Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

The Things We Do

I wish somebody would've told me that hour we spent in the music room celebrating Carl's forgotten birthday would soon be considered the good old days. If I knew that would be the last time something even remotely positive happened I would've played another song, or two. My grandmother used to say fate finds a way. Lately she was finding a way to royally fuck us over at every turn. That carefree night in the music room, laughing until our stomach hurt was nothing but a distant memory now. I would do anything to go back, to stretch out the minutes, to keep pretending.

We were forced from the school the very next morning by a herd, and things had been downhill from that point forward. The temperatures that were flirting on the edge of winter suddenly plummeted into the realm only penguins and polar bears found comforting. Most morning's ice covered the Georgia countryside as far as the eye could see, and the near constant cloud cover denied the big orange ball in the sky any chance of providing warmth.

Food was another story with an equally crappy ending. What little game we were able to scrounge up only weeks before evaporated along with the last hints of fall. Sometimes we were lucky enough to rustle up a couple squirrels, maybe an occasional owl or fox if we were having a really big day, but the larger game had long since disappeared. Our situation passed desperate the night Carol dumped out the food pack and four measly cans hit the floor along with everyone's hope. Every night I listened to grumbling stomachs as I kept watch, the knot in my own stomach having nothing to do with hunger as the sounds of my family slowly starving made my eyes water with tears I refused to let fall. We were failing them. They were wasting away before our very eyes and we had no way to stop it.

The constant moving wasn't helping. We hadn't stayed anywhere longer than a day since our time at the school. We were stuck in a perpetual groundhog day that sucked just as bad as the movie. Every time we managed to find a suitable spot to rest for a few hours walkers forced us to vacate almost immediately. The dead were migrating, instinctually gathering together to form larger and larger herds that cut us off at every turn. We were desperate, and it was that desperation that put venturing back to the highway for supplies back on the table. If I learned anything in my life it was decisions born from desperation rarely worked without a fairly sizeable body count. However, I was the lone dissenting vote, and my fears alone were not enough to dissuade the frantic need to find anything to extend our existence another day.

"We can't," I implored Rick as Daryl shifted his weight beside me, biting his thumbnail in silent contemplation.

Rick sighed, glancing behind him at the group who were all waiting in the cars for his decision. I trusted Rick, trusted his ability to keep the group alive and normally when I didn't agree with his choices I handled it like a grown-up and talked about him behind his back. On this point I couldn't stay silent. This was a bad decision of an entirely different variety. Not only was it beyond dangerous, but Rick behavior of late was erratic at best so I was hesitant to believe he truly understood the ramifications should he make the wrong choice. The further Lori progressed in her pregnancy the more he deteriorated. His eyes held hints of madness that made me uncomfortable. Not because he scared me, but because I knew what it meant. I'd seen the same look in my own eyes and it never led anywhere good.

"There's nowhere else to go," he told me. "There's nothing left in the area and we need food, water."

"Then we push west, scavenge through the area." Again, I added silently.

"We'd never make it through the herd."

I shook my head. "We don't know it turned that way. Let me go ahead. I'll see if it's even there and if it is try to find a way through."

"No." Daryl's declaration was severe and immediately, his first vocal contribution to the conversation aside from grunting. I sent him a withering glare that had zero effect if his raised eyebrows were any indication. "Ya ain't goin' off by yurself."