'Why do walkers make growling noises?' I set up the gas stove in the middle of the dusty living room floor.
It's not like they need to breathe or communicate with each other or anything.
They have no reason to make noise. So why do they?
It's not like it's particularly easy to make noise.
Maybe it's muscle memory? But that would mean they do have some type of memory.
Whether or not they know it's their memory is another story. To them — assuming they remember it the way a person does — it might just seem like a story.
A whisper they once heard, if they even know what whispers are.
I finished setting up the cooking space for Carol, and stood up. The scuffed hardwood floor in desperate need of a wash and a new varnish, creaking beneath my step. Even I would have a hard time not making any noise on this floor.
The door in the kitchen behind me opened, the others filing in with their backpacks and sleeping gear, pausing in the living room to find a spot for the night. I returned some nods and gave a small smile, ruffling Carl's hair as I passed. He looked up and I jerked my head.
Nodding, he followed me to the door again. His footsteps made more noise than mine on the 3 steps to the frost-clung snowy grass. It's not even an inch of powder. It looks like someone sprinkled powdered sugar over the blades.
This isn't a crammed neighborhood we've decided to hole up in tonight, and the house has a fence. Dark wood planks lined in an endless fence around the entire house, made even darker by the damp of melting snow.
This is the kinda house I could see myself in, before. A person who enjoys their privacy and the security of a tall fence but not unfriendly in color.
It's modern and sleek but something homey about it. I like it.
And it's surrounded by trees. The enormous yard of overgrown grass and the wildflowers of weeds. It's very open.
I took a slow, long lungful of crisp cold air. My breath coming out in a puffs of steam as I blew it from my mouth, and walked to the tan-stone gravel driveway (perfect skipping rocks), to my truck.
Daryl and Hershel stood at the back, Daryl in the bed and Hershel holding a heavy-duty plastic bin, watching him riffle through the stuff in the back.
"It almost feels like we're moving in. Doesn't it?" Carl looked up at me.
I smiled, humming in agreement as I dropped my arm around his shoulders. Freaky, since when was he tall enough that my elbow is almost resting on his shoulder instead of my forearm.
It would actually be nice to move in though.
This house is more secure than most of the others I've seen in our wandering.
The high fence, the black metal gate that's tall enough a person couldn't look over it. T's & Randall's perimeter checks confirmed no breaks in the fence. It's big, 2 floors. Large yard and it's near the skirts of the town so less walkers.
Only problem I can see is that it might look too secure to outside eyes.
If anyone else wanders around here, they might pick this place to set up too. We could end up in a tight spot, defending or fleeing the place.
Still, we need to hole up somewhere for at least the coldest part of winter (which we're on the cusp of), the car heaters aren't gonna cut it anymore if we can't run them at night.
Beth and Randall found a small generator in the garage, and I saw the space heater in the corner of the living room the moment I walked in.
This is not a bad place to set up, we won't find a better one, and I think Rick & Daryl see it too.
We've been sharing looks since I suddenly pulled off the road into this places driveway.
It wasn't easy to hop the fence, they both had to give me a boost onto the decorative stone towers on either side of the sliding gate. I didn't even know it was metal and not the same dark oak it is on the outside, until I was on this side.
This is the first time we're bringing stuff inside in a long time.
The cooking stuff I understand, after Glenn, Maggie, and Carol came out of the basement with boxes of food.
One good thing came out of the world wars. Lots and lots of people had food storages.
And whoever lived here seems to have been the cautious type (I like them already).
Other than the shower tiles of pure grandmother tackiness in the 3 bathrooms, it's comfortable. And comfortable isn't something we've been in weeks, but I'mma be the first to say, it's never unwelcome.
Carl suddenly slid and out of pure reflex I snatched his arm and the exact second I stepped onto the driveway — as he did — I felt the traction under my boot slide.
My hand flung out, grabbing whatever is closest and my palm exploded in pain, like when you high five someone too hard, smacking down on something round and solid.
I managed to keep us both on our feet and right away, I started laughing; Like a reflex, and the kid's joined mine a few seconds later.
I got my feet stable again, helping Carl do the same and I released him, finally glancing at what I grabbed and stopped.
The weirdest Pagan god Tiki statue thing I've ever seen stared me down with soulless stone eyes.
No it did not make me shiver. It's cold out here.
It's not even like one thing — it's like someone took 9 different statues from different god-worshipping practices and shoved them all together into one horrific rock.
'Saved by a Pagan (?) god. Mmm … not sure how I feel about owin' those guys a favor.'
I removed my hand slowly, really doing my best not to imagine it trying to bite me if I make any sudden move. If I all but ran the rest of the way to my truck, careful (sort of) of more ice patches, that's my business.
I opened the backseat door and stood on the outside foothold most trucks have while I reached over the seats to pull my & Daryl's backpacks out.
After getting them free, I put them in the front seat, out of the way, while I dug for the sleeping bags which for some ungodly reason are buried on the floor behind the driver's seat; which of course, is on the other side of the car.
I jerked them free and finally turned to pass them to Carl, who had his arms out the moment I twisted around.
I returned Hershel's smile behind Carl as he walked past us, to the house, and waited until the kid had a good hold of one to pass the other.
Once he had both, I motioned to the house but caught his shoulder first.
"What?" He looked at me with curious little questioning brown eyes, that aren't as little as they used to be. I wouldn't be surprised if he hit a growth spurt soon. Oh it's gonna be a weeeird day when he starts turning from a little person into a big person.
With two fingers, I pointed to my eyes and then the icy patch where the both of us almost the worst figure skaters of all time, who needed (questionable) divine intervention to stop us.
Little goblin snack actually rolled his eyes at me. "I'll be careful. You worry too much."
My jaw dropped.
Oh. my. God.
He did not just pull a bratty teenager voice that's reserved for nagging parents.
You little—
I lunged at him and he must've seen it coming because he shrieked, running for it and dashing over the front lawn instead of the driveway, all the way to the porch.
'That's what I thought.' I watched with a smirk, trying not to compare him to a rabbit as he bounded away as fast as his little legs can carry him.
You're still a 100 levels too green to take me on that front, squirt. I grew up with kids who would eat teens with tactics like that for breakfast.
Shaking my head, I let my smile fade naturally as I got back up and reached for the backpacks.
"That everythang?" Daryl asked behind me.
I nodded, getting both straps over one shoulder, stepping down from the truck.
I told Carl to be careful. I should've taken my own advice.
My foot slid out from underneath me and just like before my hand flung out. My palm smacked against the edge of the car door just barely too late and slid right off the frigid metal.
Daryl grabbed my arm just as I had Carl's but I'm not as small.
My foot slid right into his ankle, knocking it out from under him like a bowling pin.
My stomach soured, knowing the impact was coming and there's nothing I can do about it. My whole body went into pure reflex mode, trying to minimize the damage, right before my back hit the rocks. But it's not my back I'm worried about.
Call me crazy, but 160+ lbs of muscled Dixon about to crush me is of far greater concern than the ground (and not just because I've had far nastier falls).
My hands abandoned the effort to save myself from the ground, and went straight to Daryl's stomach at the same time his hand left my arm — his instinct most likely prioritizing catching himself. My fingers made contact barely half a second before my elbows slammed into the ground and absorbed enough impact to rattle all the bones from my shoulder down.
In retrospect, I should've been more concerned about my head.
Something moved behind my head right before my skull cracked against the ground.
The one thing I didn't anticipate was Daryl catching himself on his elbow, not his hand.
I blinked. Untrimmed scruff tickling my face while the pain in my elbows was completely ignored. While my eyes are stuck, unblinking and wide, and almost watering from the cold air stabbing them; staring down blue eyes closer than ever, and so wide I can see my reflection like a photo.
And my struggling-to-comprehend brain broke with one computation of a single sensation.
My lips are warm ...
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