Chapter 12

Daryl's POV

I shake my head to dismiss the bowl of oatmeal the girl holds in front of my face. She starts to jiggle it in a way that some people think might make it more appealing.

"Come on Daryl, you didn't eat yesterday."

If I know anything it is that she will not budge on this. Just like I know she didn't eat anything yesterday either and, unbeknownst to anyone else, has secretly already given away her ration of food. Split it between a growing Laurie, Beth and Carl.

In fact, the girl only eats a little every three days or so. It's a wonder she can function at all.

If anyone notices those extra portions given to Laurie no one says anything. They probably think the girl is taking a little from everyone's bowl to make that little extra happen but that's not the case. She silently sacrifices so that no one else has to. If I had to guess, she has lost a good ten pounds that she really didn't have to give up to begin with. It's just hidden under those baggy shirts she wears under the leather vest.

She's always too damn worried about everyone else when she should be worrying about herself. The girl really needs to start putting a little more stock in herself and what she needs.

"You eat it."

"I've already eaten." Is her slightly mumbled reply and wouldn't you know it, there must be something pretty damn interesting on the top of her shoes since her eyes are studying them like they will be on some upcoming college mid-term. "Can you just take it so I can go get ready. Please."

Her annoyance is fake but there's no point arguing so I take the chipped bowl from her hands and scoop up the paste with two fingers. For once they are relatively clean.

"I have a spoon right here you know. I spit shined it up for you and everything." Her exasperation is contradicted by her face which still holds a smile from winning the small victory as soon as I took the bowl from her hands.

I make room for her to sit down on the dented hood of the rusted-out car with me. "Rick says we should start heading east tomorrow." Her feet swing back and forth kicking the overgrown grass "I'm not sure but I feel like that would mean we are just going in a big circle…again."

"The smaller herds are joining up with each other making it difficult to move." I manage to say around the glue that somehow passes as food these days. Rick came to me earlier with his terrible plans but the man doesn't have much of a choice. Dodging herds, avoiding major roads, and sticking to the outskirts of towns is limiting our options.

The girl doesn't respond because she knows it's true. Just last week we were almost caught up in the middle of two of the larger groups coming together outside of Newnan. I follow her eyes to see what she is looking at and see Laurie waddling out of the house we have been held up in for the last couple of days.

"She can't keep moving around like we are." It's a thought we've all had but no one voices out loud.

"Ain't got much of a choice. Here, eat the rest of this shit then go get your stuff. We leave in five" I hold out the partially eaten wallpaper paste.

"I'm going to pretend that you knew I made 'this shit' and you are just giving me a hard time."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Mel's POV

Each slow exhale of breath is visible in the early morning chill but I focus on keeping my arms steady, steps quiet, and the unsuspecting rabbit at the end of my sight. The only sound was the wind whispering a secret through the bare branches on the trees above us.

"Don't screw this up, don't screw this up, don't screw this up." Has been repeating inside my head since Daryl put the crossbow in my hands again this morning. His eyes no longer have the effect of burning a hole in my back but instead offering more relief.

Turning my head slightly so that Daryl is in my peripheral, I wait for that small nod of approval from him. Once I receive it my eyes shift back to the rabbit.

Another slow exhale doubles as a quick prayer as I release the bolt. My eyes squeeze shut immediately when the almost silent whistle screams through the air and remain shut even after hearing the THUNK from the bolt being forced to suddenly stop.

"Getting better."

Daryl's words tell me that I missed my mark so I am not surprised when I open my eyes to see no sign of the rabbit. Just like every other time Daryl insists on me being the one to take the shot. It still doesn't stop the wave of disappointment that washes over me for failing once again.

I want to scream at how little I have progressed and how often Daryl makes me do this.

"No. No I'm not and we can't afford to have me keep doing this. I appreciate whatever it is you are trying to do but between the two of us, you should be the only one hunting or taking any kind of shot. I play a better sidekick." I hand the crossbow back to its rightful owner.

"You were close. Better."

The combination of hearing his insensible response and my own bad luck annoys the hell out of me.

"Better Daryl, really?" I hiss through my clenched jaw "I haven't hit one moving target in all the weeks we have been doing this." I start the short trek to pick up the discarded bolt from the ground. "It's been weeks of us going out to hunt or scavenge and every day we meet back up with Rick and the others with nothing that I've contributed."

Statistically I should have hit something by now. I have lost count of how many times I have fired the crossbow just to retrieve it with no bounty on the end.

"We are basically starving."

"No one is starving." Daryl calmly responds as he loads the bow again.

"Might as well be." I think to myself "That rabbit could have been a meal for everyone and I let it just run away. Useless!"

I am so caught up in my own internal rant that I forget one of the first things Daryl ever taught me, "always be aware of your surroundings".

My brain barely registers that I am stepping on something metal but when it does there is not enough time to warn me to stop before I put my full weight down on my right foot. The clang of metal even registers before the shooting pain starting at my ankle.

I fall to my knees, biting down on my lip to try and stop the yelp of pain that wants to escape but it manages to anyway. On instinct my hands try to pry open the metal jaw from around my ankle but I only manage to jostle it deeper into my skin.

It is the second pair of hands moving mine out of the way that finally releases the unbearable pressure that was building up. Another scream wants to escape as the blood rushes to the injured spot with a throbbing reminder of just how much I should not be out here playing survivalist.

Daryl lifts up the leg of my jeans to inspect the damage. I turn my head away. The image of bone and sinew sticking out where my foot should be comes to mind.

"Can you move it?"

'That's a good sign', I think to myself. He wouldn't ask that question if I was in obvious need of an amputation.

Testing the waters, I attempt to roll my ankle but fail miserably when the biting pain shoots up my leg.

"A little." It is not a complete lie. "How bad is it?" I ask.

"Well there's blood so not great but I don't think anything's broke. We got to get movin." I watch as Daryl wraps one of the strips of cloth he keeps in his back pocket around my ankle, hissing as he does it. "Bikes too far a walk for ya on that lame foot. It's a few miles back but I saw a dirt road running beside us. Maybe it's an old service road. Leads to someplace to hold up till the storm passes."

"What storm?" I ask looking to the sky. It looks like a typical grey fall sky to me.

"The one coming in from the east." He is not gentle as he pulls the cloth a final time around my leg. Ensuring it stays in place. "I'll carry ya."

It is no surprise that it takes little effort from Daryl to help me off the ground. I'm careful not to add any weight to my right foot.

"You don't need to carry me. Just give me a second."

"That leg is already starting to swell, best to keep the weight off of it until we know it isn't broken."

Daryl hands me the backpack to put on and maneuvers his crossbow so that it is laying across his chest.

"You said it wasn't broken."

"Yeah, well I ain't no doctor either." He bends down in front of me, offering his back "Hop on."

"Daryl. I do not need a piggy back ride." I say wincing as I try to take a step on my own, almost falling down in the process.

"Look. Either you hop on before we both end up soaked or I leave your scrawny ass out here. Your choice."

I want to shout my indignation at the world for being put in this situation but at the same time, I know he is right and I am just wasting valuable time. Without another word of protest, I use my good leg to pitifully jump on Daryl's back. My arms around his neck keeping me in place. His own hands reach around and loop over my thighs to stop me from sliding off.

"Do you need a break? I know I have to be heavy. Let me try to walk again." Daryl has been carrying me for a while and he was of course right about the old road running parallel with where we were. I'm just nervous about where it leads or more importantly- who it might lead to.

"You can't weigh more than a buck soaking wet."

I have no response to him calling me thin. I guess it is better than the alternative but I can still feel his fingers loosening around my legs so I know that he is getting tired. Who wouldn't?

The top of the hill Daryl has been climbing overlooks a cemetery. Judging by the condition of the graves and how dilapidated the headstones are, these grounds have not had any new guests buried here in many years.

Daryl keeps walking and I manage to make out a date on one of the grave markers as we pass by.

Abigail Hen(unreadable)

Wife (Unreadable)

1891

An older farm house stands on the other side of the cemetery. Kudzuhas completely taken over the eastern side of the house. The faded and chipped white boards are no longer visible underneath the green vines.

"What if someone's home?" I whisper. Afraid that some unknown monster could be standing nearby hearing everything we say.

"Doubt anyone is staying in this dump but if they are, I'll handle them." On that ominous note, he lowers me to the ground and we both ignore the quick pop his back makes when he stands back up "Wait here. I'll check it out."

I watch as Daryl walks the rest of the way to the building. He is probably right; it looks dilapidated to the point of condemning. His bow is raised but he doesn't look too worried. Although, I've never seen Daryl look worried to begin with. I still hold my breath as he approaches the front door and impulsively jump when he bangs on the side of the house. The noise is like a gunshot in the silence around us.

We both wait. Wait for any sign of life to make its self-known.

There is a brief shared moment of eye contact before I watch him disappear inside the walls.

Me being the utterly useless person that I am, can do nothing but wait for his return.

To keep my mind occupied I look around the gravestones. Searching the dates for whichever one is the oldest, just because it is something to do. So far, the winner is from 1887, the name is long worn away, leaving the only legible marking 'a loving father'.

Reading it puts a sour feeling in my stomach and my eyes scan more stones until they land on one that manages to curdle that sour feeling even more.

A moss-covered lamb, muzzle broken off but still the undeniable marker of a child's grave. Overlooking the pain each hobbling step brings, it is like I am being drawn to the grave three rows ahead. I should ignore it and the thoughts it forces me to have but I am unable to do that.

I stop in front of the unknown child's grave. I do nothing more than stare at it like it might have an answer for some question I haven't asked.

I don't know how long I've been staring at the decaying epitaph but this is where Daryl finds me. Still glued to this spot. My toes carefully on the edge of where I assume the grave starts.

He doesn't speak.

He doesn't ask what I am doing.

He doesn't rush me along.

He allows me this strangely cathartic moment that I need. Silently standing next to me while I think about what I've lost and the waves of emotions it brings. The same waves that I have to silently navigate every time I glimpse Laurie cradling her own growing stomach with a smile that makes her look almost sad.

Since the farm was overrun, I have refused to think about what I have lost. Doing anything I can to keep my mind occupied when it wants to drift into a session of self-pity because there are always eyes nearby.

The eyes of people who have lost the same as me and still manage to keep going. I often wonder if they refuse to think about the past as well. None of us talk about anything other than our plans of survival.

I hear rustling beside me. Turning, I see Daryl cutting the steams of some dead dried out flowers that were nearby. Then he places them in front of the lamb, like some kind of offering to an ancient God.

The care he takes in handling the dead flowers remind me of the first time I met Daryl. It was no more than a few months ago that I was frightened of this man who saved me in the woods. Then that same day I was intrigued as I watched him pick flowers. Flowers that I now know were for a grieving Carol.

He steps back to stand beside me and I slip my hand into his. A silent thank you for everything he has done for me. Surprisingly, Daryl doesn't pull away. On the outside he remains impassive but I know him better than he probably likes.

If he didn't care he wouldn't allow me to lace my fingers through his and hold on to him like he is a physical anchor tethering me to the ground right now.

I wouldn't be here so many times over if it wasn't for Daryl. This is a man who wouldn't think twice to save anyone of us. Of course, he would deny it if anyone called him a good man but he is the best one I've ever known.

I try to channel all of that into our joined hands but it is as if he senses what I am trying to say. His non-verbal way to say 'that's enough' comes when he gives my hand one final squeeze before pulling away right as the first drops of rain start to fall from the sky.

This time there is no protest from me when he picks me up bridal style, carrying me toward the house.

"Prop your foot up here" Daryl slaps the arm of the tattered couch he sat me on and I grimace at the dust cloud he stirs up. "gonna have a better look around."

The first flash of lightening brightens up the room just as Daryl reaches the first step. The thunder that follows seems to settle deep within my stomach. Looking outside, the dark clouds have completely snuffed out the last of the light of the sun. The bare branches outside the window look like skeletal fingers of a hand waving at me.

I lean back but a spring breaks through the vaguely floral fabric and finds a place to call home between my ribs.

Instead, I lift my throbbing foot up on a crate that looks like it was used as a makeshift coffee table but I think it's been years since it's entertained any guests.

Even elevated, the throbbing in my leg doesn't lessen.

If I'm being honest with myself the pain is hard to ignore. So is the site of the dark red stain of blood seeping through Daryl's rag wrapped around my ankle.

Biting my bottom lip in an effort to distract myself, I start to hum a song I would sing for the kids in Sunday school at church. The tune allows me to focus enough to notice that this house doesn't look that much different from Hershel's. I think it might even be the same wallpaper just more sun-bleached.

It's weird that most of the furniture is still in the house. I wonder if the former residents just walked out one day, willing to leave any memory of their former life behind in their search of a completely new one.

A thump from the floor above me followed by Daryl's steady gait coming down the stairs reminds me to drop the mask back over my face. Daryl has literally pulled his own arrow out of his side after falling down a ravine then was rewarded by being shot by one of his own so I feel like the pain I am feeling right now is nothing compared to that.

"Got dinner at least."

"What is that?" I ask as he holds up some unidentified mass of what I think is feathers?

"Owl." He sits in an old arm chair and starts ripping the feathers out of the poor bird "Must've gotten in from one of the broken windows upstairs. Had a nest in a drawer."

"Well I've never had owl before so I guess that's something to cross off the bucket list huh?" I give him a quick smile that I hope doesn't look too fake. If I was in my old life, I would've run for the hills at the suggestion of eating an owl. I mean who wants to eat Hedwig? There is absolutely no shame in admitting that tears were shed when she died in that book and it took me a while to forgive J.K. for that one.

Now- in this new life I'm kind of eager to see if it tastes any different than chicken. Mouthwatering chicken… I miss it. My stomach lets out a sound that's a mixture of a gurgle and a growl.

Embarrassing but Daryl doesn't seem to notice as feathers scatter across the room. Most landing in his hair or sticking to his lips.

My body has been functioning on the bare minimum needed to keep me alive. Between Laurie, Carl, Beth, Rick, Daryl, and the others we just do not have enough food to go around and they need it more than I do.

"Maybe we should wait until we get back to the others?" I flinch as Daryl violently pulls another handful of feathers out "They could use the food more than me."

"They're fine."

The argument that NO ONE "is fine" is at the tip of my tongue but the last person I want to argue with is Daryl Dixon. So, we sit in relative silence only the surprisingly soothing sound of wind and Daryl defeathering the owl filling the room.

The meat is gamier than chicken but still delicious. Granted it could just be because I was hungry but I might even prefer owl to chicken.

I find myself slowly chewing to savor the flavor and to prolong the feeling of actually eating something other than gruel. I make it to five bites before I force myself to sit the broken plate and the remaining food on the cushion beside me.

Daryl picks up the plate and shoves it in my face "Eat."

I'm good. We can save whatever is-"

"Eat the damn food.

I'm startled by his words and tone but I am not going to be bullied into something like this.

"I said I am good."

I push the plate away.

"Fine!" The plate crashes against the wall "Starve yourself for all I care."

My hands are shaking, it could be from anger or fear.

I am at a lost for words but I take a deep breath about to let loose whatever is on the tip of my tongue.

"Shh." Daryl holds up his hand to silence me while grabbing his crossbow.

It isn't long before I hear what has Daryl on edge. An eerie scratching sound is coming from somewhere within the house.