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

38. All that We Intend is Scrawled in Sand

A/N: Alrighty! This is another uber long chapter, but I didn't want to break up the whole Sophia ordeal. I also decided to split the POV, so we get both Daryl and Audrey's perspectives.

Just as an FYI, I am still determined to finish season 2! But my updates might be a little slower in the next couple weeks since I have to drive cross country to visit family lol. I will have some downtime though, and Daryl Dixon still has his hooks in my brain, so I do plan on writing at some point haha.

Hope you enjoy the Audrey/Daryl bits of this chapter! (And I'm sorry to make you relive the trauma of Sophia's fate :'] )

(PS: There will be an addition A/N at the end because I want to respond to the reviews y'all left, but I don't wanna bog down this beginning part any further lol. Also, title is taken from another Hozier song.)

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Chapter 37: All that We Intend is Scrawled in Sand

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Daryl makes it ten yards from the stables before he starts to feel like the world's biggest piece of shit.

As much as he tries to hold onto it, his anger burns away like a flashfire, sudden and hot but unsustainable. Guilt and shame quickly take its place, makin' his feet falter in the long grass like a newborn colt. But those same emotions also propel him forward. Away from the stables. Away from camp. Away from fuckin' everyone.

He ain't aware of where he's goin', just that he's goin', and by the time he looks up, he's surrounded by trees, the farm nowhere in sight.

On instinct, he scans for threats, with his eyes narrowed and his hand on the buck knife at his hip. He's thinkin' about the walkers holed up in the goddamn barn, not to mention the ones he killed in that ravine, and residual adrenaline makes his heart pound in his ears.

But the woods are empty. Silent, save for birdsong. He's alone, which would usually be preferable, but now it just makes him feel even worse.

His side is burnin' cuz of his outburst with the saddle, and a steady throbbin' has set up shop behind his temple.

But none of that compares to the tangled nest of emotions writhin' in his gut, like a pit of damn vipers.

The hunter clenches his eyes shut, tries to level out his breathin', but it's no use. He just keeps picturin' Carol's tears and hearin' her broken voice like a scratched record, loopin' through his head.

Then it's the look on Audrey's face when he yanked away from her hand in the stables. She'd been angry before, matchin' him glare for glare, but at that moment, her expression had flickered between ashamed, remorseful, and pleadin'. It had almost been enough to break him. Almost.

He knows now she was just worried 'bout him. Hell, he knew it then, too.

But Shane's words had been cyclin' through Daryl's head— You might have taken a liking to little girls— and Carol was standin' right there, and Daryl was just so goddamn frustrated. At his own body for its weakness, at Glenn for nearly fuckin' them all over, at Carol for wantin' to give up on her little girl.

At Audrey, for diggin' under his skin and takin' root, until the thought of keepin' her safe, keepin' her close, blotted out all his good goddamn sense.

Everythin' just came explodin' out of him then, and he did what he always did. He snapped and bared his teeth, pushin' people away like the feral dog he was. And, to make sure no one followed him, he tossed out one last curse for good measure.

Stupid fuckin' bitches.

The memory of spittin' those words turns his mouth sour, and his stomach ties itself into knots, threatenin' to eject his meager breakfast. His old man had always called his ma similar things— and he bets Carol's husband and the man who gave Audrey her scars were no different— and this is just more proof that Daryl's got the same poison runnin' through his veins. That his grandmother had been right, all those years ago.

"Fuck," he hisses, then repeats himself, louder, as he lashes out and kicks the nearest tree. "Fuck!"

His voice echoes around him, startlin' some birds out of the canopy, but Daryl pays them no mind. He just stands there, pantin' through gritted teeth, and then he spins on heel and blindly stalks off, deeper into the woods.

He's tryin' to outrun his guilt, escape the sad green eyes hauntin' his thoughts, but they hound him relentlessly, like a dog that had caught a scent and would follow it come hell or high water.

Eventually, he's forced to stop, out of breath and drenched in sweat. He drops down to sit on a boulder, ballin' up fists and pressin' them into his eye sockets until fireworks of color bloom across his vision.

His side is still throbbin' painfully, but so is somethin' in his chest. He grabs at the front of his shirt like he could physically rip the sensation out. He can't, but he still tries, an exercise in futility like every other fuckin' thing in his life.

Daryl sits there for a long time, countin' his labored breaths and purposefully not lettin' himself think about anythin' else. At some point, he rubs a hand over his sternum in what he wants to be a soothin' gesture, somethin' to calm the frantic thuddin' of his heart.

But then his fingers brush over his collarbone, and he gets smacked with the memory of Audrey leanin' in to kiss him there, her tongue and lips hot against his skin.

The hunter tries to shove the memory away, tries to think of somethin' else, anythin' else. But his cowardice can't last forever, and despite his vehement reluctance, he's forced to confront how badly he's fucked up.

Again, Audrey's hurt expression flashes through his mind, accompanied by another painful squeeze behind his breastbone.

He hadn't even made it 48 hours before fuckin' things up with her.

This is one of the reasons he'd initially tried to reject her, that night in the farmer's house. Daryl has always known that he's a piece of shit, an asshole, a bastard in all but the most literal sense. For a moment, Audrey had started to convince him that he was wrong, that maybe he could be— or even already was— a good man. But the hunter had proven himself to be deservin' of every insult people had thrown at him over the years.

And now she could see it, too.

Daryl tries to imagine what their next interaction will be like. Would she sneer at him in disgust? Would she yell at him for makin' Carol cry, or for callin' both of them bitches? Maybe she won't say anythin' at all. Maybe she'll just stop talkin' to him altogether, avoidin' him like she used to at the quarry, when Merle was hangin' over his shoulder. Hell, Daryl might return to camp and find his tent empty of her things, because she realized everyone had been right about him. He's the type of man to scream at terrified mothers and curse at the girl he was kissin' just this mornin', so even sleepin' on top of the RV would be better than bein' anywhere near him.

The possibilities make his stomach churn, bile risin' up hot and fast in the back of his throat. He tries to swallow but find he can't, his mouth dry and gritty. Sweat drips into his eye and stings against the cut on his temple, but at least the minuscule pain gives him somethin' to focus on while he tries not to hurl.

The bout of nausea slowly passes but doesn't leave him completely. It continues writhin' dully in the pit of his gut, echoed by the stab in his side and back, and Daryl finally pulls up his shirt, expectin' blood.

He'd taken the gauze off this mornin', since it was already soaked in sweat, and the stretch of stitches along his abdomen is stark, black thread and red flesh. He'd somehow avoided reopenin' the wound, but it still burns like a cattle brand is bein' dug into his skin.

Good, he thinks bitterly. Fuckin' deserve it, ya stupid asshole.

Droppin' his shirt back into place, he lifts his head and takes a closer look at his surroundings. He doesn't know how far he's delved into the woods, but if he cranes his neck and shifts a little, he can see the sun through the canopy, still hangin' in the eastern sky.

It's probably not even ten o'clock. Daryl thinks they've broken some kind of record, havin' things go to shit so early in the goddamn mornin'.

Part of him— okay, the majority of him— wants to just hide out here for the rest of the day. Possibly forever. If he doesn't go back to camp, he doesn't have to deal with the consequences of his idiotic, dickhead actions.

Then he remembers the barn, and the walkers lurkin' inside. His body immediately tenses, fear crawlin' across his skin like an army of spiders. But he's not afraid for himself. Even if Audrey hates him now— which he's sure she does, and he deserves it— he still can't stomach the idea of her bein' in danger.

And she is in danger, since no one except Shane seems to be up in arms about the potential undead army a stone's throw away from where they goddamn sleep.

If things go to shit, and they always fuckin' do, Daryl doesn't trust any of those motherfuckers to look out for Audrey. The hunter knows she'll probably see it differently, but he's the only one who can keep an eye on her.

When push comes to shove, Grimes and Walsh will protect 'their' woman and her son. Dale is always hoverin' around Andrea and will most likely take care of Carol. T-Dog could look after himself, and Glenn will try to save his new girlfriend's family, even though those idiots are the reason they're all in this mess to begin with.

So, it's up to Daryl. And if Audrey… doesn't want that anymore, then he'll just keep an eye on her from a distance, like he used to. He could live with that. That feels more familiar to him, more normal. The last couple days were just a fluke, and the universe is course correctin', that's all.

His heart throbs traitorously in his chest, but the hunter ignores it as he pushes himself to his feet, turns back in the direction of camp, and slowly starts walkin'.

The loomin' threat of the barn keeps him movin', but his reluctance to see Audrey again slows his pace to a near crawl. Despite his previous determination, he doesn't actually want to witness her green eyes goin' cold when they land on him. He doesn't want to see those lips that he kissed just hours ago twistin' into a hateful sneer.

He's a coward, on top of bein' a piece of shit, so he lets his feet take a longer, roundabout path back to the farm.

The hunter halfheartedly keeps an eye out for walkers as he goes, but the woods are still empty of anythin' on two legs. He spots a few squirrels, and a rabbit, and he absently misses his crossbow. But even if he could hold it without tearin' his stitches, he's still out of bolts. He'll need to make new ones, and it's a time-consumin' bitch of a process, but at least it'll give him somethin' to do.

It ain't like he's gonna have someone talkin' his ear off and readin' him bedtime stories anymore.

Disappointment and regret well up inside him, but he forces them down with a tight swallow, the dry walls of his throat scrapin' together.

He continues trudgin' along, feelin' like he's walkin' to the gallows or some shit. He knows he's close to the farm by now, but he still feels a dull flare of surprise when he suddenly steps out of the trees and is nearly blinded by the sun.

Squintin', Daryl lifts a hand to shield his eyes, wonderin' why it's so goddamn bright. He blinks several times to adjust his vision, and when it does, he's left starin' at a small pond.

The water is green and brackish, still except for the ripples created by bugs skatin' along the surface. It ain't a very big pond, but there's a small dock extendin' into the center, with an equally small rowboat lashed to the wooden posts. The hunter had no idea this was here, he must have stormed past the clearing earlier without noticin'. But the Greene property is fairly large, so it ain't that surprisin'.

Daryl stares at the pond for a long moment, squintin' against the glare comin' off the surface. Then, for some reason, his feet carry him forward, and he skirts around the reeds and tall grasses linin' the banks. He approaches the dock, and his boots thunk over the weathered wood planks. The structure sways under him but seems sturdy enough, so he walks to the end and stops.

As he glances down, his blurry reflection stares back up at him, and he feels a sharp sense of disgust.

Merle had always taken more after their father in terms of looks, but Daryl can still see some of their old man echoed in his own features. In the narrowed eyes and thin lips, maybe somethin' in the jawline. He scowls, and the ghost of his father scowls back at him, remindin' him that the angry face he had turned on Audrey was the same one he used to cower before as a small child.

That's another thing George Dixon passed on to his sons: his volatile, explosive anger. Just another curse, like the Dixon name.

Without wantin' to, Daryl thinks of the quarry again, of all the different times the rest of the group had regarded him with fear and hatred. Like when Audrey got attacked by that weasel, and everyone looked to him, expectin' to find her blood under his fingernails. Or when he and Audrey tried to go huntin', before all the shit that went down in Atlanta, and Grimes' boy started screamin' that Daryl had grabbed her, so everyone came chargin' out of camp, their expressions afraid and disgusted… but not surprised.

Daryl has always hated their assumptions. Their judgments. He hated that they looked at him and saw nothin' but an inbred redneck, an abusive bastard who probably beat women and children alike. He always told himself that they didn't know jackshit about him, but in truth, they had seen right through him. Right down to his dirty, rotten core.

Self-loathin' rushes up his throat and condenses into a wad of spit that he hacks into the pond, distortin' his reflection. His father's reflection. It doesn't make him feel better, don't know why he thought it might, and Daryl spins around with a growl.

He's plannin' on just bitin' the bullet and marchin' straight back to camp, but he freezes as somethin' catches his eye. Instinctively, his joints lock, his body expectin' a threat. But the thing that caught his attention is small, white, and unmovin'.

It's a flower. More specifically, a fuckin' Cherokee rose.

The familiar sight draws him up short, disrupts his anger. The white petals nearly glow against the greenery surrounding them, and he sees there are several blooms sproutin' up between the reeds on the banks.

He tries not to, but he thinks about the one he found a couple days ago, near that old abandoned farmhouse. He brought it back on a whim and nearly discarded it several times before he approached the RV to find Carol. He'd been sure she was gonna laugh at him, or find him strange and stupid, and that fear had only grown when he found Audrey waitin' with the older woman, wearin' that goddamn bandana and lookin' so pretty, even with her bruises and bandages. He'd almost run out of there with his tail between his legs, but he somehow bucked up the courage to pull the flower out from behind his back, still feelin' a little ridiculous over his beer bottle vase.

But no one had laughed at him. In fact, Carol seemed grateful, both for the flower and the stupid history lesson he gave. It was like they had given her some peace, even a little hope.

And Audrey…

No, he pushes the thought of her away.

Instead, Daryl recalls the lost, defeated expression Carol had worn earlier, in the stables. She was clearly close to givin' up on Sophia ever bein' found. Which had initially pissed him off, but now it just makes him feel… he don't know what. But it ain't good.

Suddenly, a haphazard idea enters the hunter's head. He initially tries to discard it, but it nags at him, demandin' his consideration.

Maybe… he could bring Carol back another flower. As an apology— a shitty one, granted— but also as a symbol of hope. She might not want it, might just throw it at his feet, but Daryl thinks he should still try. The woman was already goin' through enough shit, she didn't deserve to be kicked while she's down. Especially not by an asshole like him.

So, he walks off the dock, intent on clippin' one of the flowers, but then he pauses and looks out over the pond again. It's peaceful here. Quiet. Pretty, even. He knows things back at camp have to be tense, what with the barn loomin' in the near distance. Maybe Carol would appreciate some time away, even if it was just for a few minutes.

If she agrees to follow him, that is. She's more likely to tell him to fuck off, but in that polite timid way of hers. Which, again, he would deserve, yellin' at her like he did.

But… he could try.

And maybe, just maybe, if Carol could forgive him… Audrey could, too.

He ain't gonna hold his breath, though.

Doubt is still clawin' at him, but Daryl stomps it down as he turns and starts to walk back to camp. Of course— cuz the universe just loves to fuck him— he only makes it a few yards before he suddenly hears cursin', and he ducks behind a tree on instinct.

Moments later, Shane marches into view, with sweat gleamin' on his brow and through the short buzzed hairs on his head. His face is twisted into a mean snarl, and every step he takes is pissed and sharp, his boots snappin' through branches and leaf litter.

"Goddamn Dale, when I fuckin' catch him…" he's growlin' under his breath, spittin' out more curses as he goes.

The sight of the irate cop resurrects some of the hunter's own anger, his earlier words echoin' through Daryl's head again, both condemin' and mockin'.

You might have taken a liking to little girls…

Daryl has half a mind to sneak up behind the fucker and punch him in the back of the head, maybe kick him in the nuts, too. But he knows it ain't worth it. It would just cause more goddamn problems that he doesn't wanna deal with.

So, he lets Walsh pass, starin' after the cop as he disappears further into the woods. Daryl momentarily wonders what the old man did to piss Shane off, but quickly decides he doesn't really care.

Not his fuckin' problem. He's got enough of his own to deal with.

He waits for a minute, just to make sure Shane is long gone. Once the forest is silent again, he steps out from his hidin' place and continues on toward the farm, halfheartedly followin' Walsh's trail of destruction.

To the hunter's surprise, the pond is actually much closer to the farm than he thought. He cuts through less than a hundred yards of woods before he emerges from the treeline and stares out over the familiar rollin' fields, all the way up to the Greene farmhouse. He checks the sun again and estimates he's been gone for less than an hour, so it's still mornin'.

At first glance, everythin' seems the same. Normal, peaceful, quaint. Even though that's all a fuckin' lie. Daryl's eyes jump to the distant structure of the barn, and he remembers the frenzied snarls from earlier, the doors strainin' against the locks and chains. The memory kicks his heart rate up a notch, and he starts marchin' through the field, his ears pricked and alert for the sounds of screamin' or raised voices.

He hears nothin' of the sort, by some small miracle, and before he knows it, he's half a football field away from camp. The sight of the tents, whole and unmolested, tempers some of the fear urgin' him forward, but then he suddenly realizes that he's almost reached his destination.

And he's got no fuckin' clue what he's gonna do or say.

Daryl's pace slows as his previous reluctance returns, and he scans through camp, takin' inventory like he's not purposefully tryna avoid thinkin' about certain things.

First, his eyes go to the barn again. Now that he's closer, he sees a glint of blonde near a rusted-out tractor down there, and when he squints, he realizes it's Andrea leanin' against the broken farm machinery.

Well, at least everyone ain't completely stupid. And the dull ache at his temple reminds him that Blondie's a pretty good shot, so seein' her on watch makes him feel a little more at ease.

But just a little. Cuz that fact that there's who-knows-how-many walkers right fuckin' there still hasn't changed. Which starts to make him angry again, but that ain't gonna help matters, so he tears his gaze from the barn, takin' in the rest of camp as he reaches the edges of it.

Glenn is atop the RV, sittin' on the lawn chair in Dale's stupid bucket hat, with a rifle held awkwardly between his knees. The hunter feels some of the confidence that Andrea inspired die back down. Hopefully, Glenn knew how to shoot that damn thing, and hopefully he can actually spot a threat, which don't seem too likely since he's busy starin' at the Greene home with an expression like a kicked puppy.

Must be in the dog house with the farmer's daughter again. But still, not his problem.

Daryl's eyes sweep to the side and land on Lori and her son next. The duo is perched on a pair of logs, and she seems to be cuttin' carrots while the boy pouts at her side, lookin' put out and bored under the brim of his daddy's too-big hat. Officer Friendly himself is conspicuously absent, just like Dale, but that ain't got nothin' to do with Daryl.

A moment later, T-Dog walks past the Grimes family, luggin' around chunks of cut up wood. The hunter follows the dark-skinned man toward the firepit, both with his eyes and his feet.

But then Daryl's body tenses, that pit of vipers writhin' in his belly again, guilt scorchin' through his veins like venom.

Carol and Audrey are at the picnic table near the RV. The older woman seems to be sewin' something, with a laundry basket on the bench beside her, peekin' up over the tabletop. Audrey sits across the table, on the opposite bench. Her back is to him, but he's approachin' from the right, so he can see her arm ain't in the sling, and she's surrounded by boxes of perishable goods. She's still wearin' the splint, but it looks like she's carefully… writin' somethin' on a piece of paper? Her arm is overexaggeratin' the motion, to compensate for her wrist, and Daryl feels another flare of irritation.

She seriously can't keep from strainin' herself, no matter how injured she is.

You're gonna go out there and get yourself hurt even worse. Was one near-death experience not enough for you, Dixon?

He winces and realizes that on top of bein' a piece a shit and a coward, he's also a goddamn hypocrite.

The hunter is still beratin' himself when he notices that the picnic table looks a lot closer all of the sudden, and he realizes he's kept walkin' this whole fuckin' time. A jolt of panic runs through him, he's only a few yards away now. His feet tangle, the signals for stop, go, and turn crossin' in his jumbled brain, but before he can pick a direction, Carol catches sight of him over Audrey's shoulder.

He freezes then, and braces himself for the fear, or disgust, or whatever negative emotion is about to rise in the woman's pale blue eyes.

But… he sees none of that. Carol just regards him calmly, with maybe a hint of surprise and curiosity. She cocks her head at him, waitin' for him to approach, to say somethin', but another voice cuts through the air instead.

"Hey, do you know if anyone has a shellfish alle— wait, what is it?" Audrey asks as she lifts her head, lookin' at the woman across from her. Daryl still can't see her face, but her voice is confused.

Carol glances at Audrey before her eyes click back to him, and Daryl's already sweatin', everywhere really, but his hands get even more slick as the girl turns, followin' Carol's eyeline until she lands on him.

He doesn't have time to brace himself for her reaction, but it still shocks him.

Cuz the first thing that flashes through her green eyes is relief, stark and obvious. Her shoulders lose some of their tension, and her mouth actually starts to curl up at the corners… but then the motion freezes, like someone hit the pause button.

And oh, there's the anger he'd been expectin'.

It's only a brief flare, her eyes goin' dark and her mouth pullin' into a thin line, before her face goes carefully blank. Like a mask. And a damn good one at that, cuz usually Daryl can easily read what she's feelin' or thinkin', everythin' like an open book with her. But now the book has closed, a wall has been erected, and he's left standin' on the outside.

That makes Daryl feel even worse.

They stare at each other for an endless moment, and the hunter wants nothin' more than to turn and run, to hide from those piercin' green of her eyes, but he forces his feet forward, swallowin' a mouthful of saliva.

He slowly approaches the two of them, until he's standin' near the end of the picnic table, a few feet to Audrey's right. She's still starin' at him with that blank expression, givin' nothin' away, and Daryl can't look at her, feels like he's gonna come out of his skin if he does, so he focuses on Carol.

The silver-haired woman still seems faintly curious, and Daryl clears his throat, his heart poundin' in his ears.

"Got a second?" he asks, his voice rough and scratchy even to his own ears.

His question elicits another glint of surprise in her blue eyes.

"Maybe…" she says after a moment, and she straightens in her seat as she studies him. "Why?"

Daryl struggles to formulate a response. He fears his idea will sound stupid if he tries to articulate it, and he's also still conscious of T-Dog walkin' around and Glenn atop the RV nearby. It'll be better if he could just show her the pond, to get his point across.

"Wanna show ya somethin'," he mutters, shiftin' from foot to foot. "Take maybe five minutes."

That might be a bit of a white lie, it'll take probably closer to ten minutes to reach the pond, but he hopes she won't notice.

Carol considers his request, and the silence stretches. It makes Daryl's fidgetin' worse, and he can still feel Audrey's green eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the older woman across the table.

Just when he's 'bout to break and blurt somethin' else out, Carol slowly puts down the shirt she'd been mendin', tuckin' her needle and thread into a little box that closes with a definitive click.

"Okay." She gets up from the table and walks around to join him, her expression hesitant but also expectant.

Daryl feels a knot unhitch in his chest, not relief but somethin' close. But when he finally lets his eyes fall to the left, he sees that Audrey has faced forward again, her back to him once more. Her fingers trail over some of the canned goods in front of her, like she's countin', before she carefully picks up a pencil and starts writin' figures on a piece of paper.

The hunter stands there, feelin' like there's ants under his skin, his brain unable to find the words to say. He's always been a man of action, so he hesitantly steps forward, until he's standin' directly in her peripherals. He stares down at her, willin' her to look at him again, even though he knows it'll hurt like a knife between the ribs.

Audrey tenses under his silent stare, and after several very long seconds, she finally looks up with that blank expression.

"Yes?" she asks, her voice completely colorless. It ain't cold, but it definitely ain't warm, either. Just perfectly neutral, like he's a stranger, and he fuckin' hates it.

Daryl desperately tries to drum up the words, but his vocal cords lock down, stranglin' any noise he could possibly make. Anxiety pumps through him, and he shifts on his feet again, thoughtlessly bitin' at his cuticles. Since he can't find his voice, he relies on his body and jerks his head back to where Carol is waitin' on them.

Those green eyes flick to the older woman before they stab back into him.

"Oh, were you actually talking to me, too?" she asks a little sharply, her voice still colorless but edged in steel.

Feelin' like shit but deservin' it, Daryl nods and continues bitin' his thumbnail. He rips at the skin until it hurts, until he tastes a hint of metal, which feels like an atonement of some kind.

Audrey notices, her perceptive eyes goin' to his hand/mouth, and he quickly drops his arm. When her gaze snaps back up to his, he expects more sharp-edged words, perhaps another flash of anger.

Instead, her blank mask flickers slightly, a hint of concern and somethin' else peekin' through. Somethin' softer, like how she looked at him when they were alone in their tent.

Then she sighs and turns away from him, and Daryl's stomach drops.

Until he realizes she's standin' up and carefully swingin' her medical boot over the bench.

He quickly backs up, givin' her space but stayin' close enough to catch her if she trips. She doesn't, though, and once she's got both feet on the ground, she looks up and gestures for him to lead the way. Her face still ain't that readable, but it's less stony, less cold.

Daryl tries not to feel hopeful. He fails, his heart flutterin' like a trapped bird as he turns and begins to lead them back to the pond.

As they cross the property, he walks a few feet ahead of both women and doesn't have the balls to look back at them. He can still hear their footsteps followin' him, and his skin crawls with the sensation of eyes trained on his back.

When they reach the treeline, he slows a bit, then stops as Carol's voice breaks the silence.

"Where are we going?" She sounds uncertain, maybe a little afraid.

He wonders if she's afraid of him or the woods. Both, probably. And whose fault was that?

The hunter bites the inside of his cheek as he finally turns around. Carol is hoverin' nervously just outside the shade of the canopy, and her eyes dart around before landin' on him. Beside her, Audrey is standin' with her right hand— still in the splint— restin' on the hilt at her hip. The girl's expression is still mainly closed off, and she ain't lookin' directly at him, but he sees a hint of uncertainty in her body language, too.

He hates it but has no one to blame 'cept himself.

Swallowin' another spike of self-loathin, Daryl halfheartedly gestures behind him, into the trees. "It's just through here. Less than a hundred yards."

"What's through there?" Audrey asks bluntly as her green eyes finally snap to him.

He suddenly feels small under that emerald gaze, like a little boy bein' scolded by a teacher, and he finds himself answerin' honestly.

"S' a pond," he mumbles, droppin' his eyes to her boots cuz, again, he's a coward. "The thing I wanted to show ya is next to it. It ain't dangerous, if that's what yer worried 'bout."

Silence is his only response, so he darts a glance upward. Carol looks less frightened and more curious again, but Audrey is frownin', her eyebrows pulled down into a sharp 'V.' He also thinks he spots a flash of regret pass over her face.

"I wasn't… worried about that." She sounds almost contrite, which confuses him even more.

Why would she be sorry? He's the one who needs to apologize, and he's tryin'. If they would just follow him a little longer, they would see.

Daryl doesn't know how to say any of that shit, though, so he just turns back around and steps into the treeline. A few moments later, he hears two sets of footsteps follow, and he feels a sharp pang of relief.

The hunter purposefully keeps his pace slow and nonverbally points out any obstacles in their path, like roots, rocks, and branches. He's still very conscious of Audrey's injuries, and he don't want her hurtin' herself even more.

He can't fuckin' take another ounce of guilt.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a minute or two, Daryl spots the gap in the trees ahead, and he subconsciously speeds up until he breaks into the clearing. Again, he has to squint at the bright light, lookin' back to see Carol and Audrey doin' the same as they step out of the shade. The two of them still seem confused as they look out over the pond, and Daryl's heart begins to pound as he faces forward, leadin' them along the edge of the overgrown puddle.

Fuck, he hopes this works.

"You see it?" he asks as they pass the dock, hatin' the hint of desperation in his voice.

"See what?" Carol replies from just behind him, her tone perplexed.

In response, Daryl lifts an arm and points at the batch of white flowers hidin' among the reeds, and the three of them slow to a stop. Carol stands to his immediate left, and when he shoots her a quick glance, he sees her eyes are wide and trained on one of the flowers.

After a moment, those same blue eyes flick to him, and Daryl feels somethin' rush up his throat. He's mildly surprised it comes out as words.

"I'll find her," he mutters, talkin' 'bout Sophia. It sounds like a promise, which he knows is stupid, but he also means it. He'll keep lookin' for the little girl, no matter how long it takes.

Carol's lips thin at his declaration, and she silently looks back at the white flowers, her expression conflicted. Daryl stares at her for a moment, and then he forces himself to look past her, to Audrey. He's been avoidin' it since they reached the pond, worried about what he would see.

But his heart skips a beat when he realizes that the girl's mask has fallen, her face genuinely surprised and soft, her green eyes even more vivid as they reflect the light from the brackish water.

As if sensin' his gaze, she looks up and catches him watchin' her, and Daryl feels rooted to the spot, pinned. He chews nervously on his lip, feelin' some of the tightness in his chest release now that she ain't glarin' at him. They stare at each other for a breathless moment before Carol shifts, her feet rustlin' the long grass, and the hunter feels another rush of words climb up the back of his tongue.

"I'm, uh… sorry about what happened earlier," he blurts out, and he's starin' at Audrey as he says it, but he's afraid of her reaction, so he shifts his eyes to Carol.

The older woman's face softens at his half-assed apology, and she gives him a timid smile before lookin' back at the flowers. "You wanted to look for her… why? This whole time, I've just… wanted to ask you."

The question surprises him, and he glances from Carol, to the flowers, to Audrey. He sees the curiosity in her features, too, and what he thinks might be encouragement, and it loosens his tightly clenched jaw.

"Cuz I think she's still out there." He pauses, facin' the roses, and shifts his weight. "Truth is, what else I got to do?"

What he means is, if he can't find a lost little girl in the woods, which should be his domain… what fuckin' good is he? They weren't hurtin' for food on the farm, so his huntin' skills ain't necessary anymore. And most of the group don't even like him, so if he ain't pullin' his weight, it's only a matter of time before they kick him out.

Daryl thinks that might be too honest of him to say, though, so he stays silent. Then he feels the familiar burn of green eyes on him, and when he looks up, Audrey is starin' at him like she heard all the things he kept to himself. She's also got this look on her face, like she wants to reach out and touch him.

Instead, her gaze nervously darts to Carol, and she crosses her arms, cuppin' her right elbow and proppin' it up like it would be if she had her sling.

Another cocktail of disappointment and guilt bubbles up in his chest, but again, no one to blame but himself.

Then Carol draws his attention by steppin' forward and gently strokin' her fingers across one of the roses. From this angle, Daryl can only see the profile of her face, but he swears her mouth tugs up at the corner.

"We'll find her," Carol says after a moment, and there's a little more life back in her voice, and in her face when she turns it to him. "We will. I see it. Thank you, Daryl."

Daryl actually feels his knees go slightly weak with relief. He don't think she should be thankin' him, he didn't actually do anythin', but he selfishly decides to not point that out. He just dips his head in a nod of acknowledgement, and Carol's lips twitch once again.

"Do you mind if I just… take a minute before we go back?" she asks as her eyes return to the flower.

"Sure," he mutters quickly, not wantin' to upset her again.

"Take your time," Audrey suddenly chimes in, which makes him jump. He looks over at her and finds her lookin' back, even as she continues to address Carol. "We'll wait for you over here."

She slowly cocks her head toward the treeline where they'd entered the clearin'. Then she turns and follows the motion with her feet, and Daryl mindlessly stumbles after her, his heart climbin' up into his throat.

She leads him past the dock, her gait still stilted and uneven due to her medical boot. He watches her feet closely, still anxious over her trippin', so he almost bowls right over her when she abruptly stops and spins around.

He jolts backward, in a frantic effort to keep some space between them. He's worried about touchin' her, but not because someone might see. He's worried that his outburst this mornin' reminded her of Merle, or even worse, that bastard Mitch. He might actually puke if he sees that fear in her.

But Audrey just smirks faintly as she leans back into a tree trunk, proppin' herself up. After a moment, her green eyes click over his shoulder, and Daryl follows them. He can still vaguely see Carol on the other side of the pond, but the reeds on the banks obscure most of his view, which causes him to tense slightly until somethin' knocks into the side of his boot.

Facin' forward, he finds Audrey starin' at him again. Her head is cocked to the side, the ends of her short dark hair brushin' her neck and the underside of her jaw. He notices how she's still wearin' the green bandana, and that, coupled with her open body language and expression, gives him hope. Hope that he didn't completely fuck things up between them.

But he still ain't sure, so he shifts back and forth, starin' down at his feet as he tries to come up with the right words.

"That… apology was for ya, too," is what he eventually settles on, referencin' her earlier comment about whether he'd been invitin' her or just Carol to the pond.

"Yeah, I kinda got that," she replies, and when he darts a glance at her, she's smilin', her eyes crinklin' at the edges. "But thanks for the clarification."

Her light-hearted tone and that smile make Daryl feel almost dizzy. He'd still been expectin' her anger, or her cold shoulder, but she's lookin' at him like he's managed to turn back the clock. Like they're standin' back in their tent and she wants to kiss him again, which makes absolutely no damn sense, and Daryl flounders.

"Why… ain't ya mad?" he can't help but ask, even if he's rediggin' his hole even deeper.

"About what?" She cocks her head again.

The hunter stares at her like she's speakin' a different language. "About me yellin' atcha. 'Bout me… callin' ya names."

"Daryl," she chuckles, the sound raisin' goosebumps on his arms. "Ninety percent of our interactions have been you yelling or calling me names."

He grimaces and rocks back on his heels, duckin' his head in shame. She ain't lyin', but to hear it stated so plainly…

"Hey." Audrey kicks his shoe again until he looks up at her through his lashes. She's still smilin', but it's smaller, softer, and it soothes some of his guilt. "I've done my share of yelling, too. My skin is also pretty thick. Definitely wasn't the first time I've been called a bitch."

That word, even though she says it so casually, makes him flinch.

"Don't make it any better," Daryl grumbles, feelin' his stomach twist again.

In fact, that made it worse, cuz he knows who else had called her that derogatory name.

"No, but apologizing does," she counters with that easy, lopsided smile that makes his heart stutter. "You said sorry, and I forgive you. Seriously, it's not a big deal. I know you were just… frustrated. And in pain. I was honestly more worried about you than upset over what you said. How's your side, by the way?"

Her eyes fall to his abdomen, a worried crease formin' on her brow, and Daryl feels disoriented. He'd been torturin' himself for the past hour, tyin' himself into knots over what he'd done and said. Now, she's brushin' it off like nothin'. More than that, she's concerned about him, and the hunter thinks of how she really is a goddamn saint.

Fuck, he wants to kiss her again.

"S'fine," he says instead, thinkin' of how Carol could probably see them. Audrey narrows her eyes, skeptical, so he reluctantly elaborates. "Ached for a bit but didn't pop any stitches."

She scans his face for the lie. When she doesn't find it, some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders, and she actually lets out a small sigh.

"Good. I'm glad." The relief is clear in her emerald irises before it's replaced by a glint of mischief. "Otherwise, I would have had to steal Rick's handcuffs and lock you up in our— your tent. F-For your own good, I mean."

Daryl clocks the fumble, and the minuscule wince under her teasin' expression. He should probably just make some kind of quip back, but when he opens his mouth, he ends up bein' embarrassingly honest.

"Yer tent, too," he mutters, and when surprise flashes over her face, he quickly adds, "Ya sleep there, don't ya?"

"I-I do," she stammers, a light flush crawlin' up her cheeks. "I just… didn't want to assume. My mom always said 'to assume makes an ass out of you and me.'"

The girl lets out a nervous laugh, her skin still a pale pink, and when she shifts against the tree she's leanin' on, the sword strapped to her back scrapes over the bark. She grimaces at the noise and tilts forward, away from the trunk and into his personal bubble. There's less than a foot of space between them now, and Daryl knows he should move back, knows they ain't exactly alone, but his body won't listen to him.

Neither will his mouth, for that matter.

"Well, ya ain't assumin', I'm tellin' ya. S' our tent." Daryl can feel that his face is as warm as hers looks, but the discomfort is definitely worth it when she smiles, broad and radiant as the sun glintin' in her eyes.

Those same eyes lock onto his lips a moment later, and the heat is his face floods out into the rest of his body. But before he can do anythin' stupid, there's a rustle of grass behind him, and he whips around to see Carol skirtin' the edge of the pond.

As she approaches, the older woman glances from him to Audrey, again with that hint of curiosity, and the hunter's skin itches as he finally puts some distance between him and the girl he very desperately wants to kiss.

Jesus Christ, he needs to get ahold of himself.

"Are y'all ready?" Carol asks once she reaches them.

"Yup!" Audrey chirps, her voice crackin' only slightly.

To his embarrassment, Daryl doesn't think his voice will be any steadier, so he just gives a silent nod and goes to take the lead until Carol stops him by steppin' into his path.

"I think I can get us back," she says with that faint, ghostly smile of hers. "Used to be an avid hiker once upon a time. Kind of want to see if I still got it. If… that's okay."

Daryl's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He definitely didn't expect this from the meek, timid woman, but he ain't gonna shit on her parade, so he gestures for her to go right on ahead.

If she starts to veer off track, he'll just correct her, but it's a pretty straight shot back to the farm.

Carol shoots him a grateful look before she turns and starts walkin' out of the clearing, and Audrey pushes off the tree as she goes to follow. Daryl falls into step beside the girl, and they trail after the silver-haired woman as the trees close in around them.

The walk back to the farm is much more pleasant. Daryl ain't bein' eaten up by all his shitty thoughts and emotions, so even though sweat keeps drippin' into his eyes, and his side still smarts a bit, he's pretty damn content.

Carol stays several yards ahead, and he actually sees her lookin' up into the canopy from time to time, usin' the sun to track their position and adjust their course. She seems more light on her feet, her spine straighter, and Daryl wonders if this change was cuz of him. Cuz he gave her some hope.

That feels a little arrogant, but the thought sticks with him, spinnin' round and round his head.

It only stops when he suddenly feels somethin' brush against his hand. He jerks, startled, but when he looks down, it's only Audrey's fingers, nudgin' into his own.

Daryl's eyes flick up to her face as they keep walkin'. Her expression is tentative, unsure, but her knuckles bump into his again, and this time… he doesn't move away.

Instead, he presses into the touch, and a small grin spreads across her face before she hooks her pinkie around his and doesn't let go. Now, they're loosely holdin' hands, somethin' Daryl has never done in his whole adult life. His face burns, and he's sure his heart is gonna chisel out of his ribcage any second now. Too many emotions to name cyclone inside him, but the strongest is somethin' he thinks is… happiness.

He's never felt it so strongly, though, and it somehow grows even stronger when Audrey starts swingin' their intertwined hands. The motion is slight, barely noticeable since their hands are down between their hips, but each tiny tug is pullin' on every damn string in his heart. She's still smilin' too, her face dappled in the sunlight breakin' through the leaves overhead, and a single word keeps echoin' through Daryl's mind.

Pretty.

Unfortunately, as they draw closer to the edge of the woods, the warm feelings fade, and he begins to tense when he thinks about holdin' her hand out in the open. He doesn't actually want to let go, in fact he wants to thread the rest of his fingers through hers until they're palm to palm, like the other night in the farmer's spare room.

But Shane's earlier words are still hissin' at the back of his head, and Daryl imagines everyone starin' at him, their eyes diggin' into his skin and broadcastin' all their judgements.

The hunter starts to internally spiral, until the light pressure around his pinkie suddenly tightens… and then releases. His eyes snap to the side, and Audrey's smile takes on a reassurin' softness. There's also a glint of understandin' in her green eyes, and her fingers brush against his knuckles one last time before she leans away, puttin' a reasonable amount of distance between them.

Again, Daryl doesn't know if he should feel disappointed or relieved, so he settles for some bastard combination.

"Hey, would you look at that?" Carol's voice drifts back to him a few moments later, and he looks forward to see her steppin' out of the treeline and turnin' with a vaguely proud expression. "I didn't do too bad."

"You did great," Audrey compliments the older woman as they reach her. "Much better than I would have done. Daryl will tell you, I'm absolutely hopeless with directions."

"Is that right?" Carol's lips twitch, and her pale blue eyes jump to him.

The hunter feels antsy under her too-knowin' gaze, and he scoffs, tryin' to save some face.

"Kid couldn't find her way out of a wet paper bag," he grunts, and the nickname feels wrong on his tongue, but he's tryna act normal.

Whatever the fuck normal even is.

"Rude!" the girl beside him gasps, but she's still smilin' as she turns back to Carol. "He isn't wrong, though. Did I ever tell you how I walked completely around Atlanta before I met you guys at the quarry?"

Without waitin' for a response, she launches into the tale, animatedly wavin' her left hand while she talks. The right one is awkwardly tucked between her hipbone and the hilt of her short sword, and once they get back to camp, Daryl's gonna make her put that damn sling back on.

As they cut through the fields, Audrey keeps on chatterin', and Carol smiles indulgently, hummin' or makin' a comment here and there. Daryl is only half listenin' since he's heard the story before, and his eyes are busy sweepin' back and forth, on alert for any threats.

"And then that's when— ah!" Audrey cuts off with a yelp, and the hunter's gaze jerks back to her as she stumbles in the long grass.

He reacts without thinkin', his hand comin' out and gently catchin' her elbow. She staggers into him a little, until her shoulder presses into his sternum, but she widens her stance and manages to regain her balance. She's still close enough that Daryl can smell the floral shampoo in her hair, and he fights the urge to inhale deeply. Or, even worse, to lean down and press his lips to the top of her head.

Fuckin' hell, he needs to get a grip.

"You okay?" Carol frowns in concern on the opposite side of the girl, her own hands hoverin' awkwardly in the air since she can't grab Audrey's other arm to help.

"Yeah, there was just a freakin' hole, didn't see it." Audrey shoots a weak glare at the ground before her green eyes flick up to Daryl's face. Her expression turns a little sheepish then, and when she tugs on her arm, he realizes he's still holdin' it.

He drops it quickly and steps back, but he doesn't miss the blush in her cheeks, or the weight of Carol's gaze on him.

Daryl's first instinct is to say somethin' snappy, sharp, like how she needed to watch where the hell she's goin'. But his angry words from earlier still feel like acid in the back of his throat, and it ain't even her fault, really. He didn't see the hole either, and he's the one who reached out and grabbed her.

So, he elects to say nothin' and silently looks across the fields again, and after a moment, Audrey lets out a nervous laugh.

"Anyways…" She clears her throat as she starts walkin' again, her pace slower and more careful. "Like I was saying, that's when I ran into Daryl in the woods outside the quarry. And the rest is history."

"Well, I'm very glad that you did," Carol says as she gives Audrey a barely-there smile. "Run into Daryl, I mean."

"Me, too." There's genuine sincerity in her voice, and in her eyes when they dart over to him, and Daryl feels a flare of heat pass through his whole body.

He can't say it out loud— probably couldn't even if they were alone— but he hopes she can read in his face that he is very glad about it, too. Maybe not the shootin' her in the head part, but he tries not to feel guilty 'bout that anymore. He didn't blame Andrea for doin' the same thing to him, and he knows Audrey don't blame him either, so it would be stupid to keep punishin' himself for that particular mistake.

Besides, Daryl has many other crosses to bear, and he's sure he'll collect even more in the future.

The rest of the walk is quiet. Carol is scannin' idly over the fields, Audrey is watchin' where she steps, and Daryl is watchin' her but pretendin' not to be. A few minutes later, they reach the edge of camp, which is also quiet, and Daryl frowns, immediately puttin' his head on a swivel.

"Where is everyone?" Audrey voices his concern, and her left hand wraps around the hilt of her short sword.

The hunter's eyes jump from the collection of empty tents to the RV, but the firepit and watch post are equally empty. A tendril of unease curls in his gut, until he looks at the barn and finds it undisturbed, the doors still closed and no horde of geeks shamblin' across the grass.

That's at least somewhat of a good sign, as is the fact that camp looks undisturbed. There's nothin' to indicate a struggle, or that people fled under duress, so with that in mind, he turns to the farmhouse.

"There," he mutters, pointin' at the large wraparound porch.

He can see a handful of people millin' around up there. Glenn seems to be sittin' on the steps, next to the farmer's older daughter. Two blondes are on the porch itself, the dead man's wife and the farmer's youngest, along with Grimes' boy. Then more movement catches his eye, and he turns and watches Andrea and T-Dog cuttin' across the yard from the barn, headed for the house.

"Should we… see what's going on?" Carol asks in a timid tone.

Daryl grunts noncommittally, lookin' to Audrey to gauge her response. She's released the hilt of her short sword, but her brow is still furrowed.

"Yeah," she says after a moment. "Can't hurt to check in with everyone."

The hunter has never felt the need to check-in with literally anyone before, but as Audrey starts hobblin' toward the house, with Carol in tow, he grumbles under his breath and jogs to catch up with them. Once again, he feels like a dog on a leash, a leash Audrey ain't even aware she's holdin', and a mockin' laugh that sounds like Merle's echoes through his head.

Daryl does his best to ignore it.

The three of them reach the farmhouse a few seconds behind Andrea and T-Dog, and Glenn is now standin' at the bottom of the stairs.

"You haven't seen Rick?" he asks the blonde woman with a frown.

"No, he went off with Herschel earlier," Andrea replies, her tone confused. "We were supposed to leave a couple hours ago."

Instantly, Daryl feels irritation ignite inside his chest, warmin' him up from the inside out, and not in a good way.

"Yeah, ya were." He lengthens his stride to reach the group faster, and everyone turns at the sound of his voice. "What the hell? It's already midday."

"Rick told us he was going out to continue the search," Carol chimes in, and when he glances back at her, he sees her earlier placid expression has melted into somethin' pinched and upset.

Just minutes ago, he'd been promisin' that they would find Sophia, and even if he physically couldn't go search for her today, he'd been slightly pacified to know at least Rick was out there.

Except apparently fuckin' not.

"Damn it," Daryl curses, pacin' forward. "Ain't anybody takin' this seriously? We got us a damn trail!" He whirls around, throwin' his arm out to gesture across the fields, and somethin' sour twists in his gut when he spots a figure approachin' them. "Oh, here we go."

It's Walsh, of fuckin' course it is, marchin' down the dirt driveway with the sheriff bag of guns hangin' off his shoulder. His face is hard, his stride militant, and Daryl catches Audrey shiftin' nervously in his peripherals. He glances over at her, sees the conflict in her face as she sways away from him but then leans forward, like she's anticipatin' havin' to jump between him and the cop again.

Daryl ain't stupid. He ain't gonna punch a man carryin' an arsenal's worth of guns. But he also refuses to cower before Walsh, refuses to let the asshole see that his earlier words had struck a guilty chord.

So, he marches forward, meetin' Shane halfway even as he hears Audrey's medical boot scrapin' over the dirt behind him.

"What's all this?" Daryl demands, pointin' at the shotgun in Shane's hand.

The cop's dark eyes flick over him, head to toe. Daryl expects a bitin' comment, somethin' antagonistic, but shock zaps through him when Shane holds out the shotgun instead.

The fuck?

"You with me, man?" Walsh passes him the gun without waitin' for an answer and keeps right on walkin'. "Time to grow up everyone."

Still stunned, Daryl pumps the action out of habit and spins on heel, watchin' as the cop continues on toward the farmhouse while fieldin' questions from both Andrea and T-Dog.

The hunter himself in a little distracted when Audrey suddenly steps into his path. Her green eyes dart from the shotgun in his hands up to his face, and confusion and concern are bleedin' outta every inch of her.

Daryl angles the barrel of the gun far away from her and gives a halfhearted shrug. He ain't got a clue what's goin' on, so he jerks his chin at the group gatherin' at the bottom of the porch.

Audrey's frown deepens, but she does follow him, stickin' close to his shoulder as they go join the others.

"Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe," Shane is sayin' when Daryl tunes back in, voice raised to address the Greenes, Glenn, and Carl standin' on the edge of the porch. "But now we know it ain't. So, how about you, man? You gonna protect yours?"

The cop marches up to Glenn and holds out another shotgun, his expression hard and expectant. The younger man's eyes jump nervously to his little girlfriend, who looks pissed beside him, but when he turns back to Walsh, he reluctantly takes the gun.

This causes Audrey to inhale sharply at Daryl's side, and she nudges his arm, drawin' his attention and silently askin' what the fuck is goin' on? with her eyes. Daryl still doesn't know, but with the shotgun balanced on his shoulder, he feels better prepared for the impendin' shitshow.

"That's it," Shane mutters in a pleased tone, noddin' at Glenn before he turns to the farmer's older daughter. "Can you shoot?"

"Can you stop?" Maggie spits back, all fire and brimstone. She's glarin' daggers at Walsh, sharp enough that even Daryl would think twice 'bout steppin' up to her. "You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight."

"No! We have to stay, Shane," Grimes' boy suddenly interjects as he walks down the stairs, wearin' his daddy's hat and his mother's frown.

Speak of the devil, Lori rounds the side of the house just then, her eyes wide as she approaches the gathered circus. "What is this?"

"We ain't going anywhere, okay?" Shane tells Carl, and he ignores Lori completely as he sets the bag of guns down and faces the group. "Look, Herschel… he's just gotta understand. Okay? He— well, he's gonna have to. Now, we need to find Sophia. Am I right?"

Daryl silently thinks hell yeah before he watches Walsh walk up to Carl, kneel down, and pull a small revolver from behind his back. Okay, the hunter doesn't think that is a particularly great idea, but then again, he was probably younger than the boy when Merle first slapped a gun in his hand, so who's he to judge?

"Now, I want you to take this." The cop holds out the gun, butt first. "You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun."

Carl actually starts to reach for the weapon before his mother flies down the stairs and pushes the boy behind her, her face twisted with a mama bear's rage.

"Rick said no guns, this is not your call," she hisses down at Shane. "This is not your decision to make."

Walsh scowls, his expression growin' dark as he meets Lori glare for glare. Daryl actually feels a spike of unease, and he steps partially in front of Audrey in case the cop finally snapped.

Of course, the stubborn girl ain't got no self-preservation instinct, and she steps around his shoulder until she's standin' even with him. Her green eyes are defiant when they meet his, but Daryl can see the hint of fear lingerin' in the tight line of her mouth. She steps closer to him, until the outsides of their arms brush, but he can't bring himself to pull away. The faint touch actually grounds him a little, starts to calm the staccato beatin' of his heart.

Until T-Dog's voice suddenly slices through the air.

"Oh, shit."

Daryl snaps his head up, watchin' everyone turn and then followin' their line of sight. T-Dog is standin' off to the side, starin' at the far treeline past the barn. The hunter catches movement and narrows his eyes, but it takes his brain a moment to process what he's seein'.

The farmhand— Jimmy— is the first one he recognizes. The dumb teen is wearin' a pale shirt and cowboy hat, and he's backin' up toward the wire fence, wavin' and clappin' his hands like he's doin' a goddamn line dance. Daryl wonders what the fuck the idiot is doin', but moments later, two walkers stumble out of the woods and reach for the boy.

Daryl tenses, thinkin' they're 'bout to watch this kid get eaten. Until two more figures step out of the woods, holdin' the dogcatcher rods looped around the walkers' necks. It's Rick and Herschel, and the two men drag the geeks away from the boy before leadin' them onto the property.

What. The. Fuck.

"What is that?" Shane growls, apparently thinkin' the same thing. He suddenly lunges past Daryl and starts runnin' full tilt, an echo of his words trailin' behind him. "What is that?"

A beat of stunned confusion passes, and then everyone starts sprintin' after the cop, Daryl included. He can see Audrey in the corner of his eye, somehow keepin' pace with him, and he switches the shotgun to his opposite hand, away from her. She's pantin' loud enough that it echoes in his ears, though, and he consciously slows down, until the two of them fall back a little, no longer at the front of the group.

He glances at her, hopin' she won't faceplant, but her expression is focused and determined, not an ounce of pain in her features even though her ankle and ribs must be screamin', just like the wound in his side.

"Shane!" Lori shrieks, which makes Daryl shift his focus forward.

Walsh doesn't stop at the sound of his name. In fact, he pumps his legs even faster, pullin' further ahead of the group as he cuts through the yard and shoves open the cattle gate.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Shane roars when he reaches the fucked up parade, circlin' around the procession of men and walkers like a rabid dog.

Daryl would like to know the same goddamn thing but saves his breath.

"Shane, just back off!" Rick growls while he struggles with the male walker at the end of his pole.

Herschel looks away from the female walker on his own tether and frowns at the group that's reachin' them in stages. "Why do your people have guns, Rick?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" Shane continues to stalk around like a caged tiger, and he lifts a hand and jabs a finger at the farmer in accusation. "You all see?! You see what they're holding onto?"

"I see who I'm holding onto," the old farmer argues, red in the face from both exertion and anger.

The cop sneers, barin' his teeth. "No, man, you don't."

Daryl never thought he'd see the day where he'd be agreein' with Walsh, of all goddamn people, but here he is. It really is the end of the fuckin' world.

"Shane, just let us do this, and then we can talk!" Rick grunts before he suddenly stumbles, fightin' with his walker, and the geek veers a little too close for comfort.

Daryl snaps his shotgun up, levelin' the barrel at the walker's head. He doesn't pull the trigger, but only cuz Rick keeps fuckin' movin' around and gettin' in his line of fire.

Behind him, he hears the rasp of a sword leavin' its sheath, and even though he wishes she wouldn't, wishes she would just stay back and not hurt herself, he knows Audrey is watchin' his six.

"What do you wanna talk about, Rick?" Shane demands, walkin' alongside the sheriff, and his voice gets progressively louder with each word. "These things ain't sick. They're not people! They're dead. Ain't got to feel nothin' for them cuz all they do, they kill! These things right here, they're the things that killed Amy! They killed Otis. They're gonna kill all of us!"

The rest of the group begins to murmur anxiously, and Daryl grits his teeth as the male walker lunges in his direction, only to be yanked back a split second before the hunter can pull the trigger.

"Shane, shut up!" Rick shouts as he tries and fails to get ahold of the situation.

Walsh ignores his partner as he cuts in front of them, pacin' between the walkers and the barn. His eyes are wide, wild, but when he speaks again, his voice is deceptively calm.

That ain't a good sign.

"Hey, Herschel, man, let me ask you somethin'." He pulls a pistol out of his back waistband, clickin' off the safety, and Daryl braces himself for what's about to happen. "Could a living, breathing person, could they walk away from this?"

Shane raises the gun, and without a moment's hesitation, he fires three times, hittin' the female walker in the torso.

"No!" Rick roars.

Everyone else screams, some of the women duckin' and coverin' their heads at the loud noise. The farmer's face goes slack with shock as he stares at the geek at the end of his pole, and the walker snarls, unfazed by the dark blood stainin' its yellow dress.

"Stop it!" Rick tries to command, but he's obviously lost control of the situation. If he ever had it at all.

Daryl keeps his shotgun trained on the male geek, just in case the sheriff slips up, and in the corner of his eye he can just barely see Audrey, the sun gleamin' off her katana as she stands just behind him.

"That's three rounds in the chest!" Shane rants, his voice like loose gravel in a cement mixer. "Could someone who's alive, could they just take that?! Why's it still coming?"

He stabs a finger at the female walker but then swaps his finger for the pistol, raisin' the gun to his eyeline and firin' twice more. The retorts echo in Daryl's ears, as does the cryin' comin' from the farmer's family.

But Walsh presses on, only gainin' momentum. "That's its heart, its lungs! Why is it still coming?!"

Again, he lifts the gun and pulls the trigger several times, the geek jerkin' with each impact. But like Shane pointed out, it's still comin', its frenzied growls only growin' in volume.

The farmer is just standin' there, gapin' like a fool, and Daryl sees a flash of panic cross Rick's face before he scowls and turns to his partner with a red-hot glare.

"Shane, enough!'

Walks scoffs, the noise disgusted, and he momentarily lowers the pistol. "Yeah, you're right, man. That is enough."

Then he strides right up to the female walker and shoots it point blank between the eyes.

The geek's head snaps back, a dark cloud of blood bloomin' behind its skull before the body crumbles, the now truly dead weight yankin' at the pole in the farmer's hands. The old man follows the walker down and drops to his knees beside the corpse. His face is as white as his hair, and Daryl can see a tremor runnin' along his shoulders.

Everyone else stands around in varyin' degrees of shock and horror. The farmer's family look like they're gonna be sick. Grimes' wife is tryin' to block her son from seein', and the others watch Shane like he's a rabid animal.

The hunter spares a glance at Audrey, still bein' careful to keep the male geek in his sights. The girl is standin' to his right, just a few feet behind his cocked elbow. She immediately meets his eyes, and Daryl can see the fear behind the brave face she's puttin' on. There's also a warnin' that he can read clear as day.

Shit's about to hit the fan.

He nods and silently conveys his own message, flickin' his gaze to the sword in her left hand. Get ready.

When he looks back up, she raises her chin, resolve settlin' in her features, but there's a flicker of pity, too, as she glances at the women cryin' loudly off to the side.

Daryl feels a twinge in his own chest. He might agree that these walkers should be put down… but he thinks that there was a better way of doin' this. If these geeks really were friends of the family, then the Greenes didn't need to be here for this, didn't need to see this.

But it's too late now, and it seems Walsh ain't gonna stop for nothin' and nobody.

"I've had enough! Enough of risking our lives for a little girl who's gone!" Shane bellows, the tendons in his neck poppin' out. His words spark another round of anger in Daryl— the bastard shouldn't be talkin' 'bout Sophia— but the cop barrels forward, like a train that's lost its brakes and is about to derail. "Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Enough! Rick, it ain't like it was before. Now, if y'all wanna live, if you want to survive, you gotta fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now."

With that, Shane whirls around and sprints for the barn, and Daryl feels his palms go a little slick around the shotgun.

Oh, shit, Walsh ain't gonna— fuck.

Yes, he goddamn is.

Rick seems to realize it at the same second, and he tries to drag the male geek over to the farmer, who's still on his knees. "Take the snare pole. Herschel, take it!"

The walker scrabbles at the pole, tryin' to claw the sheriff that ain't lookin' at him. Daryl has the fucker in his sights, but he hesitates to pull the trigger, conscious of the women still cryin' behind him and of the fact that Rick probably wouldn't appreciate that kinda help.

So, Daryl just keeps a bead on the bastard for now, but if the sheriff was 'bout to be bit, he'd kill the goddamn thing no problem.

As his eyes dart from the geek on the snare pole, to Shane, to the barn, he feels his heartrate jack up, and it pounds even harder when he hears Audrey curse behind him.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck," she hisses, her voice crackin' at the end with fear. "He's really gonna do it."

"Stay behind me, Bennett," Daryl grunts over his shoulder, feelin' his own stab of fear over her bein' in the middle of this shitshow as injured as she is.

If she responds, it's drowned out by Rick's screamin' voice.

"Herschel! Listen to me, man, please. Take it now. Herschel! Take it!"

But the farmer just continues to kneel there with a shellshocked expression, and Shane's reached the barn doors by now, armed with a pick axe. He starts smashin' the axe against the padlock, each aggressive thud an echo of Daryl's racin' heart, and the hunter keeps his finger poised on the trigger.

"No, Shane!" Rick roars, still strugglin' with the walker. "Do not do this, brother. Wait!"

Shane continues like he's gone deaf, and people start cryin' out in panic, the air thick with terror. Daryl's eyes jump back to the barn, and his stomach jolts when he sees the cop pry the padlock off with the pick. Then the bastard tears down the wooden bar across the doors and throws it aside.

Fuck. What is Walsh fuckin' thinkin'? Again, Daryl agrees the walkers should be dealt with, but not like this. They don't even know how many geeks are packed in there, the goddamn idiot could be releasin' a horde.

The hunter just hopes Shane actually loaded the weapons before he passed them out. Daryl knows he's got at least one round since it's chambered, but the other five slots could be empty.

Only one way to find out now.

As if to drive home the point, Shane loudly slaps his hands against the ajar doors, and Daryl can already hear the snarls echoin' out of the shoddy buildin'.

"This is not the way, Shane! Please!" Rick yells, his tone beggin' at this point.

Walsh clearly don't care cuz he turns and stalks away from the barn at a clipped pace. He comes to stand just out of reach of the walker Rick is still holdin', and he faces the oncomin' threat, raisin' his gun.

Daryl spares one more look at Audrey, finds her wide, worried eyes starin' back, and his heart skips a beat.

Then the barn doors are shoved open, guttural growls echoin' through the air, and walkers start pourin' out into the bright mornin' sunlight.

Andrea and T-Dog immediately run forward to help, drawin' abreast of Shane as they raise their own weapons. Daryl stays where he is for now, between Audrey and the geek on the snare pole, but his finger hovers over the trigger, ready for the moment anythin' gets too close.

Moments later, gunshots crack through the air. Shane has opened fire, droppin' three geeks in quick succession, but half a dozen more squeeze out of the barn, their movements frantic, hungry.

Daryl grinds his teeth and almost jumps outta his fuckin' skin when somethin' touches his shoulder, but then Audrey's voice is yellin' inches from his ear.

"Go help them! I'll watch the one on the pole."

He wants to argue, wants her to stay the fuck back, but she shoves at his spine, her katana glintin' in his peripherals. Cursin' under his breath, he moves up, skirtin' around the geek Rick is still stupidly holdin'.

Within seconds, Daryl is aimin' at one of the walkers stutterin' out of the barn, and the shotgun kicks against his shoulder as he finally pulls the trigger. The geek's head snaps back in a spray of blood, but the hunter is already movin' on to his next target, pumpin' the action to eject the spent shell.

The air is already thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder, and more walkers hit the dirt, stainin' it with their dark, fetid blood. To Daryl's surprise, everyone seems to be hittin' their marks, and the bodies quickly begin to pile up in front of the barn's gapin' doors. Adrenaline is still roarin' through his veins, and he can barely hear over the ringin' in his ears, accompanied by the baseline of his poundin' heart.

It feels like forever, but the flood of walkers finally begins to peter out. Daryl cocks the shotgun again, aims at a female geek, and blows its face off. When that body hits the ground, there aren't any others to take its place. The hunter ejects the shell and chambers the next one, just in case, and his eyes stay locked on the barn doors.

But nothin' comes out.

An eerie silence falls over everythin', broken only by the soft sounds of people pantin' and cryin'. Daryl finally tears his eyes away from the barn, glancin' to his right. T-Dog, Andrea, and Shane are lowerin' their pistols, and at the end of the line, Glenn is shakin' as he drops the barrel of his own shotgun.

Daryl looks behind him next, his eyes immediately searchin' for Audrey. He finds her a few yards behind him, and the male walker on the snare pole is dead on the ground a couple feet behind her. Her sword is still clean, though, the metal bright in the sunlight, and when he looks at the geek, he sees a hole blasted through its forehead.

Liftin' his head again, he meets Audrey's gaze. Her eyes are wide in her pale face, and he sees her throat constrict as she swallows, the katana slightly tremblin' in her left hand.

To her right, the farmer's family are holdin' on to each other. Herschel is still on his knees, Maggie hunched over him with her hands on his shoulders. The younger daughter is sobbin' behind them, barely bein' held up by the farmhand and the older blonde woman. Daryl feels a pang of remorse starin' at their tear-stained faces, but what else could he have done? Walsh was the one who released all the walkers, and they had to be dealt with, there was nothin' else for it by that point.

Daryl begins to think, At least it's over, but of course, the universe just loves to prove him wrong.

It's so quiet, he doesn't catch it at first, his ears still ringin' from the gunshots. But then the sound repeats, grows louder. It's a familiar hissin' growl, echoed by the shuffle of feet, emanatin' from the ajar doors of the barn.

People begin to shift nervously, and the hunter whirls around and raises his shotgun. It sounds like there's only one left in there, and his body tenses as he waits for the fucker to reveal itself.

A moment later, a lone shadow shuffles into the doorway, bumpin' against one of the doors before it slowly staggers out into the sun. Daryl's finger was already on the trigger, but it abruptly goes limp as his eyes sweep over the walker.

It's small, petite, clearly not an adult. And it's wearin' dirty blue sneakers, tan capris, and a blue t-shirt with a rainbow on it.

Recognition instantly stabs him in the brain, followed quickly by disbelief, and the shotgun nearly falls right outta his hands.

No. It can't be…

---

My heart is still pounding as the echoes of gunfire fade, replaced by the sound of people crying. The hilt in my hand is slick with sweat, and I'm practically panting through my clenched teeth, even though I haven't actually done anything.

This entire time, my eyes have been glued to Daryl's back, my body tense and ready to jump into action if he needed my help. He didn't, of course, especially not with that shotgun, but it isn't until he turns around and catches my gaze that I start to relax.

Everything is still majorly fucked up, and the Greenes are definitely kicking us off the farm after this, but at least we're all still alive.

Of course, the moment that thought enters my head, a noise slithers out of the barn. It's soft, barely discernable, but Daryl whips back around, raising the shotgun, and I lift my sword in response.

Everyone tenses, bracing for the next wave of walkers, but what comes out instead is unfathomably worse.

The shape that slips between the barn doors is small, oh so small. Its clothes are dirty, streaked in mud and blood, especially around the shoulder, where a chunk of flesh is missing.

Suddenly, my head and heart throb in unison, a voice screaming wordlessly in the back of my mind, but I don't know why…

Until the walker lifts its head, and the full morning sun illuminates a terribly familiar face.

All at once, everything stops. My breathing, my pounding heart, the very blood in my veins. Even the world seems to cease spinning, and the ground tilts as my vision tunnels, until all I can see is the horrible truth before me.

No. My brain still tries to deny it. No, no, nonono!

But no matter how many times I repeat the word, the sight before me does not change.

It's Sophia. Her face is gaunt, her eyes sunken and so pale they're almost white, but it's her.

The cartoonish rainbow on her t-shirt is caked in mud and blood, and my gaze unwillingly goes back to the wound on her shoulder. The flesh there is torn, shredded, and gray, but I can see the imprint of teeth, and all I can think about is how scared the little girl must have felt as a walker ripped her open.

A scream builds up in my chest, the pressure more painful than anything I've ever experienced. I want to close my eyes, I want to turn away, but I can do neither, my body frozen and unresponsive.

As if in a dream, I watch Sophia's head cock in a jerky motion, her face twitching as she bares blood-stained teeth. A snarl hisses out of her mouth, and the noise feels like a blade being shoved into my gut. My stomach revolts, bile racing up my throat as tears blur my vision.

This can't be happening. It just can't be.

For what feels like an endless eternity, no one says a word. No one even breathes.

Then I hear a sound that shatters my already fragile heart.

"Oh, God," Carol sobs from somewhere behind me, and just those two words nearly make my knees buckle. Seconds later, I hear footsteps at my back, increasing in speed, and I start to turn just as Carol screams, "Sophia!"

That heartbreaking cry steals my breath, slows my reaction time. I try to reach out with my right hand, to stop Carol because she shouldn't see this, she can't see this, it's not fucking fair.

But she slips right through my fingers, literally, her arm snagging on my fingertips for just a split second before she's gone. The flare of white-hot pain shooting through my wrist actually centers me, and it momentarily burns away the fog of shock and grief.

She cannot reach Sophia. That's the only thought in my head.

Whirling around, I'm determined to lunge for Carol, but Daryl actually beats me to it. The hunter drops the shotgun and catches the crying woman with ease. Then he wraps his arms around her middle, gently bearing her to the ground, even as she continues to sob her daughter's name.

"Sophia! Oh, S-Sophia," she whimpers.

Hearing the girl's name repeated in such a devastated tone saps away the last of my strength. I stumble forward a step, two, and then drop to my knees beside Daryl, my katana clattering into the dirt.

The hunter has one of his arms looped around Carol's waist, the other being used to prop them both up. He looks at me for a split second, but I can't read his expression beyond the film of tears covering my eyes. A few of them slip down my cheeks, feeling hot enough to scald me, and I dig my nails into the hardpacked soil.

But even the pain in my hands isn't enough to overcome the agony boiling inside my chest.

Carol continues to sob in Daryl's arms, echoed by what sounds like Carl behind me. Part of me wants to start wailing, too, but movement in my peripherals activates my fight or flight.

I'm still not strong enough to move, or even grab my sword, but I manage to lift my head, more tears carving their way down my face.

Sophia has started to stagger forward, picking her way across the dozen bodies sprawled in front of the barn. Her pace is slow, stilted, like all… walkers. I still don't want to believe it, but her limbs twitch and jerk in an inhuman way, and as she draws closer, her growling becomes louder, more distinct. Her rheumy eyes jump from place to place, seeing and unseeing at the same time.

But she continues onward, her teeth bared and gnashing, her face a gruesome mockery of the girl I once knew.

When she nears the last of the bodies, I suddenly realize that someone is going to have to do something. And quick. My eyes drop to the katana inches away from my fingers, but the thought of picking it up and using it nearly makes me vomit.

I can't. I can't do it. Not to Sophia.

Shame rises up inside me, riding the tidal wave of my grief, but before it overwhelms me, someone walks right past the spot where Daryl, Carol, and I are collapsed on the ground.

Looking up, I stare at Rick's back as he comes to a stop a few feet in front of us. His dark button-up is drenched in sweat, his posture slumped and defeated.

But… he slowly raises his right arm, the sun glinting off the silver revolver as he cocks it. His hand shakes finely, barely noticeable, but I see it. And my heart breaks even more.

The guilt that the sheriff must feel… He had been the last one to see her alive, and now he's standing face to face with the embodiment of his failure.

Sophia is only a couple yards away now, and Rick levels the gun at her. I hear Carol suck in a ragged, sharp breath and hold it, and I do the same as my teary gaze goes to Sophia's face one last time.

I'm a coward, though, and as the little girl jerks forward, reaching for Rick, I slam my eyes shut and hide in the dark.

Seconds later, a single gunshot cracks through the air, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. More tears leak out of my clenched eyelids, but I swallow my own sobs as Carol begins wailing in earnest, her cries loud and piercing.

Cowering in the dark can only last so long, so eventually I'm forced to open my eyes, squinting at the momentary brightness. When my vision adjusts, I immediately wish it hadn't, because my gaze automatically lands on Sophia's body, sprawled in the dirt just ahead of me.

If I stretched, I could probably reach out and touch her honey blonde hair, which is slowly turning a blackish-maroon as a puddle of blood grows beneath her head.

I want to throw up, but I can't. Not here, not now. Carol is still sobbing loudly beside me, and when I turn to her, she's lying facedown in the dirt, her shoulders heaving, her voice broken like jagged glass.

A shadow hangs over her back, and as my eyes trail upward, they lock with Daryl's. He's still holding the bereaved mother, and his face is a hard mask beneath the sweat dripping from his brow. I can't tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. My brain is too busy drowning in all the emotions I'm trying my best to shove down.

The hunter stares at me for a long moment, then looks back to Carol, and suddenly he's moving.

"Don't look, don't look," he grunts at Sophia's mother, rocking back on his heels and hauling her upright with an arm around her chest.

His face twitches under the strain, he's probably pulling at his stitches, so I scramble up to help, gently taking Carol's arm in my left hand.

She ragdolls in Daryl's grasp, the sun glinting off her dirt and tear-stained cheeks. I try to get a more secure grip on her by sliding my hand from her arm to her waist, but she spasms, like she's been shocked. Then she finds her feet, and her hands come up and start shoving us back. She hits the hunter in the shoulder as she spins away, but she catches me in the ribs, her flailing blow knocking into broken bone.

The unexpected pain makes me gasp and stagger, but a large hard presses into the small of my back, keeping me on my feet. I already know who it is, so I only spare Daryl half a glance before my eyes jump back to Carol, who's running away, down the dirt path and back toward the farmhouse/camp.

Part of me wants to run after her, but I know nothing I say can make this better. Nothing will bring her daughter back. I also know that sometimes you just need to be alone, to cry and scream and curse at a God who doesn't fucking exist.

My throat locks down, both in anger at the universe and profound sadness. But, as more tears blur my vision, I feel an increased pressure at the base of my spine, along with the scrape of callouses where the hem of my t-shirt has ridden up.

Tearing my eyes off Carol's now distant form, I look over at Daryl. His face is still hard, shuttered, but he's staring down at me intensely, his pupils wide with the residual adrenaline that's making him breathe so hard. His sternum brushes the outside of my arm in intervals, and his hand is still a hot brand against my back.

For some reason, his proximity makes my eyes burn even more, and despite knowing that people can see us, I want to throw my arms around him and bury myself in his chest.

Before I can do something that stupid, another loud sob draws both mine and Daryl's attention. His hand falls away from me as he steps back, and I turn toward the noise, watching Beth wrench herself out of her boyfriend Jimmy's arms.

She staggers forward, crying relentlessly, her face soaked in tears. She's headed for the bodies, and Rick tries to intercept her, reaching out and murmuring for her to wait. But she shies away from him, and the guilty looking sheriff lets her pass.

The young blonde stumbles past me and Daryl next, but neither of us stop her, and we watch as she approaches the haphazard pile of walkers. While still sobbing, she shoves one body off of another, and then she crouches at the head of a woman, lying facedown in the dirt. She gently begins to roll the body onto its back, whimpering, "Mama" again and again, like a child.

My already mangled heart twists painfully in my chest, especially when I notice that Beth's mother had red hair, just like mine used to. More silent tears trickle down my face, and I'm about to turn away when an all-too familiar snarl reaches my ears.

An instant later, Beth starts screaming, and the walker that used to be her mother has grabbed onto her pigtails and is trying to drag her down to tear out her throat.

Adrenaline explodes through me once again, and then everyone is in motion, lunging forward to save the girl.

As I snatch my sword off the ground, Rick and Shane reach Beth, and the two men start trying to drag her back. Then Glenn leaps in and grabs the walker by the wrists, in an attempt to pry its grip out of the blonde's hair.

"Pull her away, pull her away!" someone is yelling, though I can't tell who.

Somehow, the men are able to wrench Beth backward, and the walker loses purchase. Herschel and Maggie immediately converge on the still screaming Beth, and T-Dog starts kicking the walker in the head while Glenn continues to grapple with its flailing arms.

Seeing my friend in danger forces me forward, and I grasp my katana in both hands, despite the flash of pain racing up from my right wrist.

"Audrey!" Daryl shouts behind me, his voice sharp with anger and maybe fear.

I feel his fingers brush the back of my shoulder, but he isn't fast enough to stop me.

As I sprint forward, T-Dog stumbles back, having failed to cave the walker's skull in with his boot. Glenn is still holding on to the thing's arms, and the geek is trying to sit up, its teeth snapping at his fingers.

Blood roars though my ears as I skid over the loose dirt, rounding Glenn on his right and slipping behind the walker. My first instinct is to just swing with all my might, but Beth is still screaming, "Mama!" behind me, and I hesitate, not wanting to slice her mother's head in half right in front of her.

But Glenn is seconds away from being bit, and I will not allow that to happen.

"Drop her!" I shout as I plant my feet.

Glenn obeys immediately, releasing the walker's arms and jumping away. The geek flops back into the dirt, and before it can find another target, I raise my sword, angle it downward, and drive the blade right through the middle of its forehead.

The katana slices through the brain, and the impact of hitting the back of the skull— or maybe even the ground on the other side— jars up through my arms. As I twist the hilt for good measure, the walker jerks, gurgles, and finally falls limp.

For a moment, everything is still, and I look down into the wide, rheumy eyes staring back up at me. A trickle of blood oozes down from the walker's forehead, but nothing else moves.

Slowly, my hearing returns, the roar of blood dying down. When it does, I hear Beth's whimpers and Herschel and Maggie trying to console her.

"B-But it was Mama," Beth cries in a heartbroken tone, and even though I know I did the right thing, her words still make me feel a flash of guilt.

Carefully, so as not to further ruin the woman's already battered face, I jerk the sword out of her head, wincing at the wet squelch the movement makes. I stagger a bit to the side, my medical boot crunching over someone's finger, and I snap my head down, on alert for any other grasping hands.

But the rest of the walkers seem well and truly dead. That fact should bring me some comfort. It doesn't.

"Dree…"

I look up to find Glenn staring at me with wide eyes. When our gazes meet, he carefully steps over the body of Beth's mother, gently taking me by the upper arm and leading me a few feet away from all the bodies, like he's also worried about another one trying to grab us.

Once we're free of the potential minefield, Glenn suddenly pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

"Holy fuck, thank you," he mutters in my ear. "That's the second time you've saved my life."

I don't know how to respond, my tongue limp in my mouth, as are my arms dangling at my sides. The tip of the katana scrapes against the dirt, but all I can manage is turning the blade away from Glenn so he doesn't cut himself on the tainted edge.

The embrace is quick, within moments he's pulling back. His dark eyes scan my face, though I don't know what he's looking for, and he runs the back of his wrist over his brow, wiping away the sweat.

The splatters of blood on his shirt make a spike of alarm jolt through me, and now my eyes are jumping over his body.

"It didn't get you, right?" I rasp, my throat dry and tight.

"No, no, I'm fine—"

"Show me your hands," I order as I recall how the geek had been snapping at his fingers.

Glenn sighs but holds out his hands, palm down. I lean in and inspect them intently, but there are no wounds, even when he flips his hands over to show me the undersides.

"See?" Glenn says, dropping his arms. "I'm… good…"

He trails off as he looks to the side, and I follow his line of sight and land on the huddled Greene family.

Herschel still has his arms around Beth, and it looks like he's the only thing keeping her on her feet. Maggie and Patricia flank the father and daughter, their faces morose and streaked with tears, and Jimmy stands behind them all, pale, terrified, and unsure.

After a moment, Herschel starts to walk forward, dragging Beth along with him. The young blonde tries to look back, tries to find her mother's body, but Herschel turns her face away and begins to lead her toward the farmhouse.

Glenn's face contorts with a myriad of emotions, and he shoots me an apologetic look before he slowly starts to follow the Greenes, trailing after Maggie even though she doesn't so much as glance at him.

As the grieving family leaves, Shane also starts to follow them, his features still twisted with anger. Rick immediately tags along, probably to try and do some damage control, but it's too late for that.

Shane has royally fucked us over, and I wouldn't be surprised if Herschel wanted us gone by tonight, just like Maggie had warned.

Once Beth's cries fade, a heavy, oppressive silence falls over the rest of us still lingering around the barn. Lori is holding Carl on the ground further back, toward the fence line, and I can see how she's stroking her son's hair and murmuring into his ear. The young boy immediately reminds me of Sophia, and I start to look back at her body until someone abruptly slides into my line of sight.

It's Daryl, of course it is. The hunter very obviously blocks my view of Sophia, and his blue eyes dart over me in a frantic kind of way. His lips are twisted into an angry scowl, but I can't tell if he's pissed at me for jumping into the fray, or if he's just pissed at this whole situation in general.

I wait for him to snap at me, but the sharp words never come. Instead, he just reaches out and pries the katana out of my lax grip, and I let him.

My scabbed fingers sting as they peel away from the hilt, and my right wrist throbs extra painfully now that the adrenaline is dying down. I try to suppress a grimace, but I know Daryl catches it when his lips thin and his eyes narrow.

Without a word, the hunter tugs a bandana out of his back pocket and drags it over the blood-stained blade until the metal is gleaming. Then he just drops the soiled fabric on the ground and jerks his chin at me.

Somehow, I know he wants me to turn around, so I wordlessly obey, trying not to sway on my feet.

After a moment, a hands settles on my shoulder to steady me, and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck as he very carefully slots the sword back into the sheath lying against my spine. His hand lingers on my shoulder for several beats, but he finally drops it, and I turn back around to face him.

Unfortunately, Daryl has moved a few inches to the side, and my eyes automatically find that head of honey blonde, blood-stained hair.

Bile instantly races up my throat again, and I already know I can't just swallow it back down this time. But I also don't want to lose my shit in front of everyone, so I spin on heel and start marching away from the barn at a stilted pace.

I stumble past Andrea, T-Dog, and Dale, who must have shown up when he heard the gunshots. The old man looks like he's going to call out to me, shifting his rifle into one hand and lifting the other in my direction, but I ignore him, my stomach churning violently.

My pace quickens until I'm practically running, and it hurts in my ankle and my ribs, but I don't care. I just keep going blindly, and with every step, my gut cramps more and more.

Between one blink and the next, I've managed to reach camp. I stagger past the blur of tents, panting harshly through my nose while my jaw is clamped shut, in an effort to keep everything inside.

But as saliva pools in my mouth, hot and choking, I know it's a battle that I'm gonna lose.

In a distant corner of my mind, I recognize mine and Daryl's tent as I pass it, but I only make it about tent yards more before I start to gag.

With one last burst of effort, I stumble to the base of a tree, dropping to my knees just as I start heaving.

My meager breakfast comes rushing out of my mouth, splattering into the dirt and grass. My belly contracts violently as it forces everything up and out, and pain lances through my ribs. I suck in a ragged gasp only to immediately lose it again when another heave wracks my body, and hot tears flood my eyes, blurring my already blurry vision.

It feels like an eternity before the fit passes, and I'm left there kneeling in the dirt, trying to catch my breath. I spit a couple of times, in attempt to get the sour taste out of my mouth. It barely helps. A tremor runs through my body, and I clench my fingers in the dry grass around me. The pain in my hands makes my stomach roll again, but I have nothing left to give.

For several long moments, I just sit there as the nausea slowly fades. Eventually, I raise my left hand and try to ignore how it shakes as I drag my knuckles over my eyes and wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist.

As I drop my hand to my thigh, the rustle of grass at my back makes me tense, but somehow, I just know it's Daryl.

Taking a shaky breath, I reach out and set my left hand against the tree trunk I had just puked in front of, and I slowly push myself to my feet. Various aches and pains flash through me, but they're all dull compared to the gaping hole in my chest.

Once I'm upright, I reluctantly turn around, and sure enough, it's Daryl standing there. He's a few yards back, like he hadn't wanted to crowd me, and his storm cloud eyes bore into mine.

We stare at each other in silence before he tentatively steps forward, and it isn't until he's extending his hands that I realize he's holding something.

I drop my gaze, and it lands on the canteen in his left hand. In his right is my toothbrush, with a dab of white paste already on the end. I feel a very distant and removed spark of gratitude, but my throat is still tight and burning, so I don't say anything as I take the canteen first and wash out my mouth.

Half turning, I spit the warm water into the grass, and then I swap the canteen for the toothbrush, scrubbing away the taste of Spam, eggs, and vomit. Soon, my mouth just tastes like mint, and Daryl holds out the canteen again so I can rinse.

"Thanks," I rasp after I've spat again.

Then I take a moment to actually drink some of the water. It splashes hollowly into my stomach, and I wince at the sensation.

Daryl doesn't say anything, he just continues to stare at me in silence. His face is no longer angry, but it's still guarded, keeping his thoughts hidden from me. I try to come up with something to say, but static buzzes through my brain, bleeding out into the rest of my body until everything feeels numb.

I shudder as my head swims, images of Sophia's gaunt face flashing through my thoughts, and I end up swaying, feeling like I might pass out.

Daryl immediately steps closer, like he's going to catch me, but I see the hesitation dart through his eyes. He's less than a foot away now, his empty hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and I can hear his teeth grinding as he fights with himself.

The dizziness passes relatively quickly, but my body still feels weak, my bones a house of cards that's threatening to crumble. I close my eyes, breathing shakily through my nose, and even though I know it's a bad idea, even though I know there's a chance I might just faceplant into the dirt, I bow my head and lean forward.

My brow gently bumps into the ridge of Daryl's sweaty collarbone, and I feel him tense, his breath hitching.

"I know," I mumble quickly, keeping my eyes closed as I dig my forehead into him, until it almost hurts. "Not supposed to touch. I just… just give me a second. Please."

Again, the hunter doesn't respond, but some of the tension leaves him as he exhales sharply above my head. He keeps his hands to himself, but that's fine. I know I'm already asking for too much.

We stand there in silence, and a stale breeze brushes by, rustling the branches of the tree overhead. A steady throbbing has taken root in the back of my skull, and I feel so… drained. Bone-deep exhaustion, like I could collapse right here and sleep for a thousand years. I keep hearing the ghost of Carol screaming her daughter's name, and my throat burns with the threat of tears.

But I can't cry, not really, not in earnest. If I start, I fear I will never, ever stop. And I can't go to pieces. There are so many things to see to, so much fallout left to deal with.

So, I take a deep breath. Let it out slow. Daryl's heart is pounding a steady rhythm beneath my brow, and I focus on the repetitive thrum as I strangle all the emotions trying to claw their way out of my chest. I rein them back and bury them deep, a familiar numb detachment washing over me like the rising tide.

"Okay." I finally lift my head and step back, putting some distance between Daryl and myself. My voice is still a little hoarse, so I clear my throat and give the hunter a curt nod before looking past his shoulder. "We should… go see what needs to be done. We might need to start packing, depending on Herschel's judgement."

I can feel Daryl's eyes raking over me, and when I glance back at him, he looks like he's on the verge of saying something, his lips already parted. But, after a moment, they press back into a tight line, and all he does is nod before turning toward camp.

He pauses, waiting for me to step up beside him, and then the two of us walk back to our tent. When we reach it, I take a minor detour to drop the canteen and my toothbrush into the cup holder on the camping chair, not even caring to look for my pack.

For a moment, the open flap of the tent calls to me, and I glance inside the shadowed interior, my bones aching to just drop onto the pile of blankets atop my cot.

But I push the selfish urge aside and instead turn back to Daryl, who silently starts walking again.

The rest of camp is still empty. Quiet. My eyes slide to the right, up to the farmhouse, and if I squint, I think I can see shadows moving past the windows.

As Daryl and I near the RV, I slow a little next to the picnic table. The cans and other food products that I'd been taking inventory of are scattered across the tabletop and my bench, Carol's laundry and sewing project abandoned on the opposite side.

My sling is still folded up in the corner under a rather large can of beans, to keep it from blowing away, and that's what I reach for, my right wrist throbbing in gratitude. Without thinking, I bring the knot up to my mouth and tear it open, wordlessly starting to put the wrap on.

I don't ask him to, I'm not even looking at him, but Daryl quietly steps up behind me. Through some kind of unspoken understanding, I toss the ends of the sheet over my shoulders, adjusting the cradle my arm is resting in, and the fabric grows taut as he starts to tie it off.

The work is quick, efficient, and the hunter immediately moves away.

"Thanks," I mutter as I turn to face him, and he just gives me a nod before his blue eyes shift to the side.

I follow his line of sight and then follow Daryl himself as he starts walking toward the RV again. We pause near the front end, looking down the hill at the barn. I can feel a twinge in my chest, but it's so very far away. My eyes stay dry, my breathing remains even, and the only thoughts in my head are observations.

There are still a number of people down by the barn. Lori and Carl are sitting on the ground where I saw them last, but now they're side by side, instead of the boy being cradled in his mother's lap. Dale is pacing back and forth not too far off, with the rifle in his hands like he expects another threat.

Which might be a valid concern. If there were any walkers nearby when Shane opened the doors, the hail of gunfire was probably like a ringing dinner bell.

My eyes idly scan the distant treelines, but nothing moves except for the long grass waving in the wind.

Returning to the barn, I spot the glint of Andrea's blonde hair. She and T-Dog are walking around the circle of bodies, probably talking logistics of what to do next. As I watch, two other figures go to join them, and judging by the canyon of space between them, Rick and Shane are still very much at odds.

The mere sight of Shane makes a coal of anger smolder deep in my gut. Everything that had gone wrong today was his fault to some degree. The walkers in the barn had been a problem, yes, but to just tear open the doors and then gun them all down in front of the Greenes was beyond fucked up. I think about Beth's broken cries as she tried to go to her mother, only to be nearly killed herself.

All of that could have been avoided if Shane had a single fucking ounce of self-control.

The cop had truly started to spiral in the last week. Honestly, it had started the moment Rick showed up at the quarry, but ever since Carl got shot, Shane has begun to unravel. I've steered clear of him the last few days, trying to ignore the reason why.

But I can't avoid it any longer. The truth is, I had seen a darkness in his eyes. Something wild and unhinged. Maybe he had just snapped, after the CDC and then Carl, but… I can't help thinking of the day Daryl brought me back to the quarry. Shane had been the first to introduce himself, all friendly-like, but when he'd offered me his hand, I had instinctively stepped back, closer to Daryl even though the hunter had just shot me mere hours ago. At the time, I brushed it off as being awkward with people after so long of being on my own. But now… I wonder if I saw something in Shane that day. If, subconsciously, I had recognized the kind of man he was, deep down.

And, if I'm right, I just know today's outburst isn't going to be the last one.

I don't want to think about Shane anymore, though, so I tear my eyes away from him. I scan around the barn again, absently doing a headcount, but I frown when I come up short. I count again, just to make sure, and the number stays the same. We're missing someone. And it doesn't take me long to figure out who.

"We should… try to find Carol," I say, even though the thought of facing the grieving mother again makes my stomach flip.

Earlier, when she ran off, I thought it was a good idea to give her space, but I'm worried about leaving her alone for too long. I know the kind of drastic thoughts I had when I was walking away from Dalton alone, my friends and family all ash behind me, and it must be so much worse for Carol, losing her only daughter.

Another throb echoes through my chest, but somehow I can't feel the pain of it.

I turn to face Daryl, ready to ask if he could track her, but apparently he already has. He looks from me, up to the RV windshield, and back, jerking his head in the same direction for emphasis.

"She's in there?" I whisper, and he nods.

Briefly, I wonder how he knows, but ultimately it doesn't matter.

Pursing my lips, I walk around the front of the motorhome, pausing only momentarily before opening the door.

My gaze immediately lands on Carol, sitting at the "kitchen" table with her back to me. She doesn't turn to look in my direction, but that's fine. I still don't have anything to say, and I know deep down that nothing will comfort her right now.

Instead, I hobble up the RV steps and go right, dropping down into the passenger seat and spinning it so I can prop my legs up on the driver's. I could have sat at the table across from her, but I don't want to crowd her. All I want is to offer her silent support, to let her know she isn't alone on what has to be the worse day of her life.

To my surprise, Daryl steps into the RV a moment later. I know the hunter isn't great with feelings or awkward social situations, so I thought he would have slipped off, or at least sat outside nearby.

But, no, he looks from me to Carol, and then he hops up on the kitchen counter, a few feet away from the older woman. He winces minutely as he settles, and I can see him chewing on the corner of his lip.

Finally, Carol twitches, slowly turning her head to Daryl and then me. Her face is blank, her blue eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and she doesn't say a word before she looks back out the window again.

As silence falls over the RV, I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable despite the sword digging into my spine. For a moment, I consider getting up and taking it off, but I can't find the motivation, let alone the energy. So, I just sit there with a dull pain pulsing in my back, and my eyes roam around, looking at nothing in particular.

Eventually, they land on the analog clock set into the dashboard. It reads just past 11 o'clock. That doesn't feel right, but I know how finicky Dale is about keeping time, so it must be.

God, it's not even noon. I think back on the morning, but it already feels years and years ago. How did we go from looking at flowers near the pond, feeling peaceful, nearly happy, to… here?

The memory of those white flowers, and of the hope returning to Carol's face, is like a punch to the gut, and a thousand questions I don't want to consider rise up in my mind.

How the hell did Sophia end up in that barn? All this time, we'd been combing the woods for her, and yet she was right under our noses, less than fifty yards away. How long had she been in there? And how could the Greenes not tell us? How could they be so evil?

Except... I don't think they're evil. Herschel had saved Carl, and Daryl, and even tended to my own wounds. He let us stay on his land and gave us food, water. From everything I'd seen, he was a religious man, a kind man, and his daughters were the same. Beth was so nice when we talked over glasses of lemonade yesterday, and Glenn has done nothing but sing Maggie's praises since we arrived on the farm. Even if the Greenes don't fully understand what the walkers are, I can't imagine that they would have let Carol suffer as she had been, worrying over her daughter's fate.

So... what then? Had Jimmy put her in the barn? I haven't personally spoken to the young man, but from what Beth told me yesterday, he's a sweet, polite southern boy. If he had known about Sophia, he would have told at least one of the Greenes, and I don't think he would have offered to go searching for the girl.

My brain aches as I try to put the pieces together, and like a lightning strike, another option comes to me.

There used to be someone else on the Greene property. Otis, Patricia's husband, who died trying to get medical supplies for Carl.

I never saw the man myself, but I recall the borrowed clothes Shane had been wearing when the rest of us showed up on the farm. The clothes had been huge on him, obviously meant for a man of a much larger stature. Which means Otis had to have been big and strong. Maybe he was the one who put all the walkers in the barn, which makes sense, given how much Herschel and Jimmy were struggling with the task earlier.

But... Otis has been dead for days now. He shot Carl on the morning of the second day, when everyone was out searching for Sophia. Then he led Rick and Shane to the farm, so Herschel could tend to Carl's injuries. By the afternoon, he and Shane went on that run, and by nightfall, he was dead.

So, if Otis was the one to put Sophia in the barn, that means... he found her on the very day she went missing, or first thing the next morning, before he went hunting.

Which means... Sophia has been dead this entire time. The moment Rick took his eyes off her, she was gone. We've been chasing nothing but a ghost.

That knowledge jars something loose inside me. My sanity, maybe. Or the last shreds of my heart.

Something rushes up my throat then, and I don't recognize what it is until the last second, barely swallowing down the hysterical laugh before it bursts past my lips. I bite my tongue until blood coats my mouth, but even then, the same cruel, mocking thought keeps cycling through my head.

And it's that, earlier, at the pond, Daryl had said, I think she's still out there, and Carol had agreed, saying, We'll find her.

In the end, they both were right. Just in a fucked up, monkey's paw kind of way.

The barbed laugh rattling around in my chest tries to convert into a sob, but I swallow that, too, turning to stare out the windshield as I mentally go through sword forms. When that isn't enough, I switch to recalling the inventory list I made earlier.

Since we'll probably be getting back on the road soon, we'll need to know what we have and what we don't.

Time passes like the drip of molasses from an overturned bottle. At some point, Dale and Carl walk past my eyeline, and I follow them until I can't. It looked like they were headed toward the firepit, and I idly wonder where Lori is, but the thought floats away, and I don't care enough to stop it.

Not too long after, Dale pokes his head into the RV, his mouth a thin line as he stares sympathetically at Carol. He mutters something about preparations being made for the funerals, but when no one responds to him, he just nods and retreats back outside.

Neither Daryl, Carol, or I say a word as the minutes tick by, stacking one on top of the other. Sometimes, I feel the hunter's eyes on me, but the sensation always fades before I can drum up the strength to turn my neck.

Between making my various mental inventory lists, my gaze returns to the barn at intervals. The walker bodies are still sprawled in front of the doors, but the living people have moved off to the side. I squint and can barely make them out under a stand of trees, and I can't see a great amount of detail from this distance, but it looks like they're digging graves.

Unwillingly, I think of the graves we left behind at the quarry, of Amy's body rotting six feet deep. That was just over a week ago, and already, our group has been whittled down to less than a dozen. I wonder how many more graves we'll have to dig in the future. And how long until there's one with my name on it.

As if to reprimand me, the ghost of Sensei's voice rises up in my thoughts.

You must never, ever give up. No matter the trials, no matter the tribulations, no matter the difficulty, you must endure. You must continue on. Remember this, Audrey Lara Bennett. Remember this and never forget.

Remembering isn't the difficult part. It's the believing. Believing that, one day, all this pain will mean something. That there will be a dawn at the end of this long, terrible night.

But if everyone around me dies, again, am I still supposed to keep going? Would I even want to?

A prickle on the back of my neck draws me from my morbid thoughts, and this time, I turn and catch Daryl's eyes. Something about his steady blue gaze quiets the buzzing in my head, and the pressure pounding behind my temples subsides a fraction. The hunter shifts on the counter as we continue to stare at each other, but after a long stretch, he suddenly turns away, looking over his shoulder and out the open door of the RV.

Moments later, I hear the sound of footsteps outside, followed by a light knocking. Then Lori climbs up the steps and hovers in the doorway, looking from Daryl, to me, and finally to Carol. She swallows, her face pale, and ducks her head.

"They're ready," she whispers at the ground, her words vague and careful, like the words 'funeral' or 'graves' are taboo.

My eyes flick to the clock again, and I'm distantly surprised to see it's nearly 1:30. How had over two hours passed?

The question drifts away as Lori lifts her head, focusing on Carol, who only stares down at the kitchen table and gives a small shake of her head, barely a twitch.

"Come on," Lori coaxes, and when I look over at her, I see her face is twisted with sympathetic grief.

Carol is silent for a while before she utters a single word, her voice dead and flat. "Why?"

Lori's face contorts even further, and she seems at a loss for words, unable to think of an appropriate response.

To my shock, it's Daryl who answers.

"Cuz that's yer little girl," he rasps.

Out of nowhere, I realize those are the first words he's said since the barn. Since he screamed my name and told Carol not to look.

Carol finally lifts her head and turns to Lori, then Daryl, and even though I can only see the side of her face, I catch the glimmer of tears in her eye. Despite that, her voice is relatively steady, calm even.

"That's not my little girl. That's some other… thing. My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time, I thought… but no. She didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't go hungry. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago."

Her words make me wonder if she had also done the math, if she'd also figured out the timeline, but what does that even matter? Sophia is still dead, her body rotting down by the barn, and nothing will change that or make it better.

Carol seems to think along the same lines, because she turns away again, looking out the window.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone."

No one has a response for that.

Glancing back at Lori, I can see there are tears in her eyes, too, but she leaves without a word. Carol just continues to stare out the window, and when I look at Daryl, I blink, caught off guard by the sudden emotions on his face.

At first, it's a flare of anger, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth together. But then, as he hops off the counter and turns to the door, I catch a mercurial guilt in his blue eyes before he drops them to his feet. I frown at the sight, but he's already clomping down the steps, and I get up to follow, sparing Carol one last glance.

When I hobble outside, I find Daryl waiting, but he won't look at me. He just starts walking, headed for where we can see a couple of people already gathered around the graves, but he pauses and turns back to me when he realizes I'm not behind him.

"I just… need to grab something from the tent," I tell him as a stupid, useless idea flutters through my thoughts. "You can go on ahead, I'll meet you down there."

Daryl's lips purse, but before he can respond, I turn and limp back to our tent. When I reach it, I blindly grab my toothbrush from the cup holder, and then I duck inside, quickly spotting my pack open atop my cot.

I don't have the patience to methodically dig through all my shit, so I just knock the bag over, spilling its contents in a haphazard fashion and tossing my toothbrush onto the pile. I still have to sift through some of my clothes, but I finally find what I'm looking for and tuck the item into my sling, unbothered by the pain and discomfort it causes.

I leave the tent as quickly as I entered it, and when I make my way back to the RV, I'm surprised but not really to find Daryl standing where I left him, chewing on his thumbnail and staring at the ground.

He looks up when he hears me, but he doesn't ask any questions when I reach him. In fact, he says nothing at all as he turns and leads the way to the freshly dug gravesite, and I silently fall into step behind him.

As we walk, the cicadas hum their buzzing funeral dirge, and the sun continues to beat down, merciless and uncaring.

By the time we reach the stand of trees beside the barn, everyone else is already lined up in front of the graves. The Greenes huddle at the far end of the line, and I guess the two graves in front of them are for Herschel's wife and stepson.

Everyone from our group is drenched in sweat and smeared in dirt, and I can tell they're exhausted. They stare morosely at the grave on the end opposite the Greenes, and when I look down, I notice that this hole is visibly smaller than the others.

The backs of my eyes burn again, but no tears fall.

A somber silence has settled over this makeshift funeral, broken only by the wind through the trees above us. I glance at Herschel, expecting him to say a few words like he did at Otis' funeral, but it seems the farmer doesn't have any scripture this time. His face is completely blank as he stares at the graves of his wife and son, and I feel a minuscule stab of guilt when I remember I was the one to put down his wife. Whose name I don't even know.

It feels like an eternity passes as we all stand there, not saying a word. Eventually, a sniffle makes me look to the right, at Carl, who's wiping away a tear while his chin wobbles. The sight of the boy reminds me of the weight in my sling, and without a word, I step forward, remove the item from the sheet, and bend down to place it in the middle of Sophia's grave.

The old man on the cover of The Giver looks back up as me as I straighten, his eyes heavy with the same weight I feel pressing down on my shoulders. When I step back, Carl catches my eye, and he gives me a grateful nod, like I've done something good.

Like I haven't just put a book on a dead girl's grave because I would never be able to read it again without thinking of her.

I refuse to look at anyone, staring down at my shoes, and after another endless moment, people start to disperse, everyone going their own way. I glance over at Daryl beside me, to see if he's ready, but I freeze when I get a good look at the hunter.

His breathing is labored all of the sudden, the air hissing past his clenched teeth as the outline of his body vibrates. His face is contorted, but I can't tell with what emotion, and before I can ask if he's okay, someone bumps into my back, rattling the katana.

I absently turn to see who it is, and Beth slowly blinks back at me, her wide blue eyes glassy and rimmed in red, her face drawn and sallow.

"Oh, sorry," she says in an airy voice, and she seems to sway on her feet. "I didn't see you there, how rude of me."

"It's… fine," I mumble, feeling that stab of guilt again as I recall the way she had been screaming for her mother.

Beth doesn't seem to hear me. She just blinks again, her gaze unfocused. Maggie steps up behind her and gently puts a hand on her shoulder, and the older Greene sister looks equal parts concerned and sad.

"Come on, let's go get you sometime to eat," she whispers as she tries to steer the younger girl away.

But Beth doesn't budge, and she's still staring right at me. Or through me.

"Would you like to join us for lunch, Audrey?" she asks out of the blue.

The offer takes me by complete surprise, and now I'm the one standing there blinking dumbly.

"O-Oh. That's… very kind of you, but I, um…" My frazzled brain tries to come up with a polite way to decline, and I glance to the side, hoping Daryl will save me, or at least give me a valid excuse.

But I end up doing a double take when I realize the hunter is no longer there. My eyes dart around, and I eventually see him walking up the hill toward camp. His back is to me, and he never once pauses or glances in my direction. Within moments, he's disappeared into the circle of tents.

My first reaction is to feel hurt that he's left, and without saying a word to me. There's also some fear now that he's no longer in my sight. But maybe he just needed some space, too. I don't think he'll say it out loud, but I know Sophia's fate must be hitting him hard. He had tried so hard to find her, been so sure he would.

"Audrey?"

I jolt at the sound of my name, turning back to Beth, who is still staring at me blankly but with a faint hint of expectancy. It takes me a moment to remember what she'd asked, but I still don't know what to say.

"I, uh, wouldn't want to impose…" is what I come up with in the end.

Beth cocks her head slightly, her eyes still glassy and unfocused. "How can you impose if I invited you?"

I don't have a response for that, and I look helplessly to Maggie, waiting for her to point out why I shouldn't be joining them for lunch. My katana is still stained with the blood of Beth's mother for fuck's sake.

The older Greene is frowning, but at her sister, not at me. She looks even more concerned now, and when she finally glances in my direction and meets my eyes, she just gives a small nod. Glenn is standing at her shoulder, and he also gives me a nod, encouraging me to accept Beth's offer.

And with all of them staring at me like that, how can I refuse?

"O-Okay." I clear my throat and turn back to Beth, trying to force my lips into the semblance of a gracious smile. "I'll… join you for lunch. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Beth replies, but it sounds more like an ingrained reflex than anything else, and then she just turns away and starts walking toward the farmhouse.

Maggie is quick to follow her, as are Patricia and Jimmy, who had been hanging back a few feet away. I notice Herschel has disappeared, along with everyone else, and within moments it's just Glenn and me standing beside Sophia's grave.

"Come on." Glenn nudges me as he goes to follow the Greenes, and my feet mindlessly trail after him.

As we reach the top of the hill, I look back at Sophia's grave one last time, seeing the pages of the book I'd left fluttering in the slight breeze. Feeling my throat grow tight, I turn away, my eyes instead going to my tent. But Daryl is nowhere to be seen, and the tightness in my throat spreads down into my chest.

"He probably just needs some space."

I glance over at Glenn, who's paused and caught me staring. I think I should feel embarrassed that he was able to read my thoughts so easily, but I can't manage it.

"Yeah," I mutter, knowing he's probably right, but something still throbs deep inside me.

I shake it off as best as I can, and then I turn to follow Glenn into the house, ignoring the uneasy feeling rolling in my gut.

---

A/N~

Jofrench22: Thank you again for leaving another review! I'm glad you liked the Carol/Audrey interactions, Carol was always one of my fave characters, I love her. And you know I had to throw Shane talking shit in there, he totally would, and it makes for great angst on Daryl's part xD. Also, I actually went with your suggestion and did both POVs for this chap, so I hope you enjoyed it! And hopefully you didn't get the notification before work again haha.

R-MD: Welcome back, and thank you for the review! It's still crazy to me that people have been thinking about this story for years :') Sorry to leave you hanging for so long, but I hope all the recent updates somewhat make up for it haha. And I definitely know what you mean about the story taking you back in time. Sometimes, I'll be writing in the evenings and wonder "Huh, when's dinner gonna be ready?" Before I remember that, oh yeah, I'm the adult who needs to make myself dinner xD (Congrats on the baby btw!)