"Hey, wake up."

I stir, blinking awake slowly as the grip of sleep loosens. Daryl stands above me, already dressed, hair still mussed from sleep. I try not to stare but, hey, he's the nicest view I've woken up to in a while.

"You know you talk in your sleep?" he asks.

I groan and resist mashing my face into my pillow. "Oh, no...I'm sorry. If I said anything—"

"Pssh, it was just mumbling. Keep your panties on," he says. "Get up. There's lots of work to do."

He heads out of the tent and I sit up, stretching and sighing. I get dressed, comb my hair, and brush my teeth. I grab the empty can I intended to replace Merle's chew can with and spit the extra toothpaste into it, setting it aside.

Feeling fresh and presentable, I head out and back towards the main part of camp. Andrea is still huddled over Amy's body, unmoved from where we left her last night. Lori, Carol, and Shane stand watch over her. Daryl, Glenn, and T-Dog are hard at work, smashing walker heads and dragging bodies to the bonfire near the RV.

"Hope!" Glenn calls. He jogs up to me, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "There's lots to do. If you can start...destroying some brains, we can take care of the dragging part."

My stomach twists, but I nod. "Sure." Glenn starts to turn, but I stop him. "Wait, Glenn, one thing...I don't have a weapon."

"You...oh. Shoot," Glenn says, eyes wide. "Sure, let's...um...maybe we can get you a pistol and—"

"No guns, please," I say. I raise my hands a little in defense. "I'm...not super comfy with them, but a knife will do."

I'm glad Glenn doesn't push it, although he seems a little shocked. "Sure, yeah, I can figure that out. Hold tight."

He heads off and I linger, patting my thighs. Daryl passes me with a pickaxe in hand, stopping when he sees me.

"We could use help," he says, a slight bite in his tone.

"Glenn's trying to find me a knife," I explain. "I don't have a weapon."

"You could'a said something sooner," he says. He reaches into his belt, pulling out a knife and flipping it around so that the handle faces me with the blade between his fingers. "Here, use this."

It's a simple hunting knife, sturdy, and I thank him again as I take it. He nods once before getting back to work. I approach my first body, grimacing as I stare at their half-eaten face. I kneel, aiming the knife at the centre of their forehead, and close my eyes as I push it in.

I pull it out, whisper an apology and a small prayer, then move on. I didn't puke, so that's a win. I do the next, then the next, and the next, and it gets a little easier with each one, but in the same way that handling your period gets easier. You're never excited about it but at least you know what to do.

Glenn returns, catching up to me. "Hey, so, it looks like there isn't..." He trails off, noting the blade in my hand. "Oh, you found one?"

"It's Daryl's. We can find another one later, right?"

"Right. Good."

He heads off again. Daryl comes up to me as I finish up another head, squatting by the ankles.

"Here, grab it under the shoulders."

We haul it to the fire and toss it in. Daryl shoulders his pickaxe as we both turn back to the main firepit. The discussion has expanded. Rick and Dale are there now, all their words centered around how to handle Andrea and her delicate situation.

"I'll tell her how it is," Rick says.

Daryl and I slow to a stop as we watch Rick approach Andrea. He starts to squat by her when she pulls a gun on him. Rick backs away, nodding slowly, and turns back.

"Y'all can't be serious," Daryl says as Rick returns. "Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick asks.

Daryl takes a few steps closer to him. "Take the shot." He aims his fingers at his head. "Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."

"No," Lori says. She settles down on the car-seat bench by the pit. "For God's sake, let her be."

Daryl scoffs and walks off. I linger, looking at Andrea, and I purse my lips. I set my knife down on the ground before I approach, ignoring Rick's soft call of my name as I go. I move to Amy's head and sit down. Andrea doesn't look at me.

"Do you believe in God?" I murmur.

Andrea doesn't say anything. I wait. I have more than enough time now. I hear commotion behind me, Glenn shouting, but I refuse to react, to take my attention away from her.

After a second, she nods. "I try to."

"Would you like me to say a few words for her? I know she's already in heaven, but...more like a sending-off. Only if you'd like."

Again, only a tiny nod. I close my eyes, fold my hands, and take a long breath.

"Dear Lord, I come before you today in honour of Amy. Thank you for the time we got with her and for the joy she brought us. As you welcome her home, I pray that you will remember those she has left behind and comfort them in their time of grief." I pause, searching for more, but I already feel kind of awkward. It's been so long since I've prayed like this. "God help us all, amen."

I look at Andrea. She isn't looking at me, only her sister, and I reach out slowly to caress Amy's golden hair. She's so pale, her blood so bright against her skin, but her face is almost peaceful, as if she's only asleep.

"Rest in peace, Amy," I murmur.

I get up and walk back to the others, taking another breath. I get a few questioning looks, eyebrows lifted, and I shrug weakly.

"It's up to her to do the rest."

Nobody reacts in any noticeable way, so I scoop up my knife and get back to work. I keep dragging bodies, making sure to put our people in the "bury" pile and walkers in the "burn" pile, as directed by Glenn. Jim comes out to help and starts hauling bodies.

Time goes by slowly.

I'm bringing another body to the burn pile when Jacqui suddenly backs away from Jim, eyes wide.

"A walker got him! A walker bit Jim!" she shouts. Her voice is shaky but loud enough that every head turns to her.

Jim pants a little as people surround him. "I'm okay," he insists, breathless. "I'm okay."

"Show it to us," Daryl demands. He readies his pickaxe and repeats it. "Show it to us!"

Jim lunges for a shovel and panic rises.

"Easy, Jim," Shane warns.

"Grab him!"

"Jim, put it down. Put it down!"

T-Dog gets behind him and hooks his arms, forcing Jim to drop the shovel, and Daryl rushes forward. He pulls up Jim's shirt and, sure enough, reveals a large, bloody set of human teeth marks on his ribs. I gasp at the sight and back up. Daryl and T-Dog get away from him as fast as they can as Jim keeps muttering.

"I'm okay," he whimpers. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

----------

Once Jim is seated by the RV, the rest of us convene for an impromptu meeting.

"I say we put a pickaxe in his head," Daryl says, "and the dead girl's and be done with it."

"Is that what you'd want if it were you?" Shane asks.

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it," he retorts.

"I hate to say it—I never thought I would—but maybe Daryl's right," Dale says.

"Jim's not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog," Rick says.

"I'm not suggesting—"

"He's sick. A sick man," Rick continues as Lori reaches for his arm, trying to hush him. "We start down that road, where do we draw the line?"

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be," Daryl says.

"What if we can get him help?" Rick suggests. "I heard the C.D.C. was working on a cure."

"I heard that too. Heard a lot of things before the world went to hell," Shane says.

"What if the C.D.C. is still up and running?"

"Man, that is a stretch right there."

"Why? If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C. at all costs, wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection—"

"Okay, Rick, you want those things, alright?" Shane interrupts. "I do too, okay? Now if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning."

"That's 100 miles in the opposite direction," Lori says.

"That is right, but it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there."

"The military were on the front lines of this thing. They got overrun. We've all seen that," Rick retorts. "The C.D.C. is our best choice and Jim's only chance."

I'm biased, but I'd much prefer the C.D.C. over Fort Benning. I'd rather find a cure than stock up on ammo, but I know I'm in the minority in that regard.

"You go looking for aspirin, do what you need to do," Daryl says as he starts to back up, right towards where Jim is. He readies his pickaxe. "Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn probl—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Rick yells, aiming a gun at Daryl's head. Daryl freezes, axe still held aloft. "We don't kill the living."

Daryl turns, staring down the barrel, and Shane puts himself between Daryl and Jim.

"That's funny," Daryl says, "coming from a man who just put a gun to my head."

"We may disagree on some things, not on this," Shane says. "You put it down. Go on."

Daryl throws down the pickaxe with a grunt and storms off. I go to retrieve the tool, trying to hold it in one hand with Daryl's knife still in my other. I follow after him.

I find him easily. He didn't go far. He stops pacing when he sees me coming, brow furrowing slightly.

"I'll give this back if you promise not to attack anyone again," I say lightly.

He scoffs. "Yeah, yeah, sure."

I start to smile a little, unable to help it. "Promise?"

He glares at me for a second, coming closer. He grips the pickaxe, not yet pulling it from my grip, his hand over mine. "You think you're real cute, huh?"

My smile falls, eyes wide. "Cute?"

In the brief moment of surprise, he easily slips the axe from me, giving me a once over that I feel in more than one place. "I said what I said."

I have no idea what's going on but I'm not sure I want it to stop. Daryl hoists the pickaxe and destroys another brain, then moves on to the next. I look down at the body and my stomach drops to my feet when I recognize it: Ed. I hear soft footsteps approaching and Carol appears, staring down at his body as she gets closer.

"I'll do it," she says thickly. "He's my husband."

Daryl hands her the axe and steps back. I mimic him. Carol takes a second, lifting the axe as her lip trembles. She brings it down with a choked sob, his head splitting beneath the blow. I look away, grimacing, and she does it again, crying harder. Each swing comes faster.

Daryl and I stand back and let her do what she needs to do. She stops after five swings, gasping for breath before she straightens up, dragging her arm beneath her nose. She hands the pickaxe back to Daryl, nods to me, and hurries back to camp.

We share a look and he shrugs. We've only gotten two more bodies done when a gunshot echoes through camp and somehow, I know that Amy has also been put to rest.

----------

I help Daryl load bodies into the back of an old blue truck. The sun has climbed high into the sky and I'm sweating a ton. I must stink to high heaven and I never want to touch a corpse again.

We load the last body and Daryl heads to the driver's side. The others are gathering, ready to walk up the hill, and I take a few hesitant steps to join them.

"You want a ride?" Daryl asks.

"Yes, please," I say, hurrying to get into the passenger seat.

We drive up to the hill where Jim was digging earlier, the rest of the group following behind. Shane and Rick are already up there, digging extra graves, and Daryl parks the truck before shutting off the ignition. We climb out and head towards the former policemen.

"I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies," Daryl says as we walk. "It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"

"At first," Shane says.

"The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow him along?" Daryl asks. No response. "These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are."

"There are no rules," Rick says.

"Well, that's a problem," Lori pipes up. She stands a few feet away, the other survivors behind her, and she purses her lips as she stares at her husband. "We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do."

No one argues against her. We start our makeshift funeral, bringing the bodies to the graves and lowering them inside. Andrea drags Amy's body herself, refusing help from Dale or anyone else who offers, crying the whole time. We stand in silence.

We cover up the graves, we have a moment of silence, and everyone starts making their way down the hill. I wait, pausing to make one more prayer for the deceased. I'm no priest, never will and never want to be, but it feels like the right thing to do.

When I turn to start my long trek down the hill, Daryl's truck is still sitting there. I walk up to it and he's sitting in the driver's seat, watching me approach through the sideview mirror. He jerks his thumb to the side and I take the hint, returning to the passenger seat.

"What were you doing?" he asks as he turns the key, kicking the engine to life.

"Just trying to do what's right."

"Hm."

We ride the rest of the way in silence. He parks the truck in its spot and I climb out, closing the door behind me. With the dead cleaned up, I'm finding myself without an activity to keep myself occupied again. I might read some more, although my book isn't all that exciting.

I start towards the tent only to realize that Daryl's following me. I stop, turning to him as he comes to my side.

"You need something?" I ask. "I left your knife in the truck, I think."

"That's fine. I'm just going back to the tent," he says. "You?"

"Same." I pause, briefly wetting my lips. "I can do something else, though, if you need your alone time?"

"It's a free country."

He keeps walking and I can't help but smile to myself as I watch him leave. I've heard that before.

Daryl's already lying down when I get into the tent. He stares at the ceiling while he plays with an arrow, running his fingertips along the shaft and point. I settle in and search for my book.

"Are you from Minnesota or something?" he asks. I glance up at him and he's watching my every move. "Your voice is northern."

"Canadian," I clarify, and his eyebrows lift. I smirk a little. "What? Never met a Canadian?"

"Never," he confirms. "Guess that explains all the sorry's."

"I do apologize a lot. Sorry."

I wince. That has to be the most Canadian thing ever, apologizing for apologizing. He huffs and there's the tiniest trace of a curve to his mouth, almost a smile. It softens him a little and, again, I get all warm.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees and my chin on my hand. "What about you? Born and raised Georgian?"

"Pretty much," he says. He switches the topic back to me with startling ease. "How'd you get down here?"

"If you'd been here on my first night, you could've heard the whole epic tale," I say. He rolls his eyes a bit and I decide to humour him. "Long story short? I had a quarter-life crisis and decided to shoot for the stars. Ended up getting stuck here."

"That's some shit luck."

"Yeah. L.A was not what I expected."

"Pssh, I could'a warned you about that. They're a bunch of granola-munching hippies."

"Well, where were you, then? I could've used the advice."

"Probably drunk off my ass in a ditch somewhere."

I laugh. His expression doesn't change except for that barely-there twinge again as he keeps playing with his arrow.

I shift again, leaning back on my palms. "Y'know, you're not what I expected, Daryl."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You expected something?"

"Well, yeah. I was staying in your tent, I knew you were Merle's brother, but nothing else. Got the vibe from others that you liked to be left alone."

"They ain't wrong."

I bite my lip for a second. "I can leave, really. I don't want to bother you."

"I'd be an ass if I kicked you out," he insists. "Do what you want."

"Sounds like a trap," I muse. "What if I said I liked talking to you and decided to stick around and keep bugging you?"

"Then I'd question your taste in people."

"My mom did always tell me that my taste in men was questionable."

"I'm not touchin' that topic." He wags the arrow at me. "You're on thin ice, girl."

I can't help but laugh and he snorts a bit as he drops the arrow to the floor. I sit up again, taking my book in hand before getting to my feet.

"I'll give you your alone time," I say. "If you miss me too much, you know where to find me."

He snorts at me again and I have to hide a smile as I leave the tent. I've gotten about ten feet away when I stop short and truly think about the conversation I just had.

I was flirting, wasn't I? I've always had this problem where I think I'm just being friendly, which involves light teasing, and then I would later be told that my actions were taken in a different way. I've never been self-aware enough to know when I've crossed the line.

I groan a little and press my hand to my face. God must be laughing at me, throwing an attractive man at me like that. He knows I never know what to do when I'm inexplicably attracted to people. It's why I never had much luck with relationships.

I shake my head, rattling the thoughts away. If Daryl doesn't bring it up, then I'm golden, but if he does, then hopefully he's man enough to tell me if I made him uncomfortable. Maybe I'll be lucky enough for him to...reciprocate?

A girl can dream, right?

I'm thinking too much about this. I keep moving, hoping that my book will distract me from what a disaster of a human being I am.