The Bite of a Blade, the Sting of an Arrow

by Shadows-Dancing-In-The-Hall

Audrey's life had never been easy. The walkers were a new twist, but surviving pain and loss was nothing she hadn't lived through before. But...Daryl Dixon was new too. And Audrey doesn't know what to make of him. Daryl/OC

26. There Should Be Just One Safe Place

I know what your first thought is: "Whoa! She's not dead!?" and your second is probably "Wow! I'm gonna kill her!"

T_T I'm really sorry how long this took. Life has just been kicking my ass left and right. Idk why i thought taking a lot of hours and challenging courses was a good idea of college. It wasn't.

But here it is. Two months over due. The start of Season 2 in my version of TWD. I want to thank you guys for sticking with me through all of this and I hope you stay for Audrey's story for chapters to come :)

Without further ado, Chapter 26!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and her specific plot line. I make no profit from this.

Warnings: language, mentions of gore and thoughts of suicide

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Chapter 26: There Should Be Just One Safe Place

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We drive in circles for God knows how long. Daryl doesn't say a word the entire time and I can't find it in me to do anything more than just breathe.

It doesn't feel real. It's like some horrible nightmare, discordant and chaotic in my head and I can't make sense of anything. I grasp at smoky images, errant thoughts.

The CDC and Jenner, explosions and Jacqui and that should have been me.

It always should be me but it never, ever is. I always come out of it in the end. There was a time I used to think of it as a blessing. Now, I know it's a curse. I can never die. I don't deserve it. My head hurts and my eyes water and my ears continue to ring with the vibrations of two lives snuffed out and the destruction of yet another pipe dream. I rub at my face, try to scrub away the pain, and my fingers come away wet. Looking down, I see my skin streaked in ash and sweat and blood. It makes me remember Dalton: the fires, the chaos and running. I curl my fingers into a fist and close my eyes against the memories in my mind.

I'm still alive sensei, I think. I'm enduring.

If only just for you.

Daryl suddenly coughs and the motion jars me. I turn to look at him and realize how close I am to the hunter, pressed tight from knee to shoulder. From this distance, mere inches, I can see the muscles clenched tight in Daryl's jaw, can see how his cheeks have hollowed since we met, can see the sweat on his temples and the blood drying on his neck. The red liquid makes me frown and I look for injuries. When I can't find any, I realize the blood must be mine.

"Take a picture kid. It'll last longer."

His voice, after so much silence, is like a gunshot. I jump and my eyes flash to his but he's staring resolutely forward, gaze locked onto Shane's bumper twenty feed ahead of us. It's the first thing he's said to me since he pulled me from the CDC, since he yanked me off my suicidal ledge, and I don't really know how to respond.

Especially when I'm this close to him.

And especially when his fingers keep brushing my opposite shoulder, arm stretched out across the back of the seat.

What do you say to the man who saved your life? Again.

What do you say to the man who wouldn't let you die because you're his only friend?

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

"Do you know where my swords are?"

I blink because that's not what I wanted to say; I bite my lip because I have no idea what I wanted to say anyway.

Daryl glances at me out of the corner of his eye. The blue of them makes me squirm because they look like Mom's eyes, Irina's, Amy's, and they're swimming with fatigue and disappointment. "In the back," he grunts, jerking his chin over his shoulder. "Yer pack too."

"Oh," I say. Then I turn to look out the window—coward—because all of these things are battering against the back of my teeth—thank you, I'm sorry, why did you save me, friends, friends, friends?—and it's giving me a headache, making me sick. I can't handle all of this, any of this, all these twists and turns. Two days ago, Amy was alive; the quarry was our home. Yesterday, I killed Jim; yesterday, the CDC was supposed to be the Promised Land. Now Amy's dead and Jim's still dead and Jacqui's joined their numbers and all we've left in our wake is ashes, ashes, dead bodies.

If I had the energy left, I could cry for years and never stop. But I'm so empty now, so tired, and instead I listlessly stare at the passing buildings, the city of ghosts. I don't know what to feel. Relief? Anger? Sadness? I try to grasp at one and it slides through my fingers; I fumble for another and it's like smoke through my palms. The silence is so heavy and I can't help but break it because if I don't, all I can hear is Jacqui's voice in my head, Amy's laughter, Jim's last words, all these ghosts that won't let me go.

"Where are we going?"

Daryl grunts and shrugs his shoulders. "Dunno. Grimes has been drivin in circles for a while." He pauses and his jaw works as if he's chewing on his next words, contemplating them. "We don't have much fuel left," he says at length. "He'll have to think of a plan B soon."

I hum in acknowledgement and look out the windshield, watch the Winnebago bounce a few car lengths ahead of us. I think how hard it must be for Rick, how he's suddenly the leader of our little group with the weight of a failing world resting on his shoulders. I don't envy him.

Minutes bleed into each other as we continue driving. We pass houses and business, schools and cars abandoned in the middle of the road. Scattered walkers glance at us as we drive, their rheumy hungry eyes boring as they shamble toward us even after we're long gone. It's the middle of the afternoon, the sun slowly drooping towards the horizon, when Daryl speaks up again.

"Well shit." He's chewing on his thumb again and I have half the urge to pull this hand away. "Seems Grimes ain't so stupid after all."

"What do you mean?" Brow furrowed, I look between Daryl and the brake lights suddenly before us, Rick pulling off to the side of a building and Shane quickly following.

"We got some friends in there," he explains, pointing with the hand he was just chewing on. Blood beads on his thumb and I stare at it for a moment before looking at the building looming over us. It's old, falling apart, with graffiti and boarded up windows. It looks like any other abandoned building we've passed so far.

"Friends?" I ask. How do they know anyone in the city? The only time they went to Atlanta was…

"Met them the last time we were here." Daryl's voice suddenly has a subdued quality to it, hoarse and quiet, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. The last time…when I lost my brother. I feel guilty all over again even if it doesn't make sense. "A few spics holed up with some old folks. Gave them some weapons, ammo. They should take us in for the night."

"And tomorrow?" The question comes out unbidden. Daryl doesn't answer. I shake away the thought because tomorrow is a long time from now. Days are measured in breaths and each inhale is an eon. I have to stop thinking in terms of a bygone world. There is no future. There is no past. There's only now and I'm lucky to have that.

In front of us, people begin to pile out of their cars. Their postures are wary, weary, and their eyes are wide, on high alert. I can almost hear racing hearts from here. "Come on kid," Daryl mumbles to me. I nod and open my door, go to jump out, but the sight of my bare feet stops me. Daryl sighs at my back and grunts something. He slams his door, there's a shuffle and a clang from the bed of the truck, and then he's rounding my side, his crossbow in one hand, my swords in the other, and hooked onto his fingers are my pair of brand new sneakers. The ones I got in the department store just a few days ago.

The ones Jacqui found me.

I stare at the black shoes and something threatens to crack in my chest but Daryl doesn't let me dwell on it long enough. He thrusts his hand out, dumps the shoes in my lap and leans my swords against the doorframe. "Hurry up," he tells me and then he turns around, hefts his crossbow up, keeps watch. I gaze at his back for a moment, the damp fabric of his sleeveless shirt, the dirt on his shoulders and upper arms, the burns in the calves of his jeans from where fiery debris from the CDC had rained down upon him. He doesn't move from in front of me, is crowded in so close I could reach out and touch the hint of the tattoo, peaking out along his shoulder. His words come back to me—What the fuck bout me? Ya goddamn come into my life and fuck it up and won't take no for a fuckin answer. Ya try and try and try to be my "friend" for god knows why and ya whittle me down to nothin. Ya make it so I have no other choice, get under my fuckin skin, and now yer just gonna check out. Fuck you. I ain't havin it—and I think about how he pulled me from the CDC, how he carried me across the lawn, how he threw himself on top of me when everything blew sky high.

I pull on my shoes, biting my lip at the flare of pain in ankle and wrist, and try not to let myself think, let myself hope.

When I'm ready, Daryl nudges me forward, walks in my shadow. The others stare at us as we approach and they're all questioning eyes and pity. I avoid Glenn's stare, Carl's frightened expression, and keep my head down as I follow Rick and Shane into an abandoned courtyard full of high grass and broken things. As we walk, no one speaks; the only sound to be heard is the crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the stirrings of air as we breathe. Something doesn't feel right though and before I know it, my katana is in hand. I've learned not to second-guess things.

Ahead of me, the men fan out, weapons held high. Glenn turns to Rick suddenly, asks, "Where are the lookouts?" His voice jumps an octave and his eyes, even from this distance, are wide with worry. Rick doesn't respond but, when we round the next corner, walking deeper into the complex of what used to be a retirement home, we find the answer; we find the lookouts.

"Son of a bitch!" Shane snarls. He stalks like a cornered, wild animal, his shotgun jerking about with his finger on the trigger. The walkers, consumed with their meals, don't even look up. The crunch of bone and smell of gore permeates the air and I feel the hairs along the nape of my neck stand on end, my heart kick-starting into a race. Fear trickles through me, quickly growing, and I realize there is no checking out for me this time. I am afraid and I feel every facet of it.

Behind me, Carl and Sophia begin to cry. I turn to see Lori and Carol pull them close, their thin arms wrapped tight around their children as they gaze with abject horror on the scene of carnage before us. Without thinking, I step in front of them, put myself between them and the walkers. And not a moment too soon.

A walker ten yards away picks her head up at the smell of new meat. Her face is rotten off, her teeth bare and glinting red in the setting sun. Everyone starts to shift uneasily, muttered curses and fearful whimpers. We draw in close to one another, the men in front with guns and crossbows and crowbars at the ready. Rick starts to pant and it's an angry noise, his shoulders pulled high and tight. More walkers begin to notice us, leave their half gnawed on snacks to stumble in our direction. Rick pulls the hammer back on his revolver.

"To hell with the noise," he growls. He starts forward and the first gunshot rings out loud and clear. The retort jars down into my bones. I think about the department store, half of Atlanta beating through the doors. It's a replay; this is all a mistake.

I stumble forward and yank Glenn's arms down from where they're taking aim. His shotgun round goes wild, hits a walker in the chest and it's only down for a moment before its up and shuffling again. Glenn turns to me with wide eyes. "Save your ammo," I grit out before half running to Dale, grabbing his arm and relaying the same message. The old man stares at me, tries to argue, but I'm moving again, hitting T-Dog to get his attention, elbowing Daryl to make him look at me and drop a gun I didn't know he had.

"Save the bullets! It's too much noise and we'll need them later!"

Rick and Shane keep firing, yards ahead of me, closer to the walkers. There's about seven of them left and Rick curses when his revolver runs out of ammo. He jams his hands in his pocket, searches for bullets, just as Shane's shotgun clicks empty too. Daryl curses at my back and, a second later, an arrow flies out, nailing a walker in between the eyes. Five left.

"Shoot goddamn it!" Shane shouts as he wrestles with his gun. His eyes are wild, afraid, and he looks back to make sure Lori and Carl, who are huddled close to the ground are still safe. The men look at him, look at me, but I don't give them a chance to follow the order before I'm limping forward, into their line of fire. Glenn screams my name, followed by others I can't identify, but I ignore them as the first walker stumbles into arm's reach. I bite my lip and haul the katana up, lash out as the geek—a tall, broad, usedtobe man—lunges for me.

The blade catches him in the temple and I throw my weight behind my arm, steel sliding through bone and tissue and brain. I teeter when the body falls, scalp flying in a different direction, but don't falter when the four others rush towards me, excited. I'm not as proficient with my left hand as I am with my right but I make do, cutting and slashing through two more geeks before two well placed arrows take out the remaining threats. Daryl catches my eye when I turn around but I don't have the time to decipher his expression before Rick is moving, yelling, grabbing my arm and making me follow as he runs for the building ahead of us. My wrist flares in protest, my ankle in agony, but I point my gore slicked sword down and do my best to run when not so distant moans echo at my back.

We find no other walkers as we enter the former retirement center. Rick, Shane and Daryl go in first, followed by the women, children, me, Glenn with Dale and T-Dog bringing up the rear. The stench of rotting bodies is so strong my stomach lurches and, beside me, Andrea gags.

"God," she gasps, wrist pressed to her mouth. "What…what is this? I…I thought they said…"

She trails off as we move into the main hallway, as we see the legs sticking out from doorways and peeking around corners, as we see the blood splashed against the walls and the carpets. People jerk to a halt, fumble. Carol claps a hand over her mouth and her pale blue eyes swim with tears. The men push forward down the hallway, looking into rooms, guns at the ready, but at my side Sophia begins to cry, loud and anguished, as she sees the bodies strewn across the room at out right. Her hands come up to cover her face and Carol wraps her arms around her even as silent tears trickle down her own thin face.

A few feet ahead of me, Daryl snaps his head around, crossbow locked and loaded. "Put a sock in it," he snarls quietly at Sophia. His voice is sharp and harsh. There's fear in his eyes. The little girl whimpers and pushes closer to her mother who stutters out for Daryl to leave her alone. But the hunter is on edge, we all our, strung tight and full of adrenaline, so he doesn't miss a beat as he barks back, "Either shut her up or I will!"

Lori comes out of nowhere, shoves at Daryl till he stumbles away. "Back the hell off," she spits, face twisted with rage and disgust. "And I mean now."

Daryl looks like he wants to retort, jaw working, but I slip past Lori and put a hand on his arm, jerk my chin down the hall. "Let's check out the rooms down the hall," I whisper. He snaps his blue eyes down to mine and they're narrowed, heated, but he doesn't say a word as he stalks away, doing just as I had suggested. I go to follow him but a hand at my elbow stops me. I turn to see Shane boring into me with frantic eyes.

"Rick and I'll check out the building," he tells me. "Stay here and help them barricade the door. Keep an eye out." His tone leaves no more for discussion so I concede with a nod and walk back to where Andrea and T-Dog are dragging cabinets and tables from the rooms around us to pile up against the doors.

"Can I help?" I ask quietly but T-Dog just shakes his head.

"We got it just…just make sure nothing comes and bites us in the ass."

I nod and step away, look back down the hallway and watch for movement. Carl and Sophia sit on the ground near my feet, knees drawn tight to their chests. Sophia continues to cry quietly and Carl holds her hand, shushes her with soothing words even as his own big blue eyes look around with such fear it would break my heart if I had much left to break. I reach out without thinking and pet the top of Sophia's head, ruffle Carl's hair. The fractured ends of my wrist bone grind together, white hot pain, but I ignore it as Sophia leans into me, as Carl stares up at me with such trust that I ache because I am not someone he should be looking at like that.

I'm the furthest thing from someone he should look up to.

"Shit!"

Glenn's panicked voice pulls me from my dark musings and I snap my head up to see the others crouching low behind the barricade, the low, guttural snarls of a lone walker wafting through the gaps. I curse under my breath and drop into a crouch, hovering over Carl and Sophia, who has begun to whimper more intensely. My hands are slick with cold sweat and the katana shifts in my hand. The others freeze near the door as the walker shuffles merely feet away. I turn my head and see Carl put his finger to his lips, mouth to Sophia that it's all right, just to be quiet. The young girl nods and scoots in closer, clings tightly to her friend's hand.

No one breathes for a good minute and the walker shifts in the doorway, considering, searching. It must not sense us, smell us, the stench of rot too strong; it moves on not too long later, not even a snarl to be heard.

Sophia presses into my side, her bird hollow bones, and I absentmindedly press a kiss to her hair before her mother pulls her up and we're running further into the building, tired and beaten down and still breathingalive.

The men have gathered in what looks to have been an entertainment or day room of sorts: there are high, long windows, tables scattered across the floor and something akin to a small stage near the front. A crucifix hangs above the stage and I try not to look at it. Bodies litter the floor, and blood and debris, but everyone silently agrees to ignore them or accept them or some combination of the two. I lean against a table and feel sick as I stare at an old woman, a bullet hole punched straight through her forehead.

"Upstairs is our best bet," Rick says to the others crowded around him. I'm half way across the room but his voice carries. "We've cleared a few rooms, we can barricade those if we have to." He looks around at all of us, dirty and sweaty and eyes so tired he looks thirty years older. "We'll be alright," he lies with conviction but not many believe falsities like they used to.

Oddly enough, it's Carol that calls Rick out. "You mean it this time? Or are you lying to us like all the times b…before?" Her voice breaks on the last word and she pulls Sophia, who sits in her lap, close, presses her cheek into the back of her daughter's head. Lori reprimands her but the scolding lacks any passion, just a weary act of going through the motions of supportive wife.

"What the hell happened?" Glenn asks a minute later, voicing the question we've all been asking ourselves. I look around at the carnage and it's no different from the quarry, from Dalton, and all I can think of is reality happened. Cold, hard reality.

"What do you think?" Andrea replies. "They got overrun."

Overrun. Such an uncommon word before the world ended. It spoke of war and disease, battles and survival. Here, in the Western world, we had been sheltered from all of that for centuries. Perhaps that's why, in the end, we fell so quickly.

We were too soft.

From a few feet away, Daryl scoffs. He's pacing around the room, like a caged animal, and it's the first time I've heard him make a noise since the incident with Sophia.

Andrea snaps her head around and even though I can only see her profile, her expression looks disdainful. "Something to say?" she spits.

The hunter doesn't even flinch at her tone; in fact, he's practically riled. "Yeah, how bout 'observant'?" he retorts. I frown at him and wonder what he means.

"'Observant'. Big word from a guy like you. Three whole syllables. Congratulations."

Someone snorts and I find myself feeling angry, a hot ember in my chest. Daryl doesn't let the insult faze him.

"Walkers didn't do this," he grunts out. All eyes are suddenly on him and he drops his eyes with a scowl, gestures roughly around the room. "Geeks didn't show up till all this went down. Somebody attacked this place, killed all these people, took whatever they wanted. They're all shot in the head execution style, not gnawed on by geeks. Ya'll are worried bout walkers," he scoffs. He lifts his eyes up and clicks them around the room, they're blue hue hard and challenging. "I'd be much more worried bout the people who came and did all this."

The silence that follows is heavy with his implications. Andrea scowls and her cheeks flush red. Daryl bares his teeth.

"Get a dictionary," he sneers at her. "Look it up. Observant." He shoulders his crossbow and stalks out of the room. Despite the gravity of the situation, the taste of the CDC's ashes still heavy on my tongue, I can't help but smile at his retreating back, even if it's the barest upturn of lips.

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They scout the place for nearly half an hour but there's nothin left. No people, no walkers, and definitely no food. Daryl finds one can of garbanzo beans rolled under a flipped over table in the kitchen. The serving size says two. They're gonna make it spread to twelve.

Chinaman heads back to the others early; he mutters some excuse to Grimes and the cop lets him go while he tells Walsh and Daryl to help him check out one last place. Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes, tells the cop they ain't gonna find anythin, but the other man ignores him. They try the basement of the buildin, where the lead spic had said they kept some emergency rations. Those are gone too when they arrive.

The lead spic isn't though, Guillermo. He's still there.

Daryl puts a bolt between his eyes when he lunges for Walsh, bared teeth and a gapin throat. Whoever hit this place must have run out of bullets by the time they got down here, probably draggin Guillermo around for directions or some shit. They didn't have the common courtesy to bash his head in either. Daryl stares at the body as they leave, notices the rosary the man had worn around his neck was wrapped around his wrist and woven through his fingers. Daryl wonders if the man had prayed, at the end. Doesn't seem to have made much of a difference.

They head back to the others with their can of garbanzo beans and tidings of great fuckin joy. Grimes and Walsh head straight into the staff room that they had herded the women, children and old man into. The nigger is standin watch at the door and shares a look with the two officers. He drops his eyes and rubs his bald head when he sees the truth in their gazes and Daryl wants to snap what the fuck ya think was gonna happen? He doesn't though. He just grits his teeth and turns on heel and wonders if he can find a room that's free of bodies and the stench of death where he can just sit and breathe.

He has no such luck, goddamn shocker there. He barely makes it down the hall before voices draw his attention and he finds himself standin outside an ajar door—the door of the chapel and ain't that fuckin ironic—listenin to the hushed conversation of Chinaman and the kid.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what Glenn?"

The kid's voice is quiet and subdued; she sounds resigned, exhausted. The chink on the other hand is fired up and his pitch keeps risin with every word. Daryl doesn't have to try very hard to hear what he has to say.

"D…don't give me that! Back at the CDC! What were…were you just going to stay there?! You were just going to k…ill yourself!?" His voice cracks on the word kill, goes shrill enough that Daryl winces from where he's leanin against the doorframe. The hunter remembers the chink's expression, from when he carried Audrey out of the CDC, and he wonders if Chinaman's wearin the same one.

A beat of silence follows his question and Daryl presses in closer towards the crack in the door. He hears a soft sigh, knows it's the kid, and waits for the inevitable response.

"What do you want me to say Glenn?" she replies at length.

Chinaman makes some kind of strangled noise. "But why?"

Audrey actually laughs at that and Daryl frowns when he recognizes the bitter, hysterical tinge to it. Was the kid goin under again? Fuck.

"Why? Glenn! I'm not really sure if you've noticed but these past few days have been fucking hell on earth." There's the sound of shifting furniture, the creak of floorboards as the kid moves, and suddenly Daryl can see her in the small crack the ajar door allows. She doesn't look any different from when he last saw her, half an hour ago. She's still in the same shorts, the same guy's tank top with black sneakers on her feet and bandages covering much of her revealed skin. Maybe there's some more dirt than he remembered, more sweat, but other than that…she's the same.

So why does the kid's face look like she's aged ten years?

It's the eyes Daryl decides when the kid looks up and back at Chinaman. It's those goddamn eyes of hers.

"Amy died," the kid continues and Daryl has to backtrack to remember the line of conversation. "Died, Glenn. Right in my arms. The quarry was destroyed. I look, and feel, like I've been put through a goddamn blender; every inch of me hurts. And then…and then Jim died too and there was nothing at the CDC but another dead end…" She trails off, looks down at her feet, at a body Daryl realizes, some little old man with a bullet hole through his temple. "I was just tired," she finishes in a whisper.

The sound of more shifting and then the chink is right in front of Audrey, nearly standin on her toes. Daryl frowns when irritation burns through him and he doesn't know why. Chinaman breathes and the sound is heavy in the otherwise silent room. The kid won't bring her head up, can't bring herself to look at him.

"But what about me?" he whispers and it's so close to what Daryl himself had said, minus a few expletives, that the hunter flushes and fidgets in discomfort. Audrey sighs again and Daryl sees her fist clench at her side. It's only for a moment and then it releases, her fingers finding their way into her hair as she yanks at the tangled ends.

"Look…I'm sorry Glenn. All right? It was a selfish decision and I know that now. I had a moment of weakness and I'm sorry I hurt you but I don't know what else to say."

Chinaman stares at her, his eyes rovin over the planes of her face in a way that looks like he's searchin for a lie in the kid's features. His thin lips purse and his brow creases harshly. "Just…just answer me one question," he says. Daryl thinks there's somethin weird to his tone but he can't place it.

Audrey blinks and looks up. She looks reluctant but manages a nod. "Okay."

"What made you come out of that building?"

The kid's eyes go wide and her mouth falls open slightly, the split skin on her lip stretching almost to the point of bleeding again. Daryl can't see her eyes clearly from this distance, can't see their color in the gloom, but he can imagine the surprise in them, the intensity. There's a sudden poundin sound and the hunter looks around, hands tight on his crossbow, before he realizes he's alone and the sound is in his head.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

It's his heartbeat.

He grits his teeth and tries to tear himself away. He doesn't want to hear what the kid has to say and he doesn't want to remember the CDC cuz what he said…what he said…

"What the fuck bout me?"

Fuck. Just cuz he decided the kid was his f…friend did he immediately become a pussy? Jesus fucking Christ. He meant what he said before. The kid had really fucked him up and whittled him down. He knows he should be pissed, tries to be, succeeds a bit…but not as much as he should. He wonders if that's some shit entailed with friendship. He doesn't know if he likes it.

Suddenly, a laugh echoes through the dark hallway. It's light and dry but Daryl recognizes it, pictures blue lakes and green woods in his head. He wrenches himself from his thoughts and looks back into the chapel to see Audrey bent over slightly with a hand pressed to her mouth. That laugh continues to spill out between her fingers and the chink is gazin at her like he thinks she's lost her mind. Daryl wonders if he's missed part of the conversation or if the kid's really gone off the deep end.

"Wh…what's so funny?" Chinaman stutters out.

Audrey shakes her head, the uneven, tangled strands of her hair whipping back and forth. "Nothing," she says but she continues to chuckle. She takes a second to compose herself and clears her throat. "Nothing. I just…I was just thinking you could say I had some sense knocked into me."

Daryl furrows his brow and the chink asks his question. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Well, I mean…it's nothing monumental."

"Whatever it was…it saved your life Dree. How is that not monumental?"

The kid sighs and averts her gaze away from the chink, away from the door so Daryl can't see her face. She reaches up and cups the back of her neck, edges around the bruises that Merle left behind. "Because it was something I already knew, deep down. It just took Daryl hitting me over the head with it for me to remember."

Chinaman stills. "Daryl?" Something about his voice is off and the hunter scowls.

Audrey glances back over at the other boy and nods. "Mmhmm. He uh…he talked me out of the stupid decision I was making. Well…maybe talked isn't the right word but we got the same result." She smiles and gestures awkwardly at herself. The chink is silent for a moment, takin in Audrey's words.

"I…I saw him carry you out," he murmurs. "But I didn't know…" He exhales and reaches up to rub at his brow, knuckles bumpin into the bill of his hat. "He saved my life too you know?"

Daryl freezes on the other side of the door and, not for the first time, he wishes he hadn't stopped to eavesdrop.

The kid looks surprised, even in the gloom. "Really? When? Where?" she asks curiously.

Chinaman shrugs and then gestures around the room. "Here. The last time we were in the city. We were looking for…" He pauses and Daryl feels something curl in his gut, irrationally thinkin that he's gonna punch the chink if he so much as mutters Merle's name. "We went back for some guns Rick left behind," he says instead and a fraction of the tension bleeds out of Daryl. "But some other guys had beat us to it. We fought over them and in the struggle…I kinda got kidnapped."

"What?!"

"It was a misunderstanding," the chink stutters out, wavin his hands frantically. "Daryl ran into one of their men and then the others beat Daryl up…I got yanked into a car and Daryl I think shot some guy in the ass with his crossbow…it was a mess. It turns out the guys weren't so bad though! They…" He trails off and looks over at the body of an old man, crumpled in the corner. Daryl refuses to feel anythin, refuses to think bout all these people that were alive a few days ago. "They were the ones who stayed here; they just wanted weapons to protect themselves and the elderly they had." He sighs and shakes his head, tears his gaze from the floor and locks his eyes on Audrey.

"But Daryl and the others didn't know that at first," he continues. "They…they came back to rescue me. And now Daryl's saved you too." He laughs and rubs at the back of his neck. "Guess I have to thank him again huh?" For some reason, there's something about his voice, almost a bitterness, that makes the hunter think he'd rather do anything but.

The kid fidgets and then suddenly frowns. Her eyebrows furrow into a drastic V; her lips thin out into a white line. "Now that I think about it," she muses. "I haven't even thanked him. God. What kind of friend does that make me?"

Chinaman's eyebrows rise. "So you guys are friends now?"

Audrey worries her lip and there's this look on her face that Daryl doesn't like and he knows she's bout to say some shit that he might not, maybe does, can't really deal with, hearin right now. He moves without thinkin, kicks at the doorframe with the toe of his boot. The wood gives slightly under the impact and the chink and Audrey jump nearly five feet in the air. The kid whirls without a pause, hand already goin for the sword over her right shoulder and Daryl pauses enough to be impressed with her dexterity.

"Fuck Daryl," the kid curses when he pushes open the door. Her face is irritated now, no longer wearin that weird, vulnerable expression she had been. "I nearly cut your head off! Stop sneaking up on people!"

Now that he's closer, Daryl can see the gleam in her green eyes, sparks of anger like flecks of light. He can't help the smirk that threatens to pull at his lips, so misplaced in this tomb full of blood and bodies. But the kid has some life in her again, somethin of that spitfire he shot in the woods. Seems she wasn't that far gone.

"Well quit sneakin off then," he retorts. "Everyone's lookin for ya."

Which is a lie but the kid doesn't know that and everyone should be lookin for her anyway. It's not like she almost killed herself a few hours ago, not like the people that offed this place might still be lurkin around. Daryl scowls to himself when he thinks that this group's got no survival instinct. They're all a bunch of stupid city folk and Daryl's got to keep an eye out for himself and the kid cuz ain't no one else around to.

Audrey winces with what looks like guilt. "Shit really? I didn't mean to make people worry. Glenn and I were just looking around."

Daryl rolls his eyes like he could care less and jerks his head to gesture over his shoulder. "Whatever kid let's just get goin. You too Chinaman. It's gettin dark." The kid nods and turns to leave the room, tuggin on the chink's sleeve to get him to follow. Daryl steps aside to let her pass but she bumps into him anyway. It's not until she presses him into the rotten wood of the door, the bone of her shoulder sharp against his sternum, that he realizes she's done it on purpose.

"That's for scaring the shit out of me," she says and there's enough force behind her arm to bruise. He scowls at her but there's that glint in her eye, half tease and half ire, that has him subsidin as she slips past him and into the hallway, Chinaman hot on her heels. The hunter thinks he sees somethin in the chink's slanted eyes but he can't be sure so he just follows them back to the staff room and the others who were huddled around one can of garbanzo beans and a dwindlin sense of hope.

---

The men sleep in shifts and there are always two of them on watch but no one sleeps much. We try, all lying on the floor of this dilapidated staff room, and some slip into an uneasy doze, like Dale and Andrea, but the majority of us just stare into the semi-darkness of the room. It's this goddamn place. The stench of rotting bodies puts everyone on edge and the enclosed spaces offer more paranoia than security. The reassurances and feelings of safety the CDC offered are long gone now, blown sky high and nothing but ash. We're ten times worse off now than we were at the quarry, scarce food giving way to none at all, and what's more, everyone knows it. There is no hiding the blood smears on the walls, there is no magically producing food where there is none to have. Everyone knows where we stand now.

Even the kids.

In the far corner of the room, Carl and Sophia huddle pale and frightened with their mothers, their pale colored eyes wide and darting from place to place. Sophia still has white tear tracks cutting through the grime on her cheeks. Carl is pressed into her side, murmuring something to her, probably trying to calm her, but even he is shaking. They're scared and hungry and tired but Lori and Carol are too busy speaking in hushed whispers to notice. My heart breaks and I lever myself up into a seated position, looking around for my pack.

"I thought I told you to get some goddamn sleep."

The voice is gruff and sounds just as tired as I feel. I look over my shoulder, to the door that's only a foot or so away, and Daryl glares back at me, his spine resting against the doorframe. There are bags under his blue eyes and if I reached out only just, I could feel the burns on the jeans of his sprawled out legs. The hunter looks uncharacteristically pale in the light of a lone emergency lantern but I right it off as exhaustion.

"Can't seem to manage it," I whisper back to him. And I've tried, really I have. Ever since my offer to help keep watch was turned down flat, by more than one person, which was slightly irritating, I resigned myself to getting some rest and staked out a spot near the door, just in case something did happen. But no matter how hard I tried, how tired I was, how many times Daryl snapped at me to quit fuckin fidgetin and sleep, I can't do it.

There are a million reasons as to why that is, this huge tangled mess in my head, but I don't want to dissect it right now. Not here, in this sordid tomb with the CDC's ashes still clinging to my skin.

So, instead of lying here listless and useless, maybe I can do something productive.

My pack rests near my feet, shoved under a rickety table. I lean towards it, wincing when my bruised ribs protest, and dig through it blindly.

"The hell ya lookin for?" Daryl hisses at my back. His voice is low and irritated but it doesn't carry very much, even in this small room. When I look over at the others, none of them are looking our way.

Finding what I was looking for, I sit back with a grunt and push the blankets off my legs. Daryl is still scowling at me, I can feel it on the nape of my neck, and I sigh as I turn to look at him. "I can't sleep so I thought I might as well help out," I murmur. The scowl that I had known was twisting his lips deepens as I watch.

"Don't need yer help on watch kid. Fuckin Walsh already said—"

"I know what Shane said. And I'm not talking about watch. Look, I'm fine ok. Just…go back to whatever you were doing."

Daryl narrows his eyes at me and I can just make out their hard, blue hue. His teeth grind sharply, a hair-raising noise, and he looks like he might just object. Which is something I'm still relatively confused about. Ever since…Daryl hasn't left me alone since the CDC. Granted, that's only been a few hours but I'm used to Daryl tolerating me for a short amount of time and then staying away for twice as long. It's almost like he's…hovering and I don't know what to make of that. Is it because…does he think…are we really friends now? His words from the CDC swirl a drain in my head, like a broken record, over and over and what the fuck bout me?

I don't know how to answer him; I don't know what the hell he wants. Every time I try to think about it my head aches and all the bruises Merle left behind throb and I feel guilty though I shouldn't and grateful but not because I'm alive and that might not be a good thing and…I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No. I'm not going around in these circles again. I have other things to do.

Flashing Daryl a small smile, and not waiting around to see if he has a response, I get up and slowly pick my way across the dark room. As I draw nearer, Lori and Carol cease their frantic whispers and their children perk up a bit, eyes wide and curious. I stop about a foot or two away and drop into a squat, ignoring the white-hot pain in my ankle.

"Hey guys," I whisper to Carl and Sophia. "Looks like you can't sleep either huh?"

The kids shake their heads and I smile softly in reply. "I know it's kind of lame but do you want me to read you something to help you fall asleep. It used to help me a lot when I was younger."

Well, those were stolen library books and no one ever read to me, not until I was almost a preteen. I didn't have that kind of childhood but Carl and Sophia don't need to know that.

Sophia blinks and looks up at her mom in question and Carl asks Lori, "Can she mom?" I meet Lori's eyes over Carl's head and the woman looks worn and weary, like she's aged ten years. Carol looks little better.

"Only if it's not a bother to Audrey baby," Lori whispers to her son and I shake my head.

"It's not. I can't sleep either. But if you and Carol want to rest a little, I can read to them over by my sleeping bag."

Lori blinks at me and looks over my shoulder, towards the door. In reality it's only a few feet away, the room really isn't that big, but I can see the apprehension in the mother's eyes.

"We'll only be a few feet away and Shane's right there." I point to the other side of door, and Daryl, where Shane is curled up facing the wall. "And Rick and Daryl are on watch. We'll be fine."

It doesn't take very long for Carol and Lori to relent after that. They're bone tired and if I was offering to let them get some sleep, however fitful and short, they don't have the energy to argue. So after some kisses to the forehead and halfhearted admonishments of not causing me any trouble, the mothers let me lead their children across the room. My sleeping bag is thin and rustles as the three of us sit down, Carl on my right side and Sophia my left, but the blanket I drape across our shoulders is warm and soft. I sit with the wall against my back and my legs stretched out in front of me, bare toes barely brushing against the curve of Glenn's hip. I don't think he's asleep yet but he doesn't move as the kids and I get situated. Maybe he's still mad at me. I don't know anymore and don't have the will to dwell on it.

The lighting is too dim for me to see, the emergency lantern on the other side of the room, so I'm about to dig through my pack again in search of a flashlight when one suddenly lands in my lap. I blink and lift my head, wondering if Carl had brought one from his side of the room, but the boy at my side is looking to our right, his mouth agape. I follow his gaze to find Daryl picking at his nails with the tip of his hunting knife, not even glancing in our direction, but his own backpack is open between his legs. I bite my lip, all those implications and what about mes tumbling through my head again, before I pick up the flashlight, a cranking number already charged, and whisper "Thank you" as softly as I can.

Daryl doesn't acknowledge he's heard me but by the way he's pursed his lips in that way he only does when uncomfortable, I think he has.

Turning back to the book in my lap, I click on the flashlight and look over at Sophia with a smile. "So where did I leave off last time?" The girl wiggles closer, her bird hollow bones pressed tight to my side.

"Jonas was just about to meet the Receiver," she whispers, her hazel eyes timidly meeting mine. A frown mars my brow for a moment, I thought we had gotten farther than that, but that's when I remember Carl had gotten farther. That was the day Ed had…I look over at the boy beside me and he shrugs as if to say I don't care. I remember how, before, he had wanted to wait for Sophia anyway. The boy was just as self-sacrificing as his father.

"Ok," I murmur. "Chapter 10 it is. Could you hold this for me Sophia?" I nudge the flashlight at her and she nods enthusiastically, picking it up in her thin, lithe fingers and holding it just right. "Thank you. Now, what page is it on?"

I flip idly through the book, find the correct page, and start to read. "'I go in here, Jonas,' Fiona told him when they reached the front door of the House of the Old after parking their bicycles in the designated area."

Carl and Sophia crowd in close as I continue to tell the tale of Jonas, their bodies warm and alive against me. This dark room we find ourselves in, rank with the stench of death, quietly fades away as Jonas' world envelops us slowly. Soon, there are no walkers; there is no death. There was never any Amy or Jim or Jacqui. The world is a safe if sheltered place, with rules and regulations and far from perfect. But the people feel neither fear nor pain. A baby named Gabriel is cared for and a boy named Jonas comes of age and takes his place in society. I had always thought that The Giver's world was such a dystopia, as the writer had meant it to be, but now…I'm not so sure.

I don't know how long I read for but it's well into the night when I realize that Sophia and Carl have fallen asleep. A while ago, Sophia had slipped down to lay her head in my lap and now she's snoring softly. Carl is still upright against my side but his head has fallen onto my shoulder, his breath fanning across the ridge of my collarbone. I smile at the two of them and quietly shut the book, dog-earing the page for the next time. Sophia stirs, as if she senses I've stopped talking, and I reflexively stroke the top of her head, a tuneless hum vibrating in the back of my throat. She slowly subsides but I keep humming, feeling Carl going even more lax against me, like he's slipping deeper into sleep. I turn my head slowly and brush a kiss against his forehead. He sleeps on and I feel grateful.

Looking out across the room, it seems everyone's succumbed to exhaustion at last. Glenn snores at my feet and Shane mutters something in his sleep, grumbles, and shifts. I look to my right, expecting to find Daryl gone, asleep somewhere with maybe T-Dog in his place, but the hunter is right where I left him. He's fiddling with something in his lap, I can't tell what it is, but he suddenly pauses and snaps his eyes up, blue locking onto my green. I blink; how the hell had he known as I was looking at him? We stare at each other in the dim light of the emergency lantern and after a moment Daryl scowls at me. It doesn't look particularly angry, maybe just a little bit annoyed. I don't know what makes me do it but, instead of dropping my gaze or smiling apologetically, I stick my tongue out at the hunter. The surprise on his face is priceless, even if he still looks exhausted, and I end up grinning when he just rolls his eyes. He goes back to fiddling with whatever is in his lap—his knife?—and I lean my head back against the wall, still smiling.

The CDC is still burning behind us; Amy, Jacqui, Jim and a dozen others are still dead. We're on the run with little food and less fuel but…Sophia is dreaming easy in my lap and Carl breathes easy against my neck. The twelve of us are still alive and that's something. As long as we're alive we can keep fighting and it's not ideal and it's going to hurt like hell but…I'm not going to give up. Not when I have so many people depending on me.

Not when I have so many others I don't want to disappoint.

Mom's face drifts through my mind, followed by all the family and friends that I've lost. Guilt hangs heavy in my chest, weighs down my lungs, because I'm here and they're not, but it slowly starts to slip away as my eyes droop and maybe, just maybe, tonight I'll get some dreamless sleep. My head slowly slides to rest against the top of Carl's and, just as I'm pulled into the dark, my Mom's voice whispers in my ear, just as it had nearly ten years ago, the first night she read me to sleep.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,

And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—

Open to me!

For I will show you the places Nobody knows,

And, if you like,

The perfect places of Sleep. (1)

---

Daryl pretends to busy himself with sharpening his knife, or diggin through his bag, but more often than not he finds himself listenin to the kid as she reads to Grime's brat and the little blonde girl he yelled at earlier. He felt a sting of regret when he thought about the girl's stricken face but he pushes it away. She needed to keep quiet or she was gonna get them all killed. She had to toughen up a bit.

He told this to himself over and over but he still felt guilty. He ignored that too.

The kid though, well she's a lot harder to ignore. Despite the fact that she speaks in whispers, quiet and hushed as everyone else sleeps on, she's still as enthusiastic as every other time Daryl's heard her read; maybe even more so. She puts on voices for the brats, different pitches for different characters. She reads like storytellin is her job and even though the hunter's got no idea what the hell the story's about, he finds himself drawn in by her voice and her mannerisms, the calmin air she has about her. He's not surprised that the girl and boy drift off, lulled to sleep by Audrey's voice. He is surprised that the kid doesn't notice, however, and continues to read for another ten minutes to him and the dark alone. She eventually stops and Daryl unconsciously looks up, thinks she's gone to sleep now too, but the kid's smilin down at the little girl in her lap, strokin her hair. Suddenly, Daryl becomes aware of a soft tune she is hummin under her breath, tuneless and absentminded. It's barely audible, no louder than a sigh, but Daryl frowns at her all the same. Something about the melody stirs a memory in the back of his mind. It's faint, hazy, black and white with crappy audio like that piece a shit TV Merle and him had back at home, but it's there nonetheless. His eyes close under there own volition and then there are slim fingers on his forehead, a ghost of a brush, and he sees a flash of golden hair, soft and curled behind his eyes. There's a warm press to his cheek, the mere memory of a kiss, and the smell of anemones as someone hums a tuneless song. (2)

"Story time's over sweetheart. Now, sleep Daryl. Sleep."

The hunter's eyes snap open and the ghost of a memory fades away as quickly as it had come. Audrey continues to hum and Daryl grounds himself in watchin her, in the way she kisses the Grimes boy's hair and smiles. But that ghost in his head dances along the fringes of his thoughts, motherly smiles and soft laughter, and he drops his eyes to his lap again. He fumbles with a screwdriver and knife, tries to tighten a screw in Merle's old switchblade, but there's this itchy feelin in his veins now. It burns through him and then he recognizes it, jerks his head up to find the eyes searin through his skin. The kid blinks in surprise at him but he can't see the color of her eyes any more, the flashlight in her lap switched off. It's all gloom and shadows now and Daryl finds himself scowlin in discomfort when Audrey continues to stare. She looks surprised but in turn surprises him by stickin her tongue out like a child. Daryl rolls his eyes in response and pretends to go back to his switchblade but he doesn't miss the kid's sleepy smile or the way she knocks out cold not five minutes later.

When Walsh rolls over some time later in the dark and replaces him on watch, Daryl finds himself castin the kid once last glance and thinkin she looks so much younger asleep, so much more vulnerable. She almost looks her age. He doesn't know what to do with that knowledge and forces himself to find a corner and catch a few hours of sleep before they had to get up, leave this tomb, and think of what to do next.

#

"Alright. Everyone settled?"

Grimes looks around at the rest of them with bloodshot eyes and pale skin. The mid-mornin sun is glintin off the sheriff's badge pinned to his heart and there's dirt and blood smeared on the holster of his revolver. Walsh stands to his right, shotgun thrown over his shoulder, and Daryl doesn't think he imagines the glare he sends the other cop when he thinks he ain't lookin. Everyone is tired and strung out and more than a little bit hopeless.

"Ok," Grimes continues when there is no response. He doesn't look like it's ok. "Then let's load up. We'll be headin south on the main road. Dale will take point in the RV and the rest of us will file in. Are there any questions?"

One of the women, Daryl thinks it's the little girl's mother but can't see, speaks up and starts badgerin the cops about food and fuel and other things. Daryl rolls his eyes and breaks off from the back of the group. That shit ain't got nothin to do with him. He heads over to his truck, empty now and siphoned of gas because he can't take it with him. It uses too much fuel, the transmission sticks (it always had but now it could mean the death of him), and Walsh had fuckin went on and on this mornin bout conservation and less vehicles meant less chance of people gettin separated. Daryl had been one of the first to give up his truck, just in hopes the cop would shut the fuck up already, but as he stares at the empty bed now, the fadin blue paint, the crack in the rear window, he thinks maybe he shouldn't have.

"Are you going to miss it?"

The voice has him startin but it really shouldn't. By now, he should be used to it.

"Shouldn't ya be gettin into the RV kid?" he grumbles, not even botherin to turn around. Audrey hums and draws up beside him, leans her hip against his open tailgate, the black hilts of her swords stark against her light blue jean shorts and white t-shirt. Her green eyes stare up at him and Daryl averts his gaze from their intensity.

"All my stuff's packed. I thought I'd just come and see if you need any help." He feels her eyes slide off him, slide to his truck and its thrown open doors, cab and picked clean bed. "Seems you're all packed too though."

Daryl grunts and turns to Merle's bike parked near his rear right tire. He never really liked the monstrosity. It was too big and loud and obnoxious. Just like goddamn Merle. Daryl preferred his own truck, a rust bucket piece of shit but…it was dependable when he needed it and…it was his own. But this new world ain't got room for sentimentality and bullshit. The hunter had to make due with what would keep him alive and suck up all the rest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl sees the kid scratch her nail along the side of his truck, watches as she flicks the pale blue paint chips away. In the mornin sun, he thinks her bruises look more livid, more condemnin, and he tries to keep his back to her. She, of course, chooses then to round Merle's bike and come to stand in front of him.

"You didn't answer my question," she says lightly when he scowls at her.

"What question?"

"I asked if you were going to miss it." She jerks her chin behind him, bares her throat and the imprint of Merle's fingers. "Your truck. It…it is yours isn't it?"

Daryl sneers at the hesitancy in her voice, the careful question in her green eyes. It's reflex. He can't help it. "I didn't fuckin steal it if that's what ya mean," he says ruefully. The kid blinks and then a red stain blooms across her cheeks.

"That's not what I meant," she mutters but Daryl just rolls his eyes and grunts out "Whatever."

It's quiet for a moment as Daryl fumbles with Merle's saddlebags and the kid just stands there. He waits for her to walk off, go find Chinaman or someone else to talk to, but she never does. As the minutes drag on and people start pilin into their cars, the kid still stands there. It gets to the point where Daryl can't take the silence, the awkward tension, and lifts his head to glare at her.

"D'ya need somethin kid?"

Audrey doesn't start at his curt question. She just stares at him and then Merle's bike, goes back and forth between the two with her lower lip caught between her teeth. Daryl's bout to snap at her that she's gonna open the split again when she beats him to the punch.

"Is uh…is that safe?" she asks quietly. "The…the bike I mean."

Daryl frowns. "Safe ain't exactly a word to use nowadays is it?" The kid's left hand clenches at her side for a moment but then it falls lax. Her fingers drift up and start tuggin on wayward strands of her hair.

"No I know I just…I've never ridden a motorcycle before. It's not stupidly dangerous is it?"

The hunter has an ingrained, sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, somethin reflexive along the lines of what the fuck is it to you but he doesn't say it. He beats it down and swallows it up cuz the kid's drawin her fingers across the chrome of the bike's handle bars and Daryl is thinkin bout the way she slurs when she's drunk and her soft features as she sleeps and the word friend friend friend is poundin with his heartbeat, is his heartbeat. He thinks bout his debt to her and Merle's knuckles against her eye but then all that shit's eclipsed by memories of her tryin to help him hunt and her laughin and the fact that Daryl can tolerate…maybe even likes bein in her company. A part of him balks at the idea, recoils, but Daryl can't help but notice that it's a smaller part of him than it used to be.

So maybe that's why he, without any thought and before he can stop himself, grumbles out, "Why don't ya see for yerself?"

Audrey's eyes snap to his and they're wide as the moon, almost as wide as her mouth when her jaw drops to the asphalt. "W…what?" she sputters out. Daryl purses his lips and shrugs a shoulder, busies himself with checkin the fuel gage one last time as an engine kicks to life somewhere to his left.

"Look kid. Do ya want a ride or not? Cuz if not ya need to go find one. We're leavin." He points behind her and the kid turns to see Grimes slammin the truck of a station wagon shut, sees the chink and the old man head for the RV. Daryl stares at her profile for a minute, sees the way she keeps goddamn gnawin on her lip, and snorts.

"Hurry up," he tells her gruffly. He swings a leg over the bike (he doesn't really fit right and he doesn't think he ever will) and his hands go for the ignition. There's a shuffle of gravel behind him, the sound of more engines turnin over, and he's just thinkin the kid scurried off to Chinaman when there's a light touch on his shoulder and the kid's breath on his neck. She gingerly sets into place behind him, nearly a foot of space between their bodies, and Daryl feels her hesitatin.

"Uh where do I…how do I hold on?" she asks quietly. Daryl squirms cuz she's so close and berates himself an idiot in the back of his mind for even sayin anythin in the first place. There's the sudden honk of a horn to draw his attention, however, and he looks up to see the RV pullin out of the parkin lot and Walsh wavin him on. Time to head out. He lifts an arm in acknowledgement, starts the bike, and says over his shoulder, "Better find out quick kid." He knows he's a dick for givin her no instuction but he can't think of what to tell her, no words come, so he settles, as always, for action. Action speaks louder than words right? And the kid's a quick learn anyway. He barely waits a breath before he's kickin off the ground and easin the throttle back, the bike lurchin to motion underneath him.

At his back, the kid shrieks in surprise and arms suddenly latch onto him, scrabblin along his hips and ribs before clingin for dear life around his gut. The kid's holdin on a bit too tight, pressin on still fresh bruises, but he guess he deserves it as she shakes in fear against his spine. He doesn't gun it out of the parking lot, is barely goin 20mph, but Audrey's plastered to his back and Daryl's glad for the amount of concentration a motorcycle needs to drive cuz otherwise he wouldn't know what to think bout with the kid so close and against him and god he almost fidgets at the thought.

It's just as they're pullin onto the main road though, right before he picks up speed, that Audrey hisses in his ear, "You are a fucking asshole Daryl!" and the hunter smirks and thinks maybe the discomfort's worth it if the kid livens up a bit.

---

After the initial take off, and after my stomach meandered its way back out of my shoes, I have to admit…the motorcycle wasn't that bad.

That being said, I'm still not all that comfortable with it. The fact that there is still nothing to hold me in as Daryl rockets down empty roads freaks me out and if I wasn't afraid of being thrown off and skidding a football field length over asphalt, I might be slightly embarrassed over how tightly I'm clinging to the hunter in front of me. As it is…I can't really manage the mortification. If Daryl is uncomfortable with my grip…well actually he can stuff it because he scared the shit out of me to begin with.

Remembering how the hunter took off without giving me any instructions, I glare at the back of his head for the umpteenth time and clench my arms around his ribs. He squirms slightly and I almost smirk…before he yanks back the throttle again and we lurch forward, the roar of the engine deafening in my ears. I gasp, the sound torn away by the wind, and unconsciously press my face between Daryl's shoulder blades as he swerves around yet another broken down car. I think I feel the man laugh but I can't be sure.

When we've slowed down to humane levels, I chance lifting my head and looking around. The wind is sharp, whipping my hair around and stinging my eyes, but I squint against it and manage to make out the green blur of countryside as we fly past. The midday sun is warm along my face and it chases away the chill that had set into my bones yesterday. The CDC still clings to my thoughts—and Jacqui and Jim, Amy, Kaleigh—but it all begins to thaw and bleed away as Daryl speeds faster and farther and further. I sigh and lean my cheek against Daryl's shoulder. My eyes feel heavy and I let them drift close, focusing on the steady whoosh of air beneath my ear as Daryl breathes in and out, focusing on the sturdy drumming of his heartbeat.

We've been driving for about half an hour or so. We've cleared the city, after some tedious navigation of abandoned roadblocks, and Georgia stretches out wide and bare before us. Fort Benning is still hours away and God only knows what awaits us there. Pursing my lips, I shift to peek over Daryl's shoulder, anticipating gray asphalt and open sky, but a different sight greets me. A knot immediately tightens in my gut.

"Hey," I call over the wind. Daryl half turns his head to acknowledge me and I lean up and forward to speak directly in his ear. "What's that?"

"What's what?" he shouts back over his shoulder. The bike twitches a bit to the right and Daryl turns to talk but he straightens it out quickly.

I clench myself tight to Daryl's back with my left hand and shakily raise my right, bandaged wrist. "That," I yell as I point at a smudged blur on the horizon. Somehow, in the past half an hour, Daryl and I had snuck into the point position of our little caravan. We roared yards ahead of the others and in result, we are the first to see things coming toward us. Or that we're heading towards. Daryl strains forward, to see I would assume, and after a moment I think I hear the end of a bitten off curse. He guns the engine again and I quickly drop my other arm to his waist, awkwardly cradling the jut of his hipbone in the curve of my elbow. My wrist aches in response but I ignore the almost second nature pain as Daryl and I hurtle down the highway and closer to the smudge that it quickly becoming clear.

It only takes a few minutes for us to reach it, the smudge, and it turns out to be a flipped over 18-wheeler, sprawled across the two lanes of abandoned cars. Daryl slows down to almost a stop as we weave through the cars and, this time around, I definitely hear the curse that falls off his tongue.

"Fuck," he spits as we stop between an empty horse trailer and an old Toyota Corolla. I nervously look around, eyes peeled for movement, for walkers. Nothing catches my eye but I still have this tight feeling in my chest. Subconsciously, I press closer to Daryl.

"You think we can make it through?" I ask quietly. Cars stretch to the blurred line of the horizon, miles off, and to each side of the woods on our right and left. The empty spaces of cement in between are littered with trash and, I gulp silently, I think I see a foot sticking out from underneath one of the cars.

Daryl growls under his breath. "Dunno," he says reluctantly. The bike snarls between our legs and Daryl wrenches the handles to the left. "Maybe if it was just us," he muses as he turns the bike around. "The RV is gonna be the most trouble."

"But we can just move cars right? We can still get through?"

Daryl doesn't answer me this time and we pick our way back to where the others have yet to hit the line of cars. His silence disquiets me and when the RV breaks down with the sound of a gunshot and a cloud of smoke, I almost think Daryl had seen this coming.

#

Shane sends us out to scavenge. A harsh word but these are harsh times. I've come to accept it. Lori, on the other hand, hasn't.

"This is a graveyard," she stresses. Her eyes sweep the empty cars and discarded things. She speaks as if we were exhuming bodies and desecrating graves.

Rick fidgets beside her in discomfort; Shane's lips thin into a blanched line. Carl and Sophia hide behind their mothers and Daryl is half in the trunk of a nearby station wagon, digging through a ghost's belongings. He doesn't even seem fazed, not that he ever really does. The others, however, give pause.

"Maybe…Maybe Lori's right," Carol timidly speaks up. She looks a little pale around the eyes and her lips tremble. Andrea starts to murmur her assent, a tad half-hearted, and Glenn seems a little stricken. I sigh, loudly, without meaning to and eyes swing around to pin me to the asphalt.

I squirm under the hot stares, sweat prickling on the nape of my neck and along my hairline. "Sorry," I mutter.

"Do you have something ya want to add Audrey?" Shane inquires. There is an irritated undertone to his question, a flare of annoyance in his dark brown eyes, but I attribute it to exhaustion rather than malice. I shrug my shoulders, wishing I had never made a noise. Nothing for it now, however. Might as well say it.

"Not really. I was just thinking…these people are long gone." I avert my eyes from Lori's betrayed glower and reach into the window of the Jeep I'm leaning against. I pull my hand out and in my fingers is a first-aid kit, not even opened. Flipping it in my hand, I look up and glance at the others. "They left this stuff behind. Yeah it probably wasn't out of choice but…it's here all the same. Letting it go to waste because of some sense of morality that is no longer practical…seems kind of…" I trail off, hoping to find a neutral term, but Daryl snorts from my side and grunts a not so quiet, "Stupid." I wince but can't help but agree.

Lori looks almost disgusted and righteously angry. "So what?" she snaps. "We just stop being decent human beings?!"

I sigh and rub at my nose, grimace when I press on the still sore cartilage. "That's not what I said or meant. I just..."

"You're just being practical."

I blink and shoot Rick a grateful glance and he smiles softly, tiredly, in return. The older man steps up and takes the reigns and I can almost physically see his shoulders bend with the weight of responsibility.

"Look," he starts off and his eyes go beseechingly to his wife first. "I know this isn't ideal…but you all know how low on supplies we are. And how far we still have to go. It feels wrong. I get that, I do." He puts a hand over his heart, tanned and calloused fingers folding over the sheriff's badge still pinned to his chest. "But we have to do whatever it takes to survive now. Does everyone understand?"

Slowly, one by one, people begin to nod. Lori's lips thin into a dangerously line but she doesn't say a word more as people scatter between the cars. I try to catch her eye and shoot her an apologetic smile but she stiffly turns her back on me and herds Carl to a car close by. Sophia catches my eye instead and she waves shyly, a ratty doll, Eliza's I realize and my heart clenches at the memory of Morales and his family, clutched to her chest. I smile in return and wave back. The little girl's timid yet bright smile is the last thing I see before there's a hand on my shoulder and I'm spinning around in shock.

Daryl raises an eyebrow at me and I barely curb the urge to punch him.

"What the hell have I told you about sneaking up on me?" I snap. My heart pounds out a frantic tattoo beneath my ribs. He rolls his eyes in response.

"Be more alert then kid. Christ knows ya need to be."

I scowl at the hunter and release the hold I had on my tanto's hilt. "Did you need something Daryl?"

His blue eyes find mine and I think I see an instant of hesitancy in them before his gaze clicks away. "Ya goin out?" he questions. He gestures over his shoulder and my eyes follow the movement to the line of cars at his back. A few cars away, I see T-Dog already beginning to siphon gas.

"Was planning to," I respond. My ankle throbs at the thought but I push the pain away. "Why? Need a buddy?"

I say it like a joke, as if I'm teasing, but I quickly find myself holding my breath as I wait for Daryl's reply. I know what he said at the CDC and I know how he's been acting…differently but what I don't know is why.

Is this because he still feels guilty about Merle? (And another thing about that…does he still blame me?)

Is it because he thinks I'm still suicidal and feels some odd sense of obligation to watch me?

Or…or is it really because he's my…friend?

It's the end of the fucking world. People are dying left and goddamn right. This shouldn't matter as much as it does to me. But I can't help it. I really just can't.

Daryl looks at me and his expression is unreadable. Silence stretches between us for ten seconds…twenty…thirty. Then, just as I am thinking it has to be one of the first two reasons, Daryl snorts and shifts his crossbow to lie more comfortablely across his back.

"Ya might be cripple but I trust you to watch my back more than any of these assholes. At least ya know how to handle a weapon. So ya comin or what?"

He turns without waiting for me to answer but I smile anyways because it seems maybe, just maybe, all my work has paid off. I quickly limp after him and do my best to stop grinning like an idiot.

I think I hear someone call my name but I must be imagining it.

---

Glenn watches Audrey slip in between the cars and glide farther and farther away. He can still taste her name on his tongue, it still echoes against broken glass and rusted metal, but the girl doesn't falter. She doesn't stop. She just keeps walking, hot on the heels of Daryl Dixon, and Glenn thinks he actually hears her laugh.

He sighs and turns back to the fuming radiator in front of him. At his side, Dale shoots him a sympathetic look. "Do you want me to call her back?" he asks softly, in that meddling, caring way of his. Glenn shakes his head and sticks his arm into the Winnebago, screwdriver in hand and sweat on his brow.

"There wouldn't be a point," he responds and the truth tastes bitter at the back of his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Glenn sees Dale frown.

"You can't just give up son."

Glenn almost laughs. Did everyone know? How pathetic. Instead, he just wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist and ignores the pity in Dale's gaze.

"Giving up implies I had a chance Dale."

The young man thinks back to Amy, his friend Amy, all blonde hair and blue eyes and bright optimism.

"Oh my god! Glenn you like her! Oh my GOD! You two would be so CUTE together. I wonder…I bet she likes you too! Ahh! If it's the last thing I do, I will see the two of you together."

Glenn had tried to stop her, had tried to get her to forget it. But…Amy is…was stubborn. She was like a dog with a bone. She tried her hardest to get Glenn and Audrey in the same places together, tried to get Audrey to see Glenn like he saw her; Amy even went so far as to ask Audrey what she thought of him. Glenn never heard what the brunette's answer had been but…he thinks he can guess it now.

"Sorry Amy," he thinks to himself. "Guess you were wrong."

It really wasn't a wonder as to why he fell for her. This girl that came stumbling out of the woods with a sword in hand and blood streaming down her face like some warrior princesses out of a video game. This girl that was tough as nails but could be completely soft hearted. This girl that read to little kids and helped old, senile men. This girl that stood up to assholes and faced down walkers and was his friend.

And, apparently, this girl that was only ever to be his friend.

Glenn sighs and tries not to think of Audrey or her green eyes, her white smile, her easy laugh. He definitely tries not to think about that drunken kiss two nights ago and whether or not Audrey remembers and is just ignoring it or if it was lost in the haze of alcohol. He tries all this…and he fails…and he can't help but wonder…

How the hell had he lost to him?

---

"Shit!"

Daryl reacts without thinking and steadies the kid as she stumbles into him. His hand encircles the sharp jut of her elbow and he frowns as he thinks how fragile she seems sometimes. Glass bones and paper skin.

"Fucking hell. I swear to God, if the asshole who invented shoelaces isn't dead yet I hope he meets his end soon. These things never fucking stay tied."

Then again…maybe fragile ain't the right word.

Scoffin under his breath, Daryl releases the kid's arm and glances down at her feet. For the umpteenth time in goddamn ten minutes, her shoelaces are tangled underfoot. If Daryl didn't have the reflexes that he did, Audrey would have ended up on her face multiple times by know, road rash carved into her cheeks.

Somethin traitorous at the back of Daryl's mind directs his eyes to the kid's cheek, to the mess of bruises and scabbed over skin, remnants from where Merle shoved her face into the gravel rooftop, and he has to turn away or the fuckin guilt would make him sick. To escape it, Daryl goes back to diggin through cars and poppin the doors to the gas tank so the nigger can siphon the gas when he draws closer.

He's hangin halfway through the open door of a large SUV when he hears yet another curse behind him and the sound of a body smackin into the ground. He spins on reflex, clippin his head on the roof of the car, hand already on the hilt of his knife, when he finally spots the kid sprawled a few feet away on the ground. She's grimacin, flat on her ass, head lollin against the caved in door of a Chevy. Her face looks a little pale and the lines around her mouth, her greengreen eyes, are tight with what he realizes is pain. Somethin burns under his skin and Daryl shifts his weight from foot to foot as he stares down at her.

"Walk much kid?" he grunts and Audrey weakly manages to flip him the bird.

"Fucking shoelaces." She gestures curtly to her feet and Daryl ain't surprised to find her shoes untied yet again. Daryl purses his lips and looks back at the kid's face but her eyes are closed, her breathin slightly labored. The hunter wonders what to do and his first solution, his default to everythin, is just to walk away. Ain't his problem. He ain't got to do shit bout it.

He entertains the idea for bout ten seconds before it's discarded. He can't just leave the kid on the ground out here. He'd said that he trusted the kid to watch his back (and he did, especially after her stint at the old folk's home courtyard) and he's got to return the favor to her.

Daryl originally plans to stand watch as the kid rests a bit, maybe scavenge the vehicles in a ten-foot radius, but before he knows it, he's kneelin in front of Audrey and reachin for her foot. The second his fingers brush the bare skin of her ankle, Audrey's eyes are snappin open and she's flinchin back a few inches. Her green eyes find his and there's a flare of shock in them, streaks of curiosity. Daryl finds his cheeks burnin—he blames the afternoon sun hot on his neck—and he mentally wonders what the fuck he's doin.

"If things go to shit," he grunts out. His voice is overly sharp as he starts to tug her shoelaces into place, cinch them into knots. "Ya need to be able to run and not fall flat on yer face." Audrey says nothin and he tucks the ends of her laces into the side of her shoe before he turns to the other.

Daryl takes one look at the half unraveled bow and makes a strangled noise of disbelief and disgust. "Fuck kid! Who the hell taught you how to tie shoes?"

Audrey kicks out at him half-heartedly, clippin him on his thigh. "Hey! You try tying a knot with a broken wrist!" She waves the wrapped appendage at him and all he can think is at least the kid knows how to split a broken bone.

As he finishes her other shoe, and casts half a glance at the bruised ankle he's holdin, Daryl starts to think bout the stash of drugs he stowed in Merle's bike and how he knows there's a bottle of high quality pain pills in there. Maybe later, when they're headin out again, he'll slip her a few.

Done, Daryl lifts his head only to find Audrey starin out him. There's somethin in her eyes, somethin he recognizes, somethin soft, that has him rockin to his feet and snatchin his crossbow from where it's propped against the Chevy's tires.

"Come on," he grumbles, all too aware of footsteps a few yards away and the smell of gasoline. "We need to open more tanks so the nigger can siphon fuel."

"Don't do that."

Daryl blinks at the sudden sharpness to the kid's voice and he glances at her over his shoulder. She's painstakingly pullin herself up off the ground, gropin along the truck's door, and her brow is creased into a drastic frown. The softness is gone from her gaze and Daryl now sees anger, irritation…disapproval.

"Don't do what?" he grunts back. He tries to drum up and aggravated tone but he's distracted by the sweat in the hollow of the kid's collar bone, by the way her white shirt clings to her ribs and a dark shadow that curves across her torso beneath the thin fabric. He frowns and squints at it, tries to discern its shape, but Audrey's suddenly walkin towards him and he reflexively takes a step back.

"Use that word," Audrey continues. With each step, her frown deepens. "T-Dog has a name you know. You don't have to call him derogatory words."

It takes a minute for Daryl to realize what she's talkin bout and then it's his turn to frown. "What the hell is it to you what I call that n…nigger?" he grits out. He stumbles on the word, he doesn't know why, but the kid seizes it like a dog would a bone.

"Cuz I know that racial slurs and a piss poor attitude is not who you are Daryl," she tells him and she's suddenly right in front of him. She's not in his face, there's still a foot or so of space between them, but Daryl tenses up all the same. He scowls and goes to snap at her, what he doesn't know, but she beats him to it.

"And don't growl something out at me to try and make me think different. I know you aren't the man you try so desperately to make the others believe you are: some red neck that doesn't give two shits about anyone else. I know that isn't you."

Daryl squirms in discomfort under her words and her stare and he does the only thing he knows how.

He lashes out.

"You don't know anythin bout me kid," he sneers at her with bare teeth. Audrey doesn't even flinch at his tone. In fact, she just rolls her eyes.

"I don't know a lot about you but I do know some Daryl." She stresses his name as if to garner his attention and when his eyes find hers…he draws up short.

That softness is back again. Small, and just around the edges. But it's there.

The kid takes advantage of his silence and presses on. "I know that you're kind under that asshole exterior…"

Daryl snorts derisively but she ignores him. "I also know you're smarter that people take you for. I've seen it so don't try and deny it. I don't know why you try to hide all this but…you're your own goddamn person Daryl. And maybe you should start acting like it."

Daryl is stunned into silence at Audrey's words and can only stand there like an idiot as she spares him one last glance before sighin and turnin on heel. She begins to walk away, farther out into the jagged labyrinth of cars, but not before throwin one last comment over her shoulder.

"You're my friend Daryl," she calls and that sentence, said aloud, is like a punch to his chest. "You…not your brother. Think about that okay?"

And then she's gone, threadin her way through the stalled cars and flipped over trucks. A part of Daryl wants to be pissed, wants to curse at the kid for mentionin his brother, so soon after Daryl's lost him, and while he does find himself irritated…he can't seem to accomplish the righteous anger he was expectin.

Maybe it's cuz when he follows the kid a few minutes later, he finds a stack of crossbow bolts sittin on the hood of a car, right in his way.

Maybe it's cuz when he catches her eye through the window of another car, Audrey, with a straight face, tosses somethin at him and can't stop her stoic mask from crackin when Daryl drops the lacy pair of panties like they're on fire.

Maybe…it's cuz Daryl realizes that…the kid hadn't been expectin better from him, like every other person had in his life. Teachers and bosses, co-workers and ex-girlfriends. The kid…had said he was better, already, and was just hidin it away.

Daryl didn't know why but for some reason…that difference was rather important.

"Hey man," a voice says behind him a while later and Daryl turns to see the ni—T-Dog starin at him warily. "Have you found any more gas containers? I've run out."

The hunter purses his lips and silently backtracks a few cars to where he'd stacked a couple of things he had planned to come back for. He grabs a red gas tank, turns, and hands it to the other man.

T-Dog blinks at him, surprise written all over his face, and pulls the container to his chest. "T…thanks," he mutters and Daryl grunts before walkin away.

When he looks up a moment later, Daryl doesn't miss the smile on Audrey's face as she turns away and can't help the preenin sensation, small and quiet, in his chest as he shadows her footsteps.

---

I'm happy.

Which is a feat in and of itself.

My wrist is still broken, my ankle still bruised; my ribs still ache and my eye is still black and discolored, my lip split.

The CDC is gone; we're on the road again with only half a hope in the world. Food is scarce and fuel even more so.

People have died; people I have cared about.

But despite all that, I'm happy. I've hit some kind of breakthrough with Daryl. He's almost joking around with me and while he's not exactly smiling…I think he's enjoying my company too.

(Ok well except for when I threw a pair of panties at him. He looked kind of pissed at that but his face was priceless. I couldn't even stay mad at him after that.)

Daryl has found some food; about seventy-five yards away I see Shane bathing in the product of a full water truck. T-Dog's been running back and forth with fuel for nearly half an hour.

All in all…it's a good day. All in all…I'm happy.

Which is exactly why is all goes south so quickly.

It happens when I'm walking between a moving van and an overturned motorcycle. I had left Daryl at a large truck a few yards behind. He had said something about guns in the glove compartment and I'd shrugged before going on my way. I wasn't going to go too far. Just on to the next vehicle. I was looking for clothes, jackets and stuff mostly. The nights were starting to get colder. It wasn't by much but enough to make me realize winter was quickly approaching. I'd need more than shorts and tank tops to keep warm in the coming months.

I had just spotted an open car in front of me, with a suitcase half sticking out of the backseat, when there's a shuffle of gravel behind me and Daryl's voice slices through the air.

I really should have known.

"Kid!"

It's his tone that raises the hair along my arms and, even before I completely turn around, I know something is wrong.

Daryl is sprinting between the vehicles, crouched low and to the ground. As he draws closer, I see that his eyes are bright blue and burn with their intensity. His face is drawn and urgent.

"What?" I call, quietly because his expression calls for it. "What's happened?"

Daryl doesn't answer me. He just skids to a stop by my side, gravel spraying everywhere, and his eyes frantically skip around. His chest is heaving and he's so close to me I can almost hear is racing heartbeat.

"Daryl," I hiss. "What's happened?"

The hunter snaps his eyes to him, his mouth opens, and out issues a guttural moan. My eyes widen and I almost take a step back before Daryl spins around and curses. I follow his line of sight and instantly go cold.

Walkers. A horde of them; a herd of them. They spill between the cars like water, a never-ending flood, and I have half a moment to wonder about Carl, Sophia, Glenn, before Daryl is yanking on my arm and shoving me to the ground. It all happens so fast. Action and reaction. Push and pull. There is no time for thinking, no time for questions. I move without too much prompting and hit the ground as Daryl does beside me. Rocks and broken pieces of glass dig into my skin, biting, tearing, and Daryl urges me under the moving van we had been standing beside. I do my best to shuffle quickly, nearly biting my tongue off when I jar my broken wrist against the van's axle, and Daryl is right on my heels. The two of us press tightly together, me half on my side to accommodate Daryl's bigger bulk, and the instant we stop moving, stop breathing, start waiting, do we hear the drag of feet that announces their arrival.

Except…it's not them.

Shoes that I somehow recognize stumble past. There's a splash of something wet onto the ground, droplets peppering my face, and I hear a voice that is in no way a walker's moan.

"Oh fucking Christ. Oh god no."

My eyes go wide and I find Daryl looking at me, inches away, with the same expression.

"T-Dog," I whisper and that's when I notice that the liquid on my face, the salt in my mouth, is blood.

No. No no nonono. Not T-Dog too. We can't lose someone else.

Daryl and I stare at each other in silence for a split second, the drone of walkers drawing closer and closer, before we start into action.

I move to slip out from under the right side of the van, Daryl the left, but neither of us gets far. Daryl's hand, tight on my upper arm, has us both freezing.

"Where the fuck are ya going?" Daryl snarls in my face. I'm so close to him I can see the slight over sharpness of one of his canines. I wrench against Daryl's hold, frantic as the shifting gravel starts to get louder behind us.

"T-Dog's hurt," I hiss back. I think about blood and Amy and JimKaleighJacqui. "He needs help! You can't just expect me to—"

Daryl shakes me so hard my teeth rattle. "I know," he snaps and his blue eyes bore straight into my soul. "You stay here. I'll go."

"Daryl you—"

"Stay Audrey."

The use of my name, my actual name, has me freezing in shock and Daryl takes the opportunity to let go of my arm and shimmy out from under the van. I think about following, fuck Daryl and his orders, but just as I shift to do so, footsteps sound directly behind me and then…they're here.

I stop breathing, my body clenches tight, and I have just enough frame of mind to silently pull my tanto out of its sheathe and roll completely on my stomach. Minutes pass as I stare at the flood of stumbling feet. I lose count of the rotten toes, the bare feet, the worn out shoes and glinting bone that shamble past my hiding place. My heart beats a brand against the inside of my chest and the only thing that keeps me sane is that, beside the ever present moans, everything is…silent.

No screams.

No shouts.

No wails of fear or grief.

That must mean…everyone is safe right?

I bite my lip and tell myself right because the alternative is something I don't want to entertain.

An eternity come and goes. I find myself straining to see between the front tires of the van, looking for glimpses of Daryl, of T-Dog, but there is nothing but walker's ankles and fumbling feet. Fear crystallizes in my veins and I slowly feel it shatter, piece by piece, and tear at me slowly. Cut me up from the inside. By the time the last walker ambles past, I've nearly gone mad with what ifs and anxiety.

I wait a moment, two, and then slowly slide out from under the van. No walkers lunge for me. I push myself into a crouch, look around, but nothing moves. They're gone. Releasing a breath that I hadn't realized I was holding, I'm just taking a step forward, to look for Daryl, and that asshole better not be hurt, when I hear it.

The noise I've been silently praying would not sound.

A scream. Loud and bone chilling; blood curling. I spin around to look behind me, squint against the sun, and feel my heart stop as I see Sophia, little Sophia, jump the highway guard rail far in the distance with two walkers hot on her heels. I spare half a thought for Daryl, decide he's a big boy and wouldn't be so stupid as to die, and take off at sprint towards Sophia. Before I get close, I see Rick scale the rail, sprint into the woods, and by the time I arrive at the spot they disappeared, he and Sophia are long gone.

I stand there, panting on the asphalt, surrounded by the rest of the, thankfully whole members of my group, and strain to see the path Sophia and Rick took. Just as I think I see a trail of bent grass and broken twigs, just as I'm about to jump the rail and follow, another gasp explodes behind me. I whirl around, half aware of Shane cocking his shotgun beside me, to see a handful of straggler walkers, ambling quickly towards us.

"Shit," Shane curses and his voice breaks with fear. Lori sobs out beside him and Carl begins to whimper. I don't have the energy to agree with Shane before I shove my tanto into the sheathe at my hip and reach around for the katana along my spine.

Please, let Sophia be all right.

"Don't shoot unless I'm about to die," I pant out to the cop beside me. Ignoring the eyes that swerve to stare at me, ignoring the halfhearted pleas for me to stop, I twirl the sword in my hand and slowly start forward, counting one geek, two, five and six.

Please, let Sophia be all right.

Praying that Rick and Sophia will be ok, praying that they'll make it back alive, I gather all the strength I can and lash out as the first walker reaches me.

I soon get lost in the sound of moans, the wet spray of blood, and the silver gleam of steel as it arcs through the air.

And all the while, a frantic, single mantra pounds inside my head.

Please, let Sophia be all right.

---

(1) You are Tired by E.E. Cummings

(2) Anemones- flowers that speak of fragileness

(0) The title of this chapter is from Richard Siken's Poem Road Music. The stanza that it's from is as follows and I thought it worked well:

There should be just one safe place

in the world, I mean

this world, I'm still talking about this world. People get hurt here. People fall down

and stay down and I don't like the way

the song goes.

A/N: Well...there is half of the first episode! :D Again, sorry it took so damn long :/

Just some FYIs. The first scene, with the group going back to the retirement center, is not of my own though process. On the TWD DVD, it's a deleted scene :) I added my own flourish but that's about it.

So...what did you guys think of the Audrey/Daryl interaction? :/ That was the HARDEST part EVER for me because I'm trying to keep true to the angry, standoffish Daryl of season 2 but still have him getting closer to Audrey and...mehhhh X( It's hard.

Did I at least partially succeed?

ALSO! Sorry if it confused you, but I squeezed a little bit of Glenn's POV in there. I did that because one, last chapter and the drunken kiss and two, because Maggie's coming in soon :) Just thought Chinaman deserved a little limelight.

I hope this chapter, even though it took 12890 years, was adequate enough and I just wanted to say I love each and every reader out there! You guys broke the 300 review barrier! You don't know how ridiculously happy that makes me! DX So THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

And, as always, if you have an questions, comments, confusions, or concerns feel free to PM me and I'll address them accordingly! :)

Until next time!

~Shadows

PS: ~~~!PLEASE READ!~~~~

Hey guys! I was looking at the story's Summary the other day and...I dont think I really like it any more. :P Do you guys have any suggestions? :D I loved to hear them. Send me a PM of what you think the summary should be and if i receive a lot I'll even change it to what I think is the best suggestion! ^^ PLEASE do this. If you are so inclined that is.