The house, after they finally cleared it of the one walker there, was a shithole. A total and complete dump. Whoever had lived there had been a hoarder; the place took hours to clear just because getting from room to room was so difficult, given the stacks of books and magazines and boxes and shopping bags full of crap.
"Fucking freak," Daryl said, as he kicked over a bunch of bird cages, each with their own dead parakeet. "Should toss all this shit out the window and set it on fire."
"We might just have to," Rick said. "But not until tomorrow. And maybe not at all. Can't risk attracting any more walkers."
The only thing the hoarder house had going for it was the canned goods. About that, they all could feel happy. But it was no picnic otherwise; they spent another two hours tossing shit into other rooms so they could spread out bedrolls and lay down for the night.
The next morning, in the kitchen, Carol and Beth, bandannas over their noses, worked to remove trash; Rick stood guard while Rick and T-Dog dragged shit out to the back yard. Herschel started burning the trash; even though it might attract walkers, he said it was better that way, would keep them from sickness. Daryl, disgusted by the whole thing, went hunting and brought back a bunch of squirrels and rabbits to skin in the garage, which for some reason, was near empty. Just some plywood, a rolling tool cabinet, and a pile of wooden pallets. It made him even more pissed off; this empty garage and the smell of burning trash and this idiot who couldn't hack it in the normal world making this shit world a thousand times harder.
"Fucking dumbass," he muttered to himself, just as Carol walked in to get the meat for the soup she was making.
"I'm a dumbass?" she asked. "Or that rabbit?"
Daryl just shook his head. He didn't like to complain around Carol. It seemed disrespectful, considering what she'd been through with her daughter dying and everything.
"There's nothing in here," Carol said, looking around the garage. "Not even a lawn mower."
"That's my point," Daryl said. "Fucking dumbass who lived in that house couldn't be bothered to cram her shit in the goddamn garage."
"How do you know it was a lady?"
"Jesus Christ," he said. "The shower curtain's pink. Nothing in the fridge but Diet Coke."
"Well…"
"She was some Crazy Cat Lady; Rick took her out in the basement," he added, a little quieter. Not wanting to dwell on it.
Carol nodded. She looked tired. They all were always tired. He was sick of being tired.
"I'll bring you a bucket of water to wash out the blood in here," she said.
"What the fuck for?"
"Might be a better place to sleep for me," she said. "I'm allergic to cats and the house is making me sneeze."
"Don't go in the basement, then," he warned. She started to say something and he thought of the piles of cat corpses and overflowing litter boxes and interrupted her: "No, don't ask. Just trust me."
That night, they ate Carol's stew with bunches of crackers and rice. Rick had to remind everyone to eat slowly, especially Carl, so no one would vomit. It'd been that long since they'd eaten well. After supper, Daryl walked Carol out to the garage with her sleeping gear.
"You sure about this?"
"Daryl, I can barely breathe in there. I don't think I have a choice."
"Well, you can't stay alone," he said. "I'll…I'll come out with you."
"All right," she said. "Thank you."
When he came back from the house with his gear, Carol had already set up a sleeping area, her blanket and bag unrolled on a couple of wood pallets.
"You can use that over there, if you want," she said, pointing at a sagging old lawn chair. He stared at it for a minute, thinking she was crazy if she'd thought he'd lie on that thing.
"Don't you want it?"
"I'm all set up, already," she said. "Plus, my shoulders are all out of whack from sleeping in the car."
He nodded. Wasn't going to make a thing out of it. He set up a Coleman lantern in the center of the empty garage and then fixed his bedroll on the lawn chair.
"Gonna make sure everything's secure," he said, walking around.
"The garage door opener's broken," she said, pointing to the wiring guts hanging out above them.
Daryl rolled a piece of plywood until it covered the tiny window. Then he found a couple of nails and a hammer in the lone rolling tool cabinet and smacked them in.
"Thank you," Carol said, sounding sleepy from under her covers.
He didn't say anything, just felt around the side door next, rolling the tool box in front of it so they'd hear if anything came at the door. When he finished, Carol was already breathing like she was near sleep and just hearing that made him yawn.
He settled into the lawn chair and felt right away like a douche. Like some girl sunning her tits in a bikini. Still, it was pretty comfortable. Better than Carol and her hard pallets. He looked over at her in the dim lantern light and saw that she'd curled on her side, definitely asleep now. He wondered if this was it now; they would stay here at the hoarder house for the next while. He didn't think so; it was a bad feeling he had about the place and the cat corpses weren't the half of it. He couldn't decide what made him feel that way, but it was a long while before he fell asleep.
But they did stay at the hoarder house, for much longer than Daryl thought. Each day, though, he felt like the other shoe would drop, that some other new problem would pop up. All they'd been doing all winter was putting out one fire after another, anyhow. Maybe he was still in that mode. But there was a rhythm to life there, regardless. Herschel and Beth burning trash. Rick and T-Dog and Carl clearing out rooms of crap, making spaces for sleeping and living. Maggie and Glenn doing recon around the place, looking for possible supplies. Carol tending to Lori. And Daryl? Daryl just looking out to put arrows in the brains of any walkers getting in anyone's way. Maybe that's why he felt so edgy all the time; that was his main task here, scanning the horizon line for movement and making that movement cease, whether it be walkers or game, it didn't matter.
One night, sleeping in the garage with Carol, he woke with a start. The lantern was still on, but it was pulled close to Carol's pallet. He sat up instantly, the lawn chair squeaking.
"What?" Carol said, sitting up.
He stared at her. She was reading a book.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. "I just couldn't sleep."
"Oh," he said, wiping his face with his hand. He felt completely out of it.
"What're you reading?"
"Oh, some old books," she said. "I've read this one before." He couldn't see the title and he didn't really care. And he had to take a crippling piss, besides.
"Carol?"
"Yes?"
"You mind spotting me while I take a leak? Don't mean to be nasty, but…"
She laughed, softly. "Of course. We'll take turns, how about that?"
"Don't be getting all freaky on me, lady."
"Too late," she said, laughing, while climbing out of her blankets and slipping on her boots. He noticed she wasn't wearing her pants like normal but some little shorty shorts things. Wondered where she'd got those. But her knife was still attached to them. Good girl. She never was without her knife.
Slowly, he rolled the tool cabinet from the door, then, clicking on the flashlight he kept on his belt, he slowly opened the door and scanned the yard for movement. Seemed clear for the moment.
She nodded at him, and he walked toward a bush and unzipped. He might have felt like an idiot, except this was the kind of thing they did for each other all the time now. He reckoned he knew these people better than he'd even known his blood relations. Still, that wasn't always a good thing. Carl and T-Dog talked in their sleep something awful and Lori had pregnancy gas that could choke a fucking bear. And Beth ground her teeth at night and Maggie wouldn't stop peeling off the skin around her fingernails and Glenn picked his nose when thought no one was looking and Herschel chewed with his mouth open and got food in his beard and Rick? Well, Rick didn't do anything but make everyone feel tense with the way he focused on Lori and tried to make like he had everything under control.
And Carol? Well, Carol didn't do much except keep really quiet. Quiet in a way that made him nervous, too.
He zipped up and she took her turn at the bush and he could hear the little stream of piss and it kind of made him smile, imagining how weird this was and how she didn't give a shit if he heard or knew. And then they went back in and he slid the tool cabinet back in place and for once he felt like he could stop scanning and relax. Like maybe they would stay here for a while? It could become another home, like Herschel's place, maybe.
They both got back in their beds and didn't say anything for a while. He thought she'd go back to reading but she didn't. Just laid there, staring up at the wiring hanging out of the garage door opener above them. He realized that was maybe why the dumbass lady who lived here hadn't put anything in the garage. She couldn't squeeze it all through the side door. He said as much to Carol and she agreed.
"Probably lived alone," she said. "Probably was hard for her."
"Crazy cat lady," he said.
"We never even had a dog," Carol said. "Ed wouldn't allow it. I'm not allergic to dogs. Sophia would have liked having a dog."
He didn't like it when she talked about Sophia, so he didn't say anything. He didn't want her to break down about things, not in the middle of the night while they were stuck together in this godforsaken garage.
She didn't speak for a while and he thought she'd fallen back asleep. He stood up, slipped over to the lantern to turn it down and then she opened her eyes.
"Sorry," he said. Kneeling beside her like a dope.
"For what?"
And he thought about it, for a minute. There was a lot he was sorry for, in his own life, before and now. But nothing compared to how he'd failed her with her daughter. He didn't care what Carol'd said before, about him doing so much for her, looking for Sophia, risking himself. All he knew was that that girl was dead.
"For all of it, I guess," he said. "The dog. Sophia. This shitty place having to be your home."
She made her mouth up, shook her head like she didn't want to hear it.
"You always do what you can, Daryl," she said. "Since I've known you."
"So have you," he said.
"No," she said. "I could have done more. I could still do more. I just…"
"Stop this talk," he said. He knelt closer to her. "I mean it. It doesn't get anyone anywhere, talking like that."
She nodded and lay back. Looked away from him. He could see the elegant slant of her neck, so bare.
"I'm sorry for that day I called you a bitch," he said.
"Daryl…"
"I never apologized," he said. "I should have. That was shitty. That was not doing all I can do, acting like that. I should have said something earlier, but I was…I don't know. I always mean to do something better, say the right thing. And then I don't. Or I can't figure out how to put it."
She sat up a little, on her elbows. Looked at him. Smiled.
"Do you think we don't know that about you, Daryl Dixon?"
He looked down, embarrassed.
"Give me a little credit," she said. "I lived with Ed."
"That's exactly why," he said. "That…I should know better than to act like that to you. I should…"
But he didn't finish, because she was sitting up and her face was right next to his and he could feeling her breathing, right on his mouth, and he looked down at her lips and then she kissed him, kissed him before he could even make any kind of decision about what to do or say next.
It went straight to his dick, of course. He hadn't kissed a woman in he didn't know how long. It'd been a long time before all this shit had gone down, that was for sure. And there was something so different about kissing Carol. No sense of urgency or luck. No feeling of desperation all over him for closing the deal. Just her mouth, her tongue touching his, softly. Just as if they'd both come to the same happy conclusion. And everything calm and easy. As if they had time.
Then she pulled back.
"Good night," she said. And slipped back under her covers. Leaving him and his hard-on to sit up the rest of the night, wondering what would come of this.
In the morning, he was in his usual post, going around the perimeter, while Carl and Rick unrolled strings of tin cans attached to wire around the yard. A feeble defense but better than nothing.
"Cat Fancy magazine," Herschel said, coming behind him to load up the always-smoldering fire barrel. "Can you imagine paying to subscribe to such a thing?"
"Them cats in the basement didn't look all that fancy to me," Daryl said.
"We found another store of canned soup," Herschel said. "So it's not all bad."
"Too bad we couldn't find a hoarder who was a motorhead," Daryl said. "Could use some gear-head magazines. Might come in handy with my bike running like shit."
"You haven't been out much on it lately, though," Herschel said. "Maybe you won't have to be, if things continue on as they have."
"That's just it. You don't ride it, an old piece like that? Things start to gum up and rust," Daryl said. "Use it or lose it."
Herschel nodded and then Daryl walked off, scanning. Thinking about Carol and kissing her. And how he was a dumbass about what it meant. If it meant anything. Use or lose it – no shit. He'd never had any game with women, even when he was drunk. And now? He couldn't afford to get drunk. Even if the Crazy Cat Lady had stored up cases of Jim Beam in her awful fucking house.
At dinner, he couldn't help but stare at Carol. She acted the same as always, serving the food and washing up and not saying much. Helping Lori up the stairs to her room. Bugging Carl to brush his teeth and wash his face.
When the sun set, though, he found her in the kitchen, washing dishes in a tub of water and wiping everything down.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Let me brush my teeth."
"Okay," he said. And while he watched her do it, he decided it would be worth his while, too. Given that he'd kissed her the night before, with his nasty cigarette breath and everything. He dug out a brush from his pack and for a minute they both stood in the dim kitchen, the noise of their tooth-scrubbing surrounding them, while the others settled in for the evening's wind-down. Beth had found a little flute and she'd started playing it sometimes, after dinner. It wasn't so loud, Herschel said. And the house was sturdy, sealed up. It was worth it, for the peace it provided. And Daryl liked it, though he'd never said as much. Beth's flute started up, the notes high and soft, the ghost of sound following him as he followed Carol to the garage. He wondered if the others thought they had something going now. He supposed Rick might ask, eventually. Or maybe he wouldn't. Rick seemed to trust him, which always surprised him.
After he closed the door and rolled the tool cabinet in front of it, Carol turned on the lantern.
"Running low on fuel," she said.
"Turn it way low for tonight, then," he said. "Unless you want to read. I could go back and…"
"No, it's okay," she said. She took off her boots, and slipped open her pack. Pulled out some flip-flops. Then she pulled down her pants and put on those shorts things again. She did this in the shadows, somewhat, as the lantern was low, but he turned his back, pretended he wasn't seeing it, just to give her the privacy. Though now he knew that Carol wore lacy black panties. And that wasn't something he would soon unsee.
She stood up, in her flip-flops, and then sat on the edge of the pallet, her feet near the edge of the lantern. Then she pulled something out of her pack and started shaking it.
"What's that?"
"Nail polish," she said. "Don't you say a word, either. Not one."
"I didn't say nothing."
"But you could have."
"Where'd you find that shit?"
"In the bathroom. There was a whole bunch, in this bucket. Most of it was pretty old. But this one seems okay."
"Huh. Crazy Cat Lady not a complete waste of space, then."
Carol smiled, and just painted her toes. He laid back on his lawn chair, then, closed his eyes, tried to hear the flute sounds from the house, but he couldn't. All he could hear was Carol's slight movements across from him. The smell of the polish filled the garage. He wondered if the walkers could smell. He didn't think they could, but you never knew. Smell being the most primitive of the senses, Merle always said.
"How's Lori," he asked, suddenly, opening his eyes.
She was applying a touch-up coat now, inspecting her feet. She had pretty little feet. Each toe now a little red jewel in the lantern-light.
"Better," she said. "But there's nothing for the last trimester of pregnancy, really. It's hard no matter what. Nine months is a long time for your body."
"Huh."
"Sleep is what she needs the most. And lack of stress."
"We all need that."
"Yes." She screwed the top back on the nail polish and put it away.
"You done?" he asked.
"Why," she asked, teasing. "Did you want to borrow it?"
"Shut up."
"I bet you'd look sharp, with painted toes."
"Aw, come on."
"Painted fingernails, then?"
"Jesus."
She lounged back on her pallet-bed, her feet flexed out, like she wanted the polish to dry yet.
"Smells nice, though," he said. "I had a cousin. She worked at a hair salon? She used to cut me and Merle's hair. Until she moved to Alabama. I wouldn't have set foot in there except she cut it for free, us being family and all. And that place? Smelled just like that stuff," he said, nodding toward her pack. "Merle said it gave him a headache. But it never bothered me none."
"The polish remover is what makes me sick," Carol said. "But I don't imagine I'll have to deal with that. My boots'll wear this stuff off before I'll have a chance to change colors." She rolled toward him. Laughed. "Funny, huh? That I even got a minute to do something as silly as that. Paint my toenails."
He looked at her, then. Her legs long and relaxed over her sleeping bag and blankets. Pale in the lantern-light, her toes glittering. Her shirt gaped at the neck and he could see part of her bra, a thin stripe of white. White bra, black panties, red toes, he thought. They both kept staring at each other. Not speaking. Not blinking.
He stood, then, and he sat down beside her on the pallet. It seemed like the only thing to do, really. She moved easily, to make room for him, and rolled to her back. Her face was calm, her expression neutral. But he could see her breasts move up with each breath. And then she reached up for his face and she said, "Is this okay, Daryl? Please? Please don't be upset with me? I know you don't…"
And he couldn't stand her saying that, so he kissed her to stop it. He only wanted to kiss her again and stop all this talk that made him out to be a shithead guy like Ed or worse. A dumbass who kept people at arm's length and made them think he didn't like them. He'd liked Carol for a long time now; he was content with that. But somehow she still didn't know it. And now he wanted her to know it.
"I'm not upset with you," he said, running his hands down her side, across her stomach, which fluttered underneath him, shivering."You don't even have to ask me that, Carol. Not ever."
"Okay."
He ran his hand over the waistband of her little shorts.
"Where's your knife?" he said, kissing her throat. "You always have it on you."
"It's on my pants," she said, her voice breaking a little. "I didn't…am I going to need it now?"
"Not for a little while, no," he said, laughing softly. "I've got you for now."
Then he kissed her again, and she clutched up his arms, her hands on his coat, which she pushed off his shoulders. She unbuttoned his shirt, which took too long, and finally he just rucked it up over his head.
"Come on," he said, as her hands went all over his chest, soft and light and making him crazy. "I want to see you, too."
She nodded and he pushed up her shirts and she undid the bra with just a snap toward her back, like a magic trick. Her breasts were beautiful little soft things, each a mouthful. And he couldn't get enough.
The sounds Carol made when he touched her and kissed her were better than anything he'd ever heard in his life. Better than Beth's flute. Or the sound of Merle's old bike roaring back to life. Or the thunk sound of an arrow hitting a target. Nothing better he could think of in his life, then or now, than her breathing and gasping and saying, "oh." Closing her eyes like she could barely stand so much good feeling.
She was down to her black lacy panties when he realized he hadn't even taken off his boots or jeans. Jesus, what an idiot. And he didn't have any rubbers, either. Fucking dumbass. His dick was hard enough to hammer in nails; what the fuck was he thinking, not planning ahead for this?
He stopped. Stood up. "I'm getting my boots all over your blankets," he said. She nodded. She looked dazed, sleepy. In no hurry. He undid his belt and his jeans. Took his knife and laid it beside her pillow. When he pulled off his boots and socks, he realized he'd be stark-ass naked once his jeans came down. Daryl Dixon didn't bother with underwear. He'd barely bothered with it in his old life, truth be told. And there was no way to hide his intentions once he pulled them off.
"Carol," he said. "I don't have anything for this. You know, like…"
"You don't need anything," she said. "I have a thing."
"Where is it?"
She laughed, grabbed his hands and pressed them to her hips. His thumbs ran over the hipbones, squeezing her ass, wanting her so much.
"Inside me," she said, and his dick got even harder. "The thing's in me. It's good for many years."
"What the hell kinda thing is that?"
She laughed. "You really want a science lesson now, Daryl? Or do you want to just trust me for once?"
He trusted her. He couldn't think of time he hadn't. And so he pulled down those lacy panties from her hips and dipped his hand into her and goddamn, she was so wet that it was nothing to push down his jeans and drop them on the floor and press himself against her. Her knees widened to let him go right where he needed to be.
But still, though he was right there, and she was obviously ready, he couldn't make himself do it. He thought maybe there was another thing he should do. Try to make her come first, somehow? Was she the type of woman who liked a man to go down on her? He couldn't decide. Carol was mysterious to him like that. Maybe that's why she fucking turned him on so bad.
"I don't…I…" he started. Then stopped.
"What?"
"I don't just want to go at you like some idiot fool boy," he said. "I want…I just…"
"Just tell me, Daryl."
He stuck his face into her neck, kissed down to her breasts, hid himself from her eyes.
"I want to get you off," he said, licking her neck. "I don't want to be some lousy two-pump chump."
She laughed. This didn't reassure him.
"Lord knows when this opportunity will come again, you know," he added.
"I know," she said. She ran her hands through his hair and it sent tingles in every direction. Goddamn,did she turn him on. The littlest things. And him right there, just an inch from her pussy.
He lifted up, looked right at her. "I reckon we got to give it our all," he said. "At least that's how I feel."
"I think you're right," she said. "But Daryl?"
"Hmm."
She started licking around his earlobe, her hands running up and down his back, pressing herself against him so he could feel how warm and wet she was.
"I already know how to get myself off," she said. "There's not a lot to it."
His nuts clenched at that.
"Easy for you to say."
"And do," she said. And she slipped her hand down between them and started touching herself. He didn't want to look, but he kept sneaking glances, hoping to get a clue. Was he thinking of the future? Or just being curious? Either way, he was about to break. He'd never heard of a real woman doing this, jacking herself off in front of a man. He figured that only happened in porn.
Her eyes were shut. But the sounds she made, Jesus Christ. He was propped above her, so tempted. Her nipples were hard and tight and after a bit of kissing them, she said, "Okay. Okay. Daryl, I'm…"
And he knew what she meant, and he slipped into her, then, while her hand was still working things and the moment he connected all the way in, she said, "Oh god!" and her legs tightened and her thighs tightened and his dick felt it, too. Everything tensed as she came and then he came, too; he couldn't help it. It was the shortest sex he'd had since his first time back in junior high, but nothing could have been better. Nothing.
"See," Carol said into his ear after a minute, after he'd collapsed on her. "How easy was that?"
"Pretty goddamn fucking easy."
He rolled to his back, knocking his knife onto the floor. He picked it up and held it over them, then slid it under the pillow.
"Safety first," Carol said.
"Always," he said. Then he looked at her, and it felt like he was saying that for another reason. For her. Because just now he couldn't imagine another day without her. Without this, at the end of it.
"Do you have any water in your pack?" she asked. "I could use a drink."
"Sure," he said. He stood up, picked his way across the cold dirty cement in his bare feet – bare ass, too – and fetched her the canteen. She sat up, her breasts bouncing in a way that he liked more than he could ever say. They were pretty and sweet, just like her. She glugged a ton of the water, and he finished it off, and set it on the floor.
"So," he said, smoothing her hair from her face. "Maybe that was easy."
"Yes?"
"But I tell you," he continued. "It was pretty fucking short."
"So?" She reached up for him, pulled him back beside her.
"Come on, Carol," he said. "Don't nobody want to go off that quick."
"I didn't mind going off that quick," she said, rubbing her face against his chest. "And I doubt you did, either. Don't even lie."
"Well…" He smiled. He couldn't help it.
"Well, nothing. What does it matter? We've got all night, right?"
"I guess." But what about the night after that?
"Don't be so grouchy," she said. "It was perfect and you know it."
He did know it. It was perfect and whatever happened the next time would probably be pretty perfect, too. He just hoped for another chance. Already he was feeling a stirring down there, like he'd like another one pretty damn soon. He got up again, lit a cigarette, and then she sat beside him, comparing her pretty little feet to his gnarly ugly ones, and then she offered to paint them and he said, why the hell not and she looked more shocked at that than anything else he'd done, like she barely recognized him. But she got out that little paintbrush and dabbed the first licks onto his stupid ugly toes and it tickled him, which made her laugh more and before she could add a second coat, he was face first in her softness, tasting her, and the night seemed to go on forever. Both of them tangling on that pallet like they'd just discovered America. He'd never spent that much time naked in bed with a woman. Never. It felt like being rich. All of her naked and next to him and open to him. Her soft hand on his hard dick, his face in her tits, everything easy. So easy. Carol, sitting on top of him, trembling. Carol, licking his belly. Carol laughing into his neck like this was their last night on earth.
When the sun started peeking around the corners of the plywood tacked over the window, though, he knew something was wrong. He sat up and Carol sat up, too. Instantly awake and ready. He grabbed his knife, tossed Carol her pants. There was shouting, from the yard. Trouble. The tin cans jangling. Carefully, silently, they packed up their stuff, their rolls and the lantern, all the gear they'd need, just as they'd learned all these weeks on the run. No need to rush out into danger when you had a minute to collect your wits. She had her gear packed and strapped in less than a minute and he was rolling away the tool cabinet and her hand went on his shoulder.
He kissed her, one last time, and he expected tears. But she didn't have tears. He couldn't decide what was worse, tears or the idea that this could be the last time for them.
"Safety first," he said.
"Always," she said. And then they took off for the yard.