The sun rose and set for three days and not a single word was shared between the two of them. It was silence and running and staying alert just to stay alive. Words were not needed, as they organized almost instinctively. There was no schedule for when they stopped or when they kept running, they seemed to both know without a word when the other needed a break. They had taken to sleeping back to back on the same mat, as they had only one, which allowed them to see the walkers coming. It just would have been a shame getting killed by brain-dead fuckers after they had escaped the marauders, now wouldn't it?
Carol was good at surviving, and Daryl was not too shady himself, something she had suspected back at the quarry and gotten proof of later on. They knew the sounds of the forest and how dangerous it was when you couldn't hear anything. They slept short nights, neither of them keeping watch, as it would have meant standing more time in the same place, and they couldn't afford it.
The day before, they had almost run into one of the bloody marauders, quite probably Harley, moaning about Matthew having been killed during the attack on the barn and the way it meant more work for them as Len was still lame. Daryl and Carol had shared a surprised look upon hearing Len was still alive. If there had been one guy who they would have bet would have been wiped during the attack, it would have been the injured asshat, not the young assshat who was healthier and stealthier. Then she had thought that maybe Matthew hadn't been killed by walkers, or maybe he had been sacrificed by someone else in the group, seeing his potential as a threat. The look on Daryl's face had led her to believe this was where his mind had gone too, except he had seemed more certain of it. She wasn't sure how to explain it. She just knew it from his face. Similarly she was certain Len's days would be ending soon, even before Harley mentioned he would be getting rid of the guy.
It appeared that the Marauders were following a somewhat similar itinerary to theirs, and she wondered where the hell they were going. She knew where she was going, but this pack of rats? No idea.
After she had almost slit Daryl's throat, Carol had had only one thought on her mind: Lilah. She needed to finish her trip, she needed to see her sister's grave. She needed to tell her she was still alive, not in a taunting way, but to soothe her. She was still alive, and that was the only thing Lilah had ever wanted. Even the ghost version of her had been pushing her older sister to survive another day, another night, another moment.
Daryl was letting her lead, and he had never asked her where they were going, which stirred up many feelings in her. First, she was flattered by his trust, not in a coquette-ish fashion, but because it sure was a nice change from the life she had had to go through before. She also felt a sense of duty toward him: as he was following her on her quest without asking, she felt like it was her duty to make sure he made it back. She remembered having read the Lord of the Rings books with Sophia, and she wondered if that blind trust made him the Sam to her Frodo, until she had decided they were probably two Sams, both battered and hurt, trying to take the other all the way where they needed to go. There was no hero in their stories, let alone in the life that was now their own.
A part of her felt slightly uneasy, wondering if she should tell him where they were going, yet not knowing how to start that conversation. "We're going to see my dead sister and tell her I didn't let Ed kill me" seemed like a real crappy opener.
Yet it was the truth.
She sort of wanted him to know, but most importantly, she wanted him to care, and she couldn't tell why to save her life. She had seen him follow Merle, and follow Joe's merry group in some ways. She had inferred that he had followed them before until she had come along, and she wondered if she was the next person he was following blindly. AS satisfying it was to have his trust, she wanted him to care if she lived or died, where they were going and what would be waiting for them at the end of the road.
She didn't want to be a leader, had never wanted to be one. She had only wanted to make it one day at a time. If he was trusting her blindly as he did, then shouldn't he know where they were going? Shouldn't he know why they would be likely to cross paths or have to hide from the marauders again? She could take the lead but she didn't want to be the leader if it made any sense. She needed to know his trust was not blind, but either out of instinct, or out of actual confidence in her.
She blamed it on the old reflexes of the abused woman she had been, wanting to be sure the person she was with was in it for good and not because they were preying on her. It still mattered, a lot.
The opportunity came the following day, when they had to hide once more from part of the marauders, and Carol wondered again what the hell they were doing there. Silently, using code signs only they knew the meaning of, Carol and Daryl escaped and didn't stop for a few hours, to make sure they hadn't been followed or even noticed by their nemesis.
As they stopped and tried to keep their breathing under control, she found herself asking:
"What the hell are those jerks doing around here? You were there when we were with them. What the hell are they looking for?"
"Nothin'," Daryl said. "They just go 'round in circles. There's this asylum, Terminus," he said, looking very unconvinced by what he was saying, "and they're trying to stay away from it. Afraid they would fall on a big community and not be the alpha dogs. So they run in a circle."
"And you followed them?" Carol asked bewildered at the notion.
This was so stupid, running around parts they knew in order to avoid getting to Terminus? Just go fucking West or East or whatever, don't follow the signs, Carol thought.
"Had nothing better to do. Didn't notice at first we were going round and round, until I claimed you and I'm sure we slept in a couple of places I'd stayed before with the pack of wolves. Think they're trying to avoid Terminus but also want to stay close enough, to get to the people seeking refuge, and do their thing."
"Fuck," she said, royally pissed at the prospect that they would indeed always be in near proximity as she led them her way.
"Where we going?" Daryl finally asked and she felt relief at the question.
Maybe he was following her out of habit, but by asking, he was becoming an active part of their group, if he chose to stay.
"We're going to see my sister's grave."
To say he had expected anything but this would be an understatement. Daryl hid his surprise but had a moment of nodding along to what Carol was saying without really knowing why he was nodding.
She was looking at him and he realized he was probably still nodding. Wanting to kick himself in the ass, he asked:
"Why?"
"I never got to say goodbye."
He waited, feeling like she wanted to tell him more but she wasn't sure he would listen. So he did that, listen.
"Ed would not let me attend her funeral, which was almost a decade ago. I was with people before, with a group, and they… they kicked me out, or the leader did. When he did, I wondered what was left for me, and I told myself that I wouldn't allow myself to die or be killed, until I had seen my sister's grave, finally," she said, almost shyly. "I was on my way there, when I ran into you and the claimers."
There were so many facets to this woman. One minute she was threatening to gut you like a pig, and the next she was telling you things that made her feel vulnerable, because… Why did she do that? He briefly wondered, then the answer appeared to him: because she deemed him worthy. Because she wanted him to know.
That was a change, for sure. When he had gone along with Merle, before the world turned to shit, he had never asked where they were going nor what they would be doing, and when with Joe's band, it had been the same. He had followed, until he found someone else to follow. He sounded like a leech he thought. He didn't follow people because he lacked imagination, he followed people because they were at the very least a means to an end, when they were not worthy of being followed, period. His heart went out to Merle, who would have probably hated the sentiment, and Daryl felt the bond he had with Carol tighten a little, as it seemed to make more sense.
Another thing they had in common, a sibling they missed. They needed to stop bonding over terrible past stories and the way they fooled the marauders.
"Ok," He said.
It was not much, but he hoped it conveyed everything he wanted to say. Okay, he thought in his head. A weird thought popped in his brain at the most inconvenient time, as such thoughts always did. He seemed to remember going to school and his English teacher telling them about the various origins of the word okay, and that one of it was that it stood for "zero killed". He didn't know why he remembered that bit, but all he could think was that it was a pretty ironic thing to say when they were talking about the dead they were mourning.
Though were they talking? She was. She was sharing, but he was just keeping silent. It was not that he didn't want to share. He just didn't know how. Merle had never been the chatty type, unless he wanted to taunt him, and he had never had someone significant enough in his life to try the whole talking and sharing thing.
"Am sorry, 'bout your sister," He said.
"I'm sorry about your brother," she said.
He remembered the way she had taunted him a week or so before when he had taken her hostage. They sure had come a long way in a short time, then again, this apocalypse thing… It fucked up with everything you thought you knew.
He felt a ball in his throat and realized that it was very much like a ball of feelings he wanted to express yet they stayed stuck in his throat, choking him.
"How was she?" He found himself asking, genuinely curious about her answer.
Carol took a gulp from the gourd she was carrying. She looked deep in thought, the pain visible in her eyes and in the way she held herself. He wanted to apologize, he had not meant to hurt her.
"Fearless," She finally answered. "Fucking fearless."
"So it runs in the family?" He said.
She chuckled as if he had told a joke and he was struck with memories of how quiet and afraid she had been at the quarry. It was hard to reconcile those memories with the ones he had of her killing walkers and helping him escape, then again… Just because you found the will to do something didn't have to mean you were not feeling fear.
"Oh, Daryl Dixon," Carol finally said, using his last name to chastise him the way most of his old teachers did, except when it was her doing it, it didn't irk him as much.
"You should know better,' she went on. "I'm always afraid. Afraid for you, afraid for me, afraid for the people who used to be my people and have parted ways with me."
The way he was put first in the list made him feel warm inside and he would have blushed, had he been that kind of guy.
"I just try not to let it guide me. Fear makes you stupid, stupid gets you killed. And I think we've already established that I survive."
He nodded though he did roll his eyes a little, for show.
He had followed only a handful of people in his life, but when she had decided that they were in this together, he realized that while it had begun as following her, letting her take the lead, it ran deeper now. They were travelling together. When they would get to her sister's grave, they would discuss where to go next.
His opinion would be valued, his input asked for and listened to. What a change.
They started traveling again, and Carol felt invigorated by their small talk. It had been deep, mind you, but very few words had been exchanged, carrying more words that didn't need to be said.
He could have said hell no and left her to rot, deciding that going to her sister's grave was nothing he cared about. He could have not asked, and not cared.
But he hadn't. He had cared, and listened. He hadn't asked her where Lilah's grave was, but she knew he was counting on her to get them there, not questioning the choice in destination.
A traveling companion was something completely new. When she had been with Rick and the group, he had gone full dictator on them and it hadn't felt anything like this. Maybe at the very beginning, in the day and a half when they had gone to the CDC and lost Sophia, it had been nicer, as she remembered the promise to take her and her baby alongside the Grimes to the Grand Canyon but it had been fleeting, and quickly swept away by the terror she had felt when losing her daughter.
So they walked.
Silence was still their modus operandi, if only for survival, but she felt like they had crossed a bridge of some sort.
That night, when they stopped for sleep, there was a feeling about their small camp, like they understood the other better and it made a difference she had not expected.
The next day was uneventful, blissfully and they were able to cover more ground. When they stopped for lunch, he skinned a rabbit he had caught and they started a small fire, locking themselves into a house, to make sure the smell would not betray them to the walkers or the claimers.
"Thank you," she said when he handed her half the rabbit.
He gave her a look, which she supposed was a "you're welcome", and they ate their meal. They were quickly done with it, but they stayed seated a little longer.
"I used to have a house like that," she said as she looked around at the living room. "Or Ed did."
"Housewife, hum?"
"Of course. Didn't matter that I could have brought home a second income, Ed needed me isolated and scared. I remember bringing Sophia to school and finding myself unable to bond with the other parents. Ed was a weak asshole but his hold on me was spot on."
Daryl nodded along, as if he could relate to what she was saying in a way.
"Sorry." She said when she realized she had shared, or maybe overshared.
She had been alone for so long, she wasn't used to having someone willing to listen to anything she had to say.
"Don't be," Daryl said.
They started walking again, escaping walkers and claimers, day after day. Having to circle around them made the trip longer than it had been the other way around. They had to stay hidden for six hours in a basement once, when Dan and Harley had burst in the house they were in. Thankfully, they hadn't done anything that would have let the others know the house had known inhabitants after whoever it belonged to had come and gone. They had run into the basement, fucking up the door so that it stayed locked, and they waited, not making a sound as they heard the claimer try to open the door, then finally decide it was not worth it as they found some cans of food and ate them right away so that they wouldn't have to share those with the others.
Daryl and Carol had looked at each other, knowingly. They had known they were in trouble, he had seen the lengths they went to to be violent and destructive, but there was something frightening about the fact that the claimers, though united under Joe's rule, were still very much their own person. Carol remembered the people from the prison, how every piece of good would automatically belong to everyone. The claimers didn't abide to such rules. They took and they kept for themselves. How she longed for Joe to be dead so that the group would tear itself apart and a few would drop dead. Sure, there would be more dirtbags on this Earth, and more walkers, but having them become walkers would feel damn good.
When the two marauders had left and they were finally free, she spoke in a low voice.
"My old group… they were not perfect, far from it, and we had issues, but when we found food, it didn't get hoarded away."
He didn't say anything but looked to approve of what she was saying.
"Do you remember Glenn?" She asked, "from the quarry?"
"Chinese guy?" he said, as he seemed to be searching his memories with the name.
"Korean, actually. But you do remember him. I wouldn't have been able to keep score of the number of times he went on runs for people. He was our go to guy when someone needed a run done. Even after the quarry, and the farm, hell even at the prison… He was always willing. I'm sure there were runs he would have liked to skip, but he always went. Drove Maggie crazy."
He gave her a puzzled look, and she had a smile and a soft sigh when she remembered he knew nothing of everything the people from Atlanta had gone through, how it had been the eleven of them when they had left the quarry, and how it had been the four of them just before she had left the prison.
She wondered how he would have fitted in, and if he would still have been with them.
How different their lives would have been… Yet, they had found each other again, and had gone through a new inner circle of hell together, and made it out alive.
"Thank you," she told him, feeling like she meant it for the first time.
"Whatever for?" He asked.
"For claiming me. It took guts to do that, in that pack of wolves. You did an incredible thing. You allowed me to make it through and come out on the other side. I cheated death again, thanks to you. So there it is, don't bask in it, but thanks. You're a good man, Daryl Dixon."
He started grunting, looking at his feet, not crossing her eyes, and she was reminded of a young boy who didn't want to be praised.
Though with Daryl, she had a feeling it was more about whether or not he felt the praise was warranted, and he clearly seemed to believe it was not.
"Come on," she said, trying to catch his eyes, almost reaching out to touch him.
She didn't dare and she only had her words to convince him to listen to her.
"You think it's easy for me to tell you that I'm glad you claimed me and pretended to abuse me? Think about it. I have to mean it unless I'm a fucking masochist who likes to be debased by people. You may not know me that well, but you do know me," she said emphasizing the last verb, to make it stand out.
She heard words mumbled in his beard, involving lots of swearing but he finally looked at her, and she felt at peace with what had happened to them.
"Thank you." She said again. "Now don't be a prick, take the compliment and don't make me tell it again. Give me a break, and while you're at it, give yourself a break too."
He would have blushed, she was sure of it, for he looked so uncomfortable the next step would have had to be blushing.
Praises hadn't been something he had been given often, she thought. She just could tell. The few things she knew about him or inferred about him led her back to that certainty therefore it felt even more important for him to believe her words.
And he did. It was not a spontaneous thing, it took lots of staring, of broadcasting to him that she was standing her ground and calling him a good man, and she saw him finally let the compliment wash over him. She saw the way he finally allowed it to sink in, and how for a brief moment he allowed himself to bask in it.
She smiled at him and he nodded, though he still looked as uncomfortable as her date had looked on her prom when seen in his tux. Charlie had been a bad boy or used to think of himself as such, and when he had had to clean up to take her to prom he had looked gutted about the fact that for once he would be blending in. In ways, Daryl reminded her of Charlie, or the other way around. Both had stepped up, in vastly different contexts, for her. She flashed him another smile, and they went back on the road.
"So, Glenn…"
As they walked, she started telling him about the group he had briefly been a part of, about the losses and the people they had met, the nemeses they had encountered or created for themselves. She told him in a low voice, always trying to make sure no one would hear them, waiting for a moment when they were in the clear, to tell him just a tad more of a story he could have lived.
As she did, and didn't shy away from telling him about Ed's last abuse, and mentioned the several occasions he had been abusive before, explaining why she had been the way she had back at the quarry, when they had met but never known each other, she felt warmth in her soul. He listened to everything she had to say, never looked annoyed or uninterested. Once or twice, he even prompted her, to go back on something she had said. Her words had power, as they gave away a story the same way one would have told a fairy tale, but they also told another story, her own. Every anecdote she told gave him a little more to read in between the lines, to understand her if he wanted to, and to her delight and surprised, he wanted to. He was a captive audience, even if he always kept an ear to the ground, making sure they were safe as she talked. He never asked about her life before, and the way Ed used to debase her, but she found herself telling him about that also, as she told him stories of her life when she had been a mother with a living daughter. Those anecdotes could have bored him to death, but he seemed to find once again something he could relate too in the tales. She wondered how much he could relate to what Sophia's life had been like, as she was more and more certain he had been abused as a child, and how much he could relate to the things she had suffered. There was no doubt in her mind, and the way he listened to the stories only made her feel more certain that her initial assessment of him back at the quarry had been right: he was a fellow survivor of abuse, and he seemed to take some comfort in her stories. Was it because he was hearing he was not and had not been alone in his suffering? Was it because he saw the pain it still caused in her being? Truth be told, she wasn't sure she cared. It soothed her, to tell it out loud.
Yes, she was an outcast. Yes, her family had decided through the voice of their pater familias Ricktator Grimes that she would not be one of their own, but against all odds she had survived and she was not alone, she had found Daryl.
Story is not done, reviews are music to my soul, concrit is welcome. I would like tot hank all of you for still being with me (and them) on this journey