Chapter 23
Carol's private place was a small fishing dock—probably made by some old fisherman that didn't want anybody honing in on his catches—that she'd found hidden away in a thick overgrowth of weeds and cat tails. She'd spread a blanket out there earlier, hoping to bring Daryl to this place where they could have some privacy and listen to the sounds of the water lazily passing under the wooden stilts and make love without the worry that someone might come barging in their tent at any second to ask for help with something.
Daryl lay flat on his back staring up at the cloudy sky, his gaze dancing along the outlines of the clouds. In his mind, he played the age-old childhood game of making out shapes of elephants and race cars and dinosaurs in the fluffy white pillows in the sky. When her hand skimmed over his bare chest, he closed his eyes and sighed softly, moving to link his fingers with hers.
"I never asked you about your scars," she said gently, resting her chin in the center of his chest, drawing lazy circles on his skin with her fingertips. He sighed and opened his eyes, peering up and picturing a razor sharp belt lashing through the air. He winced slightly when her finger traced over one of the scars that curled around onto his side like a parasite living under his skin.
"Bet you had a good dad," Daryl said gently, folding his arms behind his head. Carol sat up a little, propping her chin in one hand.
"I did," she said with a fond, sad smile and a look in her eyes that was far away, years away. "I miss him."
"Don't miss mine," he murmured, a long, slow breath curling from his lips. He took a few shaky breaths, memories of cuts and bruises and awkwardly fumbling through explanations at school every Monday morning when the teacher asked him with that nervous expectation in her voice, as if hoping he wouldn't tell her the truth and get her involved in some kind of CPS nightmare. He never told her the truth, and he was certain she was grateful for that.
He visibly tensed as his breath caught in his chest, and Carol's eyes sparkled as her gaze took in every inch of his face.
"I'm sorry, Daryl. I shouldn't have…I didn't…," she said softly, leaning forward to gently brush a wisp of hair out of his face. He smoothed his hand up her arm, reaching to thread his fingers in her short hair.
"I want ya to know," he murmured softly, bringing her down toward him for a kiss. "The scars…they're just part of who I am. But so are you." Her face snapped up toward his, and he saw the question linger in her eyes. She gave him a little smile and curled up against him, her bare breasts pressing against his side as she draped a leg over his and reveled in the feel of his warmth pressed against her own.
"Wasn't always like that," he said quietly. "I remember my dad bein' my hero. But he started drinkin' and got mean when he drank. He wasn't the same after that."
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, resting her head against his chest, listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes and gently rubbed his side as if trying to soothe away years of pain that she wished someone had been able to spare him from.
"S'alright."
"It's not," she sniffled. "I hate to think of you in pain. I hate that it happened to you." She swallowed hard and took a couple of slow breaths. "Ed raised his hand to me once. I told him if he hit me, I'd take Sophia and he'd never see us again. He put his hand down and walked away." She shrugged a little. "I was a grown woman. You were just a boy. It's not fair, Daryl." He gently rubbed her back, and she snuggled closer to him, and those words, those three words he wanted to say so badly danced along his lips, lingering as his heart and his brain started their tiring race to see which one could convince him first.
Then the moment passed when a walker stumbled somewhere on the other side of the river, and Carol shot straight up, reaching for her pistol. Daryl sat up quickly and put his hand over hers, lowering the weapon.
"No need. They ain't gettin' over here."
"And a gunshot would just draw out more." She sighed tiredly, pulling her shirt over her head as Daryl reached for his pants.
"Thanks." He glanced up at her, and she gave him a tiny, amused smile. "Not for the sex. I mean, that…was great. I mean…thanks. For bringin' me here, I mean. It's nice. Quiet." Carol chuckled softly and slid her pants up her legs before leaning over to kiss him.
"We'll have to do it again sometime." She crooked her eyebrow at him suggestively. "And I did mean the sex." Daryl snorted at that and zipped his fly before pulling his boots on. "Come on, Pookie." He narrowed his eyes at her as she walked off.
"Pookie?" he whispered to himself. He shook his head, the tiniest smile playing over his lips, and he followed after her, that smile turning into a full-blown grin in seconds.
When night fell on the camp, everybody hovered around the low fire as the temperature dropped quickly. Sarah Rhee had gone to bed an hour ago with the onset of a migraine. Glenn held his sleepy daughter Jenna in his arms, while baby Judith suckled at her bottle as Maggie attempted to feed her. Andrea and Shane spoke quietly to one another, heads bowed low, and every once in a while, Carol caught a glimpse of Andrea looking in her direction. It made her uneasy, but she tried to ignore it. She and Daryl sat side by side, and her arm was curled around his waist as they huddled together to stay warm. Sophia, exhausted from the day's fishing excursion, had retired to Dale's RV to sleep, while Dale sat sipping a hot cup of coffee and exchanging stories about the past with Hershel.
Rick Grimes was quiet tonight, his gaze fixed on the fire as he sipped at his coffee and the wisps of steam spun in the air like pinwheels in the wind.
Beth sat with her back against a tree stump, her feet warming by the fire as she scribbled in her diary. Carl Grimes was close by, watching her, getting little eye rolls out of her when she caught him.
"Poor kid," Daryl chuckled, digging a stick into the ground as he felt Carol's arm tighten around him. "Like a damn soap opera or somethin'."
"I guess some things don't change, even at the end of the world," Carol mused, leaning her head on Daryl's shoulder.
"You cold?"
"Getting warmer," she murmured, yawning tiredly.
"Wanna go to bed?"
"Let's stay up a little longer." She looked upward at the sky, where millions of stars were painted across total blackness. "Look at it."
"Hmm?"
"It's so dark," she said softly. "No light casting off the big cities. No airplane lights. Nothing. It's still. It's quiet. It's…pure." She let out a slow breath, the cool air catching it and turning it to steam. Daryl watched her, watched the way her eyes sparkled the reflection of the stars, and he turned her face toward his with the gentle pressure of his hand. Her gaze locked on his, and he leaned in, kissing her softly, oblivious to the stares and the knowing grins around the fire. Watching her put him at ease. Despite all of his knowledge of guns and crossbows and hunting and staying alive, she was his safety.
When Carol eased back a little, a smile slipped across her face. Everybody went back to not watching the two and pretending they hadn't seen a thing, and Rick Grimes stood up, placing his empty cup in the washing bucket for morning dishes.
"I'm beat. Gonna get some sleep. We ought to start coming up with a game plan for the colder months. Gets much colder, we're gonna need walls." Rick nodded in Carol and Daryl's general direction and reached down to take baby Judith from Maggie. Carol noticed the way Shane's gaze followed Rick back to his tent before it locked on hers, and she turned away. She gave Daryl's shoulder a nudge.
"Let's turn in," she offered. Daryl's gaze flashed toward Shane, who looked away quickly, and Carol saw Daryl visibly tense up. "Hey. It doesn't matter. Let's go to bed." She stood and waited for him to follow, which he did, but not before giving Shane the shittiest look he could possibly muster. He could respect Rick Grimes for everything he was trying to do for this group, but he could not figure out how a man like Rick could be friends with a man like Shane. They were opposites, and Shane had the look in his eyes like he was close to spinning out of control. No, Daryl didn't like him at all.
Carol sighed softly in her sleep, and Daryl gently stroked her hair, feeling her relax against him. He hadn't slept a wink. All he could do was think about what Carol had said to him about Shane and about the way Shane had looked at them. Hate was a rather strong word to throw around, but to say he hated Shane wouldn't be much of a stretch. He didn't really know the guy, but a man who would disrespect a woman the way he did to Carol surely didn't have many endearing qualities about him.
The tent shifted back and forth as the wind picked up outside. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, alerting Daryl that a storm was brewing, and he pulled his arms tighter around Carol. He was restless, and he didn't want to wake her, but he had a bad feeling that something was stirring in the camp and that something might just have something to do with Shane Walsh.
And then the tingling sensation hit him, and he groaned, gently rolling Carol off onto her own side of the sleeping bag, and he pulled his boots on, creeping out of the tent to find a place to take a piss.
He chose a nearby tree and relieved himself, shivering as the wind dropped the temperature considerably. When he was finished, he stuffed himself back in his pants and turned toward the tent only to find Andrea standing in his way. She was still dressed with her gun holster around her waist and her boot knife laced in tightly.
"The hell you doin' out here?" he muttered, peering around for any sight of Shane. He heard nothing, he saw nothing, and that left him feeling oddly unsettled.
"You're new here," she said with a half-smile. "You weren't here with us when the group first got together. Rick and Shane, they're the reason we're still here. They worked together, and they kept as many of us alive as they could. Yeah, some died along the way, but the rest of us? We're here. We've done just fine on the road."
"And my family done just fine havin' walls."
"Until those walls burned down," Andrea pointed out.
"Don't matter. We were safe. And we can be safe again. Out here? We're just fuckin' fish in a barrel."
"We have a perimeter."
"A bunch of tin cans strung up on fishin' line? That's bullshit," Daryl muttered.
"What's bullshit is you and your girlfriend coming in here and trying to take over. Shane and Rick got us this far."
"We ain't tryin' to do nothin'. If Shane's got somethin' to say, he can say it to me himself. Don't need to use you to do it for him." Andrea rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "You don't respect the way we do things. You want us to change, do it your way. Do it her way. If you don't like it, why don't you just leave?"
"I got more to think about than myself," he pointed out. "And why the hell are you here? Ain't none of my god damned business, is it? My family ain't goin' nowhere. I ain't goin' nowhere, lady, and you can tell Shane that if he's that threatened, he can take it up with me himself, but he sure as hell better not come near my family." He stepped closer to her. "The only reason your group ain't behind walls right now is 'cause Rick respects Shane and what he wants. Can you say the same for your boyfriend?" He watched Andrea's gaze falter as she took a step backward, and he scoffed. "Didn't think so." He turned back toward his tent , glancing over his shoulder briefly before shaking his head in disgust.
As he pulled himself back inside the tent and stretched out next to Carol, he glanced over at her, peering through the darkness, seeing how still and peaceful she was. Since they'd found Sophia, her nightmares had slowly stopped, and she no longer woke up crying for her little girl. She knew she was safer now, she knew Sophia was ok, and she seemed happy. But with Shane's jealousy over the new members of the group, it was pretty obvious things weren't going to be good for long. It was time to make a choice. Leave the group and let them sort out their power struggle issues or take charge and try and save their lives.
He sighed, shifting to get comfortable, and he closed his eyes, his hand seeking out hers in the darkness. He felt her fingers curl instinctively around his, and she moaned softly in her sleep. He ran his thumb gently over the back of her hand, counting the soft strokes against her skin to lull himself to sleep. And just as he was being pulled under, a shrill scream pierced the darkness, startling him back to awareness as Carol shot up next to him.
"Oh God," she murmured, her hands frantically searching for a flashlight. "Sophia?!" The scream filled the air again, and moments later, another scream. Carol scrambled out of the tent just as little Jenna Rhee came tearing across the camp and ran right into her legs. Carol knelt down, shining the light on the child, seeing the blood all over her as tears ran down her cheeks. "Jenna? Jenna! Are you hurt, sweetheart." The child sniffled and cried and buried her face against Carol's shoulder.
"What happened?" Daryl asked, coming out of the tent, gun in hand. Shadows moved over the land, and he couldn't make out much of anything. Carol quickly picked up Jenna and held her close, shining the flashlight over toward the other tents in time to see a herd of walkers swarming the camp from every direction.