And BAM! This fic is getting to be so much fun. ^.^
Here's an intro to the New Guy. His name, background and demeanor are all products of my imagination. *gasp* I can OWN him!
Don't own the cities mentioned in this chapter, however. I suppose those belong to the great state of Alabama.
R&R, please?
She didn't expect to actually play doctor.
Carl's injured elbow took a backseat as Daryl and Rick dragged the newcomer into one of the larger cabins, opened every wood-paneled window to allow the sunlight through, illuminating the man's features and giving them complete knowledge if his every scratch, scab and bruise.
She watched Glenn and Shane drag a bed to the center of the cabin, watched as Rick and Daryl all but tossed the unconscious man onto it.
Watched as Rick and Shane bickered in the corner like emotionally strained newlyweds before Rick convinced the other man to leave the building.
Glenn stepped away as Daryl leaned in close and proceeded to push the guy's shirt up, scanning his skin, rolling his limp body over, patting his legs and fishing out a single pocket knife before turning the man over to the group's leader.
Rick in turn nodded her over, placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder and said:
"Man looks beaten to hell and back. Could you clean these cuts? We're gonna be asking him questions when he wakes up, but it's no reason not to be humane here…"
Carol heard Daryl's grunt in the background but focused on Rick's pleading and uncertain face.
"Sure…"
She turned to leave the cabin and fetch the necessary water and rags, all-too aware of the shadow that hovered at the building's entrance and watched her as she departed.
He had tried to turn her away from the cabin when night began to fall, but she'd brushed past him anyway and entered aside Andrea, unafraid (for some unknown reason) of the man that was now lying rigid and apprehensive on the bed, eyes wide open but glossy, pupils darting around the room at the people that surrounded him.
She felt Daryl's presence behind her as she neared the bed and stood to the side to give him room. He brushed past her in silence, coming to stand next to Rick who sat in a chair at the man's right side.
She did not miss the blade at his waist, or the gun in his hand.
Carol shook her head and focused on the stranger in the room as Rick began to ask questions.
"What's your name?"
"Mike Radford."
Carol picked up on the lessened drawl in his voice, and knew immediately that not only was he most likely an inhabitant of a larger city, but he was also probably well educated.
She caught Rick's slow nod and calm demeanor. It clashed very noticeably with the stiff, untrusting stance of the man standing next to him.
She was glad, for 'Mike's' sake, that Rick was keeping a level head.
"Where are you from?" Carol saw the flutter in the man's eyes at the question, as if his brain was trying to process it and failing. Dark circles showed his exhaustion; small splits in his lips were evidence of his being weather-worn.
He licked those lips and his head rolled slightly.
Her mouth opened before she could stop it:
"Give him some water? The man looks parched."
Daryl jerked his head in her direction with an uneasy look of surprise before his eyes narrowed and one of them twitched. Carol stood firm and shot a pleading look to Rick, who nodded in response.
"Of course."
A bottle was immediately thrust into Mike's hand by Andrea, and Carol watched as he unscrewed the top with shaky hands and proceeded to down the liquid to the point of nearly choking on it.
He sputtered before wiping his mouth and stopped to pin his dark eyes on her.
"Thank you. I can't remember the last time I had clean water…"
Under the weight of the man's soft gaze she broke eye contact, fighting the small smile that threatened her lips. She felt a foolish flush in her cheeks, and yet did not regret speaking out on the stranger's behalf.
The deep, scratchy drawl of Daryl Dixon lashed out as his body moved forward towards the bed:
"He asked you a question, asshole. Where'd you come from?"
Her view of Mike was suddenly blocked by Daryl's back, but she made no attempt to leave her spot in the cabin.
She was just as curious about the man as anyone…
"Originally, I'm from Tuscaloosa. Went to the university there. You guys from Alabama? It's a big college town, you know…" His words were slightly slurred and Carol could tell he was just coherent enough to answer them. She listened from behind Daryl as he rambled off for a moment about the famed football program in the state.
She heard him laugh at himself and felt her smile threaten again.
And then Daryl's blade left its sheath with his growled persuasion to get back on topic.
Mike's voice suddenly took a different tone, quiet and soft and sad. It cracked when he spoke, so slight that she wondered if anyone else heard it:
"I lived in the capital. Montgomery? When everything happened, I tried to get out, with my daughter and sister but…." Silence deadened the room and Carol finally moved to lean to the side, craning her head to seek out his face.
She just caught his left eye as it lowered to stare at the half-empty bottle in his hands.
"My sister was taken on the interstate. We were trying to get to a nearby city, Prattville; my wife—she'd died before it all…breast cancer- her family lives there….we made it, my daughter and me. But Prattville was being overrun too, the more people from Montgomery tried to get away…we found them, my brother-in-law and his wife and kids, and tried to keep going. We just kept moving, you know? But every populated area we came to…they were everywhere. They're everywhere…"
Carol felt her chest tighten, and a hand flew up to grip the cross that dangled from her neck. Mike's head sank into the pillow he closed his eyes, his eyebrows lowering and his lips thinning.
Rick's voice was clear but quiet:
"Your family? Where are they now?"
A few more moments of silence passed before Mike's broken whisper froze the cabin cold.
"Gone."
Carol stepped away from Daryl's back and left the men to continue their questioning.
She volunteered to bring him dinner.
He was sitting up in the bed when she opened the door, and she cast an assuring glance to Andrea, who stood armed at the entrance.
She knew the group's caution was merited; they didn't know this stranger, and after all this time living on the park grounds alone, their little family had suddenly been intruded by an outsider. It was natural to be suspicious.
But Carol felt that the malnourished, dehydrated man that called himself 'Mike' was not there to threaten anyone.
He was just there.
He offered a small nod when she walked in, attempted to sit up higher.
She was at his bedside in an instant, setting the plate of chilling food on the chair Rick had used and fishing another bottle of water out of her self-named 'runaway bag'. Her gaze landed on the tawny dark hair of his chest and she realized suddenly that his shirt was still drying on the clothes line by the cabin.
She tore her eyes from the exposed skin and thrust the bottle towards him.
"Here; you probably need as much of this as you can get. Brought some food too…it's not much but—"
"Thank you; you're very kind…"
He looked her in the eyes again, holding her in those dark orbs before shifting them to the plate. Carol recognized the sudden look of hunger in his eyes and moved to hand him the food.
She backed away from the bed as quickly as she'd approached it, intent on leaving him to eat and sending Andrea in to retrieve his empty plate.
His voice stopped her as she turned.
"What's your name?"
"Ah….Carol." And when exactly did she start forgetting her own name?
"Would you happen to know where my shirt is, Carol?"
I took it off of you to clean the cuts on your stomach…
"Outside, drying; I washed it….I can do the rest in the morning. I'm sure Rick will give you some spare clothes to wear in the meantime."
She heard Mike swallow a bite of food and turned back to face him despite herself.
He smiled at her again, lifted the bottle of water in her direction.
"Looks like I'll be makin' a habit of thanking you for things."
Andrea was eyeing the door when she made to leave.
"You two have a nice conversation?"
Carol felt her cheeks warm up again and felt a sudden rush of shame.
"Oh…um—"
"I'll get his plate from him later. Seems a harmless enough guy."
Andrea shrugged then, leaned casually against the wooden door and let the shotgun in her hand dangle loosely at her side. Carol watched as she gave a jerk of her head towards the RV, and turned to follow the motion.
Even in the consuming darkness of night, she could tell it was Daryl atop the Winnebago, rifle in hand.
His head did not move from its direction facing the cabin when she strode underneath his gaze and entered the vehicle to go to bed.
She felt she would need her rest for the days to come.