Carrie was a strong woman. She had to be. Everything she had survived through, keeping her and her child safe through hell on earth, had moulded her into a hard and uncompromising woman.
Except where her son was concerned. Looking into her child's eyes, the same deep green as her own, her heart was soft and she was just a mother. He was her anchor, her reason to keep going and the only thing stopping her from putting her gun in her mouth.
The outside world had taught her hard lessons. The people who were left to inherit the earth were deceitful and deadly. None could be trusted. So she turned away from the world and locked herself and her son in their fortress. She thought about how she had picked up this stranger and her stomach threatened to empty itself. She had brought an unknown danger to her very home.
The property was a white weatherboard, beaten up old house, complete with peeling paint and an overgrown yard. Small and well hidden, far from the road. It was surrounded entirely by a chain link fence, topped with razor wire and chained with a heavy padlock. Not your standard cottage in the woods.
The man beside her was still unconscious, but alive. His blood had seeped over the edge of the leather bench seat and was pooling on the car floor. She glanced at him warily as she pulled the car up in front of the locked gate. Sliding out from under his head, she opened the car door and hoisted the small boy up on to her hip as she stood. Unlocking the gate, she swung it open all the way and jogged back to the car. She drove forward to the house and again got out to lock the gate behind them.
Secure in her home, she ran to the front door and did a quick check to make sure her house was still all clear, her boy still on her hip. She placed the small child on the couch in the small lounge and ran back out to her car, to the man.
She pulled open the passenger side door and looked in at the prone figure on his stomach and his wound. She hesitated. Her thoughts still a jumble in her mind, she just went blank and her body acted for her.
…...
The light from the small flame, made Daryl's eyes ache as he opened them. A candle on a small table, beside the large bed he lay on, was the only light in the whole room. Though hazy eyes and a throbbing pain in his temples, Daryl observed the bedroom around him. It was a bare bones room. Just the large wooden bed he lay in, an armchair and a tall, polished timber wardrobe furnished the space. The two windows were boarded up with half a door each, supplied from the room's entry itself by the look of it. Only the four inch gap at the top would allow in any light. It was dark because night had already fallen.
It hurt to breathe, and to move was worse. Daryl went to put his hands to the bandaged wound at his stomach but found his right hand to be cuffed to the dark wooden bed head. The fact that he was alive wasn't as much comfort as it should have been. Searching his cracked memory he could only think of The Governor and the blood trail he had been following in town. The surge of rage and fear for his friends bought a hot, sick feeling to the back of Daryl's throat.
Rolling slowly to his side, his wound causing him to seethe as the pain threatened to send him back into unconsciousness. Knowing it was pointless, he gave a small tug on the handcuffs anyway. The small knocking noise on the wood made him still and listen to the house for anyone who may have heard him.
A soft voice spoke in another room. The words were indistinguishable but it was definitely a woman. He turned his attention back to the small table and the candle to see if there was any chance of using either as a weapon.
A quiet click noise drew Daryl's attention back to the open doorway. A woman was standing silently just inside the door frame, her cocked rifle pointed straight at him.
Catching his attention, she walked silently into the room, keeping him in her sights. She was set on edge. He hadn't turned into a biter, but that didn't come as much relief. If he had turned she would have shot him and disposed of him with the rest. Now she had a real problem. What to do with a living, human threat?
Daryl eyed her warily, but didn't move. He could see she was intense and didn't want to give her an itchy trigger finger.
She considered him for a minute down the barrel of her rifle, before nodding at his cuffed wrist. Daryl lifted his right hand, tugging at the cuffs, showing her they were secure. Daryl began to suspect that maybe she was more scared of him than he was of her.
Her green eyes glowed in the candle light. She had straight dark hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail at the top of her long neck. She wore a white singlet, a 'wife-beater', over a pair of black denim jeans and boots. Tall and lean, and severe. Her eyes, so dilated in the dark room, looked like large black stones.
She backed back out of the room. Daryl heard her walk down the hallway beside the bedroom to a room at the back of the house. She returned moments later. She held a plate of food with a fork in her left hand and beretta in her right hand. Wordlessly, she looked to the plate of stew in her hand, then to her gun, and then settled her intense gaze back on Daryl's face.
Daryl didn't move as she stepped forward, placing the plate of food and utensil on the bedside table. She then pulled a plastic bottle of water from her waistband at her back and put it next to the plate. A small white pill she held in her palm was also placed on the table and she stepped back. Pulling the handcuff key from her pocket, she tossed it onto the bed beside Daryl, quickly raising her hand to cup the beretta, keeping her aim high at his head.
Daryl knew she was going to stand there the whole time, ready to shoot if he tried anything. He felt like a caged animal and it was making him angry. He reluctantly picked up the key and turned it in the handcuffs, releasing himself from the steel.
"Got a name?" He croaked as he tried to sit up. The world spun when he dropped his feet to the floor beside the bed, but he held on to the firm mattress and shook away the blotting darkness from his eyes. Rolling softly away from his injured side, he managed to sit up slowly.
"Don't talk, eat." Was all the response she gave him.
Daryl held onto his wound as he leaned over and picked up the plate. He glared at her and brought the forkful of the stew to his mouth, eating as instructed. The sweet tasting meat was definitely rabbit, but it was cooked so soft with vegetables and rice. Daryl cleaned his plate as his captor kept watch. He put the plate back down and picked up the bottle of water. The water was slightly warm, but it satisfied the ache he had behind his eyes from dehydration.
Eyeing the pill, Daryl recognised it as 'Oxycodone'. He was reluctant to take the tablet knowing it would dull him, but at the same time the pain in his side made his head swim and threatened to bring his dinner back up. He downed the pill with a mouthful of water, eyeing the woman over the top of the bottle.
"Key." She said, holding out her hand for Daryl to throw her the handcuff keys. Daryl considered throwing her the keys and making a run for the door, but the spasm in his side shot down any plans for a quick escape. He thought maybe he could make a lunge for her and take the beretta, but the idea disappeared when his attention was drawn to a noise from the living room. A small child's voice was babbling in the other room. Daryl looked at the woman in front of him. Her thoughts were quickly being turned to the child in the other room, as she tried to stay focussed on the danger in front of her. Her eyes flicked to the open doorframe and back to Daryl. He could see her jaw tighten and tick as her hand curled a little tighter on the beretta.
Daryl picked up the key and tossed it gently to her open hand. She snatched it out of the air and motioned with her gun at the cuffs still attached to the bed head. Daryl didn't like it, the thought of being cuffed again to the bed, but he went along with it. A small part of him was glad she wasn't stupid enough to trust a stranger in this fucked up world. He bit at the inside of his mouth as he lay back on the bed again and wrapped the metal cuff around his wrist. He did it up firmly and showed her. She hesitantly put the gun in the back of her pants and got the plate from the side table. Without the gun aimed at him, Daryl saw her for what she really was. A scared mother.
She left the room with a concerned glance back at him as Daryl rest his throbbing head back on the pillow.
…...
A child's soft giggle in another room, woke Daryl from his fitful sleep. He heard the same woman speak muted words to the kid, drawing a second tinkling laugh from the babe.
Daryl recalled last night when the woman had snuck into the bedroom and sat in the soft armchair, watching him. Daryl hadn't opened his eyes and he feigned sleep, listening for her movements. She was as silent as he on her feet, moving quietly in the small room, he presence only just tickling into Daryl's finely honed senses. She sat in the armchair, and Daryl felt the heat from her eyes prickle on his skin. He was laying on his back, holding onto the wound dressing, his right hand above his head, with the handcuff to the timber bed head.
A few minutes passed silently. Daryl considered talking to her. Just as he was about to open his eyes, she got to her feet and left the room silently. Daryl turned his head and looked at the vacated arm chair. It seemed as though she had decided against shooting him in his sleep and he closed his eyes again, listening for her silent return in case she changed her mind.
Now that light was creeping over the boarded up windows and morning was here, he could hear the woman and child walking around the house. He tapped the cuffs heavily on the headboard to get the woman's attention again, knowing she would be listening. She spoke softly to the child, leaving him in the lounge, and returned to the doorway of Daryl's bedroom, beretta in hand.
"Need to take a piss." Daryl grunted.
"What do you think I left the bottle for?" She shot back softly.
"Ain't pissin' in a bottle." He sneered.
"Piss in your pants then." She said, turning from the room.
"Ay!" He called. "I ain't gonna hurtcha."
She reappeared in the door way, eyeing him from the end of the bed. Daryl shrugged and gestured to the cuffs, trying to say he was still locked to the bed. She walked to the other side of the room. Daryl noticed the slightest limp in her walk, one she was obviously trying to hide. She sat in the large armchair again. Eying him silently.
"Where is this all goin'?" He asked perturbed.
"Now that you're awake, I'll take you back to that town today." She replied softly.
"What happened anyway?" Daryl asked, not moving from his position on the bed. She was finally speaking to him, he didn't want to frighten her off.
She puffed a little sigh and thought about her words. "Some guy in a hummer shot you. I found you and brought you here. I took out the bullet and you lived." Short story.
"Yesterday?" Daryl asked.
"Three days ago." She said with a soft tilt of her head, like she was trying to make sense of it all herself.
Daryl lay his head back into the pillow. Knowing his people, they were probably going mental looking for him by now.
"Are you in pain?" Carrie asked, showing the first sign of any concern for Daryl's wellbeing.
"Nah, 's okay." He swallowed dryly. She sat forward in the chair, her elbows resting on her knees, handling the beretta. She rubbed at her eyes with her long fingers and then looked back to Daryl on the bed. He didn't speak, just watched her as her bleary eyes squinted at him, trying to focus.
She sat silently watching him for a few moments before getting to her feet and walking slowly to Daryl on the bed. He tensed as she approached and stopped just outside of arm's reach from the bedside. She tucked the Beretta into the back of her jeans and fished the handcuff key from her pocket.
"Don't try anything. I will kill you." She hissed as she passed him the key. Daryl took the key from her fingers and went to unlock the cuff at his wrist. "The other one." She instructed. Daryl pulled his lips into a firm line and nodded his head, releasing the cuff from the bed head instead.
She took the key back and picked up his cuffed hand, pulling it to his other, locking them together with a soft click. Her hands were long and firm, Daryl observed as her slightly calloused fingertips grazed his palm. Holding on to the steel and putting a hand firmly to his hard shoulder, she helped Daryl lift off the bed and sit up with a pained grunt at the stabbing ache from his gun shot wound.
Sitting up, he looked her in the eyes and gave her a short nod of thanks. She stood back and gave him time and room to get to his feet. His hand shot protectively to his side as his head swam a little. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
"You are in pain. It doesn't have to be 'Oxy' if you are concerned about sleeping again." She read his thoughts. "How about …paracetamol?" Daryl gave her another nod and she walked him to the bedroom door.
Her voice suddenly turned hard again as she stepped past him. "Don't even look at the kid." She warned. Her voice was a soft threatening hiss of a venomous snake.
Daryl's eyes shot to the beretta tucked into the back of her jeans. He could grab it, but he didn't. Somewhat cursing himself as he passed up the opportunity, she again stepped behind him, pointing him in the direction of the bathroom. He did as he was told and kept his eyes in front as they passed the lounge where he knew the kid was sitting on the floor, in front of the couch.
He entered the small room and she closed the door behind him. He listened to her standing outside the toilet door as he relieved himself, his hands still cuffed. Daryl washed his hands and face with the small bucket of water beside the sink, then stepped back from the cracked mirror and looked at his reflection. He was paler than usual and a little sickly looking. His dried bloodied shirt was stiff and uncomfortable against his skin. He lifted the hem and looked at the clean dressing below his rib cage.
The bathroom door suddenly sprang open and the woman looked wild eyed at Daryl. He dropped his shirt and held out his open hands, showing her he wasn't doing anything. Her hand dropped from the handle of the gun at her lower back, and her eyes softened slightly as she tucked her mouth into a tight line, realising her mistake. She looked at his bloody clothes and where his wound was underneath.
"I'm not a doctor or anything. I just dug the bullet out and stitched you up as best I could." She spoke plainly. "Sorry, but you are going to end up with a big scar."
Daryl scoffed at her words. Clearly she hadn't seen further up his chest or his back. "Its fine." He replied to her puzzled look. He followed her out of the small room and back to the bedroom silently.
"When 're we goin' back to town?" He asked as he sat back on the edge of the bed.
"You have something to eat and I'll go get everything ready. We go today." She stepped towards him with the handcuff key and reached for his right hand. Her long fingers wrapped around his large hand and softly turned it and the cuff over. She unlocked the steel and picked up his other hand, cuffing it again to the bed head. She left the room, watching him out the side of her eye. Returning minutes later, she had a bowl of warm oats with a blob of blackberry conserve. The tall woman placed it on the bedside table with another bottle of water and two small tablets.
"Thanks…" Daryl said, leaving the sentence open as he picked up the bottle and pills.
"Carrie." She finished.
"Daryl." He supplied before taking a drink of water.
