The introduction of the walker virus was devastating to the human population but it has already started to effect other populations as well. The universe is interconnected and once a disturbance starts, the ripples spread out to everything else. Daryl Dixon is idly tumbling these thoughts around in his head as he peers up through his shaggy locks to watch the turkey vultures in the distance. Buzzard circles used to be common and even more so when the virus first struck. But he noticed them tapering off and becoming less apparent as the birds must have realized that what must look dead and smell dead may not actually be dead. He thinks that maybe they've started to wise up to the zombie's tactics and don't telegraph as often because of the risk of being eaten. So, as he sits under the leaning branches of a cedar at the edge of a broom sedge covered pasture and watches the gathering buzzards, maybe, he thinks, this might warrant investigation. He got up to trudge through the tall broom sedge. Weed that it was, at least it was soft and didn't rasp and make noise to alert others or distort his own hearing. It was uncommonly quiet save the locusts. He didn't like how he couldn't hear any birds calling even though it was high noon. Between that and the buzzards, he got the heavy feeling he was going to come upon something gruesome. As he neared the other side of the pasture that began to break into spotty scrubs and small trees, it was confirmed. The sedge was tamped down and trodden and it was evident a herd had moved through. A gnawed and degloved body was awash in flies. It was half dressed in torn camo and jeans. In proximity were pieces of a turkey carcass with feathers broken and strewn about. Old blood darkened everything. There was a stench that clung to the air and stung the eyes. Daryl squinted and looked about. The hunter's abdominal cavity was empty and the ribcage split open and gnawed. Even the eyes had been plucked from the sockets and the lips and cheeks torn off. Strangely, the nose and ears were left. Did zombies not have a taste for cartilage? He sighed quietly in disgust. Squatting down to look from a safe distance, he could see the back of the skull smashed and wedged into one of the many stones rising from the field. A torn piece of small intestine draped unceremoniously over the barrel of the hunter's gun that lay at his side. Well, the scouting hadn't been a total bust. He shook the shotgun free and carefully searched the gore soaked pockets of the hunter's vest to extricate a handful of shells. He regarded the turkey carcass sadly. It lay in pieces utterly ruined. The breast was rudely torn open and eviscerated. Bile and emesis mixed with blood and flesh and if the virus hadn't already tainted the meat, the cross contamination surely did. It was a shame and a waste. He stared at the needless squander for a while. Turkeys were pretty shy so he theorized the bird must have already been shot by the hunter and died before the walkers happened upon it. Well, might as well try and salvage something from this waste. At least some feathers would go a long way in fletching. He began casting about collecting any feathers that weren't covered in gore. Staring past the desiccated body he noticed a mounding up of dust, leaves, and sticks under some low hanging cedar branches. He strode over to gently push back the heavy boughs and a treasure met his eyes, unnoticed and unspoiled by the ravages of death.
The next morning, he and Aaron arrive back in Alexandria. It's not a fantastic haul but it's not bad either. They were finding more and more they were having to get clever about their search. Raiding the low hanging fruit of abandoned shops wasn't practical anymore as most of those places had been picked over. During their travels, when they set up camp Daryl would always venture out on his own to trap what he could. He was worried the surrounding woods at Alexandria would get tapped out with others hunting in concentration. Amazingly, he had shot two deer and the turkey would have made a nice addition but they had to make due with what they got.
This time around, they had lucked out with a delivery truck. It was on a road they had covered before so it stuck out as a new addition. It had to be cleared as it was swarming with walkers, not a good omen in Daryl's mind as he chewed on his bottom lip. It turned out to be the resources of a small group. They found it up on a jack. Whoever had driven it had hit something bad enough to crimp the wheel so even if they fixed the tire, the wheel was still shot to hell. But they didn't get that far. The blood all around the tire jack and inside the truck cab attested to that. There wasn't a spare anywhere around so he and Aaron just raided the back of the truck for what they could get and then headed back home.
Daryl gazed out at the horizon as he let his mind wander on the ride back. The wind whipped his hair back from his face and his lungs filled with the free air. Twice now on this run they had reaped the benefits of lives suddenly cut short. He tried to shake the superstition that something bad would happen. He rolled his shoulders to free himself of the thought. Things always go bad anyway, his mind said as he gunned his bike up the road.
They checked in with Olivia to register their find at the larder. "Well, this is nice!" she said looking at the variety of canned goods and essentials. "Where'd you find all this?"
"Bad luck." Daryl grumbles. Aaron gave Olivia a rueful look, "We found it out the back of a truck. It had recently stopped on a road we had already explored. Looks like they had a flat and were overtaken by a herd when they had tried to fix it." Olivia's face fell. "I'm sorry." she said. Aaron simply shrugged as if to say that's the way life is now.
Daryl had been peering around. "Where is everyone?"
"If by everyone you mean Rick, Michonne, Maggie, and Glenn, then they went to Hill Top to consult with Dr. Harlan. Carl and Judith are probably with Tara or Enid. Who knows? . . .Oh!" she exclaims looking down at the deer carcasses, "Can I have this one to cure? It will go a lot longer and I just know everyone will love this recipe I have."
Aaron couldn't help but smile when Daryl growled, "Whutteryou ask'n me for? You're the one that's responsible for all this junk. S'your call." Olivia smacked the second deer carcass on the rump and exclaimed, "I hereby declare you, Signore Bresaola!"
"Whatever." Daryl muttered and turned his bike in the direction of his group's house.
The satchel is heavy against his side as he tromps up the steps of the porch and enters the house. He hears Carol working in the kitchen. "Daryl? Is that you?" she calls out. "Yeah." he raises his voice to her and scuffs his boots on the welcome mat just inside the door. He heads to the kitchen but stops short as he notices a stack of messy paintings on rumpled paper at the coffee table. He's still inspecting them when she comes in ringing her hands in a dish towel.
"Another dog-butt painting?" he asks inspecting the sloppy marks.
Strolling over with a dry look on her face she flips the painting over in his hands, never breaking eye contact. He looks down to see the name Judith written on the back. "Carl was helping her do some finger painting if you must know."
"Still a butt painting." he muttered, scratching his chin. "S'just done by a lil' ass kicker is all." and he tries not to laugh as he catches her eye. Her frown melts into an amused smirk.
"Did you come here to visit or to insult my art collection?" she says.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Com' on." he gruffed, shuffling towards the kitchen. "I got somethin' for ya." He delicately places the bag on the kitchen counter and peels the flap back. Carol's mouth drops open and her eyes open wide at the sight of the satchel stuffed with eggs. That's what he came for, that look of excitement in her eye that let him know he did good.
She looked at him. "W-what . . . ?"
"Turkey." he said, knowing her question.
"How did you . . . " and she trailed off.. "I found'm in a field. Mama got tore apart from walkers after the hunter kicked it first. Was a shame. Would've been real good meat. But these are still good. . . I candled'm last night." He picked one up and raised it high with one eye shut. They were a perfect ivory with light brown freckles and about twice the size of chicken's eggs. When she didn't say anything he started to get nervous and fidgety. His eyes darted from her face to the eggs and back again. "I dunno . . ." he mumbled and put the egg back. "I thought maybe you would wanna make some cookies or somethin . . ." She just looks up at him and says "No." to which he is dumbstruck.
"Huh?"
"Daryl Dixon, you come back here by dinner time and don't be late."
He starts to grin as he lets her bodily shove him out of the kitchen and out of the house, "You gonna be all mysterious an' shit?"
"Do not disturb the chef!" she clucks as she slams the door behind him. He chuckles to himself as he heads off to clean up his bike.
When dinner time arrives, so does Daryl. As he enters the house, there is a fantastic aroma of something in the air. It's not quite familiar but it does smell delicious. Carol notices his hair is combed and he's not covered in road dust and sweat and he's still wearing his leather vest but there is a clean long sleeved button up under it instead of a dirty one with the sleeves ripped out. Truly, she never really minded anyway.
Grinning at him out of the side of her eye she smirked, "You hosed off."
Daryl just gave a snort and then turns his attention to the kitchen. "Smells good."
"Miss Neudermeyer, god-bless-her-may-she-rest-in-peace. I never had the heart to tell that woman you can make pasta without a pasta maker." Daryl surveys the bounty of pasta she has made. She must have worked for hours because rows upon rows of fresh pasta were hanging over the kitchen sink drying on sticks. "You used 'm all on this?" he asks. With a twinkle in her eye she produces a tub of cookies. "Not all. I saved some for cookies." He reached for the tub but she shoo-ed him away fussing that he would ruin his dinner. She shows him how she made fresh pasta without a machine. Elbow grease, the last of her flour reserves, and kitchen knives were all she needed apparently. The real treat was the meatballs and sauce she had made to go with the pasta. At turkey egg, old bread crumbs, a jar of pasta sauce, and some spices from the larder were mixed into venison and rabbit offals from what he had shot a few days before to make them. She really was a master at her craft.
Rather than eating at the table in the dining room, Carol serves him a plate at the kitchen island and makes herself one and they sit and eat together. "Aw, man!" he says, "This is way better'n cookies!" She had made small salads for them of baby dandelion and poke weed leaves. "Where'd you learn about this?" he asked, to which she replied that he didn't have the sole corner on foraging. She told him her daddy used to show her edible plants as they found them on their Sunday evening walks. She had to find these in the woods outside Alexandria. The suburban tenants here had all but eradicated them within the gated community. He asked her if she knows about Jewel Weed and she says no. "You crush it up and put it on poison ivy. It looks like snot but it works. I'll show you next time."
"Snot." she says, "Can't wait."
"You laugh. It works. M'tell'n ya."
She asks him if he forages mushrooms to which he says "Hell, nah. I ain't learn much more'n what shrooms look like. That shit'll get you killed if you don't know what yer doing."
"Mmm. Anything'll get you killed these days." she mutters.
He snorts, "Ain't it."
A silence settles in over their dinner but it's not an uncomfortable one. They both have a tacit fashion of holding space for each other that both parties cherish. They know that's why they are here in this moment and no one else is. There is a peace that resides here that is cordoned off from the rest of time and space. Carl had already gone up to his room with Judith. Carol thinks he likes seeing them spend time together. This time that is so rare and delicate has been set aside for them and they know and respect it.
Daryl must've been truthful about the food because he had a second helping while Carol begins to put things away and set a kettle on for tea. She's not sure that he actually likes tea but she always makes it following a meal and he always drinks it with her when she asks if he would like any. It always amuses her to see him with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. They have gotten into the habit of enjoying their tea on the porch steps where they can take in the stars and listen to the night life. The air is cool and fresh tonight. She brings out the cookies and sets them on the porch as he flops down on the top step. By the time she brings out the tea for them he is on his second cookie. "Did you pick up a tape worm while you were out on the road?"
"Nah," he grunted with his mouth half full. He raised his chin, eyeing her, and patted his stomach. "M'pregnant. Don't tell Eric."
At this she choked on her tea and out right belly laughed. It was so contagious, he had to laugh too. She wiped the tears away from her eyes. "Whooo. Ha! I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Thank you, Daryl."
He gave her his lopsided smile. "I'm trying."