A new danger threatens Daryl and Carol's mission.
11: Mockingbird
"I'ma go get the car-you ready?" Daryl asked. He'd pushed the heavy workbench back away from the door and they'd carried their belongings up the stairs and piled them near the entrance for a swift departure. There was no way of knowing who or what was out there by now. They'd been in the storm shelter for eight hours, getting some rest in between his "waking" her to check her head injury.
Whether it was getting the ice pack on it so quickly or it was just the endorphins from the night's pleasant activities still giving her a natural high, Carol's head felt remarkably good this morning, clear, with just a trace of the headache she'd had. The lump was still there, but noticeably smaller, dirty crimson in the center and purpling around the edges now. She popped a couple of Ibuprophen from the shelter's first aid kit and swallowed them with the last of the thermos of tea they'd brought with them.
Breakfast was supposed to have been a quick protein bar and some dried fruit to go with it, survival rations, but they'd split one of the MREs when she'd heard his stomach growling, and he'd admitted he hadn't eaten since he'd gotten back from his hunt the day before yesterday.
He'd seen her at breakfast yesterday morning, smiling at everyone she served when they came through the line for oatmeal and applesauce, the sweet fruit a nice treat for everyone. She was acting like she hadn't a care in the world, wearing that pretty red shirt he'd brought back for her from a run he'd gone on with Maggie and Michonne a few weeks ago.
The women had been uncommonly interested in the dress shop they'd come across, pulling out a list with everyone and their mother's sizes, acting like they were in the basement of Filene's for the annual ½ off sale.
Maggie he'd expected it from, but Michonne? Shit, he'd about dropped his drawers when he'd come around a corner and seen both women holding brightly colored blouses up to themselves and giggling like school girls. Michonne stripped off her leather vest and tank top and shrugged on the rainbow hued v-neck sleeveless blouse, turning in a circle in front of the mirror in front of them.
"Damn, girl!" Maggie had said admiringly. And Michonne grinned and did a little catwalk turn, swooping up her katana to behead a dress shop dummy in the aisle beside her.
"It'll do." The dreadlocked woman said with satisfaction. Daryl tried to back away before they noticed him, but Michonne caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and brought her sword up again, relaxing immediately when he held up his hands in surrender.
"How long you been standin' there, bowman?" Michonne asked, sheathing her sword and turning away from him to pick up her other shirt and vest. When he didn't answer she turned back towards him with a sly seductive look, "See anything you like?"
Maggie swatted her on the arm and laughed at the look of pure panic on Daryl's open face.
"Be nice!" Maggie admonished cheerfully, handing her friend her backpack so she could stuff her clothes inside it. "Here Daryl." She then said, holding out a blouse to him still on the hanger.
"Not exactly my size." Daryl said dryly, not moving to take it.
"No, but it is Carol's." Maggie prodded, and Daryl saw that the shirt was a crimson red, which he'd noticed Carol seemed to wear a lot.
Michonne smiled knowingly, saying, "Mmm hmmn..." in a way that set Daryl's teeth on edge.
"Then put it in your ditty bag and let's get outa here-we got other places to hit today." He said, impatient with their antics.
"You should give it to her." Maggie persisted.
Just because she was a newlywed and freakin' blissfully happy meant she was trying' to make the entire world follow in her footsteps, Daryl groused to himself.
"Women like getting gifts. Makes them feel special." Michonne intoned in that soft no nonsense tone she employed when she thought someone was being stubborn or stupid or both. He'd often heard her use it on Carl or one of the other kids...didn't appreciate her using it on him.
"Fine. You give it to her then." Daryl said, keeping his tone even, refusing to rise to the women's bait.
"It'd mean more coming from you." Maggie said, pulling the blouse off of the hanger and holding it out to him, raising her eyebrow at him, pushing him. "You've know her longer." She added, trying to make it sound simply logical that he be the one to present her with it.
In the end he'd agreed, if only to get them moving, out of the dress shop, vowing to steer clear of any future runs that came within a ten block radius of any kind of lady store.
He'd gone to Carol and Beth's room, hoping to quietly leave the red blouse on her bunk and slip away, but she'd been there, sitting on her bunk sewing and singing softly as she rocked Judith's cradle with her foot.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word, papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird...if that mockingbird won't sing, papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring..."
Daryl just stood there and stared. She was...she was everything.
Carol's head came up; noticing the shadow that fell on Judith, saw Daryl standing in the doorway. She smiled.
"So you made it through your run without strangling Maggie, I saw." She been on watch when they'd rolled in earlier that morning, volunteering when she knew they'd be back at that time. She was always there when he came back, when he left, just making sure, just her way of knocking wood, their simple words of departure and greeting now a mantra, always the same, "Stay safe; Nine lives" and "Glad you're back."
Daryl had grunted in response, not needing to go into detail about his forbearance with the girl.
"Here" He'd said, handing her the plastic sack containing the blouse in a big Ziploc bag. He hadn't wanted it to get wet or dirty in his saddle bags in the bike, so he'd used one of the medical supply bags.
She'd looked at him quizzically, her foot on the cradle stopping as she took it from him. As soon as the soothing motion stopped however, Judith had started crying and Carol had set down the bag on her bed and turned back to the baby. When she'd looked up again, Daryl was gone.
He thought she must've liked it. She wore it to dinner that night, smiling like a queen, sort of dignified and serene, when people complimented her on it, and then looked across the room at him, to where Rick was bending his ear about something, making sure she caught his eye and mouthing, "Thank you."
He responded with a barely perceptible head bob, his face heating, and he'd turned back to Rick, trying to recapture the tendrils of what the man was saying, but his head was too full of her.
Yesterday at breakfast he'd watched her be sweet and friendly to everyone, beautiful in the red that warmed her pale features, hugged her curves, but when she'd noticed him in the doorway her mouth had turned down, and then set in a firm line, avoiding his eyes as she continued to serve.
He'd turned on his heel and left, unwilling endure the stares of their friends when she publically snubbed him. He'd stayed away at lunch too, despite the fact that she was cooking his favorite, the tender deer chops, choicest cut from the doe he'd brought in the night before. It was like she was deliberately mocking him, using his gifts to hurt him.
What a difference a day makes.
"Just a crack, let me see what's out there, ok?" Daryl cautioned as they stood at the top of the storm shelter stairs. He could hear something, some movement outside-scratching perhaps-and stood poised with his bow as Carol put her left hand on the door knob, her right holding Carl's pistol with its long silencer up, ready to use it to back him up. The door opened out and she turned the knob and pushed, creating a one inch space between it and the frame.
Daryl looked out, up, down, saw nothing but sky and ground. He looked back at her and nodded and she continued to push on the creaking door incrementally until it was all of the way open. He turned back to her, about to pronounce it safe when they both heard a growl, a gnashing of teeth and something launched itself at him. Daryl stumbled, caught off guard, the thing too close for his bow so he dropped it, his hand going for his buck knife, but as he staggered against the weight of it, his foot slipped and he tumbled down the concrete steps, back into the cellar.
Carol slammed the door shut behind her and yelling his name splashed the flashlight beam down the staircase where he struggled with the...wolf? It was either a large dog or a wolf, growling and whining now, its jaws snapping as they tried to find a place to connect on his body.
Daryl had his right arm up, keeping it from getting to his throat, trying to get to his knife with his left. Carol ran down the stairs, hesitating before she fired, not wanting to hit Daryl, but when she saw it sink its teeth into his shoulder and he roared in pain she screamed and threw her body on its head. When it released his arm and went for her she put a bullet point blank in its brain.
Crying, terrified for him, she pushed the thing's body off of him and knelt by his side.
"Daryl-oh god Daryl? Are you ok?
"Walker...bit..." he moaned, his eyes horrified. He'd been bit on the shoulder, knew what that meant. Knew he'd never have another day with her; another night... He reached for the gun she still held in her hand, not wanting her to have to do it. She pulled the gun away from him, panicked, tossing it across the room to keep it from him.
"No-Daryl-stop! No-it was a wolf-or some big ass dog, not a walker."
"Wolf?" he asked, not believing her.
"Here, look!" she implored him, moving to the dog, rolling it over so he could see its ugly furred head, half blown away by her shot. Now that she looked closer she could see that it was a big shaggy Rottweiler cross, massive head and jaws, powerful shoulders, almost like a bear, weighing at least 100 pounds. She thought it would have been thin, starving, but then her stomach lurched as she realized what it had to have been feeding on. There were plenty of the dead upon which to feast. So why had it attacked? Was it diseased? Rabid? She gingerly felt around its neck for a collar, tags.
"What're ya doin'?" Daryl panted, obviously in pain.
"I need to check..." and then she found the tags, pulled them up; a metal one, shaped like a dog bone proclaimed his name, a very unoriginal "Rover" and a second round one for the rabies vaccine, good until 2014. "Oh thank god." she sighed. She played the flashlight beam over its scarred and dirty body. It had gone feral, probably after being abandoned, gotten used to fighting. Or who knows, maybe this had been its home and it was simply defending its territory.
"Carol?" Daryl said, his voice weak. "I'm bleeding here."
"Shit!" she exclaimed and moved swiftly to his side, kneeling and examining his wound. The powerful jaws had bitten through his vest and shirt, ripping them and tearing a chunk out of the meat at the point of his shoulder. It was bleeding freely, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but not the pumping spurts of an artery-it hadn't hit any major blood vessels. She pulled her scarf from around her neck and wadded it up to apply direct pressure.
"Can you hold this in place?" she asked him and he lifted his left hand, replacing hers. She moved her hands down his body, examining him carefully. "Where else does it hurt?" she asked him.
"Yer not gonna like it." He said quietly.
"What-why-what's wrong?"
"I think my leg's broke." He told her and she looked down.
"Which one?" she asked, as gently as possible running her hands down his thighs, to his knees and then giving a little cry as she saw the odd angle of his left leg above his motorcycle boot.
"I'm sorry, this is gonna hurt." She told him. "But I have to get the boot off before it swells anymore."
"Just get it done." He grimaced, closing his eyes and pressing down harder on his shoulder, fighting a greater pain with a lesser. Carol tugged the boot off and then took out her knife and slit his dungaree leg up the side so she could get a look at the break, rolling the material back and away.
"You ever wonder why animals don't turn?" she said, trying to distract him from her examination.
"At this moment I'm sure as shit glad they don't!" he bit out, gritting his teeth against the agony even her gentle touch was causing him.
"Whatever vector this thing was on, it seems like it was specifically targeted for humans, you know?" she mused. That had been Ed's theory anyway. A closet survivalist, he'd subscribed to all sorts of doomsday websites and conspiracy theories, stocking up on supplies and planning escape routes. When the first reports had come in, before the web had crashed, he'd stay up all night messaging with his fellows, speculating on the origins and design of the walker plague.
"Targeted?" he said, curious now. "You think this thing was man made?" Daryl hadn't really considered that seriously...couldn't imagine anyone evil enough to have brought this down on humanity on purpose. Lab accident, experiment gone wrong, maybe, but to deliberately unleash this on the population? Couldn't be a punishment in hell sick enough for them.
"I'm going to have to set this. We're lucky it didn't break the skin, but if you're going to have full use of it when it heals, I have to put the bones back in place." And hope for the best...she thought to herself. What he needed was an x-ray and an osteopath, but it wasn't like they could just stroll into an ER these days.
"Whatever you say, Doc." He told her, feeling light headed. She glanced up at him sharply. He was pale and his eyes were out of focus.
"Daryl! Does it hurt anywhere else?" Damn it-he could be bleeding internally-she hadn't even thought. He'd fallen down a cement staircase. She palpated his belly searching for any hardness or pain. He giggled and batted her hand away with his left hand, bloody from holding the cloth to his shoulder.
"Tickles-stop..." he giggled, sounding out of it. She leaned up and felt his head for bumps-fuck. A lump was rapidly rising on the back of his head. He might just get to enjoy a pukey concussion after all. She went over her triage training in her head-if it bleeds it leads-no that was her junior college journalism class-what the hell, Carol! She made him put his hand back on the scarf and hold it down.
"All right-first I need to see to that bite." She decided, knowing it needed to be cleaned and bandaged to prevent infection.
"I got bit?" he asked, panicked again, grabbing at his shoulder.
"Daryl!" Carol said sharply, her breath catching at how frightened he looked. She went to him, taking his face in her hands, "It was a dog, remember? Just a big...poxy bastard of a dog!" she indicated the carcass of the animal still lying nearby and he looked at it and then slowly nodded at her, processing what she was saying. She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his brow. He grabbed her arm with his bloody hand and looked at her searchingly.
"You saved me." He told her. "Not just now...not just this..." he added, pulling her to him and kissing her. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, putting all her love for him into her response.
"Stay still-I'll be right back." She told him, moving to retrieve the gun and then she ran back up the stairs, leaning against the door to listen. She hear snuffling and scratching noises, and then what sounded like two dogs fighting, mixing it up and then lots of growling and barking. Her head slumped against the door. There was a pack.
She took a deep breath, gathering herself and then checked the door lock and threw the bolt. Grabbing the med kit, she ran back down to him, careful on the steep stairs. Wondering how she was going to get him back up to the top, wondering how she was going to get out to retrieve the car, wondering how long Glenn had.
Well, there you have it, dearies!
I wanted a unique threat that we hadn't seen before on the show to cause all sorts of problems for our intrepid heroes. They have shown roving packs of dogs a couple of times eating (or being eaten by) walkers in the opening sequences, so it seemed plausible to me.
When the new Season 4 poster came out and we saw Michonne on her horse, knowing I had pets and grew up on a farm, a friend had asked me the same question Carol posed to Daryl here, why don't animals turn? Any theories?
Oh, and the name of the dog in the familiar children's song Carol sings to Judith, "Hush Little Baby," in this chapter:
"And if that cart and bull turn over,
Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark.
Papa's gonna to buy you and horse and cart."