 
## He Rides a Pale Horse

Shari Richardson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Shari Richardson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Before the Walking Dead*

Chapter 2: The Road to Atlanta*

Chapter 3: Monster Talk*

Chapter 4: Comforting Embrace*

### Chapter 1

*Before The Walking Dead*

Daryl knelt at the doorway, blood dripping from a split lip to splash on the plain pine floor. His shoulders rose and fell with measured breaths as he made every effort to get himself under control. "So much for spending the Fourth of July with Dad," he thought bitterly. "I'm hardly in the door and he's already throwing punches."

"Had enough, Daryl?" the senior Dixon asked. "Or should I get the bat and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours?"

Daryl clenched his jaw and ground his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to bash his father's head in with the aforementioned bat, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to best the man in a straight-up fight. His old man was one of those tough sumbitches who seemed to populate the woods and hills of Jasper County. He looked soft from a distance, but up close and personal, he could throw those ham-sized fists with surprising speed.

But if the old man got drunk, Daryl knew he could raid the house for supplies and then head out to the lean-to he and his brother used for hunting. Maybe Merle would be there and the two of them could find somewhere else to go for the holiday. Somewhere far away from their father and his fists.

"You answer when I talk to you, boy."

Daryl stood up, wiped the blood from his face and spat a mouthful of blood into the corner. "I've had enough," he said.

"Then go out to the still and pull off a quart for me before I change my mind about being generous."

Daryl headed out to the shed where his father kept the moonshine still, debating leaving now or waiting until the old man got drunk. Leaving now might fend off the violence he saw brewing in his father's eyes for the day, but when he came back, the old man would make him pay for running out on him before catering to his every whim. Daryl knew his father wouldn't voluntarily give up any supplies to his sons. He was going to have to wait until the old man blacked out or leave empty handed. Once his father was passed out, Daryl would even be able to take some 'shine to sell to the couple of guys he knew in town. That would give him some cash before he got on the road again.

The heat in the 'shine shed hit him like a blast out of hell. The propane burner under the still poured heat into the closed space and the heavy Georgia summer air clashed with the dry heat, causing sweat to roll down his face as he bent to get a quart mason jar under the tap at the bottom of the catch kettle. He lifted the jar to his lips and swallowed several gulps before refilling the jar to take back to his father. He might be a jackass, but that man did make a hell of a good batch of 'shine.

Daryl made the trip out to the shed several more times as the night wore on. It wasn't until the fifth quart lay empty between him and his father, and the latest whore his father had picked up in town, that Daryl felt it was safe to raid the cabinets, stock up on some jars, and rifle through his father's pockets for money. The old man snored as Daryl moved around the house, almost jerking himself out of sleep with the volume of his own snoring. Daryl eyed the bat by the doorway, but left it behind.

Daryl parked the truck at the end of the trail leading up to the lean-to and shut off the engine. The sudden silence of the woods pressed against him with a physical weight and a chill ran over his shoulders. He'd spent most of his life in these woods and yet tonight, there was something ominous in them. He searched the shadows, looking for something concrete to rest his fears on, but nothing moved into the light cast down by the full moon. It was a rustling step farther up the trail that grabbed his attention and sent his heart thudding in his chest.

"Merle?" Daryl called.

"Little brother? What the hell are you doin' up here with that loud-assed truck?"

"Stopped by the house for the Fourth and figured being in the woods would be better."

Merle stepped off the path into the clearing, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "The old man do that?" he asked, nodding toward Daryl.

"It's nothing. He sends his love. I got some stuff from the house." Daryl unloaded what he'd taken from their father's house.

"Well at least you brought some good stuff," Merle said, hefting the jars of moonshine. "We can get ripped and tell each other lies about our sex lives...Unless you have something more interesting in one of those bags. Last hag Dad had at the house wasn't too ugly."

Daryl laughed and twisted the top off one of the jars. "Here's to getting drunk and wishing to get laid."

"What the hell was that?" Merle muttered.

"Deer?" Daryl said, clawing his way out of sleep and moonshine to listen to the midnight dark woods.

"No. Sounds like someone walking..."

"Who the hell'd be out here in the middle of the night?"

"No idea." Merle knelt up at the front of the lean-to. His hand delved into his blanket and came out with his rifle. He hefted the weapon to his shoulder and squinted into the scope.

"There's definitely something out there," Daryl said. "Something big and sloppy."

Merle grunted his agreement, but kept his eye on the scope. "I can't see anything. I shoulda got that damn night scope we saw."

Daryl watched the game trail which lead away from the lean to, scanning for any clue as to what was making the growing sounds in the woods. When the young man shambled out of the woods, Daryl let out a sigh of relief.

"It's just a stupid kid," he said, laying back down. "Leave him be, Merle."

Merle remained at the opening of the lean-to. He swung the rifle back and forth, trying to get a better look at the man Daryl had seen. When he finally zeroed in on the man, Merle let out an involuntary sound of disgust.

"What?" Daryl asked, sitting up again.

"Something's wrong with that kid," Merle said. "He's more than just beat up...it's like he's..."

"He's what?"

"It can't be. I musta drunk more 'shine than I thought. You look."

Daryl took the rifle from his brother and brought it up to his shoulder. He swept the woods until he found the young man. "What the hell?"

Flesh drooped in ribbons from the man's arms and it looked as though his intestines were falling out of his guts. His skin was a waxy grey and his eyes were cloudy yellow. He walked with little focus, but a determination to move forward was obvious. He ricocheted off a couple of trees and went to his knees, but got up and continued to shamble toward the Dixon brothers.

"Hey, stop where you are or I'll put a bullet in you!" Daryl shouted.

The young man continued toward them with no sign he'd heard Daryl. He stumbled over a root, fell to his knees again, and struggled to stand before continuing toward them. Daryl's hands shook as the tension of holding the rifle on the shambling man took hold of his muscles.

"Shoot him," Merle prompted. "The dude is fucking crazy. Shoot him."

"I think he's hurt," Daryl said. "What if he's just hurt?"

"Then he'll be out of his misery if you shoot him, little brother. Fucking shoot him or give me the damn rifle."

Daryl dropped the rifle from his shoulder and passed it back to Merle. "You look at him and see if he's not just hurt."

Merle raised the rifle to his shoulder while Daryl grabbed his cross-bow from the edge of the lean-to.

"One more step, asshole, and I'm gonna put a bullet in you," Merle said. His tight tone sent a chill across Daryl's back. He knew that tone. It was the one Merle got when he wasn't dicking around anymore. That man was gonna have a bullet in him faster than he could blink.

Daryl's ears rang and the young man's right shoulder jerked back, but he kept moving toward the brothers. Daryl jerked back from his brother and then rolled out of the lean-to. He rolled up onto his feet and set the butt of the cross-bow against his shoulder. The young man kept walking, now reaching for the brothers as he continued forward. The rifle bellowed again and the man's left shoulder jerked back, releasing black ooze from beneath the man's flesh. He kept walking.

"What the hell?" Daryl spat. "Buddy, my brother's gonna kill you if you don't just stop."

"Listen to him, man. I'm gonna kill ya if you don't stop where you are." Merle came out of the lean-to and stood beside Daryl.

The closer the man came, the worse the stench became. As he walked, more and more of his guts trailed out of his belly, leaving no doubt that he would die if he ever stopped long enough to realize he was already dead.

"Aww man, shoot him, Merle. Put him out of his misery." Daryl choked on the rising stench of decay which preceded the man as he continued to amble toward them.

Merle fired the rifle again, this time catching the man right over his heart. Again, a burst of black ooze shot out of the bullet hole and the man's body jerked, but he continued to reach for the brothers as he came within a few feet of them.

Merle fired the rifle again, hitting him just above the open mouth of his abdomen, and this time the man faltered and went to his knees. Rather than fight the losing battle of keeping his feet, the man crawled forward. He moaned, a quiet, sad expression of desires not met, and reached for Daryl's ankle. The moment the cold, rubbery flesh closed around him, Daryl knew there was something wrong.

He jerked back, freeing his leg from the man's weak grasp. He backed away, not caring what Merle might think of him. All he could think was that he never wanted to feel that awful cold flesh on his own ever again.

A root caught his heel and Daryl went down. The man was still crawling toward him, still moaning with that same sound that almost made his quest one to be pitied. Daryl shook his head in denial and disgust. No way was that guy going to touch him again. He socked the butt of the cross-bow into his own shoulder and took aim.

The arrow loosed with a heavy twang-snap of the bow's string slapping home. It sailed straight and true, burying itself in the young man's forehead, holding the head up when, like a candle flame blown out with a strong breath, the life went out of the man on the ground. The body he'd been dragging forward dropped flat on the ground and didn't move again.

Daryl sat and contemplated the dead man's yellow eyes. "What the hell was that?" he asked. He scrambled back to the lean-to and shoved his feet into his boots.

"No idea, little brother, but we've got more important things to deal with right now."

Merle's tone bordered on panic, a sound that wrenched Daryl's attention away from his contemplation of the dead man in front of him. He looked up in time to see his brother fire the rifle at a shambling woman. The bullet took half her face with it as it passed through her, but she kept moving.

"Higher, Merle," Daryl shouted. He shoved his foot into the stirrup, jacked the bowstring back and notched another arrow into the weapon. "I got this one through the brain."

A snapping branch to his left caught Daryl's attention and he turned, sighted, and dropped an old man as he stepped out of the brush surrounding the small clearing the lean-to was in. He dropped the front of the cross-bow to the ground, slammed his foot into the stirrup, jacked the string back again, and was reaching for another arrow when four more shambling nightmares came into the clearing.

"Outnumbered," he shouted, stepping behind his brother and covering his side of the lean-to.

"Yeah. We need to get the hell outa here." Merle shot three more rounds before slinging the rifle strap over his shoulder. "I'm out. We gotta run."

"Truck is at the end of the trail. Where's your bike?"

"At a buddy's place. We can get it later. You got your keys?"

"In my pocket. Let's go."

The brothers turned as one and headed down the trail that led to the place Daryl had parked his truck. They saw more people wandering through the woods as they ran, but were able to put a fair amount of distance between themselves and the slow-moving strangers. When they reached the truck, Daryl jerked open the door and Merle threw first the rifle and then himself into the vehicle. Daryl followed close behind, slammed the door and pushed the key into the ignition.

The roar of the old truck echoed in the trees and two slow-moving dead men turned and started toward them. Daryl threw the truck in gear and peeled out onto the road.

"Where?" he asked.

"Home. Find out what the hell is going on. Old man'll know."

Silence grew between them, a heavy weight of fear and uncertainty neither man would admit to the other. Daryl's mind kept running into a wall when he tried to figure out how that boy had kept going with his guts hanging out and four bullets in him--one in the heart. Nothing rational explained what they'd seen and so they sat side by side, saying nothing, and running home to the one person they knew would never sugarcoat anything for them. When they pulled into the driveway of their father's house, Daryl saw the front door hung open on a broken hinge.

"This ain't right," he said, pulling the truck to a stop next to the front porch. "We should just go."

"Chicken shit," Merle said, but without his usual level of menace. His eyes were wide and Daryl saw fear in them.

"What if..." Daryl didn't want to say the words.

"Doesn't matter. There's stuff in there we need. Like more bullets and arrows and food. We'll go in, get the stuff and get out."

Daryl nodded. Like it or not, his brother was right. Their father kept huge stockpiles of the kind of supplies they'd need if the world was going to hell in a hand basket. Best to get what they needed now and then get the hell out of dodge.

Merle was out of the truck and on the porch before Daryl got out. By the time Daryl was on the porch, he could hear Merle retching in the living room.

"Merle?" he called before stepping through the doorway.

The heavy scent of blood and body fluids enveloped him immediately, bringing up what little remained of last night's dinner. He spat several times and tried not to see the eviscerated body of the girl who'd been keeping company with his father when he'd visited earlier in the week. Try as he might, he couldn't escape the sight of her open chest or the bloody hair trailing over the edge of the sofa.

"Holy mother, what the fuck is this?" Merle moaned.

"No idea," Daryl said.

He shook himself and then went to the cabinet where his father kept ammunition for the various weapons he kept in the house. He peered into the bedroom, jerked the filthy pillow case off his father's pillow and began piling boxes of ammunition into the make-shift bag.

"Merle, get the guns and find something to put food in. We gotta do this and get out."

Daryl threw the bag of ammunition into the bed of the truck and turned back to the house to help his brother get the rest of what they needed. He waited at the door with a bag full of cans while Merle found the last handgun their father kept hidden in the kitchen. A sneaky whisper of footsteps behind him, brought him around and face to face with what had once been his father.

"Son of a bitch," he exclaimed, back pedaling into the living room. The bag of cans slipped from his hand, sending the cylinders rolling across the pine floor.

"Fuck!" Merle raised the pistol he'd just taken from the kitchen, but it clicked empty.

Their father's waxy grey face was bloody and flesh hung from his teeth. The connection between the nightmare in front of him and the one on the couch was clear.

"Dad, listen, you're sick. We'll get a doctor," Daryl said. He held a hand out, though whether to welcome or ward off his father, he couldn't be certain.

The beast who had once been his father, stumbled up the stairs of the porch. Daryl realized he didn't have a weapon other than a few cans of creamed corn and searched the room for something more deadly. His eyes fell on the baseball bat leaning against the television beside the door and he dove for it just as the woman on the couch let out a gurgling moan.

Daryl ducked and rolled, coming to his feet with the bat on his shoulder, ready to swing.

"Fuck me," Merle said, backing toward the door in the kitchen that let out into the small yard behind the house.

Daryl watched his brother dart through that door and had only a moment to hope Merle might come back from the truck with something better than a bat. The woman on the couch sat up, spilling what had remained of her guts into her lap. Daryl felt his stomach revolt again, but stamped down his desire to puke. There were more important things to deal with than his weak stomach.

The thing that had been his father stopped inside the doorway and looked around the room until he found Daryl backed into the corner, bat at the ready. He shuffled his feet forward, kicking cans across the floor. The racket of tin on tin coming from the cans as they crashed into one another drew the attention of the girl on the couch. She struggled to rise, but was only able to slip to her knees and then to the floor.

As she crawled across the floor, the monster who had beat Daryl and Merle for every reason his drunken mind could come up with, continued to close the distance between himself and his youngest son. Daryl hefted the bat more solidly in place and tried to reason with his father.

"Dad, please...let us get some help. Please don't make me do this."

Nothing he said seemed to register with the beast as it crossed the living room. When it was close enough for Daryl to do some damage with the bat, he stepped in close and swung the bat with everything he had. The sound that echoed in the small room was like those Daryl had dreamed of on those nights when he'd believed he could muster the strength to put an end to the abuse his father had rained on him his entire life. Thick, meaty, and solid. The monster that had been his father staggered and went down, but didn't stop reaching for Daryl.

"Don't," Daryl whispered as his father's hand scrabbled for purchase on the top of his boot. "Please don't."

Daryl shook his head and continued to plead with his father to stop. All those years of pain and abuse and he still didn't want to kill his father. Not really. There was always going to be a tiny part of him who remained the child who wanted his father's love. That part couldn't reconcile the need for the man to die now with its own desire for that love.

While he battled with himself, what had been his father locked a cold hand around his calf and pulled himself closer. The same skin-crawling disgust Daryl had felt in the woods came back to him now. It didn't matter whose body lay on the floor, clutching at him now. What mattered was getting that icy hand off his leg.

Daryl brought the bat down on his father's head over and over, reveling in the heavy sound of the aluminum making solid contact with the swollen, oozing jackolantern that replaced his father's face. The bat rose and fell with increasing speed until Merle's voice broke through the fog that enveloped Daryl, insulating him from what was happening.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, little brother. You got him. Stop!"

Daryl stopped in mid-swing, the bat hanging over the still corpse at his feet. Blood dripped from the bat and from his face, splashing against the ruined landscape that had been his father's face. It looked as though he'd dipped his arms up to the elbow into a bucket of red paint. But paint didn't have little chunks of brain and bone in it.

Merle stood by the doorway, his rifle held out away from his body. The girl who had been on the couch lay on the floor, her head blown open.

"Drop the bat, brother. He's deader than shit."

Daryl shook his head and dropped the bat. His stomach rolled and he retched for several minutes before he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder.

"We gotta go, brother. Are the keys in the truck?"

Daryl nodded. "Did we get everything?" He wanted to scream, to punch something, to find comfort, but he knew how Merle felt about showing weakness. Better to get back to business, to take care of things like a man than to let his brother know how much pain killing their father had caused him.

"Yeah. Everything of value that sack of shit ever had is in the truck. Let's hit the road and see if we can find out what the fuck is going on."

Daryl nodded. "I'll be out...I'll meet you in the truck." He held out his hands. "I gotta get this off."

Merle left Daryl alone with what he'd done. Daryl picked his way across the floor, trying to ignore the blood running across the pine floor. In the kitchen, he turned on the water and scrubbed at his hands and arms. Red water swirled in the sink, circling the drain, and lightening as he stood there and watched. Soon the red was gone, replaced by pink, and then by clear water. He looked at his hands, expecting them to still be stained--a permanent reminder of what he'd done--but the flesh was rosy with the cold water and nothing more.

He bent and ducked his head under the icy spring water. Clarity and awareness thundered back into his body, awakened by the cold. I killed the bastard, he thought. I finally killed the son of a bitch who broke my nose when I was ten and every year after that, beat the hell out of me at least once. I beat his head in with the same bat he used to break my leg when I was fifteen. I left him in a pool of blood on that damned pine floor that I scrubbed every time he left me bleeding on it.

Daryl turned and looked at what was left of his father. He walked over to the blood-soaked rags that had been the man he'd hated and feared and loved his entire life. He stood over that unrecognizable lump, hawked back and spat on it.

"Fuck you," he whispered before he turned his back and left home for good.

### Chapter 2

*The Road to Atlanta*

"Listen, how far are we going to get on half a box of rifle rounds, four arrows and some SlimJims?" Daryl asked. He spun the truck to the left to avoid a group of people hunched down in the middle of the road. When one rose, blood pouring down its face, he swerved back in time to catch several of them with the bed of the truck as it fishtailed. Bodies flew across the road to land in a heap.

"Watch the bike!" Merle shouted.

Daryl's grip tightened on the wheel. "All I'm saying is we need weapons, ammo and supplies and then we'll find a place to hole up until whatever this is blows over."

"And I suppose you know someplace to get all that without getting us killed?"

"Lillith."

Merle snorted. "We do not have time for you to go chasing after some snatch who turned you down in high school, little brother."

Daryl dodged before straightening in his seat as Merle's fist lashed toward his head.

"It might not be the best idea to hit me while I'm driving, jackass."

"And it's definitely not the best idea to go after some poontang under the guise of looking for weapons and supplies."

"Lillith's father is a survivalist and gun nut. You remember that door in the basement with the bank vault lock on it? Lillith showed me what was behind it. Racks of guns and shelves full of MREs and cans and huge drums of fuel. I don't know about you, but I'm broke. Where else are we going to get what we need without stealing it?"

"And what makes you think this girl you knew twenty years ago is here in Jasper? Didn't she move someplace up north after going to that fancy college?"

"She called the house looking for me. I saw the message on the pad by the phone. The girlfriend musta taken the message. Dad wouldn't have bothered."

Merle's eyebrow notched up. "So that's how it is, then."

"How what is? I'm trying to be practical here."

"You've been sweet on that girl since high school, brother. You don't care a spit for the supplies. You just wanna see the girl."

"Does it matter what I want, Merle? We'll get what we need and have a safe place to stay until it's time to move on." Daryl slammed his hand against the wheel. "Damn it, Merle, I'm trying to do something, anything. Let's go to Lillith's, knock on the door and ask her if she'll help us. If she tells us to go to hell, then you can tell me it's a bad idea, but until then--or until you have a better idea--shut the fuck up."

Merle grunted and Daryl turned his attention more fully to the chaos outside the truck. Jasper, usually a quiet west Georgia town, was overflowing with people. Some were alive, some dead. The looters ran into the streets with as little focus as the shamblers.

A young man with a flat-screen tv on his shoulder, darted in front of the truck, and Daryl slammed on the brakes. The boy avoided the truck, but couldn't outrun the group of shamblers who fell on him when he stumbled and went down. The screams pierced Daryl's temples and he shook his head to clear it.

"Dumb ass kid. There's no power. What the fuck was he going to do with that tv?" Merle said.

Daryl shrugged and gripped the wheel tighter. As they drew closer to Lillith's childhood home, memories overwhelmed all thoughts of death and shamblers. Lillith, young and shy, dressed in jeans and a designer blouse on her first day of school. The sun behind her, leaving her face shadowed and hiding her tears when she'd found him bruised and battered and hiding in her family's garden shed after a particularly brutal beating from his father. The radiance of her smile when she'd told him she'd been accepted to Harvard. Her tear-stained face when he'd taken Darlene Jenks to the only school dance he'd ever gone to.

"You gettin' out or are we gonna sleep in the truck tonight?" Merle's sharp tone broke through that last, painful memory.

Daryl looked up and realized they were in the driveway of the McLeod house. "I'll go. You stay here and cover me." He leaped out of the truck and ran for the front door. The curtain twitched as he feet hit the walkway and the door cracked open as he reached it.

"Daryl?"

Her voice was exactly as he remembered. Strong but gentle, with a tiny hint of the south now mixed with something else.

"Got your message, Lil," he said with a grin. "Figured I'd stop by."

The door swung open and she was there. Long, dark hair flowed over her shoulders. Her eyes were bright with tears, terror and disbelief. She reached for him, but he side-stepped and pointed at the truck.

"It's not safe to linger on doorsteps. Can we come in?"

Her eyes lifted and a cruel sneer formed on her lips, but she nodded and stepped back. Merle slipped out of the truck, slashed the butt of his rifle against a shambler's head, and trotted up the walk.

"Much obliged, Miss McLeod," he said, tipping an invisible hat at Lillith as he stalked past her to slump into a chair in the living room. Daryl followed his brother, turning when the door closed with more force than was necessary.

Lillith leaned against the living room entranceway, her hand resting on the butt of a weapon tucked into a hip holster.

"I must say, this wasn't exactly the visit I had in mind, Daryl, but I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks for letting us in..."

"About that," Lillith said, pushing away from the wall. "You need to stay away from me, Merle. I'm not eighteen anymore and this weapon isn't for show. You lay one finger on any part of me, even a handshake, and I will shoot you. No second chances. Is that clear?"

"As glass, cupcake," Merle said. He shifted his eyes away as Daryl tried to pin his brother down.

"As long as you're clear on that, you're welcome to stay." She flashed Daryl a sad smile. "You look hungry. I've got dinner in the kitchen."

"I'll stay here and let you lovebirds catch up," Merle said. He helped himself to a glass and poured several fingers of amber liquid into it before flopping into his chair again.

"I'm gonna wash up first," Daryl said.

"Water's not working. There's a bucket in the mud room off the garage." Lillith turned away, making her way through the dining room to the kitchen.

Daryl waited until he heard plates clanking in the kitchen before he turned on his brother in the darkening living room.

"What the hell was that about, Merle?" He snatched the drink from his brother's hand and slammed it down on the table.

"Hey, I wasn't done with that!"

"You're done with it until you answer me. What the hell was Lillith talking about?"

"It was just a little misunderstanding, little brother. Don't get your panties in a wad. I offered her a little roll in the hay and she declined. Vehemently as I recall." Merle rubbed his chin, a sneaky grin on his lips.

"But you pushed her anyway, didn't you."

"Would I do that?"

Daryl clenched his jaw and flexed his hands. Not for the first time, he wanted to beat the smug grin off his brother's face. Instead he turned toward the kitchen.

"Try to keep an eye on the shamblers," he called over his shoulder. "I'd rather not get eaten before dinner."

"Where's your dad?" Daryl asked. He leaned against the kitchen counter, a plate in his hand.

Lillith shrugged and hitched in a breath. "When the sickness started, he wanted me to go into the cellar with him, but I was determined to try to help at the hospital. It was useless, of course, but...." She shook her head. "One day I came home and the front door was open. Daddy was in here, eating the neighbor's cat."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." Lillith took her plate and sat down at the kitchen table. "Where's your father?"

Daryl's shoulder's tightened. The sound of the bat against his father's head echoed in his head. "Dead."

"Good."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Daryl, that man beat you within an inch of your life six times I'm aware of, and probably more I'm not. I've prayed for a lot of things in my life, but none so hard as when I prayed that man would die a horrible death."

"Well, your prayer was answered. He was one of those...those damn things and I bashed his head in with a baseball bat."

"Where was Merle?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is I did it. I killed the bastard."

Suddenly Lillith was taking his plate from him and stepping in to wrap her arms around him. Daryl sighed and dropped his chin to rest on top of her head. She tightened her arms and laid her ear against his chest.

"I'm sorry it had to be you," she said.

"I'm not."

"Of course you are." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "No one wants to be the one to kill their parents, even if it's the only choice."

Tears welled over the edge of her lids to spill down her cheeks and Daryl fought the urge to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until the tears stopped. He wanted to be the kind of man who did things like that. The ones who knew what to do when a woman cried in his arms, and knew how to handle it when they needed something, but hadn't said what it was. He wanted to be that kind of man, but he knew he wasn't. Not today. Instead, he let her hold on to him and soak his t-shirt with her tears.

When she'd calmed, they sat together at the kitchen table. Daryl finished his stew and set the plate to the side. He looked around the room, remembering summer afternoons when Lillith would invite him into this room to get ice pops from the large freezer. He smiled. Funny that only once he'd seen her again, did he realize that most of the happy memories from his childhood included Lillith.

"What's your plan, Daryl?" she asked, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"Beyond coming here and hoping you'd be able to help us out with some ammo and supplies, I hadn't thought about it," he admitted.

"I can definitely do both of those things, but I don't think staying in Jasper is the best idea. There have been no soldiers, no National Guard or Red Cross. I don't think anyone is coming to help."

"I don't know where we would go. Who's to say it's any better anywhere else?" Daryl leaned back in his chair.

"I have my dad's CB in the den. I caught part of a transmission this morning. The man said there was a group in the hills outside Atlanta and they were waiting for the National Guard to airlift them to a safe zone."

"Did you talk to them?"

"No. When I tried to break in to get details, the signal dropped. It's not a lot, but it's more than we have here. There are fewer and fewer people left in Jasper everyday. I don't know how many more family friends I can destroy so they don't kill anyone else. I'm losing my humanity, Daryl. I'm...I'm finding it harder and harder to think about anything but destroying as many of those damned monsters as I can before they make me one of them." Lillith leaned her elbows on the table and lay her head in her hands."

"Then we'll go to Atlanta," Daryl said. "Me and Merle, we've got nothing to keep us here. Why not head out to where others are waiting for this mess to clear up. I'd say there's safety in numbers when you're up against the shamblers."

Lillith reached across the table, leaving her palm turned up. It was a silent plea Daryl couldn't ignore. He lay his hand over hers and squeezed.

"Thank you," she said. "I've wanted to leave since I heard that broadcast, but I know I won't make it alone."

"Aren't you two lovebirds done yet?" Merle snapped from the kitchen doorway. "I'm gettin' bored out there in the dark."

"Come in and have some dinner, Merle," Lillith said, pulling her hand out of Daryl's grasp. "I'm going to clean up and head to bed. If we're going to Atlanta, we should get an early start. It's going to take several hours in the morning to load all the supplies and extra fuel into your truck."

"Who said we're going to Atlanta?" Merle asked. "Don't you have some kind of panic room in the basement? We're better off staying here."

"Lillith heard a broadcast about a National Guard airlift. I say we try for the group that's waiting for it. They're outside Atlanta."

"She talk you into this?" Merle cocked his thumb toward Lillith. "She tells you some fairy story about a way out of this mess with the National Guard riding to the rescue in a helicopter and you're ready to pack up and head out. It's bullshit, brother, and you know it. There's no one going to save anyone from this shit."

"That may well be the case, Merle," Lillith said. "But I don't know if you've noticed, but there's nothing left in Jasper. There was nothing here before this happened and there's even less now. We can stay here, but what are we going to do when Daddy's supplies run out? We can't pop down to the grocery store because it burned down three days ago. There's no water and no power. There's nothing left, period."

"We'll leave in the morning," Daryl said. "If nothing else, Atlanta will be a more plentiful source of supplies over time. Hell, there was nothing in Jasper before, of course there's nothing here now."

"I see I'm outnumbered. Might as well go along with it." Merle spooned some stew out of the pot and sat at the table between Lillith and his brother. "We should get the truck into the garage before it gets any darker. It'll be easier to load it if it's inside and I want the bike inside before anyone gets the bright idea to steal it."

Lillith pushed her chair away from the table. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Want some company while you clean up?" Merle leered at Lillith who touched the butt of her weapon. "Guess not. Enjoy your bucket."

Daryl lumbered up the stairs. After the adrenaline of the last week had worn away, he'd found himself exhausted and barely able to move. He and Merle had moved the truck into the cavernous garage and he'd ground his teeth as Merle had kept up a stream of envious curses for the Mcleods as he saw more and more of their obvious wealth displayed in and around the house.

Merle had grabbed a bottle from the liquor cabinet and hit the sofa as soon as they'd come back from the garage. Even now, Merle was snoring on the couch. No matter how tough he played it, Merle was just as wrecked by what was happening as everyone else.

Daryl considered crashing on one of the living room chairs, but the way Merle watched Lillith since their arrival made him reconsider. He had a bad feeling about leaving her alone while Merle was around. If Merle woke up in the middle of the night, there was nothing to stop him should he get the idea to "offer himself" to her again. The last thing Daryl wanted was to have to fix up his brother after Lillith shot him.

At the top of the stairs, Daryl found several closed doors. He tried to remember from a long-ago visit to this house which room was Lillith's bedroom, but his over-tired brain refused to clear his memory. He crept down the hall, cracking each door open until he found Lillith sprawled across her father's bed.

He slipped into the room and pushed the door closed behind him. The latch clicked and Lillith started in her sleep, but didn't wake.

From the foot of the bed, Daryl watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The small sign that she was alive twisted something in his gut. He wanted to reach out and run his hand through her heavy dark hair. To tighten his fist in it and pull her in for a kiss. He wanted to crawl into bed beside her and wrap his body around her. He wanted to watch her eyes as he slid into her.

But he could do nothing but stand and watch her sleep.

He turned away, meaning to lay down in front of the door, but her voice pulled him back.

"You can share the bed, you know."

"Probably better if I don't," Daryl said. "I figured I'd sleep on the floor."

Lillith reached a hand out to him. "Please, Daryl, I'm asking you to join me. I think we can both use a little human contact."

He took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed. "Why?" he asked. He turned her hand so he could trace his fingers over the lines in her palm. "You've been gone for twenty years. I haven't even heard from you in nearly as long. Why now?"

"Do you really have to ask that? Look outside. If you see more than one live human being, I'll explain it to you. I need something human, someone familiar. Someone who I once believed cared for me."

"I did...do care about you, Lil."

"Then why did you take Darlene to that dance when we were sophomores?"

Daryl grimaced. The memory rushed him and filled him with the same stomach-rolling guilt he'd felt when he'd done it. She'd asked him to a dance, the only girl to ever get up the nerve to bypass his surly exterior and strike for the soft heart he hid from just about everyone. He'd told her yes, but when he'd heard the laughter and snide words whispered around the school about how Lillith was slumming and how Daryl was going to get his first taste of rich pussy, he'd arranged to take Darlene Jenks without telling Lillith. He'd been at the school when Lillith had arrived, alone.

"Her dad drank with mine," he said. The lie lay bitter on his tongue.

Lillith took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. Her eyes were wide and strangely pale in the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window.

"The truth, if you please, Mr. Dixon," she said. That same hard edge of foreignness he'd heard when she'd warned Merle earlier was back and he knew this would be his only chance to tell her what had happened all those years ago and maybe even make amends for deliberately hurting her.

"I wanted you to hate me," he whispered. "I wanted you to see I was nothing but a damned back-woods redneck so you'd stop looking at me the way you did back then. Like I was your Prince Charming or something."

"So you broke my heart to save me?"

Daryl nodded. "You deserved better."

A slow, sad smile lifted the corner of her lips. "You...idiot. What about me has ever shown you that telling me what's best for me works?" She shook her head. "I never cried over another boy again, you know. You were the only one."

She kept her hands on his face and leaned in to kiss him. Her lips were soft and smooth against his and his eyes fluttered closed. This was the kiss he'd hoped to have from her when they were kids. It was so much better, sweeter, for the waiting. He brought his hands up and buried them in her hair.

Lillith's moan pulled at that place where he'd hidden his feelings for her. He pulled her tight against his chest and continued to plunder her mouth.

"Why are we still dressed?" Lillith asked when he released her for a moment. She rose from the bed and pulled the long t-shirt she wore over her head and dropped it to the floor. Her pale skin glowed in the darkened room and Daryl shed his own shirt. He pulled her toward the bed until she straddled his legs and then pressed his mouth into her belly. Her scent rose to envelop him and he groaned against her.

His hands slid up her back and pressed on her shoulders so she would kneel on the bed over his lap. Lillith threw her head back and Daryl set his teeth against her collarbone. When she shuddered he pulled her more firmly into his lap so there could be no mistaking his intentions.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he let Lillith push him back onto the bed.

"Since you said no when I was seventeen," she answered. She raked her nails down his chest, snatching a groan from him as she went for his belt buckle.

She helped him wiggle out of his jeans after he kicked his boots off and then sprawled over his body, pressing herself against his full length. Their lips met again, a searching consuming kiss that left them both breathless.

Daryl rolled and pulled Lillith under him so he could wrap his arms under her shoulders and caress her breasts with his tongue and mouth. Lillith moaned and thrashed, trying to reach him and press herself against his body.

"Patience, Lil," he whispered, kissing her again.

"Screw patience. I've waited long enough for you, damn it."

Daryl grinned. "Are you always so eager?"

"Only when I'm sure of what I want and I want you."

Daryl shifted and lay his lower body against hers, smiling when Lillith's legs parted under his weight, giving him access to her ready flesh. He pressed forward and her eyes flew open, meeting his.

"I want you, too," he said. "I want you with your eyes open." He pressed a little more into her body and Lillith's back arched. She lifted her hips and Daryl allowed himself to sink fully into her body. He kissed her, his tongue thrusting in the same rhythm as his hips and she met him, thrust for thrust. Her gaze locked with his and stayed that way as they rocked together.

When they lay together and allowed their bodies and minds to calm, Lillith stretched out beside him and lay her head on his chest.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For finally telling me the truth about Darlene."

Daryl barked out a laugh. "That's what you want to thank me for?"

Lillith lifted her gaze to his and laughed with him.

"Was there something else I should thank you for?"

Daryl kissed her and ran his hands over the placed on her flesh which made her moan.

"Okay, okay," Lillith gasped. "You've made your point."

"So what do we do now?" Daryl asked.

"Get some sleep and leave for Atlanta in the morning."

"Works for me." He kissed the top of her head and felt her snuggle against him tighter.

Just before sleep finally claimed him, Daryl heard Lillith whisper something in the dark. It sounded suspiciously like, "I love you."

Daryl lay in the dark, listening to the woman beside him breathe. If she hadn't been beside him when he woke, he might have believed he dreamed what had happened. But there she was. Dark hair tousled, long body pressed against him under the sheet. He stretched, trying not to wake her, but Lillith's eyes opened and she turned to kiss his chest.

"Morning," she said.

"Not quite, but soon."

Lillith stretched. "The earlier we get going, the sooner we can get on the road." She sat up and grabbed her t-shirt off the floor before pulling it over her head. "I want to get away from Jasper as soon as possible. It's nothing but a graveyard now."

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Lillith close. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him.

"Maybe we should try to raise that group, too. Make sure they're still there."

"Of course," Lillith said. "Can you put the CB in the truck?"

"Sure." Daryl held her hand until Lillith stepped out of his reach. He watched her pull on clothes and throw a few things into a bag before he got dressed. He wanted to say something about the night they'd shared, but didn't have any idea what to say.

"I've got a few eggs and little bacon left. How does that sound for breakfast?"

"Fine."

Lillith stopped packing and stared at him. "What's wrong, Daryl?"

"Not a thing, Lil. Just waking up."

"You're a terrible liar. You always have been."

Daryl shook his head. "Really. I'm fine. We should get downstairs before Merle wakes up. I'd rather not listen to his shit all day."

Daryl shoved his feet into his boots and tried to get past Lillith and out the door, but she stopped him and wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her head against his chest.

"And here I thought maybe you were feeling a little awkward this morning. I'm glad you aren't, because I was until you weren't." She looked up and smiled and Daryl shook his head.

"You always were a pain in the ass, Lil." Daryl kissed her and smacked her ass. "Get in the kitchen and make me some breakfast, woman. I'll go wake my brother."

Merle was sitting up as Daryl came down the stairs. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes.

"Is there breakfast?"

"Lil's making it now. Did you sleep?"

Merle twisted his head and the sound of his spine cracking echoed through the living room. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. We should start lugging stuff out of the basement. And see if we can get the CB to work in the truck."

"Yeah. I wanna check the radio and see if we can get some word from that group. I'm still not sure we should be doing this. Lillith might have imagined the broadcast she heard."

In the kitchen, Lillith stood over the camp stove, pushing bacon around a pan. She smiled at Daryl and scowled at Merle when they paused at the basement door.

"We're going down to see if we can raise that group you heard, Lil," Daryl said.

"I'll call you up when breakfast is ready."

Daryl resisted the urge to kiss Lillith on his way past her only by reminding himself that Merle would tear the piss out of him for days if he did, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling.

In the basement, Daryl flicked on the CB and a voice echoed out of the tiny speaker set on the table beside the radio.

"We're still waiting for the airlift and still taking in new folks. If you can hear us, we're near Morgan Falls Park outside Sandy Springs. We'll be here until the National Guard comes for us, or until the walkers find us."

Merle snatched the handmic off the table. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"I hear someone breaking in. Switch to channel 14 and we'll try for a clearer signal."

Merle turned the channel nob, watching the numbers count down to 14. "Are you there?"

"I'm here, son. What's your name?"

"I'm Merle Dixon. We're in Jasper, Georgia. Are you sure the National Guard is coming?

"Pleased to hear there's still some life west of Atlanta, Merle. I'm Dale and as far as I can tell you, the National Guard is due to pick us up any day."

"My brother and me, we'll be on our way today. Should be there tonight or early tomorrow depending on how bad the roads are getting out of Jasper."

"And Lil," Daryl cut in. "We've got one more coming with us and we'll be bringing supplies."

"We'll appreciate anything you can bring us. Everything is running short here, except mouths to feed. We'll keep a lookout. Check in on this channel every hour and we'll guide in you when you get close."

The sound of breaking glass brought Daryl around from the table and he was half way up the stairs before Merle even moved. He pushed the basement door, but it wouldn't open. From the other side of the door, he heard first two gunshots and then a low, pain-filled moan.

"Lil!" He pounded the door until his hands vibrated with the effort. "Merle, help me get the damn door open."

Merle and Daryl set their shoulders against the door and pushed, finally getting the door open far enough to see Lillith sprawled across the floor in front of the door. Daryl shoved with every bit of strength he had, pushing Lillith away from the door enough for him to get through it. He stumbled to his knees and scrambled back to her as Merle followed behind him.

"Where's the rifle and your crossbow?" Merle asked, but Daryl could only shake his head.

Lillith lay curled on her side, her breath coming in jerking gasps. Two shamblers lay dead on the floor by the dinning room doorway. Blood pooled under Lillith's legs.

"You've got to get out," Lillith whispered. "They broke the front window."

Daryl tried to get his arms under Lillith, but she pushed him away. "I'll get you in the truck and we'll get out. Some guy named Dale is waiting for us near Sandy Springs."

"Leave me here," she said. She waved toward her feet and Daryl forced himself to look at the open wound. Dread wrenched his gut so tight he was glad he hadn't eaten anything yet. "Take this," she said, pressing her Browning High-Power into his hands. "And get out before you can't get to the truck."

"No." Daryl dropped the Browning and Merle scooped it up.

"Brother, we gotta go. There's shamblers coming up the walk right now."

"I won't leave her here!"

Merle squatted down next to him and Daryl turned wide, wild eyes to his brother.

"Daryl, she's gotta stay here. She's been bit. You know what'll happen to her. We've seen it before."

"No. No. We can't leave her to change. Merle, we can't."

"Then send me home, Daryl," Lillith said, reaching out with a bloody hand to cup his cheek. "Let me go home with your face in my sight and your name on my lips. I waited my whole life for last night and I guess that was all I was going to get." She pulled him down and pressed her lips to his forehead.

Daryl felt the beginning of a fever already rooted in her lips and he choked back a scream. How could he do this? How could he be given the gift of finally finding out Lillith had loved him as much as he loved her only to have her ripped away so quickly? Surely God wasn't that cruel. Surely no matter what evil he'd done in his life, he'd been paid up by the time he was twelve. Paid up enough that he didn't deserve this.

Lillith smiled and shifted her eyes to Merle. Something passed between them and Daryl saw his brother nod.

"I love you, Daryl. Since I was six years old and you stood up for me on my first day of school."

"I...I love you, too, Lil. Always have." He leaned down and kissed her. Her lips tasted of blood. He closed his eyes and leaned back.

The thunder of the weapon so close in the kitchen jerked Daryl away from the wall.

"No, no, no..."

"Come on, little brother, get us into that vault for whatever we can take in one trip and we'll get out of here."

"I don't know the combination," Daryl said dully. "Lil never told me."

"Then we've gotta go. We'll put the bike back in the truck and I'll drive."

Merle pulled Daryl to his feet and pushed him in front of him as they made their way to the garage door off the entranceway in the living room. He pushed Daryl so fast, there was no time for a last look at the woman who's body lay on the floor. In the garage, Merle threw anything of value or use into the truck and Daryl helped his brother get the Harley back into the truck bed.

"Get that door up, brother, and we're out of here," Merle said. He sat behind the wheel and cranked the old Ford while Daryl ran for the garage door and jerked it up. Two shamblers turned toward the noise and went down as Merle covered Daryl's run back to the vehicle. The truck roared out of the garage and Merle took the opportunity to bash in the head of another shambler who came down the walk beside his window.

"I'm sorry, brother," Merle said. He glanced toward Daryl, his face set in a hard expression his brother had seen before. It was the face Merle used to hide his softer side from everyone.

Daryl knew in that moment that no matter what, his brother loved him. He'd taken the responsibility for Lillith out of Daryl's hand and done what Daryl knew he never would have been able to do. "Normal people hug here," he thought and shook his head. "Thanks, Merle."

"For what?"

"For not making me do it."

"Yeah, well, there may come a time when you can return the favor. Until then, buck up buttercup or I'll kick your ass."

"Fuck."

"That's an understatement."

Daryl looked at the long scratch which ran from his shoulder down to his elbow. It weeped blood in a couple of spots and throbbed along the entire length. The problem with the scratch was he had no way of knowing if he'd gotten it from the shambler or from the tree branches he'd fallen into when the shambler attacked.

"Fuck."

"You said that already, little brother." Merle sighed. "We'll just have to wait and see, I suppose."

"Promise me you'll...don't let me become one of those things."

"Never. On the chance that you're fine, let's keep moving."

The brothers continued through the trees on their way back to their truck. The hunting trip had been pretty successful--right up until the shamblers had attacked. Merle carried a brace of rabbit and a couple of squirrel which he immediately cleaned and spitted when they reached their camp.

"We should make it through Atlanta by the day after tomorrow as long as the roads aren't too blocked up," Merle said. So far, the roads had been so jammed with broken down vehicles that a trip that would normally have taken only a couple of hours was taking several days.

Daryl nodded but could not look away from the scratch on his arm. All he could think about was what might be happening to his blood as they sat by the fire and waited for their dinner to cook. Was the sickness settling in? Would he go to sleep tonight and never wake up?

"You gotta stop, brother," Merle said. "If it's gonna happen, staring at that scratch isn't going to stop it. Only thing we can do is act like it's from a branch and keep moving forward."

"When did you get so fucking zen?"

"When I realized that if it wasn't a fucking branch, I'm going to have to kill the only person in this world I've ever truly given a shit about."

"Whatever, Merle. If you gave a shit about me, you wouldn't have left me alone with Dad for so many years."

Merle shook his head. "I didn't have a choice."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Fuck you, Daryl. You don't know what I went through when I lived at home. You got out as soon as you could. Why do you hate me for doing the same thing?"

"Because when you left I was too young to go with you--not that you offered--and every beating you ever took from the old man before you left, he doubled it for me when you were gone. He'd even scream your name at me when he got drunk enough."

Daryl's heart thundered in his chest. A little voice in the back of his mind screamed that this wasn't helping. If nothing else, keeping calm meant keeping the sickness from spreading faster.

"I didn't know that."

"Of course not. But you never asked either. You've never asked how I survived without you to run interference. You didn't want to know."

"You're right. I didn't want to know." Merle jerked one of the rabbits off the spit and divided it between himself and his brother.

They ate in silence until Daryl stumbled to his feet and made his way to the edge of the clearing they were camped in. Everything he'd eaten made a reappearance and he knelt in the leaves, heaving until his body realized there was nothing left.

"Fuck."

Two days later, the morning light woke Daryl with a blinding knife strike behind his right eye. He cursed and threw his arm over his eyes only to curse again. The scratch was now an angry red with yellow puss oozing from the places where it had bled the day before.

"You awake, little brother?"

"Yeah, for all the good it's going to do me."

Daryl struggled out of the tent and held his arm out for Merle to see. His brother grimaced.

"We need to clean that and get some antibiotics into you. Last thing we need is for you to get blood poisoning."

"That's not the worst thing that could happen," Daryl said.

"Well, it's the only thing we can do something about. Let me get the pills out of my saddle bag and we'll find some clean water at the next place we come to."

Daryl nodded. Merle was right. If it was an infection, they could do something about it. If it wasn't, the antibiotic wouldn't hurt. He took the pill his brother offered him and swallowed it dry.

"We should get on the road. You wanna try eating something?" Merle asked.

"Not unless you wanna stop five minutes down the road."

"Then let's go. That group isn't going to be waiting for us forever."

When they finally reached it, the road into Atlanta was open and clearer than it ought to have been. It was the road out that was bumper to bumper blocked with cars. Daryl huddled into the passenger-side door of the truck, alternating between chills and fever for the majority of the ride. Every so often, he caught Merle watching him and he wanted to be angry, but he knew his brother was not just protecting himself from what Daryl might become, but also watching so he could fulfill his promise to ensure Daryl didn't become a shambler.

"If I see a pharmacy, we're stopping, no matter how many of those damn things there are."

"It's not worth getting killed over, Merle. If I'm sick, I'm sick. Just keep going. You were right when you said that group wasn't going to wait forever. We're already a week later than we told them we'd be because of that pile up it took us a day to get around."

Merle ignored his brother and turned the truck down an off ramp and maneuvered through a stretch of retail shops, but stopped, backed up and returned to the highway when a swarm of shamblers blocked the end of the street they'd been on. He cursed under his breath, but continued toward the rendezvous point the man on the radio had told them about.

"They're gonna be disappointed when we show up empty handed," Merle said.

"Yeah. Couldn't be helped."

"We could stop somewhere...find some supplies to bring with us...."

"No, brother," Daryl said. "Just get us there and we'll deal with their disappointment. That guy sounded pretty city on the radio. I bet our hunting skills will be worth something to the group."

"Yeah. You could track a mouse if you thought it was worth eating," Merle joked.

Daryl nodded and let his head fall back against the seat. His pulse thumped sickly in his head and echoed in his arm. "You got anymore of that antibiotic?"

Merle rummaged into the saddle bag between them and tossed a ziplock bag of medication into Daryl's lap.

"Big bottle. Doxycycline."

Daryl sorted through the bottles and bags until he found the right one. He shook out two and dry swallowed them.

"Thanks," he said, putting the pills back in the bag and tucking the bag into the saddle bag.

"We should be up at the rendezvous point in about an hour if the road stays this clear. Get some sleep, little brother."

"I'm sorry I...well I'm sorry, Merle. I know you did what you could for me when we were kids."

"Yeah. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when we get there."

Daryl closed his eyes, surprised to feel the burn of exhaustion. The roar of the truck's engine lulled him into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep. Lillith featured strongly in the film running behind his closed eyes. Each time he thought it couldn't get worse, his dreams shocked him with something more. Lillith bleeding on the floor of her kitchen. The shambler bite bleeding and festering. His own crazed eyes in the mirror as the infection in his arm spread through his body and burst onto the surface. Kneeling over Merle's body, his teeth dripping with blood and him enjoying the hot copper flavor. It was Lillith, changed and grasping for his throat, that brought him back to wakefulness just as Merle was turning off the highway at Sandy Springs.

"We're almost there. How you feeling?" Merle asked.

"Like I've been run over by a semi. You know they're gonna make us stay apart from their group until this infection leaves."

"Yeah. I figure that's not a bad thing anyway. I don't know how long we'll stay with this group. Depends on how they take to having a couple a good ole boys in their midst. Best not to get too attached to these folks."

Daryl nodded and immediately regretted the movement. The headache screamed to full force and he groaned.

"I gotta get out of this truck," he mumbled.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

Daryl fell out of the truck the moment he managed to get the door open and knelt on the ground. He retched several times but there was nothing to bring up.

"Damn it to hell," he whispered.

"That antibiotic has some awful side effects," Merle said. "But it kills almost anything." He knelt next to Daryl and reached for his brother's arm. "Let me see the scratch."

Daryl sat hard beside the truck and leaned against it while Merle poked and prodded the long, red line. The scratch didn't hurt anymore and the yellow puss seemed to have cleared out while he'd slept through the day.

"It looks a lot better, little brother," Merle said and Daryl almost smiled at the relief in his brother's voice. "Leave off the antibiotic and we'll see if you feel better in a day or two."

"Is he bit?" a voice called from the treeline. A tall, muscular man stood across from the truck, a rifle leveled at Daryl's head.

Merle stood up, blocking the gunman's line of sight to his brother. "No. Got a bad scratch on a branch and it got infected. Gave him some kickass shit to fight the infection, but the side effects suck."

"Let me see," the man said, advancing toward the brothers.

"Hold on there, hoss. I'm not letting you get any closer to my brother with that rifle."

"And I'm not letting the two of you get any closer to our camp until I've looked at your brother's 'scratch.'"

"Merle, it's okay," Daryl said. "Let him come and look. Maybe that's his thing."

"You're Merle? Dale's been waiting for you guys for days. Said you'd have three in the party and a bunch of supplies." The man shifted his gaze from the brothers to the bed of the truck--obviously empty of anything but Merle's motorcycle.

"Our third died and took the code to the vault with the supplies in it with her."

"Bad luck."

"You could say that."

Merle stepped to the side as the man knelt next to Daryl and examined the scratch. Daryl winced a couple of times, but the pain was nothing like it had been the morning he'd awakened in the tent.

"How do you feel?" the man asked.

"Like hell, but better than I did this morning when I woke up."

"The scratch isn't hot and you're not running a fever. When did this happen?"

"Couple of days ago."

"Any other symptoms before you took the meds? Fever? Headache?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nothing other than the infection."

The man stood and stepped back. "You understand we have to be careful, I'm sure. We've been safe here for a couple of weeks now and we'd like to be able to stay as long as we can. Can't risk bringing an infected person into the camp."

"Sure. It's a bitch having to screen folks, I'm sure," Daryl snapped. "Can I get up now?"

"Yeah. Just do it slowly, please."

"I don't think I could do it any other way," Daryl admitted. He took the hand Merle offered and let his brother help him get to his feet.

"I guess you guys are probably ready to rest. Most who come to us seem pretty worn out when they find us. I'll lead you back to the camp and you can join us for dinner."

"Sounds good to me," Merle said. "I could definitely eat something that doesn't come out of a can."

"We can do that," the man said, offering his hand. Merle and Daryl both shook with him and he said, "Welcome to Morgan Falls Park. I'm Shane."

### Chapter 3

*Monster Talk*

"When did you stop hearing them?" Carol asked. She lay with one arm thrown over Daryl's bare chest while he contemplated the bottom of the upper bunk.

Daryl shrugged. Outside the cell, the other residents of cellblock C made soft nighttime sounds that were overcome by the moans and growls which filtered through the open windows.

"It's not that I don't hear them. I just don't care unless there's one in front of me."

Carol sighed and ran her hand over Daryl's chest. "I wish I could disconnect like that," she said. "It feels like all I do is think about them. Times like this are about the only moments when I can block them out...until I can't."

Daryl lightly traced the line of Carol's spine, smiling when she trembled.

"Do you need help forgetting again?" he asked. He lay his leg over hers and kissed the top of her head.

"You have to be on guard duty in ten minutes," Carol said, stretching and pressing her body along the length of his.

"Sure, get close like that and then shove me out of bed." Daryl sat up on the edge of the bunk and reached for his clothes.

Carol knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Daryl sighed and leaned back. A soft moan escaped him as Carol kissed his neck while tracing her nails over his abs and chest.

"Woman, you're evil," he growled.

"Because I want a few more moments of human contact?"

"Because you want me to spend the watch thinking of you instead of what might be out there." Daryl rose and pulled his jeans up.

"Isn't it better that way?" Carol asked. "To think about us, about humans rather than walkers?"

Daryl shoved his feet into his boots and then straightened before pulling his shirt and vest on.

"I can't have that kind of distraction while I'm out there," he said. "Of course I'd rather think of you, of us, but hell, you don't even want anyone to know about us. How can you expect me to keep you on my mind when I'm not allowed to even talk about us?"

"I didn't realize...."

"That I might want more than a quick fuck from you?" Daryl shook his head. "I refuse to believe you're that dense, Carol. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the time we spend together is my ward for the monsters? I bet it didn't because what you want is someone to make the monsters go away and I got picked. The problem is, I can't make the monsters go away if I'm distracted while I'm fighting them."

"What if I'm one of the monsters?" Carol asked. "I've done things since...things I never believed I'd do. Things that make me scream in my sleep."

"So now I'm supposed to protect you from yourself?" Daryl set the toe of his boot under his crossbow and lifted it up, rocketing the weapon into his hands. "Shit, Carol, I can barely take care of myself and suddenly I'm the damn white knight in this place. You think you're one of the monsters? Well, I know I am. I know that right this minute if I thought one of the people in this block meant to harm us, even you, I'd take their life. I know that, Carol, and you want me to protect you from the monsters? How can I protect you from myself when I need whatever it is we're doing to remember what it's like to be human? I can't protect you from the monsters if I am one and I am one, Carol. Worse than any of those things out there that smell us and want our flesh, because I can decide to be human or to be monster and I've chosen monster. I've chosen to let go of human emotions because they don't serve any purpose in this world. I can't love because if I do, the next time I blink that love can be taken away. I can't hope because what is there to hope for when you're surrounded by death?"

Carol cringed away from Daryl as he squatted down in front of her bunk. "You want me to change?" she whispered.

"No, I want you to embrace the monsters inside rather than expect me to protect you from them."

"What if I don't want to be a monster?"

"Then don't be one, damn it." Daryl stood and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. "Make the same choice I made or make your own, but I won't tell you which is right because I won't be blamed for your decision later when you find you've chosen wrong."

"You're not a monster," Carol said, straightening up in her bunk. "You're better than the rest of us in so many ways. You're a better man than I deserve. I know that for certain, Daryl."

"You keep believing that, Carol, if it lets you sleep at night. I know who I am and I try not to lie to myself." Daryl glanced at the watch on Carol's bedside stand. "I'm gonna be late."

Carol nodded. "Be safe."

"No such thing."

### Chapter 4

*Comforting Embrace*

Dark red hair lay draped across his pillow. The woman breathed softly, but her hands clenched the pillow beside her head. Only that small sign gave away her less than peaceful rest.

Daryl sighed. He'd known she'd be here, so why had he come? Her own bed was empty. He could have easily slept there had he wanted privacy. It rankled him to think he really didn't want privacy. He wanted comfort.

Miranda had wandered into the prison yard not long after the Governor's goons had destroyed the gate. She'd been nearly feral after being alone for years and constantly on guard against the walkers. Daryl had been on duty when she'd come through the gate and had mistaken her for a walker until he'd caught sight of her tears.

It had been the tears which had brought him out of the tower to catch her as she lost her balance and fell to her knees.

"Are you real?" she'd asked and closed her eyes when he nodded.

Miranda had clung to him through Hershel's examination and diagnosis--exhaustion and terror. When he'd left her with Maggie and Beth, he'd felt the weight of her gaze as she followed his exit.

Now she was in his bed. At his invitation.

"Miranda," he whispered, kneeling beside the bed.

She jerked and sat up, a knife clutched to her chest. Daryl stumbled back and out of range.

"Hey, calm dow. It's just me."

"Sorry," Miranda muttered. "You startled me."

"Do you always sleep with that knife?"

"Yes."

One of the things Daryl liked best about Miranda was that she didn't talk much. She didn't embellish or gush. She just answered questions.

"Meeting ran longer than I thought it would," he said. He pulled off his boots and stood up. Miranda rose and reached for him. He almost stepped back, but held his ground and allowed her to embrace him. The moment her hands slid under his shirt and lay against his flesh, Daryl felt something tight and painful loosen in his chest. He rested his chin on her head and sighed.

"You need to rest," she said. Her hands made soothing circles on his back. "I'll go."

Miranda stepped back and Daryl protested the loss of contact.

"Stay."

Her pale eyes caught the light coming from the full moon as she lifted her gaze to meet his. She waited, the small distance between them remaining until he closed it. He pulled her against his chest and lowered his head to capture her lips. Miranda lifted up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Her hair was rough silk in his hands. The length of it wrapped around his fists as he pressed harder against her and held her until she gasped for breath.

"Do you want this?" he asked, his voice rough with need and hateful memories.

"Yes." Miranda stroked her hand down his face and he turned into her caress.

Daryl closed his eyes. Behind his closed lids, Lillith's image burned. The lips which touched his were hers. The hair in his hands was black, not red. The eyes he'd seen in the moonlight darkened, deepened, and showed a love he'd not treasured nearly enough.

Two hands closed around his face and an unfamiliar voice whispered, "But you don't."

Daryl's eyes snapped open. Miranda's face was calm, but the edge of sadness in her eyes cut something in him.

"I do."

"Lying is not your strong suit, Daryl. It's okay that you don't want me, but be honest with me and we'll get along much better."

He sat down on the bed and Miranda knelt beside him. "I want you. I need you--need the contact, the human touch."

"And I want the same. But I don't want to fight the ghosts in your eyes to get those things." She sat on the bed and leaned into him until Daryl lifted his arm and let her snuggle into his side. "This is more than enough for tonight--for forever--if it's enough for you."

Daryl pulled Miranda closer and lay down with her, allowing the scent of her skin, her hair, her body to fill him up. Her breathing slowed and evened as his own did the same. When her hand crept across his chest, Daryl held it until the nightmares woke them both.

Those deep blue orbs shone out of the darkness. No matter what environment he was in, Daryl's eyes were always his most striking feature. The first time I saw him, he caught me as I stumbled in the prison yard. Those eyes had bored into mine as I'd begged that he be real and not another figment of my imagination. I blinked and he was standing in a shadowed corner, watching as Hershel checked me over to be sure I was neither bit nor suffering from any broken bones. He'd watched in silence, those eyes never leaving my own, and I'd been lost right then.

"You're staring again, Miri-Bear," he said, stretching out beside me.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I answered.

"Not bad, just intense."

"Says Mr. Intense himself." I smiled and trailed my nails lightly over his chest. Daryl rewarded me with a hissing breath and a soul-robbing, ferocious kiss. Our tongues battled and our bodies trembled against each other.

"How do you manage to do that to me every time you touch me?" he asked as we came up for air.

"Probably the same way you do it to me." I straddled his hips and leaned down to kiss him. "I can't decide if I'd rather kiss you or stare at your eyes."

"As long as you don't do both at the same time," he joked. His hands slid up my sides and then down my arms.. His touch, always careful, held the shuddering promise of the strength I knew he kept hidden and controlled when he touched me. I'd seen this man destroy walkers with nothing more than a knife. I knew he could snap bones with the same hands which so gently cradled my body when we came together like this. The knowledge of his strength made his gentleness all the more precious to me.

My back arched and his hands came to rest on my offered breasts. I gasped as his hands closed tightly on my flesh.

"Tell me you want this," he growled. Light from the moon streamed through the high windows and flashed on the hard glint now in his eyes.

I swallowed over the sudden hard lump in my throat and said, "I want it."

Daryl grasped my arms, pulling them together to grasp both wrists in one had. He lifted his knees behind me and pushed until I leaned against his legs, trapped by his legs and his body. He leaned up and found my right nipple with his lips. The warm wetness of his tongue on my flesh made me shudder. When his teeth sank into my breast, I let out a shuddering moan, always conscious of others sleeping too nearby.

"So lovely," he murmured before setting his teeth into my flesh again.

I wanted to pull away, to escape the mounting pressure which bordered on pain, but our position prevented it. Instead, I was forced to silently endure his bites as he moved back and forth between my breasts before moving up to bite at my neck and shoulders. The burning pain in my breasts faded as the feeling of possession and helplessness created by his bites washed over me. Daryl sank his teeth deeply into the juncture between my neck and shoulder, worrying the flesh as I shook uncontrollably in his grasp.

"Tell me," he whispered. He brushed feathery soft kisses against my temple before leaning back enough for me to see his eyes once again.

"I'm yours." I held his gaze, feeling their icy flame as a caress. "I want to be yours and wear your marks. Please."

Daryl flashed a wolfish grin. "I'm yours," he parroted. "I want to be yours and give you my marks."

The words echoed in my soul, filling up the empty caverns where others had carved out pieces for their own pleasure. Daryl's desire for me in this time and this place went so much deeper than the physical. He wanted every part of me. I only wished he wanted me to have every part of himself in return. I knew he was suffering, grieving something he wouldn't share with me, but what he could give me, I wanted to take.

He released my hands to cup my face while his lips and tongue devoured my own. I gasped raggedly when he released me before sitting up and turning us so he loomed above me.

He trailed his fingertips over my body, moving from my neck, along my arms and down my legs. Each touch was both a burning flame and a chilled breath. I tried to touch him, but he shook his head.

"Not this time," he said, dipping his head and nibbling along my collar bone. I threw my head back and offered myself to his seeking hands and mouth.

When he covered my body with his own, I sighed and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"So lovely and so eager." His voice was loud in my ear as his hands grasped my shoulders while his body thrust against mine.

I pushed my hands into his hair and tried to kiss him, but he kept me at a distance, watching my expression as he continued to stroke in and out of my body. His eyes nearly glowed in the moonlight and I wanted to live in that moment for the rest of my life.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as his rhythm slowed.

I arched my body to meet his again before answering. "I want to stay here, in this moment. I want to be here, be human, with you until I die."

A strange, pained look passed over his face and my heart stuttered in my chest. Was this the time when he'd tell me what it was that he hid? Or had I said something that would run him away faster than he was fading when his memories replaced me with someone else? Before I could panic, he pulled my body close to his, cradling my head in his hand and against his chest so I could no longer see his eyes. I wanted--needed even--to see him, but his body pounded into mine until I could no longer think, let alone see. He held me, letting our bodies slow and finally stop.

As I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, I felt his breath against my neck.

"Not until you die, Miranda," he whispered. "For as long as we live."

Daryl awakened to an empty space beside him. A vague memory of Miranda kissing him in the dark before whispering that she had guard duty tugged at him, but didn't change the disappointment that settled into his gut when he realized she was gone. He sat up and stretched before reaching for his clothes.

He half wanted to be angry with himself for the night before, but he knew he wasn't really upset. They'd both needed the contact and he'd needed a way to push his last memories of Lillith father away. Miranda was the first person who gave to him without expectation since Lillith and time with Miranda was making the memories of his one night with Lillith seem like a dream.

Daryl shoved his feet into his boots and glanced around the cell, looking for anything he might have left behind. His gaze stopped on a slip of paper that was tucked under the mattress. He pulled it out, realizing it was a photograph even before he turned it over.

The photo showed Miranda and a tall, slender man whose arm encircled her shoulders. She laughed up at the man, an expression on her face that Daryl had never seen. It was joy, he realized and he felt like a complete jackass. Here was Miranda, her eyes filled with joy and love for the man who held her so casually and yet carefully. This was the woman who had comforted him without question, without any expectation, and he'd let her. He'd never asked Miranda who or what she might be mourning. He'd been too wrapped up in his own losses to even think that she might need him as much as he needed her.

He pushed the tattered photograph back under the mattress and headed out to the guard tower where Miranda would be on watch. His steps were determined and yet his mind was far too scattered for him to even know what he meant to do when he reached her. Thank her? Beg her forgiveness? Would either do them any good or would those words make them uncomfortable with one another?

Daryl slowed as he reached the outside door. What was the point of embarrassing them both with those kinds of words? He glanced up at the tower walkway but saw Glen standing watch rather than Miranda.

"Hey, Glen. Where's Miranda?" he shouted.

"Went on a run with Maggie and Beth. Girl stuff apparently." Glen shrugged. I offered to take her shift."

Daryl nodded and headed toward the pavilion where a dozen or so people sat and ate and talked. He was both relieved and annoyed that his talk with Miranda was postponed. Carol waved him over and handed him a plate.

"Pull up a chair, Daryl," she said with a grin. Daryl felt another wave of guilt wash over him. Here was another woman he'd used to keep his monsters away. With Carol he couldn't even pretend he hadn't known what demons slept with them. He knew each of Carol's demons intimately and carried at least one as his own.

"Anything interesting happening this morning?" he asked, pulling up a stool and digging into his breakfast.

"Nothing new out here. What's new with you?"

Carol caught and held his gaze until Daryl felt an uncomfortable urge to squirm.

"Miranda is very nice," she said when the silence stretched beyond her comfort level. "She helps me with the children in the afternoons sometimes."

"She does?"

Carol nodded. "The little ones really like her."

Daryl pushed the empty plate away. The crawling guilt in his gut threatened to bring up his breakfast, but he shoved it back. Instead he met Carol's eyes and said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything. For not finding Sophia in time. For using you to get through the nights when we first came here. For not..." Daryl shook his head. He just couldn't bring himself to say he didn't love Carol when he knew he did. It was just different than what he felt for Miranda.

"For not what, Daryl?" Carol's countenance remained calm, but Daryl's heart thumped sickly in his chest. He knew under her tough exterior, Carol was kind and caring and just as afraid of becoming a monster as he was.

"For not being in love with you," he ground out.

Carol smiled. "Take a walk with me?" she asked.

She led them down the fence line, away from the others and didn't speak until they were alone.

"I knew you weren't in love with me before we ever did anything," She said. "But we cared for each other and that was enough for me. I always knew it wouldn't be enough for you."

Daryl tried to object, but Carol cut him off. "You came to us damaged and in pain, Daryl. Not just the physical pain from injuries and weeks on the road, or the terror we've all faced since this started, but something much deeper and more dangerous. Since then, I've watched you shed your brother's shadow and grow into a man many here admire deeply and I have rejoiced over every single change. But there was still something broken in you. Something that had nothing to do with Merle or your father or any of your insecurities. I didn't see that part of you begin to heal until Miranda came to us, not even after we started keeping company."

Daryl kicked at a stone and watched it roll out into the yard. The summer heat shimmered above the open sand patches scattered between high weeds. He debated telling Carol about Lillith, but found he really wasn't ready to talk about her with anyone. Her memory was still too raw, too deeply ingrained in everything that kept him angry with this world.

"Does Miranda talk to you about her life before?" he asked, deflecting Carol's unspoken question.

"She mentioned once she was married and had been a teacher, but that's it. Why?"

"I found a photograph this morning. Her and some guy." He shook his head and hated the jealousy that rooted itself deep in his heart when he thought of Miranda with anyone else. Sharing secrets and her life with anyone else. "She never talks about her past with me."

"Do you talk about your past with her?"

Daryl stopped walking and turned to face Carol. "Why would I?"

"For the same reason that you're upset that Miranda doesn't share with you." Carol lay her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to want to be close to her, to share secrets and pasts, Daryl."

Hearing his own thoughts echoed so accurately back to him brought something close to rage welling in his soul. He wanted to shake off Carol's hand and storm off, maybe head into the woods, but instead he said, "No it isn't."

"Why not?"

"Because what's the damn point?" Daryl ran his hand through his hair and fought back the pain in his chest. "Say I care for you or Miranda or anyone? What's to stop one of you from dying the minute I realize I don't want to live without you?"

A deep tremor rose in him and Daryl felt as though his body might shatter if he didn't get rid of the pain and guilt he'd held inside for so long. When Carol put her arm around his waist, he shook her off.

"Don't. Not now," he said, putting some distance between them. "I can't."

"Daryl, you can't spend the rest of your life being afraid of loss."

"Why the hell not? Isn't that what you've done?"

Tears stood at the edge of Carol's lids before two spilled down her cheeks. "No, I've cared and I've lost, over and over. Just like you. Just like everyone else. We have to, or we lose ourselves."

"Maybe that's what I want, Carol. To lose myself. To find a way to be here without caring or hurting anymore."

"If that was true, you wouldn't have cared what I thought of Miranda or why she didn't talk to you about her past. You wouldn't be standing here with me, trying to get up the nerve to ask if I'm hurt that you're with Miranda."

"Are you?"

"A little, but not as much as I would be if I thought what we had was what you wanted. I'd be devastated then, but it wasn't and I'm not. Being with Miranda has chased away some of your demons, Daryl. All I could do was share mine. You need what you have with her and what's more important is that you want what you have with Miranda. All you have to do now is to decided if you think you deserve to be happy. I know you do, but you have to believe it too."

"I don't deserve you, or her," Daryl said miserably. "I don't know how, but the women I've allowed into my life always seem to have this overly romantic view of who and what I am. I'm not the paragon you want to believe I am. I'm selfish and mean and..." Daryl stopped. Carol was smiling at him again. "What?" he demanded.

"You really don't see yourself, do you?"

"I see myself more clearly than you do," he snapped.

"No, you really don't. Would a selfish man have spent days searching for Sophia? Would a mean man be so careful with the feelings of the young boys here who idolize him and follow him like a pack of puppies? Would a careless man have carried Miranda to Hershel for medical care and then stayed with her until she slept without screaming? You are, despite your efforts to deny it, a good man, Daryl Dixon."

"I'm afraid of losing anyone else," he admitted. "It's easier to be cold and detached than to care."

"I wish that were true, but it isn't." Carol held Daryl's face in her hands. "You already care about her and she adores you. Take joy where you can, Daryl. None of us are in any position to turn our noses up at anything that brings us joy."

"Ed never deserved you."

"No. He didn't. And you deserve more than I was able to give. Tell Miranda about your ghosts and demons. Let her tell you about hers and then get rid of them. Give yourself permission to be happy."

Carol kissed his cheek and then walked back to the pavilion, leaving Daryl standing alone by the fence.

He knew Carol was right, but knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things. He could barely think about his demons, how was he going to share them with Miranda?

"His name was Liam," Miranda said. "We were married just over a year when he died."

Miranda lay beside Daryl, her arm resting on his stomach, holding the photograph she'd pulled from beneath the mattress when Daryl had asked about it. His heart thudded in his throat as he waited for her to continue. He'd debated for a few days before deciding to take Carol's advice and ask Miranda about her past. As to whether he'd share his own, the jury was still out. He wasn't sure he'd be able to talk about his demons no matter what Miranda shared with him.

"It was about six months before all of this. He got sick one day and three weeks later, I buried him. It happened so quickly that I don't remember getting a straight answer from the doctors about what was wrong with him. I just remember he was with me and then the next moment he was gone. I disappeared after that. Stopped going to work. Stopped answering my phone. Stopped doing anything but hiding in my house and crying. I'd like to say I regret those months, but they're probably the only reason I'm still alive."

"Hiding before the shit hit the fan kept you alive? How?"

"I lived just down the street from the school where I taught. I heard the screams the day they bolted the doors and set the place on fire. I guess it had been over run by walkers at some point. I just know that not everyone in the building that day was dead before the place burned to the ground."

Miranda's hand clenched and crumbled the photograph. She sighed and looked up at Daryl.

"Why do you want to know this?"

"I wanted to know who you were before you came here," Daryl answered. "But if it's too painful, you don't have to tell me anything more."

She leaned her chin on his chest and Daryl ran his hand over her hair. She closed her eyes and continued her tale.

"I stayed hidden when the National Guard went door to door in my neighborhood, looking for survivors. When they left and I didn't hear gun fire anymore, I crept out and found out the world had gone to shit while I'd been hiding. I had had very few friends before Liam died, and even fewer after. I had no family, no one to look for or meet up with. I packed a few essential items and hit the road. I walked from town to town, hiding from the walkers and any humans I came across. I survived on supplies from stores and abandoned homes. I slept whenever and wherever I felt safe."

"You were alone for two years on the road?" Daryl couldn't imagine spending two years alone in this world. He'd only spent a day or two, here and there, alone and had hated it. Too much watching over his shoulder to be at ease for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Something like that," Miranda said with a shrug. "I'd found a small group about a month before I came here, but a herd tore through our camp. I think one of the others escaped, but we got separated and I never saw her again."

"And then you stumbled into our yard."

Miranda nodded. "And you caught me."

Daryl snorted. "I think I picked you up, actually."

Miranda traced random patterns over Daryl's chest and stomach until the silence between them built to a painful peak.

"Do you want to go?" she asked when he sighed into the silence.

"No."

"Do you want to tell me your stories?"

Daryl shook his head. "Enough sad tales for one day. Let's go join everyone for dinner."

Miranda moved away carefully, but Daryl still saw her wipe away tears before she stepped into the hallway. He cursed softly and Miranda's shoulder's jerked.

"Miranda, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine. Let's go have dinner."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong." Daryl lay his hand on her shoulder and for the first time since she'd fallen into his arms in the yard, Miranda stepped away from his touch rather than into it. Her distance cut deep into his soul.

"I want to know you, Daryl. To know who you are and to understand why you do certain things or behave in certain ways. But if you don't want to share those things with me, I can't...." She turned and Daryl watched tears trail down her cheeks. "I can't stand being alone when I'm with you. Not anymore."

"You're not alone when you're with me. I'm right here. I'm with you."

"No, you aren't. Not always. Sometimes you are so present I can feel you from across the room. Other times, I feel your hand on my body but you're somewhere else, touching someone else."

"Miranda..."

She held up her hand to forestall his objections. "I thought I was okay with it, that I could be happy with what you were willing to give me, but then you asked about Liam. You wanted to know more. How can you ask that of me and not be willing to share yourself with me?"

"I just wanted to know who you were...before."

"And that's fair. I'm the new girl here. We don't have the history you have with the others here and so I don't mind sharing my history, but you didn't ask about my history. You asked about Liam. Whether you knew how he died or not, you knew he had to have been dead. That I would be mourning him. And that's what you asked about."

Daryl felt heat rush to his face. She was right, of course. That was exactly what he'd done. He'd chosen the single most intimate thing he could ask about and made her tell him about it.

"I'm sorry, Miranda," he said. "You're right and I should share my demons with you the way I asked you to share yours with me, but I suck at sharing anything. I'm not some sensitive, metrosexual guy you met at a bar. I'm a dumb redneck asshole who barely graduated from high school. I've never had a steady relationship with anyone except my brother and sometimes I hated him so much I couldn't see straight."

Daryl leaned against the railing. The words Miranda wanted to hear were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't force them out. When he looked back at her, Miranda's eyes were clear. Instead of pain, he saw a resolve in her gaze that hadn't been there before.

"Miranda, I'm..."

Her arms around his waist were the last reaction he'd expected and he almost jerked away in shock. She held onto him as though he were the only real thing in her world. Her breath came hot but calm through the thin material of his t-shirt. His hands came up and around her body and for once, when he closed his eyes, Lillith didn't rise up to overshadow the woman in his arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You'll tell me what you want to tell me when you're ready. I shouldn't have pushed."

"I haven't told anyone else anything more than you know, Miranda. I'm not keeping things just from you."

"I know that now." She lifted her head away from his chest and smiled at him.

Daryl kissed her, hard and sudden, enjoying the taste of her lips, the feel of her hair against his arms. When Lillith's memory tried to rise, he pushed it back with a vengeance and remained with Miranda, finding for the first time the shape of her lips, the feel of her teeth beneath his tongue, even her scent. When he set her away from himself so he could catch his breath, he saw something both painful and hopeful pass through her eyes.

"That is what a first kiss is supposed to be," she said. "Thank you."

Went to town. Back before dark.

The note lay on top of his neatly folded clothes. Daryl saw it when he opened his eyes. As he always was when he awoke alone, he was disappointed. He wanted to wake up beside her,--to share those few minutes of quiet time before the group's needs invaded-- but their schedules meant she rarely slept longer than he did. The fact that she was quiet and careful enough to slip away without waking him scared him sometimes. Even Merle hadn't been able to sneak away from him like that. Maybe he was getting old.

Daryl swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and sat up. In the days since Miranda had told him she knew he was with someone else when they were together, Daryl had made every effort to be present when they were alone. Each time Lillith's memory had come between them, he'd pushed it back until it no longer haunted them. The hurt and tired look in Miranda's eyes had faded and was replaced with moments of true happiness for them both.

He laid the note back on Miranda's bed and pulled on his clothes. He wanted to hunt today. Bring in some meat to fill up the bellies of those who counted on this place to feed, clothe and protect them. Maybe he should wait and take Miranda with him. He shook his head. Better to get on the trail early in case the biggest thing he could find was squirrel. Need an awful lot of those damn tree rats to feed the gang.

Daryl caught Rick's eye as he stepped into the morning sun in the yard. "I'm going out to hunt," he said. "We can't keep stretching that buck from a week ago."

"How long are you going to be gone?" Rick asked.

"A few hours. Less if I can get a deer early. Why?"

"I want to have a council meeting this evening. Think you'll be back before sundown?"

"Absolutely," Daryl said. "Besides, don't we need to wait for whoever went to town with Miranda to come back?"

Rick cocked his head to the side. "No one went with Miranda. She took Flame. Said she'd be back in a few hours."

Something close to terror clenched at Daryl's gut. The thought of Miranda on her own outside the prison gate brought on flashes of Lillith on the kitchen floor, blood pooling under her legs. He knew Miranda could take care of herself--she'd done it before she came here--but he also knew what demons stalked her dreams at night. She lived in fear of becoming a walker and alone, anyone was walker-bait.

"She went alone?"

"Told Michone she could ride, so Michone gave up the horse for the day."

"When did she leave?"

"Maybe two hours ago. Daryl, I'm sure she's fine."

Daryl nodded. "You're right, Rick. I'll make sure I'm back before dark."

Daryl set out through the gate meaning to follow the game trail he'd been using to track meat for the tables, but instead found himself following Miranda's trail until it met up with the main road and disappeared. He stood on the berm and cursed.

He couldn't imagine why Miranda would have left the prison alone. She might be uniquely qualified to be out there by herself, but no one should be taking that kind of risk. As the last thought passed fully into his consciousness, Daryl laughed. Here he was, alone on the road, setting out to hunt, something he did several times a week. He and Michonne still periodically went out in search of the Governor, each going alone to live with the demons who drove their search. Who was he to decide who could and could not go out alone?

"She'll be fine," he said aloud and shuddered. Why did his voice sound more like a plea than a statement?

As the sun dropped toward the horizon, Daryl hefted the doe onto his shoulders and made his way toward the edge of the woods outside the prison. He whistled and then waited there until the watch whistled back that they had seen him. Several people ran down to the fence and began leading the walkers around to the farthest point from the gate. When he was sure the walkers wouldn't catch the scent of his kill, Daryl trotted to the gate. Michonne and Carl hauled it open and then closed it behind him.

"Yum, fresh meat for supper!" Michonne said as he passed her. "But if you're joining us, I hope you plan to shower. Eau de deer isn't your scent, Sugar."

"Sure, insult the man lugging your dinner in from the woods," Daryl cracked, but shot a grin at Michonne as he made his way to the pavilion kitchen.

"Daryl, you're a saint," Carol said. "We used the last of our meat in last night's stew."

"Figured as much. I'm gonna leave this in your capable hands and shower before the meeting." He glanced at those gathered around the kitchen but didn't see Miranda. "When did Miranda get back?"

Carol shook her head. "I haven't seen her since this morning. I thought she was hunting with you."

A cold hand closed over his heart. Miranda should have been back by now. The sun was barely visible above the tree-line and would leave them in darkness in less than an hour. He forced himself to calm down, knowing there was nothing he could do and that he shouldn't truly begin to worry for some time. She probably lost track of the time or had to take a detour around some walkers that put her behind schedule.

"If she gets back before I'm out of the shower, can you tell her where I am?" Daryl asked.

"Of course. I'm sure she's fine, Daryl."

He nodded and headed to the cell block. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread he'd picked up the moment Rick had told him Miranda had gone out alone.

"I'm going after her," Daryl said. "We've argued this enough."

Outside the library windows, night lay heavy on the land. The council meeting had run much longer than necessary because when the actual business had wrapped up, Daryl had wanted to take a party out to search for Miranda, but Rick had vetoed the idea.

"Daryl, It's dark. There isn't even much of a moon tonight. You'd spend the night walking around blind and putting yourself and whomever went out with you in danger. You know the best thing to do is wait for morning."

"Damn it. Why are you fighting me on this? If it were Carl, we'd already be looking."

"Carl, for all his maturity, is still a child. Miranda is a grown woman who survived for two years on her own, Daryl." Rick grasped Daryl's arm and forced him to meet his gaze. "I know you're concerned. We all are. But we cannot abandon common sense just because we're worried." Rick's eyes were sad but determined. "I'll go with you myself, brother, but not until morning."

Daryl nodded and Rick let him go. "First light," Daryl said. "I'll stay with tonight's watch in case she comes back before then."

He left the library and climbed the stairs to the second floor where Miranda's cell was. The note lay untouched on the bed, a silent accusation that made Daryl's head thump. There were things he should have said to her, words he should have spoken that had stuck in his throat instead. How many times was he going to hold back, to keep his thoughts to himself, only to end up regretting it? He should have told her about Lillith. He should have told her he loved her. He prayed it wasn't too late. He snatched up the note, shoved it in his pocket and headed out to the watch tower.

Hours later, Daryl lay dozing against the tower wall. Glen had taken over watch from the previous shift and had told Daryl to rest a little. He'd watch for Miranda. Daryl's eyes burned with the effort to find movement in the dark. He strained to listen to every sound coming across the land, but so far, nothing had brought Miranda out of the woods. Suddenly, the walkers at the fence turned and several shambled toward the woods. The snap of branches in the brush brought Daryl out of the half doze he'd fallen into.

"Movement out there," Glen said. "By the edge of the trees."

Glen handed Daryl his binoculars who then strained to catch sight of something, anything.

"It's Flame," he exclaimed. "Get someone down to the fence to lead the walkers away. I'm going out to get him."

Without waiting for Glen to agree, Daryl flew down the stairs and ran for the gate. The young man watching the fence saw him coming and jerked the gate open so Daryl could pass through at a run. The dark field's uneven ground caught at his feet, but Daryl's determination to get to the horse kept him upright. He hadn't seen a rider, but the horse wouldn't have made it far without someone to fend off the walkers. Miranda had to be nearby.

As he ran, Daryl heard the walkers moving away but he also heard footfalls behind him. He spun and his knife flashed in the dim light of the sliver moon. Michonne stopped and held up her hands.

"It's just me, Dixon," she said. "In case Flame won't mind you."

Daryl nodded and they ran together toward the cowering horse, who waited at the edge of the woods. Michonne cooed and talked to the animal while Daryl plunged into the woods.

"Miranda?" he screamed. He squinted, willing his night vision to be better. He didn't see Miranda, or any walkers, but he smelled blood. He turned in a circle and called out for her again.

Michonne hissed a warning. "You'll bring them back before we can get inside the fence, Daryl," she said. "Nothing's changed since the meeting. We have to go back."

Daryl cursed and took a few steps deeper into the woods. He still didn't see anyone, but he heard Michonne's exasperated huff behind him.

"I'm coming," he snapped. She was right. He couldn't see and shouting would only bring the walkers, but he wanted to head into the woods and search for Miranda. He looked over his shoulder and saw Michonne waiting for him, already mounted on Flame's back. He took one last look and then darted toward the horse. He took Michonne's offered hand and swung himself up behind her. He felt something wet and cool on his palm where he steadied himself on Flame's back and his heart thundered in his chest.

"We'll go at first light," she said when he cursed again. "We'll find her."

Daryl said nothing and locked his arms around Michonne's waist as she kicked the horse into a brisk gallop. He wanted to believed they'd find Miranda, but the blood which gleamed blackly on the horse's flank spoke much more loudly than Michonne's empty promise.

Daryl dozed fitfully for the remaining hours until first light crept across the land. The blood on his hand dried and flaked, leaving darkened lines in his palm. He stared at those lines, flexing his hand and watching the rusty flecks flutter away on the morning breeze.

"Ready brother?" Rick asked, extending his hand to Daryl.

Daryl grasped Rick's hand and rose unsteadily to his feet. "Yeah, let's go before anyone else wants to join the hunt."

Rick glanced at the blood stain on Daryl's jeans before nodding. "Let's go get her."

Both men walked with the slow, careful gait of hunters. Their prey before the world ended might have been different, but their methods were similar. Each watched for signs of blood, struggle, and weakness as they trekked through the woods, beginning where Flame had come home the night before.

The silence built between them and Daryl felt as though he might explode if Rick didn't say something soon. Daryl knew he couldn't say what he was thinking--that their trip this morning was in vain--without losing what little remained of his composure. Several times he thought of calling off the search and going back to the prison, just to escape the silence.

"Daryl...." Rick's voice held the same sadness that weighted every one of Daryl's steps. "If we find her and...what do you want me to do?"

"I'll take care of it," Daryl said. "I...it should be me." Silently he added, "This time." What he hadn't been able to do for Lillith, he would do for Miranda when the time came.

Rick nodded. "If you need help..."

"I know you're here for me, brother. Thanks."

They walked on, the silence louder than the snap of twigs and movement of small animals in the woods. Each noise brought Daryl's head around, his heart pounding in his chest, as he expected to see Miranda lumbering out of the shadows, her body destroyed by walker bites, her eyes blank and hungry.

As the sun reached its zenith, both Rick and Daryl admitted defeat. There had been spots of blood along the trail, but none had been large enough to definitively prove Miranda's death. Dread of finding her had long since changed to the fear of not finding her before she changed.

"We'll try again tomorrow," Rick said as they passed through the gate.

Daryl shook his head. "No, we won't. She's gone, Rick. You know it and I know it. There's no sense wasting time and energy looking for a dead woman." Bitterness and pain washed over Daryl and he cut his eyes away from the pity he saw in Rick's eyes.

"Do you...I mean, should we plan a memorial? Put up a marker?"

Daryl shrugged. "If you think we should. I don't need it."

Rick winced before clapping Daryl's shoulder. "I'm sorry, brother." Rick turned to make his way up the hill, leaving Daryl at the gate.

Daryl watched him go. Rick was a good man. Surely a better man than he was. Everyone Daryl had cared about who'd died since all this shit started had been left to rot: Merle, Lillith. Hell, even his father. He hadn't been able to bury any of them, hadn't even thought to take the time to bury them and leave a marker to show that someone had loved them. He was about to do the same thing to Miranda. But Rick, he thought of stuff like that. Made it happen, even. He was ready to step in and do what Daryl couldn't or wouldn't do for her.

Shame curled tight against the bitter guilt already drowning him and Daryl turned away from the wall of watchful friends eyeing him from the prison yard. The crowbar lay heavy in his hand, comforting and cold at the same time.

He walked along the fence-line, scanning the moaning faces that followed his progress. He didn't want to see the flash of her red hair among the filthy browns and blondes. He didn't want to see the grey sweater she'd found in his pack one afternoon and claimed as her own--wore whenever they were apart. He didn't want to see the shredded flesh hanging from her gut to trail nearly to the ground. And he didn't want to see her loving, warm eyes turned toward him with cold hunger.

He choked back every emotion which rose to swallow him as he watched what had once been his loving Miri-Bear, the woman who'd loved him despite his flaws, maybe even because of them. He grasped the crowbar, hefting its weight and working up the courage to do what he knew needed to be done. He continued to walk, ignoring the shuffling steps she took to stay beside him. His only thought was to get out of sight of those he knew were watching from the yard beyond the vegetable fields.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder and saw Carol coming down the hill. He tried to wave her off, wanting to do this alone, but she ignored him.

"Get out of here, Carol," he snarled when she stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"I will not leave you alone with this, Daryl."

"Why not?" he shouted. "I took care of Merle on my own. Beat my father's head in with a bat all by myself. Why do I need your help now, woman?"

Carol flinched as he stormed and raged, brandishing the crowbar, but she stood her ground.

"Do your worst, Daryl. I've seen worse. Felt worse. You don't scare me. You stayed with me when Sophia...when she came out of that barn. I'm going to be here with you now."

"God damn it! Stop trying to convince me that I'm better than I know I am. I'm sick to death of women who think they know what kind of man I am. I'm not Prince Charming. I'm much closer to the villain than any of you bitches want to believe." Daryl ran his hand through his hair and glared at Carol. "First Lil with her broken heart because I wouldn't let her ruin her life for me. Then she waits twenty years for me and dies the next morning. What good did I do her? Then you and your damn daughter. Days of hope and pain only to have to watch her die like a beast. And now Miranda..."

Daryl's voice trailed off as he turned to look at the walker wearing his sweater. He swallowed hard. "My Miri-Bear. I should let her take me...eat my heart. Turn me into one of those damn things so I can stop disappointing all of you women."

Carol reached for Daryl, for the crowbar, but Daryl jerked away.

"No." He cleared his throat and his voice was stronger when he spoke again. "No. I need to be the one this time. I have to see her eyes. I have to be man enough to end what's she's become. Merle's not here to do it for me this time. I have to do it. Don't you see that I have to do it myself?"

"Daryl, no one has to do this alone anymore. That's why we're here, why we're together."

"Don't you dare say we're family," Daryl snarled.

"But we are. Or the closest thing any of us have left. Let us help you." She held out her hand and waited.

Daryl stared at that outstretched hand. He knew Carol would do it. Take the crowbar and end Miranda's suffering. But he knew he couldn't let her do it.

"If not Carol, then me, brother," Rick said. He stood beside Carol and Daryl looked up to see Michonne just behind Rick.

"Or me, Daryl," Michonne said. "I know what it's like to have to do this to someone you love. Let one of us take some of that pain for you."

Daryl stepped back from his friends. He kept shaking his head, but now his words were bound up behind his pain. He looked toward the fence and came face to face with Miranda's ghost. He watched the beast who'd been his comfort claw the fence, its nostrils flaring as it smelled warm, living meat.

He was holding the crowbar away from his body, nearly ready to pass it off to Rick when Daryl saw the Barnett crossbow slung across her back. Anger flowed in from somewhere so recently filled with guilt that the two emotions mixed until they were indistinguishable from one another. That was why she'd gone out alone. She'd gone shopping for him.

They'd lain together the night before she left and talked of things they missed. The memory came so keenly, Daryl could smell her shampoo, feel the silken fall of her hair on his chest. He closed his eyes.

"Birthdays," Miranda said. "No one wants to celebrate birthdays."

"Well don't start with me," Daryl joked. "Mine was last week."

Miranda leaned up and met his gaze. Something warm and sensual washed over him and he smiled up at her.

"Really? I missed it? Why didn't you say something?"

"What difference does it make? There's no cake and ice cream anymore."

Miranda kissed him. "So what? What would you have liked as a present? If you'd been willing to tell me about your birthday?"

Daryl chuckled and ran his hand down her bare back. "I pretty much have everything I need," he said.

"Not something you need, silly. Birthdays are for things you want."

"Maybe a new crossbow?" he joked. "Something stronger, with a scope."

"Done," Miranda said. She kissed him and he promptly forgot what they'd been talking about.

"Done," Daryl whispered as his eyes flew open and his gaze locked onto that damned crossbow. "That's what you risked your life for? You stupid, stupid woman."

Daryl rushed the fence. Beyond the steel diamonds, Miranda's face doubled, merging the horror with the vision from his memory.

"You couldn't just stay with me. Be safe. Keep the monsters at bay. You had to pretend you could bring back what used to be normal."

He brought the crowbar up and blinked furiously to clear his vision.

"I love you, Miri-Bear," he whispered and then plunged the weapon through the fence.

