Chapter 6

Carol pulled her arms around herself as they walked. It was getting dark, and the only sounds surrounding them were from the footfalls of wild animals in the woods. She shivered at how silent the rest of the world was. No garbage trunks banging down the street. No horns honking. No jumbo jets flying overhead. It was just silence. Wind and leaves and other sounds of nature. It was unsettling and peaceful at the same time.

"You cold?" he asked, peeking over at her to watch her hunch her shoulders a little.

"Not really. It's just…eerie," she said quietly. "Too quiet."

"Yeah. Hard to get used to."

"You know, back home, before all of this, I'd be putting dinner on the table, and Sophia and I would be getting ready to watch Jeopardy. We didn't usually get the answers right, but it was fun to guess." Daryl chuckled lightly, and Carol glanced at him. "What about you?"

"Dunno," he muttered. "Never really had a set plan. Kinda did my own thing."

"Where'd you work?"

"What's it matter?" Daryl asked. "That life's over now. No use talkin' 'bout it." Carol realized she'd struck a nerve. Clearly, Daryl Dixon wasn't the kind of man that wanted to talk about himself.

"You weren't married, were you?" Carol asked gently.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You don't seem…used to being around women."

"I been around women."

"That's not what I mean," she chuckled. "I'm guessing…you lived alone. A bachelor." Daryl rolled his eyes at the word. "Come on, can't you give me something? You know about my marriage. My divorce. I mean…"

"Why do ya care so much anyway?" he asked. "Tryin' to check the perimeter. Can't do that if you're yammerin' in my ear." Carol stopped for a moment, and Daryl continued forward. She narrowed her eyes, deciding not to be offended by his harshness, and she continued to follow after him in silence.

Daryl felt the back of his neck grow hot, and his mouth felt dry. His heart was actually pounding like he'd just finished chasing after his game. The way she'd been prodding him with questions had made him uncomfortable, and he felt bad about snapping at her, because clearly she'd meant no harm, but he'd never been the kind of guy people cared to get to know. He'd never been the kind of guy that people were genuinely curious about. Then again, of course, for all he knew, he and Carol and Sophia were the only people left alive. She didn't have anybody else to talk to, he figured, bitterly. So now he felt worse about snapping at her, but he wasn't the kind of guy who had ever been able to just open up and talk to someone like that.

Carol watched the way he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and stuffed his hands into his pockets. She figured he'd be kicking rocks out of the way if he wasn't trying so hard to be quiet. She noticed the way the wind swept his hair into his eyes, and her gaze shifted along his profile, noticing the way his jaw was set tensely and he seemed to be chewing the inside of his lip, trying not to speak, trying not to say something he might regret.

He was handsome. That, she knew. His eyes were an extreme, piercing blue that were almost hypnotic sometimes. He was strong, he was confident in his hunting and tracking skills, but he didn't seem to be too confident when it came to other people. It was charming, really, even when he acted a little bit like an ass when somebody—like her—started asking questions.

They walked in almost completely silence all the way around the area, and when Daryl seemed satisfied that they were safe for the time being, they headed back up to the cabin. Inside, Sophia had set the table and was already sipping stew out into small bowls. She looked a bit more cheerful, and Carol moved over to give her a hug before releasing her to finish setting the table.

Sophia excused herself as soon as her bowl was empty. She wanted to get back to her reading, and Carol wasn't about to keep her daughter from her favorite past time. As useless as reading might have been at that point in time, it was something that helped Sophia maintain a sense of normalcy, and she wasn't going to take that away from her.

"It's good," Daryl said, taking another bite of stew.

"Thanks," Carol said softly.

"You a cook or somethin'?"

"No," she said with a hint of a smile. "Just a lot of practice cooking. I usually make too much."

"S'alright. Stick the pot outside; keep it cold, we can heat it up for breakfast in the morning." Carol nodded.

"Sure," she murmured, having a sip of water to wash her meal down with. "More?"

"Nah, I'm good." Carol nodded and picked up the pot and carried it to the door. She headed outside and felt how the air had cooled considerably since their walk earlier. She shivered as she sat it down to keep it cool to prevent it from spoiling. She stood there for a few minutes after, feeling the wind slapping the side of the mountain. It chilled her to the bone, and she hugged her arms around herself to stay warm before turning to walk back to the house.

As she turned, she heard the raspy moan before she saw the face of the walker just inches from hers. She stumbled backward, startled, and her heel caught in the soft ground, twisting in an unnatural way, pain shooting up her leg as she waivered. Her heart thundered in her chest as she felt her body falling backward, a gasp replacing the scream she needed. She felt her body tense up and begin to ache the moment she fell, and as the walker moved closer to her, its dead eyes peering down at her in the darkness, she reached for her knife. As she tried to raise her arm to protect herself, a sharp twinge of pain had her crying out hoarsely.

The walker stumbled and fell over her, and she couldn't breathe, and she kicked at it as hard as she could, groaning at the unsettling feeling of cold fleshy hands gripping at her arms. Its face was just level with her neck, and she finally managed something of a scream.

"No!" she yelled out, plunging her knife into the only place she could reach, the walker's lung. She knew it wouldn't do any good, but her arm was pinned, she couldn't move. She tried pushing her weight against the walkers, to no avail, and she realized in that moment, she had nothing to do but wait for the bite, wait for death. Still, she continued to heave against it, not giving up, not making herself an easy meal.

When the walker slumped against her, face against neck, she thought that was the end, but when its body stilled against hers, she looked up to see Daryl standing over her, his eyes filled with anger and panic. He reached down, pulling the body off of her, and she could breathe again. Walker blood stained her shirt, and Daryl knelt down.

"You ok? You bit?" His hands moved awkwardly over her shoulders and arms, checking for any sign of injury.

"He didn't…I'm hurt but…I'm not bit," she choked out, tears stinging her eyes. She willed herself not to cry. She willed herself to be strong, but her lower lip trembled, and a few tears escaped despite her best efforts.

"Jesus," he murmured. "Can ya get up?"

"I twisted my ankle," she grunted, as he pulled her to sit up. "And my shoulder's banged up, but I'm ok."

"Here. Put…put your arm around my shoulder," he offered, grunting as she held on tightly and he helped her stand. She winced in pain as she tried to hobble along with him. "C'mere." He pulled her in close, and she inhaled sharply when his arm curled around her waist, and he bent to catch the backs of her knees, hoisting her up in his arms. She held on tightly, and he carried her into the house, depositing her gently on the couch in front of the fire.

Carol shivered and looked down at the disgusting mess on her shirt, and Daryl cleared his throat.

"I'll get ya another shirt."

"Thanks," she said with a weak smile, bringing her sore ankle up to rest on her other knee so she could try and unlace the boot. She gasped at the pain as she started to tug at the laces, and Daryl heard her cry out in pain as he walked into the room.

"Here," he mumbled, tossing her a t-shirt from her room. "This ok?"

"It's fine," she said with a nod. "Can you grab me a damp cloth?" He nodded and fetched it for her. Her hands trembled as she lowered her sore foot back to the ground. Daryl brought back a damp cloth, gently holding it over the fire to warm it a little before handing it to her. "Thank you." She saw the way he looked at her, as if he wanted to help, and she gave him a gentle smile.

"Can you give me a few minutes?" she asked, pulling at the neck of her damp, sticky shirt, groaning at the feel of walker muck on her skin.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," he muttered, his ears and cheeks reddening. "Don't try'n stand."

"I won't," she assured him. He nodded uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck before he got up and quickly.

"Gonna see if there's anymore outside," he murmured, grabbing his crossbow off the floor next to the door and hurrying outside. Carol swallowed hard and pulled the offending article off of her body, grimacing as she began to wipe away the muck. It came off dark brown on her cloth, and her stomach lurched. She bit back the taste of bile at the thought that she was basically cleaning off the bodily fluids of a decaying corpse.

She wiped herself down, and when she felt confident that she'd gotten everything off, she pulled the green t-shirt on over her head and tossed the cloth into the fire. She considered the dirty shirt for a moment, deciding it'd be more practical to wash it and try and get the stains out. So, she tried to hoist herself up to make it over to the bucket where they tossed their clothes for washing, but one step had her crying out in pain. Daryl came in from outside just in time to see her fall back onto the couch.

"Thought you said you'd stay put," he scolded, and she eyed him.

"Yeah, well, I thought I could make it." She handed him the shirt, and he put it in the bucket.

"Sit back," he instructed. He knelt on the floor, and she watched as he nervously chewed his lip as his hands began to work with the laces of her boots. He took the boot off of her good foot first, and she wiggled her toes a little at the freeing sensation.

"You ready? Might hurt a little."

"Yeah. Just do it," she said with a wince, gripping the arm of the couch as he began to unlace the boot. To her surprise, his touch was gentle, and she didn't feel a whole lot of discomfort when he began to slide the boot from her foot. He tossed it aside, his fingers peeling back her sock to examine her ankle.

"You think it's broken?" she asked, as his fingers gently prodded the swollen flesh.

"Dunno. Gonna have to keep off it tonight." His eyes met hers, and she gave him a thankful little smile.

"You saved my life," she murmured.

"Wasn't nothin'," he muttered. "You'd have done the same for me."

"It was something," she said softly. "Thank you." Daryl felt his neck grow hot again. Her kind words and the way she was looking at him like he was worth something made his heart pound.

"You're welcome," he murmured, the words feeling dull and flat as he spoke them. But when he looked up at her again, her smile was widening. It was in that moment, that he realized that he was important to her. Somehow, to her, he mattered.