“Dean! You gotta pack up now. Take Lisa and Ben someplace safe. And take lots of bullets. I mean lots!”
Dean sat up in bed. “Bobby, what's wrong?” Lisa rolled over, eyes sleepy but full of worry as she gazed up at him.
“Sioux Falls is overrun. The walking dead are everywhere.”
“No.” Dean pulled sleep out of his eyes. “No. No way! We stopped the virus.”
“Stay put. I'm coming to get you.” Dean jumped up, pulling his pants on with one free hand.
“No, ya idjit, listen to me! Everywhere! We're overrun. Get your family and get to safety now. Use my safe house, if you can get to it. I'll come when I can.” He paused, and Dean heard growling in the background. “It's bad, Dean. Go!”
Bobby heard the sounds of several windows breaking at once. The boards wouldn't hold long.
“Exactly how many times are we going to have to fight zombies together, Bobby Singer?” Jody Mills asked, a thread of panic in her voice belying her calmly wry attitude.
“I'm sorry, Sheriff.”
“Well, it's not your fault, is it?”
“Well...” Bobby thought a moment. “Not a-purpose, that's for sure.” Jody frowned and started to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of planks snapping. The windows started going one by one. He could see croats crawling through in the living room.
“There's too many of 'em!” Bobby yelled, shooting. “Get down to the panic room!”
Dean watched as Ben did a passable job of filling the target full of holes. Lisa slipped her arm around Dean's waist, smiling with quiet pride. There was no need to worry about croats for a change as Dean taught them everything he knew about guns. He'd never wanted to do it, but if he had to, he was going to do it right. He'd found a shooting range, surprisingly unlooted, and cleared it out in just minutes. Not too many croats hanging out in there. It was sound-proof and almost normal, and that's all that mattered.
“It's not supposed to be like this,” Dean said, feeling the weight of her proud smile pressing down on his chest. “We stopped all this. Sam stopped all of this. What's the point of his big sacrifice if we're always on the run, and Ben's going to have to live the same shitty life of a hunter anyway?”
“At least he's living,” Lisa said quietly.
“It's not supposed to be like this.” Dean ran his hand down his face.
“Cas! You get your ass down here!”
Lisa and Ben gasped as a soft wind fluttered behind him. Dean turned around, relieved to find the angel had finally answered his call. “We need your help, Cas. It's been three months, and he still ain't here. Where's Bobby?”
“Dean, I don't have time for this. We're at war up there!”
“We're at war down here!”
“Dean.” Castiel paced before the boarded windows. “The pagan and eastern deities have teamed up against Heaven. It's worse than anything you can imagine. Someone has stolen the strongest weapons of Heaven and left us nearly defenseless against them. And without Michael and his sword...” Cas shook his head. “I'm honestly not sure we can win.”
“Bobby,” Dean reiterated quietly. “He's done so much for all of us. That's all I need, and then you can get back to your little celestial pissing contest.”
Cas spun around and pushed Dean up against the wall. To Dean's horror, he saw that Ben had his gun out and pointed at Cas's head in half a second. Dean waved him off and stared into Cas's blue eyes. “Please, Cas. I'm begging you.”
“DAMMIT!” Dean stalked through the room, kicked over a chair. “Dammit.”
A low fluttering once again announced Castiel's arrival. Dean looked up in relief as Cas spoke. “He's stuck in his panic room with that sheriff. They don't have a lot of food left.” Cas put a hand on Dean's shoulder. “The place is overrun. I'm sorry.”
“Why didn't you zap them here?”
Cas swallowed. “They were...busy. Now, so am I.”
“Rufus! You scared the bejesus out of me, man.” Dean leaned back against an old truck and tried to steady his heart. “What are you doing here? Are you alone?”
“Come to get my boy.” Rufus nodded toward the house. About sixty croats circled the place, most bumping back and forth between the maze of cars that they couldn't find their way out of.
Dean smiled. He held his gun in one hand and an axe in the other. “Yeah. Same.”
“Let's do this.”
Dean could only stare wide-eyed at the figure who had just hopped the fence and was sauntering up to the farm. He'd come out running, ready for another fight, unwilling to be run off from this sanctuary. Instead, he stopped in his tracks. His breath left him, and his heart stopped.
“Oh my god!” Lisa cried. “Sam?”
Sam started jogging toward them once the guns were lowered. He smiled tightly as he pounded Dean on the back. “Good to see you, man. It's really good to see you.”
“I don't believe it.” Dean shook his head.
Sam stepped back and spread his arms, then, to Lisa's obvious horror, cut himself with a silver knife. He reached in his pocket and pulled out salt, then sprinkled it right in the wound. He winced for a split second, but that was it. Dean holstered his weapon and pulled his brother close. “How long have you been back? How?”
“Nine months. And I have no clue.”
“You've been back this whole time?”
“As far as I can tell.” Sam looked around at the farm. “You're a hard man to find.”
Dean sighed. “We've been on the move. A lot.”
“CAS!” Dean pushed Ben toward Bobby, heedless of the boy's injury.
Bobby in turn pushed him to Jody, though a bit more gently, and grabbed Dean. “You can't! I want to save them just as much as you, but it's too late. We need to get him out of here, and he can't walk.”
“It's never too late,” Dean spat. “Castiel! Get down here! Farm, now!” He tried to pull away. Struggled to run to Lisa.
“Dean, there's too many of 'em!” Bobby pleaded with him. “We've already lost two. Please!”
Dean tried to push him off, but Bobby spun him around and slapped him flat across the face. Dean raised a fist, struggled not to hit him back. “Bobby, don't you dare---”
“I love 'em too, Dean, but that's a damn big herd. Your boy can't walk. Let's go.”
“Cas!” Dean screamed, pulling away from Bobby. “He can bring her back! I know he can. Cas!”
“Stop yelling!” Bobby looked back at where Jody was struggling to carry Ben to the car. Ben hopped along as best he could, but the bone was poking out above his ankle. And at least a dozen croats were closing in on them from the other direction. “We're getting surrounded. We gotta go!”
Sam shook his head and clasped Dean on the shoulder. “I'm sorry.” He ran to cover Jody and Ben, his firing never lagging.
“Dean!” Ben yelled, his voice carrying even more grief than Dean's. Dean stopped fighting off Bobby, and the two looked across the yard at each other. “Please,” Ben whispered.
Finally, Dean ran to the car. Once in, he started beating the steering wheel. “Cas, dammit, come on!”
“Dean.” Sam's voice was low as he fell into the backseat, still covering Ben. “Get us out of here, then I'll drive.”
Bloody croat hands slammed against the windows, and Ben screamed. Dean started the car. Across the yard, he saw first Rufus and then Lisa stand. “Oh, hell no.”
The car started speeding down the driveway. “Ben, close your eyes!” Bobby yelled as he rolled down the passenger window and leaned out. “I'm sorry,” Bobby said quietly before shooting Rufus in the head.
Dean said nothing as he turned the car and shot Lisa himself.
“Rick, I'm telling you...he gunned that boy down.”
Those words echoed in Rick's head as he looked at the people of Woodbury. It was mostly just the old and the young staring back at him. A few, but not many, in between. Most of those had been gunned down on the road by the Governor. Rick looked into the frightened eyes of little old ladies and kids.
This was just what Carl needed. It was what they all needed. They had food, supplies. They turned over all of the weapons when they heard what the Governor had done. Karen introduced him to a doctor. Eileen was expecting a baby. Ms. McLeod had a pregnant pig and a handful of chickens. They could join forces and have real lives.
“You're welcome to join us,” he said. “But there's got to be some ground rules...”
Daryl spotted the survivors before they saw him, despite the fact that the Triumph loudly announced his approach. Since there were only two of them, both huddled intently over the hood of their ride, he rode up to the crossroads to check them out. The men had their guns drawn and trained on him as soon as they noticed him, so Daryl pulled the bike to a stop several yards away.
They both had narrowed eyes and pistols drawn, but Daryl's eyes were drawn to the shiny black Impala between them. There was some splatter on the windshield where they had obviously encountered walkers recently, but it was otherwise pristine and still quietly purring. Daryl inclined his head. “Nice wheels,” he called.
The shorter one's arm relaxed just an inch or so. “Thanks. Yours too.”
“It was my brother's.”
The man hesitated. “Dad's. But she was mine long before this all started.” He lowered his weapon, but the other man kept his raised. “Don't find many people traveling alone these days.”
Daryl nodded, his eyes sweeping over the duo, then finally noticed the bottles weeping onto the map they had laid out over the hood. “Holy shit! Are those cold?”
“Sorta,” the guy said, following his gaze. “They were cold yesterday. We've been on the road. Ice melted overnight. Sadly, the beers didn't make the night either.”
Daryl cut off the engine and dismounted, throwing his hands up as the big guy double-gripped his gun and took a step forward. “Peace, brother.” He jutted his chin toward their map. “Got one more? I know the area all right. I'd trade you anything I know for a cold drink. Even our water ain't really cold, since we boil it first.”
“He said they're not cold.” The big guy finally spoke.
The nicer fella reached out a hand to lower the asshole's gun. “Yeah, sure. Why the hell not?”
Daryl left his bow as a sign of good faith, but he still had his knife if anything went south. His hand twitched as the guy walked to his trunk, but he stayed calm, hoping for a soda and not a fight. “Name's Daryl.”
“Dean,” the friendly one said as he shut the trunk and came around with a third drink. Coke in real glass bottles. Daryl sighed with relief, smiling as Dean continued, “This is my brother, Sam.”
“Thanks,” Daryl said, twisting off the cap and drinking deeply. “Man, nice! Thanks a lot.” He peered at the map spread out across the hood. A cluster of counties to the west had all been crossed out. “Y'all looking for somebody?”
“You could say that.” Dean glanced over Daryl's shoulder. “What's back that way?”
“Not much, I can tell you that. I got a group. We've picked most everything clean. Who you looking for? Maybe we found 'em.”
The two exchanged glances. “Monsters,” the dickbag, Sam, said with a smirk. “We hunt monsters.”
Daryl snorted. “Don't we all?” He gestured toward the four-way. “You'll find those any direction you pick.”
“No,” Dean said. “Sam's right. We're hunting monsters - and he doesn't mean the croats. Pack of vamps came through here yesterday. Not sure which way they went.”
Daryl nearly choked, tepid soda burning his nose. “Pack of what?”
Sam pulled his gun again. “You heard him. Pack of vamps. Vam-pi-res,” he enunciated slowly. “Now are you able to help us, or are you just drinking up all our supplies?”
“Chill the hell out, douchebag.” Sam waved his gun, but Dean laughed. Daryl just shook his head. “Y'all been on your own a little too long, I think. Ain't no such thing.”
“Actually, we haven't, and there is.” Dean pushed Sam's gun down once more. “We hunted all manner of nasties before the croats came along, and we'll be doing it 'til the day we die. Now, we're hunting a particularly nasty group of vamps, and night is falling. We don't really have a lot of time for foreplay. You got a group of people that direction, they might be in danger. So I'll ask you one more time – what's back that way?”
Daryl looked between the two. He didn't want to get himself shot, but these fellas seemed to turn real weird real fast. Still, a promise was a promise, and the Coke was colder than anything else he'd drank in a long, long time. If there was a danger of any sort, even if maybe they were just misinterpreting it, he had to watch out for his people. “I said not much. We picked our whole area clean. I got a big enough group looking for supplies a little further out. We cleared out a house last night and a convenience store this morning, but we ain't found much more than that. There's supposed to be a decent town about seven miles north of here, but we don't know how many walkers it has. There's a few trees down on the road about a mile and a half back. My bike's the only thing that could make it through. They're trying to clear it out without loud-ass chainsaws while I scouted ahead. It's pretty freaking rural that way. There's a house we might be able to hole up for the night in, but that's all I saw. Wanted to check around before we went in.”
“A few trees, huh?” Dean downed the last of his drink and grabbed up the map. “They don't usually fall in packs, do they now? I wasn't lying – it's nearly dark, and that's their prime hunting time. I'd bet my sweet ass that that's a trap. And that house may just be their new nest.”
The last thing Daryl wanted was those two armed crazies running off after his group. “Hey, man, I got it. It's my group. I bet they've cleared it already.”
“Not taking the chance if there's civilians on the road,” Dean barked, slamming his door. He gestured, making it clear that he was willing to run Daryl over if he didn't move.
Dammit, Daryl thought. “We're not civilians,” he yelled as he backed out of the way. “We all been fighting a long time. Don't go in there guns blazing.” He guzzled as much as he could as he ran back to his bike. This time he rode with his crossbow over his shoulder. He wasn't going to let those crazies burst in on the group brandishing weapons and getting everyone killed.
“Guns don't kill 'em,” Sam said out the passenger side as they drove past. “Not vamps. Gotta cut the heads off.”
Well, Daryl thought, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation, off-chance they're right, at least Michonne's with the group this time.
He sped after them. He tried to pass them and reach the group first, but, crazy or not, the men either honestly believed their story or were intent on killing and robbing the lot of them. Daryl kicked the gears up but still couldn't overtake the brothers. The Impala went hauling down the road at at least eighty miles an hour, swerving around abandoned cars and walkers alike.
The sun dipped behind the tree line.
Everybody had guns drawn as the Impala came screeching to a halt. The brothers piled out, and there was an honest-to-God Mexican stand-off until Daryl pulled into the middle of it. “Easy now. These guys just want to help,” he assured them. He glanced back at the brothers, hoping like hell that was true.
The trees were mostly pulled off the road. There were five of them, and Daryl looked at them a bit more closely after Dean's earlier comment. The three smaller ones were snapped off at the trunk, and the two larger, older trees were pushed out by the roots. They hadn't been clustered together, either, like if one big tree had pulled the others down. No, these had been pushed over from both sides of the road. Could they actually be right? Daryl wondered, then snorted at the thought. No, if there was any such thing as vampires, they would surely know about it by now. There was only the walking dead - and the poor suckers who couldn't handle it and went off the rails with it. These two were obviously the latter. Dealing with the governor had been hard enough. They didn't need two heavily-armed bat-shitters to fight this time. Daryl quickly cut off the engine and kicked the stand down, ready to draw if need be but trying to avoid it if possible.
Tyreese and Greg were pulling the last, biggest tree out of the way while Sasha and most of the others kept the gathering walkers at bay. Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie had run forward, weapons drawn on the brothers. “They come speeding, jump out with giant bowies drawn,” Michonne said mildly, her sword arm never wavering. “Sure don't look like they're here to help.”
“They seem to think it's a tr--”
Daryl's words were cut short. Sitting alone in the middle of the large, raggedy circle without a weapon drawn, they took him down first. To his surprise, it was a girl who had barreled into him with such strength that it knocked his bike over. Daryl instinctively cursed upon hearing the Triumph clatter before it even registered that he was rolling around on the ground with a tiny chick who had seemingly super-human strength. It was only pure adrenaline that allowed him to push her head up, keeping him – at least momentarily – from being bitten. He looked up into a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. “You're shittin' me!”
The vamp hissed in response, then jerked as bullets pelted her shoulder. One hit her in the side of the head, but she still wasn't phased. She grabbed Daryl's vest and rolled, trying to pull him off the road. He dug his feet in and pushed up as hard as he could, trying like hell to get away. A bullet nicked his forearm, and he nearly dropped her down on top of him. The bullets had no effect on the broad, though.
“The heads!” he heard Dean yelling. “Cut off the heads!”
Blood rained down over his face as Michonne did just that. It sprayed from the chick's – vamp's? - neck, pooling in his mouth. It was only slightly coppery, like blood should be. It mostly just tasted like death. The smell emanating from her truncated neck was fetid, which, maybe luckily, caused him to vomit most of it out. “It's in my mouth!” he screamed, his voice cracking.
“She's dead,” Sam said, pausing only briefly as he ran past. “Gotta be live blood. I think, anyway.” He looked at Michonne. “Better keep an eye on him, actually.”
Then Sam was gone, throwing himself into the melee, and Michonne stood guard over Daryl. She was obviously ready to cut off his head if necessary, and, somewhat to Daryl's disappointment, she didn't look particularly grieved by the idea. “You ain't cuttin' my head off,” he said, pulling his bandana from his back pocket to wipe his face off.
“Will if I have to. Nothing personal.”
“You cut my head off, it gets personal. I don't even know if I believe them.”
A scream was cut short as Greg's neck was bitten. “I do,” Michonne said, then cut the head off of another one who came too close.
Daryl's knife was too small for cutting off heads, so he stood up to reclaim his bow and help keep the walkers at bay. As soon as he stood up, though, the world swam. Michonne caught him by the arm, and then, as his vision cleared, he noticed the sword at his throat. “Stop it,” he said, rubbing his eyes and trying to see just one of her.
He heard a low laugh and was startled to realize it was coming from a guy far across the road. Big fucker with a crew cut who was using an unconscious Greg as a shield. The guy nodded at Daryl, then disappeared into the woods as two others guarded his escape. A third lost her grip on Maggie, thanks to some ferocious defense by both Maggie and Glenn, and managed to snag a bewildered Zach before following Crew Cut Guy.
Daryl cried out as the clatter of knives and machetes became too loud. Hell, everyone's frantically beating hearts were too loud. He could still hear Crew Cut Guy's laugh rumbling from in the woods, hear Greg's feet dragging as he was pulled away. He heard Zach struggling and the thudding sound that silenced him. The last two vamps threw themselves at Sam and Dean, obviously feeling something personal towards those two, but then ran in separate directions as the group came close to surrounding them.
Sam nudged Dean, who looked his way. Daryl struggled to stand up straight. “Shit,” Dean said, sighing. “I kinda liked him.”
Michonne pulled back to swing.
“Wait!” Sam held a hand out and hurried towards them. “Wait.”
Daryl glared at her and used the opportunity to stalk back to his fallen bike, yanking it up with one hand. “Damned thing's gonna flood,” he murmured, not meeting anyone's eyes.
“There's a cure,” Sam said.
“What?” He and Dean spoke at the same time. Dean gaped at his brother. “There is?”
“Yes,” Sam said, tilting his head as he gazed at Daryl. Of everybody there, his heart beat calm and steady. “I'm willing to help you...if you'll help us.”
He saw Glenn stepping up his right hand side, working his way between him and Sam. He and Maggie had their riot gear on, and while Daryl was grateful, he didn't want Glenn taking a hit for him. He nodded in thanks and stepped forward, doing his best to stand up straight. Then --- then all of the sudden Glenn smelled good, almost kind of delicious, and Daryl found his strength and waved him back towards Maggie. “Help doing what?”
Sam gave a faint smile. “We need to find the Alpha. Samuel's been hunting him, and I know he has a Campbell family cure. He's been after the Alpha for months. If we can find him, we'll find Samuel's group.”
“Samuel has a cure? Our grandfather Samuel?” Dean sounded more angry than surprised. "Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?"
“Whatever,” Daryl said. He didn't care about any family feuds or sibling rivalry or whatever the hell these two had going on. He glanced at his friends, whose sweat smelled unnervingly quenching. “Yeah. Let's do it then. Let's go.”
“We're coming with you,” Maggie said.
“Daryl ---” Glenn started.
“You need the blood of the fang that turned you for the ritual,” Sam broke in, nodding towards the vampire's body. “Not a lot of it left, I don't think.”
Daryl turned and looked across the blood soaked pavement. Whether the vampire had been dead or not, its blood had splurted out all over the place with its beheading. There was a pile of bloody puke where Daryl had vomited in the road. It smelled wholly disgusting, but his stomach suddenly seemed made of steel. Empty steel. “How much?”
“Yeah, Sammy, how much?”
Sam glared at his brother. “I don't know, Dean. It was something he mentioned once. I guess maybe a vial?”
Daryl went to his bike and pulled his canteen and cup from the saddle bag. “Fine.” He took a big swig of water – tasteless; wet but not enough – and poured the rest out as he walked to the vampire's body. He kicked her over, caught eyes with Glenn, and looked away. “Fine.” He took a couple deep breaths to steady himself, then balled up his fist and plunged it down into the vampire's chest. It was sticky. Much colder than he expected. Daryl pulled the heart out, ignoring the gasps of his friends. He turned his back to everyone as he squeezed what blood he could out, but he could hear them all breathing heavily, their hearts all kind of catching simultaneously before pounding wildly and dizzily.
He turned back. “That should be enough. Let's go.”
“Jesus, dude,” Dean said, looking at him with some mixture of respect and disgust. Sam smiled, smacked his brother's chest, and headed for the Impala.
Maggie pushed past Glenn, her heart going faster than anybody's. “Daryl --”
“Go back to the prison. Tell Rick and the others. You gotta protect everybody from...” He swallowed, saw Sasha and Tyreese shaking their heads. He busied himself wiping his cup out and putting the canteen away. “Undead things that can think. And who can smell one living person three miles away, let alone a whole prison full.” He turned back and crossed his arms. “And let 'em know shots to the head don't work this time.”
“You're not going alone,” Glenn insisted. Daryl blanched and took a few steps back, trying to distance himself as he began to salivate at the the faint pulsing of Glenn's jugular.
Sam came back down the road, stepping between them and blocking his view. Daryl forced himself to stare at Sam's eyes, unwilling to let his gaze travel any lower, and tried not to let his immense relief at the distraction show. “One more thing,” Sam added. “If you feed, it's too late.”
Daryl's teeth clenched, but his mind suddenly cleared. “I ain't gonna feed. Let's go. They've got Zach alive. I can smell him east of here. Maybe we can save him. But if I can smell him, then they can sure as hell smell all of you. I'll take these guys and follow them, and we'll get Zach back if we can. We'll find this Samuel guy, and I'll come back if they can fix me. And only if they can fix me.”
“I'm not letting you go off with these guys,” Glenn said, pushing past Sam.
Daryl stared at Glenn. “I can more than handle it right now.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam and Dean look at each other. “Let's move.” He swung his leg over the bike and tried to start it up. It sputtered miserably. Damned thing had flooded after all.
“Fine,” he heard Maggie say. “No, if that's what he wants, fine. We haven't found anymore gas. We can't get very much farther without it. This is the only way to guarantee that we have enough to get back and let the prison know about the vampires.”
He kicked it again, and the bike finally cleared its throat and sputtered to life. Maggie stepped forward and squeezed his hand. “Hurry. Get the cure and hurry back.”
“Yeah.” Daryl nodded and watched with relief as Glenn silently followed her back to the Dodge. Sasha and Tyreese reluctantly followed. Michonne stared at him a bit before finally climbing up in the back. She nodded to him and sat down cross-legged, resting her sword across her knees. Maggie turned back, giving a half-hearted wave out the window as Glenn turned the truck around, never glancing back his way. Daryl knew he was pissed.
“All right, let's go find this alpha. They're heading south, and pretty quick, too.”
Sam's cheek twitched. “He may not be with the group who hit you.”
Daryl stared at him. “You dick.”
“We think he's close.”
“Think?” Daryl spat. “How close?”
“There's been a lot of survivor groups hit within a fifty mile radius of this cross-roads. And the circle has been growing fast in the last month, from what we hear.”
“Not a lot of fresh food left,” Dean explained. “They're collecting it while they can. Keeping them alive to feed on.”
“Then we should help everybody back to the prison.”
“Hate to tell you, but you ain't got a whole lot of time. How far away is this prison?”
Daryl frowned at him. “Far enough. For now.” It was more than fifty miles, but he didn't want the brothers knowing anything else about it. They'd had to expand runs out farther and farther since the people from Woodbury had joined them.
Suddenly he doubled over, nearly knocking the bike over again as pain seized him. He clung to it, both to steady the bike and himself. His ears started to ring loudly. He crossed his arms above his head and turned away, shocked as he felt a second set of teeth clawing its way out of his gums. And not just one little fang on each side, either. A whole mouthful of fangs poked through before sliding back up. It was a weird feeling, almost as if he slurped a hundred tiny icicles up into his gums, sending a cold chill down his spine. “How do we find Samuel?” he gasped.
“If the alpha is somewhere within this fifty mile area, then Samuel is too. We were on his trail when I finally found Dean's again a few months back. We just need to find him. There aren't that many survivors left that the vamps haven't got. If you can follow their smell, I suggest we follow them until we find more of them.”
“Fine.” The pack had run off through the woods, heading south and slightly east. Daryl swung his bike around to head back toward the crossroads. He waited to see if the guys would be able to turn their car around without getting stuck. As the boys pulled a six-pointer around the trees, Daryl went to tie his bandana around the bullet graze on his arm. To his surprise, he couldn't find it.
Shaking, he tucked the cloth back in his pocket. He could see walkers far ahead, drawn by the commotion. Daryl jumped as he heard one right next to him.
He looked down, seeing the vamp's head gurgling some couple feet off the road. He kicked the kickstand down and walked over to it. The head growled, its eyes rolling back as it tried to see him. Her teeth compulsively slid in and out of her gums, sending that odd tingling down his spine again. He slid his knife out and stabbed her through the head.
Looks like our blood infects them too, he thought, then spat down at her.
The Impala's engine revved. Daryl knifed a walker who had wandered too close and jumped back on his bike. He dodged the ones coming down the road and headed back to the crossroads where he had found the brothers. He turned south, following the vamps and the sweet smell of Zach's cold sweat.