Carol looked up from the French press when she heard Daryl come through the door after his early morning shift on the treehouse watchtower. She'd already rolled up his sleeping bag and put it against the wall by the fireplace and returned the coffee table to the center of the area rug. "Sorry," she said when she saw him looking at the rolled up bag. "Did you want to go back to sleep? I should have left it."

"Nah. Couldn't anyhow." He leaned his bow against the wall and then stretched one arm behind his shoulder. Carol watched his muscles flex and ripple. When he turned toward her, she looked hastily away at the stopwatch she'd set for the coffee. It beeped, and she turned it off and pressed the top of the French press down slowly.

Daryl wandered over to the other side of the island counter. "Smells damn good."

"It makes six cups. Well, three mugs more like." The rich brown stream flowed into one green ceramic cup and then another. "It makes it really strong."

"Ya like it strong?"

Carol bit her bottom lip to repress her smile and tried to keep kept her eyes off his bare arms. She would miss those cut-off shirts when winter rolled around. "Yeah, I do."

He must not have caught her teasing tone this time, because he didn't flush or tell her to stop. He just took hold of one of the mugs and sipped. "Damn good. Ya should of been a chef."

"A barista, you mean?"

"A whoza?"

Carol leaned back against the other counter, near the sink. "They're the people who make the fancy coffee at Starbucks."

"Ain't never been to a Starbucks. What the hell I want to pay $6 for a cup of joe?"

She laughed, sipped, and then said, "I've only been a couple times. I was in a women's Bible study group that met at one. For awhile." Until Ed had told her ten miles was too far to drive for a Bible study and what the hell did she need those gossipy women for anyway? Over Daryl's shoulder, Sophia was yawning as she swung her way into the living room on her crutches.

Daryl turned. "Hey, sleepy head."

"Good morning, Mr. Dixon." Sophia looked at Carol. "What's for breakfast?"

They ate oatmeal with hard raisins around the kitchen table, and then Sophia hobbled off to get dressed.

While she finished off her coffee, Carol asked Daryl, "What's on your agenda for today?"

"My what?"

"What are you planning to do?"

"Gonna look in the cabins. Find us some holsters. Then thought maybe I'd take Carl frog giggin' if Rick'll let me. Found me a good five-tine gig in that shed out there."

"Frog…what?"

"Giggin."

"Okay." She chuckled as she took a sip of her coffee. "Is that like...hunting for frogs?"

"Ain't like huntin' for frogs. Is huntin' for frogs."

She smiled.

"You ain't never heard that word?"

Carol shook her head. "Ed went duck hunting a few times a year with his buddies. Deer hunting once a year. That was mostly it. No frog giggin'."

"Ed weren't a proper redneck," Daryl told her.

"No, I guess not," Carol said. If you didn't count the stereotypical wife beating. Carol's mind strayed from that unpleasant thought to the fact that Ed, unlike Daryl, had never been fond of wearing wife beater T-shirts. Ed wouldn't have looked nearly as good in on, but Daryl's strong, tanned shoulders and muscular arms were hard to ignore in that thing, as was the sculpted outline of his chest where the thin fabric clung close.

Carol didn't used to notice things like that - the way men looked. While married to Ed, she'd learned to avoid looking at men, but these last few days, she'd let her eyes subtly caress Daryl from time to time. The only thing she couldn't look at were his eyes, because, whenever she did, he lowered them or flitted them away like a schoolboy caught in some dirty thought. Carol wanted to know how blue those eyes were, and if there were any other flecks of color dancing in their shadows, but she'd probably never have a chance to study them.

Daryl wrapped a hand around the green ceramic handle of the coffee cup. Carol's eyes were on his fingers - strangely clean except the contrasting dirt beneath his nails - when he startled her with an unexpected attempt at conversation. His gravely voice broke through her thoughts: "So uh…what's on yer agenda?"

Carol looked up at him. His eyes fell to the rippling liquid in his cup.

"I'm going to take that huge leather jacket I found in the hall closet," she answered. It looked like it had belonged to a very tall, very plump man, and she doubted anyone in their group would want - or be able - to wear it. "Cut it up, and try to sew some protective, studded leather sleeves that we can pull on and off if we ever have to clear more walkers from some place. So if our arms get bitten while we're stabbing, it won't pierce through the skin."

"Good idea." He looked up again, without quite looking straight at her. "'Cause we oughta go on a supply run eventually, 'fore winter, down in the village. We ain't likely leavin' this mountain once them roads ice."

It was strange, to be planning for a time four months down the road, as if there might be a real future to build for, instead of just a daily existence to eke out. Strange...and hopeful.

[*]

When Carol got down to the main cabin later that morning, Beth was playing Battleship with Carl. Sophia seemed at once happy that Beth had begun to emerge from her funk and jealous that she was taking her spot as Carl's playmate. While Sophia sullenly began a game of Solitaire, Carol searched the cabin for sewing supplies. She thought she'd seen some when they first cleared this cabin a basket on the hutch in the kitchen. Sure enough, there they were - needles, scissors, thread, threaders, and all.

Darlene was standing by the counter and eating a dry bowl of Lucky Charms with a spoon when Carol started rummaging through the supplies. "Makin' somethin'?"she asked.

"Those sleeves, but later. I was hoping Rick would take us shooting again this morning. Do you think he will?"

"Sure he will. I ain't goin' this time though. Think my plan backfired. Instead of appreciatin' Rick more, now Lori's just more pissed off at him. And at me."

The cabin door opened and Carol recognized the sound of Daryl's boots clobbering over the wooden floor of the foyer - he had a particular, heavy step that wasn't quite like anyone else's. She made her way into the living room and found him setting down a tin bucket. Then he leaned a large, sharp pronged tool against the wall. She supposed he planned to use all that for frog giggin' later. Daryl pulled a black leather holster out of the bucket and handed it to her. "Should fit yer gun."

It did, if she used the second set of snaps to secure the weapon in place. Carol was glad not to have her gun situated in her pants anymore. Daryl had found one for himself, too, she saw, with the initials D.B. carved into the brown leather. "If only that second letter had been a D," Carol said, "it would have your own initials."

"Middle name starts with a B," Daryl replied. "So it does anyhow."

"What is your middle name?"

"Ain't tellin'. Always hated it."

"Bob?" Sophia guessed as she laid out the last row of her pyramid of cards and began her Solitaire game.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with Bob," Daryl told her.

"Billy?" Carl ventured.

"Nah. Billy Ray was my cousin, though. Solid name."

"Boone?" Beth guessed. "I had a crush on a boy named Boone last year in high school."

"Was he cute?" Sophia asked.

"Of course he was."

"Ain't Boone," Daryl told them.

"Bubba?" Sophia asked. "Because I'd totally be embarrassed by that name."

"No. But like I said," Daryl insisted. "Ain't tellin'." He walked over to the door and picked up the tin bucket. "Hey, Carl, little man, wanna go frog giggin' with me?"

"Heck yeah!" Carl yelled as he stood up and slammed down the lid of his battleship game. "What's frog giggin'?"

[*]

The beating of her own heart echoed in Carol's ears as a walker lurched out from between two trees ten yards away. Rick was leading Lori and Andrea through some shooting exercises on the range. Carol had already had her turn at the targets, and it was now her duty to stand watch. Her pistol shook slightly in her grip, and she forcibly steadied it. Using the white and blue dots to line up her sight picture, she squeezed the trigger seamlessly. A piece of bark shot off a tree just above the walker's head. She'd jerked the gun up slightly in unconscious expectation of the recoil. But with her second shot, Carol didn't flinch: her bullet pierced the monster's brain, and the creature slumped to the forest floor.

"Well done!" Rick called from the range, and Carol felt a new sense of pride and confidence swelling her head as she waited for her heart to still.

Rick resumed his lessons.

Lori still seemed peeved at at her husband, but when Andrea told Rick he was the best teacher she'd ever had, Lori grew strangely quiet.

When the lesson was over, Andrea stood watch and Carol collected spent shell casing from the range. She was about to take half a bucket full inside the shed when she overheard Lori and Rick arguing inside. Lori's voice was bitter: "I hope you're not wondering if Andrea is a firecracker in bed, too."

There was a click, possibly from the ex-cop slapping the cylinder of his revolver back into place, and then Rick's low, annoyed response: "Doubt she's as good at starting fires as Shane was." He paced out of the shed, his eyes on his black uniform boots. Carol pretended to have just been arriving and took a pronounced step back as he marched out.

When Carol walked in the shed, Lori was crying. The bucket of casings clanged as Carol set it down abruptly. "Oh, sweetie." She did what she could to comfort Lori.

Eventually, the woman wiped her tears dry with her fingertips. "You know what the worse part of it is?"

"What?" Carol asked.

"I think I'm pregnant."

[*]

"This isn't how Shane taught me to do it." Carl shifted his grip on the tin bucket.

"Yeah? How many frogs y'all catch?"

Carl shrugged. "None." The murky water was up to his kneecaps. They'd both waded in barefoot, though Daryl hadn't needed to roll his pants up very far. The water at the inlet here was less clear than in the main stream and had pooled to form a small pond. Dragonflies hovered over its surface.

"Shh, now! Y'll scare 'em away." Daryl waded a little farther in, caught sight of a movement, and stabbed. The gig came up with a frog speared on one of the tines. "Take 'em off and put 'em in the bucket."

"Ewww!" Carl protested, even as he obeyed, peeling the frog off and tossing it in the bucket. He did it again when Daryl stuck another two frogs. "Can I use the gig now?" he pleaded.

Daryl took the bucket from Carl's hand and extended him the gig. "Ya can try." Carl struggled to get his grip on the tool, which was too big for him. Daryl waved a hand over the water. "Watch for the ripples. Look for the eyes first."

Carl couldn't manage to get a frog, and he grumbled at every failed attempt.

"Easier at night," Daryl said. "More vocal. More of 'em 'round. But I doubt yer mama'd let me take ya out at night."

"Probably not," Carl agreed and reluctantly handed Daryl the gig back.

"Need ya to hold the bucket."

Carl took the handle with a frown. "This is the dumb part of the job."

"Ain't no such thing. Every part of a job's got to be done, or the job don't get done, do it?"

Carl shrugged.

The water splashed up and splattered into Carl's freckled face as Daryl drove the gig down. The boy ran an arm across his face to clear it, and then he peeled the frog off the tine. "I miss Shane."

Daryl didn't know what the hell to say to that, so he just handed Carl the gig and took the bucket. "Stab away, kid."

Carl did, angrily and eagerly, until he finally stabbed something. Unfortunately, that something was nothing but an aluminum can. Pond water poured out of the hole he'd just made and out of the popped tab. Carl slid the now mostly empty red can off the tine and looked in awe at the word NEW! on a banner across the top of the word Coke. His little mouth dropped open. "Is this one of the first Coke cans ever?"

Daryl chuckled. "Ya think a can done survived over a hundred years down there?"

"Coke's that old?" Carl asked.

"Hell yeah. Invented by a Confederate Colonel in Atlanta. Ain't yer daddy never taught you that?"

"No."

Daryl shook his head. "Well do ya even know when the War 'Tween the States was?"

"The what?" Carl blinked in confusion. "Oh. You mean the Civil War? Yeah. 1860s."

"This 'un..." He took the can from Carl's hand. "Been down there a long time, but not that long. This here's a New Coke. Came out when I's a boy. Pissed my Uncle Clevus off somethin' awful. Thought changin' that formula was just another surrender to the Yankees. Shit taste like fuckin' Pepsi."

"I hate Pepsi."

"Uncle Clevus used to throw 'em in the air, all fulled up, and make me and my cousin Billy Ray explode 'em with our .22s for target practice. Used to rain New Coke in them backwoods." Daryl handed the bucket he was holding to Carl. "Here, hold my bucket 'n watch this."

Carl took the bucket out of his hand. Daryl slid his crossbow off his back and held it with one hand. He refilled the New Coke can with pond water - as best he could with water leaking out the top and the hole Carl had already made - and tossed it high into the air. Almost simultaneously, he seized his bow with both hands and aimed. The aluminum glinted in the sunlight. When the arrow pierced through it, the scummy water exploded out and rained down on Carl's laughing head.

[*]

Carol's hand froze on Lori's back, which she'd been rubbing. "How do you..."

"I'm nine days late now."

"Nine days isn't that long," Carol reasoned. "Sometimes I'd be - "

"- I'm never late."

Based on when Rick had joined the quarry camp, Carol didn't see how the baby could possibly be his. "Oh," she said.

"Don't tell Rick."

"You have to tell him, Lori."

Lori let out a shaky sigh. "Maybe I'll miscarry, if I'm lucky."

Carol tried not to react. She kept her face still, but she couldn't help but think of her own miscarriages, two of them before Sophia. She hadn't told Ed she was pregnant either time. She'd been too scared. He'd never wanted children, though he'd refused to use condoms and wouldn't pay for the pill. She was suppose to keep track of her cycle, but sometimes he wanted sex on fertile days. On those days, she was supposed to tell him to pull out, but of course he didn't always make it. Still, if she got pregnant, that was her fault. And she'd been pregnant three times total. Both times she'd felt that life go out of her, she'd been simultaneously relieved and filled with sorrow. "Lori, this doesn't have to be a bad thing. Rick's a good father. He's a good man. I know you two are a little distant right now, but he'll do the right thing."

Lori shook her head. "Did you forget that the world ended? That we have no hospitals, no obstetricians, no gynecologists?"

"Darlene will - "

"Darlene's a damn nurse!" Lori lowered her voice and continued, "She's not a surgeon. I had a C-Section with Carl. What if I need one again?"

"She did save Sophia."

"Yeah, and told you she may never walk quite right again. Sophia may have a limp her entire life. Or did you forget that part?"

Carol wanted to say "Fuck you, Lori!" and was a little shocked by her own harsh feelings. She'd been so used to tempering them for so long around Ed, that she'd almost stopped feeling them. She let herself feel her own irritation now, but she didn't express it. Lori was scared, and scared people were often angry or bitter. Carol knew that. So the the less severe words that actually came out of her mouth were, "Well I certainly wouldn't rather Sophia have died."

Lori sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Carol. I'm just so stressed out about this. I wish I could know for sure."

"We could search the cabins for a pregnancy test on our way back. We never emptied the medicine cabinets. Just the pantries."

"Rick will want to know why I want to go looking through medicine cabinets."

"We could - "

Andrea walked through the doorway with a few more handfuls of brass, which she dropped in the bucket Carol had set on the floor. The empty casings cascaded down the metal sides and clattered on top of the existing layer. She looked at the lingering evidence of Lori's tears. "Everything okay in here?"

"Everything's fine," Carol said. "All this gunpowder and lead in here is really making my eyes water." She rubbed her eyes. "What about you, Lori?"

Lori took the hint. "Yeah, mine, too."

"Lori and I are going to go ahead and head back to the big cabin," Carol said. "Why don't you and Rick finish cleaning up the range and then lock up everything? You can take the RTV back. We'll walk. I need the exercise."

Andrea nodded, and Lori followed Carol out of the shed.