Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The mourning process had been difficult to navigate in many ways. She had only known Otis for a matter of months, but he was a presence she had become quickly accustomed to and then lost at a moment's notice. The recovery of the young boy, as well as the perpetual concern for the missing girl, seemed to mount on top of the grief, to form a circle of relentless anxiety. An anxiety that Amalia felt, nevertheless, detached from.
It was strange how loss worked in that way. Two of the three were children she had never known, the other being a man she didn’t really consider to be family nor friend, more like a housemate that was always around. Of course, she cared for him, but not in the way she cared for Maggie, or the way she had cared for her parents. No, the pain seemed to stem from the realisation of living in a world in which loss was not only a constant, but a regularity. Which, of course, then also coated her grief in a heavy layer of guilt.

The arrival of the newcomers had brought the baggage of change, not just in dynamics, but in Amalia’s thought process. A sense of perpetual helplessness had been bugging her since this all began. The very fact that she was burdening this entire family with her presence was enough to initially keep her up at night. She appreciated them infinitely, to take her in when she had nowhere else to go, to no benefit of their own, just as a display of the goodness of their hearts. It was the kind of gesture she knew she could never return. But for them to then keep her sheltered there, despite her not being of practical use, was something that had begun to cause shame to build within her.
Meeting Andrea was a major turning point for her. This was a human rights lawyer turned ruthless fighter; she was out day after day, searching for Sofia or on watch for the camp. Maggie had always been headstrong; her stepping up once all this began felt like an understandable inevitability. But to encounter the likes of Andrea and see how she grew into herself and her capabilities when given the chance was nothing short of inspiring.

The moment she met her, Amalia felt compelled to make a change, to be better. Which is exactly what led her to the position she was currently in.

The environment surrounding the farm was part fields, part woods. She found herself in the latter, trapped within a maze of trees, kept company by nothing besides the quiet of nature. She had scarcely left the sanctuary of the fence that surrounded the farmhouse, opting for the security of solid walls rather than the land that bore walkers.

That was until this afternoon, when she had located the old, unused bow from one of the many sheds and determinedly found a less dense area of the forest in which to begin her practice. Many moons ago, her father had taught her how to use a much smaller bow. As a naive child, she had been desperate to follow her dad when he went hunting. It had taken her months to finally convince him; he caved, taught her how to use a bow, and took her with him. The moment she was faced with the shocking reality of just how much blood came with hunting, she changed her mind, opting to never touch a bow again, the facade of fun rapidly fading. Fifteen years, maybe more, had passed. But she remembered the basics and had foolishly thought that would be enough.

She faced a large tree, pulling the string of the bow as far back as she could manage, and released the arrow for the umpteenth time that day. And yet again, she watched as it sailed a solid metre before hitting the floor with a very dissatisfying thunk.

Frustration was finally beginning to subside into anger, as her efforts seemed to be of little worth. Attempt after attempt failed, until after an hour, her annoyance finally reached boiling point, and she aggressively kicked the tree next to her.

“Ow. Fuck!” She yelled, bending down to rub her toe. She reached for the arrow on the floor ahead of her, before standing again and rubbing her eyes resolutely as though that would solve her problem. It was then she heard the sound of a branch snapping somewhere behind her, and she turned quickly, her heart quickening.

Rather than being faced with a walker, or worse, several, she found herself being approached by one of the newcomers. She didn’t know so much as his name; all she had managed to discern was that he tended to keep to himself. The others had made their various introductions throughout the week, some even assisting her in menial tasks around the farm. He, however, had barely been present since the first day.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his southern accent thick, his eyes squinted as he looked around as though trying to locate some unseen danger. He had a crossbow bolted and ready in his hands, his knees bent as though ready for some form of combat.

“Nothing, sorry,” Amalia shrugged, attempting to hide the bow behind her back, slightly embarrassed to be caught in the act.

“The hell are you doin’?” The not-so-subtle movement seemed to have drawn his attention to the weapon in her hand.

“Nothing.”

“Shouldn’t be usin’ that if you don’t know what you’re doing. You’ll shoot yourself in the damn foot.” He said, letting his crossbow drop to his side, his other hand raking through his sweat-dampened hair.

“I know what I am doing, thank you very much.” She responded, her defences rising. She knew she hadn’t really helped herself in that sense. Yes, she hadn’t been of much practical assistance, but this assumption that she was useless was really beginning to piss her off. Maybe it was because she was a girl, maybe it was because she usually got caught with her nose in a book rather than doing heavy-duty work. Regardless, she was getting rather sick of people assuming she was more of a liability than of help.

In aid of that, she turned her back to him, attempting yet again to get the arrow to actually hit the tree, or even just get close to it. Perhaps an audience was all she needed.

Or perhaps, she was just really bad at this. The arrow hit the ground mere feet away from her, yet again.

“You’re right. You do know what you're doin’.” The gruff voice muttered from behind her.

“Cut the sass.” She called, turning to look over her shoulder, letting her eyes fall from his rugged face to the crossbow in his hand. “Could you maybe help me?”

“I got shit to do.”

“Please?”

“I ain’t got the time, there is a missing girl to find.”

“I am well aware. But once I get the knack of this, I can help.”

“Doubt that.” She heard him mumble before he crossed the distance between them and stood at her shoulder, giving her right foot a small kick. “Feet apart, left in front. Lift the bow.”

She did as asked, once again pulling the string to rest against her shoulder, the tip of the arrow sitting between the middle and index fingers of her left hand. Once positioned, she felt his fingers wrap around her right hand, moving them up towards her face, and she let out a small shiver as his breath tickled the back of her neck.

“Need t’be higher. You should feel your knuckles on your cheek.” He released her hand. “Move your fingers, arrow head should be above, not b’tween.”
She felt him take a small step back.

“Focus on the notch on the right side of the tree. Breathe in, and release.”

Following his guidance, she took a slow breath in before releasing the fingers that gripped the string, as, to her amazement, the arrow whistled as it flew and lodged itself just south of the aforementioned notch.

“Good girl, tha’ was closer. Do as I said, practice your aim, you’ll be fine.” He said, and she turned to watch as he backed away, turning his back to her once again.

“Thank you so much. I am Amalia, by the way.” She called after him.

“An’ I didn’t ask.” He grumbled as he retreated back amongst the trees.

Despite his brazenness, she smiled to herself, proud of the progress, even if it was down to a stranger, and not her own ability. Moving forward to yank the arrow from the tree, she renotched the shaft and prepared herself to go again.

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“I’m going on a run with Glenn tomorrow,” Maggie told her as she fluffed the pillows on their bed.

“Oh. Where?”

“Pharmacy, we gotta top up on medical supplies. We have used a lot on treating Carl’s wound.”

“Well, do you want help?” Amalia asked, plopping herself down on the mattress, watching as Maggie removed her socks.

“No, it’s okay, sweetie.” She smiled reassuringly. “Where have you been today, by the way? Haven’t seen you since lunch.”

She swallowed, picking at the woven blanket next to her by means of avoiding Maggie’s prying eyes.

“Don’t judge me for this, I was practising some archery.”

“I didn’t know you could use a bow.” Her friend replied, sitting on the bed next to her.

“Er, yeah. My dad showed me how to use one when I was younger, haven’t really touched one since, so I’m quite rusty. But one of the new guys helped me out.”

“Which guy?”

“I don’t know. The one with the really thick southern accent.”

“Sweetie, you’re in Georgia. Almost everyone has a ‘really thick southern accent’.” She laughed.

“You know what I mean,” Amalia rolled her eyes, “the quiet one.”

“Oh, I think Glenn mentioned his name was Daryl?”

“That’s right, I forgot to ask about you and him. You seem to be giving him an awful lot of attention.” She smiled knowingly at Maggie, nudging her shoulder gently with her own.

“Shut up. He’s cute and seems sweet and it’s not like we have a great deal of choice right now.”

“Yeah, I guess. It is pretty much either him or getting it on with an older guy, which is a little too daddy issues-ish for me.”

“Exactly, and a girl's gotta eat.” Maggie laughed, reshuffling herself so she could lie down, facing Amalia.

“So, you’re actually going to sleep with him then?”

“I’m thinking about it, yeah.” She sighed as her eyes closed, Amalia reached her hand forward to stroke the girl's short hair.

“Well, you’ve got to give me all the details when you do. Let me live vicariously through you.”

Maggie just smiled in response, snuggling into the blankets around her.

Amalia took this as her cue to leave her to sleep. She grabbed the towel she had hung off the dressing chair earlier, as well as some pyjamas from the wardrobe, and headed to the bathroom further down the landing.

She locked the door behind her and began to strip out of her clothes, watching herself in the mirror as she did. Private time had been rare since this all began, which in many ways suited her just fine, with the terrors going on in the world around them, it’s not like people really desired being solitary. Nonetheless, she found that quiet moments such as these really evoked self-reflection.

So many things had changed since this apocalypse began. She suspected she would never see her parents again, a notion she had long since made peace with. She would possibly never see her home again, which, whilst the case for many college students, is usually something that is previously planned. She had told her parents she was staying with Maggie for the summer after graduation, which wasn’t something they seemed to be really fussed about, regardless. Although Amalia never really planned to move back home long-term after graduation, it didn’t once occur to her that she might never see it again. Truthfully, she missed the comfort of the landscape even more than she missed her parents at this point. She missed the sanctuary of the cold weather, the pine trees on her doorstep. It was the hot weather that had originally attracted her to attending college down south, but stuck in this heat, in these circumstances, quickly became tedious.

Thoughts of home weren’t the only change to her internal monologue, though. Amalia had also identified a sharp switch in her self-worth, the way in which she viewed herself. For most of her formative years, she had been insecure in a multitude of ways, whether it be her weight, her looks, or her style; she would constantly find a feature to hate. Yet since this all began, such trivialities seemed to fade away, silencing thoughts that had plagued her for the better part of a decade. Granted, she had lost weight since this all began, whether that be due to being forced to eating a very different diet from that of a college student, or possibly because she was so much more active now. Regardless, she was still curvy; she was still several sizes bigger than Maggie, but for the first time in a long time, she saw that as nothing but a good thing. In a world full of death and disease, she was healthy. That was an honour.

The other aspects of her appearance, which she once resented, also seemed silly now. Her hair, brown and wild, straight at the roots, curling every which way at the ends, was once something that irritated her to no end. She would spend so much time daily, straightening it, applying so many products, desperately trying to tame it. That was a luxury she had long since lost, but in its absence, her hair had regained its natural essence and became yet another symbol of her well-being.

It truly was comical, how such a hellish occurrence could rewire the brain in such trivial, irrelevant ways. But that was one way in which she had found value in pushing through this nightmare. If she could find beauty in herself in this mess, she could find beauty in the world around her.

She reached through the shower curtain, twisting the knob and allowing the room to fill with steam as she brushed through her hair. Hot water was a privilege she only now seemed to appreciate. Being almost naive thus far to just how bad things were outside, the arrival of the newcomers enlightened her to just how rough most others had been living.

She stepped into the bathtub, releasing a sigh of pleasure as the water scolded her skin, washing away the labours of the day. Today was the turn of a new leaf; she was determined to become a valued member of this household. Someone to be relied on, to be turned to.

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Sounds of glasses from downstairs woke her. Maggie lay at her side, still snoring softly, so she manoeuvred herself out of the bed as quietly as possible. The sun was only just beginning to rise over the tree line outside, but she could see the movement of the newcomers dispersed throughout their little camp.

She had thought a lot last night, as she tried to get to sleep, about how to continue with her self-betterment. Having briefly considered going out alone in an attempt to hunt, she quickly decided such a plan would be not only be stupid, but dangerous. Instead, she resolved to try something different, something possibly even more unnerving.

Grabbing the pair of denim shorts that she had left atop the dresser the night before, as well as her bra and crocheted white top, she dressed herself. She pulled her hair into a quick ponytail and grabbed the combat boots and rucksack that sat by the door, pulling them on as she ran downstairs.

Hershel was in the kitchen, situating himself at the dining table with a glass of water and his bible.

“Good morning.” She said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head as she passed him. He was a gentle soul, one who had rapidly begun to feel like a father figure the more time she spent that. She had at first been concerned, not only due to her invading his home, but because she didn’t follow his faith, something that meant a great deal to him. But he welcomed her with open arms regardless, assuring her that God offers her his love, whether she asked for it or not. He had even offered a lot of solace when she opened up to him about her family, the circumstances under which she lived, in explanation for her lack of concern towards the status of her parents.

She truthfully found it honourable that despite all that was happening to the world, he and his family could still find consolation in this higher power. It was a level of trust she was never sure she could have, as she failed to understand how such a presence could allow for such a horrid thing to happen.

“Where are you off to?” He asked when he caught glimpse of her backpack.

“Attempting to help the newcomers in their search for the kid.” She responded, opening the fridge to see what food they had for her to nab, “Would you mind if I took the leftover roasties?”

“No, I don’t mind, on the grounds that you keep yourself safe. It is honourable to go out there and help, but as sad as it is, this child is not your responsibility, and you should not put your life at risk to find her.”

Amalia smiled in response, shoving the tinfoil-wrapped potatoes into her bag and offering him another kiss on the head as she left.

She took the porch steps two at a time, and jogged her way over to the tents set up outside.

“Hey, do you know where Daryl is?” She asked Andrea as she reached the RV.

“He had headed that way like five minutes ago,” she replied, gesturing vaguely into the trees behind their camp as she climbed the ladder, sitting herself on the chair atop the van, ready for watch.

“Thanks,” Amalia called as she headed toward the tree line.

She had left her bow tucked amongst the roots of a particularly large trunk at the edge of the clearing, and stooped to grab it as she made her way further within.

“Daryl?” She called out, the guy was too practised in his actions, she wouldn’t be able to hear him moving even if it was the dead of night.
“What?” His gruff voice called out, somewhere to her left, and she followed the voice, finding him kneeling amongst the forest floor, tying his laces.

“Are you headed out to search for Sofia?” She asked, and the man didn’t even give her so much as a nod, just a rather pointed look.

“Can I join you?”

“No.” He actually responded this time, standing, grabbing his things, and quickly walking off.

“I won’t bother you, I promise. You won’t even know I am here, I just want to study you, how you move, how you track, so I can get better at it.”

He let out a soft grunt, and she took this as the permission she needed, jogging to catch up with him.

“I never said yes,” he murmured, but she didn’t push the issue, opting to trail a few feet behind him instead.

He walked with purpose, as though even his soft footfalls were precise deliberations, his eyes never straying from the landscape ahead of him. He was a gruff guy, she was almost certain she hadn’t seen him use their showers since their arrival, he seemed to be constantly coated in a thin layer of grime, a mixture of mud, sweat and grease. Yet, there was something in the way he moved that was so undeniably graceful, like a predator, calculatingly stalking his prey.

She followed him in silence for a while, their actions repetitive. Walk five metres, stop, listen for a moment, continue on ahead.

Amalia could discern no trace of animals, let alone a young girl, and yet he seemed to be following something unseen, something undetectable to her unskilled eye.

After maybe half an hour, he raised his hand, signalling for her to stop. She watched as he raised his crossbow, the muscles in his arms rippling with the action, as he positioned it in front of his face, drawing in a slow, silent breath. She tried not to flinch at the soft click that seemed to echo around them as one of the bolts released from the weapon, soaring ahead, seeming to land within its target as she heard a squeal up ahead. He ran forward, reaching into a bush and pulling a large rabbit out from its limp foot, the bolt having embedded itself straight into its chest.

“How did you-” Amalia began to ask, slightly in awe of his ability to detect such a small animal that had left no trace of it’s existence.

“Look for the foliage movin’. They’re prey, they're smart, they’re stealthy, but the movement of the earth gives ‘em away.” He responds quickly, before continuing on how they had been.

After maybe an hour of analysing his movements, she began trying to replicate them. He never seemed to walk completely straight, rather moving diagonally, his feet angled, left foot first, right foot following. His knees were always slightly bent, bringing him closer to the forest floor, his head bowed as he monitored the ground before him. She mirrored his actions, intentionally being more tentative with her steps so that she was lighter on her toes, always putting pressure primarily on the balls of her feet.

It was difficult at first, her calves aching from the strain of her bent knees, but as she pushed forward, it seemed to lessen into a dull throb. He began to check over his shoulder every so often to make sure she was okay. She could’ve sworn she saw the faint glimpse of a smile as he noticed her imitations, this discreet appraisal driving her forward.

They eventually stopped to take a quick break, seating themselves on the branch-littered ground. Amalia watched as Daryl pulled a can of what looked to be baked beans from his bag, but quickly halted him before he could slice the can open with his knife.

“Here, I bought us some potatoes,” she said, reaching into her bag, grabbing the tinfoil mound and the paperback that sat not too far beneath it. She unwrapped the roasties, taking a couple for herself before passing the rest over to the man seated opposite her.

He put the tin down and accepted her offering with a polite nod of the head, shoving one whole into his mouth. She began to chew on one of hers as she opened up the book to the marked page and began reading, appreciating the quiet backdrop of nature acting as a soundtrack.

“We’re in the middle of the woods, poss’bly surrounded by walkers, and you gotta book?” Daryl frowned over at her.

“There is never a bad time for Wuthering Heights,” she smiled, lowering her head again. She could feel his gaze on her, watching as she ate and read, as though the simple act was some form of entertainment for him. It didn’t deter her; it took barely a page before she was whisked away to the Yorkshire Moors, accompanied by Cathy and Heathcliffe.

They sat in contented silence for a while, Amalia so lost in her endeavour that she didn’t even notice when Daryl rose slowly. It was only as he approached her, knife before him and a finger to his lips, did she hear the distinct sound of growling behind her.

She dropped her book carelessly, reaching for the knife she has sheathed in her sock, and moved onto her knees, ready to stand. Before she could, Daryl lunged as a walker roared behind her, the snap of its jaw sending a chill down her spine. She heard the sound of the blade hitting bone before she could even turn to face the danger, and before she knew it, Daryl was unsheathing the knife from the walker's skull and wiping the blood away on his trousers.

“Thank you,” she said, a slight quiver to her voice. She had truthfully had few close encounters with walkers, given her sanctuary within the farmhouse.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled as he walked back over to his spot, leaning over to grab his bag. “We should get movin’.”

Amalia nodded, putting the book away and replacing the rucksack on her shoulders. She wiped her face with her hand, taking a deep breath to try and calm her heart rate.

“You okay?” He asked, reaching out a hand and placing it on her shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it warmed her regardless, it being the most emotion she had seen in him thus far.

“Yeah.” She said, not waiting for him this time, taking off in the direction they had been headed, hearing his footsteps follow behind her. Once the inevitable shock had passed, shame began to bubble within her. It was moments like those that made her feel so helpless, like she needed the presence of another to protect her. It was souring to know it was self-inflicted, in a world in which every odd is against you, she couldn’t afford to rely on others to save her life.

She turned to look over her shoulder at the man behind her.

“I do not need to be protected; I can, hell, I must, hold my own. This is exactly why I am here: to learn, to be better. ”

As the words left her mouth, she realised it sounded like she was ungrateful, and she went to correct herself. Yet before she could, she felt another reassuring squeeze on her shoulder as Daryl pushed on ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Yesterday’s outburst must have resonated with Daryl, because he spent the rest of the afternoon actually talking through his actions with her.  He explained how to spot tracks in dirt, how to work with the wind so that prey wouldn’t catch their scent, and offered further guidance on her aim.  

When she had gone to bed, she genuinely felt like her day had been really productive, despite having made no further progress on locating Sofia.  It was the first step towards being something better, someone to fear rather than someone who fears.  

They spent the next week doing more of the exact same, and Amalia foolishly thought that she might have been breaking ground with Daryl.  Any conversation throughout the first few days had been either strictly business or small talk, but by their fifth day spent in each other’s company, she changed tack in an attempt to get more out of him.  

They sat eating cold roasted rabbit, a delicacy that Amalia had actually managed to shoot herself the day prior.  

“It is oddly rewarding, eating food that you caught yourself,” She said, swallowing a piece of leg meat, “I never thought it would be.” 

“There’s nothing better,” Daryl nodded, tearing into a piece of stomach. 

“Did you know Glenn and Maggie slept together the other day?” She reached for the bottle of water lying on the ground next to her, sipping it and watching Daryl’s reaction intently.  The man choked on his food at her words and looked up with a quizzical brow.  “Yeah,” She laughed, “when they went on that run into town, did it on the floor of the pharmacy.” 

He huffed out a soft laugh. 

“Hell.  Good for him.”  Daryl shook his head, smiling to himself as he took another bite of the meat. 

“Did you have a girlfriend before all this went down?”  She asked, to which the man gave her a stony glare.  The thought had been itching at her for the last couple of days.  He was very attractive, in a mysterious, roughed-up sort of way, but gave away so little about himself.  He could literally have been a serial killer before all this had gone down, and she would be none the wiser.  Irritation seemed to have crossed his face at her intrusion, and regret rose within her; she didn’t want to screw things up.  “I’m sorry.  Just trying to make small talk.” 

“Small talk’s the weather an’ shit.  Tha’ was personal.” 

“Okay… so maybe I was trying to get to know you better.” She shrugged and offered a small smile, as though that would break the ice. 

He said nothing, just held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, his eyes piercing hers like his stare held daggers.  They stayed like that, for several moments, before Daryl stood and started making his way over to her, never once breaking eye contact, even when he towered above her.  

To her surprise, he reached out a hand and nodded his head in the opposite direction.  She took his offering, and he hauled her up onto her feet, leaning down to grab her rucksack and passing it to her.  She assumed the conversation was over, as they got moving once again, but to her surprise, he cleared his throat.  

“Nah, never really been the relationship kinda guy.” He said, not looking at her as he spoke.  “Too much work.” 

“Maybe you haven’t found the right person,” she suggested softly, passing the bow between her hands.  

“Girl, this ain’t no fuckin’ therapy session,” he grumbled.

“Alright, alright, I’ll drop it,” she giggled, raising two hands in the air signalling her surrender.  She offered maybe thirty seconds of silence before, “So, where are you from?” 

Daryl audibly sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

“North o’ here.”

“Oh shit, really?  Whereabouts?  I’m from Montana, originally.” 

“North of the state, not the country, dumbass.” He looked at her, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh.  Well, you could’ve been clearer about that.” 

“What part of me seems Northern?” He asked, rounding in front of her, gesturing down at himself. 

“I don’t know!” Amalia laughed, giving him a playful shove on the shoulders.  “Was just an instinctive reaction, I don’t meet many people that aren’t from around here.” 

“Girl, you just don’t meet many people.” He was still walking backwards, facing her as they spoke.  It was her turn to roll her eyes, until movement over Daryl’s shoulder caught her attention. 

She reached a hand out, touching his shoulder to still him and moving onto the tips of her toes to properly see past the tall man before her.  

Walker? He mouthed in question, and she offered a subtle nod in response, moving the hand from his shoulder to his chest, in a gesture to assure him that she had it.  

She notched one of the arrows that she had previously tucked into the waistband of her shorts, pulling the string of the bow taut, up to her cheek as she had told him. 

The woman hobbling towards them was young, her summer dress tattered, and there was a distinct slash just below her knee, as though someone had already attacked her at some point.  

She inched away from Daryl slowly, further to the left, so the walker was in full view.  Pulling in a deep breath, she focused her full attention on the space between the girl’s eyes, urging every inch of her body to focus on the target.  She released the arrow and watched as it embedded itself just below the desired spot, and the corpse dropped to the ground, silent and still. 

“I did it.” She whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the walker.  For a moment, she forgot entirely where she was, allowing the pure adrenaline to surge through her at the small victory.  “I actually fucking did it.” 

“Yeah, you did,” the man beside her huffed out, sounding as disbelieving as she felt. 

“I did it!” She shouted now, throwing her arms up in the air in celebration, attempting to resist the urge to jump around on the spot. 

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, holding her gaze earnestly.  Something in the way he said those words, his voice rough, his eyes looking so deeply into hers, the praise, sent a shiver down her spine.  As soon as she felt it, his face shifted, and his head snapped to the left.  

Before she could even discern the movements, his crossbow was in the air, inches away from her face, and a bolt was fired to her left. She heard the thud of a body hitting the floor.  

She moved as fast as she could, notching another arrow and turning to find several more walkers heading in their direction.  Not allowing herself the same amount of time to focus her precision, her second arrow only managed to lodge itself in the shoulder of one of the walkers.  She didn’t grant herself the moment to chastise herself, immediately repeating the action, relief flooding through her as it pierced its skull.  

Daryl had already taken out another two in the time it had taken her to manage the one, and panic began to rise in her as the remaining three moved closer, snarling and reaching out.  She felt arms on her shoulders as she was pushed behind Daryl, and he charged forward, throwing himself into the closest one, knocking it to the ground.  He unsheathed his knife, lunging for another, stabbing the infected through its ear.  It dropped to the floor, and Daryl grunted as he yanked the blade back out, blood spraying him as he charged towards the third.  

Amalia pulled her own knife from her belt, running forward and crouching over the one that her partner had knocked to the ground.  With both hands, she lifted the dagger above her head, using all her strength to push the rusting blade into the man's skull, but it didn’t seem to enter deep enough.  Fueled with adrenaline, she ripped it back out and stabbed again, and again, and again, blood splattering over her white shirt.  It was only when she felt a hand pushing her back did she realised that the walker before her really was dead, and she was safe.  

Daryl pulled her to her feet, giving her a quick once-over. 

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. 

“Yeah,” she replied, breathlessly, hands, face and chest all covered in brown tinted blood.  

“Here,” he said, removing the handkerchief from around his neck and giving it to her.  She wiped herself over, letting out a shocked laugh.  “You’re okay.”  This time when he said it, it wasn’t a question. 

She nodded slowly, “Well, that's three for three, I guess.”

A chill ran down her spine as she looked back down at the corpse at her feet, cold waves of realisation crashing down on her as she took in the sharp nose and matted brown hair. 

“No,” she whined, dropping down to her knees, “no, no, no.” 

“What?” Daryl asked, as she leaned forward and cupped the boy's lifeless face, doing all she could to ignore the gushing punctures across his forehead.  She felt a hole tearing through her gut, her heart, her soul, as the image of his lifeless body began to sear into her mind, bits of the sweet, sweet boy’s brain splattered on the ground beneath her.  

“Its-” Amalia gulped, tears running down her cheeks, her hands starting to shake. “It’s Aiden.” 

“Who?” 

“Aiden.  He was in my contemporary lit class, we worked together a few times for group projects.  I slept with him at the faculty Christmas party last year.  And I just,” her bloodied hands moved up to cover her eyes, “I just slaughtered him.” 

She just knelt there, crying silently into her hands, images flashing behind her eyes.  The two of them dancing together under festive lights, him sat at her desk while she laughed, her hands driving a blade into his skull over and over again.  

Daryl said nothing, but she felt his hands force their way into the pits of her arms, pulling her up and into his chest.  They stood there for minutes, him holding her as she sobbed into her palms, the weight of his fingers on her shoulders the only thing anchoring her to the present, preventing her from drowning in the nightmarish reality of what she had just done.  

As the initial shock and grief subsided, embarrassment began to take over, and she pulled away, rubbing aggressively at her face to clear away the tears.  

“You alright?” The man asked quietly, and she gave him a simple nod in response.  “C’mon then.  We got a girl to find.” 

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

The day seemed to end on a much more sour note than before, the shock of the earlier events still sending waves of pain through Amalia’s body.

The two of them emerged from the woods and immediately met the harrowing eyes of the daughterless mother, her face visibly dropping at their lack of company.  A bitterness began to line Amalia’s stomach as Carol rushed forward, horror settling into her eyes. 

“You’re covered in blood.” Her voice quivered, turning to Daryl, “Why is there blood?” 

“It was just a few walkers.  No signs Sofia even made it this far, I’ll travel further out t’morrow, don’t worry.” Daryl said, offering a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder.  

Carol appeared to swallow back tears, recomposing her face and turning back to Amalia. 

“Thank you, dear, I appreciate you helping,” she offered a small smile. 

The girl just nodded in response and began walking back to the house, fighting back the bile that was rising in her throat.  It was simultaneously depressing and ridiculous that she had been so naive and sheltered before.  Yes, there was this major apocalypse going on around the world, but she was safe, she was happy, she was content tucked away in this small little corner of the earth.  In less than a week her entire worldview had been shattered, the understanding that the effects of it were unavoidable, that she couldn’t just hide away from it all and hope for the best. 

She was fortunate not to have been around when Annette and Shawn died.  Her tenancy was only just coming to a close, so she was midway through packing up her apartment, the essentials already dropped off at the farm, and the rest she had been getting ready to ship back home.  She was alone for a good couple of weeks, which she was okay with initially, burrowing away in her bed, reading.  It wasn’t really a change from the usual.  When Maggie showed up to find her, she had broken down crying in Amalia’s arms, telling her of the losses sustained on the farm.  She had never seen the girl cry like that before, pure, unbridled grief.  It had chipped away at her heart a bit, but she failed to clock the true life-altering nature of it all.  

The two of them had driven back to the farm later that day, the journey uninterrupted by any nasties.  Again, looking back, she guesses she was lucky for it.  Since living there, she had obviously encountered a few walkers, but when she knew she was only feet from the safety of the house, it was less scary.  This past week had been the wake-up call she didn’t even know she needed.  Yes, she wanted to be of more help to the rest, but through actually going out and experiencing what the world was now, she realised that she was helping herself even more.  Heaven forbid anything happened to the farm, but if it did, and she was stranded and alone, she wouldn’t have lasted an hour. 

She was grateful for Daryl helping her.  She was well aware that he was reluctant at first, seeing her as someone to babysit rather than work with.  But it felt as though in a matter of a few days, he had grown to respect her.  Maybe respect was the wrong word, and maybe she was misreading the dynamics altogether, but she was certain something was budding between them.  A sense of trust in one another, pride in the other's ability, mutual admiration and appreciation for the company.  Or maybe that was totally one-sided, and perhaps she was just irritating him more than ever.  

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” Maggie’s feet rested on her lap as the porch swing moved gently in the breeze.  

“I killed Aiden today,” she didn’t look up from the book in her hands as she spoke.  

“Harding?” The girl shifted position, shuffling closer so she could lay her head on Amalia’s shoulder. 

“Yeah.” 

“It wasn’t really him, though, Am,” she wrapped a reassuring hand around her wrist, the gesture sending a wave of warmth through her.  

She let the book drop into her lap, her head resting on top of Maggie’s, and closed her eyes, basking in the comfort. She wasn’t going to cry, not again, not now she had the person she held dearest right by her side. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she whispered, feeling the grip on her wrist loosen as a hand cupped her cheek. 

“You will never have to find out. I’m with you to the end.”  

They sat in peaceful silence for a few moments, the dark skies clear above them, the dancing of a distant campfire hypnotising her.  

“So, Glenn?” Amalia asked, Maggie letting out a soft laugh. 

“I actually think I quite like him.  He’s funny.” 

“Oh lord, last thing we need is you falling head over heels for some guy.” 

“You’ll meet someone too, Am, don’t worry,” Maggie lifted her head to look her in the eye.  

“I’m not worried.  Finding someone is the furthest thing from my mind right now.” She said earnestly, before dropping her head back down and kicking her feet, “though getting a little action wouldn’t go unappreciated.” 

At that, Maggie let out a true, full-bellied laugh, loud enough that the others over in the camp turned to look.  She just about made out Lori and Andrea smiling over at them, so Amalia offered a little wave.

They seemed a generally peaceful lot.  The older guy, Dale, sat atop the RV eating what she only assumed to be some canned soup.  The rest were all nestled around the fire, their faces illuminated by the flames.  Lori, Rick and Carl all sat together, the picture of a truly happy little family.  Shane, Andrea, Carol, T-Dog and Glenn also sat fairly close to each other, chatting away amongst themselves.  Daryl seemed to be the only one disengaged, sitting on a small log, sharpening his knife on a rock.  He had looked up at Maggie’s little outburst, catching Amalia’s eye with his own, giving her a little quirk of the brow.  

She smiled to herself, picking the paperback up from her lap, attempting to find where she had last read up to.  

“Okay, my little bookworm, I’m going to bed,” her friend said, rising and giving her a little kiss atop her head.  

She vaguely acknowledged the sound of the front door closing to her left as Maggie went inside, already engrossed in the novel before her.  She had finished her reread of Wuthering Heights a few days prior, it being one of her favourite comfort tales, and now ventured to something different, finally beginning something new.  She had heard The Bell Jar spoken about highly by her old classmates, but had never got round to it, Plath appearing too depressing for her liking.  But she figured that now, amidst the end of the world, a little slice of life couldn’t possibly be more traumatising than that which awaited her out there.  She was, however, slowly beginning to realise just how wrong she had been.  It wasn’t a challenge to get lost in Sylvia’s words; the way the narrative was written, the raw expression of her feelings was gripping in a very different sort of way than most other books she had read. 

So captivated by the story before her, she failed to notice the sound of footsteps approaching her.  It was only as a silhouette disturbed the porch light and shadowed her pages that she looked up.  

Daryl stood in front of her, rid of the blood-stained clothes from earlier, instead dressed in a dark flannel shirt and baggy jeans. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Go to bed.” Was all she managed to get in the way of a response. 

“I’m sorry?” She asked, closing her book and placing it down next to her. 

“I want you up at the crack of dawn t’morrow.  We’re going somewhere.” 

“Okay… can I ask where?”

“No.” He responded, turning away to head back down the porch steps. 

“Ever a man of many words, Daryl Dixon.” She stated sarcastically, truthfully surprised by the random approach.  

“G’night, Amalia,” he muttered so softly she barely heard it, before speeding into a jog as he crossed the lawn back over to the camp.