Autumn turned the world cold again. Daryl felt it in his bones, the way leaves slowly peeled off of the branches in waves. It was the season of decay suspended in slow motion; green curling into auburn, death tucked beneath the brilliance of it all.
Merle would have felt that itch to bag a buck or two right around now. They had their favourite spots in the woods to sit up in the stands, comfortable with their backs to the night, peering out with rifles until something strolled up to the salt lick. Daryl had known his brother through silence and relentless chatter both, easy languages to share in the untouched avenues of forests.
Daryl laid out three false trails before the sun had truly risen and laid out watching for Joe's group to pass through. He was one man against a group practically feral for easy violence and Daryl wasn't going to win that draw. Ivy was somewhere and he wanted to follow through at a healthy distance so if they did come across her, Daryl would be right at their backs ready to strike.
The best case scenario was that Beth and Ivy had hit Terminus already. The distance was far between it and where Daryl was, and he hoped that the girls had a head start that could buy them time. He would just drift along behind one sweep of the danger and slip through once the men got tired of the chase.
A safe haven held no appeal for Joe's group. And it wasn't enough to make them want to take it for themselves. They liked the easy wilderness, the old language that came with the woods and hills. Their fluency made it impossible to ever settle in domestic comfort.
Daryl straddled that line. He would have been just like them if he had fallen in with their kind at the start of the fall, instead of shuffling along to the standards set by people like Hershel or Rick.
Len's body would have been a red flag. His butchering hadn't been far from the temporary refuge of the night and it wouldn't take a mastermind to piece together his red hands. The men wanted revenge from strangers for acts of brutality. A fellow companion would be a different story, a different lust for payback.
Loneliness struck Daryl like an arrow to the chest. He was alone drifting through the trees like an old ghost, a temporary twin to what he had been after the prison collapsed. A monster seethed under his skin and bones, curling itself tighter, feeling every mile as an obstacle to finding his daughter.
He didn't know how Beth and Ivy managed on their own. Their grief would have been so fresh and painful. Nobody would be watching their backs for them, nobody would be guiding them when they were starting out with nothing. Ivy's tower had been a smoking ruin curtesy of the tank; her last refuge from the world annihilated by the man who kept taking from her.
It wasn't much better than fleeing the farm with nothing but the clothes on their backs, but at least they were together. A united force bent against the cold wind, a horizon marking their passage. Beth and Ivy seemed so small it made Daryl's mind ache thinking about the pair of them trying to survive; stumbling into men like Len.
Nothing had happened, Daryl forced himself to remember. Len had taken some kind of beating that left him scorned and the other man was dead. He hoped that meant that he was put down before he could have progressed with the assault but he couldn't know, not truly.
A body's remains were spread out along the ditch of the tracks. He forced himself to look at it, to judge the length of the visible spine. It wasn't either of the girls. Most of the flesh had been plucked from the bones and the left hand had been broken off, left to lie a couple feet away from the rest of what had been a person.
It was an old death. But Daryl gazed at it with familiarity, hands aching from driving wire straight through Len's throat. The body had been left alone and he recognized the shape of abandonment; crooked fingers calling from the long grass.
His feet started walking, he started counting heartbeats. He kept going until the body looked like his own from the distance.
.
A wisp of campfire smoke caught Daryl's attention, drawing him through the trees and along the paved road, catching the sight of a man tucking himself in tight to the natural incline of a ditch. It was easier to press closer to Joe's men in the darkness of the night, investigating the permitter of their temporary camp and making sure they were settling in on their own.
But something else was here.
The sky was indigo drenched in a cold shock. Daryl forced himself to drown out the white noise as he gazed through the darkness, trying to catch the shape of two girls together. The temperature had started to drop further and further each passing day and he felt the bite of it against his bones, his left knee aching somewhat.
Daryl faltered, seeing the prey seconds before it was too late.
"Oh, dearie me," Joe grinned out of the shadows. "You screwed up, asshole."
Michonne's sword was kicked away as the men drew their circle tighter, cutting out of the night like death itself. They were coyotes circling a carcass, ready to devour the remains whole. Daryl peered through the night as he tried to translate their motions for a weak point, somewhere he could enter and render the situation as finished.
He didn't have a gun. He had three good bolts left. Joe's group were walking as a loaded armoury, cheerfully filling the gaps with bullets and manpower. "Today is a day of reckoning, sir. Restitution," Joe continued, theatrical with his speech. "A balancing of the whole damn universe. Shit, and I was thinking of turning in for the night on New Year's Eve."
Rick and Michonne were pinned, gazing up at the men holding the loaded guns down at them. Someone was in the car and Daryl tried to hope it was Carl, that somebody else had emerged from the prison unscathed, that they weren't the last people in the world who remember Dale and Hershel and Lori.
But he also hoped Carl wasn't there. He knew the man peering through the glass, the way he shoved magazines in his bag with a slick eagerness. Glossy images of children bent and folded, faces caressed with a greedy finger.
Joe started counting down like a pulse that was racing and Daryl felt his patience snap, shoving through the slight nest of men. "Joe!" He called, waving a hand up. His other hand was braced on his crossbow, ready to swing.
Rick's face blanched at the sight of him. They had been together in the yard before Rick left, staggering like a deadman as Daryl single-mindedly smashed Phillip's hands with a stone.
"Hold up."
"You're stopping me on eight, Daryl."
"Just hold up," he said, drawing nearer. The men were confused on who to aim for; the man who killed their friend or the other man who killed their friend. Daryl needed to get the guns off of Rick for him to serve any purpose in a fight. Joe didn't even look surprised at his appearance, like he knew eventually their lines would cross and intersect at the right moment.
"This is the guy that killed Lou, so we got nothing to talk about," someone snapped, chamber clicking like teeth.
Joe's face stretched in a grin. "The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time. So let's talk. Where the hell have you been?"
"These people, you're gonna let 'em go," Daryl said. If Rick and Michonne could survive the night, maybe they would be the ones to find Ivy down the line. "These are good people."
He could trust Rick with a child. He trusted Michonne with Ivy. They could do what Daryl couldn't. Their goodness mattered and maybe it would be enough for his kid to get by a little longer with a little less pain.
"Now, I think Lou would disagree with you on that," Joe informed him. "I'll, of course, have to speak for him and all, 'cause your friend here strangled him in a bathroom."
Of course it was Rick. Somehow their lives were bound together ever since a day on a rooftop in the city where he lost a brother for another one. "You want blood, I get it," Daryl said. A lifetime ago Rick was the one at his side cutting through the woods to get to Ivy, reminding him blood didn't always mean everything. He dropped the crossbow like a heavy weight and extended his arms. "Take it from me, man. Come on."
He wanted Joe to move towards him. He was confident he could get a good, solid hit on the man. If Joe moved forward, Rick could swing up behind. Daryl's blood was meaningless; he could sacrifice it.
"This man killed our friend. You killed our friend. You two can go out together in the same night."
A barrel of a gun slammed against his face and he fell backwards, caught off guard. Someone was moving at his back and pinned his arms together like a vice. White sparks of light burst from his eyes as he took a solid punch to the cheek, his lip splitting from the follow up.
The men were burying him. Daryl couldn't get up, couldn't free himself from the restricting hold. "Teach him, fellas. Teach him all the way."
One hit had him spinning against the hood of the parked car, bashing his face off of the metal. Daryl grunted and tried to push up off the car but somebody was punching at his lower back, knocking him forwards again.
Carl was dragged out of the car while Daryl broke against it. He couldn't free himself to get to the boy. "You leave him be!" Rick roared, outraged. His temper made him ignorant to the gun at his head as he watched a knife rest against the throat of his entire world.
"You'll get yours. You just wait your turn," someone said to Michonne and Daryl roared, catching one of the men across the chin with his elbow.
"Listen, it was me. It was just me."
"See, now that's right. That's not some damn lie," Joe rewarded him with enthusiasm, jamming the gun tighter against his temple. "Look, we can settle this. We're reasonable men."
Daryl went down hard. Dead leaves crumpled in his fist and he tried grinding them against the eyes of someone who got close, nails catching on skin.
"First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we'll have the girl. Then the boy. Then I'm gonna shoot you and then we'll be square," Joe's laugh cut through the beating and it set Daryl's teeth on edge, that gritty undercoating rising to the surface.
Carl was on the ground, twisting amongst the leaves. Daryl could see him in pieces through the legs of the bodies standing over him, kicking him again and again. "Stop your squirming."
A gunshot fired and Daryl's heart froze. But Rick's head had simply knocked backwards into Joe's face, startling him into pulling the trigger into thin air. Joe stumbled backwards and wiped his nose for bleed just as Rick whipped around, slugging him hard across the face. The man returned it with interest, knocking Rick onto the ground himself. "I got him," he announced, kneeling beside him. "Oh, it's gonna be so much worse now."
It was like a set of scales rocking over. Carl was forced face down and the sound of a belt buckle being undone hit their ears, Michonne trying to fight with a loaded gun pressed tight against her forehead.
"Get away from him before I—"
"Huh? Right over here," Joe prodded, eager like a child trying to set an ant hill on fire. "What the hell are you gonna do now, sport?"
Joe wasn't a father. He wasn't expecting Rick's snarl, the way he drew back before lunging forward, teeth catching at his throat and biting down hard. It was like driving a fist into Phillip's face and knocking teeth loose again and again. Feeling the ragged cut of skin as he carved Ivy's name into a body still breathing. Rick ripped out the man's throat and blood arched, red violence fouling the night further.
Rick spat it out while Joe gurgled helpless, falling backwards with wide eyes. The scale suddenly rocked the other way when Michonne got up, one hand catching the gun and twisting it to the side, firing a bullet into the man's face before he fully knew what was happening.
Daryl flung himself to his feet and punched the way Merle would have, catching one person while Michonne took down the second man after him. She swung around and looked at the person holding onto Carl, that knife at his throat slipping wild as the boy struggled. "I'll kill him. I'll— kill him!" He warned, wrestling Carl against his body to cover him better.
"Let the boy go," she seethed, hands tight around the pistol. Her face was split between terror and rage as she watched a child helpless to a grown man.
Daryl threw a body onto the ground and stomped down on his skull. He went to turn and go after the final man but Rick was lurching forward with a knife. "He's mine," he swore, blood smeared across his face. Like a reaper he stalked towards the final man standing and he threw Carl away like he was nothing, a paltry offering for a father scorned.
"Stay back, stay—"
Rick jammed the blade through his gut before yanking it out. He kept striking with it, puncturing the man several times before slicing him from crotch to throat. It was a mechanical rage, settling a score with a knife and heavy heart, wrath a noose tightening over all of them. Blood severed the night into pieces and Daryl watched as a man broke over it all, a father shattering into fractions of whoever he had once been.
.
Daylight slowly broke over the sky and Daryl watched it as he took wide sweeps of the woods, whittling time with a steady pacing, counting the bodies left in the ditch as he made each pass. Rick had spent the final hours of the night guarding the car while the other two sat up all night on the inside, rigid with trauma.
The honest sunlight made Rick look worse. He was sitting slumped against the car, numb to the blood still on his skin. It had dried, smeared across his face and neck, dark beneath his fingernails.
Daryl had stopping his pacing to refill a water bottle from the creek and brought it over to Rick. He soaked a rag from his pocket and began handing it over. "We should save it to drink," Rick advised with a hoarse voice, peering up at him.
"You can't see yourself, he can."
Rick took it slowly as if he was processing Daryl's words, wiping at his face gingerly. He needed a hot shower and soap to scrub truly clean but Daryl had so little to offer. A rag was the best he had left. "I didn't know what they were," he said, breaking the tension. Violence had been clearly their motivation but the depth surprised him somehow, Carl twisting on the ground like prey caught in a live trap. Daryl eased himself down against the car so he sat beside Rick, body stiff from the beating.
Merle had never used that kind of set up. He preferred a swift kill, something that didn't leave an animal hooked and caught for hours.
"How'd you wind up with them?"
"I was alone. I got out and didn't know where to go. Tried looking for Ivy but there wasn't anything."
"Think she's dead?"
He tugged out the switch blade and flicked it so the knife popped out. "Fell in with them and found this on one of the maps. Figured out they were tracking her down," Daryl explained. "I mean, I knew they were bad, but they had a code. Ivy was tangled up with 'em so I killed the one after her. I split after that."
Rick was scrubbing hard at his knuckles, trying to vanish the evidence. "You were alone."
"Knew they were looking after some guy also. Didn't think it'd be you. Didn't think I'd ever see you again," Daryl hitched his shoulders, uncomfortable with the confession. "Figured if I hung back and followed, I'd catch 'em if they caught up with Ivy. That's when I saw it was you three. I didn't know what they would do."
"It's not on you, Daryl. Hey," Rick said, making him meet his eyes. "It's not on you. You being back with us here, now, that's everything. You're my brother."
His heart snapped together from separate pieces and Daryl felt the force of it. He had lost Merle forever but had chosen something else, something just as valuable. "Hey, what you did last night... anybody would have done that."
Daryl would have. If he had been in the room that awful night with Ivy and Phillip, he would have died for that retribution.
"No," Rick's face twisted. "Not that."
"Something happened. That ain't you."
"That's not you either. I saw what you did to him," Rick's voice was unexpectedly warm. "It ain't all of it, but that's us. That's why we're here now. That's why we keep our kids safe. That's all that matters."
"Haven't done much of that."
"Worst part about being parent is figuring out the difference between what's good for them and what really you want."
The lie had been easy to suggest. Harder to stick with. Ivy needed to resume living life again and Daryl was terrified he would find her body in the morning, the leftover grief unbearable. "I can't get her face out of my mind. When she saw him, it was over. Everything was all gone the second she laid eyes on that man."
And then the fence went down, Hershel's body abandoned to the sun and vultures, their world turned into a battle zone. It had been one thing posting her up on a cat walk with Maggie and Glenn taking shots at a retreat, but it was different knowing she was running somewhere through an active shootout with a tank ripping it's way through their home. "She left that knife?"
"Yeah."
"Doesn't sound over, then. Sounds like she expects you to do better."
Daryl watched silently as Rick scrubbed layers of blood off of his skin, slowly working the rag until the crime was vanishing in bits and pieces. The wildness in his gaze still lingered, a hollowed stare matched by a twitching trigger finger.
.
They pushed down the train tracks like a funeral hearse, feeling the weight of every step. Rick took the lead with a halting hitch of his shoulders, setting the stride with Michonne right behind him. The man stopped at the sight of a fallen sign and he kicked some leaves off of it. Terminus was marked with a star and it glared up at the small group. "We're getting close," Daryl said, scanning the trees.
"Hey, look at that."
He turned back and looked were Rick pointed. Someone had taken a marker and written Fairburn Road along the bottom, the I dotted with a heart in Beth's tidy writing. They had seen glimpses of her writing across the prison, marking up scrap pieces of paper and tiny little journals constantly. "Why's that name familiar?"
Carl squinted at it. "It's the road by the Greene farm, remember?"
A calling card. Meaningless, but if someone was chasing after the girls, it could have meant something. Daryl was mildly impressed with the ingenuity. Beth probably left it behind in hopes of Maggie recognizing it, if she was somewhere out in the wild looking for her trail. It was personal, but lacked any bait for the wrong kind of group in pursuit.
"We can be there while there's still daylight left," Daryl huffed, trying to crush the bit of hope blooming.
"Now we head through the woods," Rick decided. "We don't know who they are."
Woodbury had looked nice from a distance. Daryl bobbed his head and took the lead, bringing Carl off the clear path and into the tangle of roots and branches. "All right."
Any conversation died immediately as they crossed into the cover of wilderness. Daryl kept a light step and Rick managed to match it somewhat, breaking through the cover of at a steady piece. When he twisted his head back to check if they picked up a trail on them he saw Michonne's hand resting on the hilt of her sword, ready to pull it free. They were all brittle looking with the night still pressed to their skin like a scar.
Eventually the density of wood coverage died down, trees spreading out and more brush forming. A fence cut through and Rick pulled up ahead, surveying the direction it led in. Terminus stood below a slight hill and they peered through the vines growing over the wire, marking the empty yard and permitter marked in more fencing.
"We all spread out," Rick whispered. "Watch for a while, see what we see, and get ready. We all stay close."
Daryl cut to the left and quietly ambled along the fence, stopping when he had a good view of the entrance. The yard below was a concrete stretch of stillness and it unnerved him, the absence of people. Walkers weren't even clamouring along the fences like they had the prison.
It looked strange. He couldn't pinpoint what seemed so foul about the layout, but it was wrong. It wasn't a prison and it wasn't a neighbour walled off with sheets of metal but it looked wrong.
It looked like an open invitation, he realized. The high rooftops left shadows everywhere and he looked at the gate, that tentative peace offering to whoever strolled through.
Anyone could cross that step and vanish. There was a reason no one was sitting by the door with a shotgun. The people should have learned by now that eventually the wrong group would show with the intention of taking what they had. If Terminus really had sanctuary for all, it should have been better defended.
Rick whistled and Daryl's attention snapped towards him. "Come here for a minute," he called lightly, jostling his bag. The man had stashed the bulk of their weapons inside it and left them with the basic pieces. Being with a group again made Daryl feel like he needed less, just those three good bolts and a knife, but it was a different sensation as he watched Rick dig up the ground to bury it. "If it goes south, we got a point to run to."
Daryl blinked, looking down on the sight. "Just in case?"
"Ivy's idea, originally. She had Carl running out bags into the woods through the tombs. When it all went down, Carl went after one of the bags. Got us started."
"When was this?" He asked gruffly, trying to contain the flash of surprise.
Rick's mouth quirked. "First rule about kids is knowing they're always gonna go the opposite way. You tell 'em to stay put, they're gonna go exactly where you don't want them."
He began burying it. The little shovel made the work slow but Daryl started marking the location, memorizing the shapes of the trees and roots. In chaos, little details were essential. It was easier to focus on the trees themselves and forget about the eternal darkness of those awful tombs, walkers stumbling from around tight hallways. Ivy had probably thought she was following his rules when she agreed to stay put and keep inside the gate.
Daryl had never thought about the other ways to leave the prison.
Some credit could be given to Ivy. She hadn't gone alone. Carl's photographic memory would have guided her through the prison and also given her the benefit of a functioning pair of ears. That helped dull the desire to find his kid and rattle sense straight through her.
Michonne and Carl drifted over with tense expressions and watched the process, Rick's work a mimic of the graves they had dug at the prison. "We go in. We check it out, see what's on the other side of that fence," Rick explained. "Doesn't look good we can be out in minutes."
The world had fooled them enough times. They had dead piled up because of their trust and Rick hadn't forgotten any of it. They cut their way over to the fence marking the border and Rick cleared it first, soundless. It made Daryl wonder what kind of lifestyle he had before he turned to policing. The man had a nimble bit of grace when it came from scaling a fence without a rustle. Rick probably would have been pretty good at outrunning the police if he leaned a little bit closer to Daryl's teenage years.
He crouched along the train tracks and looked both ways before Michonne joined him, almost as quietly. Daryl gave Carl the boost he needed to clear the top and then he managed with the awkward hold of the crossbow. Michonne was covering him as he straightened out from the jump and he took a moment to fill his lungs with air, breathing deep to settle nerves.
His cigarettes had run out weeks ago. Daryl felt the desire for one, the desire to feel smoke in his veins burning away the fear and tension.
Daryl pulled to the front of their line with his weapon raised up. If someone came across their pathway he could strike first with silence, Rick the secondline of defence with his pistol. There was a side door left slightly ajar and Rick pulled it wider for him to slip through, entering a dark hallway as he followed the voice of a woman speaking. "— Those who arrive survive."
The words echoed as he navigated the length of the hall, drawing closer to the source. "Follow the lines to the point where all lines intersect."
Something was vaguely ominous about the message. It lacked any real detail and seemed to string itself with a low hum of urgency. What did sanctuary really mean? A slice of life from before or something darker? If people were chasing the illusion of hope based off of some signs tacked up, did they really know where they were running?
People were moving within a great room, bending over desks and scribbling on bits of paper. They looked so ordinary that his crossbow dropped slightly from surprise as he slipped into the room. "Those who arrive survive. Terminus, sanctuary for all. Community for all."
A woman was speaking into a microphone, tracing her finger along the surface of a map. She jumped when Rick strode forward, dropping silence for the favour of surprise. "Hello."
Everyone halted at the sight of him.
"Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch," a man announced from the background, dropping a pen to the table. "You here to rob us?"
"No. We wanted to see you before you saw us."
Maybe Rick should have left the blood on his face. The people were all so clean looking, well groomed and tidied. Daryl felt like the weight of his crimes was painted across his face, revealing every sin he ever committed. Rick's jacket collar had stained from blood, the four of them each marked up from the journey to get to Terminus.
The man shrugged, nodding. "Makes sense. Usually we do this where the tracks meet," he told them, stepping forward and lifting his arms up slightly like he was trying to paint a picture. "Ahem, welcome to Terminus. I'm Gareth."
Gareth's smile was warm but Daryl clocked the scratches running down the side of his cheek to his neck. One of the men in the background sported a wicked bruise that might have compared to the one Daryl wore. "Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit."
"We have. Rick. That's Carl, Daryl, Michonne."
He lifted a hand, awkward. "You're nervous, I get it. We were all the same way. We came here for sanctuary. That what you're here for?"
"Yes," Rick said, surveying him. "We're looking for a kid. She might have been through her already."
Gareth smiled. "Been a couple new people passing through. No kids, though. But give it some time. She could show up."
Daryl tried to hold back his flinch, the way the vice around his chest tightened. He felt the desire to turn around and head back to the tracks and check for any sign of her. She might have been swarmed by walkers, might have stationed herself somewhere safe so she could watch over the place on her own. Their paths had diverged and he felt the absence of her like a thorn to his heart.
"Hey, Alex," Gareth called, gesturing to the man with the black eye. "This isn't as pretty as the front. We got nothing to hide, but the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer. Alex will take you, ask you a few questions. Uh, but first, we need to see everyone's weapons. If you could just lay them down in front of you."
Rick turned and looked at Daryl, mutually trying to decide on a course of action in silence. "All right," he said, taking the lead. He laid down his gun and knife. Carl and Michonne echoed the movement but Daryl waited a beat before following.
He dropped his hunting knife with a clatter before pulling out the pink switchblade. That he laid almost tenderly to the floor, thinking about the nights he sharpened it for Ivy himself so he could make sure it was done right, cleaning the dried blood from the surface to keep it ready.
Alex patted him down first, bright grin looking up at Daryl as he bent to check his hips and legs for anything hidden. "I'd hate to see the other guy."
"You would," Rick warned, side eyeing the man as he stood frozen in place, gaze fixed on the knife.
"They deserve it?" He asked Carl when he moved on, tilting his head to peer up at him.
"Yeah," Carl said, hint of a sneer starting. The resemblance between him and Lori was unexpectedly striking when the boy got his hackles up. Daryl remembered Lori's sharp gaze being ice cold from across a campfire, her tone tense as a whip.
"Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people," Gareth chattered pleasantly. "But we aren't stupid either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid. As long as everyone's clear on that, we shouldn't have any problems. Just solutions."
Daryl wanted to know where he got those scratches from.
Alex checked Michonne last and Daryl watched his movements with an intensity that was like a flame. The hands stayed as professional as they had been on the other three but he still kept an eye on the woman for any signs of discomfort.
When he finished he passed her back the sword. And then Alex moved, trying to pick up Daryl's haul of weapons before he snatched them up first, possessively pulling the switchblade to his chest. "Not the kind of thing I would have assumed a guy like you would carry."
"His daughter's," Rick warned, cold note creeping through. He laid down the warning in the same way he had his gun, drawing the line between them and the rest of the people.
Alex led them through the great room and out of a door that led into something like a plaza. Sun burned the space so it lit up, little gardens full of flowers. The cold weather had started to kill some but the yellow ones danced like little flags in the wind, petals bursting with colour. They were like the ones Glenn picked for Maggie, great big handfuls just to make her smile. "So how long has this place been here?"
Terminus seemed mostly concrete. Daryl wasn't sure a flower garden was the best use of space.
"Since almost the start. When all the camps got overrun, people started finding this place. I think it was instinct, you know? Some people headed for the coast, others out west or up north, but they all wound up here."
The quarry flashed in his mind, that awkward assortment of people gathered together off of the highway. The diner, full of bodies who never knew each other before the bad things started happening, lost families tucked away.
"Hi," a woman greeted from a grill. Daryl peered down at the surface, tense. He had seen a variety of game meat butchered and cooked but nothing looked quite like what she was flipping across the rack for an even roast. "Heard you came in the back door. Smart. You'll fit in right here."
He wasn't sure why the woman knew that. They had just left the great room and they were the first ones through that door. Daryl cocked his head slightly and looked at her, her tidy expression looking back at him.
"Hey, Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?"
"Why do you do it?" Michonne asked, her voice low. "Why do you let people in?"
"The more people become a part of us, we get stronger. That's why we put up the signs, invite people in. It's how we survive."
Mary smiled, holding a plate out to Carl. "Here."
Rick was suddenly storming forward and slapping the plate to the ground before he got his hands on Alex. "No," the man gasped, choked by Rick's arm. He tried to twist to keep him from digging a pocket watch out by the chain, flipping it up and examining the surface.
Daryl, Michonne, and Carl were an echo of Rick's paranoia, weapons popping upright as they surveyed the people around them for the nearest threat. "Where the hell did you get this watch?"
"You want answers? You want anything else?" Alex rambled, nails clawing at the arm holding him tight. "You get 'em when you put down the gun."
"I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle. How good's his aim? Where'd you get the watch?"
There was a stain on the ground. It had dried dark. It could have been oil or old paint scrubbed up, but Daryl knew it was blood. Someone had spilled blood over the spot and it had marked the ground beneath the sky, burning pain right into the foundation of this place.
"Don't do anything! I have this!" Alex screamed up at the sniper, hands held up. "You just put it down. You want to listen to me. There's a lot of us."
"Where did you get the watch?" Rick seethed, jabbing the muzzle of the gun tighter against Alex's face.
"I got it off of a dead one. I didn't think he'd need it."
"What about the riot gear? The poncho?"
Daryl's stomach twisted at the sight of it. It had been his and was suddenly standing right in front of him, miles and miles from the place he had left it in. Ivy had borrowed it a few times when the morning was cold, running off with it nearly drowning her in it's length.
"Got the riot gear off a dead cop. Found the poncho on a clothesline."
"Gareth, we can wait," Alex called to the man as he strode forward, friendly demeanour fading in a wave of impatience.
"Shut up, Alex."
"You talk to me," Rick warned tightly.
"What's there left to say?" He folded his hands neatly together and surveyed Rick. The cuts looked bright against his skin, fresh and still ragged. Someone had hooked their nails right against his face and cut as deep as they could manage. "You don't trust us anymore. Rick, what do you want?"
"Where are our people?"
"You didn't answer the question."
Rick twisted backwards as bullets started firing, people scattering in different directions for cover. "Carl!" Rick shouted, getting his gun up and taking shots. "Get down, now! Go!"
They tried sprinting for the front gate but the bullets cut a hard line in front of them, driving them to the left. Rick pushed to the side and cut through a narrow alley, leading the pack. More bullets shot at their feet and Daryl realized that they were running around older holes embedded into the pavement from previous shots. They weren't the first people to find themselves in a nest of gunfire, forced back from the easy shot out the gate.
The chaos made the group swivel and try to scout out a clear direction as more shots wasted ammunition. Daryl hoisted the crossbow up and tried to make sense of an exit.
They got further to the south side when a garage door slammed shut on them, sending them off through a narrow side door. Every other avenue was locked. Daryl hit the courtyard first and led the others, bullets catching at the ground by their heels as they ran in a straight direction.
Dimly, he wondered if this was Ivy's world. The sound of gunfire shot so rapidly made his ears hurt, the close range enough to matter. On bad days where her ears rung she would stumble off balance, thrown by the difference hearing made.
Voices were screaming from metal shipping units. "Help! Help!"
"What the hell?" He snarled, trying to understand the madness.
"Keep going!" Rick shoved him, pushing him through a door marked with the letter A. The room inside was like a sanctuary, lit candles scattered across the floor and from tiny little pillars. It was an extravagant version of the postings by the highway where people wrote names of their loves ones and short messages giving vague directions to lost ones. "What the hell is this place?" He scoffed, lightly sidestepping a stuffed bear on the floor. Glassy eyes looked up at him.
"These people, I don't think they're trying to kill us."
"No," Rick said, agreeing with Michonne. "They were aiming at our feet."
Someone shoved an exit shut and Daryl forced himself to start for the only open avenue. Another A marked the wall beside it and he frowned, thinking about the W on Ivy's wrist. He wasn't sure what this particular letter meant.
More gunfire corralled them into a tight knot, stuck in the open space. They were right by the fence facing the woods and a train car sat just down the tracks. Snipers popped up from the other side of the wire, weapons clicking in unison. Their pathway ended, prey caught in the sight lines of the many.
"Drop your weapons! Now!" Gareth shouted from the roof top.
Daryl flung the bolt down to the ground first before setting the crossbow down. His hunting knife went second before he finally managed to pull out Ivy's knife, burning from the rage of it all.
"Ringleader, go to your left. The train car, go. You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyways."
Rick took a long look at Carl, flinching. His feet started moving slowly, crossing the path with measured steps. Daryl had never seen Rick walk alone before, never seen his shadow cut the ground so hard. He burned with a white hot rage that scorched the sky.
"Now the archer," Gareth directed. Daryl glared up for a beat before following suit, a slow pace to follow Rick's. When Michonne began to follow him he nearly twisted backwards but forced himself on, his mind cycling back to the old days, Merle chirping about something he heard about slaughterhouses separating the young from their mothers so they'd go easily into the chambers.
It felt like a slaughterhouse.
They lined up along the steps of the train car and waited, Carl a lone figure in the distance. "My son!" Ricked roared.
"Go on, kid," Gareth permitted, waving his hand generously. "Ringleader, open the door and go in."
"I'll go in with him."
"Don't make us kill him now."
Rick started climbing up the steps so he could shove the door open so Daryl turned to keep an eye on Carl, memorizing every single step he took while his father couldn't. And then he had to move, following Rick up into the darkness, bracing his hand for a moment on the door.
The gloom folded itself around Daryl and he felt Michonne at his heels, turning around and waiting right at the door for Carl. Rick was waiting to take the boy himself and the door slammed shut, deftly locking it before Daryl could hurl himself against it. The noise echoed the tight space and it was like being inside a coffin buried underground. A little bit of light cut through the gloom from around the door and all Daryl could hear was the ragged breathing of Rick and Michonne, Carl's shoes scuffing across the floor as he turned into his father's side.
Movement suddenly jerked from the back of the train car and Daryl stiffed, hands curling into tight fists as he tried to adjust his eyes. "Hey, we don't know if they're friendly," a man's voice snapped as he tried to contain the person trying to twist.
"Rick?" Glenn asked, suddenly cutting into the bare bit of light. He had one arm slightly outstretched as Maggie started to come up behind him, echoing his movements.
"You're here," Rick broke out, emotion choking his voice.
"Get off of me!" Someone hissed. "That's my dad."
"Hey, Abe. You'll wanna let her go," Glenn warned, turning around to talk to someone. Daryl barely had time to register the sound of footsteps across the wooden floor, a girl hurling herself out of the shadows at him.
Ivy caught him with one arm flung around him and her nails digging into his vest, choking on a cry. His arms automatically folded around her, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head and cradle it for a long moment, legs nearly buckling from the weight of everything sliding back into place. Tears burned against his shirt and the same ones were catching in his eyes; the pair of them clinging and holding.
Her one arm was hooked between them. Daryl tried to pull back but she fought him stubbornly, hand clawing at the material of his vest as she tried to hold on longer. He gently moved his own hand to investigate the limb and she hissed, jerking away on impact.
"Watch her shoulder. She dislocated it yesterday," Bob warned, emerging with Sasha beside him. "It's trussed up in a sling right now but it'll be tender."
Red flashed and he felt the heat of it burn. Daryl pushed her lightly so they were standing square in the light. "What happened to you?"
She didn't want to let go and he wasn't going to make her, but Ivy did manage to lean back and peered up at him, blinking owlishly. "Beth got out. Did you see her?"
He cupped her face, gently running his thumb over the bruise marking her cheekbone. "Came in through the back. They never said anything about a girl."
They had been casual enough with their flippancy. If Beth had gotten free, they might have just settled for the catch of one instead and cut their losses. Ivy's hand detached itself long enough to hook around his wrist like a shackle. "You found me again."
It was natural, folding her back into his arms. Daryl held gingerly like she might shatter otherwise, feeling her heartbeat echo his own, long hair brushing against his hand. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
"You're here," Rick said again, voice stronger. He was counting the people crowded in the train car like rosary beads; each life a prayer.
"These are our friends," Maggie told him. "They helped save us, get us all together again."
Daryl looked over at them, the unfamiliar faces looking back. "Yeah, now they're friends of ours."
Rick broke out a hoarse laugh, teeth flashing. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."
"Find out what?" A man asked. He recognized his voice as the one who tried to hold Ivy from rushing him.
"They're fucking with the wrong people."