Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
She was weeks out of Alexandria and yet, signs of humanity stubbornly persisted.
The mental baggage was a given; Carol had packaged up her sins and carried them out of Alexandria so they could not taint the Safe Zone. She wrestled with persistent hallucinations, letting them land punches on her heart.
Her ears rang continually with the oven timer, done, done, done.
The smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed her senses even in fresh rain.
Little blonde girls followed her like shadows through the wildflowers, fuzzy figures that danced around the edge of sight. Their muffled giggles drifted in and out with the wind. Sophia plucked flowers and formed them into crowns. Mika chimed in about plant life cycles and Lizzie...Lizzie never turned around. She was always staring off into the distance, soundless.
Carol deserved this barrage of ghostly reminders and willingly shouldered the burden.
The unexpected physical reminders only added to her agony.
They came in the form of sun-bleached pop cans and tree stands proudly tied to tall oaks.
Faded ATV tracks carried the echoes of carefree teenage years gone by.
Jagged knife strokes marked smooth bark with initials, names, and dates.
The glassy doll eyes that stared out at her from a flooded bucket sent her stumbling frantically over the scraps of a burnt out trailer.
She had never thought about it before, but people left surprisingly permanent marks on the landscape. In another life, it had been easy to take Sophia to a state park and miss the rouge candy wrapper or mistake an old fence post for a rotten tree. But now that she desperately needed to separate herself from any connection, Carol was discovering just how deep humanity's ties to the land went.
Wasn't there one place untainted?
Two days gone from Alexandria, Carol picked a road headed east but eventually decided to turn inland. Her reasoning was simple: the east ended quickly in salt and foam. At least to west there was more land, more space. So for the last six weeks, Carol had been following the setting sun.
The rolling hills of the Piedmont had made for easy traveling, for her and walkers. The first few days were full of corn stalks and moans. Still, she had pressed west, achingly hoping the mountains in the distance housed the isolation she craved.
Away from the shot gun shells that brought back visions of a farm, pristine and full of life.
Further from crooked chain link fences with barbed wire that snagged her pants and shredded her soul.
Since entering the more ragged terrain, Carol had seen no living person and there were less dead wandering among the trees. Virginia's Blue Mountains earned their name. In the mornings, fog clung to the striking navy peaks. She had taken to following a small river through the Piedmont, walking past abandoned farmsteads and haunted campgrounds. She ventured further and further away, the river providing a path into the ruggedness.
Now, eight walkers, three days, and one broken bootlace separated Carol from her last paved walking surface.
The stream (it could no longer be called a river) proved to be a pleasant companion for the journey up its narrow valley. It bubbled over its rocky bed. There were boulders displaced by heavy rains that forced her to cross back and forth over the creek. She relished the need to focus on something as physical as balance.
Carol shaded her eyes and took a second to breathe in. A jagged ridge jutted from the hillside in front of her. It marked the entrance to another stream valley. Carol could hear the noisy juncture of the two tributaries, shhh, shhhhh.
"Mama, it's so pretty here."
Once she could get a good look up the new valley, she'd have a decision to make. Deep golden rays of light glittered through the foliage. Night was approaching and even with less walkers, she needed shelter.
"Can we stay here forever?"
Carol carefully maneuvered to the other side of the stream and crawled under a fallen tree. Using the hill face as a guide, she crept along the edge until she could poke her head down the valley.
A hundred or so yards ahead, the valley widened and tucked into the hillside, someone had constructed a log cabin.
Memories washed over Carol in waves and even the phantom girls were struck dumb.
One. The mossy shingles.
Two. The sagging gutters over the shallow porch.
Three. The damp stone foundation.
It was impossible.
But the image in her mind matched what stood before her.
Carol pinched herself, doubting her consciousness. The day was for her guilt. The image before her haunted her dreams and that's what frightened her.
"Do you think he'll keep us safe?"
"Not fair," she whispered hoarsely. Dreams were supposed to stay that, dreams, images that could be locked away and forgotten once the sun rose. Her exhausted huff was accompanied by a burble from the creek that sounded too much like laughter.
Of course.
The world was a nightmare these days, of course her dreams leaked into reality.
The first time the cabin came to her, her vision was dark, muted. Fog hung around her ankles like an affectionate cat. It was inevitable that she'd end up at that cabin; like her mind had already decided what to show her and force her to witness. In one second the cabin appeared in the fog and then suddenly the steps were at her feet. Carol climbed the creaky flight and pushed the door open.
She treaded carefully, but purposefully, over the dark stains on the floorboards, to the crumpled figure against the far wall. The abandoned crossbow and shaggy hair were all she needed to identify the body.
It was not clear if Daryl had escaped to this tiny house after fighting walkers, or if he had been dragged here and murdered. Everything about the scene spoke of a careless disposal: his body slumped, legs splayed in front, and his back twisted at an awkward angle.
What was clear was the rough words carved on the wall above the archer's head: Not good enough.
Dreaming about her family dead was nothing new. Often their lifeless forms plagued her dreams, so it was the words that stuck with her for they were the clearest part of that dream, their message taunting Carol when she stirred in the morning. She shivered for hours.
That was the day she found the drowned baby doll and fled west.
Carol nibbled her lower lip, glaring at the cabin. It was placed high enough above the creek bed to avoid seasonal flooding, but close enough that a lazy hunter could snatch a buck coming for a drink.
After a few minutes of silence, she stepped fully around the ridge. The windows were dark and even from here, Carol noted the collection of dead leaves on the porch.
It was a nearly perfect scenario.
"Carol, we could get apples from that orchard we saw!"
"Mama, it's our Dream House."
Carol hissed.
Sleep was a precious gem that more often than not slipped through her fingers. On the off chance that the stars aligned and Carol could find a secure spot to rest and then on top of that, manage to fall asleep, it was never more than an hour or two.
If sleep was rare, dreams were nearly nonexistent. Most of the time she woke up with a murky vision swirling behind her eyelids and then it washed away with a few blinks. But the few that she could remember, she felt vividly.
Carol could find no meaning in her brain showing Daryl's dead body. That was just a cruel trick, another torment to endure. The fact that this cabin before her looked like the one in her mind meant absolutely nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Still, she found herself grasping for a reason to ditch this physical manifestation of a dream.
Carol plucked a rock from the ground. She turned it over in her hand before hurling it at the cabin door. Her shoulders shook with its loud smack.
Carol crouched and, for the first time, wished for a walker to stagger into view.
The second time, she entered the dream with feet pounding on the ground. Frigid air chocked her lungs. Hungry fingers clawed at her back when the cabin crept into view.
Just a little further. Ice filled her chest despite her heavy breathing. With a slam, the door closed and the moans ceased, but Carol had known she wasn't alone.
One icy breath.
Two.
The stairs beckoned her away from the empty living room. With shaking hands, she answered their call, climbing up into the darkness.
The only door in the hallway was closed.
It yielded under a light push from her palm and she was greeted by a loaded crossbow. She stared down the bolt into his blue eyes and suddenly she couldn't get enough air. Faster than a blink, he dropped the weapon, and jerked his chin up at her.
"I don' know what you're runnin' from, but stay." She hesitantly took the offered hand, rough and warm against hers. "This place...there's a mattress and water and...well," He drew her into the room, "...it's good enough."
She peaked over his shoulder. The mattress was a bright patch against the dingy floorboards. Flecks of what must be old wallpaper littered the ground. Someone had pulled the blinds open enough to let just the thinnest line of moonlight enter.
Meager offerings.
Never had something so pathetic looked so good.
With another tug, he tucked her in close and whispered, "Ain't it?" Callused fingers brushed her chin. There's something in his gaze she refused to name and suddenly all traces of chill abandoned her.
When his lips brushed over hers, her skin burned.
When her hands slid up his chest to rest on those broad shoulders and pull him closer, she shattered.
He was then piecing her back together with tender touches and lowering her to the mattress with care.
Carol woke up that morning with his name caught between her tongue and lips. In an act of defiance, she clenched her jaw, refusing to voice any remnant of the dream. Eyes stinging with betrayal, she launched herself from the tree stand.
It was supposed to be a safe place.
From her landing point, Carol kicked out a leg to punish the tree for housing such a farce. The noise had drawn a wandering walker from the other side. One strike to the skull and it fell, now just another reminder of humanity in a wild place.
That day, she ran, fighting the anchoring weight in her chest that threatened to drag her to the ground.
Carol worked the fraying twine that acted as a shoelace between her fingers. It'd have to be replaced soon.
When the cool dampness of the mud leaked through her pants where she kneeled, Carol had tossed another rock. That one smacked off the railing and tumbled down the steps, knock, knock, clunk.
Judging from the dip of the sun, another hour had passed.
"Is it too cold for fireflies, Mama?"
She waited.
The sky was now more yellow than blue, and it was quickly shifting to orange.
"We learned about the sky color in science class. It's blue because the air molecules scatter blue light..."
An ache sharpened in her joints.
"Come on."
Her plea went unanswered. Shaking, Carol stood, adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and trekked up the valley. She angrily flicked away the tears trailing down her face; it'd be incredibly stupid to pass up this opportunity for safety.
They're just dreams.
Just dreams.
Dreams.
Then why do they hurt so much?
The final time, she busted through the door and the wood splintered when it collided with the wall. Black blood spattered when her knife found the temple of a lone walker. Two hasty strides later, Carol dropped to her knees in front of an injured Daryl crumpled against the fireplace.
No.
Not just injured.
The torn fringes of his pants were soaked red. There's no reasoning away the shredded skin on his hip. One more bite marred the once perfect curve of his left shoulder.
All this, and he was looking at her like she's the cure.
Their labored breathing fell into sync until a ragged cough wracked its way through Daryl's chest. Heaving, he tried to spit out the bile, but it dripped from the corner of his mouth feebly. Unable to hold his head up, Daryl took her in slightly cockeyed from the edge of the chimney.
This is how it ends.
Her whimpering filled the room until Carol felt strong enough to try to voice her regret, to voice years of unanswered promises.
"You...I," she stuttered, as she gripped and released the toe of his boot, "we..." Unsatisfied, she leaned closer, but found herself unable to caress his bruised face. Her hand settled on her knee instead and her gaze, the dusty fireplace bricks.
Everything we could have been...
Everything we were...
That smirk tugged at his lips. Through the gloom his eyes blazed with the clearest sincerity as Daryl reached to brush broken fingers over hers and confessed, "Was good enough."
At his words, her body collapsed into a shaking mess.
He dragged his fingers back across her knuckles to rest finally on his thigh. Their path left a red stain in its wake, a weightless thread tying them together.
"No, it wasn't," Carol insisted, her hand chasing his.
"Darlin'," his reply is interrupted by a raspy cough that failed to break his grin, "What more could I have asked for?" He solidified his words by clenching her hand his. He then struggled for a second as he lifted his hip off the ground. She begged him to stop, but then there's a pistol in his hand and time ceases.
His eyes burn into hers when he presses the barrel to his temple.
Carol woke with the sound of a gunshot echoing over and over between her ears.
She didn't move.
Not when the sun climbed over the trees.
Not when heat of the day threatened to smother her under her blanket.
Not when her legs twitched with the need to stretch.
Only when night fell and the threat of sleep came did Carol jump to her feet.
She journeyed through the night.
Logic continued to duel emotion fiercely in the short distance to the cabin.
It's foolish to pass up this cabin.
Yes, but it looks just like my dreams!
You're going to give up safety because of a few dreams?
They were more than dreams...they were nightmares.
When's the last time you've rested behind four solid walls?
What's the point? Who knows if I'll actually be able to sleep?
Carol winced at the last excuse, knowing how weak it sounded. Even if sleep proved evasive, rest would do the ache in her shoulder blade some good. Her own thoughts blocked out even Sophia's consistent chatter, but she followed in Carol's peripheral.
Her knees shook with each step. While her legs wobbled, Carol squeezed her arms across her chest in an attempt to hold herself up.
"Mama, this place is good."
No, it wasn't. It was another poisonous barb the world shot at her. Something that drudged up another list of mistakes.
Carol left Alexandria with her dead.
She never asked the living to follow.
Long shadows crept across the valley. The porch was already encased in shade. Gingerly, Carol tested the door. It gave way with a startling creak.
Carol squinted through the cloud of dust, ears perked and knife raised. Her blood pounded. With shuffling steps, she entered the cabin, careful to make sure the door stayed propped open. The room was only lit through grimy windows.
The first floor was empty, except for a broken chair.
The fireplace held a mess of grey ashes and charred wood.
Each step upstairs took five beats of her heart. There was only one room with no door. Someone had pushed a cot against the far wall, its flowery quilt carefully tucked. Its only companion was a tall chest of drawers.
She used her sleeve to clean the one window and stood vigil over the last of the daylight. Then Carol breathed in the dark, the silence, the dust, and the emptiness.
"Told ya, Mama. Even though he isn't here."
Something tightened in her chest.
She dropped her backpack and sheathed her knife. Her trembling fingers worked hard at the bag's zipper and then wrapped the flashlight. One click later and Carol was out the room and down the stairs, guided by the light.
Her hands stopped shaking the moment she closed the door. It gave a satisfying clink when the bolt slid into place. She pressed on it and it did not budge.
Back up in the room, she opened each drawer in the chest. From the first drawer she pulled out a box of disposable hand warmers and one case of bullets. She checked, but they didn't fit her gun. The middle drawer was empty. The last held a moldy blanket.
With her prizes in hand, Carol settled on the bed, blinking away the stiffness from her eyelashes. She tore open the plastic of one hand warmer with her teeth and vigorously shook the small packet. It took a few minutes, but heat eventually emitted and bloomed from the warmer. Carol rolled her sore shoulder once.
"This place is good, Mama."
Yes, Carol grimly nodded, pressing the warmer into her shoulder.
It was good enough.
First hoorah into The Walking Dead fandom here. Feedback is greatly appreciated and very much welcomed. -randomcat23