The tracks led east.
Daryl stayed in front, moving at a steady pace with his crossbow resting against his shoulder. Every few minutes he'd stop long enough to study the ground before continuing.
I was starting to notice the things he noticed.
A broken branch.
Fresh mud pressed into a boot print.
A wrapper caught on a bush.
Small things.
Things I would've walked right past a few weeks ago.
"How old?" I asked, pointing to the tracks.
He crouched, brushing his fingers lightly across the dirt.
"Couple days."
"So we're behind."
"Yeah."
"You think they're ours?"
He stood, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
"I hope so."
That was as close as Daryl got to optimism.
We kept walking.
---
By late afternoon, the woods began to thin.
Ahead of us was a narrow road lined with abandoned cars.
Most had already been picked clean.
Doors hung open.
Windows were shattered.
A pickup truck sat half in a ditch with vines climbing over the hood.
Daryl raised a fist.
I stopped.
He listened.
Nothing.
After another few seconds he stepped onto the road.
"Help me."
We searched every vehicle.
The first five had nothing.
The sixth had a blanket.
The seventh had an unopened bottle of aspirin tucked inside the glove compartment.
"Finally," I muttered.
Daryl glanced over.
"You find gold?"
"Better."
I held up the bottle.
His eyebrows lifted.
"We're keepin' that."
"You think?"
He almost smiled.
The last SUV had something else.
A road atlas.
Most of the pages were still intact.
I brushed the dust off the cover.
"This might actually help."
Daryl looked over my shoulder.
He flipped through several pages.
His finger stopped on Georgia.
"The prison's here."
I nodded.
He traced a line north.
"If folks kept movin'..."
YOU ARE READING
A Broken World
FanfictionDaryl Dixon x Reader DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD OR ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN MY CHARACTERS AND SOME OF THE PLOT AND DIALOUG I MAKE UP! They did everything together. One day they get into a fight where words are said. Words that will...
