Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Walking Dead.

P. S. I totally balled while writing a good portion of this. Have a box of tissues handy. You have been warned.

I groaned, stretching my arms over my head, feeling the muscles pull. That felt nice.

I glanced over to where the group was huddled around the fire, Carol was cooking breakfast. My eyes caught Daryl in one of the lawn chairs, a leg crossed over one knee and looking relatively relaxed. My gaze strayed to the older Dixon.

It was certainly an adjustment, Merle showing up after our separation, wiggling his way into our lives. Again. Eating breakfast with Daryl and the group, walking and working around the farm, talking and laughing.

I noticed the definite, unmistakable tension caused by the appearance, between T-Dog and Merle in particular.

I also noticed that Merle stuck close by Daryl and I for the most part, watching and listening. My keeper card was plenty full enough, without the newest addition. I didn't appreciate his apparent need to shadow me and butt his nose into my conversations. They were my conversations. If they concerned him, I could see why he felt he had the right to listen in or comment. They didn't, so I don't.

I walked outside, calling a brief 'hello' to the assembled and tugged Merles arm to grab his attention. I jerked my head to the left, telling him to follow me to the side of the house. Rick and Lori watched, curious, but didn't ask.

I was grateful.

"You been waitin ta get me all alone, short stack?" He drawled, grinning at me.

"You need to stop, Merle. The watching my every move, the listening in on all my conversations, everything. I can understand your concern for my physical well-being and I appreciate it, but not the ghost act." I told him straight in a hushed tone, not willing to risk anyone overhearing. Wind carries voices and corners hide eavesdroppers. "I hate feeling tracked like your damn deer. I don't love the stares the entire farm is giving me, because you're eavesdropping on private and public discussions."

"I got a right ta look after ya, you an' the kid are kin." He hissed, smile long gone, having disappeared the more I spoke. "I don' give a damn if the whole fuckin' town stares at ya cuz I'm doin' right by ya, I take care of my blood. Ya don' like it, too damn bad! Ya best jest get used ta it!"

"Merle." I sighed, dreading the fact he was gearing up for a fight.

"I don't trust Deputy Shane as far as I could throw that Otis fella I heard bout." he sneered the name, clear distaste in his expression, turning his head to spit. "No good son bitch. Can't leave ya runnin round here unprotected."

"I agree. I never said you weren't doing right by me, but do you really need to listen in to every single talk I have with anyone that isn't you?" I tried to reason, make him understand without turning this into a bigger argument. "I'm not saying pack a bag and hit the road, or move out into the middle of the fields. I'm asking you to respect the fact that some things are private. That I would enjoy, sometimes, to stroll around camp without a thousand eyes on me the whole time. Is that so horrible?"

He shifted his stance, jaw working as he chewed on my mini monologue.

I sighed, running my hand through my ponytail. "I promise I'm not doing this to be a bitch, degrade you, or anything else that's probably rattling around your head. I just want-I want a little more wiggle room than you've been giving me. Not an acre, or a mile, but maybe more than an inch or so. Okay?"

He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his stubble.

"Thank you." I whispered sincerely, relieved. That ended better than I thought it might.

Merle grunted, stomping off. Possibly to grab some food, if it was ready yet.

I smothered a smile while I entered the house, my stomach growling loud enough to wake a hibernating bear. Patricia handed me a plate silently, giving me a wan smile when I thanked her quietly. She was slowly getting better, but she was still withdrawn compared to when I arrived. I ate my breakfast at the table, cleared my dishes and fed the chickens.

The heat climbed. I soon had to retreat inside, cool down in the air conditioning. Hershel's orders.

Speaking of, he and Rick disappeared not long ago, without explanation.

I shrugged it off, taking a brief nap.

I had settled down at the dining room table to finish reading a book Beth had loaned me, refreshed bymy hour long nap, when an unmistakable sound filtered through the open window.

Gunshots.

I scrambled out of the chair, flying across the hallway and down the front steps as fast as I dared.

The camp was empty, so was the RV from what I could see. No one else panicking at the sound of gunfire, no screams. I scanned the surrounding fields for any clues. There. I could make out the faint outline of several people by the barn. That had to be where the shots were coming from.

I ran as fast as my condition allowed, not much beyond a jog really. My heart lodged itself in my throat and my blood pounded in my ears, almost drowning out the last of the gunshots.

I stopped at the rear of the assembly, panting.

I rocked back in shock.

Walkers. A decent sized patch of ground in front of the open barn door was littered with walker corpses. At least six, at my count. Some were intertwined, limbs tangled together making it difficult to eyeball an accurate number.

Rick's group, Hershel and his family, Patricia, Jimmy, Willy and Merle were gathered in front of the bodies. Nearly everyone had a gun, except Hershels people and the mothers.

What the hell is going on? Were the walkers inside the barn? Why would Hershel do that?

A low growl caught my attention, my eyes swinging to the barn. It had come from inside, confirming my theory on how the walkers came to be laid out as they were.

Lifeless milky eyes, messy blonde curls and a pink dress with a bow around the waist greeted me.

No. No! NO!

"Missy?" I sobbed, jogging toward her. "No, oh, no. Missy. Missy!"

Merle snagged me around the chest, his arm a hard steel band keeping me from moving forward. He lowered me to the ground and held me there.

My girl. My baby girl. Baby girl. Baby girl. Baby girl.

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.

Please, God, no.

Missy stumbled the rest of the way out of the barn, slowly advancing across the bodies toward us. She was dirty, her dress had small tears and mud splattered on the bottom. Her sneakers and Hello Kitty socks were absolutely filthy, but her face and hair had only a thin dusting of dirt. The large bite wound covered her neck, she was so small. My tiny girl. Her clear blue eyes were now milky and clouded with death. Her glowing skin was ashen and chalky white, the skin beneath her eyes sunken. I could recognize her on sight, but she wasn't my beautiful baby girl any more.

"Missy." I whimpered before sobbing harder, clutching Merle's arms. "Missy. Missy. Missy."

Willy strode past me, his pistol drawn and pointing downward.

No. Please no.

He raised a shaky hand, his back and shoulders tense.

Please.

She's only five.

Merle's arms tightened around me in a quick burst, the short imitation of a hug.

I waited for the shot, my nails digging into his arms. He let me, his only response to my treatment of him a grunt.

Nothing happened.

Willy lowered his arm, yelling hoarsely, a growl of frustrated pain tearing from his lips. He turned, the pistol held barrel up beside his ear, taking a few steps to regain his resolve, before walking back.

He raised his hand, which trembled as badly as it had a moment ago.

My breath came faster, my heart stuttering and skipping beats as time dragged on.

He dropped his gun and stepped back a good ten feet, smacking the side of his head roughly and breathing in short puffs. He was pumping himself up, trying to make himself pull the trigger. I'd seen him do the same when he had to put down a woman he'd been going around with from our last group. He hadn't spoken for two weeks, guilt ridden, though I tried to remind him that it wasn't his fault she died.

The gun came up again, aimed at her head. He kept her in his sights, his gun bobbing slightly as he fought to stare her in the eye. He lowered the gun a third time, a cry of dismay rending the air. He closed the distance between them fast and circled her, leveling at the back of her head. She started to follow, but someone behind us made intentional continuous noise to distract her.

i could see his face now and I immediately wished I hadn't.

It was almost worse than when I thought I'd lost him a while ago.

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed low over tortured and equally pained eyes. His teeth and jaw were clenched tight, his entire body a rigid line of tension.

He held the gun to the back of her blonde head for what felt like years, before his body slumped and he crashed to his knees, the gun slipping from loose fingers. "I can't. God help me, I can't." He choked, the tears falling faster. He bent forward until his forehead touched the ground, his shoulders shaking with barely audible sobs. "I'm sorry, baby girl. . . I'm sorry. . . 'm sorry. . ."

Missy ignored him, the continuous noise and huddled breathing bodies holding all of her focus. She stumbled away from him and toward us, the distance growing smaller with each uneven step.

Merle had drug me farther from the barn when Willy had first failed to pull the trigger, we were halfway between the barn and gated fence now.

Movement on my right barely registered, Missy was still standing. Rick's back blocked my view, but I could see him lift his right arm and I absolutely heard a hammer cock. No. NO! I struggled against Merle's hold anew, clawing at his arms and kicking. No, don't, please. Please, no! Please-

A gunshot severed the thought instantly, the small thump that followed brought Missy's head into view. There was a hole in her forehead, above her nose, between her eyes.

My throat hurt so bad. Why did it hurt? What was that noise? It hurt my ears.

I stopped caring about what it was when Merle finally released me. I crawled rapidly to Missy, cradling her to me and crying. A solid weight at my back and the familiar smell were all that told me Willy was hugging me. All I could see was my girl, all I could hear was my crying and the sound of my heart shredding.

Daryl

It was unexpected, the lil girl comin' out of the barn. It left the whole group reeling, I could see it in their faces. It's different this time, it bein' a child walker. A reminder of what Sophia could have become, what she could've looked like if she hadn't been found.

What was worse was the pregnant girl callin' for the child, a strong grown man breaking like badly spun glass, Abilene crawling for the girl like a demon ta cradle her body.

An' that sound she made when the body fell. It wasn't human. Made all the hairs on my arm raise up. It was tortured, the terrible scream of pure anguish. Pain. Probably have nightmares about that scream, never heard anythin' like it in my life. Hope ta never hear it again. Or the wailing that came after.

One of the farmers daughters went ta a body in the pile, sobbing an' tossing another walkers arm off her. "Mama."

Shit.

The female walker grabbed ahold of the blonde, snarling, she started screeching. Rick, T-Dog, Glenn, Shane an' Andrea rushed forward ta pull them apart. Andrea grabbed a scythe from somewhere around the barn door an' drove it through the walkers' head.

Hershel an' his family left promptly after. Shane hounded their steps, Rick following after him. Jimmy stayed behind, staring dumbly at the dead.

Abilene an' Willy hadn't moved a muscle, throughout the whole thing, didn't seem ta register what was happening around 'em. Merle stood close, but not too close, left hand on his holster. Lookin' out for 'em while they grieved.

Shane returned first, Rick trailing behind him a bit. It was obvious they'd argued.

"Who's the kid?" Shane asked abruptly, his usually callous tactless approach. He stood in a casual stance, shot gun slung over his shoulder. "Why was she in there?"

"Shut the hell up, ain't none'a yer business." I snapped, bastard shouldn't be bringin' that shit up when there are clearly more important things happenin'. Obviously the kid meant a hell of a lot ta 'em or they wouldn't be mournin' her like that. She was kin, of some sort, my guess.

"For God's sake, Shane, this isn't the time or place." Lori hissed, appalled, before steering her son away. Dale took Carl to the farmhouse. She didn't leave, regrouping with her husband briefly by the fence and whispering fervently with worried faces. Her glances toward the walkers and the forest clear what her concerns were.

At least she had a lick of sense.

"Do you want us to start burying?" T-Dog asked Rick when he saw him.

"We should hold a service, Hershel and Abilene would want that." Andrea suggested.

"Yeah, we all want that." He countered, walking forward a few steps.

Rick stood silent, staring at the grieving family.

Lori took charge, once she saw her husband couldn't. "Let's-let's dig a grave for Missy, Shawn and Annette over by those trees." She pointed to a grove of trees behind and to the left of the barn. "We'll need a truck to move the bodies."

"I'll get the keys." JImmy volunteered quietly.

"No, no. I got the truck." Shane muttered, leaving without another word or a glance at anyone.

"And the others? That's a lot of digging." Jimmy said, wordlessly counting the dead.

"WE bury the ones we love and burn the rest." Andrea informed him grimly.

"Let's get to work." Lori sighed, the words the motivation the group needed to separate and begin prepping the bodies for transport.

We worked in silence, the occasional grunt or sound of exertion the only noise for a while. Shane drove Otis' blue truck into view, stalking over to a body to throw in the bed.

Andrea wavered a few feet from Abilene, uncertain.

"Should we do something? We can't leave her like this." She whispered, gesturing to the child, though it was loud enough in the silence that she may as well have been speaking at normal volume. "Is there a blanket around here we could use to cover her?"

"There may be a blanket in the barn. It would be for horses, most likely, but it would be big enough." Jimmy offered, pausing where he'd been dragging a walker toward the grove of trees.

"Ya ain't usin' a damn horse blanket on her." Merle snarled, not glancing at either of them. "Ya can't find anythin' decent ta offer, boy, keep yer mouth shut. She hears that shit, she's liable ta knock ya inta next month."

"There's nothing, short of bringing that child back, that could truly help them." Rick murmured, guilt heavy in his eyes and posture. He spoke with the knowledge of someone who's been there, who understands what hell they were living. "We let them have the time they need to mourn, support them however much they let us, and just be here."

Hershel's oldest, the brunette, brought a sheet ta wrap the body in, keepin' a respectful distance as she handed it ta Merle and backed off quick.

"We have shovels out back, when you're ready." The brunette told them softly.

Willy finally glanced up. "I ain't buryin' her in nothin' but a damn sheet. She deserves better than that."

He stood, snatched the sheet from Merle an' shook it out some. He gently laid it over the small body, carefully turnin' her so he could tuck it under and properly swaddle her in it. He said somethin' ta Abilene, she nodded absently, but didn't move or speak. He picked up the child with extreme care, carrying her off toward the farmhouse, without so much as a passing glance for the rest of us.

Merle, in turn, picked up Abilene an' carried her to the house, takin' the time ta spit in Shane's direction.

Shane peeled down the road with a disgusted huff not long after.