𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 | Daryl Dixon

24 | MONTHS GONE BY

"Three... Two... One."

Rick booted the door open, and Tori stepped out from behind him, shooting an arrow through the head of one of the two walkers roaming the hall. Beside her, Carl raised his silenced pistol, shooting the other in the head.

The trio, long with Daryl and Glenn, dispersed through the messy house, weapons raised as they cleared every room. The house was abandoned and derelict, on the edge of a small neighbourhood that seemed like it had been empty since the world first fell almost one whole year ago.

Every room Tori searched in the house was covered with a thick layer of dust. All the furniture was scratched, the paint was chipping off the mouldy walls. Drafts seeped through breaks in the window seals. She could only presume that the rooms the others were checking were all the same.

In one of the bedrooms, she slowly approached a closet, lowering her bow and pulling out her large knife before yanking the door open. There was nothing inside except for some shitty moth-eaten clothes. She tried to have a sift through to see if anything could be of use, but there was nothing that hadn't already been destroyed with time and neglect.

Making her way out to the main living room, Tori found Rick and Daryl waiting by the door. She gave them both a nod to say that the house was clear, and Rick opened the front door, signalling to the others that they could come inside. One by one, they entered with their bags. Lori wondered in cradling her protruding stomach, the weight of her unborn baby straining her back. She was maybe weeks away from giving birth, and as each day passed, she felt more and more afraid of how she or her baby would possibly survive.

Daryl perched on a side table, plucking feathers from an owl he'd found and killing in one of the rooms downstairs. Carl came into the silent living room with a sealed tin of dog food, sitting down to use his knife to open it. Rick went over and snatched the tin from his son, barely looking at the label before throwing the tin across the room, the thud echoing off the uneven floorboards.

Rick refused to admit that they were lost. Resorting to eating dog food would be an admission of defeat, of the fact that there was no chance of anything better. This was how things were, but the Grimes refused to believe that it was how things would always be. He was still convinced there was a place for them, even though the evidence was stacked up against him.

The winter had not been kind to the group, but then again, nothing had. For eight months, it felt like they had travelled far and wide, searching for their new place of safety in the world, only to come up empty every single time. All they could do was drive around, find a place to stay for the night, then drive around some more. Nowhere was safe; they had nowhere to call home. Everywhere they went, the dead always came for them.

Today was no different; Tori had been sitting on the arm of a couch for what felt like just three measly minutes before T-Dog whistled, nodding toward the window where a small group of walkers could be seen.

The group were up and out in a flash. Bags were collected and thrown into the backs of the vehicles, everyone more than used to the system by now. Tori's rucksack was thrown over her back, her bow folded up and hanging from a strap on her shoulder as she climbed onto the motorbike behind Daryl. Her arms encased his torso, her cheek pressed to his back as he started up the engine, revving and driving ahead of the others in their cars and Tori's truck.

The pair's relationship was one of the few things that they had to hold onto. Time on the road had been tough, and finding moments where they could actually feel like they were together was next to impossible. But they worked well together. Daryl taught her about hunting and helped her get better with her bow; together the two of them provided food from hunts when they could.