Because I'm in my dark place and this called at me to be continued for some kind of balance.
Daryl had dragged the deer close enough to the camp that he could see the RV up ahead when the smell hit him. Knowing he was downwind of the base told him one thing that damned near froze his blood.
A Walker was loose on the farm. At least one, but given the strength of the dead odor blowing his way, Daryl knew not to be surprised if it were more than a single stray.
He threw off the rope he'd been using to help bring his kill in and fought the urge to run as he pulled the bow off his shoulder and quickly loaded it. Staying forcibly calm, he focused on the facts of the moment as he set off at a quick, but quiet pace toward the RV, eyes constantly jumping around the open field he covered. His weapon moved naturally along with his gaze, ever and instantly ready to let loose an arrow should his eyes lock onto any threat.
There were no gunshots or screams to be heard. This told him the threat could very well have been dealt with while he was out hunting.
There were no bodies to be seen, walking or fallen in the area. This told him that they weren't dealing with another herd and no one of the group had been taken down where he could see, but it didn't do a damned thing to tell him where the hell everyone was.
The scent on the wind was only that of old death, rot and decaying flesh. This lack of more living smells like blood, feces, piss or vomit – the unpleasant scents that came with death, injury or great fear – lead him to believe that the others were ok.
Or just not aware of the threat yet.
It was both a relief and worry to finally creep up against the sun-warmed metal of the Winnebago. He could hear nothing over his own breath and heartbeat and worked harder to get himself under control.
After a moment, he was able to tune his ears to the light sounds of cooking from the other side of the vehicle. The scrape of some plastic utensil as it stirred something around the cast iron skillet, insuring whatever was being heated over the fire didn't stick and burn in the pan. The domestic noise had grown increasingly comforting to him of late, but at the moment, it just made him frown in confusion.
Still having no idea what he'd find on the other side of this obstacle, he moved away from the RV and went wide around the rear bumper so nothing could surprise him when he stepped into the opening.
There were two kinds of surprises in this world now. The kind where you popped around a corner and a Walker was right there waiting to bite the nearest part of you or the kind where you turned that same corner and were met with the sight of a Walker threatening someone else.
She was sitting beside the fire, cloth wrapped around the hot metal handle of the skillet she held as she fried up some chicken. Her eyes were on her task, but he could tell she wasn't really seeing it. She performed all tasks any more out of more habit than actual want to do them and Daryl wanted to scream at her so badly that his throat muscles just locked down.
The damned thing was a staggering nightmare, torn all to hell by the Walkers that had made it a monster and he could imagine the stench came from this one alone. The guts were likely to be the source of the worst of it and what was left of this creature's intestines were visibly dangling from the tears in its stomach. The sight without the smell was enough to force Daryl to swallow down a reflexive gag.
Despite the muscle instinct that tightened his finger on the trigger of the crossbow, Daryl's mind would not let the arrow fly to take out the threat as it took the last few steps necessary to stand over Carol's vulnerable form.
It was better to get this moment over now rather than wait for later, so they could at least bury her next to her daughter should things play out like that.
He knew the very second she realized she wasn't alone and his eyes wanted to close so he wouldn't have to watch what may happen next, but he couldn't allow it. The horrors his eyes watched while his mind recorded and then looped in the darkness of his sleep were something he'd never flinched away from and wouldn't start now.
Her body stilled for just a moment before her head slowly rose to look over her shoulder. No scream emerged from her as the Walker growled hungrily and reached its hands out to grab her and Daryl wanted to vomit right then, thinking she had chosen the way this scene would play. He wanted to take the choice from her so badly his hand shook on the bow's stock, but he knew he had to allow this to happen.
He had to wonder if maybe his chickenheart had allowed his eyes to close for a moment as he suddenly heard the thwack of skillet hitting flesh. His attention snapped from wherever it had gone for that blink and he saw Carol clamber to her feet, hot iron handle clasped in both hands.
Her first blow had apparently just been blind instinct to force the Walker back and blind panic filled her blue eyes as it came at her again. She swung at the hands reaching for her, snapping one off with the force of the blow, and began to stumble backward, wisely shifting away from the fire. She didn't call out or turn to look for help, just kept her full, horrified attention on the thing in front of her. When it growled and opened it mouth to lunge at her, he saw the way her muscles tightened to swing with all their strength and the black skillet crashed through the creature's face, taking off the jaw and snapping the head almost clean off.
The force with which she had made the desperate move threw off her balance and he watched in terror as her body fell into the Walker's. The bodies went down hard and the cracking splat he heard warned Daryl that at least one head had found a rock sticking up out of the dirt.
He wanted to call to her, but his throat hadn't moved to allow a gulp or breath through since the moment began. Still at ready with his weapon, he crept forward to the tangled limbs in the dirt. Neither moved as he squatted down and he allowed a single "Please" to be thought in prayer before his hand went slowly to her shoulder.
He didn't get a chance to turn her or check her over. She came up at him at that simple touch with a scream the likes of which he'd never heard. Her pupils were dilated with fear and shock and he knew she couldn't see who or what it was she swung at now. Her body was set in survival mode and he was so damned glad of that fact that he hardly flinched as the still hot metal slammed into his shoulder and knocked him sideways.
That same survival instinct drove his foot out to trip her when she would have brought the impromptu weapon down on his fool head. He caught her as she fell off balance, accepting her weight as it knocked them both to the dirt. His arms went around her tightly as she instantly began to fight against him to get back up. Realizing it was useless in this kind of tangle, Carol let go of the skillet and came at him with her whole body. Fingers turned claws that would have gouged out his eyes, elbows and knees hard, blunt instruments that she beat against him.
He'd be riddled in bruises from this, he knew, as he wrestled with her as quickly and gently as he could to calm her. Her elbow may have snapped a rib just before he managed to get her writhing body under his own for more leverage. The whole time her throat continued to issue the most scared and wounded sounds he hoped to never hear again and he unconsciously countered them with every soothing noise he could think of.
Vaguely, he was aware of the others coming out of the woodwork and he'd deal later with finding out where the hell they'd been and how the fuck Carol had gotten left alone, but for now she needed his full attention. Her body bucked wildly beneath him, hands slapping at his face and shoulders until he managed to get a grip of her wrists.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo," she howled as he pinned her arms down beside her twisting head.
The way in which she screamed it sent the others stumbling back, all of them just watching the scene in some helpless kind of horror as they gladly let Daryl try to handle the hysterical woman.
Just as helpless, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and began to plead, not caring of the audience if the words got through her panic. It seemed to take forever, but slowly, the twisting of her body began to lesson and her screamed fell to great, gasping sobs. His mantra of "Please. Carol. It's me" kept pouring out until she suddenly stilled completely. He waited for a moment to make sure the fright had gone from her then slowly quieted himself and raised his head. Her face was filthy with dirt and tears and her eyes were still wild as they met his, but she was the most beautiful sight in that moment that he could have wept.
None of their audience moved, still too unsure of what they had come upon, but their presence was of no matter to the dusty pair on the ground.
There was something in her eyes that scared him, so Daryl looked away to take a quick inventory. His first concern was the corpse that remained unmoving nearby and he could see the red and gore spread under the zombie's head to know that it had been done in by the rock. Next, he did a quick survey of what he could see of her injuries. Her left hand was a blistering red mess from the burns she'd gotten for grabbing part of the hot metal handle without a cloth. There would be more burns found on them both, he knew, as he felt his shoulder blistering from where it had gotten the full brunt of the skillet's bottom.
"You watched," she croaked out suddenly, taking him from his task.
Accusation, that's what he had seen once she settled and he couldn't deny it.
"Am I not worth the arrow to save?"
"No!" he denied hotly, then thought on how his response came out. "It wasn't that! Never that," he released one wrist and awkwardly made to touch her cheek. "I'll never let one get you."
The laugh that that choked out of her as she twisted her cheek away from his almost caress stabbed his gut as her hand began to shove at his shoulder, which tore at his heart.
"It was right there! It was practically on top of me and you did nothing," she began to get worked up again, twisting to get out of his hold. "You watched it come for me!"
"I had to know," he tried to argue, fighting with her once again as her body came back to angrily writhing life. "Had to see.."
"See what?" she snarled, knee finding enough space to come up quick and hard between his legs. "See the sad old cow get eaten?"
The moment it took him to catch his breath and swallow down the balls she'd knocked up into his throat was all it took for her to get loose of him. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed her up before she went more than a few steps.
She came into his arms fighting, as he'd known she would after the fight she'd given him moments before.
Half the group watching jumped back at the violence they were witnessing, the other half moved closer in a helpless desire to break it up.
Daryl didn't try talking to her in this state until he had her back on the ground under him. He took her down as gently as he could, and turned her on her stomach with her arms held crossed across her chest using the weight of his body to hold the limbs trapped. He braced his knees on the dirt on the outside of her thighs and used his feet to hold her legs still when they would have kicked. Her head was turned for breathing, cheek pressed hard against the dirt.
It wasn't a kind hold he was forced to put her in, but she was immobile and that's what he needed. Knowing she wasn't at all receptive to anything he might say at the moment, he still pressed his sweating forehead to the side of hers and spoke quietly into her ear.
"I had to know which way you were gonna go," he tried to explain, even though she wouldn't understand a bit of where it was coming from. "Couldn't force it on you. I had to see if you wanted…"
"…to not become like Sophia?" her huffed words stirred up the dust her face was in and he eased up so she should breathe clean air.
He kept easing up as he realized she wasn't going to fight him any more and he reluctantly moved away from her body. They both shifted to sit on the hard dirt, tense in a way they'd never before been in each other's company. He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but couldn't manage to look in her eyes. Her anger at him was felt clearly enough in the way she was all but vibrating with it.
"Not wanting," she began softly, drawing his eyes up reluctantly, "to be torn apart by one of those ….things." He watched her gulp and knew they were both remembering that sweet little girl turned to one of them. "Not wanting that…it's not a test of my will to live, Daryl." Their gazes locked and the raw agony he saw in hers was too much to see, but he didn't look away. "There's no living here. It's all gone. Even with Sophia alive….I'd known that," his confusion was plain at her blank declaration of hopelessness. "I didn't 'opt out' when the choice was given to us, dammit," she reminded him furiously. "I've been lying in that RV for days with access to every gun in this camp and I never went for a single one of them, Daryl. I may not be Mary-fucking-Sunshine right now, but all I know in this world is that I never want one of them to get me."
With that declaration, she got to her feet and turned from him, striding shakily through the group to climb into the Winnebago and slam the door behind her.
The violence of her words and action were so unexpected from the woman that every body present, including his own, jumped a little. Then the eyes that had been glued to every action of the two of them began darting around the camp, taking in the chicken strewn on the ground near the fire ring and the Walker sprawled on the ground in the midst of their sanctuary. When they looked to him for an explanation, he could offer none as he got to his feet.
"Daryl…," Rick came to his side, worry in every line of his face and body.
"I'll clean this up," is all he said, body moving stiff and tired to grab the feet of the corpse.
The others moved quietly to help restore order, with the exception of Shane and Andrea who checked their guns for sufficient ammo then went off to insure there were no other Walkers anywhere near their base.
Not knowing or caring about the origins of the corpse, they burnt it a distance from the camp and main house. After the fire went out, Daryl collected his deer, which had fortunately been untouched by any predators. He dragged it the rest of the way to camp and focused on the familiar routine of gutting, cleaning and skinning the kill. His mind was curiously blank and he knew anyone watching him would see the same thing he had seen of late when watching Carol.
Someone performing a chore out of habit without a care for the actual act, eyes unseeing on the task at hand.
In a back part of his mind, he tried to put her words in some kind of order so they would make sense. They wouldn't make sense to him, though, as he couldn't figure out how they had been meant.
She wasn't suicidal or looking to be Walker bait, so he should be happy with that.
Should be.