The murky waters of the James River splash upward in a cold fountain when Carol dives in. The March water is frigid, and for a moment it shocks her, until the heat of fear for her family burns away the cold. She swims for the shore to the sound of Seaman Reedus hollering in surprise.
Arms aching from the effort, and feet heavy from her river-soaked boots, Carol climbs onto the rocky embankment where the river gate is attached to the land. She climbs over the low, non-jagged portion of the gate, lands hard on the other side, walks along the narrow rocky shore, and then begins scaling a ladder up to the pier.
If she'd been an invader, the rifleman in the lighthouse would have had plenty of time to take her down, but instead everyone just stands dumbfounded. Dripping wet, she makes her way up onto the pier as Garland struts anxiously toward her.
He comes to a stop twelve feet before her shivering frame. "Goddamnit, Carol!"
Catching her breath and hugging herself, Carol replies, "Don't try to tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing."
Garland sighs. He waves toward the speedboat. "We got her!" he cries. "Turn around. Back to Oceanside. We'll send news!"
The engine of the speedboat revs to life. Aaron steps forward, as if protesting the retreat, but Melissa must talk him down, because he whirls angrily, paces back, and sits hard on the seat. Melissa blows a kiss to Seaman Reedus, reverses the boat, pulls forward slightly toward the gate, and then makes a sharp U-turn to head back up the river.
[*]
Sweetheart's plaintiff little cough would be cute if it weren't so potentially deadly. Carol feels her daughter's forehead with the back of her hand. It's not as hot as it was before Daryl gave her the second and last dose of the medicinal concoction Raul dropped off on their doorstep, but it's still warm. The little girl lies between Carol and Daryl in bed, shivering beneath the sheets. Daryl's arm is draped loosely around Sweetheart, but he doesn't meet Carol's eyes. His jaw is firmly set.
When she set foot in the cabin three hours ago, he growled, "You were s'posed to turn round!"
"I couldn't," she replied. "How could I?"
And then Daryl echoed Garland's curse: "Goddamnit, Carol!"
He hasn't said a word to her since. He's angry – angry that she put herself at risk by stepping through a door with a contagious child. But if her daughter dies from this vicious illness – or if Daryl catches it and dies – if either one of them dies – she will never forgive herself for not being here to say goodbye.
Sweetheart coughs again, hard, four times, and then cries. Carol soothes her with gentle shushing and kisses her forehead. Sweetheart closes her eyes and scrunches up her face. She coughs again, and then she's quiet for a long time. Daryl bends his ear to her chest. Carol knows he's listening to make sure she's still breathing more or less regularly. He pulls back, looking relieved.
"I'm going to make that soothing tea Raul left the recipe and ingredients for," she whispers. "For when she wakes up again."
He meets her eyes as she speaks, finally, but anger still burns in them. Only Carol knows it's not anger, not really – but anger is the only expression Daryl has for fear.
He'll forgive her eventually. Soon, she hopes.
She slides from bed and then pokes at the fire to get it crackling again. Sweetheart may be burning up, but it's only fifty degrees outside. She goes and draws down a mug from the hutch. Daryl looked like he hadn't slept in two days. With her here to tend to Sweetheart now, he might finally allow himself some rest. She hopes he's already sleeping as she lights the wood stove and sets the kettle on.
It's not until she slides down on the couch before the fire, and Dog looks up at her and whimpers, that she allows herself to feel the full weight of fearful grief. It isn't fair. They've built a life here in this world. Finally, after all the suffering, all the stops and starts, all the losses, they've built a life here in this world. They've built a cabin. A lasting love. Careers. A life. A family. It isn't fair!
The sob rips out of her, and she quickly swallows it down so as not to wake Sweetheart, but her whole body shakes with its force.
"Shhh, Beautiful, shhh…." comes Daryl's gravely voice, and a few seconds later she feels his arms surround her. She's swept into his lap, and his lips crush down on hers for a moment before their warmth is gone and his forehead presses against hers. "She's gonna be a'right. Gotta be."
"She's got to be," Carol agrees.
"She's gonna be. Gonna pull through."
"You're not mad at me anymore?"
Daryl doesn't say yes or no, but he kisses her again, hard. Desperately. There's a frantic clawing at each other's clothes, partial nakedness, and a rough, hurried consummation that provides a raw comfort. The kettle whistles.
Half panting, half choking – holding back tears, Carol thinks – Daryl rolls off of her, yanks his sweatpants back up, and goes to take the kettle off the stove.
[*]
After she awakes and drinks her soothing tea while cuddled on Carol's lap, Sweetheart sleeps through most of the night. So does Daryl.
Carol remains awake, with only Dog for company. She lets the canine on the couch for a rare change, where he sits with his head nestled against her leg and watches her as she vacantly watches the dancing flames of the fading fire.
[*]
The warm, worn wood of the brown rosary beads slides between Carol's fingers as she sits praying at the kitchen table. Steam rises off the cup of tea she's made herself but hasn't yet sipped. Sunshine floods through the open shutters over the kitchen window. The curtains around their bed rustle open, and Daryl stumbles out, rubbing his eyes. Sweetheart must still be safely asleep.
"You're not supposed to touch your face," she tells him as he slumps down in the chair across from her.
"Pfft. Think that matters at this point? She been hackin' on me for three days."
"Was she one of the first to get it?"
He nods. "And the doc says it moves fast. If I was gonna get it, would of got it by now. Probably." His jaw tenses. "But you might still get it."
"I'm sorry, Daryl, but I couldn't just turn around. You know that. You wouldn't have. Would you?"
"No," he admits.
"We haven't talked." She lays her rosary down on the table and pulls the tea toward herself, warms her hands with it. "Which doctor is going to be checking on Sweetheart?" She assumes they've divided up the house call duty. She trusts them all, but she hopes for Dr. Ahmad, because he's the most experienced.
"Thomas."
"The medic?" They don't get one of the full doctors?
He must hear the disappointment in her voice, because he says. "Nah, 's good. He's been livin' with Kelly and her mama-in-law, old lady Merriweather? Old lady got it and died, but Thomas ain't had a single symptom. Means he's immune, probably. Ain't 'fraid to come inside and get up close with 'er. 'N he's been doin' all he can. Comes twice a day. Dr. Ahmad's runnin' the show. Organizing shit. And Raul…he does the potions, ya know."
"The soothing tea helped. She actually slept."
"First night she's slept all the way through."
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," she tells him. "You've been having to handle all this for days a – "
"- Yer here now. But ya should of turned round." He sighs and admits, "Glad yer here though."
She reaches across the table and covers his hand with hers. "Who all's sick? Garland didn't say. He wouldn't stay and talk to me at all. I think he was irritated with me for swimming ashore."
"Well, he ain't riskin' much contact with people. Garland ain't had one symptom, but Shannon and the boys…they're all under quarantine in their cabin. Garland, he's got to be in charge of shit, and he's symptom free, so he's been workin' non-stop, sleepin' in his office. They pass notes, him and Shannon, through the doc. VanDaryl's in bad shape. Gary, not so great. Shannon's just got it real mild."
"Oh God! He didn't say any of that." But it makes sense the boys would have it if Sweetheart does. They play together all the time. How awful it must be for Garland, not to be able to be with his family at this time.
"Don't know why," Daryl says, "but it hits the young and old harder than us in between. No one tween the age of twenty-five 'n sixty even got it, 'cept Bob and Mary. Quarantined together in her cabin."
Carol sighs. That couple, prone to mutual domestic abuse, finally got divorced, and now their back together? Stuck in a cabin, 24 hours a day? That's going to get ugly. "Why together?"
"'Cause they wanted Bob out them dorms. Don't want it spreadin' there. And the quarantine room was full."
"Six orphans, Garland's letter said?"
"Yeah. Mitch's orphan. Gunther's too. 'N four of the youngest ones."
"Oh God," she murmurs again. "What about the babies? Benji? Hope? Yona? Harry? Little John?"
"Nah. VanDaryl's the youngest one got it yet."
"Linda?" She's in her mid-to-late sixties, after all, the vulnerable age.
"In the quarantine room, with the kids and Joe."
Carol covers her face with her eyes.
"She ain't got it as bad as the others. Think she's playin' house mom. And ya ain't s'posed to touch yer face. 'Member?"
She laughs, but the laugh becomes a cry, and he comes over. She turns in her chair and buries her head against his chest, resting in his embrace until there's a light cough, and then a heavy one, and then Sweetheart's wail from behind the curtain. Together this time, hand in hand, they go to tend to their daughter.