xxx
"Sophia!"
Daryl leaned against a tree as the words left his lips, surprised when he found himself out of breath and panting. Beads of sweat had long ago formed on his brow and were no beginning to run down his face, but that wasn't so surprising, given that the Georgia sun had risen and the sweltering heat had made a triumphant return. It was probably only ten or so in the morning, not even the hottest part of the day; wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been so goddamn cold earlier, he figured, going from one extreme to the other was never good.
He took a deep breath, calling for the girl again and searching the creekbed with his keen eyes; there were the usual signs of life in the forest, fish in the water, squirrels and other little creatures running around, birds chirping. The world hadn't ended for them, it had probably even gotten a little better. Daryl growled, running his hand across his dirt-streaked face, discouraged at the lack of any sign of Sophia . . . again.
The thought of going back to camp and facing Carol, disappointing her again, was just about the hardest thing he could imagine. She was looking to him, only him (since everyone had so many other things they thought were more important), to find her little girl; he was going to bring her back, safe and sound, give her back to her mama, and finally see what Carol's face looked like when it was lit up with a smile.
Now where the hell did that come from?
Daryl shook his head, bewildered by his own thoughts and disgusted at the same time; as if he had the time for foolish daydreaming when he was out in the middle of the woods, by himself save for maybe a Walker or two out there, looking to eat him. He needed to stay focused. Why that was so difficult, he couldn't figure, though he supposed maybe it had something to do with the throbbing behind his eyes that hadn't let up since he first opened them hours before.
"Fuck . . . " he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of pain, giving in for a moment, knowing there was no one around to see. Carol was right, he was sick, and damn if he didn't have just perfect timing! He opened his eyes again, glancing around quickly to make sure nothing had come upon him while he wasn't looking, and then it caught his eye . . .
A doll. Sophia's doll. Abandoned, lying half in the water at the bottom of the hill he was standing on; his heart started hammering in his chest as he tried to find a safe way down the incline, slipping and sliding, almost falling completely, before finally managing to land on the river rocks. He stumbled, regained his footing, and made his way over to the doll, snatching it up as quickly as if it were Sophia herself.
"Sophia!" he called, a twinge of desperation in his voice.
She was twelve years old, alone and terrified, she would hold onto that doll like a lifeline; he didn't know much about young girls, but even he could figure that out. If she dropped it, that meant . . . Don't mean shit, he thought angrily, maybe she just tripped and it fell down here. Or she had to run off and dropped it.
"Sophia!" he tried again, looking around anxiously.
There was a rustling in the bushes across the river, but he sensed right away that it was not Sophia; he reached for his crossbow, felt the hot metal beneath his hands, and gripped it expertly, prepared for whatever appeared. Sure enough, a Walker staggered out from behind the bush, grotesque in sight and smell; grunting with the exertion of bringing the crossbow up, Daryl took aim and fired. The bolt struck the Walker through the forehead and it fell face-first into the dirt, landing just a couple steps away from Daryl; he kicked the Walker lightly, nudging its shoulder with his boot. As expected, the creature didn't make a move.
Sighing, Daryl tucked the doll into his waistband and slung his crossbow over his back, before bending down to grip his bolt and rip it from the Walker's head; took a little more effort, it seemed, as he placed his foot against the head and pulled. The bolt hesitated, then came loose without warning, causing him to stumble back a step . . . the world around him swam and his vision blurred, and he blinked quickly trying to clear it up. Leaning over, he put his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths, trying to push aside the pain in his head and the heat radiating from his skin. His heart pounded unsteadily, his ears were blocked from the amount of blood rushing to his head as he leaned over further, and he never heard the second Walker coming from the bushes.
Not until its disfigured hands latched onto his shoulders, knocking him off-balance, and sending them both falling onto the rocks. Daryl's face hit a rock, splitting his lip open and knocking a tooth loose; he growled, struggling to roll onto his back, but the Walker straddling him was strong, and fighting hard. It snarled, snapping rotten teeth and lunging toward the back of his neck; he managed to roll out from under the Walker just in time, barely avoiding a bite from the teeth that scraped along his collarbone.
The Walker bellowed even louder, its bony fingers digging into his arms as they pinned him down even further; Daryl whimpered, fear bubbling up to near panic, the fever raging inside him only intensifying it. He kicked uselessly, struggled in vain to raise his arms, then finally gave in and brought his head up, swiftly butting the Walker in the forehead.
It definitely hurt him more than the undead bastard.
Blood began to pour from the gash in his hairline now, and Daryl cursed himself as it only agitated the Walker further; it had managed to force the creature off him just enough for him to slide away though, and he scrambled further back, crawling on his hands and knees. He felt a hand grab his ankle, begin to climb up his pants, then he felt the darkness creeping up on him, a black void swimming on the edges of his eyesight.
"No!" he cried out, fighting it as hard as he'd ever fought before. Panting, heaving, he grasped a rock and swung it around, connecting with the Walker's head; he bared his teeth in a sick smile at the cracking sound, and the way the Walker slumped over.
Daryl brought the rock down on the Walker's face until there was nothing but broken bones and brain matter left, and then he collapsed onto the rocks, coughing and wheezing violently. He gagged, choked, tried to vomit but nothing came up, until finally he was too exhausted to even breathe; he lay down, shutting his eyes, trying to block out the glaring sun and the agonizing pain.
Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.
Pain was coming from his shoulder, small but noticeable, so he cracked open an eye to take a peek; a thin pink line, only a couple inches, ran along his tanned skin. It wasn't bleeding, the Walker's teeth had only irritated, not broken the skin; the blood in his face was fucking annoying though, hot and sticky, salty. He reached up to feel the wound, winced at the pain, then sat up slowly; a wave of dizziness, and with it nausea, assaulted him then, and he fell to his side, heaving again.
Before his eyes slid closed, he thought he saw a little girl's face peering out at him from the bushes, eyes wide and terrified, red hair stringy . . . he tried to reach for her, croaked out her name, and then passed out.
xxx
Carol glanced out the kitchen window as she busied herself slicing potatoes, preparing dinner for Herschel's family and the group; Patricia and Lori scurried about, setting the table, checking the chicken cooking in the oven. Lori commented how nice it was to be doing something "normal", Patricia agreed, and Carol kept to herself. The others had lost cherished lives when . . . whatever this was, started; she had never made a family dinner, sat down to enjoy it with her husband and child. This was just as out of the ordinary to her as dead people walking around.
Outside, Carl was giggling, and she felt a pang, a longing for her little girl; the thought of Sophia still alone out there was growing harder and harder to bear, and to believe. With each passing hour it became more certain to her that she would never see Sophia again . . . the thought made her choke on a sob that suddenly rose from her throat, and she caught Lori's concerned gaze that flicked toward her.
"Fine," she said, without being asked, giving a small smile.
"Chicken looks good," Patricia announced, bending over the oven, oblivious to the other women.
Beth walked in then, and Carol took the opportunity to surrender the potatoes to the young girl; she quietly excused herself and went outside, suddenly feeling entirely too hot and cramped in the kitchen. It was mid-afternoon, the sun was still hot but there was a whiff of air, and she gratefully breathed it in; then her blood ran cold, Andrea's voice from atop the RV warning the camp:
"Walker! Walker!"
Carol clutched the railing on the porch, squinting and struggling to see what the others were now running toward; it looked like a man, covered in blood, dragging something behind his staggering frame.
Dragging something? Since when did Walkers carry anything around?
Icy fear coursed through Carol's veins, and before she knew it, she was running across the field, her legs moving as fast as possible; she cried out, her voice shaking as she saw Andrea level her rifle, taking aim. "Don't shoot!" It felt like a scream, but nobody seemed to hear her, so maybe it was just a frantic whisper; a second later, a gunshot cracked over the farm, and she watched in horror as the figure fell backward.
"No!"
They were hauling Daryl to his feet by the time Carol got there, he coughed and groaned, would have fallen again if not for Shane and Rick's arms around him; but he was alive, Carol laughed and cried, covering her mouth with her hand as they half-dragged him by. "Is he hit?" Carol worried aloud, and Glenn nodded.
"Not bad," he assured her, just grazed his shoulder.
Just as Carol began to shoot up a thankful prayer, the doll tucked into his pants caught her eye . . .
"Daryl!" she gasped, hurrying over, gently but urgently cupping his face with her hand; she somehow managed to find her voice long enough to utter one word: "Sophia?"
Daryl tried to nod, grimaced instead. "I saw her . . . " he muttered, "I think. Found 'er doll by the creek 'fore I ran into . . . " his voice trailed off then, as if he didn't want her to hear the rest.
"What happened to you?" Carol brought her other hand up to his cheek now, ignoring the way he pulled from her. "Oh my god, you're burnin' up."
"Is he bit?" Shane demanded, loosening his grip on Daryl so he could step back and take another look.
"No." Daryl scowled. "I ain't bit . . . " he moaned, shaking Rick's grip. "I'm fuckin' tired. Just let me sleep, an' I'll be fine in the mornin'." He stumbled with his first step, but before Rick could, Carol grabbed his arm. "Let me," she said, softly.
Daryl shot a look back at Shane, then Rick, but nodded just a little and almost leaned into her touch as they began making their way back to camp; his skin was hot, but he was shivering beneath Carol's touch. It felt like it took an hour before they finally made it to his tent and he stumbled inside, Carol hesitated, but followed him after a moment; neither spoke while he lay down in the dirt, sighing heavily, his eyelids already closing.
Carol bit her lip, chewing on it nervously as he knelt beside him and began untying his boots; blue eyes peered at her through the tiny slits that were now his eyes, but he still didn't speak, not even as she pulled his boot off and tossed them aside. Her tiny hands worked quickly, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a chest that was criss-crossed with scars she pretended not to notice; he helped her to remove the shirt, rising onto his elbows, his jaw set tightly, eyes now wide and suspicious.
"What're you doin'?" he mumbled.
"You were just shot," Carol reminded him, her fingers ghosting the gouge that ran across his upper arm. "Can't let it get infected . . . probably already is, with this fever you've got." She looked around, grabbed the cleanest rag she could see, and began to tenderly wipe the blood away. "What happened to you?" she asked again, eyeing his head and the angry gash.
"Ran into some Walkers . . . "
"You saw Sophia?"
"Thought so," he murmured, easing himself back down. "Guess I could've just . . . been seein' things." A beat of silence, and then: "You don't gotta do this, I can clean myself up just fine."
"I'm sure," Carol replied, "but I want to."
She worked in quiet for the next few minutes, cleaning the path of the bullet as well as she could, and then his head; all the while, she watched him fight to keep his eyes open, finally losing the battle just as she finished placing a makeshift bandage on his head. Just before his breathing evened out and sleep overtook him, she heard him murmur:
"I'm gonna find your lil' girl tomorrow."