Triggerfinger ➳ Daryl Dixon

t h r e e

John's worn hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His skin was dark from the sunrays leaking through the topless Jeep. He was a tan man period, much unlike his late wife.

He slowed finally, spotting a cluster of vehicles. The gas can that he kept in the back was getting a bit low for his liking, so he wouldn't pass up any opportunity to replenish his stock. He only grabbed his black handgun when he stepped out of the vehicle, arching his back until it cracked and his muscles trembled. He'd been fortunate through this whole thing so far. He cared about very few people, so he hadn't really lost anybody so far. He refused to believe that Presley would get hurt. She was too stubborn to die.

A rotting corpse lumbered towards him, unnaturally thin arms outstretched towards him. The undead walked with a limping foot, black drool dripping from his permanently opened mouth. John took no care yanking the knife from his holster and dropping it with a swift flick of his wrist. Only one last gurgle could be heard before the creature fell to the ground. He didn't even blink anymore when he had to kill them. Even the dead people had bothered him for a short while, but now... He couldn't afford to let anything stop him from finding her.

He thought about her often- probably more often than he should. He wondered if she still had that dog, and if she still used her bow. He wondered about what hardships she'd been through, and whether or not she was alone. There was one thought he was entirely sure about, though.

His baby girl was alive and kicking.

- - - - - -

John had filled himself up with gas earlier, and was now patiently waiting for the sun to rise again. He'd parked on the side of the road, a shotgun laid out on his lap. His doors were locked, but other than that, he was in the open. He was ready for whatever came at him- even if it was a herd.

A small photograph of his wife was propped up on his dash, alongside a picture of Presley. The resemblance was shocking. Both of them had the snow-white complexion, with dark hair that set it all into an effortless beauty. He took no credit for the beauty of his daughter, and knew that he'd struck it good when he married Mary.

John turned his head and closed his eyes, allowing his unwilling body to relax and sink back into the peaceful night.

- - - - - -

Today was another day.

I haven't done much when it comes to runs. My food supply is running low, but I haven't run into a town in a while. I don't want to get off course, either. I reached Tennessee yesterday. It took a lot longer than I thought it would, but it's a relief to finally be so close. The closer I get, the more I can feel her...

Maybe I'll find her soon over the next few weeks. In the meantime, I can't go much further without stocking up again. Good thing I don't have another mouth to feed.

- - - - - -

"Presley, Pres wake up." Maggie shook the raven-haired girl's shoulder, causing her to startle awake. The pale girl stared up at the pregnant girl, waiting for her to say something.

"Usually I wouldn't ask at a time like this, but..." Maggie seemed awkward. She'd been relying on Presley for a lot of the things that Glenn should have been doing to care for his wife. Presley was more than willing, but she was getting fed up of Glenn not taking care of the baby. "I think something is wrong. I'm so hungry, I don't think I can go any further..."

"I'll go see what I can find." Presley said without question, yawning and swiping her hands over her eyes. It was rather unfortunate that Maggie had decided this after Presley was already sleeping, but she wouldn't complain. The poor girl couldn't help the lack of food around here.