Insert standard disclaimer here! Please do not sue me!
Everything would be fine. She had a reasonably safe place to be, and she knew how to take care of herself. She knew what she was doing.
She sat on the bed for a long time before heading home.
By the time Carol gathered up her things to head out, several hours had passed. There was no reason to stay, and it wasn't really safe, not like her basement. But she lingered anyway, until hunger convinced her to head home.
Daryl had moved their barricade, but the door was firmly latched. She peered through the small window in the door to check for walkers, but saw nothing. Hefting her pack and drawing her knife, she slipped out the door onto the porch. A quick glance around showed no sign of danger, so she loaded her things into her car and drove the short distance home.
She brought in her newly scavenged supplies and went to fix something to eat. Once she had food in front of her, though, she didn't feel very hungry. She ate anyway, since wasting it would be stupid.
Feeling antsy, she decided to take an inventory of her stock of food and supplies. She rifled through piles and boxes and took notes on what food was in the pantry. She definitely had plenty to get by on for quite a while. Going for anything more would be unnecessary risk. She organized and stacked and rearranged things until she was too tired to continue. But when she lay down on her new comfy pillow, sleep eluded her again.
She'd slept well last night with Daryl at her side.
She tried not to think about it. He wasn't part of her life anymore, and she needed to let him go.
The next day, she stayed home, but was anxious and fidgety the whole time. At the prison, she usually didn't have to think about what to do with herself. Even before they took in the people from Woodbury, she was always busy. Between the baby, keeping watch, keeping everyone fed and dressed in clean(ish) clothes, she had very little time to herself. After their group grew and they formed the council, she was constantly swamped with more things needed doing than could possibly be done by one person. She hadn't realized how much she relied on those responsibilities to keep her occupied and feeling useful.
She wondered who was doing all those things now that she was gone? Who was organizing the kitchen? Who would oversee the work rotations? What about Lizzy and Mika? Rick said they would look after them, but he could barely keep tabs on his own son.
She shook her head. It wasn't good for her to dwell on these things. She needed to keep busy, so she started working on projects to make her little home more livable in the long term. A local mom and pop hardware and backyard garden store provided her with a new toolbag and plenty of tools to fill it. She grabbed some bits of lumber and lots of hardware. With some books from the store and a little creativity, she arranged a rain catchment system that would allow her to be less reliant on bottled water. She also set about securing the ground floor of her little home, boarding up all the doors and windows except the back door. To that she added multiple deadbolts. It wasn't pretty, but considering she'd never done anything like it before, she was pleased that they worked.
Her projects kept her occupied for a good while, but eventually she felt antsy again. She decided to get out of her house for a bit and raid a few places. Maybe she'd go out every other day or so just to keep her mind and skills sharp. She had gotten very good at moving around quickly and quietly and she didn't want to lose that or her skill with a knife. She loaded up her empty packs and duffels and drove a few miles to a street she hadn't hit yet. As she worked her way through the houses, she realized how much she liked doing this. No wonder Glenn had always volunteered to do runs. It was like a treasure hunt with extra adrenaline.
Since she had most everything she needed for the moment, she concentrated on finding things to get her through the winter, when she wouldn't be able to go out as often. She gathered up blankets, boots, and sweaters, chemical hand warmers, kerosene heaters, matches and lighters, and of course, every speck of non-perishable food she could get her hands on.
On her way back home, she found herself driving past that house. The last house on that block. The one where Daryl had found her. She didn't mean to, but some part of her must have needed to go back, because when she looked up, there it was. Her chest felt thick and heavy as she looked at it, like she was being dragged through molasses.
She shook her head and drove on before she started drowning in it.
Every other day she would go out, looking for more things. Her basement was starting to feel cramped with all the stuff she had stacked in there, but she didn't want to stop filling it up. Almost always, she would drive past that house and let it loom in her mind for a moment before continuing home. She wasn't sure why, but that house pulled at her. Then one day, after a particularly unproductive run, she stopped the car abruptly instead of driving past it.
There on the doorknob was a tangle of green and white. Cherokee roses.
He'd come back.
Without much thought for any danger in the street, Carol darted from the car to the door of the house. She pulled the roses from the doorknob, scratching herself deeply on the thorns. She took the flowers with her as she slipped inside.
"Daryl?" She spoke softly, but the high pitch of her voice betrayed the hope she didn't want to feel.
There was no sign of him. None of the furniture had been moved from where they had left it. No note for her scrawled on the wall. She crept quietly up the stairs and peeked in the bedroom they had shared. The scent of fake mangoes still lingered faintly in the air. But there was no sign of him.
Why had he left the roses?
He wanted her to know he'd been there. He didn't know where she lived now – she never told him. Maybe he was looking for her again and wanted her to wait here until he came back. But why would he look for her? Was something wrong? Maybe something had happened to Lizzie or Mika.
The swirl of questions in her mind was cut short when she heard something downstairs. The front door had opened. She tossed the roses onto the bed and rushed out to the landing at the top of the stairs, but stopped and crouched down when she heard unfamiliar voices.
"Are you sure?" The deep, smooth voice was lowered, but not enough to keep it from carrying to her.
"I'm telling you, someone came in here – a woman. And she was by herself. That was her car out there. Didn't look like there was much worth takin', though." The second voice was younger and cracked a bit.
"Well, find her quick. We can get her back to camp before dark."
Fuck.
She crept along the wall back to the master bedroom as quietly as she could. She ducked into the bedroom and scanned for an escape route. There was nothing. Of all the windows, the only one that opened was the one in the bathroom that was far too small for her to get through. She could break a window, but they would hear it. Looking down, she could see there was nothing outside to break her fall anyway. Last resort, then.
"Hello? Anybody here? We're not looking to hurt you. We just want to see if you have anything to trade." The man's voice was smooth as silk and made her insides crawl.
Escape was out for now. She needed to hide. The bathroom wouldn't work. There was only a shower stall with a clear door. The bed had a solid base – no space to wiggle underneath. Closet? She slid the doors open carefully to keep from making noise. Shit. It was filled floor to ceiling with organizers and shelves and cubbyholes stuffed with shoes.
There was nothing else. Nowhere to hide. She would have to fight. She could hear them downstairs, going room to room looking for her. Then one of them started up the stairs with slow, careful steps.
She ducked behind the open door to the bedroom. It was the only place available that gave any kind of cover at all. It wouldn't help her, though. They were going to find her. Pressed against the wall, she tried to calm her breathing enough to keep him from hearing it. Her hand found the knife at her belt and she gripped it until her knuckles ached.
She had thought she was different now. Strong. Without fear.
She was wrong.
Edited to add: I have a busy couple of days starting pretty much right now, but I'll try to write when I can. So next update might not be as prompt. Sorry!