That thought--if this is it--makes her stomach drop. Daryl can't be serious. He can't be dying, he isn't dying, she's sure of it. He's the one who survives anything, everything. He's supposed to be the one who outlives all of them. He outlived her, by all fair measures. He's not going to die just because he caught the flu, even out here in the middle of nowhere.

After a moment, she realizes that she stopped at the threshold of the tent to stare at him, stricken. She's probably letting all the cold air in.

"This isn't it," she tells him. If saying it might help make it true, she'll say it. "There's an extra bed over here."