Stray // Daryl Dixon

The Face of Change

The Governor seemed to disappear into thin air. It has been about two months since that night at Woodbury, two months since Andrea's death. We had expected him to rally up his men and storm the prison once again. Some days I wake up in a cold sweat thinking that today will be the day that it happens, but I am always wrong. Apart from the Governor, it has also been a month since we've had any accidents. We were turning this prison into a place where we could build some sort of life in. All our dreams and plans we made during our very first night in the field were becoming our reality. We have pastures with pigs and horses, gardens filled with crops and vegetables, and most importantly we have people to maintain them now.

I was currently standing under a large picnic tent, flipping meat on the barbeque as some of our people sat in front of tables surrounding me.

"Morning," a man called out, causing my eyes to trail up at the source.

"Sup, Doctor S.," Daryl responded as my eyes landed on him. He was walking towards me, sauntering up with his arms swinging as he had ripped the sleeves off of his button-up shirt.

"Morning, Daryl!" another man called out.

"Hey, Daryl!" Daryl's head swung in every direction as everyone greeted him.

I chuckled at it, watching him become uncomfortable and confused as to why everyone cherished him.

"Smells good," he said, making himself a bowl of the meat.

"Just so you know, I liked you first," I said, giving him a teasing smile.

"Stop," he rolled his eyes. "You know, Rick brought in a lot of 'em, too." He was questioning why they were so grateful to him.

"Not recently. You give a stranger sanctuary, keeping people fed, you're gonna have to learn to live with the love."

"Right."

"I need you to see something," I said, my tone sounding more serious now. He looked up at me, furrowing his brows. "Patrick, would you take over for me please," I called out to the younger boy that stood only a couple of feet from the barbeque.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, perking up when I spoke to him. He pushed his glasses up on his nose before taking the tongs from me.

I chuckled, "Patrick, calling me Scar is just fine."

"Sorry ma'am-- I mean Scar," he stumbled on his words and lightly chuckled again.

I led Daryl around to the front of the courtyard, looking over the field to the outskirts of our fences. We had walkers piling up along the fence line, so many that we could hear their groans and gurgles from a couple of yards away.

"It's getting as bad as last month. They don't spread out anymore." We looked across the field watching them, we had a few people in shifts standing between the fences, stabbing the walkers in the skull to try and maintain the number that piled up.

"With more of us sitting in here, we're drawing more of them out," Daryl responded.

"It's manageable, but unless we get ahead of it, not for long."

Daryl sighed, finishing up the last of his bowl of deer meat. "Come on, we got a run to gear up for."

We walked along to the main gate where Sasha, Tyreese and Glenn were already packing up the cars with any supplies we needed for the trip. I grabbed a vest from out of the trunk, throwing it over my head and strapping the sides together. It was hot out today, the black vest clinging to my torso and already making me sweat. My eyes then landed on a young boy walking up to the car along with Beth, he was saying goodbye to her.