Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Breaking Point

"Yeah, I'm fine," I hadn't realized him and Carol had gotten back so soon. "About as fine as the rest of us."

"Beatrix, I need you to tell me how much longer we have," Rick says, once he's confident that Daryl and I are the only ones to hear him. "Realistically without food and water."

"Well, we can survive without food, probably for another couple of weeks before our muscles atrophy and die," I frown at the idea. "Without water, though? It's already been two days. In this kind of heat, we have two more max before multi organ failure. Maybe less than that for Judith."

Rick doesn't respond. He just turns and walks. That's all we know how to do anymore: walk. We keep on, this time with nobody following behind us. We walk for a few more miles before Daryl heads off the trail again, this time truly alone. I want to go with him, but I'm honestly not sure if my body can handle it.

I seem to be doing worse than anyone else. From what I can tell, everyone is tired and hungry and thirsty, but I'm the only one really having this magnitude of dizziness, nausea, and abdominal pain. It's obvious that I've had less to eat than them, and at this point of my starvation journey, my body fat percentage is probably less than three percent, which is about ten percent less than a healthy adult female.

Once we stumble upon some shady trees on the side of the road, we decide to stop and rest. I lean my back up against a tree and close my eyes, only opening them when I hear rustling in the bushes. My hand grips tight over my knife, ready to attack, but it's only Daryl. He slightly shakes his head, telling us he didn't find anything. I doubt any of us are surprised, though. At this point we don't expect it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I say, once I see Abraham eyeing a bottle of brandy in his hands. "Alcohol is a diuretic. It pulls liquid from your kidneys faster and uses up your body's stores of water faster."

He ignores me, though, and takes a large gulp out of the bottle anyway. Oh well. At this point it's not my problem anymore.

"At this point, I do not know if things could get any worse," Eugene says, and I want to slap him.

"Eugene, whenever somebody says that, it almost certainly means that things are going to get incredibly worse," I frown at him, along with most of the others.

Before he can respond, growls come from the bushes across the road. We all jump, reaching for our weapons when we see that it's just a pack of dogs. They don't look like very nice dogs, though, because they bark and growl at us, looking like they're about to lunge. One starts to jump when it squeals and falls to the ground, followed by the others. I look to see that Sasha had shot and killed them.

It's silent for a moment before Rick stands up and grabs a stick. My stomach churns at the thought and the sight of the dead dogs before I have to throw up again. The only difference in this time is that now, it's only dry heaving. I've already thrown up all of the food I had and the bile I had stored. There's nothing left, not really even any stomach acid. I'm just empty.

I watch as they build a small fire and Daryl starts to skin the dog, almost like it's a deer. Merle, Lucas, and Baxly help him, each of them taking a dog. I can't watch them any longer and I turn my back to them, staring at the bark on the nearest tree. I lose myself in my thoughts staring at the tree, wondering if there was anything I could have done different that would have led us away from this hell we've gotten stuck in now.

"Here," Daryl taps my shoulder, handing me a piece of meat.

"I can't, Daryl," I shake my head and turn away from him. "It's a dog."

"I don't care. You have to eat," his voice hardens as he grabs my chin to look at him. "You're gonna die if you don't."

"Then I'll die," I shrug. "I'm not eating a dog."