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Daryl tried to leave Carol be, but he couldn't help it—he was worried about her. Without her little girl, what would she do? Would she leave? Would she just give up and let herself die? It was very possible. He didn't know her that well, but she had been nicer to him than the others. Nicer than most people had been to him in his life. He didn't want her to let go.
As everyone scattered, he followed Carol's footsteps to the RV, quietly opening the door and climbing up into it. She was just sitting there at the table. When he came in, she didn't move, didn't speak.
He wasn't sure what to say, figuring that any words of his would only make things worse, so he stood there, looking at her, waiting.
At last Carol turned around, acknowledging that he was there, a faint lightening of her face saying she was okay with it being him. Then she looked back out the window, lost in her own thoughts.
She should speak, Carol thought. She should … thank him, for stopping her from getting eaten by her own daughter? She should … express some emotion about Sophia? But she couldn't seem to feel one now. Once the first shock was over, everything seemed to drain away. Like none of it mattered. How could it, really? The world had ended. Everyone knew it but them, these few people still trying to pretend they were alive. Why did they try? Why did they fight so hard? Had it been worth it? Death after death after death. What had it all been for?
They stayed that way—Carol staring silently out the window, Daryl watching her and waiting for her to be ready to speak—until there came a tap at the open door of the RV.
Lori stepped up, looking at both of them. Into the silence, her soft voice sounded harsh to Carol's ears. "They're ready."
It took Carol a moment to understand that they meant to bury that … thing, like it had really been Sophia. Like things like burying really mattered anymore. She shook her head just a little, not looking at Lori.
"Come on."
"Why?"
"'Cause that's your little girl," Daryl said.
Carol looked up at him, surprised that he, of all people, should still be clinging to that dead world. "That's not my little girl. That's some other … thing." She looked back out the window, the tears she had thought long dried up stinging her eyes. "My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time I thought … She didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't go hungry. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago."
Once she had spoken, Lori backed quietly out of the RV. Without a word, Daryl followed her, leaving Carol alone. Which was what she wanted, she told herself. To be alone. To be … nothing. That was what she wanted.
Daryl followed Lori to the gravesite. The death of the little girl weighed heavily on his heart. If he had been quicker, if he had been smarter, maybe he could have found her and this day wouldn't have had to come. Or maybe he could have found her body and ended all their worries. Either way, he was going to stand at her grave and mourn.
They were all there, except Carol. Daryl stood away from the others, alone, the way things should be. If he hadn't cared about Sophia, about Carol, would he still be here? He looked at the small mound of dirt, apologizing to the small body that lay under it, while Hershel spoke burying words over the graves. When his words were over, one by one they all walked away, leaving the dead alone.
Carol had meant to just sit there. Sit and sit until everything ended. But the silence in the RV was oppressive, and she was too aware of the service going on by the barn to truly separate herself from the world.
She climbed out, looking around to make sure no one was around, and then started walking. At first, she wasn't sure where she was going, but eventually she found herself in front of the flowers, the ones Daryl had shown her that had symbolized his belief that her girl was alive, and knew that this was where she had meant to come.
Sitting down amongst the blossoms, she plucked a petal off one, feeling the softness of it between her fingers, holding it up so she could see how the light shone through it. Then she crumpled it up, smushing it in her hand, wanting it to be destroyed just the way her daughter—so soft, so filled with light—had been destroyed.
She tossed the petal away. But it wasn't enough. That one little petal didn't come near to touching the grief in her, the anger. Reaching out, she grasped handfuls of the blossoms, tearing them off their plants. She uprooted entire stalks, throwing them to the ground.
And then the flowers were gone. Just like Sophia was gone. But Carol was still here. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Sophia was gone, the world was gone, everything that Carol had ever known and loved was gone … but Carol was still here. And she didn't know if she knew how to go on, or even if she wanted to.