KrisAnthemum221 - I'm so glad you found easy rest, I didn't know this story was riding hard on your nerves, friend. Thanks for the review!
Axelrocks - I agree that Carol was kicking ass, somewhere between season 2 and 3 she got a little of the bad ass in her, but convincingly so. None of this suddenly she's an Annie Oakley of the zombie world crap. It's why I assumed she was out of ammo on a 9mm and only killed about seven walkers. She probably had a few misses.
Lilone1776 - I hope Rick, Glenn and Maggie made it too, they're some of my favourite fictional characters...we'll have to see what happens in chapters to come...^_^
Surplus Imagination - Oh ho! Putting a little Cajun spin on your review! Love it! XD
MollyMayhem84 - Are...are you me? We share so many of the same thoughts when it comes to the show. And no, the Mother Superior isn't based on Dame Maggie Smith (although that made me laugh hard). I'm glad you brought that up, when it comes to Daryl reverting back to Season 1 & 2 Daryl, I figured Carol and the other's softened him a little, so without them he'd kind of go back to being rough. You're so observant! Thanks a million for the reviews.
MarionArnold - I know, I wrote the heads in a jar thing, then posted the update then thought, 'oh no people will think the Lt. is involved with the Governor or something' glad to know you don't see it. Did not mean it that way. Of course now you know it'll come back hilariously later on.
You reviewers are some of my favourite people. You shy readers are some of my favourite people. A hundred thousand points to all of you. (But this is like Whose Line and the points don't really matter...)
Chapter Nine: Paillasse
**Carol**
For the first time in five long days Carol slept soundly.
She knew they were finally safe.
Daryl was on watch, he wouldn't let anything happen.
He was like that. Reliable, dutiful, strong.
Knocking from sleep gently, she realized someone was lingering over her and jumped in fright, sitting up with the pistol drawn. Around her the cabin was in pitch darkness, the moon wasn't out and there wasn't a star in the sky.
"Easy, woman," Daryl growled. "Damn thing ain't loaded, but you could still take out an eye."
She nodded, suddenly at ease.
Settling on the floor beside the worn chair, Daryl leaned back against it.
"Get back to sleep," he muttered.
Curling back up like a house cat, she peered through the absolute darkness, trying in vain to see forms among the shadows.
"Where's your friend?" She asked sleepily.
"He ain't my friend," Daryl returned. "And he's over by the window on watch."
They were both quiet, Carol nodding off.
"What happened?" Daryl asked finally, waking her again.
"The Governor showed up, started firing, gunfight happened," she replied. "I don't know, really. Rick told us to run and we did. I grabbed Judith's diaper bag and we tore out of there. Thankfully there were a few bottles of water and the pistol in the bag. They got Axel on our way out, thought they were coming after us, but…I guess the walkers stopped them. What about you? You okay?"
"Peachy." He replied. "Go to sleep."
"You'll find the others, I know it." She said softly, closing her eyes against the night.
..-~-..
..-~-..
She woke only an hour later when Judith began to bawl for her bottle.
They had been giving her cold formula, not that it was good for her, but it was the best they could do with what they had. The problems had come when they ran out of diapers and had to resort to creeping up into the cabin at night for scrap cloth and a few pins to use. Carol couldn't find safety pins, so she was forced to use two buttons, one that said 'ain't no fun when the rabbits get the gun' and the other was for a gun convention.
Beth was already on her feet, scooping up the baby from the drawer they had put her in to keep her from rolling around on the floor.
Herschel was already mixing a fresh batch of formula with the last of their bottled water, while Daryl and the Cajun fellow looked on quietly. Daryl pushed to his feet to cover Herschel's window, sitting on the kitchen counter to peer out the window over the sink quietly.
Carol cooed at Judith as Beth handed her off, too tired to barely hold her.
Hugging the tiny thing to her chest, she rubbed Judith's little belly, making a silly little purring sound that had actually helped with Sophia when she was teething.
At the window, the tall, lean Cajun with the plain face, scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb and Carol smiled at him when she caught his eye.
"Sorry, she'll be quiet soon."
"Aw, naw, it's not that, beau ange," he replied softly. "Just never been around babies much."
"Never had kids of your own?" She asked, taking the bottle from Herschel with a distracted smile and thanks, heading over to stand at the man's side. Good Lord he towered two heads higher than her and had to bow his chin to his chest just to peer down at her. "No wife?" She went on.
Despite being so tall, he wasn't broad or overly large. In fact he was quite fine boned, with boyish hips and wide shoulders. His face had a gauntness to it that reminded her of Rick's as of late, too many missed meals and sleepless nights, she supposed.
"Naw, my Mamere once said the only things that could stand me long enough were the gators in the swamp," he replied with a crooked grin. "'Course she had gotten into the brandy wine that night…"
Carol furrowed her brow at the man, not sure if he was being serious.
Glancing over at Daryl, the Cajun leaned in a little closer. "I'm sure glad we found you," he said.
Cooing to Judith who was downing the formula like a drainpipe, Carol smiled. She was never so grateful to have a baby in her arms that wasn't fussy then she had been the past few days with Judith. "I wanted to thank you," she said softly, peering over at Daryl across the cabin, "for helping Daryl out."
"Aw, truth is I kind of like him. He swears a lot, but…he seems like the sort you'd want at your back in these troubled times."
"Don't abide swearing?" Carol asked.
"Cher, when I drop the F-bomb I want it to make a global impact, that boy uses it to carpet bomb my senses." He shifted on his feet, peering out the window, keeping an eye on the yard. "But there are worse habits a man can have." Glancing at her, he seemed to hesitate, before speaking, "what about you? Family?"
"I had one once," she said. "Husband and a little girl."
Feeling the Cajun's eyes on her, Carol shrunk in on herself, eyeing Judith as though the little one held all the answers to why the world had turned on its head the way it had.
"I knew a girl once," he began, "named Dolly."
Looking up and over at the man, Carol gave him her undivided attention.
"I went to school with her. She was a plain thing, kind of just on the side of pretty, buck teeth, straw-like brown hair, could never keep her skirt clean of grass and dirt. By the time we were eight, she had hit a growth spurt, shot up with these coltish, awkward looking legs and knobby little knees.
Her whole life, her brothers and daddy used to always call her 'ugly' and it leaked into the schoolyard a bit. The kids used to throw mud and pebbles at her. They used to call her scarecrow, things like that.
One day, I was racing toads with Jackford Brisbois, when she tucked herself under the slide nearby.
Jackford said he'd give me a dollar if I went over there and kicked dirt on her and called her 'paillasse'. Now, I wasn't a mean kid, my Mamere would have tanned my ass if she ever knew I was being a rude little thing, so I hesitated. I didn't know Dolly personally. I just knew that she was the class whipping girl. She was quiet and didn't ever bother no one. Just kept to herself.
But a dollar, well to an eight year old, a dollar was Fort Knox. So I pushed to my feet, marched over to where the poor thing had hidden herself and with the only thought in my head being that pretty greenback, I kicked a whole pile of dirt and rocks on her and I suppose I'd be lying if I said I didn't call her 'dog-face' and then laughed about it.
The other kids stopped playing long enough to join in calling her 'paillasse' and she scurried off, heading for the other side of the school.
I took my dollar like a callous little bastard, and headed home that night proud of my first paycheck.
The next day Jojo Pimms said he'd give me a shiny new switchblade knife if I pushed Dolly into the mud. But something didn't settle in me right.
You see, all night I tossed and turned in my bed, the moon was out and shining through my window and I swore I could hear that girl crying on the wind.
I don't know, maybe it was just my conscience telling me I was a little asshole. But I couldn't take the knife or the challenge, just the thought of it made me sick. I just ignored the offer, so Jojo pushed me backwards into the mud and called me 'shitty-pants'. Everybody started calling me that. They turned it into a schoolyard chant."
The man paused, eyeing the yard, giving Carol a chance to adjust Judith in her arms.
"Suppose that's what you'd call karma," he said. "Didn't matter, I deserved worse for what I did to that poor girl.
A year later, Jenny Eames said she heard from Mrs. Pinchot that Dolly's daddy was caught with his hand up her skirt. People said she was put in a home all the way in Baton Rouge after that. The sweetest little thing was being abused at home and then would go to school only to be abused by me and others like me.
To this day I'd give anything to know that she found peace. I like to think she grew up to be happy, maybe smarter than my dumb ass. That she went on to make herself a happy life in a happy home. But, life isn't perfect. It's not a world that I'd want someone as sweet as Dolly living in, before or after all this. I just hope she's not out there, walking around drooling like these uggies, the poor girl deserves a rest from her torment."
Leaning his shoulder against the wall by the window, the Lieutenant smirked at her. "You look tired, beau ange." He said. "Get some rest, yeah?"
Carol hesitated, shifting Judith in her arms so that she could lean her back against the wall opposite the window from him.
"I lost my little girl in the woods," Carol said softly. "Wasn't looking out for her like I should have been. I was too busy eyeing clothes that Ed never let me wear to watch her and she just…was gone. Maybe that's karma, God taking my little girl for me being so self-absorbed. For praying her daddy would die for what he did to us."
The tall man shifted on his feet, sighing. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said softly.
"Not as sorry as I was when we found her," she replied. Deciding to call it a night before she could beat herself up more than needed, she bowed her head quickly, hiding her misty eyes. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."
"Goodnight, ange." He returned.
..-~-..
..-~-..
"You going to sleep all day or what?"
Daryl's voice snapped her awake and she bolted upright.
The gruff man knelt beside the chair she was sleeping in, eyeing her quietly, an odd look in his smoky blue eyes, a bunch of crisp white sheets in his hands.
"Sorry," she said in a voice thick with sleep.
"It's alright," he said as apologetic as a Dixon could sound. "Just didn't want to waste prime daylight hours." He seemed to reconsider something for a moment, before speaking again, thrusting the sheets at her. "I tore some sheets up, made a baby wrap for you to use for Judith. Might make it easier to make the journey with her if you could have free hands."
She eyed the sheets. "I wouldn't know how to…"
"We'll figure it out, saw some pictures of Indian women using them, should be able to get it working right."
Looking up when the door opened, Carol found the Lieutenant stepping in from the sunshine, holding onto a spade and an axe, both looked well used.
"I found these," he addressed Daryl. "Better than nothing."
Pushing to his feet, Daryl eyed the tools and nodded. "Herschel's only got one hand and lost one of his crutches, figured he could use that kitchen knife you stole in his free hand."
"Stole makes it sound like I have no morals, Texian," the Cajun mocked with a grin. "I prefer purloined, sounds classier. But if the Old Missy asks, I borrowed it and have every intention of replacing it with one of equal or greater value, yeah? Damned woman makes the misere over her kitchenware."
Hobbling over, Herschel took the offered knife out of the Lieutenant's hand. "Thank you, son."
"Carol's going to have Judith, so we'll need to cover her." Daryl pointed out.
"My hand's will be free," she objected, standing up from the chair.
"You'll be covered," Daryl insisted.
"I'll take the spade," the Lieutenant said, hefting the thing in his hand. "If the little lady wants the axe."
Beth took the axe.
"Think you can swing that when it counts?" The Cajun asked her.
She hefted the weight of the thing, mimicking what he had done with the spade. "I think so."
Crouching to scoop up Judith, Carol cooed to the little thing, regretfully waking her in order to get her into the wrap.
Daryl helped her, wrapping and unwrapping it a few times, before he stepped back content enough with the job, giving it a few experimental tugs to ensure it was secure around both Carol and the baby.
He nodded firmly to her. "Think that should work, how's it feel?"
"Good. I think it's secure."
"Ready?"
She looked around, checking that they weren't forgetting anything that could be useful to them. "I think so."
Moving to the door to stand by the Lieutenant, Daryl turned again to address them. "We'll move in formation, the Cajun will take point, I'll take rear. Anything happens, if we get separated, you find a tree, climb into it and wait, I'll find you," this was spoken directly to Carol.
She nodded.
"Let's go."
The Cajun Dialect
Beau ange - Beautiful Angel
Paillasse - Scarecrow
To make the misere or to give the misere - To cause or give trouble.
