In which Carol briefly considers a career in the cavalry.
Daryl hadn't lied about the cold. The wind bit at her ears beneath the cap she'd borrowed from Beth. Her hands were freezing – one wrapt around the other but while the inner one was warm enough against Daryl's coat, the other was always icy. On the smooth stretches, she swapped them back and forth. She'd long since stopped caring what he thought of the way she buried her nose against his back.
With her eyes shut, she'd never see the spill that killed them both.
Eventually – after the ache had started up again in her hip bones – the bike slowed, Daryl's body bending with the turns. When she felt him take his feet off the stirrups to bring the bike to a crawl, she sat up and took her head off the wings on his back. He let the bike coast a few more feet, then stopped and killed the engine.
Standing, he said, "Off," over his shoulder, and when she had clambered down – watching the muffler, because she'd barked an ankle on it, after the farm, and still had the scar – kicked down the stand and swung his leg over.
"That's it, right?" She squinted. "It's…small. I remembered it being bigger." The container yard's fences were duller, now, than they had even been two months previously. She could still pick out where the brighter wire met with the auto repair yard next door. On the other side, an open field stretched out a quarter mile before ending against a treeline.
"Maybe some of the fences ran off."
Carol glanced at him. Daryl's expression was deadpan, as if daring her to laugh at the…whatever it was. It wasn't even a joke.
A rattling crash drew her attention back to the yard. Walkers. She breathed through the first hammering shock, forced herself to really look, study them.
"Two a'them," Daryl said, his crossbow out of the saddlebags and into his hands as if by magic. Clumsily, she unslung the rifle then checked the safety and the chamber, like Maggie had shown her. "Nope, there's another one. Three."
But not in the container yard – the walkers were in the auto shop side of the fence, one of them in stained grey coveralls. Two of them, including the one in coveralls, wandered up to the fence and clawed at it, making the chain link rattle.
Daryl let his weapon drop, turned in a circle, before seeming to come to a decision. "Kay. Hop back on."
"We're leaving? Already? I –" the rest of it was cut off as Daryl cranked the bike again. Carol sighed and slung the rifle before clambering back on again.
"Not leaving yet," Daryl yelled over his shoulder. "Making a slow roll-by, see what else shows up." He gunned the engine. "Hold on."
She didn't grab his waist this time, but instead fisted the coat at his shoulders. Slowly, they rode down to the auto shop, turned to pass before the container yard and then circled through the parking lot again. This time, Daryl took the bike almost to the end of the gravel, craning his neck to see past the concrete block building at the end of the container yard.
Carol blinked. She could have sworn that she saw a flash of yellow-orange dart through the grass. Yes. A cat, lean but with a shining coat, paused by the container yard fence to lock eyes with Carol. Only for a brief second, before it slipped under the bottom wire and dove for a gap under the wall of the block shed.
One more circle around the yard, Daryl gunning the engine as loud as he could, and then he took them back up the access road and the spot of sunlight at the top of the hill.
"Now what?" she asked, when he had finished turning the bike left and right, until it was parked just the way he wanted.
Daryl shrugged. "Take 'em out. Wait to see what else shows up. Then go check out the yard." He waved at hand at her, then at the fence. "Go on."
She looked at him, at the walkers – all three of them at the fence now – and then at the gun in her hands. "Me?"
"You wanted more practice, right?" She nodded, swallowed, brought the gun up to her shoulder.
"Use the bike," he said. "We got time, no rush." Circling the bike, he raised a hand, beckoned her to him. With the other hand, he pointed at the pavement by the front tire. "There. It'll support your arm, and the muffler won't bite you."
She knelt, going all the way down at first before coming back up to lean against the front wheel of the bike, her buttcheek resting on one heel. The fender bent a little under the weight of her arm and she took her arm off it, rested it against the frame instead.
All the lessons she'd had ran through her head at once, breathe, relax, roll your cheek, box the sights, watch the target, watch the far sight, breathe.
The coverall walker staggered just as she pulled the trigger and her first shot clipped its ear. Damnit. Her first shot was always her best. The second went completely wild, like it always did. She huffed a breath, took her head off the rifle stock to glare at the fence.
Down in the yard, two walkers shook at the fence while the third stared off into space, as if looking for what had bitten its ear. Carol shifted her feet, ignoring the frigid asphalt biting her knee through her trousers, and lined up the rifle again.
Right over her, Daryl said, "Wait." His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, shifting her grip on the rifle. "Tuck your elbow close. Don't just hold the forestock, grab it, pull it tight t'your shoulder." She complied, then shifted her knee a bit, tried again. "Yeah. Like that." His hands loosened on her arms, but stayed there, lightly bracketing her. "Try now. Remember breathing."
Again, the first round went where she wanted, and the grey overhauled walker dropped like a rock. When the sights came back to focus, they were still lined up right, and it was only a fractional movement to sight in on the next walker.
"Attagirl!"
Grinning, she shifted the rifle, found the last walker, breathe, and dropped him as well.
Daryl stepped back, let her come to her feet. Her head was light. Look at that.
"Now what? Check it out?"
He shook his head. "Give it a bit. See if anything crawls out." He settled his rump on the edge of the bike seat, his back to the yard, eyes watching the road they'd come in on. She slung the rifle, walked about a bit, kicking little rocks, before her eyes fell on the shiny brass shells and she remembered that Maggie said to collect up the empty cartridges.
Four shells came up easy, but the fifth one escaped her for a moment.
"By your foot," Daryl said, and so it was.
"Thanks." Pocketing the brass, she circled back around, settled against the seat like a mirror to Daryl, her attention on the yard. Time passed. A black fleck floated past, just above the treeline, and kept going. Something grey and brown bounced under the trees, rattling the dry leaves and making both of them start, before the woodthatch spread its wings and dove out, heading for the next clump of trees. Carol swallowed, put her eyes back on the gravel, the fence and the field beyond. The Triumph's cooling engine ticked a few more times. Down behind the chainlink, the orange cat came out again, pausing to watch the now-still yard before strolling to the fence and slipping out.
"Do you remember a cat being there, last time? In the yard?"
Daryl half swung around, looking over his other shoulder at the yard, before turning back to the road. "Nope. There one now?"
Carol nodded. "An orange one. Looks like it's living under that little shed. Do you think that means something?"
"What, like black cats are bad luck, and yaller ones are good luck?"
"Are they?"
Daryl shrugged. "Dunno. Never seen it make a difference."
"Do chupacabras eat cats?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Carol regretted them. But Daryl only shrugged again, seeming to take no offense.
"Dunno. Didn't ask. Not gonna." The quiet stretched on again for a bit.
"It could mean," Carol said, "that the yard is pretty safe against walkers. That cat hasn't been eaten. Maybe it'll be a good place."
Daryl nodded, his lips pursed. "Maybe. More'n likely, means that place's got rats."
They waited another timeless while – long enough for Carol to be aware of the change in the slant of the fence shadow – before going down to the yard.
And like things did, some days, it all more or less fell into place after that.