A/N: Thanks for the follows. I'm glad that you seem to like it! I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing regularly now so here's chapter 3. :) Let me know your thoughts!
Chapter 3:
His words rang in her ears yet they didn't seem to make sense. She simply couldn't or wouldn't realise the implications that came with them.
I've just set the traps, she thought, continuing to stare at the house that was no longer safe.
And even when Daryl's hand left her mouth and took hold of her own one instead, and even when they were stumbling and tripping through the forest did she refuse to accept the fresh loss she had just suffered. For now all her concentration and strength was required to bring as much distance between them and the "pricks" as he had called them.
Branches crackled and broke under their shoes and the sound of their arrhythmic breathing filled the air. They only stopped running when they emerged from the forest, their momentum propelling them forward so fast that they almost tripped over the old familiar train tracks. Gasping for air they remained there for a few moments, their lungs working hard to provide their bodies with enough oxygen.
When Carol looked up again, stemming her hands onto her hips, her eyes almost instantly landed on another sign that was pointing the way towards Terminus. The black lines on the map turned blurry in front of her eyes, making it seem for just a second as if the end points were moving back and forth, like tentacles searching for something. But when her vision became clearer she could see it again for what it really was: a giant web.
Then Daryl's laboured breathing suddenly required her attention. He still stood hunched over, one foot on the tracks, the other on the rocks, his arms wrapped around his middle as if he was trying to contain every breath that slipped past his mouth. His skin had taken on a sickeningly pale colour.
"Daryl?"
Her voice shook. His name stayed suspended in the air between them, a desperate plea for reassurance. But he failed to respond.
Dragging her feet forward, Carol bridged the gap between them and took his hands, prying them off of his body. The warmth of his skin calmed her, reminded her that he was still alive.
"You need to rest somewhere," the sentence rushed out of her with enough urgency to make him look up.
Her fingers were curling around his now, asking him to hang on.
"No," he shook his head. He sounded breathless but his voice was comforting nonetheless. "We gotta keep going."
"Can you?" she challenged, a little harder perhaps than she had intended, tired of that drive to run and survive that everyone seemed to have. That she still had possessed a few weeks ago.
"Gotta," he replied matter-of-factly "you didn't hear 'em and like you said they're like Merle…like me. They can track. They can hunt. They found me then, they'll find me again."
Carol nodded briefly, glancing around to assess their options. Their fear had made them blaze a visible trail through the forest, as simple to follow as the rabbit trail she'd been searching for previously.
Ignorance and panic bred the easiest targets.
But she wouldn't allow Daryl to be caught with a noose around his neck.
It was almost laughable how easy it was to shrug off her detachment, to put someone else's needs before her own once more. It was easy enough to function. Coping, now that was an entirely different story.
"We should stick to the tracks," she finally decided "it's harder to follow us here."
His eyes narrowed momentarily and she knew that he was thinking what had occurred to her as well; that following the railroad meant staying exposed for a long stretch of time.
"If they're following our trail," she continued "they'll be behind us until they catch up. They won't overtake us or sneak up on us from the sides. So we keep to the tracks, we don't leave prints in the earth and we keep going until we find an abandoned building."
"Then what?" he frowned.
"Then we rest," she repeated firmly, ignoring the scoffing sound he made "I can't lose you."
His eyes briefly darted up to meet hers, widening as they had previously done when she'd made a similar admission. It was a bittersweet feeling to see that despite all the lives he had saved and all the good things he had done, he could still feel wonder at the sentiment.
She didn't know the details of his life before the outbreak but had gathered enough to realise that he'd probably never fully believe that someone could care about him.
Spurred on by this, she slipped her backpack off his shoulder to carry the weight herself and gave him a gentle nudge.
"Let's go."
"Alright," he nodded and pushed himself forward.
Inside his head he could hear Merle mocking him.
What a pussy you are, Darleena.
Letting some bitch carry the pack.
You're not turning sentimental, are you?
Shut up! He bit back but continued staggering along the railroad with as little help from her as possible.
He didn't need Merle to tell him that getting attached during a zombie apocalypse wasn't exactly a clever thing to do. But it was already too late. His fate had been sealed when he had carried her limp body out of the tombs of the prison.
He chortled inwardly. Who was he kidding?
He'd grown attached much sooner than that.
"Daryl?" Her voice drew him out of his thoughts and he hummed in response. "You said that they're like Merle, like your dad…" she hesitated "like you…"
"Yeah," he nodded, focusing on the steel of the tracks instead of on her "told you they were trying to win me over. Were talking in the same bullshit way Merle always used to. All entitled…like this world was made for us. Like everyone else finally got what was coming to them."
Rich Bitch.
His mind flashed back to the country club. To his anger, his rage. To Beth.
"Everything that's left now…it belongs to them. They take what they want and get rid of whoever's too weak."
"That's what I thought," Carol acknowledged, wearing that indecipherable smile that could drive him insane at times.
"What?" he frowned.
"You're not them, Daryl," she smiled again, softer this time "you're not Merle, you're not your dad, you're your own person."
"They're just familiar, is all." He muttered, shrugging off her compliment.
"There's still a difference," she insisted and then grew quiet again as they continued walking.
As the sun changed its position in the sky Daryl's breathing grew shallower and his steps became less coordinated. They had passed a series of buildings already but had dismissed all of them.
The first one had been too obvious of a choice and the second had smashed in windows which had deemed it unsafe. There were other threats to worry about still. And neither of them knew whether to grow concerned about the lack of walkers they had encountered or not.
"This one," Carol abruptly stopped and pointed.
Daryl kept walking a few paces further and then looked up. His head was woozy and he could really only make out the shape of the building.
"Doors and windows are boarded shut but we can use that to our advantage. Find a way in and keep everyone else out with minimal effort."
"Alright…" he agreed tiredly, swaying on his feet.
He really couldn't afford to argue now. He didn't have anything left to give. His body was heavy, his chest aching, torn apart by every breath he took.
His broken rib seemed to have shifted and was determined now to dig its way out of his skin. Looking down and feeling at it with his fingers he knew it wasn't true but rationalising didn't help take the pain away.
Her arm snaked around him and guided him towards the shade of the building. They had grown closer over a series of small touches so that every caress of her fingertips, every playful nudge communicated something.
That's why he let her guide him without comment or protest. The familiarity of her body grazing his own one ever so lightly and the scent that was purely Carol comforted him.
"I gotta…" he muttered but was unable to formulate what exactly it was that he had to do.
Instead his knees buckled and although she was trying to keep him upright his weight was too much for her to carry and so they both tumbled to the ground in front of the house.
He felt utterly humiliated but whatever self-deprecating thoughts that raced through his mind were soon shut out by the throbbing sensation and the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
Only when Carol sank down on her knees in front of him, did he realise that she was frantically addressing him.
Her name felt heavy on his lips and it was almost too difficult to lift his head. But he needed her to know that he was going to be alright even though he wasn't sure of that himself at the moment.
"Stay here…" she instructed, pressing something into his hand "be ready to defend yourself." It was her dagger.
He nodded weakly and watched her walk away.
Carol's heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She knew that it was vital now to secure the building and consequently provide him with a safe place to recover. But despite all the adrenalin surging through her body she couldn't shake the feeling that she was fighting a losing battle.
How much time had passed since they'd been forced to leave the grove? How much worse had his injury become?
All these thoughts accompanied her while she searched the building for an easy way in. In her desperation she even ran her hands over wood and stone, determined to tear the structure apart if necessary.
And finally she located an opening. It was nothing more than one of the boards shielding the backdoor that someone or something had already tried to loosen. But it was enough to get them inside.
Swinging the backpack from her shoulder she rummaged swiftly around until she located the item she'd been looking for. With all the power she still had left she used the other end of the hammer like a crowbar to pry the board away completely.
Setting it aside, she then ventured into the exposed building, wielding the hammer as a weapon rather than a tool now. But as she had hoped, there was no movement inside. Just darkness and stale air.
She dropped the backpack in a corner and hurried back outside to the front of the building where Daryl was still sitting in a heap on the ground.
But he was breathing and he was looking at her which was what mattered the most.
"Found a way in," she announced, simultaneously bending down to help him to his feet.
He was only capable of nodding; and leaning on her, followed her inside the house. There, she carefully lowered him to the floor again and made her way back to the door.
"I'll get rid of our footprints as best as I can. Then I'll come back."
He smiled at that. At her continuing determination and seemingly never-ending strength.
Had he been in a better state, he might've noticed the strain this whole world was taking on her and just how rundown she really looked.
He didn't know how much time passed until she returned. The darkness in his head had outweighed the darkness in the room and he had drifted off.
He faintly registered her telling him that she had wiped out the prints that were leading to the house as best as she could and that she had walked further on the tracks to make it seem as if they had continued towards Terminus, just in case their pursuers would be able to spot traces that she couldn't.
The next thing he heard was hammering, then more darkness followed.
One more time Daryl Dixon woke up that night. And this time he felt her body pressed to his,wrapped around him like a blanket. Her breathing sounded slow and steady but occasionally he could've sworn he heard the faint sound of her crying.
And although he wasn't a child anymore and although his father was long gone, it wasn't the first time that he wondered if a Cherokee rose could possibly bloom for him, too.