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She read them stories. That was what she was here for—to bring some normality back to the lives of the children, to teach them to read, to let them know what books could do. Once upon a time, this would have been her preferred place. She had loved books then, escaped into them when her life was unendurable. She had wanted to share that with Sophia, and she had … and maybe that was why Sophia was dead now, because they had both spent too much time in books and not enough time in reality.
Carol dutifully read the books out loud to as many children as would attend, the prison library's stock expanded by books brought back from runs by the others. But as soon as the library was clear of other adults, she would open the footlocker she kept there and she would show the children the implements of survival inside it.
Today, she was teaching them about knives. Everything Daryl had taught her. Everything she wished she had taught Sophia once upon a time.
She was surprised to see Carl there. She had carefully tried to keep him away, even as she kept the other adults away. "Please," she said to him softly, "don't tell your father." Rick was trying to live in the world peacefully, to pretend that they could all let their guard down and simply live. Carol wished she believed that was possible, but … she didn't. The real world knocked at the fences every day, fingers slipping through the holes, dragging at the chain link. It was only a matter of time before it got in, and they all needed to be prepared.
It had been a long time since a run had gone as badly as today's. Daryl had gotten used to being safe, to bringing back everyone they took out. And to lose someone as young as Zack … that was all kinds of wrong.
He hesitantly approached Beth's cell, knowing he had to tell her and not wanting to. He said "hi", but he couldn't find the words. Just stood there, looking at her, watching the happiness and the fragile peace fade from her face.
"What is it?"
"Zack."
She knew. He could see it in her face. But she asked anyway. "Is he dead?"
Daryl didn't answer. He didn't know how. He hated to see someone cry—there had been too many reasons to.
But she didn't cry. She breathed, accepted it, and said, "Okay." Then she stood up and crossed the room to the sign that said "30 Days without an Accident" and took down the 3, leaving only 0. Her eyes met Daryl's. "What?"
He shook his head.
"I don't cry anymore, Daryl. I'm just … glad I got to know him, you know?"
"Yeah. Me, too." It was little more than a murmur. Had he gotten so soft that this girl was tougher than he was now? Because he was tempted to cry himself, and her eyes were completely dry.
"Are you okay?" Beth asked him.
"Just tired of losing people, is all."
And then she hugged him. Daryl had never been comfortable with hugs, or with being touched, and nothing about recent years had changed that. He held her arm, accepting that she was trying to offer comfort in the only way she knew.
"I'm glad I didn't say good-bye. I hate good-byes."
"Me, too," Daryl admitted.
She lifted her head off his shoulder and stepped back, and he left the cell, feeling raw and emotional.
Carol was waiting for him up on the walkway. She shifted over when he sat down next to her. "I heard things went badly today."
"Yeah."
He didn't want to talk about it. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, and the words came out anyway. "I'm so tired of this."
"What? Of life?"
"Is that what you call this? Life?"
"It seemed pretty good yesterday."
"We can lie to each other, and ourselves, all we want, but … that's what it is. A lie."
"I know."
Somehow that didn't surprise him. Carol could pretend with the best of them, but something in her was always waiting for the worst to happen. He'd always been that way, himself, always braced for something to go wrong, and he wondered when he had lost that, when she'd become the strong one, the tough one, and he'd become the one in need of reminding what the world was—had always been, if people were honest with themselves.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
"Same thing we did before. We live. We prepare. We don't get soft."
"Easy for you to say." Daryl chuckled. She wouldn't have said it, once upon a time. "You're the toughest one of us."
"No, I'm not. I'm … brittle. I could break."
"Nah. You know how to bend. You've been doin' it all your life. You'll do it again when you have to."
"I kind of thought for a while there I wouldn't have to."
"Yeah. Me, too." He sighed. "You give any thought to your bucket list?"
Carol laughed. "My bucket list? Who has one of those anymore? Isn't it mostly 'let's get through another day without kicking the bucket'?"
"Some of 'em have a bucket list. You know they do." Glenn and Maggie almost certainly did.
"Lucky them."
"So, nothin' left to do before you die?"
"Teach a few more kids to protect themselves, maybe help them survive a little longer."
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Until today." Zack had been a nice kid. Too nice to take out where he could be killed.
"They have to know, Daryl. We can't keep them cooped up in the prison forever. We can't protect them forever. They have to get out there in the world."
"And when we lose them?" he snapped.
Carol sighed. "I wish we didn't have to." She scooted closer, leaning against his shoulder, and without thinking, Daryl lifted his arm and put it around her and they sat there together for a long time like that.