Carol slides down with a contended sigh on the bench swing on the back porch Daryl built – with the help of Garland and Dante – three years ago. The cabin is no larger than before, but this is their oasis in the evenings, and when the weather's fair, they eat out here, too. An oak awning stretches above her head, providing shade in summer and keeping the porch largely clean of debris. The porch is also home to two wooden rocking chairs and a couple of small tables big enough to hold a plate and a drink. Underneath the cabin windows sit two ornately carved deacons benches they bought from Dante – great both to sit on and store things within.
Inside the cabin, the dividing drapes still stand. They discussed the possibility of bedroom walls numerous times, but they both agreed it would close things in too much, that their old arrangement was better for air circulation in the summer, and that it would be easier – or at least preferable - to teach Sweetheart to give them their privacy. Further expansion is out of the question – Jamestown has grown. After Garland shocked everyone in 12 NE by refusing to run for Council (even though he was eligible to serve another five years as a mere councilman), he went back to being sheriff. He also resumed his old practice of searching for survivors. Shannon called it his "midlife crisis" and told Carol, "It's better than an affair. But I don't know why he couldn't just buy a nice, fancy new horse."
Earl Carter graciously stepped aside when Garland intimated he wanted his old job back, and he ran instead for Council, to which he was elected. He also continued to work for the sheriff's department, now in the capacity of bailiff. He did not join Garland's scouting posse, and neither did Carol. She was too busy serving as lieutenant mayor under Dr. Ahmad. But Santiago and Sarah took turns scouting with Garland for survivors (one always staying home for little Ray), and Dr. Thomas and Dianne rode with him as well. Daryl joined once in a while, always riding his iron horse. He went for the adventure and bonding time with Garland, and because he fondly remembered his early days of recruiting with Aaron. No one really expected them to find anyone at first – they hoped at best for some scavenged goods – but Jamestown has taken in twenty-five people over the past five years.
Two new cabins have gone up near the Dixons, and the Council has fire hazard rules about how close one cabin can come to another. Unless they want to start over from scratch on a new plot of land – and Daryl most certainly does not, after all the work he put into the place – they're stuck. If they had a second child, they would have made this porch a full room – an odd, long room – but they don't, so the porch is the porch, and Carol loves it.
She pushes off the wood planks now. The iron chains holding the swing to the awning creak, and the swing sways gently. The scent of pumpkin pie wafts from the open window of a nearby cabin. Carol's saving their pumpkin rations for Halloween. Sweetheart announced she was too old to trick or treat this year, and that she would instead be attending the barn party for the "teenagers" (which in Jamestown typically means kids anywhere from eleven and a half to sixteen and half), but Daryl put an immediate end to that idea. "Gary will be there!" Sweetheart pleaded, and Daryl replied, "VanDaryl won't. Ya ain't gonna make him trick or treat by himself, are ya?"
As if she knows Carol's thinking of her, Sweetheart's laughter rises from somewhere in the distance, beyond a few cabins, where she's playing kickball in a dirt field with a group of kids – VanDaryl, who, poor boy, is always picked last for the teams – Harry, Yona, Hope, Dwight, Jr, Little John, Benji, Ray, and a boy, about eight years old, named Huck, who was found eking out an existence with his Aunt Jane and teenage brother Owen in a bunker in Virginia. The posse found Owen first, hunting alone in the woods. He'd been taught to read and write well by his aunt, but he'd taught himself to hunt. He was skilled with a sling shot, spear, knife, bow, and in setting traps. The only thing he didn't seem to know how to use was a gun. Being new to Jamestown, and only sixteen, he was assigned to be Daryl's hunting apprentice, but it was only six months before Daryl said, "Kid ain't my apprentice. He's my partner now." The next year, at the age of not-quite eighteen, Owen took over the position of Manager of Hunting and Forestry, on Daryl's recommendation. He's almost twenty now, and the youngest of all the managers.
Carol turns her head at the sound of motorcycle engines – one an electric purr – one an ethanoyl-fueled roar. The bikes round the cabin. The back wheel of Gary's bike slides out as he jerks to a stop. Daryl comes to a halt on his bike, perfectly balanced, and puts his boots down on the earth a few feet from the porch.
Puppy, whose been chasing a cricket at the edge of the porch, runs to greet her master. Daryl scratches her behind the ears and then shoos her back to the porch, where the black-and-brown short-haired mutt settles in a spot of evening sun, her head on her paws. Puppy's not a puppy anymore. She's five now, one of a litter of three surviving mutts that was the product of a rendezvous between Dog and one of Gunther's old cattle herding dogs.
"Can't turn corners so sharp," Daryl tells Gary. "Gotta ease round 'em."
"Yeah, yeah," Gary replies. "My bike's lighter than yours. I have to remember."
In the distance, VanDaryl shouts for his brother to come play with them, his words elongated.
Gary, who will be thirteen in March, sighs. "Kickball's a kid's game."
"Go play with yer little brother," Daryl orders him. "Hell, look, yer dad's playin' with 'em. He ain't too cool for that shit. 'N he's the goddamn sheriff."
"Fine," Gary concedes. He brushes back his dark brown hair which has grown long and shaggy over his mocha-hued brow (Shannon has complained to Carol that she can't convince him to cut it, and she's going to take a pair of scissors to it in his sleep one night), and roars off.
Daryl dismounts and comes to sit on the porch swing beside Carol. As the swing creaks and stirs with his weight, he slings an arm around her shoulders. "Dinner smells good."
"Mutton." Gunther ordered the slaughter of three of Jamestown's biggest and oldest sheep today, since the flock grew in spring. It's roasting over the outdoor firepit. "Should be ready in an hour."
"Mhmmmm."
"Has Gary decided what he wants to do for his apprenticeship yet?" Carol asks. In the distance, she can see Gary slide his motorcycle to a stop outside the kickball game. Half the kids stop playing and run to gather around it, begging to sit on it. "He has to apply next spring." It's been three years since Gary wrote his composition about becoming a race car driver.
"Roadrunner."
"You mean he wants to work for the Pony Express?" Letters are still their primary means of communication. The communities can reach each other through radio relay now, but that's mostly used for time-sensitive communications. If Jamestown wants to send a message to the Hilltop, it has to radio the Island Settlement, which then radios Oceanside, which then radios Alexandria, which then radios the Hilltop. It usually takes less than an hour for a message to go through. Governments stay in touch that way, but not families and friends.
Daryl nods. "The road line. Not the water line. Gives 'em an excuse to ride his bike. 'N then the Alliance'll pay for him to recharge his bike's battery at Alexandria. That 'n…he thinks it'll give him a chance to meet more girls."
"He's thinking about that now?"
"'S all he's thinking about now," Daryl says.
Gary has shot up in height a lot already. He's almost as tall as Daryl, which means by the time he's 16, he'll be a lot taller. The other day Carol asked Shannon just how tall Gary's biological father was, and she said, Not that tall, he gets it from my side of the family, believe it or not. My brother was 6'4. "But if he trains as a roadrunner," Carol says, "there's no road line from Jamestown." Mail is all by water from Jamestown and the Island Settlement.
"Yeah. That's why he thinks he'll meet more girls. That job…ya spend one night in Alexandria, the next at Hilltop, the next at Oceanside, the next at Hilltop…rinse 'n repeat. Only be in Jamestown on his weeks off." Roadrunners work three weeks on, three weeks off, in pairs of two. The Alliance pays them out of ammunition paid in dues by the communities to the Alliance Council, which exists mostly to maintain an army for mutual defense, maintain trade routes, and maintain postal routes.
"Does Shannon know this?"
"Gonna tell his folks tonight."
"Poor Shannon," Carol murmurs. "And with VanDaryl probably going to the university just a few years later!" University programs are eight months of the year, with the students returning to their home communities for the winter, and they last between two to four years, depending on the program. Of course Sweetheart will most likely become a Seaman Apprentice at thirteen, but the apprentices don't go out on the river for more than two to three days at a time, typically. They learn by sailing to the Island Settlement, to the trade fairs in Oceanside, and to the Hog Island Hunting grounds. Sometimes the Navy takes longer exploratory trips, but they don't usually take any crew younger than 17 on those.
Daryl sniffs the air. "Smells damn good."
"That reminds me. I can't be home in time to cook tomorrow. I have a meeting. You'll have to handle dinner."
"Busy job, bein' mayor."
"Just one more year, if I'm re-elected next July." Then she'll have hit her term limits both for mayor and for Jamestown Council. "But I've hinted to both Earl and Gunther I wouldn't mind being appointed an ambassador." The mayor – with the approval of the council – appoints ambassadors to the Alliance, who serve on the Alliance Council. She assumes either Gunther or Earl will be mayor after she steps down. She appointed Earl as her lieutenant mayor this year, Gunther the year before that, and Captain McBride the year before that. McBride was not as good at the job as Carol had hoped; he was too inclined to giving orders and having them obeyed without question, and he himself conceded the role was not for him. In fact, he didn't even run for re-election to the council the following year, and he hasn't served since. Gunther had sat out a few years from the Council to have more time to raise his new baby girl, Linda Anne, who is now six. They named her after her godmother, Madame Linda, and Anne, Carol supposes, might be short for Dianne. But they always call her by both names – Linda Anne.
Daryl raises and eyebrow. "Tryin' to steal m' job?" Daryl's been an ambassador to the Alliance Council for two years now. While he tired of the bureaucracy and details involved in serving as Manager of Hunting & Forestry, he's fine serving on the Alliance Council, since there are only five meetings a year and very little paperwork. The Council is designed to be as hands-off as possible. It has nine members, apportioned by population – three from Jamestown, two from Oceanside, two from Alexandria, and one each from the Hilltop and Island Settlement. None of the communities favored the idea of a strong central government, and even now there's a bit of bickering about the dues the Alliance Council collects to fund its limited role. Its first year in existence, the Council tried to expense its drinks at Henry's Pub during a meeting, and that went over like a lead balloon. Now ambassadors get an annual expense allowance of twenty rounds of ammo each, which is not enough to pay for meals on travel, so they rely on the kindness of friends and their own resources.
Carol chuckles and lays a head on his shoulder. "Dianne's. She says she doesn't like all the travel, with Linda Anne being as young as she is."
Puppy stirs and barks at a crow flying by and then settles her head back on her front paws. She rolls her soft brown eyes up toward Daryl and whimpers plaintively. "Fine. C'mon, girl!" He pats what little space remains on the bench beside him, and when the mutt leaps up, the swing shifts. She settles with her head on Daryl's knee, and he scratches behind her ears.
It broke Daryl's heart when Dog died, but the worse part was getting the man to admit it did. He was closed-down and short-fused for about a month afterward, before he finally broke down, and then he castigated himself for his weeping, saying, Don't get it. Just a goddamn dog. Didn't even mind me half the time. Carol assured him that Dog was not "just a goddamn dog," that he was family, and that Daryl was expected to mourn. Then he admitted to her that he felt guilty because he felt even worse than he had when Rick died. What the fuck is wrong with me? There was nothing wrong with him, Carol assured her husband. The world had simply changed. There was more time and space and freedom to feel their losses now.
And losses they had had over the past several years. In 13 NE, the Alliance worked together to beat back a large tribe of nomadic invaders that had been rolling its way south on horseback, conquering camps and occupying them until the stores ran out, the animals were consumed, and the gardens and crops (which they never bothered to tend) were exhausted. They destroyed a four-man Alliance outpost in Maryland, which had been established for scouting and security purposes. Seeing radio equipment, they spared one scout to torture him for information, but when left for dead, he managed to escape on horseback. He rode all night and reported that the Nomads, as they came to be known, had learned of the general location of the Hilltop and were gathering more weapons and would head that way in two days, with an army of forty-five men. The scout died an hour after delivering the message. Word spread quickly by radio and soldiers were immediately dispatched to the Hilltop from all over the Alliance. From Jamestown, they travelled by speedboat (Jamestown by then owned two of its own, in which they crammed fourteen soldiers) to Oceanside and then by foot to the Hilltop, arriving just half a day before the Nomads did.
The Alliance chose to take up a defensive position. When the Nomads lay siege to the Hilltop, they weren't expecting to encounter so many fighters – not just the Hilltop's citizens, but an Alliance Army of forty veteran soldiers. It didn't take long to wipe out every last one of them. In the Alliance, the battle became known as the Six-Hour War. But though the victory was quick and absolute, there were serious losses. Oceanside lost its chieftain, Cyndie. Carol's daughter-in-law Rachel finally got her wish to become Chieftain of Oceanside, but not in the way she would have wished. The Hilltop lost one of its great leaders as well - Tara. Jesus couldn't handle the weight of Hilltop leadership alone, so Enid stepped up to fill the gap Tara had left, choosing to remain at the Hilltop for a full year instead of splitting her time between the Hilltop and Jamestown. Enid and Jesus served as the "Hilltop diarchy" for a year. But when the year was over, Enid announced she would be stepping down. She was pregnant, and she wanted to move to Jamestown to settle there permanently with her husband Raul. The Hilltop decided to hold an election for a single Governor, and Earl Sutton took the reins.
Enid and Raul's son, Carl Glenn Dominguez, was born in May of 15 NE, and he is now just over two years old. Earl Sutton served two, one-year terms as Governor of the Hilltop and was succeeded by Nabila this year. Carol doesn't know how the woman does it, with four children to raise. Jerry must be an enormous help, but Nabila is also at least ten years younger than Carol, and the Hilltop is nowhere near the size of Jamestown.
The losses of the Six-Hour War didn't end with Cyndie and Tara. Jamestown lost Inola's brother, Adahay, who left his daughter Ama fatherless and his wife Anika a widow. Jamestown also lost Andrew Davies. Andrew had cleaned up his act, and he and Trisha had gotten back together again, just long enough for Trisha to get pregnant. She was about five weeks along – and unaware of her pregnancy – when Andrew died saving the besieged Hilltop. His little boy, Andy, turns three this November.
There have been peacetime losses, too. In 16 NE, during flu season, Dr. Ahmad worked valiantly but became infected himself. Not a single one of his patients died – but he did. Enid has since stepped up to fill his shoes as head of medicine, and the one-time field medic, Deputy Thomas, is now a full doctor. Raul continues as apothecary, though he has other responsibilities managing the orchards and gardens.
But the saddest loss for Jamestown came in July of this year and resulted in the most dramatic funeral since the burial of Captain John Smith. Just a week after being re-elected to the Council, Madame Linda died peacefully in her sleep of a sudden heart attack. She had willed her tavern to Trisha, who lives there now and manages the place. The loft has been more formally divided into three rooms for herself and her children. Little John is often seen sweeping and wiping down tables and doing other chores in the place, and Andy will be put to work soon enough with what chores he can manage as a preschooler.
Although Linda left her grandest possession to Trisha, she left some of her personal property to Earl Sutton, with whom she'd maintained a long-distance love affair, largely by letter, but with a few in-person meetings each year. And she left her hand-carved chess set to Gunther, the very one he had once gifted her, "as a reminder," she wrote in her will, "of the time when you first met your beloved Dianne, and as a reminder of your old friend, who loved you more dearly than you will ever know." Gunther abandoned his no drinking rule at her wake, a boisterous gathering in the tavern. He got smashed almost beyond recognition and was half-carried home by his wife. But it was a one-time fall from the wagon, and the next day he was back to drinking iced tea in his old friend's tavern, which still bears her name, a name Trisha has vowed never to change.
"Think they'll 'point us both?" Daryl asks. "To the Alliance Council?"
"I don't see why not," Carol replies. "We have more connections in the Alliance than anyone else in Jamestown. It would be convenient, a husband and wife team, for the travel arrangements."
"Be like old times," he says. "You 'n me, on the same council."
"Like the prison," Carol observes. She hasn't thought about those days in years. "You miss those days?"
"Nah. Not really," Daryl says. "Just wish I'd fucked ya back then."
Carol laughs. "I'm not sure it would have gone as well back then as it did when we finally did."
"Yeah, but even if it'd gone half as well, still would of been great."
Carol kisses him on the cheek. "Well," she whispers, "you've still got time to make up for it. You don't seem to be slowing down any in that department."
"That why ya wanna be an ambassador? Keep an eye on me?"
"Pretty sure Sweetheart's been keeping an eye on you." He takes their daughter on all the trips because she loves the river, loves exploring the world, and that way she gets to see Judith and RJ and Gracie and Hershel and other friends. There was talk of Hershel moving to Jamestown with Enid, but he decided to stay at the Hilltop, where he feels at home, where he has the privilege of being raised by everyone and the freedom of being raised by no one. "And Shannon. Shannon reports back everything."
"She report back that time Eduardo came onto 'er?"
"To me. Not to Garland I'm sure." Carol rises to check on the mutton, turns the spit, and sits back down beside Daryl. "We need to talk."
"What I do?"
"Not you." She reaches into the pocket of her light fall windbreaker to pull out some crumpled sheets of paper, which she smooths out. "Sweetheart tried to hide these from us because she got a C+ on her composition and a C on her government test."
"Tried to hide 'em from you. Not us."
"Because you don't believe she can do better?" Carol asks.
"'Cause I don't think it matters if she does. Ain't gonna be writin' no compositions in the Navy."
"Captain McBride has to write reports. In fact, I asked him to talk to her about that, how important it is for a captain to have a good command of the English language."
"Pffft. She can just give oral reports like I did when I was a manager."
"I want her to have a good education, Daryl. I want her to take school seriously. I need your support in that."
"Fine. I'll smack her behind when she gets back."
"You will not. She's almost ten. And you've never done than before."
"Fine. Frown and tell 'er 'm disappointed."
"Well now that will crush her."
Daryl smirks. "A'right, Mayor Dixon, feed me m'lines then."
"Just tell her you believe in her and you know she can get A's and B's even in Composition and Government and History and things that don't involve water, ships, or weapons."
"M'girl killed three walkers on that survival field trip."
"I know, Pookie." He's been telling everyone that for weeks. The survival field trip is a two-night fall camping trip to get the kids used to seeing cannibals, seeing them killed, and then, finally…killing one themselves. Sometimes they have to make noise to attract cannibals, there are so many fewer these days. Each child has to be accompanied by one parent or guardian, just in case.
"Never had to step in even," Daryl says proudly.
"I know. But don't go rubbing that into Garland. Shannon told me VanDaryl's been feeling inadequate about all that."
"Yeah. Know. Garland said he wrote some shit in his composition 'bout bein' an embarrassment to his dad."
Carol sighs.
"So, 'm takin' 'em out Saturday. Help 'em get comfortable 'round walkers. Learn to kill one. Just me 'n my godson. So there ain't no pressure. Ain't no one else watchin'. 'N so Garland doesn't have to be the one puttin' pressure on 'em to learn that, 'n Garland can just tinker with him on his experiments 'n shit."
"That's a really good idea."
"Wasn't mine. Was Garland's."
"But you're a good friend. And a good godfather."
Daryl plucks the crumpled papers out of her hand and looks at the government test. "Hell she got to know all these names for? Can't even vote 'til she's sixteen." Daryl puts the test behind the composition and begins reading the composition.
Carol toys with the hair on his neck, which he keeps short these days, but not quite as short as when they first met. It hasn't gotten any less thick in all these years, but it's graying more. He chuckles at what he's reading, and she smiles. But then he abruptly stops chuckling. His mouth forms a stern line. He's gotten to the part about the boys she can marry, Carol surmises. "Hell's she thinking? " Daryl mutters. "Hershel's way too old for 'er. 'N Gary's her cousin!"
"Not biologically he's not."
"Well Gary's too old for 'er, too! Three years older!"
"Two and half."
"Ain't no girl of mine datin' a guy who races 'round on a motorcycle."
"You race around on a motorcycle. And you built Gary that motorcycle."
"Yeah, 'fore I knew m'baby girl wanted to date 'em!"
"She doesn't want to date him. Not really. She's not quite ten. She hasn't started puberty yet. It's all harmless crushes at this point. It's just something girls do. I don't know why you honed-in on Gary anyway. Sweetheart had a lot of boys on that list."
Daryl glowers and looks at the list again. "Ray? Santiago's kid? Ain't he always stickin' pencils up his nose?"
"Yes, and Sweetheart laughed the last time he did it. So did you, if I recall."
Daryl looks at the paper again. "Harry? Harry's a little shit."
"No he's not! Well…sometimes," Carol concedes. "His mother spoils him, but Thomas is trying to raise him right."
"Little John? His daddy was the town drunk."
"Andrew cleaned up, and don't speak ill of the dead. And Little John's a hard little worker."
Daryl points at another name. "Solomon's queer as a three-dollar bill."
"He's six. You can't tell that."
"Aaron 'n Mitch say ya can 'tell by five. Solomon just won't know 'til he's eleven or twelve." Daryl chuckles to himself. "'N wait 'til Father Gabe finds out."
"Gabriel won't care. Even if it's true."
"'Course he will," Daryl says. "But he'll pretend not to."
"Is that what you'd do? What would you do if you found out Sweetheart was gay?"
"Throw a damn party."
Carol shakes her head. "You know she can get her heart broken by a girl just as well as by a boy."
"Can't get knocked up though."
"We will teach our child safe sex when the time comes."
"Ain't no reliable birth control in this world," Daryl reminds her. Before Carol can start to worry about that little bit of truth, he asks, "Gunny? She's only met him three or four times."
"I'm pretty sure she was just listing every single boy she could think of who is three years younger to five years older than her. Although she left off at least five boys in Jamestown and probably twelve others in the Alliance."
"Hell's she even thinking 'bout this 'fore? She's nine!"
"Almost ten. And people talk about it all the time – who's dating who, who might end up married to whom. It's what people do. She hears it. And she's grown up with two parents who love each other. She wants that."
"Huh." Daryl seems lost in thought a moment.
"Pookie?"
"'S just…never wanted to get married. 'Cause m'dad treated m'mom like shit, and she treated 'em the same way back. Never understood why anyone wanted to. Get married, I mean. 'Til I met you, 'n…I just wanted you. Guess I never thought 'bout it that way, that some kids actually grow up wantin' it."
Carol smiles gently, leans in, and kisses him deeply. The kiss lingers and is interrupted only when Sweetheart arrives at the cabin and lets out a long, "Ewwwwwwww! Pubface! Stop!"
"Hell's pubface?" Daryl mutters when he pulls away.
"It's like when we used to say PDA," Carol tells him.
"Hell's PDA?"
"Public display of affection," Carol explains.
"Oh." He looks at Sweetheart. "'S my own damn porch, kid. Kiss yer mama all I want on it. Hell, kiss you, too." He jolts from the porch swing, which makes Puppy whimper and jerk back with surprise and Sweetheart squeal and laugh and take off running for the front door of the cabin, but before she can turn the corner, Daryl's caught her up in a silly, growling bear hug and planted a kiss right on top of her head, and she's laughing like she's six instead of almost ten.