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There had been a terrible scene earlier in the night when Carl started crying because they had missed Christmas … and then realized that there would likely never be another Christmas. Hell, the adults didn't even know what day it was. Daryl had been keeping some track, he figured it was early January, but even he couldn't be sure. The kid had held up pretty well so far, in a life that was no place for a kid. In Daryl's view, he deserved a tantrum or two.

Lori had managed to calm the kid down and she and Rick had taken him off to bed. Hershel had gone up, too, and Beth with him, both of them worn out by the constant running. The house they were camped out in tonight was pretty big, and they'd found a wine cellar with a lot of bottles, so the rest of them were hanging out in the big living room with bottles of whatever caught their eye, drinking away their own sorrows about whatever they'd lost out there when the world ended.

Daryl had a bottle, but he wasn't drinking to any sorrows. Oh, sure, he missed bars and beer and hot running water and TV and washing machines and Big Macs, same as anybody would … but the holidays had only meant one thing in the Dixon house. Lots of people getting drunk, and mad, and beating on each other. And Daryl, being the youngest, had taken more than his share of the beatings.

"If it all came back today—tomorrow," Glenn asked, "what would you do first?"

"Hot shower," Maggie said, closing her eyes and imagining it.

There was a chorus of agreement. That seemed to be top on everybody's list.

"What else, though?"

T-Dog tipped up his bottle, taking a swig. "I'd go get me a pizza."

"Oh, yeah," Glenn agreed. "I miss the smell of all that hot cheese."

"What about you?" Maggie looked at Daryl.

He shrugged, not wanting to play the game.

"Carol?"

"After a shower and a pizza? I don't know." She started to say something else, but thought better of it and instead tipped up her bottle and took a long drink.

"No, you have to say," Maggie insisted. "It's part of the game."

Daryl looked at her for a long time. Maggie was the only one not without a bottle, because of Hershel's drinking when she was a kid, and she was taking this a little too seriously. He'd bet Carl's tantrum about Christmas had gotten to her more than she'd let on. Still, he wasn't about to let her bully him into being part of this sappy "what if" thing they had going on.

He stood up, gripping the neck of his bottle in one hand, and looked down at her. "This ain't no game. Nothin's coming back, and if it did, it wouldn't ever be the same. We got all we can do to live till tomorrow without sittin' here and feelin' sorry for ourselves about things that just don't matter."

And he turned around and left them there, going outside into the cold night, to sit with his bottle alone.

Only he wasn't alone for long. After a few minutes, he heard the sliding door open, and was not at all surprised when Carol sat down next to him.

"You should be inside. You'll catch your death out here." He meant of cold, but it could be Walkers. Just because he didn't see any right now didn't mean they weren't out there.

"So will you," Carol pointed out. Daryl was tough, but he wasn't any more impervious to the cold than the rest of them. "Besides, we're all going to die tomorrow, right, so what difference does it make?"

"I said we had all we can do to live till tomorrow."

"Maggie's young. She's missing a lot of life ahead of her."

He looked at her. "So are we all."

"Yeah, but … it's different, I think. She had a whole life and a family, and … lots of Christmases ahead of her."

"Never liked the holidays. Too much time for people to sit around and get nasty."

Carol remembered Christmases with Ed all too vividly. The memory must have shown on her face, because Daryl bumped her lightly with his shoulder. It was as affectionate as he got, and she smile at him.

"Let's drink to no more Christmases."

She laughed and tilted her bottle up, feeling vaguely disloyal to the world of before even as she did so. Then she sighed and looked up at the stars, so clear and sharp in the night sky with no man-made lights to get in the way. "I can't imagine the world coming back, because—because Sophia wouldn't be in it."

Daryl nodded.

"Still, though, you know what I'd do? If I woke up tomorrow and the world was running again? I'd go to New York City. I've never been, and I always wanted to go." She turned to look at Daryl. "Would you come with me? I'd buy you a real New York steak."

"I might take you up on that. A Dixon in the big city." He chuckled. "Don't think I'd fit, though."

"What about the beach, then? Lobster, surfing, toes in the sand, with a beer?"

"I don't think I'd fit there, either."

Carol gave him a sidelong look, wishing he believed better things about himself. "You would fit in wherever you chose to be."

"Guess we'll never know, will we?"

"No. We won't. None of it is ever coming back." She felt a chill work its way through her that had nothing to do with the weather. "So what do we do it for, every day? Why don't we just lie down and die?"

"Because maybe what we make instead will be better. Maybe now that we've lived through all this death, we can make peace on earth, and goodwill toward men."

"Do you believe that?"

Daryl sighed, taking another drink from his bottle. "No. But I wish I did."