Helloooooo! I do apologize for the delay in my updating. I couldn't pull this chapter together right at first and I had no idea what to do since chapter 9 was such a beast and I had to do the season 2 finale some justice. Thanks for reading, reviewing and hopefully I didn't lose anybody in the interim. Many many many thanks and blessings upon my wonderful beta, mrsdaisybuchanan. Her story Backwoods is getting' good, y'all, you should really go check it out…
The song for this chapter is not a song but a poem by the great and talented e.e. cummings, called "[All in green my love went riding]". I do not own it and I do not intend any copyright infringement.
Also, I do not own The Walking Dead or ANY of its affiliated content, with the exception of my original character(s).
Don't forget to read and review!
She didn't know how late into the night she'd woken up or how early in the morning she'd gone back to sleep, but she was roused at dawn by a very somber Maggie telling her that it was time for Dale's funeral.
Kyra nodded obediently and shrugged a jacket over her shoulders, following her cousin out without adding so much as a good morning.
She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and listened guiltily as Rick eulogized Dale, stating that the only way the group could stay whole is to put all differences aside and work together.
"This," the sheriff declared, "is how we honor Dale. From now on we're gonna do it his way. "
Kyra chewed her lower lip and guiltily stared down at the ground, scrutinizing the scuffs and dirt patches on her age-worn boots. Honor. What a banal concept. Honor didn't exist anymore. Daryl had proved that to her.
Daryl had proved a lot of things weren't true anymore.
She glanced up from analyzing her boots and felt her face go red, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.
Daryl was staring dead at her, holding her gaze captive with those damned baby blues of his—but it was the expression on his face that eluded her in definition.
He looked… bemused, almost. He seemed lost in thought, like he was completely unaware of what Rick was saying.
She knew she looked a fool staring at him like she was, like she was twelve again and he was the cutest boy she'd ever seen.
Somebody said her name—it was Lori, wasn't it? Calling her over to join the rest of the group as they surrounded Otis' truck. Hershel had decided to move everyone into the house. Shane, Andrea and Daryl were going to set up a perimeter around the farm and do away with any walkers within it. Shifts were set up to keep watch on Randall, the kid kept in the slaughtershed. Kyra had to rack her brain to remember him, she'd almost forgotten about him. Out of sight, out of mind, she guessed.
After duties had been assigned, Kyra followed Lori, Carol and Patricia, silently helping tote boxes and supplies into the house. She couldn't shake Daryl's eyes from this morning.
The word "raptor" sprang to mind.
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"So did somethin' happen with you and Kyra?"
Daryl almost jumped. He had been so focused on making sure Shane wasn't going to flip his shit when Rick had informed him that he and Daryl would be taking care of Randall from now on, he hadn't thought anything of Kyra. He scrambled for an appropriate response. Wasn't really Rick's business anyways, way Daryl saw it.
"It that obvious?" He punted. He really, really wasn't good with taking about relationships, with anybody. It felt weird. Just plain weird.
"I'd say. What happened?"
Daryl cringed ever so slightly. Better Rick than Merle, at least.
He picked his words carefully. "We, uh, we… shit, man, we, ah, we had a fight." He sputtered finally.
He snuck a side glance at Rick. The sheriff's eyebrow was cocked up. "That all?"
"Yeah." Daryl picked at a burr stuck in the side of his boot. "Tha's all. She's just… I dunno, she's moody and depressed and shit and she won't talk to me or even really have anythin' t' do with me. I think…" For a second he trailed off and weighed his next words. "I think she hates me, tell ya the truth." He squinted off into the distance, eyeing what looked to be Shane putting up a watch platform on the windmill.
Rick followed the hunter's gaze and looped his thumbs around his belt loops, settling his weight back onto his heels, thinking.
"Doubt she does." He said finally. "She ain't that type of woman. Mind if I ask what you said?"
Shame colored Daryl's cheeks. "Yeah."
"Alright then." Rick stepped off the porch and turned to walk towards the barn. About six feet away from the porch, he stopped and turned back to Daryl.
"Don't give up on her." He said finally. "I don't want to see y'all in the same boat as me and Lori."
Daryl's left hand clenched reflexively; he could still feel the brush of her skin as she yanked her hand out of his that final time.
"Yeah." He mumbled. "I won't."
He had already made up his mind to protect her, and once a Dixon made up his mind to do something, it couldn't be changed and it got done.
He'd be damned if he let her pride get in the way of her safety. She was just gonna have to suck it up and deal with him, whether she liked it or not.
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Honestly, she enjoyed the little chores around the house. Lori didn't gripe anymore about not having help from Andrea; nine times out of ten, Kyra would pick up her slack and help without question or complaint.
Now, especially, it was relaxing. She had a sense of normalcy now that she hadn't felt in days. A breeze blew in lazily through the open window behind her. Through it she heard Rick's voice, and then his. She stopped folding the sheet to listen.
"What happened…"
Silence. This was followed by a low Southern rumble she'd have recognized anywhere. Then there were booted footsteps, receding away from the house, pausing (here Rick said something else, but he was too far away now for her to understand him.) and then vanishing altogether.
Kyra continued to fold the bed sheet in her hands, trying to push it out of her mind, to no avail. It wouldn't have surprised her if it was her they were talking about. She wasn't oblivious to the fact that Rick had been keeping an eye on her as of late. And Daryl… well, for someone who had ordered her "out of his sight", he was acting awful clingy. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
At that moment, if you'd have asked her if she was okay, she would have said she was perfectly fine considering the circumstances and asked why you asked.
And she would have known almost instinctually that saying so would be a lie.
She folded the last of the sheets and scooped the pile up in her arms, carrying them from the laundry room to the master bedroom where Rick and Lori would be sleeping. On her way through the living room she caught sight of Daryl lumbering across the yard, presumably towards his isolated camp or the woods one.
She thought back to the night before, when Daryl had attempted to comfort her. She sighed and chewed her lower lip. That had been a long night. She had just begun to wonder where her sketchbook had run off to, when Lori came into the room toting a full basket of her and Rick's clothes. Kyra gave the older woman a weak smile and offered to put the clothes away for her, if she'd like.
"No, I think I'll do it, Kyra." The older woman gave her a smile that made Kyra cringe a little on the inside. Instead she yawned and returned to making the bed.
"You sleep alright, sweetie?" Lori asked conversationally.
"No," Kyra sighed, stifling another yawn. "I didn't. I have nightmares. Before they weren't much of a problem and were pretty few and far between, but Dale dying didn't help at all." Or Daryl trying to console me. She added silently. It wasn't like it was a bad thing; in retrospect she might have even been a little grateful for it. But nonetheless. It was highly strange, a bit like getting a chatty phone call from an estranged relative.
Lori, apparently, didn't get the picture. She stood up and put an arm around Kyra's shoulder and tried to give her what must have been an attempt at a maternal smile. "Look, honey," she simpered, "I'm not trying to humiliate you or make your personal tragedy any worse, but have you taken a look around? Our whole life is a nightmare now."
Kyra wanted to wring the woman's neck. "Right." She muttered, propping the clean-sheeted pillows on the mattress and scooping up her empty basket. I'll keep that in mind.
She left the room without another word and walked down to the laundry room, where she deposited the laundry basket next to the washer and marched back upstairs.
Without knowing why she wandered up to the study and pulled down a volume bound in dark cloth with a pale blue spine. She cracked the covers and flipped through the pages.
e.e Cummings had always been one of her favorites. She let her eyes roam over the pages, the mangled and misused punctuations, randomly placed parenthesis and capital letters, the unconventional construction of the stanzas. The words rolled in her head like waves on the shore and before she knew what she was doing her voice breathed life to them, filling the silence with images profound and humble.
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Carol had asked him to put her things up in the study near the Grimes' room, in case Lori had any problems with the baby in the middle of the night. He didn't mind toting the bags for her; Carol was only one woman and thus didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions.
He had just turned the corner from the stairs when he heard the words.
"I'd forgotten about this book. It's been ages…"
Kyra. He set the belongings down quietly and pressed his back up against the wall. Should he go in and apologize, fall to his knees and beg forgiveness? He shook that idea out of his mind. No, he was a Dixon. Dixons didn't do shit like that.
But she was so very close to him… less than ten feet away…
The words rolled off her tongue like music.
"'All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.
Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrows sang before.
Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.
Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.
Four tall stags at a green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.' "
Daryl opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them. She underestimated herself, how she could captivate and entice with something so small as her voice. He heard her sigh, plaintively almost, and for a second he wanted to go in there and do something for her, at least let her talk to him. There was the sound of a book closing, and then a loud creak as she trod on a loose floorboard. His pulse raced and something turned in his gut as she stepped out of the room and turned in his direction. He snatched Carol's things up in his hands and stepped away from the wall. She started when she saw him, and for a fleeting second their eyes met. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. Before he could open his mouth to say something (not that he would have, he wasn't going to risk being hurt again after she had spurned him so viscerally the night before) she barged past him and pounded down the stairs, across the foyer, around the corner and out of sight.
Daryl stood and watched from the window as she marched across the yard, shoulders hunched and dark hair billowing around her head like a black halo, absently chewing his thumbnail down to the quick. Would she never take the hint?
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Randall was gone, Shane said. Broke the deputy's nose and ran away, took his gun too. Kyra felt her hand fly up and grasp the hilt of her sword as Rick called out for Glenn and Daryl to go with him and Shane into the woods to search for Randall.
She couldn't name it or give a reason why, but suddenly she had the strangest, most sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach and rising up to her throat when Daryl's name was called. She swallowed it back and marched resolutely towards the house, hanging back behind T-Dog and Andrea.
For a moment she turned and watched the treeline again.
There it was, that same sick feeling of dread and apprehension. She chalked it up to anxiety over Randall finding his group and bringing them back to the farm, and headed inside.
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Daryl swiped his fingertips over the patch of blood on the tree trunk. He knew beyond a doubt that the blood was human. So Shane hadn't been attacked like he had said he was.
Something rustled behind them. Walker. It lunged for Glenn, only to be dispatched by Daryl less than a moment later.
A second look revealed that it wasn't just a walker.
It was Randall.
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Daryl threw the door open and was immediately met by a worry-stricken Lori, along with Andrea, T-Dog, Carol, Maggie, Beth and Patricia. He noted with a spike of anxiety that Kyra wasn't in the room.
"Found Randall." He announced. "Only he wasn't shot."
"Did you find Rick and Shane?" Lori asked fretfully.
"No," Daryl admitted softly. "We didn't."
"Could you go out and look for them? Please?" The pregnant woman begged.
Daryl nodded. "Yeah."
He and Glenn turned and headed for the door.
He hadn't noticed previously, despite his exceptional talents as a hunter, that the woman he sought in the room was really behind him the whole time, watching with a carefully detached expression on her face. She looked ready for battle, with her jeans tucked into her boots, wearing a black canvas jacket and fingerless gloves. Her arms were folded across her chest and her baldric was slung across her left shoulder.
He met her eyes, and thought he saw her expression soften just a tad. She looked away, almost as if she was ashamed of herself for something.
Daryl sighed to himself. He'd fret over her after they had Rick and Shane back.
He stalked across the porch, his boots clunking loudly in the stillness of the night.
A shot broke the silence.
Daryl's head jerked up and suddenly everyone else was outside.
"Where's Carl?" Lori asked. But that wasn't what he was focusing on.
A collective gasp went up as the survivors realized a massive herd was heading for the farmhouse.
Lori immediately began to obsess over losing Carl and Rick again. Daryl tuned her out and immediately loaded his crossbow, helping the others formulate a plan of attack against the herd. He, T-Dog and Glenn would circle around the barn and shoot as many walkers as they could, with Maggie, Andrea and Kyra all riding shotgun and shooting at the geeks as well.
Glenn paled when he noticed Maggie loading a shotgun.
She caught his look and explained quickly: "You grow up country, you pick up a few things."
Daryl stole a glance at Kyra, who was busy filling a pistol magazine with bullets. Again, his tongue leapt to action before his brain could stop it. "You learn to shoot that thing yet, girl?" he called over to her. (why did I do that? She ain't gonna dignify that with an answer)
"As a matter of fact," the coldness in her voice startled him. "I did. Rick taught me."
She shoved a couple more magazines in her back pocket and glared at him.
He was just pleased she answered him. He'd have been worried if she hadn't.
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T-Dog slung the truck around, sending Kyra tumbling across the bed. She wedged herself between the corner of the truck bed and the tailgate, and squeezed off another three rounds at a mass of walkers near her. Two fell dead. She shot at more until the chamber was empty, leaving her with one more full magazine. Fourteen shots. And then after that she'd be on her own. She fired at another group of walkers, bringing down four this time.
She shifted a little to get a better purchase against the side of the bed; the truck hit a bump, and she went tumbling. She lost her gun, the weapon flying out of her hand as she hurtled towards the ground. She didn't see where it landed, and at any rate, she wasn't going to be able to find it, not with the sheer volume of walkers ambling around the farm. Her feet hurt like a bitch from the way she'd landed—remarkably catlike, something she was rather grateful for since a bruised or broken rib would have been a major pain in the ass to fix. Her hands were shaking as she raised the gun and took a step back, firing at any geek that came too near.
After what seemed too short a time, she was out of ammo. She did the only thing she could do: toss the empty gun away and run.
She could hear them closing in behind her, all around her. She chanced a glance over her shoulder as she pulled the sword out of its sheath. There was no one around to save her. She swung out madly, determined not to die.
She lopped off as many heads as she could, but they just kept coming. Her arms were tiring. Her knees and her ankles were screaming at her. There was no opening.
There were too many.
The din of Daryl's motorcycle reached her ears through the cacophony. Oddly, it sounded like it was nearing.
But she knew it wasn't.
Her nightmares were right.
She was going to die this night, and he wasn't going to do anything to prevent it.
Well then. Thanks for reading and take note of that new and improved review button at the bottom of your screen, and put that sucker to use! I wanna know what my readers think of my writing. Feedback is always appreciated.