The trees held an eerie cloud. Dense hot air mixed with terror, anxiety, and sound carried from under their canopy. Lonely calls of birds from far off.
A height of fear at the back of the throat with every crunch of every step through the underbrush of the woods that carried on for miles. The snap of a branch went straight to the palm.
The wrapped handle of a machete filled Eloise's grip while her eyes kept to the distance. Any shred of disturbance, motion, cry.
Her pace was faster than the rest. It took great effort on Lori's part to keep up despite her long stride.
"We're supposed to stick together," Andrea said annoyingly.
It was ignored. Eloise kept her mind focused on what mattered. A young child was lost in treacherous woods and her mother was sick with grief. Unless she'd misread all the discomfort in their faces as Carol wiped her eyes, then it was clear they all wanted it rectified.
Lori high stepped through the grass. "You know you really don't have to do this."
It fell to deaf ears.
"The guys are ahead of us, looking," she tried again. "Rick will find her. Trust me. He won't rest until he does."
T-Dog was injured back at the highway. Dale kept watch over him and the RV. Neither could withstand for too long. The depth of the cut on T's forearm concerned her the longer it was left open.
Then was the truth that Sophia was lost in woods that were unknown to her, without her mother, scared to death, chased by hungry monsters that probably filled her nightmares.
All of that kept fire at the back of her feet as she walked. The fear in her throat, emotion clamped back every so often when she realized how tense she was. The disappearance stirred more emotions that she liked. It absorbed all available brain function, even with the threat of infection of a dear friend, Sophia's search was forefront.
They had to find her. Had to.
She'd been so distracted by the roundabout thoughts of Sophia that the sound of Lori's gasps and stumbling caught her attention a few moments late, and a walker was very near them when it lurched from behind a tree, arms stretched to their limit to split their flesh.
The machete swung through its skull in reaction. One slick gush through the bones. Meat and ooze melted down the length of the blade. Motion stopped all at once.
Eloise swung again. This time, it splattered against her when the blow landed.
Red, black, and brown fluids splashed against the canvas of her body in a sudden warmth that brought forth a sickening taste to the back of the mouth.
She staggered backward from her kill. Eyes suddenly saw what laid on the end of her blade.
Two palms touched her shoulders. Their soft tenderness set her teeth on edge. Carol's gentleness in the wake of everything, it did not deserve to be wasted on her.
"Are you alright?" Lori was out of breath. She brushed the dirt from her pants.
Lifeless eyes stared up through the blood and muscle and decay of the zombie.
"Let's keep moving," she said.
The machete ripped from the skull. Bits of white bone showed through the still pearly sheen of the brain inside.
There was a thick tension between them. Lori casted worried glances back at Glenn, at Carol. Anything to further the intensity.
When they breeched the clearing fitted with a small, old church with surrounding graveyard, it was a welcome breath of reprieve to rip from the current company, no doubt to run to their own confidants to reveal the interaction followed by ruthless examination. Her hand gripped tight to the hilt of the machete in her belt holster as she walked.
There was a noticeable change to the air. Around the church it was stifled and smelled of old green decay. Vines crawled against the small white building, now chipped and faded, up to the bell tower that stood high at the front of the building. It was absent a notable requirement: the bell.
Yet the chimes that rent the air said there was one. It's dong clear through the silence within the trees.
Headstones were claimed by the land. Greenery overgrown. Moss grown on the few in the shadier sections beneath tree cover.
The age of Georgia. That's what it felt like. A breath of history, lost now to the pandemic, but a time lost before then, too. Ancient ways of a colonial state overcome with time, forgotten like the ancestors that many still claimed to be their kin.
It sent a cold chill down Eloise's spine to stand in the land of old death and step into its air with the hope of life.
Shane was there at the steps of the church. His hat was pulled low. A shadow splashed across his face.
Rick stood with his hand on his revolver, much in the same stance that she held her machete. As much as it pained her to do so, she loosened the touch. There was nothing worse than resembling a cop. This she knew.
Daryl held the crossbow in his arms as he often did. Only a simple flash of recognition as she emerged from the tree line.
"This can't be it," Shane said over and over. "There is no bell there. See? No bell. How the hell can it be chiming if there isn't one?"
The dried streams beneath her tired eyes caught everyone's notice as the frail woman stepped forward. "Maybe it's inside. Calling us here to repent."
"You gotta be shittin' me," Shane snarled.
"It could be Sophia calling us for help," Rick reasoned. His eyes blared bright at the man at his side. "We should check and see."
"Every walker is going to hear this." Glenn's voice hit that high pitch once more.
"Glenn, keep an eye out. If you see any, let us know," Rick instructed.
It soothed whatever panic there was. They all trusted Glenn to keep them safe. His eyes were sharp. And the man moved silent, the best kind of runner there was. He was trusted enough to settle their anxiety in the church.
The three men walked up the front steps. Rick's one sweaty hand gripped the handle on the doorknob.
"One, two, -."
Eloise surged on three. Her arm hoisted a blade above her head the moment they entered to the disgusted sight of rotten, forgotten walkers trapped in the hot house of the church. The blade hit a nearby one in the head before the stench hit her nose.
They handled the others. A disgusting mess it resulted. The corpses were juicy, black with death, retched in smell, partially decayed. Flies swarmed their bodies as they laid on the floor.
She stood above one with a wrinkled nose. The distaste of certain death when she'd hoped for life, it gripped her, as she knew better to hope for but still allowed herself to take the chance to believe it was Sophia there.
Her eyes glanced to the doorway. Carol stood. Her hands clasped against her chest.
Her daughter was not there.
Eloise moved. She paused to give an apologetic hand on Carol's shoulder before she rushed for fresh air.
A pair of feet rush up quickly.
Wide eyes stared into her soul. "Did you find her?" They asked.
"She's not here." She pulled in a deep breath. "At least, not in there."
"What about the bells?"
The incessant dong of a church bell started again. It rattled her eardrums. Like it was close.
The church emptied as the group followed the sound, in desperation or confusion, until they found the speaker at the corner of the building, the sound emptying from its faded yellow plastic.
Glenn disconnected the wire. His face sour with disappointment.
It was clear through them all. Their hopes had raised in the thought that it was Sophia signaling them to her rescue.
"I'm going to step inside," Carol said weakly in the echoing dead silence they were left in. The look on her face was more powerful than their urgency to keep moving. None of them dared break her spirit.
Rick and Glenn followed. Carl trailed his dad into the hollowed walls.
The empty church was not a place that deserved their time. It was time. Time to let the old ways die. There was no blessed place, respected grounds. Nothing was revered. Only life. Life that dwindled the longer they held on to what they'd lost.
She walked away. An echo came to her steps that she did not expect.
"I'm not going back in there," she said firmly. "Not in the damned place."
His face read her right. It kept quiet and did not push the issue.
"Stinks like shit in there anyway."
They shared an empty breath of silence. It helped clear her mind of the obsession. The lump at the back of her throat lessened the more she focused on the man at her side.
The more Daryl consumed her mind, the less her heart bled in large bursts.
"Why do you call me El?" Her arms crossed to hold herself together. "You've called me it twice now."
"What, I'm supposed to say Eloise every time? I don't have time for that," he snipped, in a forced tone of irritation. There was something at work within him. It kept his tongue careful, a strange happenstance for the man who'd nearly fought the entire camp when he was given news about his brother. "You'll get bitten by the time I finish sayin' it."
Her arms unlaced. "Fine. But Daryl is just as long. What kind of nickname should I give you?"
Voices carried at the edge of their ears. It toyed with the tips of Daryl's.
He glanced over at the two whispering members of their group: Andrea and Shane.
Just the mention of the man set Eloise on edge. She shifted away from the sight of him.
"What about D?" A curl toyed at the edge of her mouth. She knew he'd hate it. "Big D."
Daryl gave a snort. "I don't think so."
His eyes stayed on the pair for a while longer before it turned back to her. The quiet contemplation at work on his body told her that his suspicions were pricked. Something about it bothered him. An unknown.
As much as he tried to hide it, Daryl noticed everything. She spent enough time in study of him to notice his notice.
Her tongue went inside her cheek. "You knew about them right? Lori and Shane."
The man was not one for gossip. Other peoples inner workings didn't interest him. What did, was their threat. She saw it now. It was the same focus that she gave other men when they triggered something inside her. Fear. They were kept under observation to avoid whatever hurt that might come from them.
Daryl lessened the grip on his crossbow. It brushed against his leg.
"He's leaving," she revealed. "Ain't fast enough if you ask me."
"Yeah. She wants to go with him."
Her brow lifted.
He shrugged away from her look. Almost embarrassed. "It ain't that hard to tell if you watch them talk."
"You're sure full of surprises... Merle teach you that, too?"
The man's forehead creased. A wave of darkness passed over his features, laced through his tone.
"Nah," he said. "I learned that one on my own."
The daylight slipped from their grasp. Time under the trees made it pass in confusing ways. It was clear that being lost beneath their cover would disorient an adult, much less a young child. Sounds and distance and light all played tricks on the mind.
It was time to leave. Sophia was not there. Caught away from the RV, split up, would only translate to disaster.
"We gotta get back to check on T-Dog. He can't be doing too good with that arm of his."
T-Dog was not in good shape when they left, and an entire day of being left to heal it on his own was not going to make him improve. There was casual mention that they would have to close the wound themselves. With fishing line. And a sewing needle.
Neither were great options, but it did not compare to the fact that no one was skilled enough to actually stitch the cut. Carol knew how to embroider so she was the natural choice, but it still was not that comforting their only hope was a seamstress.
Eloise was ready to go as they decided who was staying behind. They were already split in two, why a third section of their group was necessary escaped her. There was no power in smaller numbers.
The majority of the group was to walk back to the highway to the RV as the two friends and Carl remained behind to wander the woods to re-bond or whatever it was they needed to do. The extent of her care was beyond what Shane and Rick felt drawn to do at the most inconvenient time. An actual member of their group was in trouble. One was missing. If anything, they needed to all congregate together to survive.
Daryl led the way to the highway. His crossbow, the head of their march back.
Carol trailed at the end. Her legs walked slow, without motivation to remain in motion. It ached at the back of Eloise's mind to see the light leave the woman's eyes.
Though, discontent was aplenty within their little party. Andrea was pissed about the gun Lori was given. Carol was angry and lost, all of which meant she wanted to scream and yell but had no other choice to do so than place it against those whom she could blame. Daryl was pissed they were all running around without a clue.
None of which could be contained. It exploded. Emotions long built from past and current happenings that had all of them fixed in opposition, the blame for their misfortune at another rather than the world.
Eloise kept silent as they all bickered. Glenn, too, lingered to the back of the group without a word added to the debate of whether Rick was to blame or if it mattered who carried a gun or not.
It rendered useless at the splitting sound of a carrying gunshot.
All their heads snapped in the direction of the church. None drew a breath. Not in the echoing silence that rang through the woods like a sweeping breeze.
"Just taking care of a walker. It's nothin'," Daryl assured them.
But the tension in three women said different.
"One," Lori murmured. "Why was it just one gunshot?"
Carol wiped her cheeks. "Yeah. Shouldn't they have caught up with us by now?"
"They know how to handle themselves," Daryl said. "It's fine."
Not the best argument there was.
"What if something happened?" Lori wondered aloud. Her eyes were wide at the expanse behind them, in question, perhaps the answer laid in wait just beyond those trees.
There was none.
Andrea put her hands into her front pockets. "They know how to find us. If anything happens, they'll know that the highway is where we'll be."
"Rick and Shane can handle it. We've got to keep moving. We lose the light and we'll be the ones up a creek."
The brunette was not so convinced. She kept a slow pace as they all walked. They all knew that her eyes did not focus on what laid ahead, but what rested behind.
It was still a long hike to the traffic snarl. The faded light of late afternoon did not ease the discomfort.
Lonely calls of song birds sang above their heads. The empty vastness below the trees, silent, eerie, haunted. The way it put an ominous threat at their backs. Like the birds convoluted with the zombies to keep them dazed and frightened.
"Sophia!" Carol's voice echoed alongside those hollow songs.
Her name. A call of their own. A hopeful song spread through those desolate woods.
The assault on the group felt constant. Their numbers, dwindled, spread too thin with too little resources and no steady footing on which to stand. With Lori whisked away on a horse with word that her son was shot, the rest were forced to carry on without knowledge of what was happening. Whether Sophia's disappearance and Carl's wound were just signs of the world – give up. It left their moods soured. Feet stomped hard against the dirt.
Darkness descended upon Carol's already tortured face. Her eyes deadened. Hopelessness filled the air around her, its own cloud of reminder to all who tread near: do not care. Care led to heartbreak.
Eloise was forced to keep away. She couldn't allow the retch of the emotions throughout her to be shown so easily to the rest.
If they saw, it might lead to weakness, or worse – questions.
The moment they'd found the edge of the highway, their pace quickened. Dale's questions a flurry to their ears as Daryl explained what they knew. Carl was shot. No sign of Sophia. There was some farm to find.
The crossbow remained clutched in hand. "I'm going back out there. There's still bit of day left to look for her."
"T-Dog's not doin' so hot," Dale said.
She overcame the horrid churning of her stomach to check on him. The wound, slowed in oozing, still was none the better. It churned her stomach harder.
"He's burning up, too," she said.
T-Dog breathed hard. Sweat soaked through his shirt. Dark moist stains throughout the grey fabric.
"I'm fine," he breathed.
Dale leaned over her shoulder as she examined him. He did not look good.
"I think he's got an infection," the man said. "He needs antibiotics."
A large bag of pills was pulled from a saddle bag. "Why didn't you say so?"
Apparently, Merle was a local pharmacist with an assortment of pills for every occasion. There were few that were of the medicinal grade. A bottle of antibiotics prescribed for a rough infection of gonorrhea.
She swallowed down a frown. "At least we know they'll be strong."
The rest of the group retreated to discuss what should be done. Carol was resistant to leave. It made tears well up inside her eyes to have the idea considered even with the promise of a farm with the rest of their group being treated by a doctor.
It left the pair quiet in the shade of the RV. A pair of pills pulled from the giant selection of medicinals.
Eloise pulled out her canteen. "Worth a try."
The man huffed. He swallowed the pills down with a large gulp of water.
"I'd sooner die than take one of Merle Dixon's pills." There was no argument from her. "Too bad how close it is," T-Dog continued.
She looked at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. The contents of it were filled with dark blood. Dried. The smell of it wafted in the heat.
"Maybe it was a blessing on two counts," she mumbled. "Merle got the clap, like he deserved, and you were saved, like you deserved."
It was decided that Glenn and T-Dog go to the farm. Andrea, Carol and Dale would stay behind with Daryl and Eloise to keep up the search for Sophia.
The RV door slammed closed. Gentle cries of Carol filtered out through the thin walls.
There was an opening of freedom that came at the end of that desperate day. It was in the still of early evening with the faint brush of light across the horizon in soft reds, oranges and a splash of pink. Soft calls of the birds singing. Mosquitos settled for the night. A sweeping breath of coolness through the air, a welcome relief to the strength of Georgian summer.
Eloise wandered amongst the endless forgotten cars of the highway with hopes that some useable supplies or something interesting to help her forget what there was to forget.
There were luxury cars like Cadillac's parked next to old Jeep's and rusted through Geo Metros.
Some were splattered with brown stains – old blood – in the interior. A fate they all knew to imagine. Empty drivers seats and ones with bodies, hands still clenched on the wheel. The horrid sound of buzzing flies. A catch at the back of the throat to hear their swarm with the knowledge that next came the smell, so delicious to them, death, rot. It rode the wind through that lonely, stretched pavement. Life's decay.
A few car windows showed suitcases, pots and pans, photo albums. Remnants of a life lived in another reality.
She was buried deep in the back of a Camry when a black stocking cap caught her eye. There were still store tags on it.
It was tucked inside one of her many pockets.
There were random bottles. A few things of lemonade. A big bottle of bug spray. Something they all needed if they were going to tromp through the trees every day. Tucked away in a backpack was a small pocketknife. Its blade was hardly worth of being called one. Eloise slipped it back where she found it.
Looting the vehicles who were less fortunate than her felt grimy. Survival was one thing. She would take it because she needed it.
But not needlessly.
A bit farther down the road, there was an old Camaro. Matte black. Leather seats. The body was in good shape for how little restoration was done to it.
Eloise peeked inside. The window was rolled down. Not the best way to fend off a walker. Perhaps it was what ended the car's journey. That, and maybe the lack of much inside. There was no mound of clothing, shoes, coats, momentos. Nothing on that reflected the apocalypse pilgrimage left on the highway.
A single duffel bag was tucked behind the driver seat. The dark fabric blended with the shadows, almost a trick on the mind that it was even there.
She reached in and grabbed hold of the strap. It was heaved onto the drivers seat. A dense thud against the leather. Her fingers zipped the black hardware to reveal its contents. One person came to mind when she peered into a person's belongings as a window to their personhood, their life, and what was important. Her fingers grabbed a couple things and shoved them into her pockets.
They remained hidden away with her belongings away from sight, safely tucked inside pack, as they drove off the blocked highway onto a gravel road. Dust kicked up as they drove.
It was torture to wonder after the others. T-Dog and Glenn had left to go first. After Shane and Carl and Lori and Rick. To a farm where a doctor lived. It all felt wrong.
"What if it's an ambush?" She'd asked Daryl as they'd loaded onto the back of chopper.
Daryl said nothing. His eyes only focused on his crossbow.
The farm came into view as they exited the shelter belt of tree line. A red barn, with a giant house wrapped with a white porch, beautiful, sprawled lawns. The faint sound of cattle as they mooed gently. They remained within fenced fields, happy as a cow could be, ignorant of how dangerous their lives were as contained meat. A death less merciful than a bullet to the brain. Claws to the gut, more like.
Eloise tensed her shoulders as the chopper rolled to a full stop. Her hands still clasped at the edge of the frame.
Daryl sat a moment, in wait of her dismount, and eventually turned around in question.
She silently swung over her leg. The weight of her pack set against her knees, a stronger pull to the base of her nerves.
Everything was wrong.
Sophia, missing. Carl, shot. T-Dog, infected. Now, a new place with new people.
The balls of her feet tingled with the need to run, run away, flee the scene of what was guaranteed pain. She felt it. They all did. A huge loss hung against their hearts, unlabeled in cause, but a collective breath they all shared. Like the despair of the camp, and the CDC. It was all pain.
Glenn bounded down the stairs when he noticed their arrival. He carried down his own belongings as they all started to pitch up camp in their tents, all too full of emotion to know what happened the last time they slept in them.
"How is T?" They all pondered.
"Good," he answered. "He's – uh. They're really nice. Stitched him up. Said the antibiotics saved his life." He gestured to Daryl. The beady eyed stare was all that answered that news. Glenn shrugged it off. "Actually, uh, they lost a man here on the farm."
Andrea dropped her belongings on the ground and grabbed for her pistol. "On the farm?"
The young man shook his head in woe. "No. In town. At a high school. Him and Shane went to get supplies for Carl and uh, the guy didn't make it."
A soft sniff from Carol changed the tone of the group. Her voice. It was unheard of since the loss of Sophia. All that was heard of her were her soft whimpers and cries for her daughter.
"How is Carl?" She stepped forward. "Lori, Rick?"
"He's alive. All of them." Dark eyes looked down at his hands. "It was pretty rough there for a while. They had to wait for Shane to come back with the supplies. He almost died."
The group fell to quiet.
Relief and anguish. It was a communal emotion written across their hearts.
"They're suffering from their loss," Glenn further added in a mumble. "Otis was a good man. He gave his life to save Carl."
"Then he should be remembered," Dale declared.
The rest of camp was assembled. T-Dog came out to say hello. The distance in his eyes showed how ill he'd been. But a fresh color came to his cheeks.
The length of his scar was gnarled with stitches. A white bandage covered it like a professional. Apparently, there were skilled hands in that house.
Eloise was at her own corner of camp with the stakes of her tent stomped into the ground when she felt an elbow nudge her side.
"Sophia?"
T-Dog stood with a fallen expression.
He knew the truth. He knew that she was not found, yet still found hope that the truth of her disappearance was discovered.
She swallowed and shook her head. "No sign of her."
"May God guide her," he mumbled.
"She's still out there. We just have to find her."
Later, Carol and Lori announced their intention for a funeral for the farmhand Otis who gave his life to save Carl. It was their obligation to honor him for his sacrifice.
The sight of Lori was frightening. The sunken nature of her eyes, deep purple bags below the deadened brown hue. Her slender body seemingly frailer and more distraught. One look of Rick matched. Blood lacked in his face. The life of his complexion, gone. A pair of corpses.
Carol and Glenn stood on either side of Eloise as they overlooked the constructed rock tomb the group made in Otis's memory. The tears well on the edge of Carol's eyes as she looked on and wished for some closure of her own daughter, a seemingly better alternative to the idea of being lost in the woods. Eloise gently took the loose hanging arm at her side and wrapped it in a hug.
More than anything, Eloise knew there were moments were a show of strength was the only thing that kept her standing on her feet. There were many moments where they all questioned Carol's survival. Her despair was all encompassing. It brought the woman to her figurative knees.
The longer time passed, the longer the stares remained. The question of Carol's future thrown into the unknown. The more they all wondered how they'd have to care for her.
The memorial of beloved Otis was calm. His wife was a short blonde woman named Patricia. T-Dog had said she was the one who stitched his arm. It was assumed she was a nurse of some sort which gave everyone overwhelming comfort. Medical care was necessary and rare in these times.
She cried tears for her husband. Silent ones. Her voice stayed steady as she asked Shane – sporting a new haircut of the militant police force variety – to speak on Otis' last moments in search of meaning in his death.
Eloise withheld her bitterness for the man as he stumbled around his words, finally in a show of some emotion other than arrogance. His throne of self-righteousness lost. Now he was a jumble of fear and loss just as the rest of them.
Hiding her satisfaction at Shane's change, she glanced across at the rest of the group. Lori and Rick leaned on one another, as if the only bit of strength to remain standing was between them. Their sway in the gentle hot breeze showed how little there was left inside them. A small blonde girl, perhaps seventeen, had her face buried into the arm of a nearby boy of the same age. Their eyes were puffed red.
The shiny spot atop Dale's head showed as he bowed his head with the removed hat in his hand.
Finally, her eyes caught sight of Daryl. He stood much the same as he always was. Straight and unperturbed by the death. The separation of his emotion to others was very much his style. He'd sent up his tent away from the rest of them to keep his distance.
However, there was a look of something in his blue eyes. They were twisted in examination. Almost suspicion.
The rest of the group bowed in prayer at the final words said over Otis' grave. None saw Daryl's gaze.
She followed the line of sight straight into Shane.
It twisted her guts in immediate suspicion.
Daryl noticed everything. He knew differences in behavior. Nothing escaped his mind, and if he was now curious about Shane, it meant something had changed. Something…but what.