Outside Looking In
Part 4: Under Cover
Carol followed for several minutes. Neither she nor Daryl said a word. But then, he was not a man for idle chatter. When Daryl spoke, it was because he had something to say, something of import to him or the object of his conversation. Words were never wasted and he considered carefully every one that fell off his tongue.
Lack of words did not negate communication. He turned his head every few seconds, making eye contact with his new hunting companion, making certain that she was there and all right. Eyes flicked over her body, checking, always checking for wounds of one kind or another.
She flushed a bit when she found her own eyes focusing on Daryl's behind. It was rather fine, and hell, why not appreciate the view God had afforded her that day? Her life, his life; both were perpetually on the verge of ending. Existence was a fragile thing now. Daryl was hunted as much as he was a hunter.
Life had always been about survival; making it through school, making it through another day with her husband, making it through church service without breaking down, without allowing her shattered self to show. An abusive husband and repression had been replaced by walkers and more walkers, humans with no morality at all, a day to day struggle for food and shelter. She'd had Sophia then and thought she would have her forever. Why was there always a trade-off? Sophia gone, Daryl growing and changing and finding his own way, becoming someone Carol depended on and cared for.
She sighed and concentrated on his ass once more.
"What's the matter?" Daryl turned and Carol blushed hard, the pale skin of her cheeks turning rosy pink.
"What do you mean? Nothing is the matter."
"I heard you sigh. What is it?"
Carol scoffed. Her voice was rife with disbelief. "You couldn't hear that."
"I'm a hunter. I spent, I spend," he amended "most of my time alone, in the woods. I know how to be quiet and I know how to listen. And I can hear all kinds of things. Your sigh was like a car alarm going off some Sunday morning back when we still had towns." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to confess. He wouldn't force the issue but he was willing to hear her out. And he wouldn't talk much more either. That little speech was more than he usually said in a whole day.
"Fine; I was just thinking about how everything is so different but still the same. Do you know what I mean?" She couldn't mention what she'd thought about him, not yet.
"Sure," Daryl shrugged. "I used to hunt squirrel and deer. Now I hunt squirrel and deer and walkers." But I've changed, he wanted to add. If you'd seen me five years ago, you would have run away screaming. The old Carol would have anyway. She's changed too, he remembered. "Keep close." He urged her forward. "Don't fall behind."
Talk ceased once more. Carol attempted to really listen. She shut out the cacophony of her own mind, and tuned in to the forest. It was like changing stations on the car radio or switching the television channel with the remote from something discordant and loud to something soft and understated. The wind caressed what leaves remained on the trees. The dried out hangers on rustled, sounding something like soda crackers crushed between fingers before being dumped into a waiting bowl of soup. The coniferous trees with their tiny needles responded differently to the wind. They seemed to whisper words, soft words of adoration, one lover to another. Flies buzzed, the last of the season, those that hadn't slowed down and died yet. Tiny animals, chipmunks, rabbits, snakes, bustled and ran and slithered their way along the forest floor, disturbing the bed of leaves. Birds sang and chirped and flew through the maze of trees with alarming speed. And she heard moans too, distant, some stray walker, driven on by relentless instinct.
Daryl raised a hand, and stopped. He pointed to a pair of black squirrels circling the trunk of a massive oak tree, chasing each other just as young children might. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and loaded it into the crossbow. Carol felt a pang of sympathy for the creatures. Their fun was over. Death loomed. But it loomed for everyone. And Carol was hungry and Lori was pregnant.
She held her breath as Daryl aimed, pulled the bow back and fired. His movements were so fluid, so graceful and every time Carol watched him shoot, she felt awe at his skill. One squirrel dropped while the other clamored up the tree, chattering its distress. A few seconds later it joined the first one, dead and bloodied amongst the leaves.
Daryl picked them up by their bushy tails and stuffed them into a sack he carried. "I don't expect you to use the crossbow. It's heavy and takes a lot of practice. But you can help me track and keep an eye out for things. And a rifle will take down a deer."
"You want me to use a rifle?" She lowered her eyes and stared at the spot where the squirrels had been. "I, I don't know, Daryl."
"I know; you can handle it." It didn't matter if she became a great hunter. What mattered was giving her something to do. What mattered was teaching her basic survival. What mattered was finding the lioness that slept somewhere inside, beyond that mouse-like exterior.
"All right, Daryl. I, I trust you." Right now, that was the sweetest gift Carol could offer anyone.
Daryl smiled and that was acceptance enough.
The End