After a few hours walking Daryl realized the house he had visited earlier in the week was not far from their path. Someone small had definitely been held up in there trying to survive. He felt a strong urge to revisit and reinvestigate. He hated the idea of coming back to the group with two people and not Sophia. His direction shifted slightly toward the new trail. He hoped it wouldn't be questioned.
Before long they reached the abandoned house.
"This is it? I pictured it to be a bit more, lively…" Frances spoke, hand on Daryl's loaned gun.
"That's cause it ain't. I'm just checking something, getting more supplies, maybe even finding you a pair of shoes."
Frances blushed at the last comment. She had thought he had lied, and that there was no group.
"Stay behind me," He ordered. "Don't shoot unless you need to. My bow is quieter. Just focus on not getting bit."
Together they entered the house. Daryl had them stay in the kitchen behind a closed door as he inspected the rest of the house.
Daryl returned unscathed. "There are two bedrooms upstairs. You can go through them for some shoes, clothes, anything really."
Frances glanced out the window. It was getting dark and stormy. It had been a long day.
"The coast is clear?" Daryl nodded and together they walked up the stairs to the bedroom.
"Did you check the closets?"
Again Daryl nodded. "Of course I did, you think I wanna get bit?"
Frances rummaged through the drawers. After finding many nice shirts and even new jeans she turned to Daryl.
"I'm gonna change."
Immediately Daryl became uncomfortable. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Her clothes really were in bad shape, Daryl thought. She really must have gone through a bad time to be wearing that shredded mess.
Clara hopped up on the bed and closed her eyes. She was lightly snoring before Frances could even unbutton her pants. Walking around the room in only her bra and underwear, Frances felt disgusting. She was covered in a thick layer of dirt. Her reflection in the vanity mirror revealed dark circles around her eyes, oily skin, and greasy hair. She had zits for the first time since high school. Turning slowly in the mirror revealed bruises in multiple stages of healing. Her hip bones poked roughly at the lightly tanned skin of her hips and a few ribs were visible. She rubbed her lean muscle, happy about the gained strength. She pained for the chance to shower.
At that thought Frances quickly ran to the bedroom closet. She tugged on a bathrobe and crept back to the door. She opened it into the back of a seemingly irritated bow hunter.
"Do you think I could rinse real quick?"
If Daryl had been red before, he certainly was now. Hours earlier this lady didn't trust him, and now she was standing in front of him clad in only a bathrobe.
"We got showers at the farm. You can hose down there."
"How far away is the farm? It's getting dark and the sky looks stormy."
"About five more miles, less than two hours if we walk at a good pace and avoid walkers."
"Alright," Frances ceded. "Let me change."
"Then grab Clara, there's a kid's room down the hall. It's a boy's room but good clothes are good clothes, can't argue with that."
"Okay, just let me wake her up."
"She's asleep?" Daryl asked. "I've been out here no more than five minutes."
"Well, we've literally been walking non-stop. She's only six. Most kids her age still need naps."
"Daryl peered over Frances' shoulder. Sure enough Clara was passed out on the fluffy bed.
"It's her first time sleeping in a real bed since this all started too. I think I'll let her be for a bit and go pick out her stuff for her. Do you think you can see if there's any food downstairs? I'm starving. I'll eat anything, and we can take it to go."
Frances walked down the hall to the child's bedroom while Daryl took the stairs to the kitchen. He rummaged through the near empty cabinets. There were cans of beans, soup, sardines, and a jar of peanut butter left. Saltine crackers were discovered above the fridge.
A quick flashes of lightning aided Daryl in his search for food. He wasn't too worried if he couldn't find anything, he could always gut a squirrel if need be. They would probably rot anyways if he didn't field dress them soon.
"Frannie?" A small voice called.
Daryl turned quickly dropping a can of soup in the process. The loud noise startled a sleepy Clara.
"Your ma's upstairs getting you some clothes." Daryl noticed how wet and shiny the girl's eyes were.
"Look now I just told you she's upstairs! She probably got you new shoes too!" Daryl left the fallen can on the ground and reached for Clara's hand. She shied away at first but slowly placed her hand in his. It was safe to say both were rather scared of the contact. Daryl had never held a young girl's hand.
He led her upstairs and into the bedroom down the hall. She quickly ran to Frances and buried her head deep into her thigh.
"She must have woken up, came down looking for you…"
"Yeah," Frances spoke calmly. She paused for a great yawn before reaching for the new clothes acquired in her search. "Let's get you into these."
This time Daryl left without having to be asked. He waited downstairs near a window. It had begun to rain and the sky was darker than he anticipated. It would make walkers harder to hear and see. Maybe staying inside here wouldn't be such a bad idea. He just hoped the group wouldn't send anyone after him. He also hoped Sophia had found a safe shelter.
A new plan formed in his mind. He didn't like it, but there wasn't a safer option. With a great sigh, Daryl turned and headed back up the stairs.
"Can I come in?" Daryl asked.
"Sure." Frances called back.
Daryl entered the room and found Frances and Clara on the ground. Multiple shoes littered the dingy carpet.
"I'm thinking due to this storm we stay here for the night. It would give you both a chance to clean up and sleep in a bed. We can really scavenge this place for supplies. I could even start dressing these squirrels."
Frances smiled wide. "Really?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna start the food. You two can do your thing." His footsteps could be heard going back down stairs.
It didn't take Daryl long to clean and gut his catch. He was busy washing the table when a clean Frances walked in.
"Thank you so much Daryl," Her head tilted to the side. Her wet brown hair hung limply at her shoulders. "Clara is already asleep and she looks ten times more healthy and happy." Frances noticed the mess he had made. His hands were covered in blood and much of his pants too. "You can shower if you want."
"Nope, gonna stay up on watch." Daryl wiped his hands with a rag pulled from his back pocket. "Storms won't stop a walker."
"Okay." She bit down on her bottom lip. "Is that food something I can eat now?"
"Take a seat," he motioned. "You ever had squirrel before?"
"No," She laughed lightly. "But I'm beyond thankful for the opportunity to try it now."
The two sat across from each other, chewing wordlessly over the late dinner.
"I got some questions to ask you about your old group." Daryl suddenly spoke.
The shadows of the night illuminated his serious gaze. His shoulders looked tense and heavy, as if to show the physical consequences of psychological worries.
"Sure." Frances winced at the potential barrage of questions.
"Are there little girls there?"
Frances swallowed hard before nodding. Based on his reaction, Daryl clearly did not like her first answer.
Daryl's shoulders suddenly took on greater weight from worry.
"Any of them named Sophia?"
Frances thought hard before answering. Many girls had come and gone.
"No, there had been an African American girl named Sarah. A Mexican teenager named Sonia. No Sophia."
Daryl was surprised with the breath he let out. He hadn't even known he was even holding one in.
"You lose a girl?" Frances questioned.
"Yeah, she's twelve. Short, blond hair. She's kinda tall, but stick thin. Her mama's worried sick."
"Well rest assured she's not with them."
"I just hope I find her and not them."
Frances finished her squirrel.
"I'm sure she's still out there. Was that the real reason you were out there earlier?"
Daryl sat back in his chair. "Yep. Gotta bring her back to her mama. Is that what you're doing with Clara?"
"No," Frances spoke from the creeping darkness. "Her mother is dead. I've never asked about her father, and she's never either. I was just another stranger. We were all stopped on the highway back in Smurna. She and her mom were in the car beside mine. When the…walkers (Frances eyes squinted as she tried out the term) arrived, everyone ran. I saw her mom go down. I stepped in and plucked her from the chaos."
Daryl looked impressed.
"We've been inseparable ever since."
"Our group is pretty close too you'll find, a little too close for my liking. I like to stay back. I'm a boundaries type guy.
Frances yawned again. She could feel her eyes closing.
"You should get some rest. I'm waking you up at the crack of dawn. There's a little girl I need to find and sitting around here ain't gonna do a damn thing."
Frances rose from the chair. She decided not to argue and lumbered out of the room to join Clara in that big fluffy bed upstairs. She paused in the doorway and turned back one last time for the night. "Thanks again Daryl. Not just for stopping Justin from doing something awful to me and Clara, but for taking us back and feeding us and basically saving us."
"I'm not a savior. I killed a guy today." Daryl sounded suddenly bitter. "I ain't never killed a guy before, even if he sure deserved it."
Frances nodded in resigned manner.
"Maybe just don't tell anyone back at camp I did that? I'm not lying when I say there's two cops back there."
"You saved me from a horrible fate. That man was pure evil; I'm speaking from a first-hand account. If they ask they should hear the truth. For safety sake. You stopped a serial rapist."
Daryl's eyes stared hard at the floor. "I'm sorry you had to go through that." This was the first time Frances heard genuine concern in his voice.
"Goodnight Daryl." Empathy evident in her voice too.
Frances climbed the stairs with haste. Dawn would soon be rising and she knew they would be leaving early. She checked her gun and knife within reach on the nightstand, making sure Clara couldn't reach them. The last thing she needed was for her companion to get hurt. Frances wiggled her toes; her feet had been killing her since the end of the world began. She slowly ran her legs against each other. The fresh smooth feeling was comforting enough to lull her to sleep. She had made sure to tuck the new razor in her backpack after showering. She deeply inhaled the fragrance of the shampoo her and Clara had used. The flowery scent reminded her of life before all the destruction and horror. It brought slight peace and tranquility in the midst of a thunderous storm. She listened carefully to her surroundings. It felt strange sleeping indoors, the chirps of crickets and hoots of owls were muffled by the wooden walls. Perhaps if she concentrated hard enough she would hear the soft wind ghosting over tall grass.
The only noises she managed to discern were those of Daryl. The sound of his boots would wander the house, and based off of their layout, he was stationing himself at windows. If she heard them creep up the stairs, she would pull the gun. She wouldn't let what had happened with Justin happen again. Her stomach muscles tightened as she moved the gun from the nightstand to under her pillow. She had evolved into a light sleeper, which may prove to be a life-saving characteristic.
Sometime during the night Clara awoke. Her throat was dry and her bladder full. The bathroom was only down the hall. Clara smiled timidly, sure using the great outdoors for a bathroom had seemed fun and adventurous, but after weeks, she sure missed indoor plumbing. Clara wriggled under the lean arm of Frances and padded her little feet to the bathroom. She stopped at the landing of the stairs and peered down into the darkness. Was Daryl still down there? Lightning suddenly lit the hall and Clara jolted across the landing. She quietly shut the door behind her, the click of the lock aligned perfectly with a clap of thunder.
It was a bit of a struggle getting onto the high toilet, and impossible to reach the sink. She wouldn't let Frances know about not washing her hands. For a moment Clara weighed her options. She was still incredibly thirsty, but she couldn't reach this faucet. She wouldn't be able to reach the one in the kitchen either, unless she used a chair. It was very late, and they were safe in the house. Surely Daryl would be asleep in the boy's bedroom. She could sneak a drink and crawl right back into bed with Frances.
Gathering a bit of courage Clara took the stairs. Knowing the middle of the steps would likely creak, she only placed her feet on the edges. She made it half way down before a figure caught her eye. It wasn't facing her, but instead looking out the window. Another flash of lightning revealed it to be Daryl. His cross bow was leaning up against the window pane. One of his calloused hands lay relaxed at his side. The other held a glass of water. Her thirsty eyes watched the glass as it rose up and out of her sight. His head tossed back slightly as he chugged the water. Intense thirst conquered her little fear and she continued down to the kitchen. As she reached midway down the steps a harsh whisper broke the quiet.
"What're you doing?" Daryl asked.
Clara flinched. She was waiting for a slap or a hard tug on her shoulder. Instead, her eyes eased open to discover Daryl still at the window, only this time facing her.
"Does Frances know you're sneaking around?"
Clara didn't move. Instead she eyed his water. Daryl made the connection.
"What? This is what's got you shuffling around here like a geek?" His gestures made the water dance around the edges of the glass.
"Here, you can finish this," He slowly crossed the room to hand her his glass. One tiny hand stuck out while the other clung to the railing. "You got a good grip?"
Before the words had left his mouth the glass had hit the floor. It smashed quietly against the carpeted stairs. Frances withdrew her hand and placed her fingernails in her mouth. She was going to get it.
"Christ, I asked if you got it!" Daryl relented. "Don't move!" His rough hands felt around the darkness at her feet in search of large shards. Even in the darkness he could see how scared the girl was. He could feel her fear. She was even shaking like a little leaf. "Look now, I don't got a vacuum or nothing, so don't move. Do you want water still or not?" Her only response was more uncontrollable shaking. "Okay," Daryl leaned forward, arms cast outward. "Let's get you some water." Daryl grasped the child lightly under her armpits and carried her into the kitchen. He plopped her down on the counter next to the sink. His next move was to reach into a cabinet. He pulled out a pink plastic cup, which was much better designed for her small and clumsy hands. He filled the cup and handed it to her. "Okay there's your water. Stay up here while I go clean up what I can." He turned back slowly before leaving the room. "I mean it! We can't have you stepping in glass. You have to stay there!" He cringed a bit at how harsh he was coming off.
Daryl returned with a hand full of large shards. He discarded them into the trash barrel and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Had enough?" He asked after he looked out the kitchen windows. Without receiving an answer Daryl took the empty cup from her hands. He filled it up again under the sink and passed it off. Clara drank some more. Daryl examined the windows once more. She liked that about him, he didn't stare at her like the guys back in the group did. He was taking care of her.
Clara placed the cup on the counter. Its empty clinking brought Daryl's attention back on his little company. He filled the cup a third time. This time however, he grabbed both the cup and Clara from the counter and began leaving the kitchen. During their walk up the stairs Clara heard the crunch of glass under his boots. She tensed up at the sound. "Hey now don't worry. I ain't mad; it wasn't like it was my glass. We just gotta tell Frances about it tomorrow." He mumbled. "Make sure you two put your shoes on first thing after you wake up."
Together they entered the bedroom. Soft snoring could be heard from Frances. Clara rejoiced internally at the sound. Frances was really resting. Daryl placed the cup on the nightstand next to Clara and easily laid her into bed. Clara opened her mouth to say thank you, but Daryl raised his finger to his lips. She'd have to wait until tomorrow. He handed off some covers before leaving the room for the final time that night. He didn't look over his shoulder while shutting the door, so he never saw Clara smiling at him.
