Chapter 15: Crossroads
The pale light of dawn crept into the apartment, casting long shadows over the dusty furniture. The quiet was almost suffocating, broken only by the faint chirping of birds outside. Paris, a city once teeming with life, was now a hollow shell of itself. No honking horns, no distant chatter, no rumble of passing cars—just the soft rustle of wind through abandoned streets and the occasional cry of a crow echoing in the stillness.
Daryl leaned against the windowsill, his gaze fixed on the deserted street below. His fingers tapped absently on the frame, a steady rhythm that betrayed his restlessness. "We gotta move soon," he muttered, breaking the silence.
Carol stood near the table, rolling up the map they'd found in a neighboring apartment. "Agreed," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "But we've gotta split up to cover ground." She walked over and leaned against the armrest of the worn couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I'll go to the racetrack," she said, her eyes scanning out the window. "Try to find Ash and see what all we need in order to get ready."
Daryl's head snapped toward her, his brow furrowed in immediate disapproval. "Ain't no way you're goin' alone," he said, his voice rough but resolute. "It's too dangerous."
Carol's eyes narrowed. "I've done dangerous before, Daryl. I don't need a babysitter."
"You don't," he admitted, his gaze steady, "but that don't mean you should do it alone."
Codron, seated by the fireplace with his rifle balanced across his lap, raised an eyebrow at the exchange but stayed silent, the faintest flicker of curiosity in his gaze.
Isabelle sat on the couch beside Laurent, still trying to blink away the grogginess of sleep. She'd never been a particularly hard sleeper, but waking up this morning, cocooned in her blanket, with Daryl's warmth against her back, his arm still draped over her side… it'd taken a lot more effort to get up with the sun and not just stay there, even if for just a little bit longer.
She shook off the thought, straightening as she ran a hand gently through Laurent's messy hair.
"I can take Codron with me," Carol said, and Codron glanced over at her. "He knows the streets and how Genet works."
Codron's lips twitched in faint amusement as he leaned back in his chair, his rifle resting lazily across his lap. "Finally, someone's making sense," he said, his tone dry.
"Daryl." Carol's tone was firmer now, a note of impatience slipping in. "I'll be fine."
Codron smirked, his single eye flicking between them. "Relax, Dixon. I don't bite… unless I've got a reason."
"Funny," Daryl deadpanned, his expression not budging an inch. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze hard. "You'd best not give me one." Codron smirked as he turned his attention back to Carol.
Isabelle shifted slightly on the couch, her hand still on Laurent's shoulder. "If we're splitting up," she interjected, her voice calm but firm, "we need to focus on the bigger picture. Carol, you take Codron. Daryl and I will handle Montmartre. There's no room for hesitation or second-guessing."
Carol nodded, acknowledging Isabelle's point. "We don't have time for it anyway."
Codron rose from his chair, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Let's get moving before Genet's dogs pick up our scent."
Daryl's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze flicking toward Carol. "Watch your back," he muttered.
"You too," she replied, her expression softening for just a moment.
As Carol adjusted her pack and turned toward the door, Codron followed, his boots thudding against the creaky floorboards. He glanced back over his shoulder once before closing the door behind him.
Daryl grunted, his eyes shifting back to Isabelle and Laurent. "Come on," he said, his voice gruff. "We should get goin'."
Isabelle nodded, rising to her feet and taking Laurent's hand. They moved toward the door as Codron and Carol's footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading into the quiet stillness of the apartment.
The silence outside was unsettling as Carol and Codron made their way through the empty streets of Paris. Their footsteps echoed softly off the pavement as they moved in tandem, Codron leading the way with his rifle held low but ready.
Carol marveled at the ancient architecture as they passed the numerous statues and towering cathedrals. The hundreds year old cemeteries, their headstones and mausoleums still standing the test of time, only showing their age due to the layers of moss and vegetation that were no longer cleared from around them by groundskeepers.
Codron turned to eye her as they were passing by a large church, its spires towering high above the street. Carol's steps had slowed as she squinted against the sun, admiring the large arches that stood 5 or 6 times her height.
"This is your first time to France." He said, more as a statement than a question.
"How'd you guess?" She gave a small laugh and glanced over her shoulder at him.
Codron smirked faintly, his single eye narrowing with dry amusement. "The way you see things as if they are brand new," he replied, his gaze drifting briefly to the towering arches of the church. He paused for a moment, the faintest hint of reflection crossing his face.
"It is brand new… to me at least." Carol shrugged, her lips curving into a faint smile as she turned back to the church. The intricate stone carvings along the arches caught the sunlight, casting faint shadows across the aged façade.
"Saint-Ambroise… It was built in the 1860s. I can still remember my brother Michel and I walking by some Sundays and feeling the organ music in our chest. You could hear it playing from blocks away." Codron's voice held a rare softness as he spoke, his words carrying a hint of nostalgia that seemed almost out of place in the desolation of their world.
Carol turned her gaze fully to him. "You don't strike me as someone who'd spend much time in a church."
Codron let out a quiet huff of amusement, his smirk faint but genuine. "Didn't," he admitted, his eye still on the church. "But Michel? He liked the music. Said it made the world feel bigger somehow." His grip on the rifle tightened slightly as he glanced down the street. "Never cared for the sermons, though. Said God had abandoned us long before les affamés came along."
Carol tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful as she studied him. "Sounds like he was a smart man."
Codron's smirk faded, his expression hardening slightly. "He was," he said simply, his voice flat but weighted.
Carol let the moment settle, choosing not to press further. She turned back to the church, her eyes tracing the weathered stone. "Guess we all find something to hold on to," she said quietly.
He adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and nodded toward the road ahead. "Come on. The Hippodrome's not far."
Carol gave one last glance back at the church before falling into step beside him. They made it a few more blocks before Carol suddenly stopped mid-step, her nose wrinkling as a rancid smell hit her. It was thick and suffocating, a stench that made her stomach churn despite all the horrors she'd grown used to.
"What the hell is that?" she muttered, covering her nose with the crook of her arm.
Codron glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted the strap of his rifle. "L'Aquarium." He gestured toward a sprawling building ahead, its once grand facade now crumbling under the weight of time and neglect.
Carol lowered her arm slightly, squinting in confusion. "The aquarium? What's left in there to smell this bad?"
"Rot," Codron said bluntly, his voice flat. "During the early days, people barricaded themselves inside with all the supplies they could carry. They didn't think about the tanks. About what happens when power cuts and those tanks... turn into tombs."
The bile rose in Carol's throat as the implication hit her. "The fish," she said, her voice quieter now, the weight of it sinking in. "And the people."
Codron nodded grimly, his expression neutral, though his eye betrayed a flicker of something darker. "What was left that couldn't be caught and eaten. Everything inside—fish, people, animals—rotting together. And now, every time the wind shifts just right..." He trailed off, gesturing to the air around them.
Carol turned her head away, pressing her nose against the sleeve of her jacket as they resumed walking. "I thought I'd gotten used to this," she muttered, her voice muffled.
"You never really do," Codron said, his tone carrying a rare edge of understanding. "Not to this."
As they passed the building, the stench only seemed to grow worse, a heavy, cloying smell that clung to the air like a ghost. Carol quickened her pace, her boots striking the pavement with purpose as if putting distance between them and the aquarium could erase the memory of its decay.
Codron kept pace beside her, the quiet between them growing heavier as they moved further away, the smell lingering even after it had faded from the air.
Once a vibrant hub of horse racing and spectacle, the Hippodrome now stood as another relic of a world long gone. Its sprawling grounds bordered by high fences and overgrown grandstands loomed over the grounds like silent sentinels, their windows shattered and their banners long since weathered away.
They slipped through the gates and moved carefully across the overgrown grounds. The air was thick and the faint creak of rusted metal swayed in the breeze. Codron stayed a step behind Carol, his rifle raised and his gaze scanning every shadow.
"You sure your friend is here?" Codron asked, his voice low.
"No," she admitted quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "But this is where he said he'd be."
Codron let out a faint, skeptical huff but didn't comment further. His rifle stayed steady in his hands, his single eye constantly flicking between the shadows and open spaces.
As they passed the skeletal remains of what had once been the betting stalls, Carol slowed her pace. Her eyes lingered on the faded lettering above one of the counters, the paint chipped and worn, barely legible. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "He's a pilot," she said softly, breaking the silence. "Brought me to Paris when I... needed to find a way here."
Codron raised an eyebrow but kept his focus on the area ahead. "And now you need him to get you out," he said, not unkindly but with the bluntness she'd come to expect.
"That's the plan," Carol replied, her voice steady despite the swirl of thoughts in her head. She didn't elaborate, didn't explain that Ash thought she'd come to find her daughter, not to reunite with Daryl. That conversation could wait—for now.
They moved in unison, their footsteps muted on the soft earth as they approached the entrance. The air grew heavier as they stepped into the shadow of the grandstands, the faint scent of mildew and decay wafting out from the darkness within.
The light filtering through the broken windows cast fractured patterns across the floor, revealing scattered debris and the remnants of the once-bustling racetrack.
A faint sound—a shuffle, a scrape—echoed from somewhere deeper inside. Carol exchanged a tense glance with Codron, her breath hitching as the noise grew louder.
"Stay close," he whispered, his voice a low growl as they crept further into the shadows.
The air was thick with tension, every creak and whisper of movement setting their nerves on edge. As they rounded a corner, a figure emerged from the gloom, their outline sharp against the fractured light.
Codron raised his rifle instantly, his finger hovering over the trigger. Carol stepped forward, her voice cutting through the silence. "Ash?" she called, her tone cautious but hopeful.
The figure turned, stepping into the light. Ash's familiar face came into view. His expression shifted from surprise to relief, then to confusion. "Who is he?" he asked, nodding towards Codron.
"He's a friend," she started, sliding her knife into its sheath. She hesitated for a moment, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Ash, we need to talk."
The narrow streets of Montmartre wound upward, lined with centuries-old buildings draped in ivy and scarred by time. The area, once known for its vibrant artist community and bustling squares, was eerily quiet now, save for the occasional coo of pigeons perched on abandoned balconies. The weight of the silence pressed on Daryl and Isabelle as they moved cautiously through the shadows.
Daryl's morning star dangled from his grip, ready to swing at the first sign of trouble. His sharp eyes scanned every window, every alley, every shadow that seemed to move too much with the shifting sunlight. Isabelle walked just ahead, her posture taut but composed, leading the way through the maze of streets she knew so well.
"How much further?" Daryl muttered, his voice low.
"Not far," Isabelle replied, her gaze darting to the narrow passage ahead. "Rue Saint-Vincent should be just around the corner."
As the street opened up at an intersection, they'd heard the tale-tell shuffling of feet and guttural groans moments before they saw the walker stumble into the street.
Daryl stiffened at the sound, his grip tightening on the handle of the morning star. Isabelle froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing as she instinctively reached back for Laurent, who clung to her side. The walker, its skin gray and stretched over brittle bones, staggered into view, its milky eyes scanning aimlessly as its jaw hung slack.
"Stay close," Daryl muttered, his voice low and steady as he stepped forward.
The walker's groans grew louder as it caught their scent, its head snapping toward them with sudden, jerky movements. It stumbled forward, its feet dragging across the cobblestones with a grotesque shuffle.
Daryl moved quickly, his steps sure and silent as he closed the gap. The morning star swung in a wide arc, the spiked head colliding with the walker's skull with a sickening crunch. The groan cut off abruptly as the creature crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Blood oozed onto the cobblestones, pooling around the walker's shattered skull. Daryl straightened, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any signs of movement.
The street ahead seemed clear as they moved forward, but the silence had an edge to it, the kind that made Daryl's instincts flare. He kept his morning star at the ready, his sharp gaze darting between shadows. Laurent clung tightly to Isabelle's hand, his small steps quick and nervous to keep pace with hers.
The faint scrape of something against stone broke the quiet. Then another. The sounds multiplied, growing louder and more distinct as they echoed through the narrow streets.
"Shit," Daryl muttered, his body tensing as he scanned the area. "We got company."
From the shadows of an alleyway, walkers began to emerge, their grotesque forms shambling toward them. A few turned into a dozen within moments, their guttural moans rising in a sickening chorus. The sound seemed to call more from the side streets, their movements jerky and relentless.
"Run!" Daryl barked, his voice sharp as he turned toward Isabelle and Laurent. "Go!"
Isabelle didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed Laurent's hand tighter and took off down the street, her boots striking the cobblestones in rapid succession. Daryl stayed close behind, glancing over his shoulder to see the horde growing as more walkers joined the pursuit.
The narrow streets worked against them, the echoing moans amplifying and making it impossible to tell where the threats were coming from. Isabelle's breath came in quick bursts as she pulled Laurent along, her heart hammering in her chest.
The air was thick with the sound of groans and shuffling feet as the horde closed in, their decayed forms stumbling faster than seemed possible. Isabelle's grip on Laurent's hand was iron-tight, her mind racing as she scanned the maze of streets ahead for any way out.
The walkers seemed to come from every direction, spilling out of side streets and alleyways as if the entire district had been waiting for them. The narrow roads worked against them, funneling the sound and movement, making it feel like the horde was on every side.
Laurent stumbled, his small legs struggling to keep up. Isabelle yanked him forward with a surge of adrenaline. "Come on, Laurent!" she urged, her voice sharp with panic. She glanced back to see Daryl fending off another walker, his morning star smashing through its skull with practiced brutality.
"Go!" Daryl yelled again, his voice hoarse but forceful. He swung the weapon with precision, taking down another walker that got too close. The bloodied spikes glinted briefly in the sunlight before he pulled the weapon back and kept moving.
"We need to find somewhere to turn off!" she called back to Daryl, her voice strained.
"Just keep movin'!" Daryl shouted. He gritted his teeth as his eyes darted between the advancing horde and the alleyways branching off the street they were running down.
"There! He pointed toward a narrow passage between two buildings at the end of the block. Isabelle hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding and pulling Laurent toward the squeezed through the narrow gap, their breaths labored as they stumbled onto a quieter street on the other side. Daryl was right behind them, his boots skidding on the pavement as he turned to make sure they hadn't been followed.
The moans of the horde grew fainter as they shuffled past the alley, their grotesque forms moving aimlessly down the street. Daryl leaned against the wall for a moment, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His grip on the morning star didn't falter, his knuckles white against the handle as his sharp eyes scanned the area for any sign of stragglers.
Isabelle took Laurent's hand, and the trio moved quickly down the quieter street, their footsteps echoing softly against the cracked pavement. The eerie silence was almost worse than the noise of the horde—it made every rustle of wind or distant groan seem louder, more threatening.
They turned down another alley, Isabelle leading the way between the buildings. They came to a wrought iron gate that lined what looked to be a small park. Trees speckled the grounds surrounding a large stone building in the center, the grass tall and unruly.
Daryl peered through the iron bars, his sharp gaze scanning the overgrown park for any signs of movement. The place seemed abandoned, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves in the faint breeze. He stepped closer to the gate, gripping one of the bars and giving it a cautious shake. The metal groaned softly but held firm.
"Think it's clear?" Isabelle asked, her voice low, glancing nervously toward the street they'd just come from.
"For now," Daryl muttered, his eyes narrowing as he took in the surroundings. "Ain't no way to know for sure."
Laurent tugged lightly on Isabelle's hand, his voice almost a whisper. "Is it safe here?"
Isabelle crouched down beside him, brushing his hair back gently. "It's safer than out there," she assured him, her tone calm but firm. She glanced up at Daryl, who gave her a brief nod before pushing the gate open with a metallic creak.
They slipped inside, their footsteps muted on the soft, overgrown grass. The air here felt heavier, cooler, as though the trees and brick walls of the building were holding their breath. Daryl moved ahead, his morning star at the ready as he scanned the area.
Isabelle guided Laurent toward the shadows of a large tree, her eyes constantly flicking between him and their surroundings.
They moved deeper into the park, their steps cautious and deliberate. The trees provided a canopy of shadows, their branches twisting above like skeletal hands. A faint breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the faint hum of life that felt distant and muted in the silence of Paris.
Laurent's small voice broke the quiet. "What's that?" he asked, pointing toward something partially obscured by the foliage ahead.
Isabelle followed his gaze and a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. She stepped forward, pulling Laurent gently along with her.
Daryl furrowed his brow, his grip on the morning star relaxing slightly as he followed them. They stood in front of a large wall, the face of which was a sprawling mural of deep blue tiles, each inscribed with thousands of handwritten words in hundreds of languages. The writing shimmered faintly in the muted light, a beacon of beauty and hope in the desolation around them.
"What is this?" Daryl asked, his voice rough but curious. He stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied the intricate script scrawled across the wall.
"Le Mur des Je t'aime," she murmured as her eyes read over the words. Daryl's gaze flicked from the wall to her, his brow furrowing deeper. He shook his head, not understanding. She turned her face to look at his, as something flashed in her eyes. She studied him for a second, her eyes searching his for… something. He couldn't put his finger on it. She let out a small laugh as she dropped her gaze to the ground and shook her head.
"Of course you don't know what that means." She whispered more to herself than to him directly. He was still watching her expectantly, waiting for some kind of explanation.
"Le Mur des Je t'aime," Isabelle explained softly, "The Wall of I love You." She turned her gaze back to the wall, her fingers brushing over the cool tiles. "It says 'I love you' in over 300 languages."
Daryl's brow furrowed deeper as he glanced back at the wall, his lips pressing into a thin line. He shifted his weight, his grip on the morning star tightening slightly as though he were bracing himself for something. "That what you were sayin' back at the Nest? Before Losang took you?" he asked after a beat, his voice low, almost hesitant.
Isabelle froze, her hand lingering on one of the tiles. Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression a mix of surprise and something softer. "You remember that?"
He gave a small shrug, his gaze flicking to the ground before settling on her again. "Ain't somethin' I'd forget," he muttered, his tone gruff but sincere.
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. "Yes," she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I told you… je t'aime. I wasn't sure you'd understand."
Daryl's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly as the realization sank in. He swallowed hard, his fingers flexing around the handle of his weapon. "Didn't know what it meant," he admitted, his voice rough. "Figured it was somethin' important, but…"
"It was," Isabelle said gently, her gaze unwavering as it met his. "It is."
The weight of her words hung heavily between them. Daryl shifted his stance, his gaze flicking briefly to Laurent, who was engrossed in tracing his fingers over the tiles, oblivious to the tension between the adults.
Daryl glanced back at Isabelle, his voice softer when he spoke again. "Why then? Why'd you say it?"
Her smile was faint, tinged with something bittersweet. "Because I thought I might not get another chance," she said simply. "Because I needed you to know, even if you didn't understand."
Daryl didn't respond right away, his expression unreadable as he turned his attention back to the wall. His fingers brushed absently over one of the tiles, the words etched into it catching the faint light. "Guess I know now," he muttered, almost to himself.
Isabelle's smile widened just a fraction, and for the first time in what felt like days, a sense of calm washed over her. "Yes," she said softly. "Now you know." His eyes locked back on hers as they stood there for a moment longer, the silence filled with unspoken words and emotions neither of them were quite ready to voice. Then Laurent's voice broke the quiet, full of innocent curiosity. "Can we stay a little longer?"
Isabelle's eyes reluctantly pulled away from him as she turned to Laurent, "Not too long," she said gently. "We still have a ways to go."
Daryl's gaze lingered on the wall for a second more before he stepped back, scanning their surroundings. "We should keep movin'," he said gruffly, his voice steady but lacking its usual edge.
Isabelle nodded, rising to her feet and taking Laurent's hand. As they turned to leave, Daryl fell into step beside her, his eyes darting one last time to the wall behind them. Something unspoken lingered in the air, a quiet shift in the space between them that neither could deny.