It's been a hell of a day. Since that herd moved in the night before, they've been up to their eyeballs in walkers. Rick'd had half a mind to cancel the run that morning because of it, only with their supplies running low, it wasn't an option. Daryl had agreed.

Getting them out had been a trick. Just Daryl and a new fella, Joel Batewood, went out. Everyone else, they needed back at the prison, making sure they didn't get any pileups at the fences and hopefully clearing a path for when Daryl and Joel got back.

They were expecting them back around noon, so they did most of their work before then, taking a pretty big chunk out of the herd and luring the rest away with a quick jaunt out in one of the kids' Chargers. It's old school – Glen made a crack about coming full circle before he got behind the wheel – but it did the trick. They're back down to more or less their usual stragglers come afternoon.

Turns out, they could've taken their time. It's closing in on five in the afternoon. The sun's still out, so there's no call for worry yet, but Rick's got eyes out for them. Too much longer, they'll be breaking curfew, and that's not a habit they make around there. But Rick knows it's easy to get caught up out there. Maybe take a little extra time, play it safe. Daryl's smart; Rick trusts him, not just to bring back the supplies they need, but to bring himself back. He knows what it means to the others. To Rick. He knows what he means. He'll be back soon enough.

The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

So, Rick doesn't. Think about it, that is. Instead, he focuses on useful things, like checking the stakes on the bean plants and putting food out for the animals. He's got water to get, too. Hot day like this, most everybody working, people get thirsty. Dehydration's a dangerous thing, and it's best to avoid it if they can.

It's when he's on his way down to the pump, a bucket in each hand, that he hears all the commotion. There's people shouting for him from the east side of the yard – sounds like Maggie and Michonne – and they sound like it's urgent. Rick could probably think of a few reasons that might be, if he tried, but right at the moment, only one comes to mind.

Daryl.

He's moving before he can finish the thought, short as it is, dropping the buckets and making for the east gate quick as his legs'll carry him. "Maggie?" he shouts as he sprints full tilt across the yard. Those aren't the sounds of a party coming back. There's something wrong. "What's going on?"

Maggie's running out towards him, and they meet something close to halfway, except she doesn't stop, just changes directions and runs alongside him back to the gate. "It's Daryl," she says. "He's back, but he's on foot and he's got somebody with him, but the walkers are going after him."

That's a whole lot to process at once. Daryl's back from the run, but he's on foot, which means he lost the car. He's got a girl with him, so he must've found her along the way. And nobody's mentioned seeing Joel with him, so that like as not means he's not there. But all that fails to really register in light of the last bit. It's the one that's got him picking up his pace, even quicker than before, and grabbing a crowbar hanging on one of the fences.

There're walkers after Daryl.

"How bad?" he shouts, even though Maggie's right next to him. It's adrenaline and a mad sprint, and Maggie's shouting right back.

"I don't know. Michonne went out to help him. Glen, too."

Rick can see them, now. Not Daryl – he reckons he's somewhere on the other side of the pack of walkers making for the tree line – but he can see Glen and Maggie running headlong into the fray. He wants to say they shouldn't 'a gone running out, but he can't bring himself to, because truth is, he'd have done the same thing if he was there.

Matter of fact, he does. He sprints through the gate, crowbar in hand and at the ready, and behind him, he can hear all sorts of noise at the gate. Pots, rattling on the fences, trying to draw as many walkers away as they can while the three of them try to get to Daryl and whoever it is he's got with him.

Rick can see him, now. He's up by the trees, knife in one hand, holding a little girl with the other. And even fro where he is, he can see the blood all over the pair of them.

He runs even faster.

He's caught up with Glen and Michonne, now. They slowed up at the edge of the walkers, trying to clear a path through it looks like, but there are more walkers than's easy to deal with, especially for just the three of them.

"Rick, go," Michonne says when he takes down a walker at her left flank.

That gets Glen's attention, and after he knocks down another walker with a piece of curved rebar, he waves Rick past. "Go on! Get Daryl. We'll clear a path for you."

And Rick doesn't bother arguing or thinking it over. It's a plan, and it's simple, and it involves him getting to Daryl as soon as possible, before he's overrun by walkers. Far as Rick's concerned, that's three points in its favor.

He breaks through. Most of the walkers are up by Glen and Michonne, or else at the gates where the others are making all the noise. There's only a few really close to Daryl, but with his hands more or less taken up, that's a few too many. Especially now that Rick's getting closer. He can see the blood on him, down the side of his face, and the bandana tied around his leg – he's hurt. Rick don't know how bad, but it's enough to slow him down, and that's enough to be dangerous.

"Daryl!" he calls out, just as he's reaching him. He doesn't spare time for a big reunion, though. Much as he thinks it might help if he could take some of those bags Daryl's got, or the little girl, they don't have time to pass off. Glen's shouting for them to come on, and a glance back at the fence shows the walkers ain't falling for the pots and pans anymore.

So, instead, he grabs him by the back of one of the bags, and he starts running. Daryl does too, and they're making pretty good time through the path Geln and Michonne cleared, right up until Daryl loses his footing. He doesn't trip, far as Rick can tell; it's like his legs just give out. Rick keeps going, though, tugging on the bag and half-dragging Daryl back to his feet.

"C'mon," he hisses, urging Daryl on faster. "Little more. C'mon." And Rick's not real sure why, but he feels like he's just run a marathon when he makes it back inside the gates with Daryl and his load. Glen and Michonne are right behind them, and Maggie's waiting with Carl to close the gates just as soon as they're in.

Daryl's just barely clear of them when he drops like a sack of potatoes. He somehow manages to keep his hold of the little girl, has her cradled in his arms, so she doesn't hit when he goes to his knees, but Rick can tell that's just about all he can do. He's past spent, running on fumes and sheer force of will.

"Daryl?" he says tentatively, squatting down in front of him. He can see now, all the blood matted on the side of his head. His left eye's near swollen shut, and his nose is all bloody and bruised. Whatever happened, he knocked his head pretty good, and there's an awful lot of blood around the bandana on his thigh. "You alright?"

"Get Hershel."

It's not really the answer he was looking for, but he takes it as a sign the answer's no, if Daryl's asking for Hershel. He doesn't explain any more than that, doesn't say why he needs Hershel or where he's hurt or how bad, just that. And he keeps saying it, too. Telling them, in this voice halfway between frenzied and distracted, to go get Hershel, that she's hurt and needs help.

"We'll get her help," Rick tells him. "Hershel's on his way – we'll get you both looked at, alright?"

"'m'fine," Daryl says. He's not looking up at Rick, or even at the little girl. He's staring at the ground, and he's sucking wind in these short panted, gasping breaths, like he's having trouble breathing. "S'her. She needs help. I'm fine, just her."

There's something not right about the way he's talking. It's quick, repetitive. Frantic, in a way that makes something in Rick's chest twist. He moves in a little closer, tries to reach for the girl, but Daryl jerks her back. "Hey, I just wanna get a look at her."

"Where's Hershel?"

"He's comin', but you need to let her go so he can see her when he gets here."

But Daryl's shaking his head. "Just get 'im."

"We are, but—"

"Rick." It's Maggie that realizes it first. She's standing behind him, and when he glances back from Daryl to her, she nods back at the little girl. And when Rick turns around to see what she's talking about, that's when he sees them: open eyes. Glassy. Unseeing.

Dead.

The little girl's dead.

And what's more – Daryl seems like the only one's not noticed. They're all talking to each other, all got worried looks in their eyes like they're not real sure what to make of things. Daryl's holding a dead girl, going on like she's still alive. And maybe he just ain't noticed it yet, maybe he was too busy running from those walkers, trying to get back in.

Or maybe he knows, he just won't let himself believe it.

"The hell're you people standin' around for?" Daryl barks suddenly, and he's got his eyes raised up and looking around at them. "Didn't y'all hear me? I said get Hershel."

"Carl," Rick says slowly, barely daring to take his eyes off the girl now he knows she's dead. He don't know how long she's been that way, but he knows there's no telling when she could come back. If Daryl's not ready for it, then he will be. "Go see where Hershel is." Maybe he can talk some sense into him, figure out some way to talk Daryl down, coax the girl out of his arms so they can take care of her.

And more importantly, so they can take care of him.

"No need for that." It's Hershel, and Rick glances back again to see him walking up on the little group they've got gathered in the yard inside the gate. "I'm here." And he doesn't stop to ask what's going on, just walks right up next to Rick and kneels down in front of Daryl like he knows just what's what, despite just getting there a few seconds ago.

Daryl seems relieved to see him, too. His eyes are squinted – or else swollen, which might be the more likely, between that bump on his head and the blood under his nose – but he's looking at Hershel like he's Jesus come again.

"Do somethin'," he says. He sounds unsteady, his voice like sandpaper, and desperate. Pleading. Helpless. Rick knows the sound, but he ain't sure he's ever heard it coming from Daryl. "Help her."

Rick's not real sure what to do. Does he tell him she's dead? He's already worked up; Rick's not sure working him up any more's the right way to go. But they can't just sit there waiting for the girl to come back and take a chunk out of him. And that's ignoring the fact that Daryl's bleeding all over the place himself.

Mercifully, Hershel seems to have a grasp on it. He shifts in a mite closer to Daryl so he can reach for him, put a hand on his shoulder, then one on the little girl's thin neck. He reckons he's just making sure.

Rick's not expecting good news, but it still hits him when he shakes his head.

Seems to hit Daryl, too, just in a different way. "What're you shakin' your head for?" he bites out. He sounds like he can't decide if he wants to be scared or angry, so he's settled for someplace in between. "Stop wastin' time."

Hershel, to his credit, doesn't react. He's calm as still water, hand on Daryl's shoulder still there and holding firm. "Why don't you sit her down, son?" Hershel says gently. Rick doesn't know if it's that obvious that Daryl's not himself, or if Hershel's just got an eye for that sort of thing. Might be he's gotten used to seeing it, and Rick knows he's partly to blame for that.

Daryl's back to shaking his head, though. Not a good sign, and Rick can't imagine it's doing great things for the concussion he's probably got, if that goose egg straddling his temple's anything to go by. He looks torn, like he's not real sure what he wants to do. Whether he wants to yell some more, do what they say, do something different…his face is all screwed up, lips drawn tight and brows pulled in so tight he's pulled open the cut over his eye again.

"Should get 'er inside," is what he finally seems to decide on, and he starts to stand. Starts to. He doesn't make it far at all before Rick and Hershel are both pushing him down. Not that it takes much; Rick's not real sure Daryl could stand on his own even if they let him.

"Why don't you let one of us take her?" Hershel tries. "You're barely in any shape to be walking on your own."

"Made it here, didn't I?" He's getting frustrated, it sounds like. His voice has got that edge to it, not so much like a growl as a snarl. Like someone's gone and pissed off a bobcat.

Rick knows a turn for the worse when he sees it, and he knows this situation's fixing to take one. "C'mon, Daryl. Just do like he says."

Hershel joins in, too. "We're just trying to help you, son."

"No!" Daryl snaps. His voice is hitched high and reedy with strain, and it looks like he's having a harder and harder time catching his breath, but he's holding tight to the girl and standing his ground. Tough son of a bitch. "To hell with all y'all. Ain't none 'a you listenin' to me? Said I's fine. She's the one needs help – the girl, goddammit, not me."

"The girl is dead."