Chapter 36.
Reckoning.
The screaming started up in the woods, invisible in the blackness. Daryl had heard shit like that since the day the world went to hell, but it was so sudden, so violent, that he was taken off guard.
He jumped to his feet, scrambling for his crossbow in the firelight. It was hell to load with his sore shoulder, with the blood coursing through his ears. A gunshot went off, a bright flash, and the undergrowth began to shudder. Dragging, stumbling, tripping over thorns. Walkers. A dozen or more. Suddenly upon them.
Daryl rushed up front, joining a firing line and putting an arrow through the first walker in his path. A few people had already gone down, blood glistening, the color flaring with the flashes off the tips of rifles and pistols.
Shouts. Screams.
Instinct took over, turning the scene into a blur. Daryl reloaded, shot another walker down, and then abandoned his bow for his knife. He dragged walkers away from a woman who tripped, and kicked one off a motionless man on the ground. It staggered backward and fell into the main fire, its body causing the flames to suddenly flare up to five feet in the air. For a brief, horrific moment, the whole camp was visible, with lurching shapes among the living. The walker rolled out, consumed in flame, and Daryl put a knife through its head before it could spread the fire. His arm stung, a problem for later.
He fought until they were all dead, until the living stood in shocked silence, and the walkers lay strewn around them. Daryl was out of breath, his bad shoulder aching, a burn beginning to sting on his forearm.
But when he heard movement coming from the RV, he was up the stairs in an instant.
He saw Ed first. He was slumped over the table with a walker chewing on his neck. It was not what killed him, though. He had a knife sticking out of his throat, in so deep that it was nearly at the hilt. It was a bloodbath.
And there was his wife, standing further back in the RV, her bloody hands pressed over her mouth. She was staring at the walker, tears in her eyes, and when Daryl came in, she looked guilty. Wounded. Broken.
Daryl strode forward and killed the walker, ripping the knife from Ed's throat. He said, "Did you do this?"
Carol said nothing, only stared, shaking all over.
Daryl flipped the knife in his hand, rammed it through Ed's ear. Carol jumped, let out a little sob.
Rick burst into the RV, gun drawn, all bloody and sweaty, "Carol?"
"Walker got in," Daryl said. "Got him good."
Rick noticed the knife immediately. "Did you…?"
Daryl didn't hesitate. "Put him out of his misery."
Rick had glazed eyes, just like Carol, trying to process and failing. He was one of those people still struggling to understand this new world, this brutality. Daryl had seen too much of it already. Putting a knife in Ed didn't bother him – he was dead, anyway.
His mind raced, though, on track with his pulse. Carol had clearly killed her husband, and then let a walker come in and feast. She had that looked in her eyes, that overwhelming helplessness, pain, surprise, like she had acted on instinct alone. He knew that look – his momma used to wear it. He wished she had done something as bold as Carol.
Outside, everyone was holding their families, crying, shaking their heads, babbling. Glenn was pacing in circles, hands on his head, saying, "Oh, God. Oh, God." Some people were praying. Daryl rested his bow against his legs, eyes on the bodies laying all around them, people who were alive just minutes ago.
Rick finally cleared his throat, straightened his hat. He had his family around him, his kid hanging on his waist, his wife holding onto one of his arms – and he managed a brave face, something that seemed to calm the terrified group. "We'll bury them," Rick said. "We'll bury our people and burn the walkers."
Daryl felt eyes on him.
He looked up to find Carol near the RV, shaken, staring dead at him. She had to wonder why he took credit for that kill, why he pulled that knife out of Ed and put it through his head.
Why?
Daryl had no idea. Not even a guess.