Chapter 10: Beyond the Shadows
Daryl blinked awake, the faint morning light filtering through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room. The fire had burned down to embers, leaving the space cool but quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that made everything feel fragile.
He rubbed a hand over his face, still waking, and let his gaze drift over to where Isabelle lay, still sleeping.
The bruises and cuts stood out against her skin, more purple now, with hints of green around the edges. Her breathing was steady, calm. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, lost in thought until a light knock broke the silence.
Carol slipped into the room, moving with that practiced quiet she'd picked up over the years. She gave him a small nod, her voice low so as not to disturb Isabelle. "Didn't mean to wake you," she murmured.
Daryl shook his head, already pushing himself to stand. "I was already awake."
Carol's gaze drifted to Isabelle for a moment before she turned back to him. "I'm heading out early, to check out things around here. Figured Lucien's lead on that old pharmacy might be worth checking'."
He shrugged into his coat, the worn fabric a familiar weight. "I'll go with you."
Carol raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "Thought you might say that."
They didn't need much else, both moving through the shelter with a kind of quiet efficiency. Daryl glanced back at Isabelle, a flicker of reluctance in his expression, before he nodded to Carol. Together, they slipped out into the early morning chill, the air biting but fresh, filling their lungs with a crispness that cut through the remnants of sleep.
They walked down the deserted street, the silence of the city thick around them. Carol fell into step beside him, her hands tucked in her pockets, her gaze drifting over the empty buildings and cracked cobblestone.
After a few minutes, she spoke, her voice soft. "So… are you gonna tell me how you ended up here? Halfway across the world?"
Daryl's jaw tightened slightly, a hint of irritation mingled with resignation. "Didn't exactly buy a ticket," he muttered. "Ran into some trouble with some guys in Maine, not long after I talked to you on the radio" He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the memory. "Next thing I know, I'm on a ship. They had cages of walkers, they were doing experiments on 'em… I dunno. Genet's people I guess. Things went south and I woke up on a beach. Didn't know where the hell I was."
She studied him for a moment, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah, I met your friends in Maine… I left one of them locked in the trunk of a car."
Daryl let out a small laugh and she gave him a small smile. They continued walking, turning down another street lined with buildings on both sides, their eyes constantly scanning the area. Daryl glanced over at her before beginning to speak again.
"How the hell did you find me? How did you get here?" He asked, adjusting the strap of his rifle on his shoulder. He glanced over at her, searching her face.
"I met a guy with a plane. Ash." Her eyes met his. "I convinced him to fly me here." Daryl's eyebrows raised and Carol shrugged her shoulders in response. The guilt that still bubbled in her stomach kept her from continuing to explain that circumstances, deciding she would address that later. "But I met a guy at that Maison Mére place who said that he knew you. He helped me out. His name was Codron."
Daryl stopped walking, his eyebrows furrowed as he turned and faced her.
"He helped you find me?"
She saw the questioning look in his eyes, "He said he did it for the boy."
"Hm." Daryl grunted, working his bottom lip between his teeth.
His gaze shifted to the buildings around them, as if looking for something beyond the street. The buildings lining the street around them were a mix of old-world charm and post-apocalyptic decay. Once-beautiful stone facades, now scarred by weather and time, bore chipped paint and ivy winding up along cracked window sills. Some structures still stood strong, their heavy wooden doors slightly ajar or barricaded, while others leaned precariously, with broken rooftops and shattered glass that littered the cobblestone streets.
Carol watched him, noting the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he processed. Daryl's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before he finally nodded, almost as if to himself.
He turned again and headed down the street, his steps a little heavier, each one carrying the weight of his thoughts. Carol matched his pace, glancing sideways at him as they walked. She could tell he was turning over what she'd said, but she knew better than to push him for answers.
There were remnants of once-bustling shops, their signs faded but still readable in French—boulangerie, épicerie, and fleuriste—though the windows had long since been emptied and darkened. The old metal balconies above each shop, adorned with twisted wrought iron, seemed fragile, holding barely onto baskets of withered plants from lives now forgotten.
Farther down, an old café stretched across the corner of a narrow street, its outdoor seating abandoned. Dusty chairs and rusting tables were scattered along the stone patio, some overturned, others still standing, as if waiting for patrons who would never return. The quiet here was thick and heavy, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind through the buildings, as if the city itself were holding its breath, waiting.
"How's Judith? And RJ?" He asked, his voice softening as he spoke their names, a flicker of warmth in his usually guarded tone.
Carol's expression warmed, a faint smile crossing her face. "They're doing alright," she replied. "Judith's as tough as ever. She's been taking care of RJ, looking out for the others, too. She's fearless—like her mom." She paused, a fondness settling in her gaze. "She misses you. She wasn't happy about me leaving, but she knew I needed to go and try to bring you home."
Daryl's eyes met hers, a trace of guilt mingling with the warmth in his gaze as he slowed to a stop. "You know, I never stopped trying to get home to you… to them. Not for a second." He said, readjusting the rifle strap across his chest. "Things just kept happening. Every time I thought I was getting close, things just got more complicated."
Carol's hand found his arm, a gentle squeeze grounding him in the moment. She nodded, her expression filled with understanding and a hint of sadness. He took a breath, his gaze drifting away to the empty street ahead, his jaw set.
Carol glanced over at him as they resumed walking, her voice gentle but curious. "And Isabelle?" She caught the defensive side eye he gave her, but she ignored it.
He took a few steps before he responded, taking a moment to peer through a window of a shop.
"I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for her. She found me not long after I got here." He subconsciously reached for the scars on his arm, where Isabelle and the other nuns had cauterized the wound from his run in with the Burners. "Genet's people attacked the Abbey, so I told her I would get them to Mont Saint-Michel."
"Abbey?" Carol looked at him amusingly, her eyebrows raised. "She's a nun?" She asked, the humor obvious in her voice.
Daryl shot her a look. "What?"
Carol held up her hands, her expression a mixture of amusement and genuine surprise. "I'm just trying to picture you hanging around a bunch of nuns." she teased, the smile tugging at her lips.
Daryl's look was a mixture of exasperation and defensiveness. He was at a loss for words though, considering how far fetched the truth actually sounded. He puffed a breath of air through his pursed lips and turned to continue down an alley.
"Oh come on, Daryl!" She laughed "You know this is crazy right?" She caught up with him and matched his pace. "I mean, did you ever in a million years think we would end up in France, of all places?"
Daryl shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not exactly." he muttered, glancing sideways at her. "But hell, nothin' about this makes sense anymore."
By the time they returned to the hotel, the sun was high, casting a warm glow over the old stone walls of the shelter. They slip inside quietly, the air inside still and cool in contrast to the brightness outside. Carol stopped at a small table in the common room, unloading the supplies they managed to scavenge, and Daryl's gaze drifted toward the hallway that led to their room upstairs.
He lingered, reluctant to disturb the quiet but feeling an urge to check on her. Carol watched him from the corner of her eye, a faint smile on her lips.
"Go on," she murmured, her voice light but encouraging. "I'll handle the rest of this."
Daryl gave her a small nod, muttering a quick, "Thanks," before making his way toward Isabelle's room. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Isabelle was awake, propped up slightly, her face still bore the marks of her recent struggles, but her eyes were clear, bright with a quiet strength. She met his gaze, a faint smile softening her expression.
"Hey." she says, her voice a little raspy but warm.
Daryl stepped into the room, leaning his rifle carefully against the wall as he approached. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low.
Isabelle let out a small sigh, her smile faint but genuine. "Like I've been hit by a truck. But… I'm alive"
Daryl huffed a quiet laugh, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Yeah, you look it," he replied, a teasing edge to his voice. He settled into a chair beside her bed, his gaze dropping to the floor before lifting back up to meet hers.
Isabelle looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers, then glanced back at him, a gentle warmth in her eyes. "Thank you, Daryl. For everything…"
"We're in this together. Don't need thanks for that."
Isabelle's smile softened, a quiet understanding passing between them. She reached out, her hand resting briefly on his, a simple gesture of connection. "Well, just the same… thank you," she murmured, her voice gentle but firm.
He gave her hand a brief, almost reluctant squeeze before letting go, settling back in his chair. There was a light knock on the door, Lucien's face peaked in as it opened.
Lucien's face softened with relief as he stepped into the room, his voice gentle as he greeted her. "Ah, tu es enfin réveillée,"(Ah, you're finally awake") he said, his words filled with warmth. He raised his kit as he continued, "Je pensais que je devrais changer tes bandages." ("I thought I should change your bandages.")
Daryl, sensing he might be in the way, began to stand, but Isabelle stopped him. "Stay," she murmured, her eyes meeting his. Daryl paused, then nodded, settling back into his chair.
Lucien gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment before he turned his focus back to Isabelle, beginning to unwrap the old bandages with practiced hands. "Dis-moi si tu ressens une douleur," ("Tell me if you feel any pain.") he murmured as he worked.
Isabelle winced slightly as he lifted the fabric, exposing the healing wounds, but she managed a small smile. "Ça va." she said through gritted teeth.
Lucien carefully applied fresh ointment and rewrapped her wounds. "Avec du repos, tu seras debout avant longtemps," ("With rest, you'll be back on your feet before long.") he assured her, his tone gentle but confident.
He gave Isabelle's shoulder a gentle pat. "Voilà. Tout est en ordre." ("There you go. All set.") Lucien said, stepping back with a reassuring smile.
Isabelle returned the smile, her voice soft but steady. "Merci, Lucien. Je te dois encore une fois, on dirait." ("Thank you, Lucien. I owe you again, it seems.")
"Repose-toi bien, Isabelle. Tu as encore besoin de forces," ("Rest well, Isabelle. You still need your strength.") he said, his tone gentle.
With a final nod to both of them, Lucien slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Isabelle and Daryl in the soft afternoon light. Isabelle leaned back against the pillows, her gaze still resting on Daryl, a small smile lingering on her lips.
"Laurent was upset that you left without him this morning. He's downstairs with Bastien. He promised to bring me some stew." She said, adjusting to a more comfortable position, which was not easy, since her entire body was bruised in one way or another.
Daryl's expression softened as he settled back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Isabelle.
Isabelle's eyes turned down to her hands again, "He looks up to you, you know. Talks about wanting to be as strong as you one day. You've been a rock for him… and for me. We wouldn't have made it this far without you."
Daryl opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by the door flinging open and Laurent bounding through the room, his face bright with excitement. He had a bundle of small yellow and white flowers bunched in one hand.
"I picked you some flowers, Isa!" He said, extending them out to her as he settled himself on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her too much. She smiled as she accepted them, their delicate petals a welcome splash of color in the dim room. "They were growing on the wall in the courtyard! There's thousands of them. I thought they might make you feel better."
"Thank you, Laurent." She said, her voice tender. She brought the flowers to her nose, breathing in the faint, fresh scent of Winter Jasmine. She brushed a gentle hand over his hair, "They're beautiful." She turned and looked towards the door as another set of footsteps entered. Carol stepped in, her eyes taking in the scene. She smiled over at Isabelle, and Isabelle froze.
"So it was you… at The Nest," Isabelle said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought it was a dream."
"If it weren't for running into you, I might not have found Daryl. None of us might've made it out of there." Carol walked over and extended the bowl of soup she was carrying to her. Isabelle still stared at her in awe.
The memories she was able to recall from that night were like murky flashes. Parts of it more clear at different times. She remembered seeing Carol's face, and the moment of realization when it became clear who she was. She could remember Carol talking as she wrapped the blanket around her, but after that, everything was just black. She shook her head, unable to piece much more of it together.
Carol gently nudged the bowl of soup into Isabelle's hands, her tone kind but steady. "It's okay if you don't remember everything," Carol said. "That was a rough night for all of us."
The distant cries of seagulls mingled with the rough sound of Losang's labored breathing, creating an unsettling harmony in the damp, ancient chamber of Mont Saint-Michel. Genet observed him with a detached calm, her silhouette framed by the narrow, arched window overlooking the vast sea.
Losang was slumped in a wooden chair, his wrists bound to the armrests, his face swollen and bloodied. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and each movement seemed to bring fresh pain, but he managed to lift his head to meet Genet's gaze with defiance. He could feel the tell-tale trickle of blood running down the side of his face, the taste of it in his mouth and hear the quiet drip of it onto the floor.
Genet took a step toward him,The dim torchlight cast sharp shadows over her face, accentuating the calculating look in her eyes. "Où est l'enfant?"("Where is the boy?") she asked, her tone cold and precise.
Losang gritted his teeth, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Je ne sais pas," ("I don't know.") he spat, defiance still flashing in his bruised eyes.
Genet's face remained impassive. She glanced over her shoulder at one of her soldiers, who stepped forward and pressed a hand down hard on Losang's shoulder, eliciting a muffled cry.
Losang gritted his teeth, feeling the already broken bones there grind against one another under his skin.
"Ne jouez pas à ça avec moi," Genet continued, her tone like ice. "Nous savons que vous avez aidé Isabelle à fuir. Où sont-ils allés?" ("Don't play games with me. We know you helped Isabelle escape. Where did they go?")
Losang closed his eyes, bracing himself. "Allez au diable." ("Go to hell.")
Genet's eyes hardened as she nodded toward her soldier, who unsheathed a knife, its blade catching the faint glimmer of torchlight. Without a word, the soldier pressed the knife against one of Losang's fingers, drawing a thin line of blood as he applied pressure. Losang's defiance wavered, his breathing quickening, but he held Genet's gaze, refusing to give her the satisfaction of fear.
The soldier tightened his grip on Losang's arm, pressing the knife slightly harder into his skin. Genet watched without a hint of sympathy, her gaze turning back to another soldier that was standing in the doorway.
Genet turned her attention to another soldier standing by the doorway, her voice cutting through the tension. "Installez plus de barrages sur la route de Paris," ("Set up more roadblocks toward Paris,") she commanded. "Et faites passer un message à nos hommes près de la côte. Je veux qu'on les arrête." ("And get a message out to any of our men near the coast. I want them stopped.")
"Oui, madame." He said sternly, turning and disappearing down the dark corridor. Genet's gaze returned briefly to Losang, her eyes cold and calculating, a hint of a smile tugging at the sides of her lips.
She offered a final nod to the soldier holding the knife, who pressed down harder, Losang's screams reverberating off the unforgiving stone walls.