"What's your story?"
"What?" Carol asked surprised, glancing up warily at the younger woman with short brunette hair and green eyes that faintly reminded her of Maggie Rhee. She had been browsing the cassette tapes left out on the bench she was handcuffed to, tapes with names like Amina, Alicia, John, and Grace written across the spines in permanent marker when the woman, Al, she was guessing, startled her by bursting into the van, curt and business like. It was as if Carol was imposing on her, taking time out of her day, when it had been Carol who was unceremoniously kidnapped and locked up in the armored vehicle.
"I said, what's your story?" Al demanded.
"My story?" Carol asked confused and exasperated, "Didn't Ash tell you? What were you talking about for so long?" Carol had met Ash after extracting the information she needed from the walker wrangling operation in Freeport. The man she held at the end of Daryl's crossbow didn't know a lot beyond where the boat Daryl had been taken aboard would dock, Le Havre, France of all places. He did give her the name and location of a man who could fly her across the Atlantic, so she let him live and went to search for the pilot. Ash was an engineer before the spread of the wildfire virus and had wisely moved to the family weekend house in Maine after the onset of the apocalypse. He was a serious young man with a wry sense of humor who lived by a strict schedule, based around his daily flights in a retrofitted single engine plane, and mysterious visitations to his backyard greenhouse.
He'd offered her shelter for a few days in exchange for help around the property but wouldn't hear of helping her beyond that. Carol knew she had to buy her time, don her suburban mom persona, and gain his trust. Ash was lonely. She doubted he would have been so quick to offer shelter if wasn't. He set her to work, and she set to work on him, plying him with creative casseroles and stories of community living at the Commonwealth that he ate up equally in turn.
However, after nearly a week of this, Ash still showed no signs of relenting and Carol's concern for the missing Daryl grew too unbearable to keep going at what felt like a snail's pace. Hoping to find something to leverage help with, Carol pretended to suffer from a headache the next afternoon and double backed from the house to follow Ash as he made one of his many secret trips to the backyard greenhouse.
It was packed with corn. Corn. Carol wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but something as mundane and greenhouse appropriate as corn wasn't it. Completely befuddled, she didn't bother to hide her presence and surprised Ash who was tinkering with a complicated looking hodge podge of a distillery system. He was angry with her at first, but soon revealed he was making corn-based ethanol and exchanging it for supplies and protection from the walker wrangling operation. He finally showed her the plane too which was parked in a shed next to the greenhouse.
The retrofit was so the plane could run solely on the corn ethanol without engine damage or having to mix it with gasoline. She was impressed with his ingenuity and let it show, earning her inclusion in the work. They worked together shucking corn until afternoon faded into night and the harvest moon rose looming large, red and ominous. Carol's anxiety rose with it and her mind brought forth a memory of their first harvest moon in the prison.
It was after the Woodberry people had joined them and although the cell blocks were full, she had never felt more alone except for those few awful days after she lost Sophia. Carol didn't know who to be. It was easy to lean into her identity as a housewife and cook, clean, and make things as comfortable as possible for others, but the new Carol, the fighter, the survivor, resented this. The new Carol shook the bars in her mind in warning that everything could be gone in a second and they needed to be prepared. Carol knew she wasn't the only one that felt that way, but right then she felt alone in her convictions.
The harvest moon had appeared the night before and shone a brilliant red over the prison making Carol nostalgic for a past that never existed. One of the only few good memories she had of Ed was when Sophia was a toddler. Ed was hunched over the radio listening as one horse's name edged out the others, Harvest Moon.
"Wahoo Sophie Baby Harvest Moon!" He shouted and danced jovially with Carol before swinging Sophia around singing, "Shine on, shine on Harvest moon, up in the sky!" Carol squeezed her eyes against the memory, but a few tears leaked out. She shook her head.
"They're gone. There's no use thinking about them," she lectured herself. Suddenly, something gold and metallic caught her eye in the prison storeroom where she had been conducting inventory before going on watch, Atlanta Gold. It was Ed's favorite. He'd been drunk when Harvest Moon won that race. He was always drunk. It was one of the few times he was a happy drunk instead of who she suspected he was all along, just mean. On impulse Carol snapped off a dusty can, no one liked it apparently, and made her way out to the guard tower, the gun in her other hand.
The late hour meant very few of the prison's inhabitants were out and about. The cool autumn breeze whipped around her, and she snuggled into her jacket. Once she reached the top of the guard tower, she popped the tab and immediately gagged at the smell. It brought back too many memories, so she set it next to her and gazed at the moon. "Shine on, shine on harvest moon," she sang under her breath.
"Howln' at the moon Carol?" a voice called up from the darkness, startling her.
Carol looked down to see Herschel Greene. "I'd join you up there, but I don't think I could manage it." he chuckled dryly.
"I'll come down," she assured him before collecting the open can and beginning to climb down the tower's ladder.
"Howln' at what?" she asked when she reached the bottom.
Herschel took the open beer can from her and smelled it, winced, and handed it back.
"Howln' at the moon. That's what my father used to call it when he would take a can of good 'ol Atlanta Gold up in the hayloft to think. What I used to call it too. Mostly we just got drunk" Herschel said with a sly smile stretching across his face. Carol shrugged.
"It was Ed's favorite." she said simply unsure how to put her complicated emotions into words. Herschel rubbed his neck in thought.
"My father was a bitter asshole when drunk and he was drunk most of the time. Doesn't mean I don't still have a few good memories that I cherish."
Carol sighed and nodded, and they stood in companionable silence looking out at the prison yard. The quiet of the night underneath the constant moaning of the walkers behind the fence irritated her.
"I'm worried we're getting too comfortable here," she said suddenly, surprising herself. Herschel nodded and leaned on his crutch and stared up at the harvest moon that seemed to burn above them. Finally, he sighed and looked back at her,
"It almost feels blasphemous to say it, like kicking the gift horse in the mouth, but I think you're right. We need to prepare for the worst while we hope for the best." She let out a rush of air not realizing that she had been holding her breath. "Tell you what," he continued "there's an idea that's been rolling around inside my head for a while now. Can I share it with you?" Herschel asked, brilliant blue eyes eager. She nodded curiously.
"I've been thinking, we should have a council to help lead the prison, especially now that Rick is focusing more on his family. I'd like you to be on it."
Carol blinked at him. "You want me to help lead?" she asked.
He nodded emphatically "You have a shrewd eye to see and prepare for danger, Carol. You think of things others miss. We need that to survive,"
"But the kitchen and the children," she blustered.
"Doesn't mean you can't do both." he shrugged, "Anyway, just think about it." They sat in silence for a few beats and Carol, gratified by his confidence in her, admitted her deepest fear.
"I'm afraid I'll go back to who I was before, with Ed," she said softly. He glanced at her quickly and then squeezed her shoulder. "You won't," he said confidently. "How?" her voice squeaked out, trembling with tears. "You know, Carol," She let out a laugh and a sob at the same time.
"I do?" she asked incredulously.
He grinned at her. "Haven't we seen it over and over again? We get to come back, Carol. Rick and Glenn brought me back when I had given up back at the farm. We've seen it with the Woodberry people too. Nah, nobody's gone until they're gone and even then, their love remains, in our memories, in our moments. As long as we are alive, we get a second chance, we get to come back. There's always a return. Even if you do go back to who you were, that's not what matters, it's what comes after. It's the decision to try again, to step out in faith, to step out in hope, to decide to act as if love is worth the cost of losing it. We can't escape danger and suffering. Every moment now we risk our lives. We don't have a choice. The only thing we can choose is what we're risking it for. Carol, you remember that, and you'll keep being who you are and not who you were."
Carol wiped her eyes with her sleeve, "Oh, is that all," she said dryly. Herschel chuckled and patted her arm.
"It helps, I think. To have a talisman, a token, as a reminder." he said.
"Do you have one?" Carol asked. Herschel nodded and pulled out a battered and rusty looking dinosaur keychain from his front pocket.
"I always keep it in my pocket. My first AA sponsor, Doc E, gave me this. It was his talisman first. It became a reminder that there's always a return, always another chance. You just gotta take that first step and turn the key," Herschel said winking at Carol glibly. Carol took the keychain into her hand and ran a thumb over the metal. Herschel watched her thoughtfully before saying "If you don't think you can remember on your own, please keep it."
"I can't take this from you," Carol said aghast.
Herschel smiled, "I don't need it anymore. It's here and here," he pointed to his head and heart. "You need it though. You need something to remind you that you can always come back. It wouldn't kill you to have a little faith, Carol" Carol sighed and closed her fist around the keychain.
"Thank you, Herschel. I don't know what else to say but thank you." Carol said truly touched by the older man's gesture and tucked the keychain into her pocket.
"My pleasure, Carol, my pleasure," He said before pointing to the open Atlanta Gold can in her other hand, "what are you going to do with that?" Carol shrugged but tipped the can upside down and watched the amber liquid splatter toward the ground.
Herschel watched her pour out the beer and sighed. "It's a shame really. This moon deserves to be howled at," he said grinning, gifting her with another wink before limping back towards the prison.
Returning to the present, Carol let her hand drift toward her pocket where the dinosaur keychain still lived.
"That moon deserves to be howled at," Carol said. Ash looked up at her quizzically and then a pleased smile stretched across his face as she explained.
It turned out he had been distilling the corn for more than ethanol. The corn moonshine tasted dreadful, but it did the trick. It didn't take long before Ash was opening up about his fear of the outside world, developed in childhood before the outbreak, the desire to do more, to be a part of something greater than his current regimented life. Carol took this as her cue to share more about her past and how she became a survivor and leader. In the end she may have shared too much, because at one point, she noticed the shine of tears in Ash's eyes. She decided to use this. Carol asked for Ash's help in getting to France, to find Daryl, again. This time under the red light of the moon, Ash relented under one condition. He told her that there was another group, Madre, he traded with, a group like her own who were trying to live instead of just survive.
They had spent the last years developing waystations along the country's roadways just to help where they could. There was a former reporter who had spent the last few years in Europe and had connections in France. Ash insisted they get intel from this contact, Althea, or Al, before he would fly her to Le Havre. Relief soared through Carol, and she agreed heartedly. It took nearly a week to get the message to Al to meet and Carol was nearly jumping out of her skin in impatience. Before they set out the following afternoon, Ash offered her a shot of the corn moonshine, a shy smile on his face.
"To the moon?" he asked, handing her one glass while downing the other. Carol smiled and gamefully downed her shot as well. It took only a few minutes to realize that she had made a mistake. It had been a mistake to accept the shot so readily and it had been a mistake to trust Ash so implicitly.
"Wha-? W-why?" Carol stuttered as the world began to swim and her legs felt like jelly. Ash rushed to her side and helped her to the sofa where she collapsed, unable to move and talk.
The last thing she remembered before the world went dark and she woke up alone handcuffed to a bench with only Al as company was Ash's contrite face that blurred into formless color.
Carol glared at her abductor.
"What did you do with Ash?" Carol said sharply.
Al frowned at her, "I didn't do anything to him, he took the truck back to his place to get ready for your trip. I'll take you back if everything checks out." Carol raised an eyebrow, "and if it doesn't?"
Al shrugged, "I'll open these van doors and let you find your way back to Ash's place handcuffed. Now, Ash said you needed my contacts in France. You want my help; you tell me your story. That's how this works,".
"You want the whole book or what?" Carol asked sarcastically. Al smiled and shook her head. "No, I don't need the whole "Book of Carol" just an interview, an introduction to help set the stage, if you will," holding up a small handheld camcorder.
Carol winced at the phrase "Book of Carol" remembering the argument she had with Daryl the night before he left the Commonwealth. They had made up the following morning in enough time to have a meaningful goodbye. She hadn't expected to get so weepy. After all, how many times had she said good-bye to this man, her best friend? His assurance that he loved her had been a temporary balm, but still the confrontation had left her feeling tender and bruised. It had been her therapist who originally introduced the phrase. Her mind returned back to that session.
"What's your story? Tell me about the 'Book of Carol'" Dr. Fletcher, Carol's dark haired and serious faced psychiatrist asked, stereotypically holding a pen to her clipboard. "If your life was a book, what would it be? A love story? A tragedy? An action-adventure comedy? What?" Carol almost spit out her tea at this series of questions. So far, she had liked Dr. Fletcher. Princess had recommended her having seen her for her PTSD symptoms. The physician had proved logical, no nonsense, and had a good understanding of what she and others face outside of the Commonwealth being a survivor herself. That's why Dr. Fletcher's more whimsical style of questioning threw Carol.
Dr. Fletcher smiled knowingly at Carol's reaction and settled back in her chair. "I know it's a rather abstract way of thinking, but I think it will help us get to the root of why you are here. It wouldn't kill you to give it a try. Just think about it and we'll discuss it at our next session." Carol huffed but nodded her head, all the while thinking that's how she got into this mess in the first place. When Zeke had first brought up the idea as a condition for him to consider deepening their renewed friendship, she had scoffed and refused out right. It was Daryl who had gotten her to reconsider, hitting her with that knowing stare, across the picnic table at the town hall where they were eating lunch.
"What?" she snapped, causing him to shrug, "You wanna be with 'em right?" he asked calmly, putting down his fork.
"Yes," she admitted not without a little exasperation.
"Then it seems plain to me. He's askn' yeh to try. It wouldn't kill yeh to try for 'em." he said before picking up his fork and taking another bite.
It wouldn't kill you to try. It wouldn't kill you to have a little faith.
She stared at him in stunned silence and then cursed before picking up her sandwich once more. She started seeing Dr. Fletcher the next day.
While Carol wanted to dive into her relationship with Ezekial immediately, the dark-haired psychiatrist wanted to dive into her past. Dr. Fletcher explained that it was likely something in her past that was keeping her stuck in her relationship with Zeke. Carol of course had insisted that she wasn't the one stuck but had only received a pointed look from Dr. Fletcher. If Carol was honest, she knew she was stagnating. She felt torn once again between her old, scared self and who she was now, an experienced survivor and leader.
If Carol was honest, she would admit to Dr. Fletcher that the "Book of Carol" was a ghost story. With every decision whether she regretted it or not, the lives she took stocked up. The worst were the blond-haired children she raised and lost no matter what she did. Now that the New Commonwealth was up and running and she had mastered her new role as Director of Operations. Carol was waiting for the other foot to drop. Her anxiety lay chiefly with her best friend, Daryl. Daryl had continued to be supportive of her time in therapy and even managed to hold back a smirk when she told him about Dr. Fletcher's question. However, she knew in her bones something wasn't right with him.
Daryl had been making longer and longer expeditions for the Commonwealth, having taken up the mantle as scout after the community had gotten back up on its feet. Each time he'd come back there'd be a feverish restlessness in everything he did underneath his well-practiced calm exterior. It reminded her of the Daryl Dixon she had met back in Atlanta, the Daryl Dixon who was still a boy in many ways, who had never stopped looking for her little girl and brought her Cherokee roses. The relief at seeing the kids, her, and their friends upon his return was palpable, but as time went on, she could feel his desire to get back out on the road. Sometimes, Carol longed to go with him. When he had come back for the memorial, his immediate desire to return to the road worried her. Was he starting to pull away again after spending so much time by himself scouting out west? Or was it that coming back and finding out that Connie had moved on and had started to see a fellow reporter that spurred him on to leave the Commonwealth behind? Carol still believed Daryl harbored romantic feelings toward Connie no matter how many times he had proclaimed "it ain't like that."
When Maggie had called them to Hilltop, she was determined to wheedle it out of him whether Zeke thought it was a good idea or not. It both pleased and irked her that the two most important men in her life at present were building a friendship mostly around her and the kids. Zeke had warned her to just let it be, but the anxiety that had been festering within her wouldn't be denied. When it was determined Daryl would leave the Commonwealth to follow in Michonne's footsteps, Carol felt like screaming.
It was never a question if she could go. She had made the commitment to stay for the commonwealth, Zeke, the kids. This time it was harder to keep her promise, no matter how much she liked the idea of being on the road with Daryl. The scream stayed lodged in her chest like a lump of burning coal. Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore.
The night before Daryl planned to leave, he stayed at her and the kids' place. She had helped him pack.
"Maybe you shouldn't go," Carol said suddenly. Daryl looked up surprised and then resigned as if he was expecting her to say something like that.
"The kids. You'll miss them," Carol said feebly. He looked at her seriously.
"Of course I'll miss 'em. I love 'em." Carol rocked back a little on her heels. She knew he loved them of course, he showed it all the time, but he didn't say it.
"Then why are you leaving them?" Carol demanded, hating the way her voice took on a plaintive quality.
Daryl sighed. "They ain't mine Carol." he told her finally as if saying it gave him physical pain. Hearing it was painful. She felt as if she had been slapped. Those words took her right back to Sophia and his refusal to keep himself safe for her all the way back on the Greene farm. The hurt must have shown on her face because he shook his head and said, "I didn't mean it like that Carol, and you know it. Those kids deserve their parents. They got their own stories and if there's a chance I can help 'em have a happy endn' then I'm gonna try," Daryl said meaningfully.
It wouldn't kill you to try Carol. It wouldn't kill you to have a little faith.
She touched the keychain in her pocket and squeezed her eyes shut. It wouldn't kill her no, but it might kill him and that she couldn't stand.
"Not everyone that leaves, that you lose, is your fault Daryl." she said finally.
He shook his head and turned away from her. Carol swallowed thinking some well-spoken truth was in order.
"I know you. You almost lost yourself out there in the woods looking for Rick. What happens if you go out there and you don't find anything?" she asked and when he shook his head again and turned to walk out of the room she grabbed his arm making him pause, "Those kids, Judith, Rj, they've already had two parents leave them. Are you really going to risk them losing another?" she demanded, not sure what was driving herself to push it and him to the limit. When he didn't move or say anything else she whispered throatily, "you love them like they're yours." This made him flinch hard and pull away from her grasp.
She thought he would rage, he would storm. She welcomed it, the anger, she wanted him to fight with her, to fight for her, but instead whatever wrath that had been brewing within him blew out of him in an exhausted sigh. He glanced back over his shoulder, dark blue eyes thoughtful and sad. "I love yeh too, Carol," he rasped before he turned and exited the bedroom leaving her stunned and eyes stinging with tears.
"No," Carol said firmly, coming back to the present, narrowing her eyes as if the camcorder was a weapon. Al sighed from her place behind the wheel in the police vehicle and reached for the lever that opened the door.
"Well, alright then, it was nice meeting you. Tell Ash I tried."
Carol blew out a breath of frustrated air. Ash said he wouldn't give her the ride if they didn't get the contacts, and she needed that ride. Daryl was depending on her.
"Fine, what do you want to know," she relented. Al grinned and climbed into the back.
"Let's start with your name."
"Carol," Carol deadpanned. Undaunted, Al asked "Carol what?"
Carol touched the ring on her right hand.
"Just Carol," she insisted, "Like Ash told you, I'm looking for a ride to Le Havre. I think my friend ended up there and is in trouble."
"Must be a good friend."
"The best."
"How'd he end up in Le Havre?" Al asked.
"He was looking for our friends and got mixed up with the wrong people."
"What people?"
"Don't know. "
Al frowned, shutting off the camera and putting it down.
"We're done?" Carol asked pleasantly surprised.
Al glanced at her critically. "No, I'm just not going to waste my tape if you aren't going to be honest." Carol glared at her annoyed.
"Maybe if you showed me a reason to trust you, like unlocking these cuffs, I might be more willing to talk." Al appraised her and shook her head causing Carol to let out a frustrated huff.
"Can't do that. What I can do is show you this." Al went to the front of the van and pulled a metal box that she unlocked with one of the keys from around her neck. From the metal box she pulled a tape labeled Nix. Al inserted the tape and pushed play allowing Carol to hold the camera to better see.
The scene opened over a large camp at twilight that was half packed up. People were dark shapes mulling about, but she could see where there were guards posted on watch. The recorder made their way to what appeared to be the medical tent which was empty except for a woman who was packing medical supplies in several packs. Even though her back was to the camera Carol was immediately captivated by her appearance.
The brown hat instantly caught her attention as it was almost a mirror copy to Rick's original sheriff hat that had been passed to Carl, Judith, and finally RJ. Underneath the hat the blonde hair was gathered in a long braid on her left side that dangled midway to her back. She was wearing a worn but clean black motorcycle jacket with wings that seemed to be made out of flames tapering in color from orange to red to yellow. A red handle of a machete hung from her side. She was wearing jeans and tall black boots. Carol gripped the sides of the camcorder, willing the woman to turn around so she could see her face.
"Nix, where do you want to do this?" the recorder, who Carol recognized as her captor Al, asked. "Nix" turned to face the camera and Carol couldn't stop the choked gasp that broke out. She punched the pause button so he could study the face, barely breathing. She was older and the angle of the shot shadowed some of her face, casting a shadow making old scars almost invisible, but it was her, Beth Green, Herschel Green's youngest daughter. Beth had been shot ten years ago in Atlanta during a botched prisoner exchange at Grady Hospital after saving Carol's life. She was well loved by the group, and they grieved her death hard especially her half-sister, Maggie and Daryl who had grown close to her when they were on the road together. An approaching herd of walkers had forced them to leave her body in the back of a van and when they returned to bury her, she was gone. They had assumed the gunshot had been too high and hadn't hit her brainstem causing her to turn. It had taken days to convince Daryl to stop looking for her so he could put her down. Carol thought he still looked for her, walker Beth, sometimes all these miles and years later. He couldn't help it.
Carol traced the heart shaped face, the cupid's bow mouth, and big bright blue eyes. She was wearing an exasperated expression that Carol knew well. How was she alive? Carol looked back on the screen and pressed play.
"I don't wanna do this at all" Beth said, her southern accent twinging in annoyance.
"You know the deal, Nix. I helped you and now you owe me your story." "Nix" closed her eyes and sighed in resignation.
"Fine, but I need to finish packing up here first," she said cooly.
"No, you don't. Gale and I've got it," a man's chipper and decidedly British voice answered. The camera swung around to see a man smiling cheekily, "You can take all evening." The camera swung back to "Nix" who was glaring indignantly at the man. "Gee thanks, Teddy," she snapped and before she turned to follow Al, she shot him the bird making the man chuckle. Carol found herself smiling as she watched Nix dutifully make her way out of the med tent, grumbling to herself.
"Where do you want me to start?" Nix asked.
"It's your story, start where it makes sense to you. Maybe start with how you got involved with Primrose." Nix nodded then paused.
"You know I can't tell you everything. It's too dangerous" she warned. Al sighed "I know, believe me. Just tell me what you think what matters in the end." Beth nodded and smiled softly, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on her hands, "My daddy used to say that all that matters in the end, all that remains is faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these is love. It's a Bible verse."
"Your faith is important to you?" Al asked.
"It wouldn't kill me to have a little faith," Beth said with conviction, looking directly at the camera. Al paused the tape, and Carol realized her cheeks were wet and her heart was beating fast. Althea quickly replaced the "Nix" tape with the previous one, now labeled "Carol".
"I'll ask you again, Carol," Al said, switching the camera back on and leaning forward.
"What's your story?"
Carol swallowed dryly and opened her mouth to speak