I wake to the sound of birds chirping, the wind moving through the trees, and the faint bustle of life. I stay in place, taking it all in, reminding myself where I am before pushing myself up. My mouth is dry and sticky and my teeth feel rough on the surface, so I dig for my hygiene products.

Armed with my plastic toothbrush and a nearly empty tube of toothpaste, I venture outside. I scrub my teeth until I'm minty fresh, spitting into the nearest foliage, then duck back inside to change into some slightly cleaner clothes. All I've got is jeans and t-shirts, but they'll do. Just in case, I tie a button-up flannel around my waist. With that done, I retrieve my bag of laundry and head out. It's my first real day at camp and I'm going to be a productive member of this group if it kills me.

Everyone's keeping busy. Dale, Glenn, Morales, and another man work on the Challenger, although I'm not sure what they're doing. Shane pulls up in a Jeep, hollering about water, and Andrea and Amy start unloading jugs from the back. Sophia's mother (I still don't know her name) is ironing some clothes near the RV. For a second, I wonder how she managed to get electricity out here, but as I get closer, I realize that it's a wrought-iron piece that you can warm up in a fire. Clever.

I figure she'd be a good person to talk to if I need to do laundry, so I approach her. She glances up when she hears me coming, lip twitching a little at the side in a demure smile.

"Good morning," I greet.

"Morning," she says. "Sleep well?"

After a good cry, I always find I sleep better, so I nod. "Yeah, it was pretty good." She hums a bit and I shift on my feet, adjusting my bursting backpack. "So, um, I was wondering...how does laundry work around here?"

"It's not fun, I'll warn you," she says. "Scrubbing on a washboard. It doesn't beat my old Maytag, that's for sure."

I baulk a little. "Oh, I've...never used one."

"Most of us hadn't, until recently." Her smile grows a little and she glances down at her work. "I'm done here. I'll get Lori to hang up the rest of these, then I can show you how...if you'd like."

"I would love that, thank you," I say. "I'm Hope, by the way. I'm...I don't think we met."

"Carol. It's nice to meet you."

Carol gathers up the ironed clothes and brings them over to where Lori and Rick are talking over a clothesline. Lori smiles and nods as Carol hands over the clothes before she turns around and returns to me.

"This way. I left the washtub at the quarry."

We've only taken a few steps when a piercing scream seems to halt every conversation at once. There's another, then the sound of young voices crying for their parents, and Carol's breath hitches.

"Sophia!" she cries.

"CARL!" I hear Lori shout.

Carol takes off in the direction of the screams and I follow her, heart in my throat, backpack thumping against my lower back as I run. Rick and Lori are ahead of us and a few others from the camp follow.

We rush through a small patch of trees before Jacqui appears, followed closely by Carl and Sophia. Carl runs right into Lori's arms and Carol opens her arms to Sophia. A group of men carrying shovels and other blunt weapons race past us towards where Jacqui directs them.

"Nothing bit you? Nothing scratched you?" Lori asks as her hands move wildly over Carl.

"No, I'm okay," he says, although he doesn't let go of her for even a second.

Carol hushes Sophia, petting her hair, and I leave them to see what the commotion is about. Only a few feet away in a small clearing, now surrounded by men, is a walker and a dead deer. The deer's neck is torn open and arrows stick out of its rump. The walker digs into its flesh with his bare hands, groaning as he eats.

My stomach flips and I take a step back, almost running into Andrea and Amy. They give me matching wide-eyed stares and I shake my head. The walker stops eating, slowly turning around to face the ones interrupting his dinner, teeth and face stained with blood. He (it?) roars.

Rick takes the first blow, smacking it aside with a shovel. As the walker stumbles back, Shane clocks it with the butt of his shotgun and again, it reels. Glenn knocks it to the ground and Morales gets it between the shoulders with a bat. The men surge together, beating the walker into submission until Dale brings his axe down on its neck, severing his head from the rest of his body.

I turn away, hand pressed to my mouth as I swallow back bile.

"That's the first one we've had up here," Dale says. "They never come this far up the mountain."

"They're running out of food in the city, that's what," a thin man in a baseball cap and a loose blue jumpsuit says. I haven't formally met him yet. He was one of the guys working on the Challenger this morning too, I think. Joe? James? Something with a "J."

Shane sighs. Dale stares at the walker in disbelief. I'm about to ask if everything's alright when rustling comes from the woods, leaves crunching underfoot. I keep my mouth shut and the men turn towards it, weapons lifted. A branch snaps. The noise gets closer.

I'm expecting a walker, as are all of us, but a man in a brown sleeveless shirt appears instead. He walks out from around a large boulder, a crossbow held aloft in his hand. He has sandy brown hair, a scruff of beard on his chin, and his clothes and skin are stained with dirt. He stops short when he sees the group, eyebrow lifting, and everyone immediately relaxes. Not a stranger, then.

"Oh, Jesus," Shane mutters.

"Son of a bitch," the man cusses, stepping over a downed log and moving towards the deer. The men scatter away from him and not a single face looks pleased or even comfortable. "That's my deer! Look at it, all gnawed on by this—" He winds up and kicks the walker in the kidney. "—filthy—" Kick. "—disease-bearing—" Kick. "—motherless, poxy bastard!"

I raise an eyebrow. He's got some colourful vocabulary and I'm starting to wonder if this is who I think it is. I move a little closer, trying to get a good look at him. If this is him, my imagination was way...way off.

"Calm down, son. That's not helping," Dale says, patting the air.

"What do you know about it, old man?" he snaps. He's got a bunch of dead squirrels hanging from a strap on his shoulder, a knife on his belt and a red kerchief in his back pocket. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to 'On Golden Pond'?" He turns, sighing again as he starts ripping the arrows out of the deer's body. "I've been tracking this deer for miles. Was gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison. What do you think?" He motions to the destroyed, gaping neck. "Think we can cut around this chewed-up part there?"

"I would not risk that," Shane says, shotgun resting over his shoulders.

Another sigh. "That's a damn shame." He turns, adjusting the string of squirrels, adding, "I got some squirrel. 'Bout a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

He doesn't keep his eyes on any one guy for too long, watching everyone else, constantly alert. He nudges the walker's head with the toe of his boot and its eyes open, teeth clacking.

"Oh, God," Amy says, nose wrinkling.

She and Andrea run off. I take a hesitant step back, lingering, watching the newcomer as he sneers at the walker's head.

He aims his crossbow. "Come on, people. What the hell?" He shoots, the bolt burrowing into the walker's eye, and he steps forward to retrieve it. He gives the men another long look. "It's gotta be the brain. Don't y'all know nothing?"

He brushes past them, towards me, and I startle out of his path. He makes brief eye contact with me and my breath hitches. His eyes are blue, incredibly blue, and stark against his tanned, dirty skin. He moves on and I'm left a little stunned, breathless.

The men hurry past me and I follow out of instinct. I hadn't even noticed that Carol and Lori disappeared with their children. We follow the guy back to camp.

"Merle!" I hear him shouting. He swings his crossbow off his shoulder and sets it down near the laundry station. "MERLE! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel. Let's stew 'em up."

"Daryl," Shane says. "Just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you."

My suspicions confirmed, I feel my heart race a bit as I hurry to catch up with the men, still trying to get a closer look at Daryl. He's younger than Merle, he must be, and so far he hasn't said a single racial slur, which puts him above his brother in my book...for now. I don't want to get ahead of myself and cast judgment just because he's easier on the eyes than I expected.

"About what?" Daryl asks, turning around.

"About Merle," Shane says, walking around Daryl and placing himself between him and the RV, where the other women and children have gathered in the shade. "There was a...there was a problem in Atlanta."

Daryl's eyes sweep over the rest of the group as we form a loose circle around him. He levels Shane with a stare. "He dead?"

"We're not sure."

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl retorts.

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it," Rick cuts in, moving closer to him.

"Who are you?"

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes," Daryl repeats, almost mocking. "You got something you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there," Rick explains, keeping his voice level.

"Hold on," Daryl says, turning away briefly as he wipes his eyes. "Let me process this. You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?!"

"Yeah."

Daryl's mouth twists, breaths picking up, and he lets out a shout as he lunges, throwing the string of squirrels at Rick, who ducks out of the way. Shane tackles Daryl to the side before he can get a swing in. People back up and T-Dog drops his stack of firewood, rushing forward to help.

"Woah, woah, woah!" T-Dog calls as Daryl reaches for his hunting knife. "Watch the knife."

Daryl pulls out the weapon and gets back to his feet, swinging the blade at Rick, but he dodges again. Rick catches his arm, twisting his wrist and forcing Daryl to drop the knife as Shane comes up behind him, locking him in a choke hold with his burly arm around his neck.

"You'd best let me go!" Daryl shouts as he struggles, huffing with exertion.

"Nah, I think it's better if I don't," Shane says.

Shane gets him to the ground and Daryl keeps fighting it. "Choke hold's illegal!"

"You can file a complaint," Shane retorts. "Come on, man. We'll keep this up all day."

Rick kneels in front of them and I glance down at where the squirrels landed, lying in the dirt in a sad heap. I stoop and pick them up, hooking them on my shoulder as Daryl's grunting slowly lessens.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that?" Rick asks. Daryl doesn't answer and he repeats, firmer, "Do you think we can manage that?"

"Hm?" Shane hums, glancing down at Daryl.

After a second and a brief, silent agreement, Shane releases Daryl. Daryl catches his breath as he glares at Shane and Rick stays squatted at his level.

"What I did was not on a whim," he says. "Your brother does not work and play well with others."

"It's not Rick's fault," T-Dog cuts in. "I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" Daryl snaps.

"Well, I dropped it in a drain."

Daryl huffs again, eyes squeezing shut as his shoulders hunch. He pushes himself to his feet, wood chips and dust clinging to his sweaty skin. He whips the dirt from his hands as he passes T-Dog, glaring.

"If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't," he says.

"Maybe this will," T-Dog says, and Daryl stops. "Look, I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock."

"It's gotta count for something," Rick says.

Daryl's jaw clenches again, but it's less angry this time, more genuinely upset. He turns away and again drags his knuckles over his eyes. "Hell with all y'all!" he shouts, swiping the air. His voice shakes, almost breaking when he says, "Just tell me where he is so's I can go get him."

"He'll show you. Isn't that right?" Lori says. She leans against the door to the RV, staring hard at Rick.

Rick acknowledges her, then nods as he rests his hands on his hips. "I'm going back," he says.

Daryl huffs, stomping past Rick and straight towards me. He's already looking at the ground, then brief confusion hits before he looks up at me. I tense up when our eyes lock.

He blinks, then his lip curls a little. "Give me my damn squirrels," he growls. He snatches them from my hand just as I start to give them to him and without another word, he storms off.

For a few seconds, nobody moves, then Rick walks off and others are quick to scatter in search of something else to do. I realize I still have my backpack full of laundry and that my roommate is probably headed back to his tent.

I weigh my options, then decide that life is too short and head off after him.

----------

I hear him before I'm anywhere near the tent: cursing, a few "what the hell's," and all in a rather choked voice. I approach as quietly as possible, because I'd rather not find myself on the other end of his knife.

I get only a few feet away from the tent when he whips the flap open, glaring at me. His face is red, especially around his eyes, and my heart breaks for him a little.

"You followin' me?" he demands. I open my mouth, but he steps out of the tent and looms closer to me. He's only a few inches taller than me and yet, I feel small. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Hope. I'm new," I blurt out. "I was going to wash some clothes and I wondered if you wanted me to wash the ones you're...wearing..." I gesture at him and he glances down at himself, nose wrinkling.

"Wash my clothes?" he repeats. He squints at me.

"Yes," I say. "Um, also I stayed in there last night. It was the only place that had room, and you weren't here, so..." I trail off as he keeps staring at me, then gulp. "So, clothes?"

"Did you clean the damn place?" he demands. "It's all neat and shit." His eyes roam over me, then he notices my backpack. He stomps around me and I jerk a little as he tugs on the zipper. He pulls out a shirt, one of his or Merle's, then holds it in my face. "You stealing my clothes too?"

"Like I said," I say, trying to keep my voice level, but my hands are shaking and the tremors might travel upwards if I'm not careful. "I was just going to do some laundry. I thought maybe you'd want something clean to wear?"

"Huh." He lowers the shirt, then stuffs it back into the pack. "Fine, if you're offerin', but don't touch my stuff again 'less I tell you to."

"Of course. I'm sorry again."

He moves to the tent and steps inside. He gives me one more look over his shoulder. "Give me some privacy, damn."

My cheeks heat up. "Oh, god, I'm so—" He zips the tent shut and I deflate a little. "—rry."

I scuff the ground with my boot, sighing heavily, and I turn my back to the tent while I wait. He rustles about for a minute and then the flap zips open again, just a peek. He throws out his tank top and the pants he was wearing, then zips the door closed again without another word.

"I'll bring them back when I'm done!" I call, but I don't get a response.

I sigh and head back to camp, hoping Carol is still up to teaching me about washboards.

----------

I find Carol again. This time, she's folding towels.

"I hope we don't get interrupted again," I say, keeping my tone light. She hums, nodding, and I adjust my backpack. "Is Sophia okay?"

"Fine," Carol replies. She looks over at the RV, where Sophia sits in the shade with Morales's wife Eliza and her kids. "Just a little spooked." She sets a towel down on a stack and gives it a pat. "If you need one of these, feel free to take one. We don't have showers, but..."

"Thank you."

I glance around, tensing a bit when I see Daryl walking back into camp. He's wearing new clothes now, no doubt the ones I left in the tent that I deemed were clean. He heads right to where he left his crossbow and I catch him giving me a brief look before he goes back to ignoring me. I purse my lips.

Carol notices my gaze. "Did you talk to him?" she asks. I look back at her and she adds, "You disappeared right after he did."

"Oh, yeah, I..." I sigh, cheeks flushing a bit as I rub the back of my neck. "I offered to wash his hunting outfit. I don't know why, I just...wanted to help."

"It was kind of you to ask," Carol says. She folds another towel and adds it to the stack. "None of us have ever offered. Him and Merle liked to keep their distance." She adds, with a sympathetic smile, "Don't feel too bad about it."

"Oh, I...I got them. He gave them to me," I clarify, and her eyes widen a little. My blush deepens and I scramble to change the subject. "Um, so, laundry?"

I wince. Lame.

Carol, bless her, just moves on. "I think a few of the other women will be going down there in a bit. We can all go together. In the meantime, would you like to help me fold a few things?"

I nod and move around to her side. She nudges a basket of clothes towards me and I get to work. The camp is getting busier again. Daryl sits by the firepit cleaning his arrows, brow furrowed in concentration, while Rick, Shane, and the other men discuss the Merle rescue mission. Sometimes their voices are loud enough for me to hear clearly, other times they get so low that I can't make them out. I get the gist.

As far as the mission goes, there are mixed feelings. Shane doesn't like the idea of having four of our men gone, leaving the rest of the camp less protected. Lori, although she was the one to suggest Rick show Daryl where Merle is, seems to have backpedaled and now wants Rick to stay. I'd be hesitant to let my recently resurrected husband out of my sight too, so I don't blame her.

The general consensus is that Merle Dixon isn't worth the trouble.

That is, until Rick mentions that he dropped a bag of guns back in Atlanta and, if they rescue Merle, they can also bring back more weapons and Rick can get a walkie-talkie that he needs to contact someone.

"What do you think?" I ask Carol.

She shakes her head. "It's not my business to say."

"Sure, it is," I insist, but again, she shakes her head. "I don't like the idea of just leaving a man to die like that."

I don't know Merle at all, and the bit I did see of him is that he's a racist asshole, but he's still a person and I want to believe in the good in humanity. Besides, Daryl cares for him a good deal and, in my eyes, if he has value to one person, then it's worth it.

"I don't either, but..." Carol starts, then stops again as she purses her lips. Her hands fumble as she nearly drops a shirt and she takes a quick breath. "I...don't want to think about it. I'm sorry, Hope."

I purse my lips, but nod and leave it be. "It's okay. I'm sorry for pushing it." I stare down at the towel in my hands, then sigh. "I guess I'm still trying to get used to things, you know?"

Carol nods, humming her agreement. We keep folding. The cube van backs up, the back door open with Daryl already perched inside, waiting for T-Dog and Rick to join him. I startle a bit when the horn goes off: one long blast, one short, repeat.

"Come on, let's go!" Daryl shouts.

Rick and T-Dog head over. There aren't any tearful goodbyes, no well wishes, and as Daryl reaches up to close the back of the van, I can't help it. I cup my hands around my mouth.

"Hey!" I shout. Daryl stops, just for a second. "Good luck out there! I hope you bring him back safe!"

Again, all the man does is stare at me, but then he nods once and slides the door shut. I lower my hands from my mouth, heart pounding a bit, and turn back to see Carol staring at me with an emotion I can't place scrawled over her face.

"We could all use a little luck," I say, shrugging.

"Can't disagree with that," she murmurs.