The morning after Michonne came to talk to him, Daryl woke feeling determined. He would go back to the house he and Carol had spent the night in and work from there to find her. She'd never said where she was holed up, but he felt sure it wasn't far away. He ate a quick breakfast and gathered a few things, since he didn't know how long it would take to find her again.
He stopped Michonne on her way back in from watch.
"Thank you," he said, knowing she would understand.
She smiled her dazzling smile and said, "I was hoping you'd go for option one."
He snorted and left her laughing softly behind him.
He took his bike to the fence and waited for Tyreese to open the gates for him. He frowned. Tyreese was a problem he'd have to solve after he found Carol again and convinced her to come home. One thing at a time.
Ignoring the walkers that started moving his direction as he left the prison, he sped down the road as quickly as the debris and deteriorated asphalt allowed. He pulled the bike over briefly when he caught a flash of white in the trees alongside the road – Cherokee roses. He cut a couple canes that were blooming heavily and coiled them into a bundle, being careful to avoid the large thorns. Tucking the tangle into his saddlebag, he mounted the bike and continued on his way.
It was only twelve miles or so to the neighborhood where the house stood. These days it always took a little longer to get wherever you were going due to debris, car pileups, and crumbling roads, but it didn't take more than a half hour to reach the house. He parked his bike, retrieved his thorny bundle, and scanned the area for walkers. There was only one paying him any attention between his bike and the door, so he quickly took it out with his crossbow. He snagged the bolt on his way past, pausing on the porch long enough to cock his bow and reload.
He carefully pushed the front door open and entered the house with weapon at the ready. Pushing the door closed behind him with one foot, he carefully checked the first floor to be certain it was clear before heading upstairs. There was no sign that Carol had been back. Even though he knew it was a long shot, he still felt disappointment at not finding her right away.
He sat on the end of the big bed, and considered how to proceed. He figured he'd leave the roses on the front door as a sign to her that he'd been there. But then what, exactly? There was no way to know if she was even in this general area anymore. It had been, what, two weeks or so since he'd found her here? She might be holed up somewhere nearby, but she could just as easily be anywhere else. If she'd continued traveling, there was no way he'd find her, so he'd go with the assumption that she was somewhere nearby. The house was only a few miles from where Rick said he'd left her, so it seemed a reasonable assumption.
So he went back downstairs and left the tangle of roses hanging on the doorknob, hoping that if she came by she would see it and either wait for him, or leave a message telling him where to find her.
He spent the rest of the day criss-crossing the area hoping to find some sign of her, but he didn't see anything. Returning to the house, he parked his bike in a neighboring yard that had a gated fence. He killed another couple of walkers making his way back to the house. He slept upstairs, but couldn't quite bring himself to sleep in the bed they had shared.
At first light, he rose and ate a little breakfast from the food he'd brought with him. Then he closed up the house and started his bike for another day of scouring the area. He covered a great deal of ground, stopping only to pee and siphon some gasoline for the bike, but had no luck spotting any sign of Carol. He'd only been at it for two days, and already he felt frustrated at the lack of direction. Unless she came to him, seeing the roses he'd left, there was little chance he'd just happen across her again. But he set his frustration aside. He would look until he found her, or he'd die trying.
The evening was coming – it would be dark soon. He decided to scan through one more development, on his way back to the house. It was one where all the houses looked the same in slightly different colors, with a million dead ends and cul-de-sacs all with names like Peachtree Place and Peachtree Lane. He'd just made his way out of Peachtree Circle when he heard gunfire. It was very faint, but unmistakeable. And he'd swear it came from the direction of the house, though if he were honest, it could have come from almost anywhere.
His stomach churning in dread, he turned back to the main road and raced toward the house. A surge of fear and adrenaline hit him as he turned onto the street and he saw that Carol's car was parked there and his Cherokee roses were gone. The door of the house was broken wide open.
He jumped off the bike and ran for the door, pulling his crossbow from his shoulder as he went. Reaching the porch, he slowed – he had to be smart about this and not get himself killed rushing blindly in. He readied his bow and spun into the entryway. The smell of blood and walkers hit him almost before he could see what was there. There were two corpses on the ground with a handful of walkers grouped around each one, pulling and tearing at the bodies. Two corpses? He fought back panic, fearing one of those bodies might be Carol. Working as quickly and quietly as he could, he put bolts in the heads of most of the geeks, then took out the last two with his knife while they were still distracted with their meal. He pulled bolts from skulls and dragged walker bodies off the torn up remains in the middle of each pile. It was hard to tell much about the corpses except he was sure neither of them was Carol. The little .38 on the ground was definitely hers, though. It was empty.
He closed the front door as best he could and blocked it with the couch that had already served as barricade once before. He quickly scanned the rest of the first floor, killing two more wandering walkers, but no Carol. Taking the stairs two at a time, he rushed to the second floor. There was blood on the stairs and in the hallway. He forced the panic down again when he saw her bloodied knife on the floor. The doors to the other bedrooms were closed, but the one to the master bedroom was open so he crept up and peered into the room. He stepped through the door with crossbow raised and put a bolt through the head of another walker that was pushing open the door to the little bathroom. The rest of the room was clear. He relaxed a bit now that the walkers were gone, but where was Carol? She had to be here, didn't she? Her car was here and the roses were gone. Maybe she'd gotten out before the walkers came.
He stepped over to the walker to retrieve his bolt and froze.
Oh, God.
Carol was slumped against the shower stall in the little bathroom covered in blood from head to toe, the crushed Cherokee roses in her hands.
Daryl felt the panic rise up again, nearly overtaking him. He dropped his crossbow, heedless of damage, and rushed to her side. With shaking hands, he checked her throat for a pulse and nearly cried in relief when he found it beating slowly but strong under his fingers. Moving her as little as possible, he checked her over for injuries. The blood, though alarming, mostly appeared to be someone else's. He could only find a few scratches and a gash on the back of her head which couldn't account for all of it. No bites. The worst physical damage appeared to be a swollen wrist and heavy bruising and swelling on her face, though it was hard to tell under all the blood. But she was unconscious still, which was far more worrying than the rest. A head injury could be extremely serious, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help her.
"Carol?" He gently turned her to face him with a hand on her neck. He stroked her hair above her ear where there didn't seem to be any damage. "Carol, are you with me? Can you wake up for me? Please?"
Her eyelids fluttered lightly and she murmured something unintelligible, but the relief he felt at getting any kind of response left him lightheaded. He decided to move her to the bed so she wouldn't be crumpled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. He'd be better able to see to her injuries and clean up the blood from there as well.
"We're going to move to the other room, OK? I'm gonna carry you to the bed. It's me, kitten. You're safe now," he said, just in case she could hear him. He didn't want her to panic and struggle when he picked her up. He untangled the roses from her hand and set them by the sink. As gently as he could, he pulled her arm around his shoulders and scooped her up, his arms supporting her back and her knees, much as he had done that day in the tombs. Her head lolled to rest by his chin.
"Daryl?" Her voice was weak and she slurred heavily.
"Yeah, it's me. You're safe now."
"You came?" Her head tipped unsteadily up and her eyes tried to focus on him with little success.
"I'm here, and you're safe, I promise," he said as he carried her to the bed. Supporting himself with one knee on the bed, he carefully lowered her to rest on the rumpled comforter. He sat beside her and stroked her hair gently.
"Daryl? You came back?" she said again, confused. One hand moved at her side, reaching for him. He put his hand out flat beneath hers, careful not to put pressure on it. Hers was covered with blood and the wrist was puffy and bruised. He tried to answer, but couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard and tried again.
"I came back."