Chapter 2

Most apocalyptic movies back in the day had always been the same. There were always hundreds of cars blocking and lining the roads and making them difficult to travel. The reality was much different. Yes, there were a few cars here and there, abandoned long ago after running out of gas or getting a flat tire. But the roads were entirely passable save for the stray tree limb here and there that could be moved in minutes with some rope tied to the hitch.

They'd been on the road for a good hour, traveling further east than they'd been since the start. Carol was tired, and her feet hurt in her shoes. They were swollen, and she wanted so badly to take them off and stretch her toes, but the morning air was cool, and she didn't want to risk catching a cold. They had a whole box full of medicines and medical supplies, but making them last was key. The medicine cabinet was the second thing they raided at each new house after the kitchen.

"Should have a town comin' up. Wanna check the map?" Daryl asked after a good half-hour of driving. Carol reached for the map on the seat between them and unfolded it in her lap. She traced her finger along the road they'd been on since leaving the house, and she glanced up to check the road they were passing. She murmured to herself for a minute as she tried to find their location on the map. Moments later, she looked up at Daryl with a relieved smile.

"We're coming up on a small town. We'll be lucky if there's so much as a gas station, but there should be a few houses at least."

"We'll stop and check it out. If there ain't a place suitable to stay, we can grab supplies and move on." Carol folded the map back up and put it back on the seat between them. Daryl glanced at her out of the corner of his eye when she shifted in her seat and let out a soft gasp. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok." He slowed the truck down and glanced at her for a moment. Her brow was tense, and her lips were pulled in a firm line.

"You hurtin'?"

"Daryl, I'm ok. It's nothing. Really." Still, the look on her face followed by another wince did nothing to ease his concerns. Daryl pulled over onto the shoulder and slowed the truck to a stop. She looked around and then back at him. "What are you doing?"

"We got time to rest," he said quietly, cutting the engine.

"Daryl, my pain has nothing to do with your driving. I'm fine. It's probably Braxton Hicks."

"It's gettin' close to time. You sure that's what it is?" He brought his hand over to feel her belly. He'd read in one of those books that the belly could feel firm during a contraction, but her wasn't quite sure if that's what he was feeling.

"It's too soon," Carol said quietly, her voice hitching up an octave when another pain hit her.

"You sure?"

"Daryl, I'm pretty sure we're at least a month away." Daryl turned in his seat to face her.

"Ain't like we got a doctor to tell ya when the baby's comin'. For all we know, ya could've been pregnant a long time 'fore ya think. You was the one that said your period was outta whack, right?"

"It's not time yet," she insisted. Part of her believed it. Part of her needed to believe it. She hadn't been sure she could even get pregnant again after all of the abuse she'd suffered at Ed's hands. He'd tried to get her pregnant for years after Sophia was born, and it had never happened. Carol had prayed every night she wouldn't get pregnant, and she wondered if the beating he'd given her three weeks after Sophia's birth had had anything to do with it. He'd left her with a half-moon bruise from the toe of his boot right under her belly button. She'd bled for a day after that.

So when the nausea and tender breasts and extreme fatigue had finally raised some red flags and she'd scrounged around a dirty house for a pregnancy test, she'd been shocked and scared when those two lines showed up as clear as day.

And Daryl had a point. Period math had become next to impossible, what with all the other worries they had. Shelter. Food and water. Coming upon other survivors who'd rather attack and steal on sight. Needless to say, life had been stressful.

Still, she was certain she had at least a month to go. By her logic, the longer she stayed pregnant, the better chances the baby would survive. But, survive for what? It was a question that kept her awake many nights. What was next? Was this all there was? Surviving house to house, day to day? Keeping the lights low and the curtains drawn in case there was anybody else out there who might be desperate enough to bother them in the middle of the night?

"They stopped," she assured him. Daryl didn't look convinced. Instead, he put his hand on her belly again and felt the baby move. "He's still roaming around pretty good in there. They usually stop moving a lot close to the birth. Not much room. Resting up for delivery, I guess." Daryl looked down at her stomach and then at her face, and the worry that creased his brow made her heart ache. She put her hand over his. "I've done this before." And there it was. They didn't talk about it much. Rather, they didn't talk about her much. She didn't talk about Sophia often, and Daryl only knew as much as Carol had been able to tell him. The pain was still raw for her, and the grief hit her in waves, sometimes out of nowhere.

"I know. M'sorry. Just worried about ya." Carol squeezed his hand.

"We've been through a lot together, and we've gotten through it. We'll get through this. We will." She looked out the front window then and back to Daryl. "Come on. We're not far. Let's get there and see what we can find."

...

It was a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of town. There was church with boarded up windows. Red spray paint covered the big, wooden front doors with a familiar symbol they'd seen a hundred times over since the beginning. Or was it the end? The red symbol meant that the building was being used as temporary storage for the dead until a mass grave could be dug. In some cases, the bodies were never removed.

They usually avoided those areas at all costs.

Two blocks down from the church was a row of six houses. They didn't appear to have been looted, and there wasn't a single broken window that they could see from the street. Still, there was always a chance there were people there, like them, that didn't trust strangers.

Sometimes they could hear the gunfire at night. Sometimes they could hear the whoops and hollers and laughs. They could almost be mistaken as the calls of wild animals. Almost. They hadn't heard them so much in the last month at the house Carol had loved so much. But there were people out there who had embraced the end of the world and found their place in the desolate outskirts of old cities.

The first house was a bust. Other than a couple boxes of stale macaroni and some instant rice, they didn't find much worth picking through.

The front door had been unlocked. The thick layers of dust on every surface in the house and how the remnants of the last occupant's meal was dry and molded on the dishes at the table told that they'd gotten out in a hurry and hadn't looked back.

The second house was a little better. There were some canned vegetables and some trail mix. The third house was practically a goldmine. There was a full cellar of food ranging from glass jars of canned vegetables and salsas, cans of soups and ready-to-eat pastas, and last but not least, a whole shelf of M.R.E.s.

Carol had found those first. At first, the thought of them turned her stomach. She, Ed and Sophia had rationed those to one per person, per day at the start out the outbreak. Then Sophia died. Then Ed panicked and rationed them to one to share every other day. When Ed died, Carol still had a whole box full of those meals, and she survived for nearly a month on those before she ventured out for more supplies and found Daryl instead.

It was food, and she wasn't going to turn away a meal. She had to keep her strength up for the baby, and there was more than enough food in the cellar to get them through the next two to three months easily, depending on how well they rationed it.

The house had some pressing issues to take care of. The kitchen was a wreck that needed cleaning, but the body in the back bedroom needed tending to first. So, while Carol opened up the curtains to let a little light in the place, Daryl removed the body and dug a shallow grave for a proper burial.

Carol wasn't sure how many graves they'd dug together since they'd met, but each one got a little easier. Each one, they felt a little more removed from. It was a sad fact that death was all around them and the fact that they were still living and breathing felt somehow unnatural. It was unsettling to feel so far removed from the other people that had once inhabited the world, to feel as if they'd been set apart from them all, even before.

But they'd found each other, two people the world hadn't managed to kill, and they'd made a life together. It was a struggle sometimes, but the struggle was normal now. And as long as they had each other at the end of the day, they counted themselves lucky to have survived to wake another morning.

"Back room's gonna have to air out if we wanna try to use it," Daryl muttered, coming in the door and immediately stripping his soiled shirt off. "Master bedroom's fine. Dusty, but that ain't nothin' we can't work around."

"We can work on that tomorrow," Carol said with a nod, arranging some of the food she'd brought up from the cellar in the cabinet next to the stove. She nodded toward the window above the sink. "Storm's coming." Daryl peered out to see the dark clouds rolling in. "It's gonna be a big one. Might as well settle in. I'll help you bring everything out of the truck."

"Nah, you ain't. You're gonna sit down and put your feet up." Carol raised an eyebrow out at him. "Wasn't a question. Wasn't an hour ago you was havin' pains in the truck. I'll get our stuff brought in. You sit down." He took her by the hand, and the little half-smile that she gave him showed her appreciation. His heart was in the right place. The last man that ordered her around had done it because it made him feel powerful to make her feel so small and useless. Daryl was terrified about what the future held for them, and she could see the guilt in his eyes every time she so much as had a bout of morning sickness. He was terrified of losing the only thing he had in the world, so of course he was going to want her to take it easy.

Still, she made a spectacle of flopping back on the couch and putting her feet up. She sighed dramatically and folded her arms behind her bed.

"Would you put that pillow behind my back?" she asked, teasing him with a flirty batting of her eyelashes. Daryl smirked but said nothing. He fluffed the nearest throw pillow and tucked it behind her when she leaned forward. She settled back and placed her hands on her belly. "You know, a girl could get used to this."

"Well, ya better. Don't want ya leavin' this couch for much of nothin' the rest of the day."

"Doctor's orders?" Carol asked with a breathy laugh.

"I imagine if there was a doctor around, he'd agree with me," Daryl said with a nod. "I know you're stubborn, but will ya please just do this for me?"

"Since you asked so nicely," she teased.

"Good. I'll be right back." He started for the door, but Carol tugged on his hand.

"Hey. Will you do something for me?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"What's that?" She smiled then, tugging him down to sit beside her. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. The kiss lingered for a moment, and when she pulled back, she slowly opened her eyes, and her smile widened.

"Ah," she sighed, brushing her thumb across his lower lip. "I'm feeling better already."