Chapter 8
Daryl's POV
"The walker came up from the creek and found a hole in the fence. It had its pick because I seen about six weak spots just walking the little bit I did. Couldn't hurt to go out tomorrow and start repairing 'em."
"I'll have Jimmy, Glen, and Shane go out there tomorrow. It shouldn't be too—" Rick's words trail off when we hear T-Dog yelling and running toward us.
"-He's gone!" T-Dog is visibly winded as he stops in front of Rick. "Randall."
It takes a second for my brain to process what he was trying to tell us. When I do, T is still trying to catch his breath so he can elaborate.
"Son of a bitch." I take off toward the barn leaving them behind. I don't need to know the whole story of how T found out the kid was missing. Just the fact that he is gone is enough for me. Every second we waste is a head start for Randall to bring his group straight to us, no telling how much of one we've already given him.
When I get there, I notice the door is wide open but looks undamaged so I know Randall didn't break it down to make his escape. I look around hoping that the kid is just hiding somewhere. The smell of mold and filth is heavy inside the small space where he was kept. Blankets that were given to Randall are still in the corner where I last saw him.
I pick up the only proof we have that Randall was even in this room to begin with, a pair of handcuffs. The kid must've struggled enough to slip out of them because the metal still has blood and pieces of his torn skin on them. Like a fox chewing off his own leg when caught in a trap, he must've known that he was running out of time and self-preservation kicked in.
"I'm telling you the lock was still locked when I came to the door."
As T-Dog continues to recount how he found things I look up at the hayloft to make sure the boards I put up earlier are still in place. They are and they are placed in such a way that the light from the sun is barely able to shine through the slates. That and the door are the only ways out of this small space.
Our commotion must have been noticeable.
I can hear the others coming from inside the house questioning what is going on.
I don't know where the kid is but it sure as hell ain't in this barn so I go back outside. The ground has been trampled all over and continues to be trampled over but I still manage to find Randall's tracks. The bad leg working as an advantage to me. Making him easy to spot.
The more I follow the tracks the more things don't add up.
"All right. Hershel, T-Dog, get everybody back in the house. Daryl come with Shane and I." Rick's voice gets everyone moving in the direction they are assigned.
"Just let him go. That was the plan, wasn't it? To just let him go?" Carol's voice sounds desperate. I haven't seen her shed a tear since she saw Sophia come out of the barn but right now it looks like she is on the verge of a meltdown.
"The plan was to cut him loose far away from here, not on our front steps where he can bring his group straight to us." Rick answers while he checks his gun.
A hand grabs my arm. Carol is holding on to me like she can stop me from leaving, "Don't go out there. You know what can happen."
I'm about to tell her that there is no use worrying about what might happen if we go out into the woods because whatever Randall and his group are capable of is a lot worse but Beth's voice breaks through the group, "Where's Mel?"
"What?" I ask and I search the faces of everyone standing around, like she might be standing amongst them and is just being overlooked.
"She never came in for dinner. She's not in the stables either."
Hershel puts his arm around his daughter and pulls her into his side, "They will find her". His words are confident and clearly meant for me since his eyes stay locked on mine the whole time he comforts his youngest child.
I receive the old man's message loud and clear.
"What the hell are we waitin around for? Let's go God damnit." I start to follow the tracks without waiting to see if the others of our search party are behind me.
It takes effort to force myself to stay calm. Emotional people make mistakes and I'll be damn if I have another Sophia on my hands. I remind myself to stay detached until I find them. Then I can take out my frustration on the piece of shit Randall because I will find him. And if he harms a hair on the girls head I'll make what I did to him in the barn look like love taps. He'll be praying for death by the end of what I'm planning.
"He couldn't have gotten far. He's hobbled. Exhausted." Rick stops beside me and I'm not sure if his words are meant to be comforting because all I heard was 'He's got nothing to lose'.
Forcing that line of thought to stop, I examine the two sets of tracks. One is obviously Randall's but the other pair are too big to belong to the girl. I'd chalk it up to Randall following tracks himself to get away but the weird thing is they appear to be walking in tandem.
Mel's POV
Something is wrong with him. Like seriously wrong with him. He has reverted into a nice guy persona which I might have believed if it wasn't for the fact that I can feel the tightness of the blood drying above my eye.
Despite, or maybe it's because of his unstableness, my plan is working so far. He is too busy talking to notice that we are moving at a snail's pace.
Still, I hate that I am moving in this direction at all.
On a side note I'm pretty proud of the composure I have managed to keep in place during this whole ordeal.
"So, you were in Maggie's class?" I ask another question that I don't really care the answer to. I despise that I am forcing myself to be friendly right now but I can deal with it if it means I might stay alive.
"Oh yeah. She probably doesn't remember me but she was great…"
I nod along to what he says as I take another quick glace behind us. My eyes rapidly dart about, looking for something. Maybe I hope to see Daryl coming to my rescue but there is no sign of a savior of any kind. Only more of the dense forest.
"How's your sister?" he says almost shyly. Which is completely different from how he talked about her back at the pond.
"What?" I blink, thinking that I clearly hadn't heard him right because that question, coming from his mouth again, is still beyond outrageous.
"How is your sister?"
Nope I heard him right and the composure that I was so proud of a moment ago slips; but I quickly put it back in place. I remember what happened last time I lost my temper and despite the ache in my chest and the bile I feel in my throat after hearing him mention my sister, this might be the only opening I'll get to slow him down even more. I stop walking and face him, making sure to fold my arms across my chest to hide my shaking hands.
I take a much-needed deep breath while I consider my next words very carefully, "Why do you care?"
Okay. Maybe not the most careful choice of words but at least I managed to take most of the venom out of my voice before asking.
His face looks shocked by my question which is absolutely baffling to me. What did he expect? That I would be willing to discuss my sister with him?
Fat chance.
He did nothing but watch as my sister and I were forced to endure those horrible things. Actually, what he did was worse than doing nothing. He was the one who made daddy watch everything that was happening. I remember him jerking daddy's head up when he would try to close his eyes or look away from what was happening to us. He is one of the reasons Harmony is dead. But the worst part is that he doesn't even know it.
"I-I'm not a bad guy." Now his voice is suddenly less certain. "I'm really not. Honest."
A disbelieving sound escapes from my throat at what he is saying.
I am so confused right now. He actually looks hurt that I don't think he is a good guy. Despite everything else that he has done, which is grounds enough for me to hate him for a lifetime, he is currently in the process of kidnapping me at gunpoint!
All of my good judgement and self-preservation is thrown out the window when I throw up my hands and angrily ask, "Are you insane?"
That flicker of something dark in his eyes is all the answer I need. I see the hand holding the gun flex like my words made him remember he still holds it in his grip. My temple throbs, reminding me of the damage it can do without even being fired.
"I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry." My voice is weak as I try to back pedal out of the situation I put myself in. My bravado all but shoved aside by my willingness to live. "I'm just scared."
"I was supposed to kill you. That was the deal." He takes a step toward me "I didn't."
My heart rate picks up a notch as my mind continues to have trouble putting together what he is saying. What deal is he talking about?
"Th-thank you?" I didn't mean to make it a question but that is how it comes out. My anxiety is also rising to a new breaking point and I find myself repeatedly glancing past Randall's head in search of any impending arrivals.
Still nothing.
"He said that if I kill you it would get back at the asshole who did this to me-" I take a step back as Randall's voice gets louder and he waves the gun in front of his face like he is bringing my attention to his injuries for the first time. "- and then he would help me leave. Oh, man they are probably looking for us." His hand rubs over his face as he looks over his own shoulder. It isn't hard to notice that he is visibly rattled, everything he says is more to himself instead of to me.
"Who said that?" I ask but it brings his eyes back to me so I stop questioning him. Eventually he goes back to whatever inner monologue he is having and I know I am standing here like a deer caught in headlights but I refuse to blink. I'm afraid any movement will bring his attention back to me. That is the last thing I want, not with the way he is acting and how he was just talking about killing me.
"Come on. We gotta go." His voice has a new urgency as he shoves me "Just walk, no more talking. I need to think."
That edginess is still in his eyes so I continue to do what he says without questioning him.
At some point, I stop trying to sneak glances behind us.
I can't wait for a rescue that might not show up. I'm going to die if I don't do something.
Daryl's POV
We are running out of daylight. At least we have one thing on our side, the asshole isn't even trying to cover his tracks.
I want to kick myself in the nuts to stop whatever feelings start to rise when I see another set of footprints in the ground. I know without having to see them that the new set belong to a pair of Nike running shoes. Ones that were once a bright blue before days of walking through dirt and mud dimmed them to an almost brown.
"Find anything there Sacagawea?" Shane breaths down my neck.
Maybe I can just kick him in the nuts instead.
I disregard him and his smartass mouth while my eyes continue to follow the trail. I can tell a scuffle played out when I see the dirt is all kicked up in a small area next to the pond. My final conformation is the small puddle of blood on the ground. I know it is nothing more than a few drops of blood but it still looks like it's too much.
"Son of a bitch." I touch the blood with a hope that it is still warm but the thick liquid is cold as I rub it between two fingers. It's at least a half hour cold, maybe more.
Standing, I wipe the blood on my pants and face Rick. I manage to keep all emotion out of my voice when I say, "He's got the girl and a hell of a head start."
Mel's POV
"Hold up." It finally seems the new pace Randall set for us has caught up to him. His breathing is loud and nauseating as I wait for him to catch up to where I stand. I find myself wincing as I watch him painfully maneuver himself down to the ground. It's impossible not to notice the dark stain of blood which is now shiny and growing on the leg of his pants.
'Now's your chance' my brain tells me 'Make a run for it'
I don't. I'm an accounting student who slept with a nightlight on until I was fifteen not some CIA Jason Bourne character. I'm a pretty decent runner but I still feel like bullets move faster than I can run. I'm definitely certain that even if a bullet wound doesn't kill you it will still hurt like the dickens.
Now I can't stop thinking about how I am going to die and right now, the more I think about it, the more likely it seems that I will be shot today.
'Stop It! Stop thinking.' This time I follow my brains advice and I mindlessly start to pick at my nails.
"Sit down." Randall taps the ground next to him. I shudder at just the thought of being near him but he also taps the gun against his upper leg, making the threat clear.
I wonder how much space between us I can get away with without pissing him off.
I don't want to do it but I bend my knees so that I am sitting a few feet away from him. I can feel his eyes on me and I hate it. Despite the humid heat mother nature has gifted us with, his gaze sends ice-cold shivers everywhere his eyes trail.
I double my efforts to keep my attention elsewhere and I scan the surrounding woods for the next few minutes because the dead are still a threat. Although, if one showed up, a walker might work to my advantage right now. Maybe distract Randall enough so I can get away. All I need is a head start.
No luck in finding one though. In fact, there is nothing out here. No birds. No insects. It's completely quiet –which in movies is never a good sign.
Without warning he grabs a curl that has escaped from my pony tail and slowly tucks it back behind my ear. My breathing stops. I can feel his skin leave a burning path as his finger slides down my cheek. On pure instinct, my body pulls away in an uncomfortable twist. It is not only an attempt to try and put more distance between myself and him but also so I can ready myself to stand up. Tight pain squeezes my wrist when his hand wraps around mine and he uses it stop my escape.
It's surprising how strong his grip is as he keeps me anchored to the ground. Or maybe I am just weak.
His other hand has somehow gotten a firm hold on my chin and he uses it to turn my head. I try to stop the movement but the end result is that I am now staring into his eyes.
"You always had nice eyes. Very expressive." He continues gazing into mine and I can feel the tears as they start to fill my vision so I squeeze my lids shut. When I try to turn away his grip is unyielding and a few of those tears I am trying to hold back manage to escape. "Are you scared? I feel like your eyes are telling me you are scared."
A shudder carrying terror runs down my spine. His voice, heavy with southern accent is without any of the charm. It's flat and scary as hell. Almost mocking.
"Please let go of me." I try to keep my own voice even but it breaks.
My words have the opposite effect on him and he squeezes my jaw until the sharp pain makes me reopen my eyes. This time I actually look at the person in front of me and gone is the guy who just minutes ago tried to convince me that he wasn't a bad person. This is the same person I saw that night in the woods.
The one from my nightmares.
As soon as my own realization of who I am dealing with sets in, Randall smiles and the grip on my wrist becomes bruising. My left hand is the only thing keeping me upright right now. The involuntary trembling is putting me dangerously close to losing my balance and that is the last thing I want.
"W-we should keep going." I'll say anything just to get his hands off of me "I want to see Woodbury."
It's like he isn't hearing anything I am saying to him instead he just leans in closer. I can smell his strong body odor and my stomach flips with nausea.
"Please. Don't do anything you'll regret," I plead "Prove you are a good person. Let's just go."
"Nah. Your new friend wasn't a good person when he tied me up and used my face as a human punchin bag." His disgusting finger traces my bottom lip, stopping at the swollen cut I received earlier. My pulse is pounding faster and faster, making my lip throb where he stopped. "In my experience, the good people have all been killed but don't worry about me, I'm sure I won't regret anything."
My lips tremble. The hot taste of bile surfaces in the back of my throat when his tongue licks his own chapped lips. Then he pulls me close to his face.
"No. Don't do this." I manage to shake my head, barely noticing the tears as they fly off my cheeks. I can only blame the terror running rampant throughout my entire body as the reason I haven't planned an escape yet. The panic is clearly overpowering my ability to reason, and leaving me with only a petrified brain to do all my thinking.
My heartbeat, which is thumping in my ears, is the only thing I have to mark the passage of time. Each thump is agonizing and I count fifteen before Randall's lips crush my own. Finally snapping me into action.
I push at his chest but he doesn't move away. His hand grabs a handful of my hair to keep me in place and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from screaming out from the sharp pain.
With no other options, I make a fist and start to hit him. My lack of experience makes my efforts ineffectual, only earning a small grunt when I hit him in the ribs. I switch to survival mode and just start clawing at his face or anything that my hands land on.
"Bitch!" He yells and his hands grip my forearms. I hear more than feel when his hand lands across my face. I attempt to let out a yell when my head hits the ground but there is a heaviness on me that knocks all the air out of my lungs.
He is straddling me.
I'm breathless and helpless. All I can do is look up at the person doing this to me.
He's bleeding. Two thin lines of blood are forming under his eye. I flinch when he raises his hand. Thinking he is going to hit me again I brace myself, but he brings his hand to his own cheek to see what kind of damage I have done to him.
The moment he sees his own blood on his fingers his eyes jump back to me.
I know I have been in trouble since I first saw him back at the pond but the look in his eyes in this particular moment tell me that if I have any chance of living past today, I need to get away now.
"Please stop. Why are you doing this?" I cry but don't receive an answer.
Randall starts to fumble with the buttons on my shirt. I know what he is planning to do and I can't tolerate having him on top of me another second. My body starts twisting and turning in every direction but I can't get out from under his weight. He grins at my frantic movements and I can feel a hardness that wasn't there before, so I force myself to hold still.
"I know you liked it." He mumbles like he is talking to himself but I know his words are meant for me to hear. "You and your sister both."
My left arm is pinned under his knee but my right is still free.
He goes back to my buttons and I notice for the first time that he isn't holding the gun.
This is my chance.
My last chance.
I take a deep breath and block out what he is doing. My free hand goes to his thigh and I grab it. I gather every bit of strength I have into pushing my thumb into the bandaged part of his leg. The spot that Hershel worked so hard on to make sure this monster got to live gives way with a sickening squish. I feel a warmth as his blood rushes to where my finger has reopened his wound.
His scream echoes through the trees but I continue to push.
I want him to hurt.
A fist hits my cheek. The pain is immediate and intense. I throw my free arm over my face instinctively.
Randall's hand closes around my throat, and he shakes me hard, like he is trying to use my brain to clear the board in Boggle.
I'm trying to drag in breaths, I just need enough to beg him to stop, but nothing is filling my lungs. They only burn more with each attempt. He is so heavy and his weight trapping me is worse than knowing I can't breathe. Even though his hands are only on my throat I start to cry when I feel more hands.
Imaginary hands.
I feel them in my hair, on my cheek, on my stomach, on my breasts, and moving down toward my thighs.
I know that this is not the time for a breakdown but my body freezes as my memories overcome me.
I don't want to die today, not like this. Trapped beneath Randall as he straddles me in a pile of decaying earth. But that is exactly what is going to happen isn't it? I want to survive with a desperation I have never felt before but there is little I can do.
I allow myself to fall into the detached, otherworldly state of mind that I found that night in the woods. I can use it as a shield just like I did then.
My first thought is that night came pretty quick when blackness starts to fill my vision and tiny lights begin to dot all around me. Finally replacing the face above me.
I prefer the stars. So many stars. Despite the pain I feel in my chest I want to admire them. They call to me with promises of easing my burdens. I try to touch them but my arms feel like paperweights by my side.
So, I close my eyes and pray that Harmony and dad are waiting for me.
Suddenly my lungs rise with relief and I take a deep breath.
I take in another lungful of air.
Wait! I'm breathing!
I scramble to my feet as soon as I notice Randall's weight is off of me. I need to be standing, it should make me feel less vulnerable. It doesn't.
My legs feel wobbly and unsteady like at any second I'm going to end up on my butt again.
Frantic, I look around expecting to see Randall pointing a gun at me and intent on killing me.
It takes me a second to put together what I am looking at. A few feet from where I stand, I watch as Randall's role is reversed and he is now the one forced to stay on the ground. Trapped by Daryl's punishing fists.
Daryl is here.
I want to be happy but I'm in sensory overload. Between Randall's screams, Rick and Shane trying to stop Daryl, and the heavy sound of flesh striking flesh. I feel like I am going to be sick.
The haze of adrenaline is quickly starting to wear off, leaving me fully aware of how close I just came to dying. Now the panic I was feeling no more than a minute ago, is the only thing left for me to fall back on.
Suddenly I can't breathe again. My hands hysterically check my throat to make sure that there are no one else's hands around it. There's not. Can someone die from hyperventilating? Because I think I am about to. It feels like no air is being pulled into my lungs so I try to double my efforts but it only makes the feeling worse.
A strong hand pushes my shoulders down and, if such a thing is possible, I start to panic more. I turn and see Daryl attached to the hand that is touching me and I reel in my misplaced fright. He is talking but nothing is registering in my brain. All I see is his mouth moving and only a static noise is filling my ears. Either way he can see that I am clearly in trouble so I let him push my shoulders until I am bending at my waist. My hands keep me from dropping on my face by bracing my knees.
Oh God, I feel like I am falling. I focus on the ground and find reassurance that it isn't getting closer.
Clinging to the mantra of inhale, exhale. I eventually calm down enough that once again breathing comes naturally to me. I seize the opportunity to right myself so I can see what has been playing out around me. Randall's lifeless body is laying on the ground but I know he isn't dead. His chest keeps rising and falling albeit a little shallow but he's still alive. Not sure how I feel about that.
I don't have time to contemplate the moral rightness of wishing someone was dead because Rick and Shane are having a heated discussion next to the limp body. Their arms are gesturing back and forth to me but before I can hear anything Daryl physically pulls my attention away from them by moving my chin toward him with his fingertip. He is looking at me expectantly and I know I missed whatever question he asked.
"You hurt?" He asks again and if I didn't know any better, I would say that concern laced his voice. I shake my head, unsure if my voice even works anymore but it is a mistake. His eyes don't believe me because I watch as he quickly scans me for any visible injuries before landing on my face. He balls up another one of his endless supplies of rags and presses it against my temple. The piercing blue eyes are the opposite of Randall's hate filled brown gaze that I thought were going to be the last thing I saw before I died. I'm glad they weren't.
"Uh…yeah." I clear my throat and wince at the soreness and how rough my voice sounds "I mean no. I'm fine."
But I'm not.
I feel fragile, vulnerable. I need someone to say that it is going to be okay. That everything is okay. Even if it is a lie.
Daryl's POV
"You hurt?" what kind of question is that?
Anyone with eyes and half a brain can tell she is.
Leaves, sticks, blood, and dirt are all over her hair and skin. Angry handprints stand out against the paleness of her throat. Half of her face is a striking combination of swollen red and bruised purple. Her shirt is ripped opened exposing the undershirt beneath. It's obvious from the streaks down her face that she has been crying.
The girl tries to talk but it sounds pain-filled.
I'm not a doctor. I don't even know how to begin helping her. She needs Hershel.
"I-I'm sorry. I should have ki-"
"—Shut up" A sickening crack followed by a thud stops Randall from finishing whatever sentence he was going to say. It stops him from talking ever again.
The girl jumps when she realized that Shane just broke Randall's neck. Maybe she shouldn't have seen that.
"You saw what he was doing. What if that was Lori?" Shane starts to defend himself but Rick raises his hand to silence him.
"You're right. There was no way in hell he was coming back to camp." Rick looks at the girl who hasn't stopped staring since Randall hit the ground. Then he looks at me and I know that he wants me to get her out of here.
I move to stand in front, so that she can no longer see the view currently laid out before her and ask, "Can ya walk?"
Her eyes stare through my chest in the same spot they were before like she is still seeing Randall on the ground but she nods.
I'm doubtful but she turns and starts a slow walk back toward the farm. It's a little under 3 miles back and I know the sun will beat us home.
Not a word has been spoken and the girl hasn't looked back once. She leads the way using only the light from the moon to watch where she puts her feet. I imagine she is in some sort of daze. Maybe shock?
I can see the lights coming from the farmhouse when the girl abruptly stops walking and looks up.
Her eyes search the night sky as if the stars contain the answers to all of her problems.
"You know," her voice is soft but still deafening against the silence of the night "When we would come home from visiting my grandmother I noticed the moon never got further away. No matter how far or how fast daddy would drive it always stayed in my window. Almost in the exact same spot. I was maybe five, Harmony was still a baby, and I thought the moon was following me so I told my parents. My mom pulled me into her lap and explained to me that it was, but it wasn't a scary thing. It was because everyone we loved but couldn't be with us anymore was inside watching over me. That was why is was so bright, because that was their love shining down on us lighting up the sky. She also told me that someday she would be up there watching over me. I believed her for the longest time. After she died, I actually believed she was up there following and watching over me at night. I would stay up late just to talk to her and show her my drawings from my bedroom window." I watch as she angrily wipes a tear from her face "It wasn't until I was watching some kids show and some bright colored puppet explained what the moon really was that I started to doubt it. I still brushed it off and decided my mom knew better. Then I started to notice that the moon would disappear some nights. That's when I knew everything my mom said was a lie. Because she wouldn't leave me like that. Not a second time."
I don't know what to say. I feel like she just told me something important. Something meaningful but I don't know what exactly.
I'm saved from having to say anything in response because the girl starts walking again.
"Hershel should look you over." I say when I notice that she is walking toward the tent and not the farmhouse.
"Tomorrow." Is her response as she picks up some sticks and throws them next to where we light the fire. "Have you eaten? I'm sure I made you miss dinner. I -I think I have a granola bar. You are welcome to it. Or I have-"
Maybe it is something about the way she is brushing off what just happened to her or maybe it's because she is more worried about if I ate than herself but I stand in front of her before she can reach her book bag full of snacks that she keeps in the tent.
"Sit down. You like chicken noodle or tomato?" I've got a small stockpile of my own as a just in case.
"You don't have to –"
"Chicken noodle then." I walk over to Merle's bike and reach into the saddle bag. Campbells has yet to steer me wrong. The cheap 69 cent cans are what kept me fed throughout my childhood. I figure it might be easier for the girl to eat since her voice is shot to hell and the marks on her neck have only darkened.
When I turn around I'm surprised to see that she sitting down and starting a fire on her own. The lighter is being uncooperative and I can see the shine in her eyes as she struggled with it. There is no damn way I am going to let her break down tonight over something like a lighter.
"Here." I hand mine out to her and she takes it without looking up.
Mel's POV
"Get some sleep." Daryl takes my bowl before I can protest and offer to clean up myself.
How can I possibly sleep? I think.
Of course, my body betrays me before I can argue with Daryl. A giant yawn catches me by surprise, almost cracking my jaw, and with that single action he knows that he won.
I nod and stand up. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I walk to where Daryl is swishing water around in my bowl, removing all signs of my dinner.
I clear my throat and wait for him to face me. When he is I take a deep breath, and say the words I have been rehearsing in my head since he found me in the woods, "Thank you for finding me."
Then acting on impulse, one that I can only assume the rolling waves of emotions I have experienced today is to blame for, I throw my arms around Daryl's neck and force a hug onto him. His body is stiff and I know that I am making him uncomfortable but I need this right now and I think he does to in a way. He doesn't hug me back but I didn't really expect him to.
Before I step away I inhale deep bringing the scent of smoke, sweat, and an undertone of leather into my lungs.
I don't know if it is the memory of what happened yesterday or the physical pain that is responsible for my tear-stained face when I wake up.
It isn't long before I figure it out.
My stomach feels too tight. I pull back the top of my sleeping bag and I know something is wrong. Before I can react, I hear Beth's voice followed by the clanging of dishes as they fall to the ground.
She must have brought me breakfast because oatmeal is on the floor spilling from two bowls. But I know that she isn't looking at the mess. She is seeing the same thing that has my hands shaking and unable to speak.
"DARYL!" Beth's scream finally snaps me into action. Her head disappears from the tent at the same time I cover my legs back up. "She's bleeding."
I barely hear her frantic voice as another wave of pain has me doubled over. I can only compare it to the worse cramps I have ever had but tenfold.
The door to the tent is opened again but this time it's Daryl standing over me. I'm too busy trying not to cry to see what he is doing but I know when he looks under the safety of my sleeping bag because in an instant I am being picked up and carried out of the tent.
I bury my face into his shoulder. I focus on his breathing mostly because I don't want to think about what this means.
Daryl's POV
After laying the girl on the bed. Hershel and Patricia rushed me out of the room. I've been wearing a track into the hardwood floor ever since. Beth and Carol stayed outside the room for a while before my restlessness started to drive them crazy.
All I can think about is how this is all on me. That I could have stopped this from happening.
If I had made her see Hershel last night he would have known something was wrong.
If I had killed Randall the other night maybe she wouldn't be scared to death and bleeding in that room right now.
The door opens and I stop pacing. Hershel comes out and is wiping his hands on what use to be a white towel but it's now stained brown with blood. He waits until the door is closed behind him before he motions with his head for me to follow him down the hallway into the kitchen.
There is a group waiting to know what is going on.
The old man leans against the counter and stares down at the ground. I'm about a second away from yelling at him to 'speak god dammit' when he finally opens his mouth.
"She's had a miscarriage." Hershel's abrupt words make Lori gasp and she covers her own stomach like the word itself is contagious, "Mel will be fine. Her body knows what to do. We just need to watch for a fever or any other sign of infection. There is no way of telling what caused it. It is very possible that this might have been natural or it could have been brought on by all the stress she has been through lately. I think it's best if we just let her rest for now."
The words hit me like I've been shot again by my own bolt.
I shouldn't care. It's one less thing to worry about. Having one baby around is going to be tough enough, let alone two of 'em. I should see this as a problem solved and maybe the girl does. It's not like she chose this option in the first place.
The others are talking to each when I turn around and head for the stairs I just came down. My hand is on the baluster when I stop. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. I didn't want to care again after Sophia for this damn reason.
'Come on boy, this isn't who you are' My brothers voice echoes through my mind.
The screen door slams hard behind me as I make my way to Merle's bike.
Mel's POV
I lean against the sink for a moment while everything Hershel said to me fully sinks in. I turn and look in the mirror but I'm not really surprised by the stranger staring back at me this time. I don't feel like myself. I run my hands through my hair in a terrible attempt to fix the matted mess then I wash my face.
Feeling detached, alone, abused, weightless and heavy at the same time I just want to find an escape. I even think about hurling myself out of the window but where would I go after that? The fall itself probably wouldn't kill me but I wouldn't live long on my own out there.
I don't even bother wiping the water off my face with the bright yellow hand towel by the sink. Chill air hits my skin when I open the door, taking note of how it wasn't fully closed to begin with and I remember that Daryl kicked in this door the same day I thought my life was over. The day that test turned positive. Not that it matters now.
'Stop it' I tell myself
When I walk out into the hallway I somehow know everyone is downstairs and listening. At least that is how it feels, I can hear their hushed whispers and someone, probably Carol, is busying themselves in the kitchen. It's like I am a badly kept secret everyone knows about. I imagine they are all waiting and preparing for me to have another breakdown.
Well they aren't going to get that satisfaction from me today. I force myself to walk at a normal pace to the bedroom that I am back to occupying and slowly close the door behind me. I sit on the bed for a while staring at the nauseating wallpaper while I try to wrap my head around everything that has been going on. Everything that has happened to me.
Dale. Randall. My baby.
I just sit here.
I feel like I should scream. That I should be repulsed. That I should want revenge.
But I just sit here.
Shaking my head, I pull Daryl's vest tighter around my body. It has become my security blanket and last thread to sanity. I lay my head on the pillow, not even bothering to get under the warmth of the quilt laid atop the bed.
Knowing that I just woke up not that long ago, I'm strangely very tired. Completely exhausted and defeated. I haven't figured out what I am going to do tomorrow. All I know is that right now, I just want to close my eyes and forget everything that has happened. Everything I have lost.
I can decide what to do in the morning.
The sound of a loud engine driving away is the last thing I acknowledge as I fall asleep.