Chapter 2: Limits
The forest rested around them, the scent of rain-washed tree bark pleasant after so many days of motorcycle exhaust and campfire smoke. Despite their mission out here, Carol was strangely relaxed. It was nice to be away from all the tension and squabbling of camp. As food supplies ran short, so did tempers. It was a break of sorts to be alone with only Daryl.
He shook his head, staring at her hands. "Nope. You're holdin' it like you're going to fight a human, not a walker."
"Why would I hold it two different ways? The blade only goes one way."
He flipped the knife over and rearranged her fingers. "People and walkers think different. A person'll try to protect themself, maybe try to take the knife from ya. They might flinch or get intimidated. Walker won't do any of that. 'Sides, you need to come in high for a walker. With a human, you can keep the knife down in close to yer front, strike where it's easiest for ya because you'll hurt 'em no matter where you stab 'em. Walkers, it's gotta be the head. They'll walk right into your knife, too, and sometimes it gets all stuck in there. Useless."
He moved her arm, showing her a few different positions of attack that would allow her to catch a walker in the head, while also keeping her knife in a position that would be less likely to get knocked out of her hand.
"Practice those for a minute." He stepped back to watch. "Once you get walkers figured, we'll work on stuff for humans."
She stopped her practice stabs and stared at him. "Do you really think that's necessary?"
"Live ones are more dangerous than walkers'll ever be. Smarter. Meaner. 'Sides, there's a lot more men than women around these days. Means you're always gonna be a target." He scowled, his face darkening.
Always. The word twisted in her stomach and she lowered the knife, her arm suddenly weak. Was that her future now? A whole life of trying to avoid rape? But then, it hadn't been much different before. First her stepfather, then Ed. Even one of the drifters that came through quarry camp and caught her alone down by the water one day before she screamed and Jim and Shane came running. She'd always been a target. Didn't matter that she wasn't pretty, or even young anymore.
"What are ya doin'?" Daryl gestured. "Practice. Need to do it a bunch, so when you're scared, you don't have to think to remember what you're doin'." He glanced past her and she followed his look, stiffening at the sight of a female walker reeling their way. Carol hadn't even been paying enough attention to hear it coming. She moved across the clearing to his side.
He gave her an odd look and edged away. "What, you think I wanna have Hershel stitching me up tonight? Practice away from me, woman."
"Daryl…" She pointed nervously to the walker.
He rolled his eyes and stalked over, punching his knife through the walker's eye and then coming back. "Shit, woman, I ain't got all day. You wanna eat tonight or what? 'Cause there ain't that much light, and I'm wasting it all on you standing around like that knife's gonna kill a walker all by itself."
She stared at the weapon in her hand. Longer than any kitchen knife she'd ever used. It looked like a joke. She couldn't kill anybody with that, and all a walker would have to do was bump it out of her hand and she'd be finished. "Why not a gun? At least then I could do it from a distance. It doesn't require as much strength. Shooting would be smarter, wouldn't it?"
His lip twitched. "We ain't got the ammo. And we go to play shooting gallery, we'll end up with more targets on our hands than we need. Sound draws 'em in."
"So what? It's too late now that we're not on the farm? I can never learn to shoot?"
"Didn't say that." He narrowed his eyes, stalking forward to get into her space. She stood her ground, knowing he wasn't going to lay a hand on her. "You asked me to teach you to fight," he growled. "You gonna listen, or just stand here telling me how you already know all you need to know? 'Cause I got shit to do."
"It was just a question."
"Well, I don't feel like answerin'."
He whirled, and she almost smiled.
"If you're trying to scare me, you're going to have to try harder," she called.
He snorted out some sound halfway between disgust and a laugh. He leaned against a tree, starting to clean his nails with the tip of his own knife, which was as long as her forearm.
She went back to practicing her swings, oddly comforted by the exchange.
He knew he could make her flinch. That night after Sophia came out of the barn, he'd thrown every cruel word he could think of at her. He'd chosen his barbs well but none of them hit the mark because she could so clearly see the hurt beneath. He wanted to have found her little girl for her, and he couldn't. Daryl hadn't quite seemed to know what to do with the depth of his own pain that night.
But she hadn't let him chase her off. Then he had stepped in too fast, one of his hunter-quick motions she wasn't quite used to yet and old muscle memory flinched, her head jerking back to avoid a slap.
She'd seen the horror in his eyes at what he'd done, then right on its heels, the knowledge that she just gave him the key to getting her out of his face. She watched him struggle with himself, trying to decide how bad he wanted to be left alone. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to use her weak point against her.
At that point, she'd been gaining respect for him for weeks, building affection for him for days, but that's when she knew. She could trust him. She could always trust him.
"Keep your elbow tight. If'n you wing it out like that, weakens your strike," he said without looking up.
"You'd make a good daddy."
He jerked, his eyes coming up wide. She grinned, happy to have gotten a reaction out of him. "You've got eyes in the back of your head already. See everything."
He tipped his chin up. "I see that walker behind you."
She whirled, and he was right. It was just starting to moan, maybe fifteen feet out. She thought she saw movement further back, too, but she couldn't bear to take her eyes off it to check. A long string of flesh had torn down from its cheek and it hung from its chin, waggling with every lurching step.
Carol backed toward Daryl, the knife falling to her side.
"What you doin'?" He nodded toward the walker. "Practice. That's what we're out here for, ain't it? It's just one, anyway."
She took a deep breath, glancing at Daryl. He wasn't even bothering to watch the walker, but his knife was still in his hand as he cleaned his thumbnail, and his crossbow leaned against the tree next to him. If she screwed this up, he wouldn't let anything happen to her.
She took a shaky step toward the walker, then another one.
"Don't hold the knife so tight," Daryl said. "Makes it easier to drop."
Her heart was beating so fast she could barely stand upright and she couldn't feel her fingers. If she held the knife any looser, she'd drop it for sure.
The walker reached for her, broken fingers rasping over her shirt. Its moan huffed out, rot-tinged air clinging to her face. Carol jerked the knife up and stabbed wildly. The tip wasn't pointed straight down and the blade of the knife hit its skull and skittered off.
The walker grabbed her, dragging her in toward its mouth. She jumped backward and the walker came with her, its weight tipping them both off balance so she fell. She landed on a rock, pain jarring up through her back. In the second of shock, it nearly got its teeth into her face.
She jerked up both arms, panic shooting through her when she realized she must have lost the knife in the fall. "Daryl!"
"Grab it by the neck with one hand and hold it back so it can't bite you," he said. "Get your knife back with your other."
Its teeth snapped just above her face. Blood and tissue still caught between them from its last meal. Her arms trembled from the effort of holding it back. No way could she do that with one hand. If she let go to scrabble for the knife, it would have her.
"I can't! I'm not strong enough!"
"Stab it!" he yelled, not sounding so calm anymore. "The hell you doin'? Stop messing around!"
The walker yanked at her shoulders, its mouth crushing ever closer to her face. Wetness smeared across her nose as one of its lips grazed her.
Why wasn't Daryl helping? He was just going to let it kill her, wasn't he? He probably thought he was making a point but by the time he realized she was faking her lack of strength, it would be too late. And why shouldn't it be? She was worthless. Weak. Ed had told her enough times, and he'd been right. She couldn't even protect her daughter, the one thing she said she'd always do, even if she did nothing else in her life right. She was a failure. She couldn't fight off one lone walker and there was a whole world of them now.
The strength just oozed out of her arms. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. Walkers everywhere, no Sophia to go back to anyway. Her body curled without her telling it to, into the ball she'd always fallen into after Ed threw her to the ground. It didn't make the blows hurt less but it just…happened. She simply couldn't do anything else.
The walker on top of her jerked, and for a second she thought Daryl had finally stepped in and shot it. But no, it wasn't gone. It had just moved. She was further underneath its rotting body now. She could hear its teeth snapping together somewhere above her head, its knees kicking her in the hips as it tried to thrash its way back down to biting distance.
"Get your knife!" Daryl roared.
She flinched at the viciousness of his tone, and her mind drifted a little further from her body. There was nothing she could do to stop what was about to happen. But she didn't have to think about it, didn't have to let her mind dwell on what was happening. She could remember cuddling Sophia back when they still had beds, reading her little girl her favorite story: The Velveteen Rabbit.
"What are you doing, woman?" Daryl shouted. "Get your knife, get it now! More's coming! Stab that fucking walker!"
She tried not to hear him, to focus on the words to the Velveteen Rabbit, but he was shouting so loudly and the walker was bruising her with its kicks. She had no idea how it hadn't managed to bite her yet. More were coming. Daryl wouldn't have time to save her, even if he decided to. Why hadn't it bitten her yet?
If she turned, Daryl would have to finish her himself.
The thought stabbed into her like a cold needle, out of nowhere.
She remembered the day in front of Hershel's barn, when Sophia came out, her beautiful eyes all glazed over and white. She'd felt Daryl gather himself to get up after he'd caught her. She'd seen him finish off dozens of infected. Friends, acquaintances. Hell, he tried to kill Jim himself when no one else would allow it and she'd watched the two of them quietly playing cards together, on lots of nights before that. But when it came to Sophia, Daryl had sagged back down with her, both of them flattened to the dirt with the weight of their grief. He couldn't finish Sophia, and Rick had to do it.
Carol threw out a hand, groping blindly on the ground. If she could get the knife before the walker got in position to bite her, she could at least try to stab it. If she turned and Daryl hesitated, she might bite him and then his death would be her fault. She'd be the one walker he couldn't fight.
Grass, dirt, rocks. Her fumbling hand finally hit smooth metal and she snatched up the knife. She was holding it wrong but didn't have time to fix that. She just stabbed wildly at the walker on top of her.
Daryl jerked in a breath and cursed, and suddenly the walker was moving. She stabbed it again, but it was still writhing on top of her and she couldn't see. She aimed higher and blood sprayed.
A blob of something chunky hit her face.
She stabbed again and it went still. She shoved with her arms, but the walker was collapsed on top of her, bleeding onto her face. She gagged and sobbed, finally rolling it off by getting her feet up under her and shoving with her hips.
"'Bout goddamn time," Daryl said tersely. "One more coming."
She looked up and squeaked in terror at the moaning, reeling walker coming at her. "No, Daryl, I can't, not another one, please please please." She choked on her tears, her eyes blurring so all she could see was jerking motion, dirty cloth and red of blood. They were all so bloody.
The walker she'd killed still had one gnawed ankle lying limply across her leg. She hyperventilated, staring at it.
"Get up," Daryl snarled, and when she didn't, he grabbed her arm and hauled her up. "Don't let 'em get you on the ground. It's harder to fight, easier for their weight to pin you. Kick them down and then stab 'em where they're easier to reach."
He was talking. Just talking like this was totally normal but there was a dead person coming right at her. Daryl wasn't her friend, wasn't her anything. He was going to stand here and watch her die.
Terror bubbled up from her belly and she screamed.
"You going for extra credit or what? Stop drawing in more," he said, and then the walker was on her.
At the first touch of its fingers to her, she went mad. She started stabbing. Anything she could reach. Its arms, its throat, its mouth. It staggered under the force of her blows and her knife finally sunk in along its nose. It fell, her knife stuck in its skull as she fell on top of it. The walker's mouth still clicked open and closed and then she jerked the knife sideways and that must have done enough damage because the thing died.
She shoved away from it, frantically wiping blood off her arms, her face, her clothes. It just smeared more and more. Brighter. More disgusting. They hadn't camped by a stream and there was nowhere to wash. She spun, staring at the forest but there were no more walkers to be seen, despite all the noise they'd made.
"Not bad," Daryl said.
She whirled on him, still holding the knife in one shaking hand. "What the hell was that? You were supposed to teach me to fight, not feed me to them!"
"What did you think you was fightin', a crash test dummy? You just laid down and waited for it to bite you!"
"I'm learning," she hurled back. "What, were you just going to let me die because I screwed up my first try?"
"You call that trying?" His eyes flamed. "If you're gonna curl up and take it when they come after you, you might as well die right here." He stalked toward her, stabbing a finger into her face. "I'm not gonna keep you alive just so I can watch you die the first time I fuck up."
He threw his arms out to the sides and she'd have flinched if she had any reaction left in her to give.
"You know how many times I fucked up in my life, Carol? You look at me like…" He stuttered to a stop, pain wrenching his face. "But I'm nothin'. Nothin', you hear me? You really gonna bet your whole life on some dumb Georgia redneck who never finished high school?" He backed away, shaking his head. "You're better than that."
Carol sucked in a breath, the truth behind his anger hitting her all at once. And like it always, as soon as he needed her, she steadied.
"You're better than that." She came after him, not letting him expand the distance between them. "Don't you talk about yourself that way, like you really believe that's all you are." She paused, tried to order her chaotic thoughts. "But you're right. I shouldn't have relied so much on you. It's not fair and like you said, I'm not your problem. I just…" She tilted her head, searching his face. "I'm not a fighter like you, Daryl. You can put a knife in my hand. Teach me to hold it. But whatever's in you that makes you a survivor? I don't think I have that."
"Horse shit." The anger flashed back into his face. "I saw you smash your husband's face in with a pick axe. If you'd have done that when he was alive, everything he put you through coulda been over, just like that." He snapped his fingers. "Now, when you got a walker coming after you, and you're scared and you just want it to be over?" He flicked the flat of the knife in her hand. "You make it be over."
He threw the crossbow across his back and stalked off to hunt, leaving her standing, shocky and bloodstained, in the midst of the three walkers they'd killed.
#
Dinner that night was tense. Lori wouldn't stop hovering, even after she helped Carol wash off the worst of the walker gore with bottled water. Hershel kept sending quiet, mildly disapproving looks across the fire to Daryl. And Daryl snapped at everyone who so much as looked at him, then went silent with a tension that made Carol's stomach queasy every time she stole a glance at him.
Carol couldn't get her thoughts straight enough for one to follow the other. She was jerking to check the forest at every sound, itching to smooth things over with Daryl and to scream at him all at once. And yet in the next minute she'd cycle right back to guilt, because she'd done this. She'd forced him to take care of her because when push came to shove, she kept folding. She didn't know how to be any different.
So in the end, she did what she did best: nothing.
That night, when she finished washing what few dishes they still owned, she went back to her bedroll. Her footsteps slowed to a stop before she got there. Between her and the walker-ridden forest, where Daryl always slept, there was just the knife he'd given her. Driven into the earth all the way to the hilt.
Author's Note: Next up, we get to see where Carol got her brass knuckle-handled trench knife.