I DO NOT OWN The Walking Dead or it's characters.
We grieved over the new loss in the group. I felt like I was the one to blame, I killed her. Maggie came up to me, and put an arm around my shoulder. I just stood there, still not being able to comprehend the damage I had caused to this group. Carl walks over to me, stone hard expression on his face. He put his arms out, and I realized he was meaning for me to hand over the baby. I looked at her one more time, some of my white hair falling in my vision, and see that she is crying. I didn't even notice. I was consumed in my thoughts and couldn't really hear anything.
Handing over the baby to Carl, Hershel says, "Let me see the baby."
It's otherwise still silent, minus the baby crying. Its cries make me wince because they are so loud, and because of my enhanced hearing.
"Do we even have anythin' a baby can eat?" Daryl says next to me. He's impatient, and trying to get us all back on our feet after the loss we have suffered. He isn't one to grieve, and I wonder what has made him like this.
Hershel looks at the baby while propped up on a crutch, "the good news is, she looks healthy," Hershel looks to Daryl, "But she needs formula. And soon or she won't survive."
Daryl looks to the ground, and back up to the baby, "no way, not her."
He's thinking of Sophia. He doesn't want to lose her too. Does he feel guilt for that? I still do.
Daryl swings over his crossbow over his shoulder and walks off to his motorcycle, "I'm going for a run," he says. No one objects, and I'm brought back to the real world, instead of my grieving one. I shake my head, to rid my head of those thoughts.
"I'll go too," Maggie and I say the same time. I look to her with an expression of confusion, but she nods to me; thus saying I could go instead of her. I smile lightly back, but the smile was there for only a second, then it diminished.
"Ok," Daryl says reluctantly, "but don't get outa my sight. We don't want what happened last time to happen again."
The last time?
For a short moment I forgot what the "last time" was, until I remembered to a year back when he and I had gone to that abandoned church. It was surrounded by walkers and I had to distract them so Daryl could get out. I ended up getting lost. I was very happy to get back to the group, but of course my happiness was short-lived when walkers attacked and I had to help Lori…
I notice I'm several feet away from Daryl and I run to catch up with him.
"Grab the pack from the car," Daryl says, getting onto the bike. He starts it up, and it revs to life. I open the blue car next to me and grab the grey dull backpack and swing it over my shoulders while shutting the door.
"I gotta go get some ammo for my gun," I tell him, "just wait a minute."
He nods and I take out in a sprint, trying to hurry because I don't want to keep Daryl waiting. I open the door and shut it behind me. I go through many rooms until I get to the ammunition closet, wear we keep spare- you guessed it- ammo and guns. There's a shelf where I grab a box of .38 mil caliber bullets. I grab about five, hoping I won't need them but having a few just in case. I know we need to preserve them too, and that's another reason I only grab a few. I whiz past my room, and look inside to see if I needed anything from in there. The next room I pass is Carl's. His is has almost nothing in it, except for a few shirts lazily on the bed. There's something else in it, something black and official looking. I go inside and identify it as I holster for a gun. Picking it up, I notice it is too small to fit on your waist, so I strap it around my upper thigh, on top of my skinny jeans. Looking down, I like how it fits and leave his room. I run back out to where everyone was, and see most of the group was gone somewhere else. I inaudibly thanked Carl for him not being right over here to notice I took something of his. I would give it back to him, when I got back, I decided.
Daryl was alone on his bike. I sprint to him as he motions me onto the bike. I get on, wrapping my hands around his shirt. If I were about ten years older this might've been a lot more awkward. It still is, but I ignore it since I don't really have the luxury of choosing who I want to ride a motorcycle with.
Daryl leans a left out into the field of the prison, and I can't help but slightly lean the opposite way. I just don't want to fall over.
After getting to a paved road, Daryl speeds up, causing my hair to whip in the wind. The sound of the engine must be attracting walkers from a mile away, but the motorcycle would more than likely be too fast and outgo them, so I wasn't worried.
"I think there's a school a ways up," Daryl shouts to me. I can barely hear him over the motorcycle. He slows down a little and comes to a stop. I get off first, and he does too. Looking around, I see a path and Daryl follows it to a playground. There are swings and a climbing wall, and it brings me back to the days of elementary school. My friends and I use to have races on the monkey bars; they were wide enough so more than one person can go on at once. No one knew my secret about being a wolf parents told me to not tell anyone, unless they were family because they couldn't be trusted.
Adam told random people he met.
I told this group that I met.
I think certain people can be trusted, as long as they prove they can be. I didn't have much of a choice, because I was wounded and had to change back at some point. I had to save Rick that one day when we didn't have any other weapons. And I had to help Daryl get out of the house surrounded by walkers.
"You waitin' for somethin'?" Daryl asks me, turning around when he's at the door of the old school. I think it was a daycare, judging by the way it looked. It had more childish decorations, with a faded sunshine hanging on a wall. I'm standing at the swings, and I shake my head and run up to him. A tree is growing in front of the door, and I have to push aside a branch, and I hold it so that Daryl doesn't get whacked with it. Trying to open the door, the handle doesn't budge.
"It's locked," I say. I turn around to him and he brushes past me and tries to open it himself. He grunts in annoyance and I leave him and go over by a window. I look inside to spot any walkers, but find there are none. Bringing my elbow up to an angle, I bash the window with it and climb into the room.
"C'mon Daryl!" I say. His footsteps tell me he is coming, and I spin around and take in my surroundings. Children's' artwork fills up the walls; many sloppily paintings and handprints on paper. Walking over to a cupboard, I open the doors and discover many diapers, baby bottles, and cans of formula. My backpack hit's the ground silently and I begin stuffing baby supplies into it.
Footsteps are head behind me, and I can decipher by the quietness of them it isn't a walker. Unless walkers are now as graceful as ballerinas.
"I'm gonna go look around," Daryl says and exit's the room. He's not social if he doesn't want to be. He likes to do things on his own. Independent, he is.
One last baby blanket can be stuffed into the pack without it exploding, so I place it back on my shoulders. It feels awkward on my back, being so full, but that's the last thing I'm going to worry about. I find Daryl in a room, looking with a flashlight to illuminate the rooms. I hear a scuttling somewhere and nudge him, making him aware of the noise. He nods to me and I point to where I hear it; into a room where the children must've slept. He holds the flashlight in his mouth, with both of his hands occupied with his crossbow. I pull out my gun from my thigh holster I may or may not have stolen from Carl's room before leaving. I open a storing room and see a raccoon eating on some unknown food. I could only hope it wasn't flesh. Daryl shoots it, and the raccoon sits on the ground unmoving with an arrow in its head.
"Hello dinner," he says with the flashlight still in his mouth. He tries to smile, and I laugh at him.
"I'm not putting that in my bag," I laugh. He shrugs and takes it himself. I check any other places I can for more supplies, but can't find more.
"Let's go," Daryl says, "it's going to be dark by the time we get back."