Chapter 8: Echoes and Embers
Daryl's eyes scanned the darkness as the UTV rolled to a stop, the engine emitting metallic ticks and creaks as the coolness of the night crept in. Carol had killed the engine when they saw Lucien step into the street and raise his arm over his head. The silence of the houses around them was almost deafening without the hum of the motor filling the air. They rolled to a stop beside a stone wall that lined the street, the Ivy that crept along its cracks and crevices, unbothered by years of neglect.
They had been able to skirt the river south into Pontorson, coming into town towards the West. Old houses and businesses lined the streets, their silhouettes looming over them from both sides, their windows glinted in the bright moonlight.
Lucien walked up to them, and motioned over his shoulder. "L'Orée du Mont is just a short walk this way. We've got you all a room ready. They have a decent size group that has gathered, most are refugees from Mont St Michel. But they do not stand with Losang. I think we will be fine here, for the time being."
Daryl nodded, chewing his bottom lip. He nodded once before climbing down out of his seat and resituating Isabelle in his arms. Laurent jumped down from his perch behind the seats. "How long are we going to be staying here?" His innocent eyes surveyed the shadows around them.
"Until we figure out a plan." Daryl shifted Isabelle, feeling her weight. Her breaths were small, but steady. Lucien gave Laurent a reassuring nod as he started down a narrow side street, motioning for them to follow, his steps blending into the soft crunch of gravel and broken pavement.
Old wooden signs hung from the buildings around them, creaking slightly as a breeze caught them. As Carol walked, her hand rested on the hilt of her knife, her gaze sweeping the dark corners. The cold air bit at her fingers, still numb from gripping the steering wheel on the drive there.
They rounded one last corner, and a larger building rose before them, its worn sign faint but still legible, with "L'Orée du Mont" hanging slightly askew above the door facing the street. Lucien continued past it, leading them down a narrow alley that ran between the main building and what looked like an old shop or garage tucked just behind. The others followed closely. Reaching a smaller side door, Lucien pushed it open, holding it as they stepped inside.
They followed him down a quiet hallway, nodding to a few weary faces that were in some of the rooms. At the end, the hallway opened up to a large common room where several people were gathered at the tables scattered throughout. Most of them were eating from bowls, their spoons clinking softly, and a few of them glanced up as the newcomers entered. Daryl scanned the faces, spotting Claire and Etienne seated with Fallou and the young man they had found at the hotel. The other two women and the older man sat at the table next to them. Fallou raised his hand and waved. The savory smell of the stew they were eating swirled in the room and Daryl felt his stomach growl.
A slender, middle aged man with a graying beard shuffled over to them and patted Laurent on his shoulder. "Bienvenue!" He said, giving them a gentle, lopsided grin. "My name is Benoît, but please, call me Ben." He turned his gaze to Isabelle, placing his palm on her head. "Let's get you up to your room. I think we have one that will accommodate you well." He smiled as he turned and shuffled off towards another hallway.
Daryl glanced over at Carol, catching her eyes as she was surveying the room. She gave him a small nod, her hand easing off the hilt of her knife. Together, they followed Benoît, Laurent trailing close behind, his eyes wide as he took in the room and faces around them. The scent of the stew faded slowly behind them, the warmth of it a sharp contrast to the cold deserted streets outside.
Benoît led them down another hallway and up a staircase that creaked under their feet with each step. "Thankfully, we've been here some time. My wife wanted to settle somewhere quieter than Mont Saint Michel. Too many people… it never ends well." He said over his shoulder. "We keep to ourselves here. We have a well that gives us fresh water, and we hunt and grow what we need. It's peaceful… most days."
They stopped at a door near the end of the hall, and he turned to face them. "This one is yours" he said, gesturing to Daryl with a faint welcoming smile. "It's not much, but it's clean. The adjoining room should be comfortable for the others."
Daryl shifted Isabelle in his arms as Benoît pushed the door open, revealing the room beyond. Daryl stepped through the doorway, Laurent on his heels. It was simple, but welcoming, with a large bed in the center of the far wall, a claw foot tub occupying the corner to his left.
A woman was knelt down in front of a fireplace to his right, her back to them, stoking the fire that had helped eliminate the chill from the air. She added another piece of wood before standing and dusting her hands on her dress. She looked incredibly small in the large A-frame shape of the room, the light from the fireplace flickering across her face.
"We are glad to have you here." She smiled sweetly, the lines under her eyes the only telling of her age. She had darker, sun kissed skin from all her time spent in her garden, and long dark hair that was pulled into a braid that ran down to the middle of her back. Carol studied her, but smiled back. "Rest as long as you need, we shall show you around tomorrow." Benoît wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
With a final nod, Benoît and the woman stepped back through the door, leaving them to the quiet of the room. As the door closed, Daryl walked over to the bed and carefully eased Isabelle down, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. Her breathing was steady and her cheeks were flush.
Carol walked over to the large window, scanning the little bit of the surroundings she could see through the darkness. Her eyes followed someone walking down below. Another one of the hotel's inhabitants, walking the perimeter of what looked to be a small courtyard behind the hotel. Two other people sat at a small table off to the side, the smoke from their cigarettes lingering heavily in the air above their heads and slowly drifting off into the night.
Lucien surveyed the room and then turned to Daryl. "I will go get my bag and change Isabelle's dressings. We've enough wood here for tonight at least. The warmth will do her good." He said and Daryl nodded. He quietly disappeared out the door, pulling it closed behind him as Laurent came to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes searching Isabelle's face. Daryl could see the worry eating at him. He reached out and gave Laurent's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Daryl said quietly, his voice gruff. "I'll keep an eye on her."
Laurent looked up at Daryl, his young face etched with exhaustion. He gave a small nod, but his eyes drifted back to Isabelle. He hesitated, then let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. He trusted Daryl's words, even if the worry still lingered in his eyes.
"Come on, we'll get you set up in front of the fire." Daryl said, grabbing one of the pillows off the bed and a blanket that had been folded in a chair by the window. Laurent sat on the floor, a few feet from the fireplace. Daryl handed him the pillow and he laid down, situating it under his head, his eyelids already heavy as he nestled under the blanket Daryl draped over him.
Carol watched him, her lips curved into a soft, understanding smile. As he walked over to the window where she stood, she glanced down at Laurent, already asleep on the floor.
"You're good with him, you know." She said,
Daryl shrugged, a faint grumble escaping him. "Just doin what needs doin." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at the boy, adding, "Kid's had it hard enough."
Carol's smile softened and she nudged him with her elbow. He shifted, resting his forearm up on the edge of the window as they focused on the courtyard below. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sinking with the weight of the day. The night stretched quietly around them, the shadows deep and unmoving.
"I'm going to go grab some of that stew. You hungry?" she asked, turning from the window as Lucien returned with his bag. He moved to Isabelle's side and immediately started his routine without saying a word. Daryl shook his head.
"Nah, I'm good." He said, watching as Lucien stripped off some of the old bandages and inspected Isabelle's stomach. Carol eyed him and turned, heading for the door.
"I'll bring you some anyways." She smiled over her shoulder and then disappeared out the door.
She returned a short time later, a bowl of stew with a protruding clump of bread in one hand, a stack of clothing tucked under her other arm. Daryl turned and glanced at her from the window as she shut the door behind her. She laid the stack of clothes on the foot of the bed. "Ben's wife sent up these for Isabelle. She thought they'd fit since they're about the same size." She explained, walking over and offering him the bowl, which he reluctantly accepted.
"You need to eat." She said, eyebrow raised in her no-arguments tone.
He grumbled, accepting the bowl with a resigned sigh. He knew there would be no arguing with her. Carol took a seat in the chair by the window while he turned and leaned his back against the wall. He bit off a piece of the bread that had been soaking in the stew and chewed it slowly, his eyes drifting over to Isabelle. Carol's eyes studied his face.
The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion brought on by the events from the last few days. Hell, the last several years. His hair, even longer than she had remembered, still hung in his face, shielding him from having to face the cruelties of this world full on. She wondered how many people throughout his life had brushed him off, only seeing the rough exterior that he wore like a cloak. So few people got to see the quieter side of him, the one that cared deeply and fiercely protected those he let into his guarded circle? His rough edges were obvious, but Carol saw beyond them, recognizing the resilience and compassion that lay beneath his hardened shell.
Daryl shifted, sensing her gaze. "What?" he muttered, his tone more curious than annoyed, though he kept his eyes fixed on the bowl.
"You love her." She said quietly and he stopped chewing.
He didn't answer, just glanced quickly over at her before returning his attention to the piece of bread he held in his hand. He took another bite, his eyes drifting back up to Isabelle as he chewed. Carol's eyes followed his gaze, and she took a deep, thoughtful breath before she continued.
"You know, Daryl… we're survivors. We're used to surviving. It's what we know. It's what we're good at." She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. The wooden back creaked slightly, coming to rest against the wall. He'd started on another mouthful of bread. "Hell, even before all this," she made a gesture to everything around them with her hand. "Before the world even fell apart… We've always been just trying to survive." She mindlessly picked at the skin beside her thumbnail, her lips turned down at the corners. Her brows furrowed. "With Ed, I never knew what I was waking up to… or whether I would even make it to see the next day. I feel like the majority of my life has been spent just surviving." He stopped chewing then and looked at her, his eyes trying to read her face. She looked up at him and met his gaze. "But at some point… we have to stop just surviving, and focus on living." She offered him a gentle smile as he worked her words over in his mind.
Daryl's eyes dropped back down to his hands, his fingers idly breaking off another piece of bread. He was silent, letting Carol's words hang between them, weaving through his thoughts like threads he wasn't sure how to untangle. Living. It was such a simple word, but it felt heavier than anything he was used to carrying. The kind of weight that didn't come from the dead or the fights, but from… well, something he wasn't sure he knew how to carry at all.
He chewed slowly, letting the meaning sink in, the echoes of her own past mingling with his. She'd seen him—truly seen him—when no one else had looked beyond his walls. And here she was, offering a truth he'd barely let himself consider.
He grunted softly, a non-committal sound, but Carol knew him well enough to catch the hesitation in his eyes. He didn't look back up at her right away, instead shifting his gaze to Isabelle, who was still across the room, resting peacefully. It was strange seeing her like that — vulnerable, even. He wasn't sure what to do with the way it twisted something inside him.
He swallowed, his voice barely a murmur. "Maybe I don't know how." The words slipped out before he could catch them, his eyes glued to the piece of bread in his hand, almost as if looking at her would make him more vulnerable than he already felt.
Carol's smile softened and he gave her a look. A mixture of reluctance and uncertainty, then shifted his eyes back to Isabelle. There was something there that ached below the surface, something he'd buried a long time ago, if it was ever really there to begin with.
Carol leaned forward, reaching across to place a reassuring hand on his arm.
He looked at her, his jaw tight, eyes searching hers. She'd always known him, better than anyone else. And now, here she was, challenging him to do something he'd never thought he could — to live, not just survive. To feel.
He gave her a small, reluctant nod, not a promise but maybe, just maybe, the beginning of one.