"Nah," he shook his head, sighing. "Not the cheese. The spam, maybe. But cheese'll go bad just as quick as it ever has without anything to keep it fresh. We got a week at best, assuming we can find a room that's relatively dry and cool. If we had a fridge that worked, we'd be okay. But right now?"

Daryl shook his head again. They'd basically gotten screwed as far as food went. The trail mix had been better for the sheer fact Daryl could hunt for the meat they needed. With spam, they'd have to get their assess moving on the garden and hope some of it started to come along faster than usual.

"We'll eat what we can, but ain't no use getting sick on it just to keep it from going to waste. It'll be wasting no matter what we do."

He didn't really want to dwell on the fewer mouths to feed thing. That was still bugging him. No signs of foul play, no trails to follow. No blood or bodies. Just gone. How was he supposed to keep the group safe if they kept disappearing on him?