They were deep in the forest when the shot rang out, and Daryl pretended he wasn't pleased when Sophia stopped and looked to him with attentive eyes. The girl was good at follow the leader, that was certain.
"Hunting rifle," he informed her, fingering the strap of his crossbow. "Pretty far off from us. Don't think it was one of ours. Best keep going. Was only one shot, probably no one's in trouble. They'll be lookin' in groups, a fire fight would've had'a lot more shots."
Sophia nodded tightly, her head quirked like a dog's. It was a familiar gesture by then - she did that whenever she was absorbing information. Daryl had been talking to her more since their stop at the river. It was usually just to point out an interesting set of animal tracks or a helpful plant, but she seemed pleased as punch to have such information imparted on her, and so he'd kept at it. Sophia, for her part, had remained largely silent. Aside from her words at the river, Daryl hadn't heard a peep out of her all day. It didn't worry him - he took her for a quiet girl - but he did wonder if perhaps her silence was his fault.
"Any questions?" he asked gruffly, turning his back on the girl so she wouldn't see how silly saying that made him feel.
"How come you don't like being called Mister Dixon?" she said at once, as though the question had been on the tip of her tongue all afternoon. Daryl guessed that it had been.
"Questions about the lesson, wise ass," he said flatly, gritting his teeth.
"Shouldn't we go see what happened?"
If he'd been alone, he might've tried to find the source of the noise. But he wasn't about to take Sophia toward strange gunfire, and he was even more reluctant to drag her around looking for smoke with that ankle of hers. He really shouldn't have let her come along.
"Nah, it's probably nothing," he shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant about it.
"It could be my mom," she said quietly. "Maybe... maybe they found her."
"That's stupid," Daryl snapped. "Why would they shoot if it was her?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"It's late," he snarled, turning back toward the highway. He saw her glance toward the sun in disbelief, as though Daryl couldn't tell it was still high in the sky. He didn't care. He just stalked back in the direction they'd come, his brows drawn together in anger. When they happened upon a walker, he took it down as viciously as he could, hoping the experience would be jarring to the girl and then immediately wondering what the hell was wrong with him. To her credit, she seemed virtually unaffected despite the fleck of blood that had gotten on her cheek. She was a bit green, of course, but he found himself forgiving her queasiness.
"Are we going back to the others?" she asked when he started walking again.
"Yeah," he said shortly. "S'late. Others will worry 'bout us if they don' know who fired that shot."
"Do you think it could have been?"
"Could'a been what?"
"My mom. Do you think it was her they shot?"
He was facing her before he was even aware he'd turned around. "Why d'ya want her to be dead so bad?" he snarled, his hands clenched into fists. "Said I'd find her, didn't I? Why're you out here if you don't think we'll find her, huh?"
She didn't flinch this time when he stepped toward her, despite the fact that he was trying to seem threatening this time.
"I do think we'll find her," she said quietly, her steady gaze prickling like fiberglass on his skin, "and I want her to be alive. But I know my mom better than anyone."
He hated the certainty in her words, the sorrow and acceptance in her eyes. He hated how blue they were, how they glimmered eternally with unspent tears. In that moment, he hated everything about the girl, from her angel-gold hair to her bruised ankle. He hated the slim wrists that'd seemed too breakable to have held and wielded his knife and each and every one of those freckles that looked liked they'd been painted on her doll-like cheeks by some old master.
She was too young, too small, too meek to be so faithless.
"You don't know nothin'," he hissed, pity and anger warring in the pit of his stomach.
Sophia bowed her head. "I know my mother," she said softly. Daryl didn't respond. He knew that anything that came out of his mouth now wouldn't be suitable for her ears. So he turned again toward the highway and decided he wouldn't be looking at her again until they reached it. The only way he knew she stayed right behind him the entire time was the soft tread of her sneakers on the crackling forest floor. She kept up surprisingly well, considering how quickly he was walking and the slight limp she'd had for the past hour. Daryl knew he was being too hard on her, but there was a part of him that felt better when she suffered. He knew it was vindictive of him, but he couldn't bring himself to care when he felt like this. Her words had made him so angry.
He was going to find Carol. There was no question in his mind, but her words had rocked him to his core. How could she be so certain that her mother was dead?
Daryl remembered the smell of ash and rainstorms mixing in the air that fateful evening, and the way their neighbor had held him in her arms, whispering that it would all be okay. They'd all told him his mother was dead and he'd kept on believing she was out there, alive and well. How could he do anything different when she was his mother? He'd loved her, and he'd had to keep on believing she was out there somewhere, maybe even looking for him as he stared out the window, watching the driveway and waiting for her to appear.
He wanted to ask her what made her so sure of her mother's fate. He wanted to tear down her arguments and rip away that sad resignation in her eyes.
But he didn't ask. He hunched his shoulders forward and led the girl through the woods, thinking about mothers and fire and love.
"Where have you been all day?" Shane demanded, raising his voice at him as soon as he saw Daryl making his way across the highway. He hopped down from the top of the RV and darted toward them, his eyes wild and nervous.
"Lookin' for Carol," he snapped, more irritable than ever. "Know what that gunfire all about?"
"Carl got shot," Shane said tightly, his jaw ticking. "Some old hunter. Shot at a buck, went straight through the thing and hit Carl. They went to the man's farm. Rick and Lori are with him. We would've been there, too, but we had to wait for your sorry ass."
"Came as soon as I heard the shot," Daryl growled.
"You should've been out there on your own!"
"Wasn't on my own."
"You think a little girl counts?" he snarled, crowding closer and baring his teeth. "We were gonna look together, man. Where were you?"
"Shane, come on," Andrea called in exasperation, waving them all closer. "We're going to see him now, okay?"
"We can't all just leave!" Daryl protested. "What if Carol comes back here and finds us all gone?"
"We left a note," Shane said flatly, gesturing dismissively toward a red car piled high with food and water. "Let's go. Dale is leading the way. He's got the map."
Daryl's head swung around as he heard the roar of the Winnebago's engine. Glenn, T-Dog and Andrea were already stowed away inside and Shane was pacing angrily toward the decrepit yellow Jeep Cherokee that Carol should've been driving but wasn't. They were all gone before Daryl realized Sophia was still standing behind him, watching him with expectant eyes. Like it was his job to find her a ride just because everyone else seemed to have forgotten about her. And it wasn't, but at the same time it was, because he wasn't gonna be the guy that left a little girl to fend for herself.
"Only got the bike," he grunted, because even if he wouldn't leave her behind, he certainly wasn't gonna be the guy that Merle slaughtered for leaving his precious bike behind. He hoped she wouldn't try to get him to leave it behind. He'd given in easily enough that morning to make him wary of trying to argue with her.
But Sophia followed him without protest, though her eyes were bright and terrified when he climbed on and motioned for her to do the same. She scrambled on right behind him and dug her spindly fingers into his sides, curling them around his shirt.
"Ready?" he asked uncomfortably, wishing she'd taken hold of the seat instead of his torso.
"Don't you need a helmet for these things?"
"I'll look into it," he said sarcastically. "Hold on tight."
And they were off. Daryl caught up to the Cherokee and shot Shane a glare. The man seemed surprised to see Sophia sitting behind him, but he didn't slow down. Daryl was stuck with her sharp elbows squeezing at his ribs every time he turned, and her sharp breaths in his ear every time he accelerated. Luckily, the torture ended soon enough. The farm was only a few miles back down the highway. The dirt road gave Sophia hell, but he almost thought it was funny the way she squeaked with every bounce. It didn't bother him very much, at any rate.
"Okay?" he called over his shoulder, pulling up behind the Cherokee and examining the girl's ashen face. It looked like she was back to her mute nods.
"Where is he?" Shane snarled, drawing Daryl's attention. There was a white-haired stranger on the porch, watching them with wary, solemn eyes.
"This way," the stranger said, waving Shane into the house.
"Can I go see Carl, too?" Sophia asked hesitantly. Daryl watched the house suspiciously, wondering whether or not it was wise to trust these people. "Mister Dixon?"
He jumped when he realized Sophia's question had been directed at him. For once, he ignored the title and jumped straight to the question. "Girl, why are you askin' me?" he snapped, jerking away from her and stepping off the bike to go through his bag. The girl hopped off as well and took a few halting steps toward the house.
Daryl sighed. "No, just stay here until we're sure he's alright for visits," he mumbled, thinking rather darkly that he wouldn't want Sophia wishing the Grimes kid dead, too. He ignored the twinge of guilt that came with the thought. "Go tell Dale you're hungry," he commanded, waving her away from him. He'd spent enough time with the girl for one day.
"I'm not hungry," she said sadly, wrapping her arms around herself.
"You're hungry," he disagreed, nudging her toward the RV. "Hell, I'm hungry. Let's get somethin'ta eat."
It was only then that she relented, and Daryl paused to give her a suspicious stare when he realized he'd be spending the afternoon with her after all.