A/N: As usual...thanks for the follows and favourites! :)
Chapter 5:
There was a throbbing behind her closed lids, as if she could feel all the little veins pulsing life through her. She tried opening her eyes for a tiny fraction but the mixture of utter darkness and little specks of sunlight stung and made her dizzy, so she hurriedly closed them again.
Her breathing was heavy and far more difficult than before and she frowned in an effort to piece together what had happened last, before she had fallen asleep.
The memory of the panic attack didn't come easy and appeared in waves of physical sensations rather than images, as if her body had stored every tiny information about every ache it had suffered.
Then Daryl shifted in his sleep, muttering something incoherently and for the first time she became aware of his body behind hers. He knew now; he knew how broken she was, how tainted. But he also didn't know everything.
Our little secret.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing, anticipating something.
Another attack, perhaps.
Instead she felt a hand lightly caressing her, fingers weaving through her hair. A fleeting sensation that disappeared as quickly as it had come. And in the state she was in, Carol wasn't even sure if it had really happened, if Daryl had really touched her but even so she felt her body relax again.
It had been a while since anybody had touched her like this, with the intention to sooth her and care for her.
When Ed had touched her, softly like this – and yes, there had been times when he had done so – he'd always had an agenda. He needed a way to silence the fear inside her that might have caused her to call the police. Or he was feeling horny and figured if he tried it like this it would be easier to get her to comply. Either way, these moods never lasted long and sooner or later he always lost his patience.
But even the other men, the ones that hadn't been abusive, had always been blunt, clumsy and direct when it came to expressing what they wanted. Even Axel who she had laughed with in the end, hadn't exactly made a secret about his intentions.
The only one who had really ever made her believe that men could be tender and shy and a little bit self-conscious too, was Daryl. And so she hoped that she hadn't imagined this touch.
Taking another breath first, she carefully and very slowly started to turn. Her back brushed up against his chest and she halted once more, listening for any signs of him stirring, but he didn't move.
Perhaps she had imagined the gesture, after all.
Her curiosity not stilled, however, she continued to turn a little further and this time something else came in contact with her. It wasn't a piece of fabric or something soft; instead it felt warm and moist.
Frowning, she turned more, concerned that Daryl's injury might have got worse, while rationally knowing, of course, that a bleeding in his abdominal region couldn't possibly be the cause of the moisture she felt near her shoulder.
Her stomach clenched and her hand instinctively jerked down to grab her dagger but it wasn't there. With a growing wave of panic she remembered handing it to Daryl, as well as her hammer the previous night.
Now that there was no way out, she swung around to face the walker she'd been expecting but froze in horror when she was confronted with something much worse than that.
Daryl, still lying on his side, his body rigid, his mouth open in pain, while a continuous trail of blood trickled down from his eyes to his chin.
She screamed out in anguish and recoiled against the wall. Her back ached from the impact; she was suffocating from the smoke that originated from the fire she herself had lit. Sobs and yelps of pain intermingled. Her hands shielded her face. But through the gaps between her fingers she could still see Daryl's face shrivel away, smell his burning flesh.
She gagged.
Saw him reaching out to her, his skin scorching hers.
"Carol! Carol, did I startle you?"
She was being shaken by spasms, falling apart in front of his eyes and all he could do was hold on tighter to her, so that her chest was crushed against his.
He hadn't meant to scare her like that, hadn't meant to re-awaken the demons that seemed to chase her these days. His gesture, the light caress, had been intended to sooth her, to ease her broken body into even deeper sleep.
He'd seen Maggie do it to Glenn countless times, or Lori to Carl when he'd had a bad dream and now he'd been desperate to provide her with such comfort as well.
But instead the sleepy look in her blue eyes had been replaced with one of sheer terror.
He shook her, a little harshly perhaps, in his desperation to bring her back and eventually her screams subsided until she was only panting against his chest.
"Are you alright?" he carefully began rubbing her back in smalls circles, the movements a little awkward because he wasn't used to comforting someone like this, or being comforted in this manner.
Beth had been so good at it; emotions had just naturally spilled out of her as if she'd never had to second guess them. He wanted to be that person for Carol but found it far more difficult.
"Ya gotta let 'em go…Karen and David…the prison…" he tried gently, murmuring into her hair, "don't let 'em consume you."
Too late.
Her lips painted a sad curve against his chest.
"It's not them…" she replied, her voice still hoarse from screaming.
"Then what is it? What happened at the grove, Carol?"
His questions, asked with quiet intensity, seemed to pierce her skin, shred away flesh until he surely could also see the little girls that were inhabiting her body.
The bloodied faces, the burned limbs.
She shivered and pushed away from him, gaining a shaky balance on her feet.
"Nothing…it's not them," she repeated.
It's me.
"Ya gotta…" Daryl tried a second time but she shook her head so fiercely that she nearly stumbled over.
"No! I don't have to do anything, Daryl! Stop making assumptions! It's you who needs to talk about the things that bother you, not me! It won't help!" she snapped and bent down to snatch up her pack and the hammer that was still lying next to the little pile of discarded pecans.
"Where are you going?" he asked, clambering to his feet as well, feeling a sudden sharp pain shooting through his body.
His ribs were throbbing again. He hadn't noticed it before.
"On a run," she shrugged, turning towards the door to pry the board loose, "you want to get to Terminus and you're still injured. If you really want to make it we're going to need medicine and supplies."
"You're crazy," he muttered "your screams could've attracted a whole horde of walkers!"
"Then I'll deal with them!"
They both knew she was lying, that she wouldn't stand a chance against a group of infected and especially not in the weakened state she was in. But instead of stopping her, Daryl slowly sank back down to the ground again.
"Alright," he said quietly and resigned, "just be careful."
"I will," she nodded, slipped through the doorway and then boarded the entrance shut again from the other side so that Daryl was plunged into darkness once more.
Resting one hand on his broken rib, he ran his other through his hair and sighed.
She wasn't the same anymore, had changed so drastically that he was honestly frightened. If only he knew what it was that haunted her.
She'd seemed nervous and on edge from the first moment he had tumbled into the house at the grove. But he'd put it down to the general state of alertness all of them resided in since the outbreak. He had startled her, had brought bad news about another hostile group in the vicinity and put her permanently on the lookout now.
But it wasn't just that.
She seemed lost, always glancing over her shoulder for the shadows that were following her.
If only he could see them, too. Then he'd know how to protect her. But with this barbed wire around her it was impossible to get close enough to find out.
Still he felt it was the right thing to let her go. He'd recognised his own desire to run, as well as the need to stay active in her and knew that she would only deteriorate if he'd forced her to stay.
But he didn't like it.
Every moment that ticked by made him anxious and had him listening for the smallest of sounds. Eventually he began pacing up and down in the darkness of the building, holding her knife and tapping its blade against the palm of his hand in a steady rhythm.
Carol had allowed her feet to carry her further north on the train tracks. She had walked so fast and paid attention to so little else, that she was beginning to wonder now how far she had strayed from their hideout.
Guilt began bubbling up inside her for abandoning an injured friend when he was vulnerable to attack but she quickly silenced it and told herself instead that she was doing this run for his benefit, after all. He needed her to get to Terminus but they wouldn't make it if she didn't find the right supplies.
And so she pressed on, diving into abandoned buildings that had mostly been scavenged already or had nothing worth taking.
There were walkers, of course, but never a horde like Daryl had feared and Carol took them out as best as she could, wearing herself out in the process.
They came in all shapes and sizes, some more deformed than others, but they all looked familiar.
She could feel the old panic starting to rise up in her chest and stumbled under a train bridge towards the next building in sight. It was a large, run-down hall that Carol supposed could've been used for storing old parts or repairing trains.
The likelihood of finding supplies in there was limited and so she continued, sending little rocks tumbling down the tracks with every step she took.
Suddenly there was a noise, a deep raspy sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She squinted, trying to make out where it was coming from. And then she saw him, impaled against the door of another building to her right.
Whoever had done this, had driven a stake through his throat in an effort to kill him. But Carol could see now that he hadn't succeeded.
The walker snarled again, reaching out for her and she paused, glancing up and down the tracks.
Should she continue or turn around and head back to Daryl before it became dark?
Her eyes fell on the walker again who was still tirelessly trying to free himself and in an attempt at salvaging a piece of herself, she carefully approached him, lifting her hammer to put him out of his misery.
She was a step away from him when she realised her mistake.
They weren't alone.
Behind him hands were pressing against the windows: little ones, big ones, all pale and corpse-like. Heads were bashing into the glass, nails were scraping, their voices growing louder.
And then, with a deafening crunch the building lost its battle, spewing one walker after the other outside.
Carol backed away and nearly fell, desperately searching for a hiding place.
Daryl stopped and then turned towards the boarded door, straining to listen, while water dripped down his arms. This time he'd heard something, he was sure of that. The voices grew louder, emanating from all around the house.
"Somebody's been here…"
Daryl forced himself out of his frozen state and stalked quietly over to the door, pressing himself against the wall so he wouldn't be seen.
"Hello?"
He held his breath, swallowed down the pain and didn't move an inch.
"Anyone in there? We just wanna say hello."
It was the leader of the group of pricks he'd encountered. A man they'd called Joe.
It wasn't surprising that they had found him again. Carol, in her hurry to leave, had no doubt left a trail behind, undoing the advantage that the rain had provided them with the previous day.
"Seems empty!" somebody else called.
"Mmh…I don't know…" the voice closest to him spoke again and Daryl caught a glimpse of Joe now, trying to peer inside. "Prints are fresh…can't have left long ago."
"Let's go then. We could catch 'em before sunset." Somebody else pitched in.
"I'm not so sure it's him," Joe repeated, "wait a minute. Only one set of prints this time…and they're smaller."
"I claim her!" the other voice shouted and somebody snickered.
Daryl's heart sank.
How late was it? How long had she been gone? What if she was too occupied to pay attention and stumbled upon the scene?
"You really think it's a woman?"
"Either that or a fag."
"That's more your taste then, isn't it?"
"Shut up, Dan or I'll rip you a new one!" the first voice growled while some others laughed.
"Alright…let's keep moving." Joe finally decided with a last look into the building, breaking up the fight that was threatening to break out. "The hunt's always been my favourite part."
Once their voices had subsided Daryl released the breath he'd been holding and scrambled around in the dark to locate the rest of his belongings.
He had to get to Carol first.