Head pounding. Throat sore. What the hell? Daryl rolled over slowly, taking inventory of his body parts as he turned. Nothing seemed to be broken, but damn his head hurt. And smoky dust was clogging his airways as it settled.

Something had put his lights out but good. What the hell was it? How long had he been out? The last thing he could clearly recall was descending a flight of stairs with Carol and Ez—Carol! Where was she? Was she all right? He sat up and coughed.

"Carol?" He croaked into the darkness. "Carol? Ezekiel?"

He moved his hand through the debris around him until he found his flashlight. The light beam surveyed the room until it found a crumpled form in the shape of a human partially buried underneath the rubble.

"Ezekiel?" Daryl felt for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. The beam that had fallen across the man's chest was slowly suffocating him.

He took a deep breath and threw his weight against the beam in a futile attempt to dislodge it. Another fit of coughing ensued, and he fell back on his butt.

"That all you got?" Merle derided. "Ya lift like a schoolgirl. Put some muscle into it."

Terrific. Just what he needed. "Shut up. You're only here 'cause somethin' hit me in my head."

"Why you tryin' to help him anyhow? He wants yer woman!"

"You gonna help me or just piss me off?" Daryl shot back at the hallucination.

"Helpin' you is exactly what I'm tryin' to do." Merle sat on a fallen shelf. "Lemme ask ya somethin', little brother. Where's Officer Friendly right now? And that nut buster? She might be worryin' about this guy, not you."

Daryl grunted as he attempted again to move the weight. "You know what? Rick and Carol done more for me in three years than you did in forty-five."

"She walked out on you in the dead of night without so much as a how-do-ya-do. Maybe she ain't even breathin' no more, anyway. Maybe she's buried under that pile of rocks over there."

"Shut up!" He said more forcefully than before. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead in an effort to remain conscious. "You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about. Anyway, she's just fine. Take more'n a bunch a concrete to kill Carol." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

"Okay, okay, I'll give you that one. She's one ballsy bitch. Woulda never thought it back in that camp when she was cowering like a little mouse every time her old man looked at her. But she was different at the prison. Savvy. Tough. Wasn't scared to get in my face."

"I'm sure you had it comin'." Daryl rose, and moved toward Ezekiel again. "I shouldn't a listened to you then, and I ain't listenin' to you now."

"You best listen. 'Cause your big brother's learned a few things. She got in my face 'cause she's sweet on you, dummy. She had your back, and if I was bettin' I'd lay good money that she's still got your back."

"She's got my back," Daryl confirmed, "and I got hers. No matter what. But she ain't sweet on me."

"You don't wanna listen to that, huh? Well listen to this. I'm gonna tell you somethin' important now. Somethin' I shoulda said a long time ago. I wasn't the best brother ever. Aw, hell, I was a shitty brother."

"Yeah?"

"I tried, you know, I did, I cared for you but I didn't know how. Let's face it, our folks weren't exactly Ozzie and Harriet."

"They weren't even Ozzy and Sharon," Daryl snorted. He stared sadly at the apparition his subconscious had placed beside him. "You did try. And you came through in the end. I just wish…I wish I coulda got there in time. Maybe we coulda fixed things, been better to each other."

"Nooooo, baby brother. No. It went down the way it shoulda. I don't regret a thing I did that day. First time in my life I ever did anything good, and I didn't just do it for you. I did it for them others, too—the Mouse, Officer Friendly, that Chinese kid…they was there for you when I wasn't. It wasn't no scam, they really liked ya. Respected ya. Me, I was pea green with envy. I wish I had your guts and grit."

"You had more than me!" Daryl protested. Another attempt to rescue the man trapped in the rubble failed. "You don't think it takes guts and grit to go off on your own at sixteen? Or saw off your own hand?"

"Nope. What it takes is desperation."

"I seen plenty of desperate people just give up. Quit. But you, no. You never did. I learned that from you—to never ever stop fightin'."

"You keep fightin' 'cause you're a Dixon. Fightin's what we do. I miss you son, but I gotta get goin'. A piece of advice from old Merle? Move them boxes over there and stand on the other side. Get more leverage that way."

Another wave of syncope descended on Daryl as his consciousness faded to black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He awoke with a throbbing pain in his head. The confusion swirling around his brain threatened to overwhelm him. How long had been unconscious this time? Or was this actually his first time awakening since the explosion and Merle's visit had been only a dream? His flashlight lay beside him. He immediately shone it at the still body of King Ezekiel, just inches away from him.

The faint pulse was there, just as he had felt it—or imagined it—before. Upon the touch of fingers on his neck, Zeke's eyes flickered open.

The boxes on the man's left were easily enough moved. Dammit, Merle was right again. If only that son of a bitch could've used his powers for good when he was still alive. With the improved angle and a whole lot of straining, he was able to remove the beam from across Ezekiel's torso.

He sat on the floor with his back against an overturned shelf while recovered his strength. Slowly, Ezekiel also moved to a sitting position.

"Thank you," the man said hoarsely.

"Anything broken?"

"A lot of chest pain, so maybe a cracked rib or two. Where is Carol?"

Daryl shook his head. "Dunno. That cave in musta come down between us and her." Or on her.

They sat in silence at length. How long, neither could tell. It could have a few minutes or it could have been an hour. Gradually, the mental fog began to clear. Zeke retrieved his own flashlight and propped it in the way that gave them a modicum of illumination.

All right, Dixon, get off your ass and find a way out of here. The sooner he could get out, the sooner he could find her. He used his light to scan their prison thoroughly, careful not to miss an inch.

Both men's attentions were captured by a ventilation duct in the wall near the ceiling. The small circular opening was covered by a square vent.

"We may find it reassuring to know we shall not run out of oxygen," Ezekiel mentioned.

Daryl was already on his feet, standing directly under it to get a better look. "Where you 'spose this goes?"

"Doesn't matter. We're both fairly large men. Neither of us is fitting through there."

The archer nodded. "I don't even think Enid could fit through there, and she's tiny. Still seems like there oughta be somethin' we can do with this."

"What do you remember of the map?" Ezekiel asked. "Are any of these exterior walls?"

"The eastern one."

"I've lost my bearings," the king admitted, "which direction is east?"

Daryl rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "We we're headin' south. Carol was behind us. The pile came down between us and her, so…" he turned to face the far wall and pointed, "this way's east."

He carefully navigated his way around the debris littering the floor and reached the east wall.

"It's concrete, man, pretty solid. We ain't gettin' through there without a jackhammer. Unless I can find somethin' here to use like a pickaxe."

With a moan, Zeke struggled to his feet. Slowly, he came to stand beside Daryl.

"I'm afraid this is all for naught," he began sadly, "she's likely buried beneath the rubble."

"No she ain't! Why you gotta go there?" Daryl spat angrily.

"Just trying to be realistic…"

"Well, you ain't. We're gonna get outta here and we're gonna find her. She's gonna be just fine." He fought back hard against the naysayer in his own mind. The last time you said that, the girl was dead and turned. Accept it. No! No, it's different. Carol is fine. He felt he'd failed to find Sophia, something which haunted him, but he would not, could not fail Carol again.

"You're right, you're right. I've been accused of being overly optimistic. It's time to exercise a bit of that faith now." He aimed his light at rubble. "If we cannot breach this wall, perhaps we may try that one."

"You gonna be liftin' that shit? With broken ribs?"

"I will," Ezekiel nodded. "But it is of concern to me that if Carol is trapped underneath, as I was, we may cause the weight to shift and injure her further. We must be very, very cautious."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. Putting Carol at risk was not something he was willing to do. But what if there were no other options? Surely there must be. He turned his attention back to the tiny vent.

"I got an idea…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol could feel the walls closing in around her. An odd phrase, she chided herself, considering what she'd experienced today, but it was nonetheless true. Four hours now, and still no indication of the status of Daryl and Ezekiel. The uncertainty was crushing her soul. Three years she'd spent becoming strong and self-sufficient, but here, now, she felt as helpless as she had when she'd seen Sophia flee into the woods.

Her arms ached and her hands were beginning to blister from moving those chunks of debris. But there was simply nothing else she could do, so she just kept doing it. She was short of breath and drenched in sweat when Michonne all but forced her to go outside for a quick dose of sunlight and fresh air.

The cold air hit her sweat moistened clothing and skin, instantly chilling her as she reached the courtyard. Sitting there, glistening in the sunlight, was the motorcycle. And it hit her again, like a punch in the gut—what if that bike was all that was left of him? What if she never saw him again? Just a few days ago, they were sledding on a hillside, momentarily free from the burdens of their world. Now, he could be dead. Gone. Just like so many others. But he wasn't like the others, was he?

"How ya holding up?" Rick's voice startled her.

"I'm not," She stammered. "I don't even know what I'm doing out here. I should be in there—"

"You should be right where you are," he told her gently. "You sure you don't have any injuries?"

"I'm fine. But I need to be in there. I need to be doing something. Even though it feels…"

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"You won't do them any good if you pass out. Besides, this is Daryl."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means it's Daryl," he repeated before clarifying. "Remember the CDC? Once we found out Jenner locked us in?"

What the hell, Rick? How could I forget? "Of course."

"Your head ain't!'" He quoted in his best, but still woefully bad, impression of Daryl's voice. "You know, at the time I didn't know him well, and I was a little too involved in the situation to fully appreciate him, but when I look back now, that was pretty funny! And then, while the rest of us were standing there in shock, what was Daryl doing? Trying to bust out."

"I remember, Rick!" Carol snapped. She couldn't figure out what he was doing. Was he trying to eulogize Daryl?

"I know," he continued, "I know things are looking pretty bleak right now, but this is Daryl. And Daryl never gives up. There's no quit in him. No matter how bad the odds are. Negan locks him up for a week, does God knows what to him, but did it break him? Hell, no! He came up fighting."

Gradually it dawned on her what he was trying to say. "You're right."

"I am. WWDD. That's our new motto."

TBC