FALLING APART daryl dixon

THIRTY FOUR | WHAT IF?

⸻

Their time on the road had not been kind.

Eight months without shelter. No safe place. No sanctuary.

In this world, eight months felt like a decade—like a lifetime.

That's how long Rick and his group had been wandering, always searching for something solid to hold on to. A new home. A place to rest. A place for Lori to give birth.

After the fall of the farm, and after Shane Walsh's death, twenty-four-year-old Alycia Grimes had stopped believing in peace. She saw only darkness ahead—endless, consuming. This world was cruel, unforgiving, soaked in blood with more always waiting to be spilled.

She often wondered whose blood would stain her hands next.

She dreamed of Shane. He haunted her. The scar across her hand was a permanent reminder—proof that Shane would always live inside a part of her, no matter how hard she tried to forget.

And the worry never left her. It clung to her like a shadow.

She worried about her mom. About Carl. About her friends. Her family. Daryl.

She worried about losing them all.

"All infected," Rick had said.

It didn't matter how you died—if you died, you came back. They all did.

She couldn't stop thinking about the baby growing inside Lori's belly. The "what ifs" wouldn't let her go.

What if the baby didn't make it?

What if Lori didn't?

Her mother's bump had grown quickly, the pregnancy progressing faster than they could keep up. Giving birth in a car, or in a tent out in the woods, wasn't something they could risk. Not for Lori. Not for the baby.

And yet, what if they had no choice?

The group was worn thin—exhausted, starving, emotionally raw. Losing the farm had hurt, and losing Shane and Andrea had nearly broken them. But it had also bound them together tighter, stuck in the same car for days at a time, relying on each other for survival.

Still, not everyone was on good terms.

Rick and Lori, especially, were still fractured. The death of Shane had driven a wedge between them that time hadn't healed.

Rick kicked open the door of the abandoned house and stormed inside. He silenced the first walker with a single shot, and T-Dog followed quickly, using a fire pick to finish the second.

Alycia moved swiftly up the stairs, blade in hand, T-Dog at her side. Daryl followed behind, his eyes locked on her as she moved. Watching her in action did something to him—it stirred something primal. She rolled her eyes when she caught him staring, scoffing under her breath.

T-Dog didn't comment, too focused on clearing the house. Though Daryl and Alycia noticed the owl he'd taken down with his crossbow. Not much, but it might be dinner.

— Clear up here — She called down to the others.

By the time they descended, Rick was already bringing the others inside. Each person dragged themselves across the threshold, weary and burdened with bags.

Daryl sat beside Alycia in the living room, close but not obvious. They weren't the affectionate type in front of others. It wasn't their thing. Aside from maybe Glenn or Maggie, no one really knew what they were. Her parents certainly didn't.

Alycia leaned back against the wall and let her eyes close—just for a moment—until she heard a can open. She glanced over and saw Carl pulling out a can of dog food, spoon in hand.