Jasper
Chapter 3: Moving Forward and Looking Back
"She understands now what she, in all her worry, had forgotten. That even as she hesitates and wavers, even as she thinks too much and moves too cautiously, she doesn't always have to get it right. It's okay to look back, even as you move forward." ― Jennifer E. Smith, The Comeback Season
The building was still and silent in the thin gray light of dawn. Her back ached from lying in one place all night and it took everything she had to straighten and let her feet find the floor. Carol threaded her fingers together and pushed up, twisting first to one side than the other, joints and tendons popping in protest. She then rubbed the back of her neck and scrubbed her hands through her close-cropped hair. The longer strands stuck out in whirls and corkscrews which she tried to straighten before giving up with a shrug.
She didn't have it in her to go back to the house. There were too many demons there and she was in no shape to fight. That place had never been home, not like it should have been. It had been a prison. She stifled a whimper her hands splayed on her stomach. The prison, her friends and family, the girls, him. How would she make it without them? Would they ever know why? Would they care about her reasons?
She shook her head angrily. "Can't think about that now," she muttered through clenched teeth. "You're here. You're alive. That's what's important. Get camp together, check your supplies, and check your weapons." A wry smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. He had drilled that into her during those cold winter months before they found the prison until she performed the acts by rote. Daryl Dixon, it seemed, was always going to be with her. The thought comforted her even as her heart ached with the knowledge that she'd probably never see him again.
After she decided against staying at the house, there was only one place that she could think of to go. The Community Action Center on West Church Street had been something of a Godsend over the years. She only went when she had no other choice. Ed would sometimes take off for days, leaving her and Sophia with little food and no money. He wouldn't let her work so she did what she had to. Her grandmother's jewelry, her papaw's watch, her cousin's silver dollars were the first things to go. She learned to squirrel away dried beans, Ramen noodles, canned fruit and condensed soup. When it got bad, she swallowed her pride and went to the food bank. Keeping Sophia fed was more important than her pride. She'd forfeited that long before the dead started walking. It was laughable to think that the selfsame charity kitchen that kept body and soul together during the worst days of her marriage was going to keep her alive now.
Grant money allowed the county to expand some services so an addition was built that contained showers and beds for those in need. To her knowledge, it had only been used a couple of times, usually when tornados hit or a fire took someone's home in the middle of the night. She only knew about it because Mrs. Jenkins who ran the food bank slipped a pamphlet into her box on one of her last visits. Her face still bore bruises and makeup couldn't hide everything no matter how skillfully applied. The kindly woman didn't ask and Carol didn't make excuses. She found the leaflet when she unpacked the box at home, tucked into the corner where it would be noticed but would be secure until seen.
She whispered a prayer for Mrs. Jenkins despite not having spoken to God since Sophia's passing. The building, while not as sturdy as the prison, had thick walls, small windows, and a pantry full of food. All in all, she was okay as long as a herd or groups like Randall's didn't blow through. Almost everyone packed up and headed for Atlanta when things started getting bad. Those few that stayed behind, most didn't make it past the first few months and the rest had moved on. As near as she could tell, she had the town to herself. It wasn't a comforting thought.
Carol finished checking her pistol and tucked it into the small of her back before pulling out her knife and testing the edge on her thumb. She hissed as the blade bit, tiny pearls of red dotting the line. Still sharp then. She wiped the blood on the tail of her shirt, stowed the knife, and finished lacing her boots before making her way to the kitchen. It didn't take long to bring water to a boil, reserving half for coffee and dumping a packet of instant oatmeal in the other. She added a package of raisins to the warm cereal and stirred it a few times before taking a careful bite. It scalded her tongue but she ignored it in lieu of her growling stomach. Hot meals were a rarity these days, too good to pass up so she gulped down every bite, savoring the mellow sweetness of the fruit.
"Can't get too used to this," she warned herself. She licked the spoon clean, running a finger around the bowl to get the last few bits. She sucked her fingers clean, stopping in mid-motion as what she'd just done caught up with her. Dammit, why did every little thing have to remind her of what she'd left behind? She looked down at her hand, feeling an unwelcome ache settle into the pit of her stomach. A sad smile played about the corners of her mouth. His bad manners were catching.
Trying to keep herself occupied, she tossed her few dishes into the sink along with a liberal dollop of soap before turning the water on full blast. Bubbles frothed and writhed beneath the stream as they mounded, burying the pan and bowl beneath a mountain of white. She let the sink fill until there was an Everest of sorts in the basin. Scooping up a handful, she puffed out her cheeks and blew them across the kitchen, the faint memory of light girlish laughter echoing through her mind. Why don't you say her name? She's dead, Rick. Her throat knotted. It's somebody else's slide show.
Bitter, black betrayal scalded her throat as bile burned a lava trail, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. That's not my little girl. How many times would she remember those words and regret? My Sophia was alone in the woods. It was she that was alone now. Those words…those unforgiveable words. Was her survival dependent on letting go of everything she knew to be real and true about her? Was she already so far gone that there was no way back?
Her head moved of its own accord. No. That was the one thing she refused to let go of. Sophia might be dead but her mother wasn't. This world hadn't taken everything. Not yet. I didn't know I could be strong. Strong. What the hell was that? What did it mean? She didn't know. She thought she did. Strong was the opposite of weak. Carol from before, that Carol was weak. She was malleable. She couldn't help herself, much less her little girl. She took everything Ed dished out to keep him from Sophia. It was a holding action and she knew it, God help her she knew. Sooner or later, he would have made his move and she would have been powerless to stop it.
She clamped down on that line of thought before it took root. There were too many regrets and what might have been's attached to them. She decided during the long winter before they found the prison that she wouldn't be a burden anymore and took steps to change. She couldn't help but wonder if that had been a mistake. In her quest to be strong, she felt as if she'd lost something, some piece of her that made her who and what she was. Yes, she was stronger now. She was decisive and spoke up instead of hanging back, waiting for somebody else to choose and tell her how to act. She wasn't that woman who was scared to be alone any longer. The woman she saw looking back at her in the mirror bore little resemblance to Sophia's mother.
Carol, did you kill Karen and David? Yes. In the strictest sense of the word, she had killed them. The flu or whatever it was, burned through them like wildfire. It cored them like an apple, leaving behind blood soaked, and moaning husks. They were drowning. She and Sasha went to check on them, hoping the illness wasn't progressing as quickly as it had with Patrick. What they found was horrifying. Both lay on their sides, choking and gasping as blood and mucus clogged their throats. Their coughing seemed to make it worse.
Karen heaved and thrashed in a vain attempt to catch her breath, spraying the cell in gouts of red. Sasha hurriedly unlocked the door and lifted the woman to a sitting position, her face and hands slick with gore as Karen let loose another round a coughing, covering them both. David's breathing stuttered as Carol unlocked the door and darted inside. Without thought, she swept his mouth clean of the gruesome mixture, rolling him on his side while pounding his back roughly with the heel of her hand. She could hear Sasha screaming for her help as she continued to work on David, murmuring for him to slow down, breath in and out, take it easy. Sasha's cries grew increasingly more urgent. Carol gave David an anguished look before bolting for the door.
"She's not breathing," Sasha cried her arms crimson to the elbow and her shirt plastered to her front.
Carol elbowed her aside, her heart pounding madly as she watched Karen's chest give one last rise and fall. She put her fingers on Karen's neck, fingers sliding in the muck as she searched frantically for a pulse. Nothing. Not one beat. Sasha pleaded with her, voice breaking on a sob to do something, anything but please don't let her die. Carol shook her head helplessly. "She's gone," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. She's gone."
Sasha seemed to gather herself, her face crumpled in agony before she caught herself. "We have to finish it. We can't take the chance of somebody coming down here." Carol nodded, her expression mirroring the other woman's. She unsheathed her knife but stopped as Sasha laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'll do it," she whispered. "It should be me. Go check David."
When she entered the other cell, it was clear that he was already gone. She let a few tears fall as she plunged her knife into the back of his head. She heard Sasha's footsteps outside the door and turned, meeting the woman's somber gaze. "Now what?" Sasha questioned her voice heavy with grief. "Do we just leave them here? What do we do now?"
Carol's heart lurched, her eyes burning as she took in the woman's blood stained clothes and downcast expression. "This block was set aside for isolating anyone who turns up sick. We need to take them out and clean up," Her voice broke, a fresh round of tears threatening. "We'll have to burn the bodies and disinfect the cells." Sasha gave her a horrified look, her mouth opening soundlessly as words failed to come. "I know we bury our loved ones but we don't know what this is or where it came from. We have to try to stop the spread. We're running out of places for people to go."
Sasha gave her a searching look but reluctantly nodded in agreement. "You're right," she replied grudgingly. "I hate it but you're right. We have to do what we can to protect the others." She gestured toward Karen's cell. "Let's take her out first then we'll come back for him."
The two women took up a place at either end of the bed, lifting the body clear of the blood soaked sheets. Sasha cursed fluently as she slipped, knocking over a table in the process. She found her footing, clumsily lifting Karen over the fallen table and maneuvering her toward the door. "Hold on," she sputtered, straining to regain her hold. They eased Karen to the floor, both breathing heavily as they eyed each other over the corpse. "You go first," Sasha suggested, kneeling down to get a firm grip on Karen's feet. "It'll be easier to maneuver her." Carol nodded, sliding her hands beneath Karen's arms and lifting her up. They made it a few steps before Sasha stopped suddenly, hiding her face in the crook of her arm to muffle a cough. Her panicked expression tugged at Carol's heart.
"Go get cleaned up," Carol ordered tersely. "Then go see Dr. S. I'll take care of this and let the others know what happened. Go on." She waved Sasha off, hiding her own terror behind a reassuring smile. "I'll check on you once I get this taken care of."
Little did she know how the chain of events would play out. Sasha ended up in isolation, fighting for her life, not knowing what the result of their actions would be. Tyreese stumbled upon Karen and David while she went to get water to clean up the cells and then attacked first Daryl and then Rick in his grief. She could have ended it right then and there, spilled the story and damn the consequences. Instead, she held her tongue, deciding that it was best to let heads and tempers cool. It kept coming, events building one upon the other into a tsunami that took her under. When Rick blurted out his accusation, she answered him truthfully. She'd stood by and watched them die and couldn't do a damned thing to stop it despite all she'd learned from Hershel and Dr. S. She waited for him to ask why, the weight of the buckets dragging on her arms. She stood, waiting and watching as he stared back. When he said nothing, she breathed a sigh of relief; sure that he understood what she didn't say. Instead, he'd gone completely in the other direction.
She couldn't believe that he'd told her to go, reasoning that Tyreese would try to take her head before listening to her side of things. It hurt even more that he looked her in the eye and said straight out that he didn't want her around Judith and Carl, two kids she considered as much hers as Sophia. They were her family, every one of them. She loved them enough to make any sacrifice to keep them safe, even if it meant giving up her place at the prison. If Rick, who had been through Hell with her, could assume her capable of cold-blooded murder then so could the rest of them. Some would stand with her, arguing her side zealously and without thought of how it would affect the group. It would split them, leave them weak. Better to go than that.
She looked down at her trembling hands, clasped tightly in front of her. Missing them was all well and good but that wouldn't keep her belly full or her lungs pumping. Carol forced herself to forget everything but the tasks in front of her. She needed to inventory her supplies, scout the rest of town for sign of other groups or possible herds, and try to figure out what the hell she was going to do next. If she'd learned anything since the world fell apart, it was to worry about what was in front of you and not about what was already said and done.
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxo
The sign was chipped and faded, its green paint dull and thin even in the bright afternoon light. He squinted, staring at it from beneath his sweat soaked fringe, wondering for the hundredth time if he was fucking crazy. She could be anywhere by now. Hell, she could be back at the prison or dead or broke down on the side of the road. He didn't have a damned clue and it tore at his guts like acid. She could be anywhere. There was no reason to think that she'd come here of all places, nothing but a leap of faith and a vague hope.
Muttering a curse under his breath, he put the car in gear and hit the gas. "Jasper," he muttered thickly. "The first mountain city welcomes you." A hoarse laugh escaped him. The only welcome this town could give him was the knowledge that she was alive and well. That was all he wanted. The rest, he figured he'd work that out when it came up.
Michonne's last words chased their tail in his head. What would he do if she didn't want to go back with him? Would he stay? Would she want him to? He tried to put it out of his mind but the words wouldn't leave him alone. What would he do if she didn't want to go and didn't want him to stay? Could he walk away from her? Could he live with himself knowing that he'd left the prison weaker by taking off? True, there was more people there capable of helping with the heavy lifting but part of him still considered it his job to care for and provide for them. He couldn't deny that it felt good to be needed. He'd never had anything like what he had at the prison…the acceptance and camaraderie. He'd always been on the outside looking in, written off as poor white trash.
Things were different at the prison. He was different. Daryl was pragmatic enough to know a large part of that was due to Carol. She refused to let him go, insisting that he was just as good as the rest of them. When he finally started to believe it, she gave him one of her Cheshire cat smiles and insisted that she liked him first. He'd responded with his usual order to stop, his ears pink despite every attempt to keep from blushing. She saw, hell she always saw, and told him to learn to live with the love. He missed her double talk and teasing. He just missed her. He didn't give a shit what might happen, he just wanted to see her with his own eyes and know that she was alright.
The town was small with streets following the usual grid pattern. If she was here, it shouldn't be too hard to find out where she'd holed up. The first place to check was the house even though the likelihood of her staying there bordered somewhere between slim and none. He picked up a map he's scrounged at a gas station about twenty miles back and stared at it through narrowed eyes. It took a few minutes but he finally spotted the little loop off of South Richards Street.
"If there's a hell on Earth, the mailbox is on Lilly Circle," she commented quietly one late summer night as they stood side by side in the courtyard, her looking up at the stars while he watched the fence. She quirked a smile at the inquiring tilt of his head, the only outward sigh he gave that he'd heard her. "That's where we lived, Ed and Sophia and I, on Lilly Circle in Jasper. It's a little street that doesn't go anywhere. It's the end of the road, so to speak." She laughed at her own joke, an edge of bitterness underlying the playful tone. "My own personal hell on Earth," she quipped again. "I hope I never see it again."
That conversation played in his mind as he traced the loop on the map. It was as good a place to start as any. Something told him that the house she called hell would be the key to finding her if she had come back home. If nothing else, he'd finally see it for himself and be able to stand somewhere that she'd lived with Sophia, made happy memories despite Ed and his bullshit. The thought appealed to him, pulled him toward it. It was a part of her and he wanted to go there if only for that reason.
The drive was short and amazingly free of any traffic snarls. It looked like everyone had left, headed for greener pastures. He made the turn on to the loop and parked down the street from the mailbox that had Peletier written in silver script on the side. He climbed out slowly, eyeing the house for any clue that she might have been there. The door was closed and the windows were still bolted tightly despite sitting empty for months. The yard was a tangled mass of weeds and flowers. Azaleas and asters dominated the unruly beds while dandelions dotted the feathery expanse of lawn. The house looked lonely, deserted, and forgotten. He climbed the porch steps and peered in through the front window. The living room was littered with toys and bits of clothing. They'd left in a hurry. The discarded rag doll lying in the middle of the living room knotted his throat.
He moved toward the edge of the porch, dropping lightly into the overgrown flowerbed, and headed around the side of the house. The distant sound of a motor pulled his head around. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He unlimbered the crossbow and double-checked the bolt, already nocked and ready to fire. He then darted around the edge of the house, taking refuge behind an elderberry bush. Not a moment too soon as dust-colored Ford wagon eased to a stop before the house. His breath caught as the driver's side door opened and she climbed out, running a hand nervously through her hair as she peered at the house.
He started toward her without thinking, the sight of her propelling him forward faster and faster until he was almost running. She wheeled toward the noise, her hand falling to the knife at her side. Her eyes widened when she saw him, her lips forming his name. He didn't answer, didn't stop until he swept her up into a tight embrace, picking her feet clean off the ground. He heard a muffled whimper that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh just as her arms wound around his neck. He held her close, burying his face in her bedraggled hair, whispering something that resembled her name.
"What are you doing here?" She asked softly, trying to catch his eye and failing miserably as he refused to relinquish his hold. "How did you know where to find me?"
He shrugged, the muscles taut beneath her hands as she slid her arms around his shoulders, reveling in the knowledge that he was here and this was real. "Guessed that you'd head for somewhere familiar, even someplace you hated. Figured if I was in your shoes, I'd head for home. Seemed like the best guess so here I am."
Carol laughed, taking a moment to push his unruly bangs out of his eyes. He gave her a lopsided smile, the barest curve to his mouth as he leaned into her touch. "Just like that, huh?" She chuckled and poked him playfully in the chest. "You think you're pretty smart." She sobered then, remembering then why she'd left the prison. She backed out of his arms, her own wound protectively around her middle. "I appreciate you coming all this way. Sorry to cause so much trouble."
"Carol, don't," he growled. "Don't say sorry for something that ain't your fault. The main thing is that you're okay and I found ya. That's the only thing I give a damn about."
She smiled sadly as she backed further away, watching him through wary eyes. "I'm fine. I'll be okay. You don't have to worry about me, Daryl."
"The fuck I don't," he grated out. "I came to take you home. Ain't right what Rick done. You belong back with us."
She shook her head, tears beading and falling unheeded as she took another step back. He reached for her, frowning as she deftly avoided his hands. "I am home, Daryl," she reminded him gently. "I can't go back there. Not now. I'm sorry."
He straightened lips thin and white as he stared her down. Finally, he nodded to himself and crossed his arms over his chest. "You staying here then so am I," he announced suddenly. His firm expression didn't alter at her shocked look. If anything, he looked more determined than she'd ever seen him. "Ain't leaving here without you."
"But the prison," she sputtered. "Judith, Rick, the others…they need you, Daryl. You can't just walk away like that. It's your home. You belong there."
He closed the distance between them, fingers tipping up her chin so she couldn't miss his stern look. His blue eyes were fixed on her, daring her to look away. "You're wrong," he said softly. "Wherever you are, that's where I belong. I told Rick before I left that it was both of us or neither. You're home to me, Carol. I ain't leaving you." Dropping his hand, he headed for his car to get his stuff leaving her staring after him in open-mouthed wonder.
End part 3…
A/N Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I had a few things I had to get straight in my head before I could get this chapter down. I have no idea what really happened with Karen and David. This is just one version that I came up with that seemed more in character for Carol than arbitrarily deciding to kill them. Leave a review if it pleases you. Come visit me on Tumblr at whowhatsitwhich if you're so inclined. Thanks for reading.