Chapter 3: Better

Carol got up the next morning, her eyes grainy from lack of sleep, knuckles sore from gripping the knife all night. She packed as quick as she could, a black feeling bitter on the back of her tongue. But she heard the motorcycle engine fire up before she was ready anyway. She broke into a run, headed for the trucks, not caring who saw. She didn't make it. He pulled out, leaving to scout the road, before she even had a chance to call his name.

She watched him through the windshield of Glenn's truck all day. He looked so exposed out there on the motorcycle, rain soaking into his jacket, dripping off the leather of his vest. Every time he weaved around walkers, she stopped breathing.

It had never felt so vulnerable to her when she rode with him. He'd just lean his weight a little and the bike would speed past the threat. They slalomed through walkers like they were no more than cones. The closest one had ever come, Daryl just held up a fist and let the speed of the motorcycle carry it straight into the walker's chest, knocking him down like a bowling pin dressed in rotting flesh.

But watching him do the same things, alone, from the safety of the truck, she could hardly blink.

He avoided her through the lunch break, but when they stopped for the night, she waited until he was alone by the trucks and then walked straight there, her steps long and quick.

She could see it in his posture when he heard her coming. He didn't look up from the rag he was running over the wheels of his crossbow, keeping the gears clean.

"I'm ready for my second lesson." She wasn't. She had her hands clenched into fists inside her pockets, but she'd almost rather he feed her to another walker than wait through another night and day of his silence. She didn't have much left. The bare thread she'd been clutching was starting to fray. "You coming, or not?"

His red rag had stopped moving. After a minute, he nodded. He didn't look up.

"Walk south. Ten minutes from camp. Meet you there."

She caught up a little breath, but then nodded. He couldn't see that, so she forced herself to add, "Okay."

It was another test. She hadn't walked alone into the forest since they'd stopped looking for Sophia. Nothing else was enough to make her leave the precarious safety of the group and risk everything she might come across. Walkers usually staggered in at least groups of two or three. Sometime ten, fifteen. She wouldn't last three breaths up against that. No one would stop them after the first bite, either. They'd tear her into sinews and chunks, her blood gushing out over their teeth as she screamed…

She took one more look at Daryl's black leather vest, the outline of wings quiet against his back.

Checking the angle of the sun, she turned south and started to walk. The watch Ed had given her was in her pocket, and she pulled it out by one broken strap and checked when she thought it had been ten minutes.

Three.

She choked down more oxygen and moved her tingling feet forward. She passed an old pile of hair and guts. Red streaks on the trees. A bone, a little further. This forest was a slaughterhouse. Every forest probably was, nowdays. There was no such thing as a nature walk anymore.

How did Daryl stand it, when he went hunting?

There was no sign of walkers, though. Not a sound, a moan.

She checked her watch. Five minutes. Over her shoulder, camp was entirely out of sight. How far would her scream carry if she were attacked? But then, no one would make it to help in time. Her muscles bunched and she half turned back. She could just stay in camp. No one would force her to learn to defend herself.

But no, Daryl would be watching. She hadn't heard a single ruffle of leaves, but she'd seen how quiet he could be, when he wanted. That crossbow could shoot 500 yards. He'd be covering her. This was a test, not a death sentence.

She walked slowly, her eyes flicking between her watch and the forest around her. As soon as it ticked over to ten minutes, she stopped. Checked the footing, kicked a rock out of the way that might trip her. Turned slowly in a circle. Way off in the trees, she saw movement. It wasn't jerky, though. Smooth and coordinated, like a man in his prime.

Not Daryl, though. The clothes were too light, the walk too straightforward. He turned a lot when he walked. Went sideways, backwards. Sidled around trees. He slid through the forest like he was part of it, flowing like water, pausing to test the air like a fox.

Rick nodded to her when he stopped. "Daryl asked me to help you out. Said you wanted to learn to fight with a knife."

She stared at him, but his blue eyes were calm today, without that frenetic edge of one of his bad days. As her anxiety slid away, she realized there were only two reasons Daryl might have sent Rick. He knew she didn't trust their leader anymore. So maybe he thought she'd fight harder if she didn't trust Rick to save her.

Or, Daryl knew he needed to let her make her choice, fight her own battle, but he couldn't bring himself to watch her die. She dropped her head, staring at her blood-spattered sneakers, her belly twisting.

It was respect. He wouldn't do it for her, and hell, maybe he even thought she'd fail. But he respected her enough to make her try.

Carol threw back her head and shouted, "Come on! Come and get me!"

Rick chuckled. "That's one way to do it, I guess."

She paced off the open spot in the clearing, fear pouring cold through her veins as she saw the first movement through the trees. She loosened her grip on her knife and looked Rick in the eye. "Do me a favor?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Don't save me."

#

That night, Carol laid out her blanket under the truck, sticking her hands out into the rain to wash the rest of the blood off them. It was old, black. Walker blood. Her blood was safe in her veins, her throat raw from screaming because during the third walker, she'd frozen again. Rick had broken his word and hauled the walker off her, but he did make her get up and finish it off.

The freezing rain trickled off her hands and into the dirt. She watched the man silently standing guard by the trees. The outline of the crossbow over his shoulder just another stripe of black in a forest constructed of branching shadows.

She slept.

#

He dodged her for the whole next day of traveling. But when she saw him heading off to hunt, she followed him right into the forest, ducking around in front of him when he didn't stop.

"You pulled the walker off me," she said. "When I faltered, you pulled it up so its teeth couldn't reach me, and you held it there so it couldn't bite while I tried to get up the guts to fight it."

"I ain't a murderer," he spat at her. "Took you long enough to figure it out."

He went to duck around her, and she touched his arm. He stilled. It wasn't something they did. A pat on his shoulder, sometimes, if he was in a good mood. It was okay to touch on the bike. But not like this. Lingering, on bare skin. His bicep balled tight under her hand.

"I know you're mad at me," she said. "I'm not totally clear on why, but I know you are and I want you to know I understand why you did what you did. Two days ago, and yesterday, too, with sending Rick. I know you're disappointed in me for not defending myself better."

He flicked a sidelong look at her, tugging at the strap of his crossbow.

"But you can't be more disappointed in me than I am every time I don't see Andrea by that fire." Tears sprang to her eyes, though she'd practiced this speech. She thought she could say her name without flinching. Daryl shifted his weight, boots creaking.

"I want to know if you can forgive me. Because having you around, having you as my friend," she emphasized the word because it sounded so wrong but she didn't know what else to call him. A friend was someone you had coffee with. Not someone who made sure you were fed and tried to jolt you into living again. Who brought you a flower in a beer bottle because it was the only way he knew to carry hope. "You're the only thing that's making all this bearable. I'm trying, Daryl." Her voice cracked. "I'm trying to learn to fight. Can we go back to the way things were? Please?"

He flicked his hair back, guilt flickering in his face. And a little bit of surprise. "Rained like hell last couple days. Didn't think you'd miss being on the bike."

She smiled, wiping tears away quickly. "Well, I did."

He huffed a breath out through his nose, looking out at the trees beyond. "Come get soaked with me tomorrow then, suit yourself. I ain't gonna stop you."

"Are you going to train me? If you're back from hunting in time? Rick gets the job done but he's got no technique, no tips."

It wasn't exactly true. He micromanaged every one of her movements, but she didn't understand the way he explained things, and half the time, his techniques didn't work for her smaller build.

"Besides, he never yells at all." She grinned, a little giddy that he was speaking to her again. "Deputy Rick's got nothing on Drill Sergeant Dixon."

"Hell." He kicked a little at the dirt, looking pleased. "I ain't never joined the military. Merle was always in the clink, in the marines. Dixons can't take orders worth a shit. I'm no better."

"You're better," she said softly, and she wasn't talking about the way he listened to Rick, once the other man had earned his respect.

She wasn't talking about Rick at all.

Author's Note: I know, I know, I promised the story behind Carol's knife today. But then I split the chapter in two because I liked this chapter ender so much. So we'll have two chapters today!