Chapter 9
Rick buttoned the front of his jacket and looked toward the open fields behind the units. He shoved his hands into his pockets and listened as the water boiled on the BBQ. Carol organized clothes, tossing what they would not use and folding what they would: heavy shirts, jackets, pants, socks and scarves. Using the duffle bags and plastic bins, she organized each by size and person. She looked toward Daryl, who had struggled through fits of coughing and difficulty breathing, but now breathed easier. Still pale, cheeks gaunt, and curled on his right side, she could tell he was not sleeping.
He had pulled the IV from his arm sometime during the night, after the line had tangled around his wrist. Though Hershel had wanted to insert another, Daryl had struggled enough against it to exhaust not just himself, but those around him. Instead, Hershel settled for a Barney Band-Aid, threw his hands into the air and swore that handling feral cats was easier than handling a half-dead Dixon.
Daryl had been aware enough to flip him the finger.
Rick and T-dog had laughed, more from relief than Daryl's comedic timing. It had been the moment they all realized he would be fine. It was that moment that provided them with the peace they had been missing—no conflict, fear, or feelings of impending doom. For a moment in time they were all able to relax, breathe a sigh of relief, and think about the future as a whole rather than a part.
Lori scraped the last of the peanut butter from the jar and spread it across the last biscuit. She handed it to Carl who shrugged, but ate it anyway. She looked toward Hershel who helped T-dog tie the motorcycle into the bed of the Ram. Glenn and Beth worked to combine the equipment Glenn had found days prior. Camping gear that would come in handy. Maggie sat on the lawn chair, wrapped in a blanket and looking toward the fields below. Her battle had not been near as dire, she still felt the effects the illness held on her. She smiled reassuringly toward Glenn who turned toward her, a quick check, as he continued his duties.
Rick had been right. Despite the first impression of the storage units and the space it provided, it was not home, and it never would be. The winter weather had arrived full force and the cold days had turned into colder nights. The steel structure could not keep the cold out, nor would it keep the heat out when summer arrived. Their food was nearly gone, and what little they did have was being stretched too thin.
A light shadow of fog rested just above the creek, and frost had tipped the edges of the foliage. After four days of living in the storage unit, time was once again against them. They had no choice but to leave.
Hershel grabbed the frame of the Ram's bed and carefully stepped off the tailgate. He wiped his hands on his pants and looked toward Rick who nodded. Carol and Lori worked to load the back of the suburban with their newfound supplies, while T-dog moved to help Glenn finish with the camping gear.
Daryl slowly pushed himself into a seated position, grabbed the heavy blue plaid work-shirt that had been left for him, and slipped it on. His fever was gone, but his pale complexion reflected his battle. He still coughed, and felt the extent of exhaustion and dehydration. He pulled the Band-Aid off his arm where the IV had been inserted, ran his hand over his face, and then rubbed the back of his neck. He paused a moment, looked toward the others as they prepared for the next part of the journey before grabbing the socks that had been left near his bed with his shoes and slipped them on.
"Hershel says you're not to push it—don't want you to relapse." Rick stepped toward him and reached out with his right hand.
Daryl clenched his jaw and nodded. He grabbed Rick's hand, sighed, and allowed him to pull him to his feet. Daryl paused, felt his head spin, and felt Rick's hand slip beneath his right arm. Daryl had been up and down over the past two days, but for short periods, as his body simply did not have the strength for much more.
"I gotta piss," Daryl said, looking toward the others as they prepared for the next leg of the trip. They were waiting on him and he knew it.
Rick chuckled.
Daryl sighed and winced. "Fuck you, Grimes."
Rick chuckled. "Good to have you back." He slapped Daryl's shoulder in a friendly gesture and stepped back as Daryl moved past him. Rick looked up and noticed Hershel watching.
Rick took a deep breath, nodded as Carol walked by. She grasped his arm above his elbow to reassure him of his decision to leave, and then grabbed the pillow Daryl had been using. She put it on the seat behind the passenger seat of the Ram. The caravan was ready. Cars were loaded. T-dog would take the lead with the suburban. Beth, Carl and Lori would ride with him. Carol would drive the car, while Glenn and Maggie rode with her, and Rick would follow with Daryl and Hershel.
Hershel sighed, stepped up to Rick and watched as his family, some by blood, others by circumstance, made themselves comfortable. "About ready?" he asked, but already knew the answer.
Rick nodded, clenched his jaw and slipped his hands to his waist. "How long can we go before somethin' else happens?" He stared into the distance, not looking at anything, but focusing on a future only he could see.
Hershel, with his arms crossed over his chest, chuckled and shook his head. "Somethin' always happens, Rick—that's the only part of life that hasn't changed." He took a deep breath as Daryl came back around the corner and walked toward them. "We're goin' to move and go as long as we can, just like we have been," he looked at Rick, "but, this time we have to be open to possibilities we didn't think possible.
"Perfect doesn't exist anymore," Hershel shrugged, "and it's going to get worse before it gets better."
Rick frowned, but nodded in agreement. He looked at Hershel and then watched Daryl slip onto the back seat of the club cab, lean back against the seat and exhale deeply. He shoved the pillow Carol had left behind his head and relaxed his shoulders. The short walk was enough to exhaust him.
"I can't protect everyone... not all the time... and I'm not sure what to do about it." Rick ran his fingers through his hair, listening as the engines were started and fumes escaped tailpipes.
Hershel turned, cleared this throat and raised his eyebrows in question. "Who said you had to?" He reached for Rick's shoulder and gave him a fatherly squeeze. "Doin' the best you can isn't good enough sometimes...You have to live with that," he shrugged, "and so do the rest of us, but there isn't a person here who would blame you for failin'... we can't ask that of you, Rick, we can't ask that of anyone.
"Get comfortable with it, because if you don't... it'll eat you up inside." Hershel handed Daryl a protein bar, shut the back door and slipped into the passenger seat while Rick climbed onto the driver's seat and started the engine.
"Eat that," Hershel said, turning toward Daryl, "you need the nutrition—it'll help you get your strength back." He turned back toward the front and watched T-dog lead the way.
Daryl pulled the plastic off the bar and took a bite. He looked out the window and could see the dark clouds of another storm gathering in the east. He looked ahead and caught Rick's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"We're headed northwest," Rick said, and nodded when Daryl accepted the answer to the unasked question. "Figure it might give us some options."
Daryl clenched his jaw and nodded. "Hope so."
End
