Carol awakens in the morning when she hears the front door slam. It's early. The sun is just ending its rise in the sky. She slips out of bed and peers out the window of their bedroom at the opposite cottage, beyond the walnut tree, from which a swing, fashioned from rope and a wooden plank, sways gently. She can see the other cottage clearly from this window. Daryl is striding in that direction. He practically hops up the stairs and pounds on the door.
A woman answers, and he disappears inside, but only for a few seconds and then he's clattering down the two stone steps again, raising his arm and waving it impatiently.
DeShawn emerges, slides his cowboy hat atop his head, and shifts the strap of his rifle on his shoulder. As Daryl walks in Carol's direction, toward the motorcycle parked beneath her window, DeShawn heads for the red-cabbed farm truck. He's unlocking the door when the woman emerges from the cottage and runs up to him with a brown paper bag.
Was Carol supposed to make her sponsor lunch for the road?
The woman is beautiful, with a shapely figure and thick, flowing golden brown hair. This must be Nadia, the woman Cody said would never choose Garrison as a sponsor. DeShawn takes the bag, puts it on the seat, and then turns around and slaps Nadia's ass. She jumps in place a little, and he gives each of her butt cheeks a squeeze before she walks off. Carol can't read her reaction from here, but Nadia didn't resist the sudden grope. Once again, she wonders about the expectations that might come with sponsorship.
Daryl is close to the cottage now, so she lets the curtain fall closed before he sees her spying. A minute later, his motorcycle has been kicked to roaring.
Carol goes back to sleep. After all, the only chore he left her was laundry at two. And she doesn't even know when her sponsor will be back. If he'll be back. If he dies attacking those men, she wonders, what becomes of her and Sophia? Do they get to stay?
She drifts off to sleep but awakes again when there's a pounding on the door. Carol yanks on her boots – she slept in her pants and shirt and socks - these days, she's never comfortable not sleeping dressed and mostly ready to run – and walks to the front door. She pulls it open just a crack. A white-haired man stands there holding a crate full of glass bottles of milk. Carol opens the door the rest of the way.
"You must be Daryl's new sponsee. I'm George."
"Carol," she says.
He extends the crate, and confused, she grasp the handles of it.
"No, no," he says, laughing and tugging the crate back. "Just take one. We don't have that much milk here. I can't give you the entire thing."
"Sorry," she says, embarrassed. "I thought you wanted me to hold the crate for some reason. I didn't even know we got milk today. Daryl said rations wouldn't come for two weeks."
"Cabinet rations," George replies. "Milk comes daily."
"Daily?"
"Take a bottle."
Not trying to be greedy, she reaches for a half-pint bottle, and he says, "No, take the pint. Daryl's outer circle."
Carol switches to a pint and draws the glass bottle from the crate. "Thank you," she says. "This is from the cows here?"
He nods.
"And we get it every day?" That's hard to imagine. Sixteen ounces of milk a day?
"Yep. You have a root cellar in the back of this cottage. I'm not sure if you've seen it yet. But store it down there if you don't finish it all in two hours, and it should keep a day or two down there."
She thanks him, and he just stands there. "Is there something else?"
He smiles. "It's just…Daryl always gives me a little tip."
"A tip?"
George shrugs and sets the heavy crate down on her porch. She can see another crate full of bottles in a red Radio Flyer wagon at the bottom of the stairs. "One of his cigarettes usually."
"Oh. Hold on." She shuts the door most of the way, sets the bottle of milk on the kitchen table, and goes to the laundry basket she sees through the open door of Daryl's bedroom, the one he threw all of Merle's drawers into. She fishes out the open pack of Morley's and slides a single cigarette out. And then she returns to the door and tips the milkman.
Sophia is awake by the time she closes the door, and she lets the girl drink six ounces of milk. Carol has two herself. It's the most wonderful thing she's ever tasted. She screws back on the cap and says, "We should save the rest for Mr. Dixon. I'm going to put it in the root cellar."
"Mr. Dixon?" Sophia asks.
"That's what our sponsor said his last name was."
"Well, why does he get half? There's three of us. Can't we just leave him one third?"
"I think we better leave him half," Carol says. "I'll be right back."
In case the root cellar is dark, she takes a flashlight. Daryl left one in one of Merle's nightstand drawers. And in case there are walkers in there, she shines the light around inside before going in. She sees Daryl has a sack of about six potatoes down here. He didn't mention that. And there are two apples, two ears of corn, an onion, and two peaches. Her mouth waters at the sight of the peaches, and she thinks of snagging one, but he didn't say anything about the food in the root cellar. Maybe she better clarify that's fair game, too. He also has a six-pack of Coke in 12-ounce bottles and there are some cardboard boxes. She opens the first one cautiously to find it contains batteries of all sizes. Usually when she comes across batteries these days, they don't work, having sat through the heat of a Georgia summer, but they probably store well down here. The other box contains and assortment of unopened packages of cigarettes still in thier original plastic and a few cigars.
She's surprised he leaves all this down here unlocked. Everyone must be honest, obey the rules, stick to their own rations. Either that, or they're scared to steal from Daryl Dixon.
Carol climbs out of the root cellar and rounds the cottage. She hastens to the door when she finds Sophia talking to a boy on the stoop. He looks about fifteen and has a mop of thick, golden brown hair and olive-green eyes.
"This is Ivan," Sophia tells her worried mother when she reaches the porch. "He lives next door. He and his mom are being sponsored by that cowboy guy."
"DeShawn," Ivan clarifies.
"My mom says I have to call my sponsor Mister Dixon," Sophia says with a roll of her eyes.
If Carol didn't know better, she'd think Sophia was flirting with this boy. But she's not old enough to do that. Is she?
"Ivan's come to walk me to school," Sophia tells her.
"Walk you to…what?"
"It's required, ma'am" Ivan tells her. "For all children and youth until the age of sixteen. It's just up at the big house. It's only three hours. She'll be back by noon to do her chores."
"I'll walk her," Carol says coolly. Ivan seems normal and polite enough, but in this world, you can't take chances.
"Really, it's no problem," Ivan insists.
"Mom," Sophia says in a voice Sophia has never used with her. "I'll be fine."
Carol sighs. They came here because they need a camp. They should probably try to be a part of that camp. "Fine. You got your knife?" So you can stab Ivan in the balls with it if he tries anything? She doesn't say that part aloud.
"Always."
"You need a lunch?" Carol asks.
"She'll be home by lunch," Ivan assures her. "Like I said, school is over at noon."
"But she hasn't had breakfast." Other than that milk. "I'll pack a snack."
"They give us a morning snack," Ivan says. "Apple slices and nuts, usually," he tells Sophia. "It sounds so little kid…morning snack." He rolls his eyes. "I mean, we aren't six anymore."
Sophia laughs.
"You'll need paper," Carol says, "and a pencil or a – "
"- Everything's in the big house," Ivan insists. "And there's no homework or anything like that. I mean, unless you're slow." He smiles at Sophia. "Are you slow?"
"No, she's brilliant," Carol says a little more snippily than she meant to.
"Mom," Sophia pleads. "He was joking."
"Well you are very smart." Carol used to tell her she could get a scholarship to college one day. And then she'd think, Get a scholarship and get an education, always be able to support yourself, don't ever let yourself be trapped in a bad marriage like me. "You're the smartest kid I know."
"Mom," Sophia hisses in embarrassment.
"Hey, moms are allowed to brag on their kids," Ivan tells her, and suddenly Carol likes him better, until he continues, "They need to live vicariously."
"How old are you?" Carol asks him.
"Thirteen."
"Same as me!" Sophia chirps.
Barely, Carol thinks. Thirteen and two days. "You look older."
"Yeah, well, DeShawn says I'm tall for my age." Ivan smiles. "He says I'll be taller than him by the time I'm seventeen."
Carol wonders if Ivan knows DeShawn was groping his mother's ass this morning. Not that Carol blames her if a little ass groping means fresh cow's milk every day and fruit in the cellar, but it sounds like Ivan admires DeShawn. She steps aside. "You two have a good day at school. Mind the teacher."
Sophia heads down the stairs. Ivan follows her, and then they walk side by side toward the big house, talking animatedly. Carol goes inside and goes to the bedroom so she can watch them from there. She thinks of trailing them up to the big house, but isn't sure how that will go over – not just with Sophia, but with the inhabitants of the big house, with Jefe, whoever he is. She can't see them when they get an acre beyond DeShawn's cottage, because they disappear into a grove of trees.
The battery pack, she thinks. It's getting low. And Daryl said she could take it to the big house to get it recharged. That will be her excuse to check in on what's going on up there.
She's just picked up the battery pack from the floor when there's a knock on the door. She sets the pack down to answer.
On her stoop stands a forty-something blonde-haired woman with a basket of eggs. "You must be Carol," she says. "Cody told me last night. He wouldn't stop talking about you. I think he has a little crush. I'm Bonnie." She extends a hand. "Cody's sister."
Carol shakes her hand. "Cody didn't mention he had a sister."
"Yeah, well, he's probably annoyed I've been home every single night now since Merle died. It's a small trailer. Just the one bedroom. Cody likes it to himself some nights. I used to spend two or three nights a week in Merle's bed, but now that he's dead, you know." She shrugs.
"Oh. I'm sorry for your loss."
Bonnie snorts. "Oh, Merle wasn't my boyfriend. I just fucked him for extras. He got 150 percent rations, so he had plenty of love to share. I figured I'd offer to fuck Daryl now that Merle's dead, get the same deal, but Daryl wasn't interested. He got all self-righteous, got all high and mighty, like I was betraying his brother's memory by even suggesting it." She shakes her head. "And now that he's got you, I guess…" She shrugs.
"You guess what?" Carol asks. What is this woman implying? That Daryl has Carol to fuck now?
"I guess he won't have extra rations to spare now." Bonnie holds the basket out. "You get two eggs."
Carol, still a little stunned by this spewing forth of information, says, "Thank you." She takes out one egg and then another. "Is this daily?"
"God, no. We don't have that many hens! It's every other day. For Daryl anyway. Less often for us commoners."
"Well, let me put these down and get your tip. Is a cigarette okay?"
"What?"
"The milkman said Daryl always tips him a cigarette."
She chortles. "Daryl? Tipping the milkman? Is this Daryl Dixon we're talking about?"
"That's what the milkman said."
"And you just gave him one of Daryl's cigarettes? Oh, honey," she shakes her head and laughs. "He better not notice that's missing."
"Why? Does Daryl have a temper?"
"Not that you've got to worry about. It's the milkman's got to worry. George has got some balls to try to pull that, though. I'll give him that." She laughs, shakes her head, and walks away still laughing.
[*]
The mansion looks even more impressive up close. Carol holds the battery power pack in one hand by its handle and raises the gold knocker. She slams it down, raises it again, and repeats her knocking three times.
The door swings open and…it really is a butler. A butler in full uniform – except the gloves – is standing before her. He has gray hair on the sides of his head only, and a shiny white forehead between the rows. He must be over seventy. "Hi," she says in surprise.
"How may I serve you?"
"I…uh…" She raises the power battery pack. "I need this charged."
He takes the pack from her. It's heavy, and she can tell it's not easy for him to hold at his age, but he does hold it. "I'll be sure to attend to this as soon as possible, and it will be returned to you by dinner."
"Oh…I could just…come in and wait for it," she suggests with a smile, peering around him into the foyer, where a dark entryway table stands beneath a massive glass chandelier.
"That would take hours, madam. I assure you, it will be returned in a timely manner."
"But you don't even know where I live." She listens for the sounds of children, and thinks she can hear one somewhere on the first floor, laughing.
He points to a piece of masking tape affixed to the battery pack. In permanent marker on the tape, it reads, Dixon, Cottage 1.
"Oh," she says. "Well, maybe I could come in and meet this Jefe everyone's always talking about? I'm new here and feel I should introduce myself to the leader of the camp." She really just wants to see if she can catch a peek of school in session. "Also, I haven't been assigned any community chores yet. I understand everyone does at least some community chores, even if they work for a sponsor?"
"Jefe is not available for impromptu appointments, but if you'd like to leave your name, I'll be sure to convey your interest in arranging a meeting."
"Oh." Carol puts on a look of keen disappointment. "Well, I'm Carol Dolye." She smiles and lays a hand below her neck. "Cottage 1."
He nods to her. "Have a good day, madam." And then he swings the heavy door shut.
In her face.
Fuck you, Jeeves, she thinks as she turns and heads back to the cottage.