While giving no outward indication of it, Daryl's thoughts had snagged on the barbed wire memory of Dave and Nebraska, but he couldn't entirely recall why they were familiar. He covered by continuing to rifle through the supplies needlessly, allowing his mind time enough to follow the breadcrumb trail of memories which connected the two. It had been back at the farm... Hershel... his flask.

The bar. Rick and Glenn had found Hershel there — and so had a couple of drifters, Dave and Tony. Daryl'd only heard the account secondhand, but there was a reason his mind hadn't yet let go of the information. They'd brought back the injured kid, Randall, to the farm and no one else had been willing to get their hands dirty, so Daryl'd done what had to be done to get information from the little fucker. Dave, Tony, and Randall had been part of a much bigger group of men — their merry band of rapists and marauders.

Surely it couldn't possibly be the same Dave who'd helped evacuate someone's mother.

Thinking of it now, it felt as though everything had happened a lifetime ago. Daryl scrubbed his face with a hand as he pulled himself back to the present, then began carefully rolling up the supplies in the deer hide for easier carrying.

"Up north for me," he replied, unknowingly answering Rick's question at the same time. "In the mountains. Then shit hit the fan, ran into a group of survivors outside Atlanta, and been with 'em ever since." Not that he'd had much choice at the time, considering what the alternative had been after Merle vanished... but he was glad he'd stayed; he'd found his 'new family', too. Returning to Rick and Ellis, he offered the rolled up supplies and confiscated knife to the latter.

"Ain't the first person I've heard call 'em 'Infected'," he noted as he watched Ellis for his reaction. "You happen to know a guy named Nick?"