Daryl wakes up the next day (or however long-- it feels like he slept) with a headache and an audience of crows. He scares them off, finds water, and considers what to do. As ever, he hates not knowing how much time he has, but at least it spurs him to action. No cooling his heels, no bullshit, just shit to do.

How do you fix a problem you created? You can start by making a fucking effort. He can't look Quentin in the eye right now, but he's sick to death of talking on those goddamn phones. He goes scavenging instead.

A few hours later, Quentin will have a scavenged notebook thrown at him, before Daryl walks back into the woods. Daryl's handwriting isn't stellar, but it's legible; his spelling is the real problem, away from the graces of autocorrect. Several pages of the book have been torn out. This is not a first draft, or a fourth, or a fifth.

You erned it.

Not trying to be a hero. I know what peopel think of me. Im not trying to change there minds. I dont care nomore. I know what I am. I help becauze I cant live with myself. Dont know how too say it but that.

We need to compromize. Both too stubborn. My fault. Im older I should know better.

Were Im from peopel die everyday. We make plans on how we do things. Sometimes its plans like who to leeve behind or when too give up. Who does what. If things get bad who do you want to kill you. Some times thats all you can do. I have a best friend & if she got bit she told me to kill her before she turns becauze she wants it to be me. We talk like that. I talked like that to you. It was fucked up.

If you want too talk about it Im in the forest but if you dont want to look at me thats why I wrote this & you can throw it away. Your choise