Disposing of Ed was surprisingly easy. They had made a plan, of course, before they'd actually done the deed, but Carol had still half-expected it to go wrong, for the downward swing of the blade to be drowned out by the wail of a police siren or the pounding of fists on the wooden door.

Instead, the house remained silent. The more rational side of her had expected that - Daryl was never especially vocal, and she, in addition to not being especially loud, was still reeling from what they'd just done - but the quiet still felt heavy and thick. Her words - Let's get to work - felt like they were still hanging in the stagnant air of the suddenly cavernous room, even as they did, indeed, get to work.

Daryl rolled up the tarp quickly and easily, carefully manipulating the bright blue plastic with practiced ease. She had seen him moving similarly in the past, gutting his kills over a shower curtain before using it to haul the entrails away from wherever he was camping. It was easy to forget what he was wrapping up this time, easy for her to see it as another deer rather than her husband. That was made even easier when all of Ed was covered, every speck of red caught within a bright, shiny shell hiding the destruction beneath.

Still, she didn't let herself forget further. She couldn't afford to ignore what had happened, to dismiss what they'd done as just another hunt. There was too much to be done, too much that had to be covered up for any relaxation or complacency.

So, to keep busy (and useful), she went out back and opened the truck bed, spreading out another tarp inside it. Her heart was pounding, each crackle of plastic sounding in the silence like a blaring alarm. Twice, she paused, listening for any sign that something was going wrong…

Nothing ever came. Instead, the only approaching figure was that of Daryl, Ed's corpse flung carelessly over one shoulder until he dropped it onto the bed with a dull thunk. She could vaguely see his face, the grim, angry smirk barely visible there, but it was gone by the time he looked over at her.

"Y'alright?" His voice was hushed, the same gruff, yet somehow soft, tone he always used with Sophia.

She nodded. "Fine." She could tell he didn't believe her, his blue eyes narrowed and glinting in the darkness, but she brushed past it. "Let's go out to the lake now. I think it's the right time."

He nodded hesitantly, eyes still pinned to her face. She studiously avoided meeting them as she walked around the truck, yanking open the passenger door and sliding into place. He stayed at the back, eventually snapping out of his contemplation and shifting both tarps until the bed of the truck was completely covered, tying them down before heading back to the front and starting the engine.

Carol was nearly positive that her heart stopped at the engine's roar. It wasn't an especially loud engine, but the silence seemed to amplify it to the point that, once again, she was certain the cops were on their way. Again, though, there was nothing: no black helicopters in the sky, no roaring engines of police cruisers, not even any neighborhood lights flicking on or dogs barking. For all intents and purposes, it was just another night.

Carol couldn't calm down, even as they drove. She could see lights flashing in the background and, even as she rationally recognized them as normal headlights, she expected them to suddenly fill with red and blue. She had felt calm and resolved when she'd first made the plan, but the aftermath was more terrifying even than the crime itself. She was nearly certain that the only thing keeping her going was the steady presence of Daryl in the driver's seat.

She could see him looking over at her every few seconds, attention principally focused on the road but also watching her as well. She knew he was trying to figure out if she was okay, could read the concern in his eyes, but she ignored it, turning until he wasn't even in her periphery and focusing on the scenery instead. She couldn't deal with worrying him, with her guilt over getting him involved, in forcing him to help murder a man. Instead, she emptied her mind as much as possible and lost herself in the blur of trees out her window.

The drive wasn't long; they already lived on the outskirts of town, so the forest's edge wasn't far. Once they'd reached that… Well, then it was a simple matter of finding one of the many secluded sections of the forest Daryl used to hunt, a nice place where they could dump Ed and, hopefully, have him disappear for good.

There was a chance he'd be found, of course. They had planned for that, though, had planned it so very, very carefully. Who would suspect Carol - weak, sweet, subservient Carol who never had a problem with her dear, sweet, wonderful husband - of stabbing him in the head, wrapping him in a tarp, and dumping him in the woods? No one.

But the next part of their job was to actually dump him in the woods, and that was more Daryl's domain than hers. She merely watched as he hefted the bundle over his shoulder, disappearing into the woods without a word.

She waited.

And she waited.

Until, after an indeterminable amount of time that could have been an hour and could have been a minute, the chirruping of crickets hushed and Carol smiled. She couldn't hear Daryl returning, but she knew he was - at least, someone was walking through the woods on silent feet and she hadn't met anyone else capable of that - and the mix of impatience and concern building with each minute he was gone died away.

A few seconds passed before a few branches moved away just in front of her, shifting as he took the final steps out of the foliage, face obscured by shadow. "'T's done."

Carol nodded and smiled. "Good."