Back to Daryl's POV, I find more of a challenge writing through him but more enjoyable because he's so fun in the way he thinks. Thank you for the great reviews and taking your valuable time to read/review/msg me and favorite my story. It means a lot to me. Kat Disclaimer: Again I own nothing concerning the characters of TWD, comic or movie. I just love these two dearly.
The light in the room was dim when he first woke but the sun was clearly over head and he was alone. "Dammit, Carol what the hell?" Were the first words that left his parched mouth. Why had he fallen asleep without waking her? Goin' three days on five or six hours of sleep had slapped him upside the head. Where the fuck was she?
He was off the bed in a matter of seconds with his bow, noticing she'd taken her knife with her, which was a plus. The door knob was one of those old creaky brass ones and the damn thing was like lead in his hand. Opening it just enough to give him a slit view of the hallway and the walker with a nasty head wound lying near the kitchen doorway was enough to send his heart thumping.
"Fuck." He hissed loading his bow, ramming through the doorway. He covered one end of the hallway quickly seeing the table was gone, which was when he caught sight of the shade lifting ever so slightly with the breeze, the sunlight setting off the sparkle of the glass that was scattered all over the floor. Glancing back at the walker, he saw it lay slumped over at an odd angle, its middle oozing rancid smelling insides onto the the hardwood floor.
Carol sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of water and her knife, which looked to be wiped clean. She'd done all this and he slept so soundly that he'd missed it?
"Carol." He said looking behind him at the cellar door, just to make sure it was still locked tight with the cart in front of it.
She glanced up at him, dazed. "I took care of him."
Crossing the tile floor in three strides he took a hold of her shoulder and shook her. She needed to snap the hell out of it. "Why didn't ya wake me up?" He demanded.
Her eyes met his wearily. "You've been tired Daryl. You've barely slept since we left the farm."
"You heard this place last night. Comin' outta that bedroom by yourself that was just plain stupid!" He couldn't help yellin'. Hadn't he talked to her about takin' risks just yesterday? His voice echoed throughout the kitchen and her eyes began to shine with tears. She, swallowed, slid the chair she was sitting in backwards across the floor and stood, pulling her shoulder out of his grasp.
"I'm fine, it's taken care of." She sassed back and turned to limp toward the sink.
He was in motion before he knew his feet were carrying him. "You're not fine. What the hell happened? Why you limpin'?" Damn panic rose in his voice carrying it octaves higher than usual. Her hands went up in defense as she tried to move away from him. "You ain't bit, fuck, tell me you ain't bit." He pleaded more to himself than to her. When she stepped back again, his fear intensified. "Hold the hell still, let me see that leg." He insisted, taking her elbow and helping her back to the chair. "Sit."
While he unlaced her hiking boot in a shaky rage, he glanced up to see her fighting more tears. "It's a mild sprain, I think. I didn't get bit."
The bottom of her skinny jeans were too tight to roll up. "Can you walk on it?"
She nodded. "I can put some weight on it."
He sat on the floor in front of her feet for a second brooding. Then got up, doubting there were any ice packs in the freezer, but checked anyway. Next he walked out in the hall and took a hold of the rotten son-of-a-bitch that lay there and dragged the thing to the front door.
She limped to the kitchen doorway and looked on as he kicked the stupid lifeless thing, before opening the door and tossing it out on what was left of the former occupants of the house. The woods and yard around appeared trampled by the herd, but he didn't see any stragglers.
He gave her a hard glare, "When you woke, was this was the only one?"
She nodded. "He got in long before I came out. I never even heard the glass break."
His head itched and he felt grimier than ever. That Michonne had promised they'd come lookin' for them by morning light and if it hadn't been for the herd comin' through, they'd of been there by now.
"Do what I say." He said in a low voice, prayin' his tone got his point across. "Stay inside. I gotta circle the house."
Bloody, foul smears and hand prints marked the siding and windows. He pulled the arrow out of what was left of the guy who'd been runnin' for his life the night before and felt nothing. He'd done what he had to. He and Carol were both alive.
He shoulda woken up first, it shoulda been him that had taken down the geek that had gotten in. He'd told her they'd be safe in there. Just like he'd told her he'd find Sophia alive. What a fucking liar he was. He hadn't known, not for sure.
As he rounded the back side of the house, sure enough there was another one that had gotten itself stuck in one of the cellar windows. Passing it by, he moved onto something more interesting, a small shed about fifteen feet from the house. The door was padlocked but the hinges on the side were loose. Taking a walk around it, so not to be surprised by any more, he began working the hinges, strong arming the door off.
Inside was an old orange and black Polaris Sportsman four wheeler. "Hell yeah." He said to himself. The thing went into neutral easily. Checking the gas, he found it had plenty and an extra container strapped to the back. These bastards had thought of everything including where to hide the key because that was nowhere to be found, at least not out there.
"A fourwheeler?" She asked standing there with the front door open, waiting for him as he wheeled it around.
"Dammit, I told ya to stay inside."
"I am inside." She said with her arms crossed.
"Stubborn." He muttered. "Lotta good this'll do us if I can't find the key. It's probably in there." He told her gesturing inside the house, and then looked up at the sky. "We got at least four more hours of daylight. Better make the best of it. We need to get back to the group, see if they're alright."
They searched through drawers, looked on the key rack, kitchen cupboards, every nook and cranny to no avail. "If we can't find it, there's another way I can get it goin'. I haven't tried it in years though." He said heading for the bathroom. "Plenty of hot water, we can grab showers before we go. Put that foot up."
She turned her back on him, walking carefully into the kitchen when he closed the door. Scrounging through the drawers he found a small bottle of shampoo and turned the hot water all the way on. He liked it that way. It'd always burned away everything fucked up going on inside his head to the point where he only focused on the physical pain, and that's just what began to happen when he saw the door open through the frosted shower door. "What? Somethin' wrong?" He asked her peeking out.
"Just got you some clothes. Here's a pair of jeans close to your size and a shirt." She said without so much as a peek in his direction.
Damn woman didn't know when to sit the fuck down. "I ain't wearin' their underwear. I'll free-ball it 'fore I wear some sick fuck's grundies." That earned an audible giggle. At least he was good for somethin'. He thought. "Now go sit down."
When he got out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the steam from the mirror. Swiping a hand through his hair he noticed it was gettin' shaggier than he normally wore it and the dark, marring scars on his chest and back stood out brighter, more noticeable after they'd been softened by the hot water and a good scrubbin'.
Carol knocked on the door once he had the jeans on. "Hold on a damned second." He said through gritted teeth. He didn't want her seeing him like this. Once he pulled the shirt over his head he opened the door.
"Coffee?" She asked holding a cup out to him. "I got everything packed up that we could haul outta here in a couple pillow cases."
"Thought I told you to sit down." He brushed past her into the kitchen, thinkin' he should probably thank her for what she'd done but he was still pissed she'd dealt with that walker herself.
She didn't take long in the shower and limped out dressed in a simple pair of gray cargo pants and a long sleeved v-neck tee shirt. Her ankle had turned an ugly purple.
"Come on." He said setting his empty coffee cup down on the sink in the bathroom, bringing her back in. "Sit on the toilet and put your foot under the faucet. Prop it up there." He pointed to the corner of the tub and turned on the cold water.
"Now stay here, let the cold water take some of that swelling down so we can get your boot on. I'm gonna get the goods secured to the back of the four wheeler and check the shed for the key again." Most likely it was in a pocket or on one of the people they'd killed but he wasn't going to look there.
He found just enough rope and a bungee cord to secure the sacks to the ATV. The geek stuck in the window groaned stopping him on his way, but he still didn't have a clear shot to the head, so he kept going, ready to tear that shed apart if need be. A hammer hung from the wall and he found a flat blade in a small tool box in the corner, it also had some wrenches, nuts, bolts, bolt cutters that might prove useful back at camp. Tucking the whole thing under his arm, he met Carol around the side of the house. She'd dressed her feet, but the one boot remained untied.
"What the hell ya doin' out here?" He asked getting more pissed by the minute that she wasn't listening to him. She kept her eyes trained on the walker stuck in the window. "What? He ain't goin' nowhere."
Carol gave him a worried glance that told him to look again. The geek was pulling his face back through the glass, the skin and bone making a God-awful noise against it. It'd heard him talkin'.
"Looks like we rang the dinner bell." He got his bow ready to finish him off, but glanced over at Carol who held her knife. He wasn't sure how he knew, but it was clear she wanted to be the one to finish him off. Maybe it was for Sophia; maybe it was because of what she'd told him – that she didn't want to be a victim anymore. He nodded to her and she limped up to it and as it reached for her, she stepped on its hand with her good foot, knelt down and with one quick breath, plunged the knife into its head. After that, she kept her head lowered like she was saying a prayer; maybe just taking a moment, he wasn't sure and then she pulled it out. Pulling herself up by the window sill, she looked at him with her crystal blue eyes, obviously shaken and said, "Let's go."
He remembered the trail back but didn't want to go in that direction and meet up with anymore stragglers. There was another path that would take them up to the main road and around to the front of the camp. It'd taken a little over an hour to walk there; it would take a good twenty-five minutes to a half an hour to get back on the four-wheeler. The Polaris was easy to start once he hammered in the screwdriver and stripped the tumblers. An old trick Merle'd taught him, thank Christ it'd worked. He needed to get her back to Hershel and see about her ankle.
Carol tucked something in her back pocket before they left and he remembered the notebook from the night before. He'd gone along with the game because he didn't want her to think about what was going on or the danger that they were in. Maybe he hadn't wanted to either, but one thing was for sure, no more. He'd given enough, and she'd gone and almost gotten herself killed by not wakin' him up. It was too high of a price to care about her but when he felt her arms slide around him; he knew it was too late. He could fight it all he wanted, and dammit he'd try. All he could do was try.