Chapter 4

Two months later

"Oh, come on," Carol grunted, slamming her hand down on the steering wheel. "Don't do this to me. Not today." She turned the key again and got nothing but a choked whir in response before it was silent. "Shit." She'd been holed up in a little farm house for two weeks, because a snow storm had moved in and blanketed the earth with about six inches of snow. Without people, there were no snow plows and no salt trucks, though it was obvious now that somebody had moved through with a plow, probably hitched to the front of a big truck. The road was clear for miles that she could tell, and she'd decided to try to get out and move on a ways to a new house with more supplies before another snow storm decided to come in.

But, she'd been riding on E for miles, and the Jeep had finally given up about ten miles on down the road.

Sophia babbled from the car seat in the back, chewing on her fingers and enjoying her two new teeth.

"It's ok, baby," Carol murmured. "Mama's gonna get us out of this." Carol sighed heavily and braced herself for the onslaught of stinging cold wind, and she pulled her mask up over her mouth, mostly just to protect herself from the elements considering she hadn't seen another human being since the day Daryl had changed her tire.

She'd stayed in the rural areas, keeping to herself, keeping Sophia warm and safe. She knew he was around, that he was keeping to the back roads. She didn't get the sense he was following her. For the month after he'd changed her tire, she might pass his truck parked along the road. Sometimes, she'd hear the now familiar rattle of his engine in the middle of the night and wake to see two glowing headlights speeding off into the distance.

He didn't bother her. He kept to himself, and she hadn't seen a hint of his truck since before the snow storm.

But she often found herself thinking about him, wondering if he was someplace warm and safe, wondering if the virus had found him, if he was lying dead somewhere. The thing was, the longer she was out on the road, the less she worried about Ed, about where he might be, about if he was still looking for her or if he was alive. She'd gotten out. She'd survived. Sophia was safe. Those were the important things. Wherever Ed was, whether he was dead or alive, he was no longer the monster that slept in her bed instead of hiding under it. He was no longer the chain wrapped around her ankles, dragging her under the tide. She was free, and as much as it terrified her what the world was coming to, Sophia was thriving and she didn't have to walk on eggshells anymore.

She winced as the cold air hit her face, and she stepped out into the snow, coming around to the back of the Jeep, grabbing the gas can from the back. She frowned at the sight before her. Supplies were low. She was down to a can and a half of formula. She had about three days' worth of food left and a case of water. The gas can was only a quarter full, giving her just enough fuel to get maybe a few miles down the road. She was sure she saw the top of a big grain silo in the distance. A farm might mean fuel to pull from farm equipment, or if she was lucky, already in cans and sitting in storage waiting to be used.

With a tired groan, she carried the gas can to the side of the Jeep and quickly emptied the rest of the gas into it. Just as she thought, the fuel was barely enough to move the indicator off of E.

Sophia was fussing by now, and when Carol went to start back down the road, the tires spun, and a sickening feeling washed over her. She was stuck.

"No. No. Shit. No, don't do this." She pushed her foot down harder on the gas, and the Jeep lurched but didn't move any further. At this rate, she was going to burn her fuel down before she got anywhere. She cut the engine again, reaching behind her to cover Sophia's car seat with a blanket to keep her warm. Sophia fussed louder.

"It's ok. Mama's gonna fix this." Out of habit, she grabbed her gun and tucked it into the back of her jeans. She got out and got back into the back of Jeep, grabbing a shovel and moving around, shoveling bits of snow away from each tire. "Stupid. I should have stayed put. This was stupid."

Her feet slipped against the icy road, and she held onto the side of the Jeep to keep her balance. She worked carefully, feeling the cold wind whipping right through her clothes as if she were standing there naked.

She was chilled to the bone, fingers stiffening from the cold as she continued to shovel. The snow was coming down in blankets now, and visibility was so low she could barely see the front of the car. She knew if they didn't move soon, they were going to be stuck.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. The longer she shoveled, the longer she stood out in the cold, the weaker she grew from exertion. She could hear Sophia crying louder now, and for the first time, she regretted sticking to the country roads, where houses were spaced miles apart and roads drifted with snow high enough to bury a car.

Fuck this.

She tossed the shovel back into the Jeep and moved around the car, grabbing hold of the door handle. She was going to take her daughter, bundle her up and walk to the nearest house. If they stayed here in the middle of the road with no protection from the wind, they'd surely freeze to death. She had to do something and fast.

But as she yanked on the door, she found it was frozen shut. She groaned, bracing one hand against the side of the Jeep as she yanked with her other hand. She heard the crack of ice, and the door gave way, sending her stumbling back, feet slipping on the ice. She screamed as her feet came up from under her and the sky flew into her line of sight. She gasped, and then everything went black as the back of her head slammed down onto the icy road beneath her.

...

Daryl cursed as he kicked at the ice buildup in the wheel well of his truck. The fucking heater had gone out two days ago, and he was pretty sure his clothes were frozen to his skin. If he wasn't sweating from the layers he'd piled on, he was freezing from the lack of heat. He wasn't sure what was cold or what was hot anymore. He just felt like shit.

The snow was coming down hard, and as he trudged back to the side of the truck and hopped in the driver's seat, he turned his wipers on to keep the snow from collecting on his window.

He was hungry and cold and hadn't slept a wink the night before. He'd heard someone out there, plowing the roads. His truck had been parked along the wayside, completely covered in snow, which funnily enough, had kept the car warm enough inside that he hadn't frozen to death under his threadbare blanket. Still, he'd gone unnoticed, though he'd barely slept, feeling a little unnerved, wondering who this stranger was that was plowing the roads, wondering if Carol was somewhere ahead of or behind him, wondering if her and her baby were getting along ok, wondering if this stranger with the plow had discovered them. Maybe this stranger wasn't just a kind guy clearing the roads for any travelers that might be left. Maybe the guy was a psycho, plowing the roads to bide his time before he found his next victim.

The idea that he even cared had kept him up half the night. He knew she was around. She was on his radar only in the sense that he'd passed her car along the road when she'd hole up in some old house on a chilly night. Or he'd hear the baby crying if she was stopped not too far away. But he kept his distance, stayed out of it. They weren't his problem. He wasn't theirs. Though, it did make him feel a little relieved that neither of them had gotten sick yet, because maybe, just maybe, that meant the virus had burned out and everyone that was going to die was already dead. Maybe the danger was gone. But it was too soon to take any chances and venture off to the city.

He got the truck moving, at least, though the unpleasant grind of ice against his tires was enough to set his teeth on edge. He gripped the steering wheel as the road, slick from the fresh plow—thanks for the help, asshole—sent his truck sliding at any hint of a bump or jostle.

He drove at a snail's pace for miles, and in that span of time a whole family of deer had crossed from one dead soybean field into a dead corn field, one stopping to curiously turn its nose up in curiosity in his direction before frolicking off to keep up with the others.

"Yeah, pal, if I weren't freezin' my balls off, you'd be breakfast."

He took the sharp curve, nearly sliding off into the ditch but managing to keep control and get the truck maneuvered over an unpleasant pothole. He could barely see anything ahead of him, even with turning his high beams on. It wasn't until he'd almost passed the Jeep that he caught sight of it and hit his brakes. Something was wrong. On either side of him was a dead or dying field of crops. There weren't any places to sleep close by. Snow was covering the hood and the window, at least two inches thick.

He pulled up in front of it, cursing the wind as he stepped out of his truck and moved around to the driver's side door. He rubbed his hand over the fogged glass, tapping with no response. Even though the wind was whipping past him, whistling through the air, he swore he heard a baby cry.

It was only when he came around to the side of the Jeep that he saw the door wide open and the car seat covered with a blanket. That was when he heard the weak cries. He pulled back the blanket to see the baby visibly shivering, her little lips pale from the cold.

"Hey, it's alright, kid," he murmured, covering her back up with the blanket. "Where's yer mama?" He looked around, seeing nothing in his line of sight. The snow was coming down too thick and heavy, covering up any tracks there might have been. "S'alright. I'm gonna get you outta here." She wasn't his problem. But she had to be somebody's, and if her mama wasn't there, who else was there to look after her?

His stomach tightened, and he felt a cold sense of dread fill him up when he thought about what had become of her. She couldn't have gotten far. The baby was cold, but she was still alive, still breathing alright. Whatever had happened couldn't have happened more than twenty or thirty minutes before.

"Ok, let's get you outta here." He unhooked the car seat's base and carried the whole thing, baby and all, back to the truck. He got it situated inside as best he could before coming around to grab supplies out of the back of the Jeep.

He made a wide circle around the Jeep, checking the fields for any sign of the baby's mother. But the snow was coming down too fast, and it wouldn't be long that he'd be stuck, too. He made a mental note to find the closest house and get the baby warm. When the snow stopped, he'd come back out and make a trip through the fields.

But just as he was moving to get back into the truck, he felt cold steel press against the back of his neck.

"Hands up, asshole." Her voice was shaky, weak, hoarse. He put his hands up, turning slowly to meet her gaze. Her bright, blue eyes widened in shock at the sight of him.

"The hell happened out here?"

"Ran…ran outta gas," she murmured, lowering her gun. "My baby…"

"She's fine. Cold, but she's ok. You…" It was then that he saw the trickle of blood at the side of her head. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," she muttered, moving toward the Jeep. But as she took a third step, her knees gave out. Her eyes rolled up, and she started to go down. Daryl moved quickly, nearly falling himself as he rushed to keep her from hurting herself a second time. And when they both hit the ground, he kept her head from hitting the ice before gently laying her down and patting her cheek.

"Hey. Hey!" She was out. She was breathing, but she wasn't responding. "Shit." He lay there, panting for a moment, trying to get his shit together, trying not to panic. What the hell was he supposed to do with a baby and an injured woman to care for? He sure as hell couldn't leave them to themselves. They'd both die out in the cold. She wasn't in any shape to take care of herself let alone a baby.

He'd never had a hero complex. He'd stayed to himself, kept his head down, kept his nose out of other people's business, because in his experience, looking up, getting involved always ended up with him getting hurt in one way or the other. But here she was, lying in the snow beneath him, her skin pale and bruised from the fall, and her kid was crying in his truck, and all he could think was that there was a reason he'd been behind her on that road today. It wasn't on purpose. It wasn't deliberate. They just seemed to gravitate in the same direction, away from each other, toward each other, toward something all at the same time.

"God damn it," he muttered under his breath, running his fingers through his hair as he felt the cold settling into his skin. "Alright, let's get you safe."