Chapter Forty-Eight

Carol pulled her jacket closed over her chest and zipped it up as she stepped out onto the porch. The house was settling for the night, it being well after eleven, but something had called her outside. Just a feeling, but one she wasn't going to ignore. Sophia was tucked away in the big bed she shared with her parents down in the basement, but Daryl was somewhere finishing up his turn at watch with Rick. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, finding Lori curled up under a thick woolen blanket on the swing.

She smiled as she sat down next to her friend. "How long've you been out here?" she spoke softly. Despite their seclusion, they still observed the rules put into place to keep them safe.

"I don't know … couple of hours, I guess," Lori whispered back, her eyes following her husband as he made a circuit of the wide lawn.

Carol couldn't help but follow her gaze. "How is he?" she questioned, nodding her head at Rick.

Lori sniffed. "He's retreating into himself, Carol, and I don't know what to do to help him. He's worried about Shane, Dale and Andrea – and why they haven't found us yet – the group, the baby … the list goes on and on."

Carol pulled the woman into a warm embrace, burrowing beneath the blanket with her. She'd sit out there with her for as long as she needed if she were able to somehow help her. "Of course, he's worried. We all are. They should have been here by now." She wasn't worried they'd miss the turnoff if they had made it off the farm and all the way to Griffin. The driveway was on the main road into town, and Daryl had taken the extra precaution of shooting two bolts into the mailbox. They would be clearly recognizable to Shane. But it had been over a week since they'd made their escape from the farm, and many were losing hope their friends had made it. "We'll be going back soon, and will find out one way or the other."

Lori pulled a crumpled handkerchief from the inside of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. "That's what worries me. I don't know if I could stand to see our friends turned, wandering around the farm aimlessly searching for someone to feed on."

Carol rubbed soothing circles along the brunette's back, lending her comfort. "You can't think like that."

"How can I not? I see it in Rick's eyes every time I look at him. He blames himself for not seeing that everyone got off the farm with us."

Daryl whistled down from the roof of the porch, a short burst of sound to disturb the still night air. Rick sprinted across the lawn, closing the distance between himself and his watch partner. Carol and Lori appeared at the top of the steps, eager, as well, to see what news he had to report.

"We got incomin'!" the hunter hissed, swinging down from his perch. "Lights jus' turned onto th' drive." His feet hit the ground next to Rick, his bow settling on his arm as he cast his eyes down the gravel driveway.

Rick didn't ask how Daryl had seen lights from such a distance. He was coming to realize he didn't need to question the hunter in some things. He yanked the rifle from his back and checked the chamber, his gaze rising to meet Lori's. "Get T-Dog and Glen. We might need backup."

"Carol," Daryl murmured urgently, "cover us from the porch. Get th' rifle I've been teachin' y'."

It was testament to her training she didn't argue, but nodded and disappeared into the house to fetch the weapon. She was back, along with the men and in position as a silver Dodge inched its way slowly into the yard. Daryl held his crossbow, ready to fire as he made his way towards the driver's side of the truck.

Rick was in tandem with him as he approached the passenger door. "C'mon out, nice and slow now," he called. The driver, however, was in a hurry. She threw the door open and nearly collapsed at the hunter's feet, her blonde hair matted and filthy. Daryl caught her before she could fall. His hand on her back could feel the wheezing breaths she struggled to draw in.

Shane stumbled out of the passenger side, equally bedraggled, a wide grin on his face. "Man, is it good to see you!" he chortled, finding himself caught up in a hug as his partner fell onto him.

Rick was weak with relief and didn't even try to hide the moisture gathering in his eyes. "I thought you were dead! After so long …"

Glenn hurried to help Andrea stand, seeing she was clearly sick. "Have you been bitten?" he asked worriedly, holding her at arm's length.

"No, I'm ok. I think I caught a cold from the turn in the weather, though. Where's Carol?" the blonde asked, her voice raspy from coughing.

Carol darted off the porch, wrapping her arms around her friend. She'd really begun to think she'd never see her again … alive anyway. "I'm so happy you're ok! Come on inside. You need to let Hershel have a look at you, get you some antibiotics to fight off whatever you've contracted."

T-Dog took the rifle from Carol and followed them inside. She led Andrea straight to the kitchen and settled her down in a chair at the table before moving to the stove to put the kettle on for tea. Daryl slipped in behind her and started a fresh pot of coffee. Shane didn't look the type to drink some of the fancy English breakfast tea he'd found in town for his wife.

Rick and Lori sat on either side of Shane while Hershel looked Andrea over, claiming she had a nasty case of bronchitis. He gave her a dose of antibiotics, but made it clear to Rick they'd have to go on a run the following day to search for an inhaler and some anti-inflammatory medication.

Glenn took the rifle Rick had been using and inched towards the door. "Me and T will go ahead and take watch. It was nearly time anyway."

"Thanks, Glenn," Rick nodded solemnly, glad to have the boy's willing assistance. He knew he'd be useless until he heard Shane and Andrea's story.

Carol set a plate of food in front of them both and crossed her arms over her chest, asking the question to which she was sure everyone needed to hear the answer. "Where's Dale?" She wasn't the only one to have noticed he was missing.

Andrea's lower lip trembled as she ducked her head to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Carol dropped into a chair next to her as Daryl slid a cup of coffee across the table to Shane and moved to stand at the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. The silence in the room was nearly unbearable as the weight of their loss settled upon them. She wrapped her hands around the blonde's where they were warming over her teacup. "He didn't make it," Carol murmured quietly, her eyes filling with sympathy for her friend.

Shane shook his head, letting his chin fall to his chest. He might not have always agreed with the older man, but Dale was their voice of reason, their strong hand of morality, the last shred of their humanity in a world gone to shit. He couldn't help but feel the void left by his death.

"I didn't make it to him in time after I ran from the house," Andrea whispered, tears falling unchecked over her dirty cheeks. "There were just too many of them …" Her voice broke on a sob. "They came out of the pasture on that side and swarmed us. I thought we'd both make it, but … Dale pushed me up the steps into the RV and the door slammed behind me … he should have been right behind me. I should have made sure!"

Shane shot her a pained look. "Babe, it's not your fault. There's nothing you could've done. If you'd gone back out there, you'd have died too." Apparently, this wasn't the first time he'd had to reassure her since the fall of the farm.

Rick scrubbed his hands over his face as Lori got up to fix her husband a cup of coffee, needing something to do with her hands before she too broke down into a weeping mess. "What happened to you after we got separated?" he asked his partner. He was still suffering guilt for leaving him behind.

"Don't do it, man," Shane warned, draining his cup and sitting back in his chair.

"Don't do what?"

"Play that guilt card. You did what you could, Rick," Shane said. "You had to get out for Lori and Carl." He sighed wearily when Rick shook his head. "I saw everyone follow the plan. I could've made it to the pickup before you left, but I couldn't leave Andrea. I had to get her out."

Daryl shifted his feet anxiously. "That couldn't've been easy."

"It wasn't, but by the time I'd fought my way to the camper, those geeks had lost interest in it. There was little left of Dale, but I knew Andrea was inside. Of course, the damn thing refused to start, and we were stuck."

"For how long?" Hershel asked where he stood next to the sink, looking out through a crack in the boards covering the window.

"Four days," the deputy answered. "I'm sorry, Hershel, but there's not much left."

The farmer hung his head, despairing at his loss.

"I dunno what started it – possibly the walkers caught scent of the living in the house – but the lines from the generator shed were torn lose. The house burned. It spread to the trees and outbuildings. We thought maybe the barn and stables would've been ok, but when we checked, the doors looked like they'd been torn from their hinges … the animals … well you can imagine."

Andrea blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face. "I'm so sorry, Hershel."

"We knew there'd be a chance the farm would be lost," he intoned flatly.

Lori laid a comforting hand on Shane's forearm. "How'd the two of you get away?"

Shane huffed a short humorless laugh. "We hoofed it back to the highway through the woods. Not too easy without Dixon showing us the way, I'll tell you. At first, I wasn't sure we were in the right place, but we found a truck and headed out anyway. Wasn't easy, but once we found some signs, we managed to get pointed in the right direction. All we had with us was what we could carry in our packs from what was left of the supplies in the RV." He looked over at Daryl. "Stroke of genius to put those bolts in the mailbox. Otherwise, we'd've never found this place."

Rick clasped him on the shoulder and squeezed. "We're just glad the two of you made it."

Carol rose to her feet and took Andrea's hand, helping her rise. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up and tucked into a warm bed," she said, trying to smile through her anguish. "Lori, see if you can find clothes for them, please? I'll make up one of the empty rooms down here for them."

Daryl and Rick dragged a spare mattress down from the attic and Carol was able to find sheets, blankets and pillows in the linen closet upstairs. The room was sparse with only the lone mattress and their packs, but it would be theirs for as long as they remained in the house. She worried over Andrea's health, but with Hershel there to see to her care, the blonde should make a full recovery in no time.

Daryl watched his wife as she moved around downstairs, readying herself for bed. No matter how hard Carol tried to hide it from him, he could see how much Dale's death was affecting her. He sat down on the side of the bed and removed his boots, his toes curling into the carpet as he yawned. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy, when she emerged from the bathroom. He didn't say a word, simply holding his arms out to her.

Carol collapsed against him, allowing him to pull her to the center of the bed to be sandwiched between him and Sophia. She wept silent tears against his chest, comforted by his warm embrace. "Why?" she sniffled. "Dale never did a thing to harm anyone."

Daryl sighed and pressed his lips to her brow. She wasn't alone in her pain. He felt it too, though he wouldn't allow it to show. It was better for him to deal with it in his own way without her compassion. She'd make him feel it all the more strongly, and frankly, he didn't know if he could deal with it at the moment. He could only pray he'd be able to say the right thing to make her feel better. "Why'd any o' this have t' happen? Because a bunch o' idiot scientists decided they wanted t' play God," he scoffed. "We're havin' t' pay for their mistakes. All we can do is try t' make it, Carol. Th' best way we can."

She nestled closer to her husband and wrapped her arm around his waist, her crying jag having left her emotionally exhausted. "He was our moral compass, Daryl. How are we to go on without him? He was kind and compassionate, always there to listen and offer his advice. There wasn't a member of this group he hasn't affected in some way."

His fingers skimmed the translucent skin beneath her eyes, brushing away her tears. "We'll jus' have t' remember what he taught us, an' not lose sight of our humanity. It's how we'll honor his memory. We're gonna lose people, Carol. There's no way we can avoid it. We're gonna hurt an' grieve an' mourn, but at th' end o' th' day, we just have to keep fighting. We ain't got a choice."

Carol pressed her face into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, hoping she'd be able to find sleep despite the turmoil roiling within her. "I'll always fight for you, Daryl … for Sophia and the others."

"I know. That's all I can ask. No matter how bad it might get … don't give up on us."

*.*.*

"Big man wants to see you, Dixon."

Merle's head snapped up and his hand tightened around the stock of the rifle he held loosely at his side. He didn't like Russo. He liked his sycophantic sidekick, Wayne, even less. Staring them down, he cocked his head to the side and regarded them through narrowed eyes. "S'that right?"

Wayne nodded slowly, a sneer curling his too wide lips. "Yup. He's on the wall. It's tee time, y'know."

Merle dismissed them, more than ready to have the governor's new flunkies out of his own personal space. And more importantly, Marty's. He glanced over at her where she sat on the sidewalk rebuilding the bicycle Tyreese had found and carted back to Woodbury. She'd already outfitted the back with a cart. It would hold two at the most and give the one manning the pedals a good workout. Tara and Sasha sat on either side of her, trying to learn what they could as the three gossiped in the late afternoon sunlight.

Martine had heard everything the two had said to her lover, and she silently gave him leave through her guarded gaze. It wasn't often they needed to speak when others were around, and it sometimes overwhelmed him at how important she'd become to him. He turned on his heel and made the short trek to the wall from the front of the apartment building where they lived. He had to fight hard to keep the sneer off his lips as he watched the man hit another golf ball onto the street below outside the gates. He'd be damned if he'd go collect the stupid things.

"Y' wanted t' see me, governor?" he asked, forcing a smile to his face. When the situation warranted, he could be just as charming as Blake.

"Ah, Dixon," Philip drawled, flexing his gloved hand. "Just thought we should have a chat." He paused to look out over his town. "Woodbury's coming along nicely, don't you think?"

Merle wanted to roll his eyes, but managed a blank stare. The most the man had done was oversee the construction of the walls … if you could even call a few overturned semi's and some chain link walls. Blake had been more concerned with amassing his weapons. "Comin' along real good, sir. But I don't think that's why y' called me up here."

Philip chuckled. "Can't get anything past you, Merle."

No, but I can get plenty by you, asshole, he growled inwardly.

The governor's laughter died away just as quickly as it had appeared, his focus seemingly returning to his backswing. "And how are the new men working out? Do they seem to be fitting in and finding their place? Russo's team brought in some much-needed supplies from their short run last week."

Dixon felt his stomach churn with a fresh wave of acid at the thought of the low lifes Blake had managed to recruit. Even at his worst, he had standards. These men thrived on the vilest forms of debauchery known to man. Thieving, raping, pillaging … they'd have given pirates a run for their money back in the day. He plastered a grin on his face which didn't meet the icy blue steel of his eyes. "They're m' kind o' people. I think they'll do well here," he lied.

Blake turned to level his general with a pointed gaze, taking his measure before he relaxed and smiled that oily politician's grin Merle hated with a flaming passion. "Perhaps now that our numbers have increased, we'll be able to clear the prison? You have to admit it would serve us well should Woodbury ever fall."

Merle snorted. "The rear wall had collapsed last we checked. That place is swarmin' with biters," he said, using the governor's favorite term for the undead. "It would take more men than we've got t' even make a dent."

Philip hummed in irritation. Merle knew why the bastard wanted the prison … the armory. More power, more weapons, more leverage against anyone who wished to go up against him.

"Maybe I need to talk to our lovely Martine about fashioning more of those brilliant cuffs of hers for our soldiers." He didn't notice the way Merle stiffened, his gaze going to the lovely raven-haired beauty where she worked below. "What's she working on now?"

Merle released the tension of his clenched jaw and forced himself to answer. "Mrs. Roby busted her hip last week, an' it's not like we got a wheelchair for her. She doesn't want t' be confined to her house, says she wants t' be useful with her many projects." The woman – well into her seventies – oversaw the kitchens, the meager gardening project, as well as a sewing circle. "Marty's trying to fashion a …" He scratched his chin, trying to recall the term his woman had used. " … rickshaw. That way her grandson can cart her around."

"Admirable," Blake breathed, his lascivious gaze settling on Martine's ass in the form fitting jeans she wore. "It was truly fortuitous when Martinez happened to stumble upon the two of you. Your loyalty is to be commended, Merle."

Dixon nodded stiffly. "Was there anythin' else, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I want you to assemble a team … scavenging run. The scouts have reported movement over near Griffin. I need you to look into it, and see if there are any survivors who might fit in with us here."

Merle swallowed thickly. "I can do that."

"Take Russo and some of his men along with you this time. He reports to you, yet I've never seen you include them in with your team."

Fuck! "We'll move out as soon as we can get our gear ready."

The governor dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and Merle could feel the muscle ticking away in his cheek from clenching his teeth so hard. He made it a practice not to go out in teams of more than ten. Even that was too much at times, and now he'd have to leave behind men he trusted to do as Blake wished. He knew for damned sure he wasn't leaving Marty behind. He didn't trust the governor not to try some underhanded shit where she was concerned.

One good thing would come out of this, he thought with a malevolent quirk of his lips. Those numbers Blake was so pleased with … he'd make sure he thinned them out a bit. Then next on the agenda would be to discover the identity of those scouts and dispose of them with extreme force. He wouldn't put his family in danger.

A/N: Writing between seasons 2 & 3 gives me a lot of creative license because we don't really know what they encountered on the road between their escape from the farm and their arrival at the prison. So, bear with me because what I'm working towards is going to be a lot different. Next time: A run goes bad and Daryl is captured. Please review and let me know what you think!