Author's Note: Thank you for the reads/reviews/Tumblring.
TWDTWDTWD
When she woke up, she was alone on the couch. She was still stretched out along it, but her feet rested on cushion, instead of his lap. He'd thrown his blanket over her legs, she noticed. She looked back at the others, most were still asleep, but Rick and T-Dog were also missing, so she got up, stuffing her feet back into her sneakers as she rubbed her fists over her eyes. Making her way into the kitchen, the three men looked up at her from the kitchen table, maps spread across the surface.
"Morning." She greeted quietly with a nod of her head. Rick nodded at her and she rooted through the cupboards for a glass. When she found what she was looking for, she pulled one of the plastic bottles from the six pack on the kitchen worktop, pouring just a little water into the glass. They didn't know when they'd next find supplies, so she tried to take as little as she could.
She watched them as she drained her glass, they muttered to each other occassionally, T-Dog was jotting notes on a scrap of paper, their fingers trailing routes she couldn't see from her spot against the kitchen counter. They seemed to forget she was there as she rooted in some of the kitchen drawers, looking for anything they could take with them on the next leg of their journey. She pulled out matches and batteries, chewing gum and kitchen knives. Things like that always seemed to be around when they had Dale's RV. The man hoarded everything.
Eventually she exhausted the room of anything they could use and she looked back up at the table, where they continued to to work.
"I'm going upstairs to see if there's some clothes we can make use of." She told them finally, not waiting for an answer, simply because she didn't expect one, so absorbed they were.
She knew nothing had gotten into the house, but she still carried a bread knife in her hand as she headed up the stairs. She couldn't explain why. She'd never carried a weapon before and probably wouldn't be able to use it if she had to. After all, if she was any good at fighting back, she wouldn't have stayed with Ed all those years. Took all that abuse. Let him get away with it. The first door told her it was Toby's room and she only opened it enough to spot the junior bed against the wall before shutting it again. She'd spotted the family photos that hung in every room. Toby could've only been two or three. There was nothing of use in his room, she knew without looking.
She skipped the bedroom proclaiming to be Sarah and Annie's, choosing the door that didn't have a little wooden sign. The master suite. The bed was perfectly made and as she made her way to the wardrobes, she ran her hand over the satin cover. There was plenty to be had in the drawers. She ignored the summer dresses and sandals, brushing them aside in favour of sweaters and shirts, jeans and socks. The last person to wear those things was smaller than she, Carol noted. But they'd all lost weight in the last few days. The Greene girls were slight anyway and Lori was already painfully thin, despite being pregnant. Her own pants felt looser than they had when she put them on, several days ago.
She threw everything useful onto the bed, managing to find two pairs of winter boots aswell, although they were a size too small for her. Her sneakers would have to do her a little longer. She took one of the looser plaid shirts and a vest for herself, some socks and underwear. She had to hope that the jeans she could find would fit her. Turned out the previous owner also preferred slightly dressier clothes and there wasn't a pair of cargo pants to be found. There was only one practical coat, a navy waterproof with a fleece lining. She put it aside for Lori, the only other woman without a coat. It left her with the only other option, am emerald green dress coat. She smiled at it as she put it against herself and looked in the mirror, her hands grazing the gold buttons. It was pretty. The lady of the house had good taste. She pulled it away from her body abruptly when she heard footsteps on the stairs but relaxed when it was Lori who entered the room.
"Hey. You found plenty, I see." The other woman said, by way of greeting.
"Sure did." Carol picked the navy jacket up from the bed and handed it over.
"Thanks." Lori rifled through the pile of clothes on the bed, picking out things for herself. "We're gonna take it in turns to wash up in the river. Rick wants to move out as soon as we're all done. We're goin' to Fort Benning."
"Okay. Will you send everyone up to collect clean clothes? I'm not sure what you want to do about Carl. There's not much that'll fit him."
Lori scanned the pile on the bed, picking out a denim shirt that didn't look particularly feminine and some plain black socks. "We won't tell him which wardrobe these came from." She winked at Carol before leaving the room, her arms loaded with clothes for her family.
The others trickled in slowly, taking odds and ends that would fit them. Carol continued to work at clearing the bedroom and bathroom, taking everything of use and packing it into holdalls she found stashed under the bed. The last lady to have been here had a fancy for handbags and it made Carol yearn for her own that had gotten left behind the farm. That bag held everything. It was a catch-all for every little thing she found. Before, it was her wallet and keys, lipstick and notepads. Then when the world ended, hand sanitiser and bottles of water, hair ties and pocket knives. Or grenades. The memory of that day in the CDC, where she produced a hand grenade from its depths with shaking fingers almost brought a smile to her face. Her one useful act.
She would have a new one. Carol discarded the leather purses and sparkly clutchbags, pulling free a patchwork drawstring bag from the floor of the wardrobe. It wasn't as big as her last bag, but it would do. She pushed in chapstick and hand wipes immediately, swiped from the dressing table. A tube of hand cream and a scarf quickly followed and she pulled it closed. It took time to build up a bag of tricks.
"Hey, have you found any hair ties?" Beth had raced up the stairs, quickly rifling through the diminishing pile of clothes. She was the last, aside from Daryl. "Mine just broke." She held up the snapped elastic, to illustrate her question.
"No, but I'll look for some. There should be some somewhere. You go wash up." She told the young girl.
Beth pulled a pink sweater from the pile and a pair of jeans that looked like they would be spray painted onto even the smallest of the group's tiny frame. Carol raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. If it made her happy, then she would leave her to it.
"Beth, what size shoe are you?" She picked up the lace up boots and handed them over.
"Six." Beth took them and looked at them with distaste but she knew they would be better than her worn sneakers.
"Perfect. Go on, get going." Carol nodded to the stairs with a smile and the girl scarpered off as quick as she had come. She continued packing the last of the clothes into the bags, pulling out her own choices for Daryl. If he wanted to avoid her, she would let him, but she wasn't going to hang around waiting for him to pick out his wardrobe.
"Hair ties, hair ties..." She mumbled to herself, pulling open the dresser drawers. There were dozens of lipsticks and hair pins rolling around in them, but not a single hair elastic. Surely in the children's rooms there must be one, she had thought. She opened the door to the room at the back of the house, Lilly's room, so the sign said and regretted it the moment she did. She felt the bile rise up into her throat and for a split second she was sure she was going to vomit.
The pool of blood caked to the carpet was evidence enough of what happened in the room. The rocking chair lay toppled over, it's cushions scattered across the floor. There were no blankets in the cot, but the side had been pulled down, blood splatters on the bars. A teddy bear lay discarded near the rust coloured pool.
Carol needed to shut the door before she burst into hysterical sobs. She knew that she needed to walk away before it tipped her over the edge. She felt the tears brimming, her breathing becoming more ragged, but she couldn't seem to draw her eyes away from the horror scene. She wanted to lift her hand to the doorknob and pull the door shut, pretend that she had never seen this room, but she was frozen.
"I told you not to go in here." She jumped when she heard his voice, hard and cold in her ear. Daryl stepped past her to pull the door shut with a slam. It was as if the spell was broken, when he shut the door. Her gaze snapped to him, his face contorted into an expression she couldn't quite decipher. Anger perhaps? Mingled with something else she couldn't figure out.
She didn't say anything as she moved back to the master bedroom, he followed her and she handed him his bundle of clothes. She gathered up her own and ignored him as she headed down the stairs, desperately trying to think of anything other than the death of the the beautiful baby she could see in the family photos scattered around the house.
"Just you and Daryl left to wash up. Then we'll head out." Lori handed her a towel as she made her way through the back door.
Carol nodded. "Everything's packed upstairs on the bed. Beth wants a hair tie if you've got a minute to hunt one down." She didn't wait for Lori's response as she headed down the bottom of the garden to the river.
TWDTWDTWD
He could see her hands shaking as she pulled off her sneakers and socks. She sat close to the river her feet dipping into the cool water as she unbuttoned her blouse. The same feet he'd woken up with in his lap. He didn't remember how it happened, but he remembered her curling up so tight, he'd thought she'd never be able to uncoil herself, as if she wanted to sit as far away from him as possible on the couch. Her feet were icy cold. He turned away from her, allowing them both as much privacy as possible, although really, what did it matter any more?
He was fast, washing as quickly as he could and jamming the clean clothes on even though his skin was still damp. She'd picked them out for him, but she had made a good choice. It didn't feel right though, even though the others frequently scavenged something to wear, he'd always managed to make good with what he had.
He heard her curse softly under her breath and turned to see what was wrong, taken aback at the sight of her. She was half dressed, a pair of jeans rolled to her knees and only her bra on top and she was crouched in the water, scrubbing furiously at her hands and arms. Just as he was about to turn away, she lifted an arm and he caught a glimpse of pink. Carol had a tattoo. Under her breast, was a small flower, the edges of the leaves creeping under bra. He didn't recognise it but it was a typical girl's tattoo, the type that drunk girls would get on the spur of the moment. But still. Carol Peletier would be the last person he would expect to have a tattoo. She caught him looking at her and he turned away quickly, embarassed at having being caught. It didn't seem to bother her though, she just raised one eyebrow and carried on.
He busied himself with folding up his clothes and lacing his boots back up and when he looked up again she was fully dressed, wearing a green coat he hadn't seen before. It was like a dress, with a full skirt and gold buttons and he imagined that it was the only one available for her to be wearing it. It didn't fit her usual clothing choices. But then, what did he know? He'd convinced himself he knew this woman but he didn't know anything about her at all. She had a tattoo. Maybe she liked impractical and fancy coats. She was sitting on the verge, damp hair lying flat, the edges curling in the breeze, massaging cream into her hands, she seemed to be in a trance, her fingers running over her wedding ring repeatedly.
"You ready?" He finally asked her, standing up and pulling on his jacket and vest.
She nodded and with a motion so quick he almost missed it, she pulled the wedding ring from her finger, tossing it into the river. He definitely didn't know this woman at all.