Danny to ghost him. He might be able to learn more about him – see if he's actually a bad guy," T-Dog suggested.

"That might be a good idea," Hershel conceded, "Perhaps he could try to get to know him. We could always use a few extra hands to keep the farm going."

Daryl glanced up as Dale made a choking sound in the back of his throat, but Shane spoke up, "Look, say we let him join; it's all right, maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice. Then we let our guard down, and maybe he runs off and brings back his thirty men."

Dale looked flabbergasted, and Daryl was feeling evermore uncomfortable with the situation, his eyes flicking over to the older man who began to wave his arms around furiously, "So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime he may never even attempt? If we do this, we're saying that there's no hope. Rule of law is dead, there is no civilisation."

"Oh, my god," Shane bemoaned. Resting heavily on the mantle as if Dale's words were causing him agony to listen to.

"It's no wonder Danny ran away," Dale continued as if Shane hadn't talked, "He was fed up! He could see right through every single one of you—"

"Danny's gone?" Daryl asked quickly. His throat felt strangely congested despite the balmy weather outside. He'd told the kid before not to wander off into the dark. Peeking through the window, he could see the sun had long begun to set.

Andrea seemed concerned for a different reason, "Did he take any of our guns?" She blurted out to Dale.

"Not that I know—"

Shane twisted and slammed his foot against the fire-grate, the metal screeching along the tiles, "I knew it! I knew from the start that that kid was nothing but a sneaky rat! He's probably gone off to find his and Randall's buddies by now!"

"Shane, you don't know that!" Lori cried.

"He's just a teenager!" Maggie yelled, "He'd never hurt anybody!"

"That kid was hiding something – we all knew it! Rick, you said from the beginning! Do you really believe that he spent four days carting around a dead girl on his back with no food, no water, no supplies and no clue on where he was going? Do you think he just happened to find us?"

"Shane, Danny told us everything he knew, he never mentioned anything about—"

"And you believed him?" Shane gave a derisive snort at Rick before thrusting an accusing finger at Hershel, "The kid had that old man eating out of the palm of his hand the moment he rattled off his sob-story. His parents are probably sitting back at our good friend, Randall's, camp right now, yakking it up while they wait for their son to come home with a big old cross marked on a map!"

"Danny wouldn't do that!" Carol burst out. It was one of the few times Daryl had heard her talk since her daughter's funeral, "He saved my daughter – he saved my little girl from becoming a monster!"

"Or he killed her," Andrea remarked morbidly, "I gotta say, Danny's story is rather sketchy. I mean, four days without any supplies? With handcuffs behind his back? And not once did he come across a walker?"

Carol gave a cross between a sob and a gasp. Daryl felt disgusted at the blonde woman's accusation.

"What? You pissed off that you didn't get a good shot at him the first time 'round? Want another go at shovin' a bullet in his head?" he sneered, "Better be point-blank this time so you don't miss."

"Good idea, Daryl," Shane said appraisingly, "It can't have been long since he took off. If T-Dog, Andrea and I head off now we might be able to catch him before he makes it back to his group."

Daryl gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. Dread was turning his stomach how straight liquor always did the morning after, "I was kiddin'!" he finally growled out.

"Would you all listen to yourselves?" Dale burst out, waving his arms as his eyes swivelled to meet each of the group's, "Here we are discussing the execution of one young man, and you're already planning to kill another – someone we know – without any sense of reason at all! Where is your humanity?"

"Danny is a good kid," Lori called from behind Rick, "And he doesn't deserve criticism from the likes of you, Andrea."

Rick nodded, but said, "Any search parties for Danny are going to have to wait, all right?" his voice bounced off the walls, "We knew from the start that he was set on finding his family—"

"But he's only fourteen! He can't defend himself alone in the woods!" Maggie argued. Carol was quietly weeping.

"No. We have to worry about the here and now. Danny's made his choice; we should respect that," Rick said adamantly, "We came here to talk about Randall, not Danny. We can think about him later."

"Yeah, to figure out who's turn it is the dig another six-feet in the yard," T-Dog muttered.

Daryl clammed his mouth shut as he stared out the window. The sun was quickly disappearing behind the trees, bursting such a deep orange across the sky that it could be mistook for blood – blackness was already trickling in from the farthest corners and the quarter moon sky gave him no reassurance that Danny would be okay. He tightened his grip on his elbows as the congested feeling welled up in his throat again.

"Dumbass," he muttered stubbornly before turning away to listen to the meeting.

…

The night had quickly deteriorated after that, as the meeting resulted in childish finger pointing and accusations being tossed across the room. Dale had thrown Danny's name out more than once in example; Daryl hadn't thought the old man was the type to guilt-trip, but it was effective, leaving a hollow feeling in his gut.

Danny was a good kid. Stubborn and annoying as hell, but overall not bad. How could he be? The brat had travelled four days by himself just to give some woman he didn't even know peace of mind. He was a better kid than Daryl had been…

His fingers had itched throughout the meeting for his crossbow and he constantly checked the tree line, hoping to catch sight of a familiar, stupid, shaggy head of white-streaked hair. But nothing ever appeared. He didn't know why he cared so much.

Rick's voice dragged him back to the meeting, and Daryl wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset when he heard him give the call to help take Randall to the barn – Shane looked ecstatic. Dale looked like he wanted to cry. He wisely kept his trap shut as he stepped out of the house and headed for the cluster of trees where his bike was stationed.

The night was warm and Daryl was happy to find that the sky was rather bright; the moonbeams sweeping across the fields, blasting away any shadows. His camp was only a couple of dozen yards from the others and he could clearly see Dale storming back and forth in front of the RV. He quickly glanced away.

A saddlebag looped over the seat of his bike held most of the supplies Daryl had filched when out on his many hunts and his crossbow was leaning innocently against the kickstand. Flipping open the bag, he scrounged though its innards, hunting for his handgun. It had been his brother's – personally he had always been one for the bow but the firearm came in handy at times.

He frowned when he didn't feel the cool metal of the piece. It should have been there. It had been there since the invasion in Atlanta.

Daryl tossed spare bandages and cans onto the ground as he hunted through the satchel, before snatching it off the bike and turning it upside down. Nothing. Not even a spare bullet.

"Daryl," he glanced up to see Rick making his way over, his own gun sitting neatly in his holster.

Daryl gave him a short nod before turning to his duffel bag by his squirrel collection, pulling out what meagre amounts of clothes and supplies he had left. Still nothing.

"You seen my piece?" he called out to Rick over his shoulder.

Rick ambled closer, peering through the fading light, "Didn't even know you had one. Maybe Andrea's tossed it in her pile. Come on, you can check the RV later. We need to take care of… business."

Reluctantly, Daryl stood up and followed Rick. The man had a grim expression on his face, the skin around his jaw taut, as they made their way toward to barn. Daryl could see Shane in the distance, hovering by the shed door, a black strip of cloth in hand.

"You don't think Danny woulda taken it, would ya?" Daryl finally asked while out of earshot of the other man.

Rick looked surprised at the question and didn't answer for a long time. They had nearly cleared the field when he finally replied, "I don't know."

Shane unlocked the shed once Daryl and Rick had reached his side. He tossed Daryl the set of keys.

"You wanna do the honours? I'd say the guy misses you the way he's been cursing your name under his breath."

Daryl caught Rick sending Shane a dark look, but he ignored it – he didn't want to get in between whatever business the two had going on. He shoved the door open to the shed. Catching sight of him, Randall gave off a miserable squeak and stumbled back into the wall.

"Please! Please don't hurt me!"

Daryl didn't say anything as Shane marched forward, snatching the front of the kid's jacket and hauled him to his feet. Daryl efficiently unclasped the chains, Rick's officer cuffs in hand as he snapped them around the boy's wrists. None of them said anything as they left the shed, Rick lead the way with a lantern; Shane stomping his way down the path beside him; and Daryl shoving Randall forward.

"H-h-hold on!" Randall burst out as they headed toward the barn. Rick pushed the heavy doors open. It still stank of decaying flesh, but Daryl ignored it like the kid's pleas to wait.

Rick pointed to the middle of the barn floor, placing the lantern by one of the horse stables, "Put him there."

Shane snatched Randall's arms up from behind him and muttered, "This'll all be over soon," wrapping the thin strip of fabric around the boy's eyes.

"What? What's going to be over soon?" Randall panicked.

"Shhh… just relax."

"Hey, hey! No! No!" Randall struggled weakly in Shane's grip, moaning, "Oh, no, no, no, no…"

Daryl could hear the hitching of the kid's breath as he wavered on the spot. Shane had backed off a far distance to watch from the sidelines as Rick stood in front of Randall, his handgun at the ready.

"Would you like to stand or kneel?" Rick said coldly. Daryl looked on, trying to ignore the sniffling from behind the blindfold.

Randall didn't answer, jumping on the spot, "Oh, no, please—!"

Daryl leapt forward, snatching the boy's shoulders and shoving him to the ground to sit on his kneecaps, tugging on his hair to angle him upright. Randall began to weep openly, his whole chest concaving as tears slid from behind the blindfold.

"Do you have any final words?" Rick asked. Always by the book, Daryl mused.

"No, please! Please, don't!"

Daryl flinched as the image in front of him suddenly morphed from Randall's cowardly figure to Danny's. Beaten and bruised, with his hair stuck up in that way that never failed to defy gravity.

Daryl cursed his imagination and turned his head away, arms crossed.

Rick lifted the gun to Randall's forehead, who gave a terrified groan as the safety clicked off, head bent and sniffling miserably. Daryl watched Rick lick his lips and shuffling his weight on his feet. This wasn't the first killing he'd witnessed (Merle's dealings had a habit, more often than not, of turning sour very quickly), and Daryl could now call himself a professional at being able to tell when a person was going to chicken out. It was still up in the air yet with Rick, but any second—

"Do it, dad," a voice echoed through the barn. Daryl twisted to see Rick's son, Carl, standing in the doorway, "Do it."

Randall burst into tears all over again, but Daryl wasn't looking – he was staring at Rick whose eyes had become wide and his skin sallow. A quick glance at Shane had him storming the length of the barn to snatch Carl's arm, dragging him into the night.

"Are you kidding me? What did I say to you? What did I say to you?"

Rick had a furious expression on his face before he practically threw the gun by his side, "Take him away," he said resolutely, his voice raspy as he stared wildly around the room, "Take him away."

Shane and Carl stood in the doorway, both wearing matching faces of shock. Daryl gave a final glance at Rick before hefting the panting Randall roughly up by his collar, "Get up."

Marching forward, he led the limping Randall back to the shed and he couldn't help but feel relieved.

…

The scream echoed through the farm.

Daryl barely thought about his actions as he snatched his hunter's knife up from the bench, ignoring Randall's muffled cries from where he was strapped to the ceiling, gagged with one of Daryl's old socks, and sped out of the shed, tearing his way across the farmland. The screaming didn't stop as he sprinted into the paddocks, he could see the others dashing their own way across from the other side, flashlights in hand.

"Dale!" he heard Andrea screech by the gate.

A pain-filled shriek of agony filled the air, and Daryl forced himself to move faster. His heart in his throat as he stumbled through the grasses, he could see movement up ahead, a humanoid figure hovering over another, and Dale's pitiful screams were dying out.

He was nearly there. He could see the walker in the moonlight, its hands stained red as it tore at Dale's entrails. He didn't hesitate. He leapt at the creature, knocking it to the side and slamming his knife into its skull to the hilt. With less than a muffled groan it fell to the ground, unmoving.

Dale lay less than five feet away. Tossing himself beside him, Daryl saw he was still breathing, his gurgled gasps threatening to snatch what little breath he had, arms flailing weakly. Daryl jumped to his feet, waving his own arms to the glowing lights in the quickly-closing distance.

"Help! Over here! Help! Run!" Dropping back to his knees, he leaned over Dale, "Hey, hold on there, buddy."

"Who is it?" he heard someone call.

Shane and the others came to a halt in front of Dale and Rick fell to his knees, muttering for Dale to hold on.

"Get Hershel!" He ordered, "Hershel! We need Hershel!"

Andrea collapsed to the ground the moment she spotted Dale, reaching out to softly grasp his face, "No, no, please, hold on, Dale!"

"Hershel!"

"Dale, we're gonna help you! Hold on, just please—"

"He's losing a lot of blood, I don't know if he'll make it!"

"Dale, Dale, you need to stay with us!"

"We need to stem the flow— maybe we could…"

"What happened?" Hershel strode forward, lowering himself to the ground, ignoring the panic behind him. Daryl watched nervously as the doctor inspected the wound.

"Can we move him?" Rick begged more than asked, but Hershel looked resolute.

"He won't make the trip."

Rick didn't catch on, "We've got to do the operation here. Glenn, get back to the house—!"

"Rick!" Hershel slammed a hand on the other man's shoulder and shook his head.

Rick stared at the old man before he shouted out to the night as Andrea and the others fell into themselves, crying and shaking as Dale's chest heaved with the effort to breathe. He was in pain. A lot of it.

Rick seemed to lose control of his legs, sinking to the ground beside Dale to stare at his writhing face. Carl had appeared by his mother's side, but Daryl didn't have the energy to pull the kid away – too scared to see what would become of Dale.

"He's suffering," Andrea choked out, "Do something!"

Rick slowly pulled his gun from his holster and shakily lifted himself to his feet. Shane and Hershel stood beside him as he drew his gun and leaned over Dale.

"Come on," Shane whispered empathetically.

"Oh, god!" Andrea cried out, shoving herself away from Dale, looking near-ready to puke.

Daryl watched Rick lift the gun for the second time that night, with the exact same expression as before. Daryl doubted that Rick had ever even had to kill somebody that wasn't shooting back. His hands shook and his face was drawn as he pointed the barrel at Dale's head. Andrea's cries grew louder and Daryl could see the strain in the others' faces as well.

Blood stained Dale's front and he struggled to move, his eyes clenched shut against the pain, but Rick was still hesitating.

Daryl's hand moved on its own as it covered Rick's, carefully tugging the gun away. Rick didn't fight it, stepping back as Daryl raised the gun to Dale's head. Kneeling beside him and resolutely clicking the safety off.

Dale turned pain-filled eyes on Daryl; they were glassy, but knowing. With a strength that Daryl didn't realise the old man still had, he lifted his head from the ground and pressed it into the end of the barrel.

Any reluctance Daryl had fled him, "Sorry brother," he mourned.

…

"Take him out to Senoia – hour there, hour back, give or take. May lose the light, but we'll be halfway home by then," Rick pointed at the map and gave Daryl a short grin.

Daryl nodded, turning to lean against the porch balustrade, "This whole pain in the ass will be a distant memory. Good riddance."

Folding up the map, Rick stood, "Carol put together some provisions for him. Enough to last a few days. And hey, who knows… maybe we'll find Danny along the way?"

Daryl raised a brow at Rick who gave him a wry smile before turning to watch as Shane's four-wheel drive tore its way through the farm gate toward the house.

"That thing you did last night…" Rick started.

Daryl ducked his head, glancing down at his mud-caked shoes, "Ain't no reason you should do all the heavy liftin'," he finally muttered out.

Rick bobbed his head in what Daryl supposed he thought was a casual manner and watched as the car turned to park. "So, you good with all this?" Rick waved the map at him, eyes still fixed on the pale teal hatchback.

"I don' see you and I tradin' haymakers on the side o' the road. Nobody'd win that fight," Rick didn't laugh, but Daryl caught the relief in his face.

The slam of the car door made Daryl glance behind him. Shane was steadily making his way toward them.

Snatching himself up, he muttered, "I'm gonna take a piss."

Daryl shoved his way into the house, ignoring the grating sound of Shane's voice – the guy had a way of putting him on edge lately and he wanted none of it.

He strode his way to the bathroom only to find the door closed. Giving the door a tap he heard the scrawny farmhand Jimmy from the other side squeak out "Occupied!"

With a grunt Daryl headed off deeper into the house. He paused by Hershel's son's room – the one he and Danny had stayed in. Carl sat on the bed, staring down at something in his hands – it looked like a photograph. He jumped when Daryl spoke.

"What're you doin' in here? Aren't you s'pposed to be with your ma?"

Carl looked petrified, scrunching up the square of paper clasped in his hand.

"What ya got there, boy?" Daryl stepped into the room to lean over Carl's shoulder.

"Nothing!" he hissed out, shoving whatever it was into his pocket, "I didn't take anything!"

Daryl blinked, "Wha'chu sayin'? Did you steal somethin'?"

"No! I didn't steal anything!" Carl practically screamed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and flinging himself out of the room and down the hall. Daryl heard the back-door slam.

Standing straight, Daryl slowly left the room, following Carl's trail through the window. He watched as the kid sprinted across the yard toward the barn, yanking the giant doors shut behind him.

"Was that Carl?" Lori stood in the doorway of the kitchen with a basket of washing under her arm.

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, "Looked like he needed some time to hisself."

He marched out the door without another word to her, snatching up his crossbow as he passed and headed for the truck. He could see T-Dog already loading the back with Carol's pre-made supplies. Without a word he began helping him load it up. His quiver was already waiting for him in the back – his supplies had dwindled to less than seventeen arrows, most of them hand-made from whittled wood with sharpened points that Daryl hoped to hell would shoot straight.

T-Dog stopped beside him and offered his handgun, "Only got so many arrows."

Daryl took the proffered gun by the barrel, "Izzat Dale's gun?"

"Yep."

"Wish I knew where the hell mine is."

Rick strode over as T-Dog slammed the back of the tray shut, "Ready?" he called.

"I'll get the package," T-Dog muttered.

"Thanks."

Daryl pulled open the door to the truck and clambered inside. The key already sat in the ignition and he gave it a hard twist, the engine roaring to life.

"Senoia, yeah? That's headin' east."

"North-east. We should be able to catch the last rays of sun that way. The roads get kinda windy up there, so it'd be harder for the boy to track his way back here."

Daryl grunted his approval, placing his crossbow on the middle-seat by the gearbox.

"You think this is the right decision?" Rick asked.

"So far all yer decisions have kept us from bein' someone's dinner. So yeah, I think this's the right one."

A cry made him glance at the rear-view mirror and he saw T-Dog pounding the dirt toward them – with Randall nowhere in sight. Shoving the door open he and Rick met T-Dog halfway.

"Randall, he's gone!"

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

"He got out of the cuffs and bolted!"

"An' broken through a solid wood door?" Daryl asked sceptically.

"I don't know, man! The shed was still locked and everything!"

Rick pressed a hand on T-Dog's shoulder, "Show me."

T-Dog motioned with his hand and Daryl and Rick followed. Andrea spotted them crossing the yard and called out.

"Weren't you supposed to leave nearly twenty minutes ago? The sun is going to set before you even make it half-way."

"Randall's gone," Daryl growled out.

Andrea gave a gasp, "What?" she turned on her heel as they passed her, following after them, "How?"

"We don't know."

Just as they reached the shed the others appeared, "What's wrong?" Maggie called out.

"Randall's missing," came the short reply.

"Missing? How?"

"For how long?"

"Where could he have gone?"

Daryl ignored their inane questions to peek around the edge of the shed, T-Dog was scratching his head in wonder beside him.

He heard Rick exiting the shed, "Cuffs are still hooked, he must've slipped 'em."

"Is that possible?" Carol asked.

"It is when you've got nothing to lose," Andrea replied.

Hershel swung the door back and forth on its hinges, testing it, "The door was secured from the outside."

"Rick!" came a thunderous yell, "Rick!"

Daryl turned to see a bloodied Shane storming out from the woods – his nose was swollen and crooked and his shirt-front was stained red.

"What happened?" Lori yelled. The group strode forward to meet Shane halfway.

"He's gone! He's got my gun!"

"Are you okay?" Carol cried.

"I'm fine! Little bastard just snuck up on me – clocked me in the face!"

"Randall did?" Rick asked.

Shane shook his head, "No – Danny! I told you that little weasel was working on the sly! Snuck in here and broke Randall out – must've known the padlock code and e'rything!"

Rick spun on his heel, "All right, Hershel, T-Dog, get everybody back in the house! Glen, Daryl, come with us!"

Shocked, Daryl snatched up his crossbow and quiver, pulling an arrow taut on its string.

"T, I'm gonna need that gun!" Shane called out, snatching it from the other man's grip.

"Just let him go. That was the plan, wasn't it? To let him go?" Carol asked, panicked.

"The plan was to cut Randall loose far away from here, not on our front step with a gun! And definitely not with someone who knows our group inside out! Danny knows where we keep our weapons, he knows how many supplies we have and he knows how many people are here – we cannot cut them free now!"

"Are you sure it was Danny?" Beth called out, "Maybe it was just someone that looked like him!"

Shane stumbled forward, looking slightly concussed as he shoved T-Dog's gun into the waistband of his pants, "And somehow that person knew exactly where Randall was and how to break him out without nobody seeing him? I don't think so."

"Randall knew who Danny was!" Carl blurted out beside Lori.

Rick stopped in his pacing to look at his son, "What? He knew Danny?"

Carl looked uncertain, "Randall said that there were men in his group – from the army. They were looking for Danny, for a mission or something."

"The army?" Rick parroted looking dumbstruck.

Lori placed a soothing hand on Carl's shoulder, "When was this?"

Carl shook on the spot under the scrutinising stares, quietly admitting, "I wanted to see Randall for myself, so I snuck into the shed… Danny followed me and they talked. I'm really sorry, I know you didn't want me around Randall, but I—"

Lori grasped Carl by the shoulders and threw him into a tight hug, "Shhh… It's okay, baby, it's okay."

"What type o' mission?" Daryl asked.

Carl glanced up from his mother's arms, "I don't know… Randall said that they had his picture, and that he was really important."

Rick, checked the bullets in his gun and lightly smacked Glenn in the shoulder, motioning him to follow, "Go inside, Carl. And don't leave the house."

"Wait, you can't go out there now!" Carol gave one last cry, "You don't know what could happen!"

Daryl hoisted his crossbow higher up on his shoulder as Ricked called back to Hershel, "Get everybody back in the house! Lock all the doors, and stay put!"

Glenn and Daryl trailed after Rick and Shane as they stormed their way through the thin forestry. Shane pointed off to the left, deeper into the woods.

"I saw him head up through the trees with Randall that way before I blacked out! Not sure how long…"

"Couldn't have gotten far," Rick said, "Randall's hobbling, exhausted. And if Danny went to all that effort to grab him, he wouldn't have just left him behind."

"He's armed," Glenn brought to attention.

"So are we. Can you track them?" Rick asked Daryl.

Daryl stared at the floor, "Naw, I don' see nothin'."

"Hey, look, there ain' no use of tracking them, okay? They went that way, we just need to pair up and spread out," Shane ordered, "We should just spread out and chase 'em down, that's it."

Something niggled at the back of Daryl's brains at those words. Shane had never hesitated to use Daryl for tracking before; he'd taken full advantage of him back when they had camped up on the mountain – whether it be for stag-hunting or walker-spotting.

He watched the man out of the corner of his eye who stumbled about like a deranged mad-man.

"You tellin' us some scrawny lil' ninety-pounds of nothin' got the jump on you?" Daryl called out sceptically.

Shane scowled past his crushed nose, "I say a rock pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?"

"Alright, alright, knock it off!" Rick ordered, pointing at Daryl he gestured to the clear forest, "You and Glenn take the right, let me and Shane take the left. Remember, Randall and Danny aren't the only threats out there. Keep an eye on each other."

Daryl sneered at the quickly disappearing pair. Glenn looked nervous, "Do you really think Danny would do this?"

"I dunno. Don' know much 'bout the kid to start with. Let's go find out," he turned on his heel and marched his way through the forest, head bent to the earthy floor, "Keep your eyes on the horizon for me, man. I've got down here."

Glenn didn't reply as they made their way deeper into the forest. The ground was quickly becoming streaked in deep shadows and before Daryl knew it night had enveloped the pair.

Daryl heaved a sigh, his breath wavering in front of him with the chill, "This is pointless. Gimme that light."

Glenn willingly handed over his torch and Daryl clicked it on, holding it level to his head. There was nothing.

Giving an annoyed groan, he pushed back the way he came, Glenn trailing behind him.

He didn't stop when he caught sight of a familiar-looking cluster of trees.

"We're back to square one," Glenn stated.

"If we're gonna do a thing, might as well do it right," Daryl directed the light across the ground in a swooping arch, checking the ground thoroughly, until something caught the corner of his eye, "Hold on… two sets of tracks righ' here. Shane must've followed him along a lot longer than he said."

"Followed who? Danny or Randall?" Glenn asked.

Daryl pointed at the ground with the light, "The right foot looks to 'ave been draggin'. With Randall walkin' 'bout like a three-legged spider, I'm gonna 'ave a guess at him."

"Well if Shane was following Randall, where was Danny?"

Daryl didn't reply as he followed the tracks to the base of a tree, lifting the light to trail across the bark. Dark splotches of red liquid coated the trunk, only partially dry.

"There's blood on this tree."

Dragging the torch back to the ground, he nodded his head, gesturing for Glenn to look, "There's more tracks. It's like they're walkin' in tandem."

"Only two?" Glenn asked, "Well maybe one of them is Danny?"

Daryl paused as he scoped the ground, double checking wherever his light fell, "Feet are too big. Nope, these are definitely Shane's."

Glenn bumped into him and Daryl glanced up to see the boy's face was sallow with fear, "Sorry," Glenn muttered quickly.

Daryl rolled his eyes before pointing at the earth, "There's a little dust up right here."

"What does that mean?"

"Means somethin' went down," Daryl stated. The ground was suspiciously free of leaves, and an imprint of cloth was left in the dust, like someone had tripped, or fallen.

Glenn stated the obvious, "This is getting weird."

Daryl stalked forward and grinned wryly, "Hello, trouble," he announced, catching sight of a familiar strip of black cloth. The duct tape that had sealed Randall's mouth was right beside it. Glenn picked up the strip and held it in the moonlight, only to drop it when a twig snapped from somewhere behind them.

They bolted. There were a pair of trees up ahead – Daryl shoved Glenn to the right one as he ducked behind the left. Slamming his back against the bark, he held his breath and willed the blood in his ears to quieten. Sneaking a look around the edge, Daryl caught sight of a walker a few dozen yards away. He gave Glenn a quick whistle, tossing a machete hook to him.

Hoisting his crossbow firmer in his grip, he peeked back around the trunk. But by then the walker had disappeared.

Glenn gave a soft yell as the walker suddenly threw itself at him with a gargled snarl, and Daryl shot an arrow at it; the thin stick of wood jamming itself deep into it chest, but it didn't flinch as it turned to Daryl. He shoved his crossbow out in front as the walker went to tackle him. The sturdy metal fending off the walker's dead-weight as it attempted to claw off his face.

Daryl was shoved back into the tree by the brutal force of the walker, falling to the seat of his pants as it snarled its blunt teeth at him. Glenn snatched it from behind, heaving the walker to the ground in a grappling hold before rolling it over. His arm flung out and he brought the machete down heavily, splitting the walker's skull.

It gave out a whimpering groan and moved no more.

Daryl grabbed the torch that had fallen to the ground and shone it on the walker. There, lying stagnant, was the warped remains of Randall.

Daryl slapped Glenn in the chest, "Nice," he said to the panting boy and crouched on his knees for a closer look.

Inspecting his wrists and ankles, he found them clean, so he moved the collar of his shirt out of the way. There, nearly threatening to pierce the clammy skin, was the obvious protrusion of bone where a disk had been painfully shoved out of the vertebrae, "Got his neck broke," he commented for Glenn's sake.

He shoved the body over and lifted his shirt, checking his back, "He's got no bites."

"None you can see," Glenn said, crouching down next to him.

Daryl sat back on his heels, waving the torch across the length of Randall's body, "No. I'm tellin' ya, he died from this."

He threw a confused look at Glenn, who offered the same one back.

"How is that possible?" the boy asked.

"I dunno, but I'm thinkin' that Danny was never here," Daryl stood up, snatching the machete and jogging through the trees back toward the house, Glenn trailing right behind him.

…

"Shoot!"

With a sharp curse, Danny stumbled over another rock. The dirt road was littered with loose stones left over from tyre tracks and livestock crossings. The nights were always the hardest to travel in, but it was too risky to set up camp anywhere, not with all the flesh-feasters crawling about – he'd found out the hard way that they were always up for a midnight snack.

Danny bit back another yawn. The winter solstice would be only a couple of months away and the days were quickly getting shorter. Two days of endless walking, following the waning sun had him feeling the long nights. His backpack no longer clanked with the heavy sound of cans; the meagre supplies he had stolen were almost nearly gone and more than once he considered going back to the farm for more.

Corn stalks littered one side of the abandoned road, while the other was thick with natural vegetation. It was quiet; cicadas chirped a low tune and every so often he could hear the groans of walkers slipping in and out of the forest, but Danny was always quick to hide whenever one got too close to the trees' borders. He hadn't had to face one yet, but his hand hovered over the kitchen knife looped into the belt of his jeans.

'What is that?'

The cicadas had stopped chirping, their song replaced by a low thrum that seemed to vibrate through the air, so quiet that at first that Danny thought he had imagined it. It sounded like the rolling of thunder in the distance, but the noise was moving too quickly. It almost sounded like…

"Hey!" Danny yelled, dropping his hand from his waist to wave his hands wildly into the night sky, "Over here! Hey, help!"

The helicopter breached over the top of the forest, sending leaves and branches swaying in the coarse winds, it's searchlight pierced the sky in the near distance, languidly dragging its way across the ground. Danny waved again with another yell, hoping to gain the chopper's attention in the near-dark. The spotlight paused for a moment before quickly dashing across the ground toward him, absorbing him into the circle of light. The brightness pierced his eyelids and he raised a hand to block it.

A booming voice echoed through the grounds, "Daniel Fenton."

Danny let out a gasp. These people knew who he was – maybe they could help him find his family!

"By the standing of the United States of America's Army and the Genome Indisposition Withdrawal division, we are detaining you until due notice," announced the voice, "If you choose to flee, we will be forced to pursue you by whatever means necessary."

Oh.

Danny dove for the corn field, hoping to lose them in the overgrown crops, but a loud call of "Fire!" followed by a flurry of bullets hammered into the ground in front of him, kicking up a cloud of dirt. Danny screamed, ducking his head and veering off toward the forest.

Walkers were beginning to appear through the trees, mouths gaping in excitement from the commotion, boxing him in. Danny moaned, a muffled cry from behind sealed lips as the helicopter turned on the spot as someone yelled orders, but he wasn't listening – his mind was moving both too fast and too slow for him to think straight.

Sluggishly his mind pieced together an idea; if he could make it past those walkers and into the forest, he might have a chance of losing the chopper. If Randall was telling the truth about the officers back at his camp, he was sure he wanted nothing to do with these guys.

The walkers were getting closer now, but the men up above were quick to shoot the nearest ones down, stopping them in arms-reach of Danny. Another thought came to mind; whatever these people needed him for they needed him alive.

He dove for the tree-line as the chopper twisted to take out another drove of flesh-feasters, ducking underneath the arms of a biter who was a little too close for comfort with a sarcastic laugh. The bullets had stopped firing.

"Under the order of the United States Army, halt!" cried the voice from the helicopter, "Cease fire, you idiots! We can't risk shooting him! Halt!"

Danny simply gave them a grin before sprinting into the darkness. He could feel the exhilaration running through him like lightning, sending the fine hairs on him arms standing on end as he feet beat harder and faster against the forest floor with energy he had never felt before. He ran so fast his feet barely skimmed the ground, zipping through the foliage with ease. Branches seemed the fly straight through him, the harsh whipping of twigs and underbrush absent as he flung himself down a steep hill, landing lightly on his heels. He couldn't tell if he had been running for minutes or hours – time seemed to slow down and speed up constantly in a swirl of excitement and fear.

The helicopter roared overhead in the near distance, circling the sky with its blinding spotlight. The groaning of biters grew the further he ran, drawn to the sound of the rotors as they dragged themselves from the darkness – but Danny didn't care as he swept passed a particularly dim-witted walker who gaped stupidly at him. Exhilaration filled his lungs as his feet flittered over the ground. He was about to breach the forest, the moonlight filtering through the leaves coaxingly.

The trees thinned out as he plundered through the edge, the momentum sending him almost a hundred yards before he could stop himself from tumbling over a sturdy-looking fence. He stared onto the familiar fields that housed the Greene family and their guests. He was back where he started.

"No…" Danny mumbled. It wasn't possible. He had walked for two days straight; his feet had the blisters to prove it.

He gave a shriek of anger, ramming his foot against a nearby post, "No!" This. Cannot. Be. Happening!"

He emphasised each word with a sharp kick to the post. The wood rattling violently under the pressure – until the thick, foot-wide beam snapped in half, sending the fence toppling to the ground.

He didn't have time to think of his show of strength when the sound of the helicopter flew overhead. Danny gave a terrified gasp glancing around for somewhere – anywhere – to hide; but the forest was already half a field away. Panic swept over him and his knees gave out, sending him tumbling onto the ground next to the broken fence, petrified.

Danny clasped his hands over his ears and slammed his eyes shut, tucking himself into a ball, hoping beyond all else that they wouldn't see him. He could hear the helicopter edging closer, the long grass whipped at his cheeks like nine-tails as the wind rushed by his ears. White blinded his vision even with his eyes slammed tightly shut as the beam landed on him. The desperate want to hide hunched his back even further as he tucked his head between his knees, ribs aching in his chest as he held his breath.

But just as suddenly as the light appeared, it swept past him, hunting through the long stalks of wheat off into the distance. Danny slowly opened his eyes, staring at the fading silhouette of the helicopter as it flew past the Greene farm into the night. He unfurled his limbs, his chest still sore as he let out an exhausted sigh. He stood slowly on unbalanced limbs, feeling out of sorts.

They had seen him. The had to have – their searchlight had gone right over him, but it was like he had been invisible.

A growl from behind him pulled him from his thoughts and Danny whirled around, staring into the forest with water-soaked eyes. More groans echoed from the forest and he trembled slightly as a wall of walkers crept their way forward through the trees. They moved like leper soldiers, dragging their limbs across the field.

Danny made a strangling sound in the back of his throat, and some of the closer walkers glanced up, teeth bared in hunger as they struggled forward. He ignored his wobbly legs and leapt over the broken fence, running across Hershel's paddock – if he could make it to the far side, he'd be able to reach the partitioning stream to safety!

He chanced a look over his shoulder and let out a gargle of fright –walkers were flooding the farmlands like a barricade of hundreds of rotting bodies.

'What about the others?' a voice asked in the back of his mind. Daryl and Rick and Carl and Carol and everyone else… Nobody would survive the herd.

His breath hitched as he sped up again, leaping over fox-holes as he beat his way to the dirt driveway. This was his fault – if he hadn't called out to the helicopter; if they hadn't followed him – if he wasn't such a freak – the walkers wouldn't have been attracted in the first place.

A gunshot echoed in the distance, and Danny jumped at the sound. Wildly looking around, He tried to silence his breathing, ears pricked, but his blood pounded too loudly in his skull for him to hear. Not wanting to risk a walker pouncing on him, he dashed the last few-hundred feet to the house, clambering his way up the porch to the door. Exhaustion hit him like a steam train to his two-day weary body. His legs had turned to jelly and his heart physically ached in his chest under the strain as he slumped against the door. He weakly slammed his palm against it, struggling for breath.

"Hey!" he cried in less than a whisper, "Hey, open up!"

The door was suddenly pulled open and Danny fell right into the arms of a shocked Lori, who nearly dropped him.

"Danny?" Lori cried.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" a gun was suddenly shoved in his line of sight, and Danny blinked down the barrel.

"Andrea, no! Don't hurt him!" Danny recognised Glenn's voice.

"'Don't hurt him'? Glenn, this kid is the reason why Shane and Rick are still out there! He's the reason Randall escaped!"

"What? Randall ran?" Danny rasped out.

The gun was knocked away from his face, "Danny ain't got shit t' do with this. Shane set 'im up to take the fall," a new voice called. Danny glanced up to see Daryl standing next to Andrea, gun held out of reach of the trigger-happy woman.

"Why would he do that?" T-Dog asked from further in the house.

"He's got his reasons, I'm guessin'," he looked at Danny, "What're ya doin' here? Thought you'd 've been long-gone by now."

Danny shoved himself to his knees, ignoring the wary look Andrea threw his way, "Walkers… hundreds... Coming this way."

"Walkers?" Lori gasped, "Rick and Shane are still out there!"

"They were probably the ones who fired the gun," Andrea said, hauling Danny to his feet, "Did you see them?"

Danny shook his head, "It was too dark. I took the main gate – the walkers are coming from over there!" Danny pointed an arm out to the left toward the barn and the others squinted. Black silhouettes were quickly stumbling their way out of the dark.

"What should we do?" Carol burst out.

"We need to get out of here! There's no way we can take on that many walkers!" Glenn panicked.

"And what? Leave Shane and Rick behind? We can't do that, what if they're—?"

Lori had disappeared into the depths of house, only to come crashing back into the living room, "I can't find Carl!"

"What do you mean you can't find him?" Maggie asked.

Lori was shaking, her eyes wet as she near-screamed, "He was supposed to be upstairs in his room, but he's gone!"

"Come on, we'll help you look," Andrea grabbed Lori's wrist and pulled her inside, the other women following after.

"And what are we supposed to do about this mess?" T-Dog asked.

"Grab the guns – as many as you can hold!" Hershel strode forward, shotgun already in hand.

Daryl looked impressed, "You're gonna take 'em all on or somethin'?"

Hershel cocked his shotgun, "This is my farm, I'll die here."

"All righ'. As good a night to die as any," Daryl said, slinging crossbow on his back and snatching his gun at the ready. He leaped over the decking onto the hard ground before calling out to Danny, "Ever shot a gun before, kid?"

"No," Danny wheezed, stumbling down the steps following Daryl, "I'm pretty good at laser-tag, though."

"Close enough. Come on, you're ridin' pillion on this one," Daryl hustled Danny over the monster of a bike, shoving a pistol into his hand along with a pocketful of shells. Daryl lifted his leg over the motorcycle and twisted the key into the ignition, making it roar to life.

"Why do you trust me?" Danny asked Daryl, fiddling with the pistol in his hand, "I mean, after what Andrea said—"

Daryl snorted, "Damn woman don't even believe that chupacabras are real – she don't know shit. You're not bad, Danny – a god-damn pain in the ass… But, t' be fair I never met a kid that ain'."

Danny choked out a laugh and swung his leg over the motorcycle seat, shuffling to get comfortable as he grasped the back of the bike with one fist. Daryl lifted his hands far above his head to reach the handlebars and rev the engine. The bike growled under his attention and Danny couldn't help the gleeful grin that spread across his face.

"Less time admirin', more time shootin', kid," Daryl said smarmily over his shoulder and pushed the bike off into the dark, nearly sending Danny tumbling from his seat.

"You know, I only came here to warn you guys, I should be halfway home by now," he called over the engine once he'd gathered his wits.

"Like hell you would've walked away, you're too stupid-loyal for that. Walker on your left," Daryl called.

Danny raised the gun and pulled the trigger, holding the gun steady against the recoil. The bullet hammered its way deep into the walker's skull.

"Nice shot. You sure you only played laser-tag for that trigger-finger?"

"I held the longest-standing record in the arcade. And, well, you could call my mum a weapons expert, sort of." Danny pointed the gun at another walker's head. It went down. Daryl bore a wide circle around the front of the house, revving the transmission up to third as they made their way across the farmland. He slowed down beside a rather thick cluster and whipped out his own gun, firing at walkers who fell down without complaint. Fourteen more died by their hand. Danny counted.

He gasped as the barn suddenly burst into flames on the far side of the farm.

"Might've been Rick who started tha' fire!" Daryl cursed and poked Danny in the shoulder with the butt of his gun, "We gotta head for the RV!"

Daryl dragged the bike around, narrowly missing a woman in a nightgown as she leapt for his throat (and was quickly shot by Danny), and sped toward the campervan.

He shoved Danny off when they came to a stop beside it, "Get back to the house an' help the others – I've got this covered!"

Danny gave a quick salute before dashing back toward the house. Walkers were already becoming attracted to the sound of Hershel's gun, more popping up faster than the man could shoot.

"Hershel!" Danny yelled, ducking under the spread arms of a nearby walker, "Hershel!"

The man didn't regard Danny at all, so Danny snatched a spare rifle off the porch, squaring his shoulders and pulling back the bolt, raising it to eye level. Crack!

Oh, yeah. Double-kill. There was a reason he held the reigning laser-tag title for so long.

Pulling the bolt again, the shell sprung free from its chamber and clattered to the ground. He ignored it to aim at another walker. Crack!

Again and again, walkers fell at their feet. Hershel stood next to him, but Danny wasn't even sure the man realised he was there. He vaguely heard Lori screaming at them, but he couldn't risk taking his eyes off the looming group of undead. Hershel began backing up as his gun fell empty, fingers shaking too hard to line up the shells. Danny pulled back the bolt again, sending another bullet into the skull of a walker.

He cursed when he tried to pull back the pin again only to find it jammed.

The walkers were closing in quickly so Danny twisted the rifle like a bat, dogging Hershel's footsteps. He swept the gun at a nearby walker, the end of it ramming itself into a walker's eye socket right into its brain. Danny grimaced as he shoved it off with his foot – the end of the gun was soaked in a gluggy black-brown liquid.

A gunshot went off behind him, and Danny spun on the spot to find Rick and Carl had arrived, taking down a walker who had snuck up behind Hershel.

"Come on!" Rick yelled, shoving Hershel toward one of the many stationed cars, Carl striding across the grass after his father.

Danny made to follow them, but a walker wearing a surgeon's mask stopped him in his tracks, snarling down at him. More were quickly following, separating him from Rick, Carl and Hershel.

"Wait! You have to help the boy!" he heard Hershel yell.

Danny swung at another walker as it leapt for his arm, cracking its skull in two, "Hershel!" he screamed, panicked. The crowd of walkers were becoming too thick for Danny to even see them anymore.

"Go help him!" Hershel cried valiantly.

Danny's heart dropped when he heard Rick yell, "There's too many! We have to go, now!"

Danny swung the gun again, trying to press his way through the ever-growing crowd of walkers, "No, wait! Hershel! Rick! Please, wait!"

A walker barely missed tearing the flesh off Danny's wrist, and the boy stumbled back out of its grasp. The roar of an engine met his ears before a large red station wagon screeched its way past him.

"Wait!" he screamed. But the car didn't stop; its single taillight floating up the dirt driveway and into the distance.

Danny flung the gun at the closest walker and ran, pounding his way across the grass. The tool shed was up ahead – if he snuck up through the rafters he might be able to grab something to help him inside—

A scream pierced the air and Danny watched as Carol dashed to the other side of the shed, stumbling over the uneven grass as she wept uselessly.

"Hey, don't! You'll get trapped!" Danny called, but the woman was deaf to his warnings. Walkers swarmed her from either side – she was shaking so badly that she looked near ready to collapse.

Danny scrambled on the top of the stacked woodpile, shoving his way into the high rafters through the miniscule hole he and Carl had escaped through before. He leapt from the beams onto the haystack and ran to a locked wooden cabinet sitting neatly in the far corner.

The metal on the lock had long-since rusted away and was covered in dust. He yanked the doors open and reached inside, ignoring the multitude of items that crashed to the floor stuffed inside from long years of neglect and uselessness. A long-armed Kaiser axe met his left hand, while his other clasped around the grip of a nail-gun.

He bolted to the door, swinging it open to find a tearful Carol as walkers hurried their way over to her. He stepped beside her, nudging her with his elbow and wincing when she shrieked in terror.

"Take this!" he offered her the nail-gun, "Carol, take it!"

The woman shook her head furiously, her hands rising to cover her mouth in horror, but Danny persisted.

"Carol! Take the gun!"

"I can't!" she shrieked back. Danny struggled to understand what she said with the strong waver in her voice. She was close to keeling over on the spot.

With a furious growl, Danny shoved the gun into her hands to grip the Kaiser axe better. Two walkers appeared beside him and he pressed his arm to move. The axe wedged itself into the closest walker's head, but the blade had long become blunt. It made a gruesome sucking sound as Danny tried to tug it free, but it was wedged tight. The other walker would have grinned in glee if its facial muscles hadn't deteriorated so badly.

"Carol, help! Shoot it!" he called, pulling furiously on the axe. The woman stared at him before turning to look at the walker and shook her head, "Carol! Help me— Shoot it! Give me the gun! Do something!"

Carol didn't seem to be listening, too lost to see Danny's desperation. She gave a shriek as the walker pounced, knocking Danny back through the door and sending him tumbling to the ground. Blackened saliva dripped from its jaws before blunt teeth met the exposed skin up his bicep. Danny shrieked in agony as he watched a mixture of blood, sinew and muscle torn clean off and swallowed whole. The walker didn't let go of its feast though, jamming its teeth so deep into his skin that Danny could feel it scraping bone, trying to snap it to reach the marrow inside.

"Carol!" he cried again, desperately, "Carol!"

But the woman was gone – the doorway flooding with more and more walkers each as hungry as the last as they stumbled their way toward him.

He pounded weakly on the side of the walker's head as it snarled happily at him, eyes locking on his own. Blood poured freely from the wound, squirting into its mouth. He was becoming delirious, his head felt light, but the pain swept through his veins like bolts of lightning. He waved his free hand out, trying to grip something – anything – that could help him.

But there was nothing. His hand touched only dirt and sawdust. He screamed as another walker fell to its knees, digging its teeth into his shin, pulling stringy sinew and tendons free of its fleshy prison which it chewed on happily. He was going to die here – alone. Eaten alive by cannibalistic monsters. He'd never get to see any of his family or friends again. His last memory would be this dingy shed with no one there. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be alone.

He cried when the darkness asked to keep him company.

Then… there was nothing.

…

"Ya aw'righ' back there?" Daryl called over his shoulder.

Carol gave a short nod, hands tightly gripping the seat of the motorcycle, nervously glancing behind her.

The trail they drove on away from the farm was barely that, a narrow stretch of dirt filled with holes and a couple of worn-down tyre marks. The morning fog made it difficult to see through as Daryl catapulted them through the undergrowth, the bike's high-beam near useless in the grey light.

He couldn't see the farm anymore. The blaze of the barn and the walkers that had followed had long since been left behind. Daryl knew where he was going though, he had talked to Rick in passing of it when they first came to the farm. Mentioning the possibility of maybe (just maybe) heading to the highway and heading east after the winter had passed and the food source dried up. That's where the others would go.

Carol was quiet from her spot, but Daryl chalked that up to nerves – the woman had obviously never ridden a motorcycle before… could have also been being chased by a mob of bloodthirsty walkers, but Daryl chose to ignore that fact.

Pretty soon the sun was baring down on them. He could feel the heat of its rays against the nape of his neck, leading him east – there was a gravel road not too far ahead, the thin trail he was driving on weaving its way through the trees to meet it. A green, blood-stained seven-seater peeled its way down the path in front of him, and Daryl revved his engine, urging the bike to go faster as he swept onto the road and followed the familiar taillights. A hand rose up through the rear window in a friendly wave and Daryl recognised the mop of black hair, giving Glenn a short nod in reply.

They came across a blue pickup truck shortly after, meeting at a parallel road to join theirs. The walkers had thinned out, migrating in the direction of the farm, away from the highway ahead. The pickup lead the way, weaving through abandoned cars and dead walkers up to the meeting point. The sun had long since risen when Daryl caught sight of the red truck, as battered and bruised as the rest of them – Hershel was there, along with Rick and his boy, staring stupidly as they drove past. Not that he could blame them.

He turned the handlebars, crossing the short yet steep valley that separated each side of the road and slowed the bike to a stop. Rick leaned over, slapping his hand in comradery before rushing over to his wife who had flown out of the pickup like a walker was on her ass, crashing into Carl with tears and prayers. Daryl looked away.

He lowered his arms slowly, feeling the familiar ache that came from riding for a long time. Carol had leapt off before the bike had even stopped, grasping the back of a nearby station wagon, looking nauseous.

Rick pulled away from his family and turned to Daryl, "Where'd you find everyone?"

Daryl pulled himself off the bike with a grunt, "Boy's got his taillights zig-zagging all over the road. Figured he'd have to be Asian drivin' like that."

Glen gave a short, sarcastic chuckle, "Good one."

"Where's the rest o' us?"

"We're the only ones who made it so far," Rick said solemnly.

"Shane?" Lori quickly asked. Rick shook his head. Daryl watched the emotions flitter across the woman's face – he'd heard stories about them back at the camp before Lori found her husband. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was thinking.

"Andrea?" Glenn asked.

Carol murmured under her breath so softly Daryl barely heard her, "She came to help me, before—"

"I saw her go down," T-Dog said, hanging from the door of the pickup.

"Patricia?" Hershel asked. Beth shook her head softly.

"They got her too. Took her right from my hand – I was holdin' onto her, daddy, she just…" Beth burst into a new flood of tears before mumbling out, "What about Jimmy? Did you see Jimmy?"

"He was in the RV. It got overrun," Rick said, matter of fact. Hershel grabbed onto his youngest when she curled into him, sobbing.

"You definitely saw Andrea?" Carol asked.

"There were walkers everywhere," Lori said.

"Did you see her?" Carol pushed.

"What about Danny?" Carl asked. Daryl's head snapped up at the name, and glanced around at the abandoned highway, waiting to catch sight of the teenager as if he had snuck in on the back of the pickup or something.

Carol made a soft noise in the back of her throat and Daryl and the others turned to her.

She tugged harder at the sleeves of her cardigan, "Danny… He— he came to help m-me when I was... H-he was begging me to shoot them… to help him… a-a-and I couldn't! A-a-and the walkers… they… I c-could hear him screaming!"

Stupid kid. Stupid, god-damn loyal brat.

The loosened knot in Daryl's chest was twisted into a tangled mess before it was yanked back taut worse than ever, "I'm gonna go back," he muttered, reaching for the handlebars of his bike.

"No," Rick said sternly.

"We can't just leave 'em," Daryl began to feel a little frustrated. He couldn't imagine Danny dead – the kid had been through too much to just be taken down by a few stray walkers behind the run-down back houses, and Andrea was too smart to ever be caught in the first place.

Glenn called out, "How do we know if Andrea's even there? Or if there's anything left of the others?"

"She isn't… she isn't there," Rick said pointedly, "She's somewhere else or dead. There's no way to find her."

"You're not even going to look for her?"

"We gotta keep moving. There'll be walkers crawling all over here."

"Well what about Patricia? And Jimmy? And Danny? Are we just going to leave them there?" Maggie asked.

"We haven't got a choice. We can't help those that are already dead."

Something sunk deep in Daryl's guts at Rick's words. Dead. Danny was dead. Gone. Forever. He didn't deserve it – no one in the group really did – but something about hearing that Danny was gone made Daryl want to throw up; the kid had come back to help them, but they'd gone and left him behind despite. He glanced over at Carol who was refusing to look at anyone.

"I say we head east," T-Dog stated.

Daryl heaved a sigh, trying to settle his stomach and snatched up his crossbow, "Stay off the main roads," he suggested, "The bigger the road the more assholes like this."

He raised his crossbow at a walker that was trudging its way down the highway toward them, receding hairline and argyle sweater with pressed trousers; he was just the rich-man yuppie type that Merle always liked to prey on, before everything went to high hell.

"I got 'im."

The arrow flew true, lodging itself deep into the walker's unseeing eye, sending it tumbling to the ground.

The others didn't say anything, packing what little they had into the remaining cars and ducking inside. Daryl shouldered his crossbow and looped his leg back over the bike seat, Carol moving to sit behind him. She gave him a wan smile, but didn't meet his eyes and he grunted, kicking the motorcycle into gear and tearing off the highway without once looking back.

…

Thanks for being patient with this story, I went away on holiday overseas with no internet connection, only to return to discover my computer had committed itself with the blue-screen of death. Thank goodness I've learnt to back things up on cloud over the years.