Next Chapter! :) We will have a lot of Daryl Dixon in this one.

Have fun reading, and as always let me know your thoughts in the comments :)

Lots of love.

Haunting Dreams

"I kept going not because I wanted to. Trust me, all of me wanted to stop. I kept going because I deserved to know what not giving up on myself felt like."

"Found somethin'?" Daryl's sudden question pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?" I looked at him, perplexed.

He pointed at the lifeless body by my feet.

"Uh, not much," I stuttered as soon as I regained my composure, "some ammo, a pocketknife," I tossed him a full blister of painkillers, "and wonder pills."

A quick roll of his eyes followed before he tossed one of the pills in his mouth, swallowing it right away. I couldn't blame him. If he felt the way his face looked, he'd need more than a few lousy painkillers.

After taking a big gulp of water, he looked at the sun that was slowly disappearing behind the trees, bathing the forest in an orange light. Despite our near-death experience and his miserable physical condition, he was back in focus, concentrating on the most important thing. Survival.

"It's gettin' dark," he noted while stuffing the medication into his backpack.

It wouldn't be long before night would fall upon us and cast its dark veil. Not very appealing if you asked me. I hated nights, it was the part of the day my mind wandered to places that frightened me. Night is the mother of thoughts, after all.

Swinging his crossbow over his shoulder, Daryl gave me a prompting look. "Ya wanna put down roots here?"

In quick moves, I gathered my things. "Eh, no."

For a man who had recently been beaten out of his mind, Daryl had a brisk pace that made it hard for me to keep up.

"Where are we going?" I wanted to know, because I couldn't shake the feeling that the answer wasn't going to be 'the camp'.

"For now...outta here," his voice had regained its familiar neutrality. "Place could be overrun with biters any second."

His conclusion was logical. If the screaming hadn't attracted these things, the gunshots would certainly have. Freaks could be swarming around at any moment. And if it wasn't the undead, we could have been surprised by these guys' backup. A possibility that was quite likely given my discovery of the gang symbol. But I kept that to myself.

"Now what?" All my concentration was on keeping up with his pace and not tripping over my own feet. I was still feeling pretty dizzy from that asshole's slap in my face.

"Know a place. Not far from'ere."

Even if spending a night in the woods with the grumpy hillbilly didn't make me jump for joy, it was still the most rational decision. Walking through the woods for hours in the dark, with no visibility and in our condition, would mean certain death. So there was no real choice.

But Daryl's meaning of 'not far from here' and mine were certainly massively different. We had been walking for quite some time and still nothing screamed 'safe place for the night'. I could feel the muscles in my thighs burning, my feet aching, and don't get me started on my face. The hunter didn't seem to have any problems with his physical condition, hadn't said a word since we started our long walk. Therefore, I wouldn't complain either.

No weakness, Kat.

Just when I had given up hope of finding shelter, an abandoned wooden cabin appeared among the trees. It was almost hidden in the middle of the wild, overgrown nature. There were several holes in the roof and most of the windows were no longer intact. Everything about this place screamed 'horror movie', but I guess the same could be said for everything that was going on around us.

The yellow paint was peeling from the wooden facade in many places, and dense rose bushes were growing in front of the small porch, which we climbed slowly and carefully. Whoever had lived here seemed to have a weakness for gardening. And apparently for isolation as well.

With my gun raised, I followed Daryl into the cabin.

"Clear," he called after checking the inside for uninvited guests and walkers.

An old sofa and a matching armchair stood in the middle of the tiny living room, which was also the only habitable room in the house. I added minimalism to the owner's preferences.

"Guess I can forget about a hot shower," I joked, trying to lighten the mood as soon as I saw the barricaded staircase that had obviously led to the second floor in a previous life.

Although the idea of washing the mixture of dirt and other people's blood from my skin sounded wonderful, my disappointment was contained. If the end of the world had taught me anything, it was not to get your hopes up. Anticipate everything, except nothing. That way you won't get disappointed.

Ignoring my statement, Daryl took the bottle of water from his pack.

"Sit down."

"Why?" Skepticism must have been written all over my face.

"Just do it."

Confusion didn't begin to describe what I was feeling the moment I sat down on the petrol-colored cushion.

"Gimme the rag," he continued ordering me around.

Reluctantly, I took the rag he had given me earlier from the back pocket of my cargo pants and handed it to him.

Grumbling, he dripped some of the precious water on it before moving closer to me. Carefully, he brought his hand to my face. And although I knew there was no serious danger coming from him, I instinctively backed away.

"It's okay, you don't have to do that," I blurted out shamefully, embarrassed by my ridiculous behavior. It made me look weak and scared, but I didn't want to be either of those things. Because that would mean losing control of myself and my emotions, and that couldn't happen under any circumstances.

"Stay still." His facial features and voice seemed a little softer when he made another attempt. I could tell that this gesture was way out of his comfort zone.

I felt the same way.

His hand was much softer than I had expected, making my skin tingle under his touch. While Daryl performed his self-imposed duty with the utmost precision, it was my difficult task to avoid eye contact whenever possible.

An awkward silence reigned inside the cabin, threatening to kill me at any moment. I allowed myself a quick glance at the man who was carefully cleaning my face of the remnants of a terrible day, and whose features suddenly no longer showed the hardened personality he usually embodied. Daryl seemed to be the born definition of 'hard shell, soft core'. To the extent that I could judge that after less than twenty-four hours in his presence.

"Stop starin'," he suddenly scolded, still determined to finish his work.

I tried to hide the fact that he had caught me red-handed. But it wasn't that easy. Daryl had proved something today. And he didn't even seem to realize the importance of what he'd done for me. Or maybe he just didn't care.

"Am I making you nervous?" I faked a confident smile. God, if he only knew how nervous he was making me. Undeterred by his bad mood, which got worse the more I opened my mouth, I continued to tease him. "It's okay, this is the effect I have on people. Nothing to be ashamed of."

It almost felt like I was warming up to this person, something I definitely couldn't let happen. Don't trust these people, Kat. Those damn voices won't leave me alone. They crept back into my thoughts every time I tried to open up. Even if it was just a little bit.

"Stop", he said without any emotion.

I hadn't been able to get the slightest twitch out of him. He was a tough audience. Unfortunately for him, I had a particular weakness for tough challenges. However, taking it too far at that point was not a wise decision, so I kept my mouth shut and let the process take its course in silence.

I examined his eye, which had now taken on an unhealthy color and whose swelling would certainly take a few days, if not a few weeks, to completely disappear. It was inexplicable to me that he had taken the beating in my place. There was no reason for him to protect me. At least I hadn't come up with one.

Still, it was a massive act that showed he was a reliable person, someone who would have your back no matter what. And that impressed me. Even though he was a dick with a lousy attitude.

"Why didn't you tell them about me?"

My question hung like a thick cloud over our heads. Especially Daryl seemed uncomfortable with my curiosity.

"We barely know each other, and you obviously don't like me... nor trust me," I continued my argument, not knowing what exactly I was hoping for.

"Same goes for ya...could've gone," he countered.

Touché. That point went to Daryl.

"Fair enough," I mused, pondering on possible motives for my decision. "I think leaving one of my brother's comrades to certain death would have made our family reunion extremely complicated."

Even more complicated than it already was, I quietly added in my mind. Was that the only reason? Probably not. But I didn't want to admit that to myself at the time.

Daryl nodded as he tossed the rag onto the sofa pushing himself off with his hands. My fingers fumbled over my face, glad to be rid of the evidence of recent events.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, hoping he was smart enough to read the 'thanks' between the lines.

"See it as compensation." To top it off, he gave me one of the miracle pills. "We're square?"

It turned out that I wasn't the only one who needed to work on her way of saying thank you. We both had a long way to go.

"We're square."

A warm light gradually filled the living room, heralding the last rays of sunlight of the day. It was only a matter of time before they disappeared behind the trees.

"I'll take the first watch." Daryl's tone left no room for protest, although I wasn't going to object anyway.

He checked the admittedly rusty padlock on the back door one last time before slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and fishing a cigarette from his pocket. It was stuck between his lips as he took one last look over his shoulder.

"Right outside."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled a short reply as I tried to make myself comfortable on the old sofa that could hardly be longer than 5.2 feet. I pulled my knees up and turned onto my side facing the backrest. My body was exhausted, and my eyes were far too sleepy to stay open for another second. But the thought of closing them made me sweat. With the click of the lock, an overwhelming silence fell over the living room, making me shiver. I curled up on the velvet pillow like a frightened child, trying not to shed a tear. It was hard to keep up the masquerade when no one was around to see your show. This made it all the more difficult for me to escape my problems. Without the distraction, the voices grew louder and louder until they could no longer be ignored and began to pound wildly against my skull, shaking my entire world of experiences and emotions. Like a sinking ship, I was drifting above the sea, on the verge of being swept into the depths by the next big wave.

Today's events had caused new wounds and reopened old, almost scarred ones.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night, while I stared almost paralyzed against the back of the couch. With every minute that passed, it became harder and harder to keep my eyes open, even though I fought against it with all my strength. Dreams followed sleep. And in my case, they wouldn't be good ones.

⚚

Nick handed Kat one of the flashlights, his dark eyes fixed on her face, demanding her utmost vigilance.

"Don't screw it up like last time, got it?"

Motionless with fear, Kat nodded wordlessly before taking the lamp.

"All right, Kat. Upstairs. Kyle and I will clear down here."

Again, only a silent nod on her part, which made Nick very displeased.

"What's the matter? Have you swallowed your tongue?"

Shaking her head, Kat looked down.

"No," she mumbled, intimidated.

Nick raised his hand, a gesture that made Kat's body shake. She braced herself for a blow, closed her eyes and waited. But he only patted her cheek briefly, a mocking grin playing around his lips as he noticed her fearful reaction.

"Don't worry. Not today." He pointed to the stairs, making a waving hand gesture and signaling her to get to work.

"Only the most important things-"

"Ammo, medicine, food," Kat completed his mantra for their scavenging trips.

"In that order, sweetheart." He winked at her before turning on his heel and leaving her alone at the base of the stairs.

Kat had had enough. She obeyed him like a good lapdog, doing what he asked, when he asked. She was always on call, ready to be used by him at any time. Her dependence made her sick, as did his sadistic streak and the way he ran the camp. Not to mention his intimidating presence. But she needed him, especially the resources and specialists under his command.

A few weeks earlier, her father had walked into a bear trap, nearly shattering his foot leaving him unable to walk. A certain death sentence for both, but especially for her father, whom she didn't want to leave behind. Despite his vehement protests. As fate would have it, Nick had found them. At that time, her father's condition was extremely bad. The infection resulting from the injury had weakened him. And although Kat felt the heavy consequences of her decision every day, the camp had been a lifesaver for her father and his foot. The medical care, security, and regular meals seemed like a huge benefit at first. Kat should have known that there was a catch to Nick's initial selflessness. Everything in life had a price in the end, and in this world, you paid it twice and three times over. She had experienced this in a very painful way.

At first it was just small favors, here and there Kat would help out with camp work, kitchen duty or inventory in the warehouse. But at some point, Nick became demanding, asking for her fighting strength in looting abandoned places and later robbing helpless groups. The pleading voices of men, women, and children had long haunted her dreams. They still did. Although Kat had never harmed these innocent people, she felt that standing by and doing nothing was as bad as staining her own hands with blood. A few days ago, on a routine supply run, her group had come across a young couple carrying nothing more than a rifle and a few cans of food. The sight of their frightened faces as they realized the hopelessness of their situation had done the rest for Kat. She had lowered her weapon because she simply didn't want to and couldn't do it anymore. The guilt she had taken on was already too much. A decision that had cost her dearly. Nick had brought her into his office that night to remind Kat of her place in the food chain. She was sure that a part of her had died that night, in that room.

The silence of the night enveloped Kat, the light wind whistling through the floorboards making her shiver and sending goosebumps down her bare arms as she tried to shake off the horrible memories. With shaky fingers, she flicked on the flashlight and placed her weapon directly above the hand that lit her the way. Pressing her back against the wall, she slowly climbed the stairs, the wood creaking with every step she took, while her weapon and the beam of light were always pointed upwards. Kat was ready for anything, her body tensed to the tips of her fingers as she reached the top floor and began checking room by room for freaks. Quickly, effectively, and without taking any chances, she entered the first room of the long corridor.

Nothing.

Kat held her breath at the next one. Its door was adorned with a small wooden sign, the edges decorated with cute monkeys, elephants, and a giraffe. She murmured the name of the boy who must have lived here. "Caleb."

Her fingers ran over the engraved letters, a foolish attempt to buy time, for Kat had no intention of entering this child's room.

She had a foreboding and yet no choice.

She pushed the door carefully with her foot. The hinges squeaked, acting as an alarm system for anyone behind it. Kat's pistol barrel went first, stuck in the small gap that widened as she pushed the door further open. Straightening her shoulders, she gave the final push.

A sigh of relief left her mouth when no one was in sight. Lowering her weapon, Kat entered the room, its interior surprisingly brightly lit by the moonlight. It was a small square room with a window on the front. To her right was a bookshelf and a small changing table.

"Someone was in a hurry," she realized.

The chaos was unmistakable. Drawers ripped open and the carpet littered with clothes and books were clear signs of a hasty departure. Kat let her gaze wander around, taking in the baby blue walls that someone had lovingly decorated with a grazing herd of sheep, before her eyes remained glued to the oak crib. Panic gripped Kat's body as soon as she noticed the blood splatter on the wall directly above the crib. Ignoring her body's own warning system, she dared to take a step forward. The once white, frilly bedclothes were drenched in deep red. Kat felt the nausea rise, she was on the verge of tears. Inevitably she thought of the day of the outbreak. Many people had tried to escape the end of the world, and this little family was just another example of the hopeless horror that filled her new life on a daily basis. Her flashlight scanned the crib. She discovered a tiny baby sock soaked in blood and human remains at the foot of the bed confirming her worst suspicions. Kat staggered backwards and sank to the floor, the contents of her stomach already on their way up. She had to get out of here. Immediately.

She took long strides out of the nursery, hoping to get rid of the images associated with it. Kat headed for the last room in the corridor but didn't bother to check the small bathroom behind the door for possible dangers. Dizziness and nausea plagued the young woman as she gripped the sink with both hands. So tightly that her knuckles turned white. Kat hated it. The stories told by these houses showed the mercilessness of the world with a harshness that sucked all the air out of her.

How many people were still fighting this merciless battle? A question that had often crossed her mind as she wandered the streets of a deserted residential area without meeting a soul.

Kat inhaled and exhaled deeply. She repeated this process several times until her pulse returned to normal. The nausea was gone, but not the terrible feeling that had settled deep in the pit of her stomach. Raising her head, Kat looked into the round mirror, barely recognizing the woman in it. Her mother used to say that mirrors are like paths to the past and the future. They let us see what we are, remind us what we were, and anticipate what we will be.

But Kat could only see the blue eye, which reminded her that she was nobody. Just a shadow of herself. Replaceable, unimportant, and worthless.

⚚

I awoke in a cold sweat. My breathing faltered as I pulled my knees up and rested my right arm on them. My index finger and thumb massaged my nostrils, trying to calm my wildly beating heart.

You're safe, I told myself. At least as safe as one could be in a world full of human-eating undead.

"Nightmare?" Daryl's familiar voice echoed from the front of the room.

I had stopped dreaming long ago. Instead, I went through an endless loop of horrible memories, unable to escape them.

"Sort of."

I had never been a believer, so forgiveness and redemption were not words in my vocabulary. And yet I had often wondered how long I would be condemned to relive all those terrible events over and over again. Normal nights were a rarity.

It was like the personal punishment of a God whose existence I had doubted my whole life.

"Ya mumbled", said the taciturn redneck.

I didn't comment further on his statement as I got up to shake my tired limbs awake. Lack of sleep had undoubtedly sapped my reserves.

"I'll take the next shift," I announced, completely ignoring my body's signals.

"Nah, 'am good," he mumbled with a cigarette between his lips.

The fact that Daryl didn't take the hint made things much more difficult.

"You haven't slept yet."

His answer was just a shrug.

"Daryl," I took a step toward him, "that wasn't a question.

The tip of his cigarette glowed as he took a big drag. I couldn't make out the expression on his face due to the darkness, but I was sure it had to be one of pure skepticism. I couldn't blame him, though. I've been definitely acting suspiciously.

Without being asked, I let myself slide to the floor next to him against the wall. Sleeping was no longer an option anyway, neither for me nor for Daryl it seemed.

"Can I?" I asked, looking at the pack of Marlboros in his hands.

If he was surprised by my question, he didn't show it. Instead, he silently handed me a cigarette and a box of matches. Grateful for his detached way of handling this request, I brought it to my mouth. With a strange familiarity that surprised me given my long abstinence, I lit the cigarette and took a big drag. The smoke immediately filled my lungs while the nicotine flooded my body, a sensation I had almost forgotten. It was bizarre to smoke again after all these years. The taste was different from what I remembered, much more intense and less satisfying than before.

"Wouldn't have taken ya for a smoker."

I probably wouldn't have called myself one either.

I used to keep a box in my kitchen drawer. At first it was just for bad days. Stress at work. Fights with Dad. Fights with Alex. Mom's death. But the days when I'd reached for the emergency box had become more frequent, until I didn't even bother to hide it. After a few months of occasional smoking, I'd finally quit completely. I didn't know exactly why. It was probably a mixture of my father's reproaches and my brother's judgmental looks. But our father was dead and Alex wasn't here, so there was no one whose reproachful looks I had to endure.

Leaning my head against the wall, I let out a sigh.

"I'm full of surprises."

Bright moonlight fell through the window, casting a glowing streak across Daryl's face. Under the cover of darkness, I allowed myself a closer look at the enigmatic man who had selflessly stuck his neck out for me a few hours ago. A fact that raised more questions about him than it answered. Rarely in my life had I met a man who wasn't an open book to me. The fact that I found him so difficult to read gnawed at me. More than I wanted to admit.

We smoked our cigarettes in silence, listening to the nocturnal sounds of the forest. The chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves and the occasional hooting of an owl filled the dark cabin. Grateful for the peaceful background noise, I leaned back, the inner tension still present in me. The feeling of constantly being on the run was no longer foreign. It had become a part of me. Which is why I had resigned myself to never get rid of it completely. After all this time, you learned to live with it, whether you wanted to or not.

Daryl's steady breathing, coupled with the stillness of the night that enveloped us like a warm blanket, made my eyelids heavier by the minute. My body was so exhausted that even my noisy thoughts had given up the fight and allowed me to fall into a trance-like state.

Still, the redneck's gentle movements were not lost on me. Almost desperately, I clawed my fingers into the hem of his shirt.

"Don't go," I muttered, unaware of the consequences of those words.

With heavy eyes, I looked up at Daryl, who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. I immediately regretted my actions.

Being alone scared the hell out of me, as much as letting people look too deeply into me made me sweat. It was a relentless battle in which the fear of getting hurt always won and the truth remained unspoken. So, I preferred to make cowardly excuses.

Forget it", I said lamely with an artificial grin on my face. Don't let it show, Katrina.

"I'm really fucking exhausted", I continued, looking for an excuse. But my stammering made the whole thing even more embarrassing, "I don't have a clear head anymore." Lies upon lies. Like stumbling blocks, I placed them one by one on my own path until I began to struggle.

Daryl paused, showing no reaction, and seeming almost unfazed by my shameful performance. I could feel his gaze on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. I felt exposed, as if my inner self laid naked before him.

Stunned, I watched him as he gave in to my request and found his place on the floor next to me. I would have given my right arm for a quick look into his admittedly very attractive head.

"You don't..." I started, but I hadn't made the calculation with Daryl, who silenced me immediately.

„Shh."

Facing forward, he leaned his head against the wood-paneled wall, his arm resting on his bent right leg.

"Ya starin'," he finally said in a distant voice, as if he could literally feel my eyes piercing his clothes.

I turned away from him, more than surprised at how difficult it actually was. The sight of him had a strangely calming effect on me at that moment, which, objectively speaking, should have worried me. Antarctica was a pure summer vacation compared to the cold that usually prevailed around Daryl. But every little gesture, every little word, melted the icy walls bit by bit, revealing a side that hit me completely unexpected.