The question came out carrying a trace of uncertainty, one even Daryl himself did not notice.
He was used to being alone, but his brother's return and the different energy of this small group had stirred something in him, like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples across his life.
"Of course we are," Merle shot back immediately, tapping the wooden stump with his metal arm, producing a dull knock.
"We've got our own things to handle. Up north, that's our territory. That's home. I've gotta go back, Calista's going back, and Jenson, Wells, and the rest of the guys are waiting for us."
As usual, he started painting it up. "I'm telling you, that place is easy to defend and hard to attack. Mountains, water, the whole deal. Like a fortress. Best part, there's way less bullshit to deal with."
Merle leaned in close, his voice turning persuasive. "So what do you say, kid? Come with me. No need to stay in this dump, putting up with everyone. Rick's a good guy, sure, but his way of doing things...
Hah. That doesn't work in this world.
Just look at Shane, then Rick. Those two are gonna blow sooner or later. What's the point of you getting stuck in the middle? Come with us. I guarantee it'll be a hundred times better than staying here."
Daryl stayed silent, his knife unconsciously carving grooves into the stick in his hand.
Merle's words echoed in his head.
Rock Fortress. It did sound stronger than the farm. More in line with the harsh rules of this world.
Calista's decisiveness. Leah's strength. The clear sense of belonging Merle had. And that "something of their own" they kept talking about.
It all pulled at him in a way he was not used to.
Daryl had always been on the outside, and even in Rick's group, that had not really changed.
But in this new group, it felt like he might actually find a place.
At the very least, Merle was there.
Still, he did not agree right away.
Years of living on his own had made him cautious.
In Rick's group, there were still familiar faces. And Carol, who showed him occasional kindness.
Even if their bond was not deep, since Sophia never went missing, she still appreciated how he had insisted on searching for her.
"I'll think about it," Daryl finally said.
He put away his knife, tossed the sharpened stick into the fire, and watched it get swallowed by the flames with a faint crackle.
Merle studied his brother's quiet profile and knew better than to push too hard.
He slapped Daryl on the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways. "Alright. Take your time and think it through. Just give me an answer before we leave."
With that, he stood up and strolled back toward Calista and Leah, looking satisfied.
By the fire, Daryl was left alone again.
He looked up at the flickering flames, his expression unreadable.
Leave or stay.
Follow his brother, bound by blood but separated for years, to an unknown yet promising stronghold.
Or stay with this familiar group, where tensions were starting to build beneath the surface.
...
Upstairs in the farmhouse.
Beth curled up on the bed. The shock from earlier had drained her strength. Even wrapped in a thick blanket, she felt no warmth.
The faint voices outside sounded distant, unreal, like they belonged to another world.
Her world had already shattered the moment the barn doors opened and the gunshots rang out.
What had sustained Beth all this time was not just the farm's safety or its food.
It was Hershel's unwavering belief.
He told her the walkers were sick.
That they were not gone, just waiting. That one day, there would be a cure.
Her mother. Her stepbrother.
They were still there, just in a different way.
Beth would sometimes stand outside the barn, speaking softly through the wooden boards, telling them everything would be alright.
That belief had been her refuge.
It let her endure the growing number of walkers outside, the loss of people she cared about, and still hold on to hope.
But today, that refuge was torn apart.
She saw them burst out of the barn like animals, snarling, attacking the living.
She saw familiar faces. Neighbors. And even her mother.
Falling one by one under gunfire.
What broke her the most was when she ran toward that figure in the sky-blue dress her mother loved.
What answered her was not an embrace.
It was a rotting face, a mouth trying to tear her throat out.
It was not the walker that terrified her.
It was the death of what "mother" meant.
Her father had been wrong.
Completely wrong.
That was not illness. It was death. Something twisted and irreversible.
What they had been protecting was never hope.
It was monsters wearing the faces of people they loved.
...
That night, after Beth woke up, Hershel returned.
She heard movement downstairs. Maggie's voice, thick with tears. Hershel's tired reply.
She knew he was back.
But she did not know how to face him.
Should she feel sorry for him, for losing his "family" too.
Or feel angry at herself, for believing in the lie so completely.
If walkers were not sick, but monsters, then where was hope in this world.
If even her father could build and cling to such a lie, then what could she believe in now.
She heard Maggie and Glenn talking quietly downstairs, their voices carrying both relief and worry.
Maggie had Glenn.
Beth was glad for her.
But it only made her feel more alone.
No one could understand what she was feeling.
Maggie at least had someone to lean on.
What did Beth have.
Jimmy could not understand her. He never believed the people in the barn were sick.
Her father was lost. And her mother, the one she once confided in, had become the most horrifying image in her mind.
Beth tried to close her eyes.
The moment she did, she saw bodies on the ground. Her mother's decaying face.
Her eyes snapped open.
She could hear her father coming upstairs. Slow, heavy footsteps.
They stopped outside her door.
Beth held her breath and pretended to be asleep.
She did not know what she could say to him.
Blame him.
Cry.
Ask for comfort like before.
None of it felt right.
After a moment of hesitation, the footsteps moved away, heading to the room next door.
She heard the door close.
The sound carried the same helplessness she felt.
A sense of abandonment rose in her chest.
Even her father could not comfort her now.
Beth cried silently.
For her, this quiet night felt endless.
Her entire understanding of the world was breaking apart and rebuilding.
Whether she could find the strength to stand again from those ruins.
Even she did not know.