Chapter 13
A haze of smoke snaked its way through the Hilltop, and Carol fought the stinging in her eyes and the clenching in her throat. She watched as Morgan steadied the ladder, keeping it still so Daryl could hoist himself over the wall. She felt a sick pull in her gut as he went over the wall, and she prayed he made it down safely, unscathed, and that there were no walkers waiting on the other side.
She watched as Morgan lay the old rusty ladder down in the grass, grabbed his pistol and took off back toward town. She ducked behind a wide tree, waiting until the sound of receding footsteps faded. Hoisting her crossbow on one shoulder and clenching a fistful of bolts, she quickly made sure she had her revolver and knife just in case.
The rusted ladder lay in the damp grass, and Carol grimaced as the rising sun glinted in her eyes. She knew she'd have to be careful, or he'd spot her straight away, maybe even lead her right back to the wall. She'd learned enough from him over the years that she knew how to make herself silent, how to duck for cover at a moment's notice and even how to track just a little.
With a frown, she hoisted the ladder up the wall, cringing at the grating scrape of rusted steel against rusted steel. And then she was climbing, glancing up over the top to see nothing to trees and fields. But she could see him just ducking into the tree line.
She looked down at the ground. It was a good thirteen feet or so down, and she winced at the thought of falling the wrong way, of breaking her ankle and being left to trudge through the woods, dragging a broken and useless foot behind herself.
The snap of a branch somewhere past the tree line got her focus back on track. She took a deep breath and began to hoist herself over the wall, holding onto the dull, rusted edge as she dangled herself on the other side. Her fingers popped and strained, and she groaned, letting go and falling the rest of the way, landing with a heavy thud. She winced at the sharp pain that moved through her lower back, but she got up, dusted herself off, checked her weapons and hurried into the woods after Daryl, not even bothering to cast another look back at the Hilltop. What mattered right now was keeping sight of Daryl, making certain he was alright and figuring a way out of this mess for the both of them.
...
"Come on," Rosita urged, tugging on Tara's sleeve as she leaned out the window and looked over the massive herd of walkers outside. "Tara. Babe!" Tara turned quickly at Rosita's calling. "Come on. Let's go rest."
"Do you think Daryl made it over the wall?" Tara wondered.
"He made it," Morgan said breathlessly, climbing back up into the watchtower.
"And Carol?" Rosita asked. Morgan shook his head a little.
"Daryl told her to stay," the man remarked. "You two take a break. Get something to eat. Get some water. Rest."
"Where are you going?" Tara asked, putting her hand on Morgan's arm.
"I'm going to the South wall. Keep an eye on Daryl when he makes it out of the tree line. We'll need to distract the roamers, give him a chance to get up behind 'em. I gave Daryl three grenades, told him to use 'em wisely." Tara and Rosita glanced anxiously at each other, and Morgan gave them a nod. "This'll work. It has to work. If it doesn't, he dies. Those walls are gonna come down."
"Jesus," Rosita murmured, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Go on," Morgan said, waving them off. "Get outta here for a while. Rest up. We don't need fatigued soldiers on the front lines." Tara laced her fingers with Rosita's, leading her to the doorway. When they were both on solid ground, Morgan followed after. "Someone check on Carol, please? She wasn't too happy when Daryl and I left her."
"We'll check on her," Tara promised. "Keep an eye out for Daryl." Morgan nodded and headed off, while Tara and Rosita headed toward Carol and Daryl's apartment.
"If I was her, I'd be pissed," Rosita said with a smirk, squeezing Tara's hand.
"Why's that?"
"If I got left behind by somebody I loved who was risking their life, I'd be pissed! I'd want to be out there, risking my life right beside them. Even if I had to sneak right out and…" She froze, mid-sentence, and both women looked at one another with a spark of recognition in their eyes. "Fuck."
"Carol!" Tara was the first to sprint across the street and start pounding on the door. No answer. She pounded again, and Rosita was right up behind her. "Carol!"
"Now's not the time for common courtesy. Break the fucking thing in!" Rosita hollered. With a couple of swift kicks, Tara had the door banging against the wall inside. No sign of Carol.
"M-maybe she went for more food or water, or…"
"While the man she loves is outside the walls? Bet you six boxes of ammo she's jumped the wall," Rosita murmured, crossing her arms across her chest with a defiant smirk on her face.
"She wouldn't," Tara scoffed.
"Wouldn't she?"
"Fuck," Tara groaned. "Come on. Let's check it out."
...
The air was thick, and it felt like the trees were closing in on him. He leaned against a sturdy old pine tree, panting as sweat beaded down his forehead. He wiped it away as it began to sting his eyes. He could feel the rumble deep in the ground as more grenades went off.
A branch snapped somewhere nearby, and he drew his bow up, pivoting around slowly, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of a threat. He heard another snap of a twig, then silence. He narrowed his eyes, looking sharply from left to right. Bending down, he grasped a small stone, tossing it off to the right, sending it smacking loudly into a rock pile. Nothing. Whoever was out there was human.
He took another look around before ducking behind the tree, veering off toward the tree line, making a break for open spaces. He felt his heart hammer against his chest as a walker stepped out in his path, snarling, gnashing its teeth as he strung his bow and shot a bolt straight through the center of its head.
Panting, he retrieved the bolt, wiped the muck onto the grass and re-strung it, just as the rustle of leaves behind him had him twisting around, aiming the weapon just in time to see a figure appear, hunched slightly, hands in the air, a surrendering pose.
"Don't shoot." Daryl narrowed his eyes as the figure straightened. He was tall, thin and looked like hadn't had a good meal in days.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Who are you?"
"Think I asked you first."
"Look, I have no weapons, so you don't have to point that thing at me."
"The hell you doin' out here with no weapons?"
"I had weapons. Believe me, I had them, but I used the rest of my ammunition about a mile back."
"You saw the herd?"
"Herd? No. What herd?"
"You from The Hilltop?"
"You're not," the man said, narrowing his eyes a little.
"No. I ain't." Daryl lowered his crossbow before slinging it over his shoulder. He took a step forward, and the man took a step back. "Morgan sent me out here. Got the biggest goddamned herd I ever seen on the other side of the city. Must be a thousand of them sumbitches."
"Christ," the man murmured, swallowing hard as a ghostly white pallor filled his face. "He sent you? Why?"
"I'm a good shot," Daryl said with a shrug. "But I volunteered. Owed it to him. Saved my life." Daryl scuffed his boot against a tree root.
"He's a good man. He's been through more pain than he deserves," the man replied. He brushed his dirty hand on his pant leg. "I'm Aaron."
"Daryl," Daryl replied. "Where you going, Aaron?"
"Home. I was…I was going home."
"Well, if I don't get 'round to that other side, you might not have a home to get home to." He saw the fear in the man's face growing tenfold as the moments ticked away. Another snap of a tree branch. "You comin'?" Aaron nodded, swallowing hard.
"You know how to use a gun, huh?"
"Yeah. I know how to use a gun," Aaron replied. "I'm a scout. I spend a lot of time in these woods, making sure there aren't any outside threats." He scoffed. "Maybe it's time I got myself a new job, huh?" Daryl smirked at that.
"C'mon. We're wastin' time, and I got somebody to get back to."
"So do I," Aaron replied, reaching out as Daryl handed him a small pistol. Daryl nodded then, deciding that if he was going to make it out of these woods, he was just going to have to trust that this man was telling the truth. Trust was a hard thing to come by in the outside world. So he was just going to have to bite back every doubt and hesitation and hope his efforts would pay off in the end and get him back to her.
...
They moved quickly, making a wide circle, as Morgan had instructed Daryl to do, arcing around toward the back of the herd. They were silent, moving and only communicating in hushed whispers as they began to come in contact with stragglers toward the back.
"Roamer," Aaron hissed out, as Daryl ducked low. The walker fell on him, and he flipped it over, slamming it against the ground, burying his knife in its skull. Aaron sucked in a few gasping breaths at the sight, and Daryl quickly pulled his knife out, cleaning it against the dry grass. "Good kill."
"Ain't nothin' good about it," Daryl muttered.
"No, I was just saying that—"
"You good with a grenade?"
"I've never used one."
"You know how?"
"I know how," Aaron said quietly. Daryl nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of the three that Morgan had given him.
"Use it wisely," he muttered. Aaron nodded, taking the weapon and stuffing it into his pockets.
"Must be someone pretty special you're trying to get back to," Aaron said softly. Daryl said nothing as they continued walking on. "My Eric—" Daryl stopped in his tracks, holding up his hand before motioning forward. Just as they stepped up the hill a ways, the back flank of the herd came into view. "Jesus. Oh my God."
"You ready for this shit?"
"Do I have a choice?" Aaron asked with a nervous chuckle.
"You pull the clip, toss it and run like hell. Got it? You got this?"
"I…I…"
"Christ, hand over the grenade if you ain't ready."
"I'm ready. I just need a second to breathe. To think."
"Ain't got no time for that. There'll be plenty a'time when we get back behind the walls." Aaron took a deep breath before gripping the grenade firmly in his hand. "You go first. We run twenty, maybe thirty yards. I'll set off another. Then another. We ought to be at the gate then."
"With a hundred roamers on our heels." Aaron grabbed Daryl's arm, and Daryl flinched. "I have a better idea." He pulled Daryl back, ducking away and out of sight from the mass of walkers trudging toward The Hilltop.
...
Daryl cringed as Aaron took a hand full of wet, brown muck to his shirt and pants, rubbing big splotches of gristly tissue, blood and flesh over Daryl's clothes and then his own.
"You think this is gonna work?"
"I've used this method a time or two myself out there," Aaron offered, hacking into the walker's belly with a small switchblade. Daryl choked back the urge to vomit as the acrid smell of decay filled his nostrils. He could almost taste it, bitter and rotten against his tongue. He held his breath, and Aaron shook his head.
"Trust me, you don't want to do that. It just makes it worse." Daryl let out a slow breath, breathing back in through his mouth. "That's the spirit."
"My turn," Aaron offered. Daryl shuddered as he dipped his hands into the walker's belly, feeling the jagged edges of broken ribs brush his fingertips. He cringed at the squelching sound of air bubbling up through the dead blood. He began to mimic Aaron's movements, lathering up his clothes with the muddy brown muck.
"God, Eric's not going to touch me until I take four showers," he cringed.
"Did ya leave 'im pissed off and glarin' daggers at ya when ya left?"
"No," Aaron said slowly, narrowing his eyes.
"Then consider yourself lucky. Yer in a better boat than me."
"What'd you do?" Aaron asked with a chuckle.
"Told her to stay behind. She wanted to come with me."
"Yeah, that was stupid," Aaron snorted. Daryl glared at him before yanking out a long strand of intestine, cutting it in pieces and stringing a long strand over Aaron's shoulders. Aaron's face was a sickly yellow color now, and Daryl stood, wiping his hands on his pants.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," Aaron choked out. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"
...
"What's going on?" Morgan asked, as Tara and Rosita rushed him across town.
"The ladder. Did you leave the ladder up?" Tara asked.
"What?"
"After you let Daryl over? Did you leave the ladder up?!"
"What're you talking about?" Morgan barked. "Of course not!"
"Well, someone did!" Rosita yelled, rounding the corner and starting toward the back wall. It was then that Morgan saw the old, rusted ladder leaning against the wall.
"Jesus," he grunted, feet pounding the earth as he rushed up to the wall. "I put it down. I always put the ladder down. Someone must have…someone must have put it up to…" He panted, mind racing as he climbed up the ladder, gripping the top of the wall and hoisting himself up. "Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus." He wiped at his brow.
"Morgan?!" Rosita called.
"She followed him," he murmured. "Oh, Jesus. She followed him." He slumped at the wall, and Tara began to climb, pulling herself up next to him on the wide rungs.
"What is it?" she asked, panting as she lifted up to peer over the wall.
"Carol's pack," he murmured. "And her crossbow."
"Oh God," Tara whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. "They got her."