Chapter 29: Mud and Scars
Daryl's hand instinctively tightened around Isabelle, his heart picking up a steady, cautious rhythm. He kept his breathing quiet, his sharp eyes locked on the window as a shadow passed by, distorted and murky in the moonlight.
Isabelle stirred against him, her body shifting slightly as she groggily whispered, "Daryl—"
Before she could finish, his hand quickly clamped over her mouth, silencing her. His gaze met hers in the darkness, the urgency in his expression speaking volumes. She froze beneath his hand, her blue eyes wide as she followed his line of sight toward the window.
The shadows moved again, a shuffling, unsteady gait. Daryl's ears picked up the faint groans that accompanied it. They stumbled through the dark, their decayed forms brushing against the truck as they moved.
The metallic creak of the tailgate sounded again, louder this time, as one of the creatures leaned heavily against it. Daryl held Isabelle closer, his hand still covering her mouth as her breath quickened beneath his palm. The truck rocked ever so slightly as another walker bumped into the side, and the groans grew louder.
Daryl's eyes flicked toward the front of the truck. Carol and Codron were still, their breathing slow and steady, their postures unmoving. If they were awake, they gave no sign, and Daryl wasn't about to risk checking.
As if she could hear Daryl's thoughts, he watched as Carol's eyes opened slowly– her gaze sweeping the windshield without moving her head. She reached over to Codron slowly, careful not to draw attention to the inside of the cab. She slid her hand over and carefully put it on his shoulder. He startled awake, but he didn't make a sound, quickly realizing the situation as his eyes darted to meet Carol's. She gave a small shake of her head, a silent warning to stay still. Codron's body tensed as he registered the low groans outside and the faint thuds of walkers brushing against the truck. His fingers tightened around the rifle resting in his lap, but Carol's firm grip on his arm kept him from making any sudden moves.
In the backseat, Daryl remained perfectly still, his body a wall of protection against Isabelle. Her breath came in shallow, controlled puffs against his hand, her wide eyes fixed on the window where shadows passed like ghosts.
The herd was dense—too many for a quick escape, even if they could start the truck without drawing attention. Every bump against the truck's frame sent a jolt through the cab, the faint creaks and groans of the old metal echoing in the confined space.
One walker pressed hard against the passenger side door, its decayed hand scraping against the glass with a faint squeal. The sound sent a shiver down Isabelle's spine, and Daryl tightened his grip around her, his free arm resting across her chest as a silent reassurance.
Codron glanced at the rifle again, but Carol's sharp gaze pinned him in place. Her message was clear: not a chance. One wrong move would send the entire herd into a frenzy, and they were boxed in with nowhere to go.
Minutes felt like hours as the herd continued to move past. The walkers bumped and scraped against the truck as they stumbled onward.
The relentless procession of walkers continued, their groans blending into the rhythmic scrape of decayed hands against metal. The sheer size of the herd became evident as the minutes dragged into an hour. Daryl's sharp eyes tracked the shadows through the rain-streaked windows, his chest tightening with each shuffling form that passed.
It was the kind of herd he hadn't seen in years, the kind that left nothing in its wake but destruction. The truck swayed slightly as another walker leaned heavily against the side, its weight dragging along the frame with a gurgling groan before stumbling onward. Isabelle tensed against him, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.
The sound of the herd felt endless, each thud and scrape reverberating through the cab. In the front seat, Carol remained a statue of vigilance, her eyes sharp as she kept Codron in check with a single glance. The rifle on his lap was practically vibrating under his tense grip, but he didn't move, his jaw clenched tight.
Every so often, a particularly heavy thud against the truck would make them all flinch, the sound grating against their nerves. A walker's head bumped against the window near Isabelle's feet, its empty eyes staring in as its flesh pressed grotesquely against the glass. Isabelle stiffened, her hand clutching Daryl's arm tighter as the creature slid off and disappeared into the dark.
The weight of the moment pressed down on the truck like a living thing, suffocating and inescapable. The groans of the walkers, the scrape of their decayed hands against the metal, and the occasional heavy thud created a sinister symphony that filled the night.
Daryl's gaze remained fixed on the shifting shadows outside, his body a coil of tension. He could feel Isabelle's breath hitch against his palm as another walker brushed past the door, the sound of its rotting flesh sliding against the metal sending a shiver through her.
Carol's eyes darted to the rearview mirror, catching Daryl's steady expression and the subtle motion of his hand as he calmed Isabelle. She turned her attention back to Codron, her hand still resting on his forearm. The man's jaw was locked, his breaths shallow and controlled, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the rifle.
Daryl's jaw tightened as his free hand instinctively moved toward the knife at his side. The weight of the weapon was a small comfort, though he knew it wouldn't be enough if the herd decided to press in.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the tide began to ebb. The groans softened, the scraping lessened, and the shuffling of feet grew fainter. The herd was moving on, its numbers dwindling with each passing second.
No one in the truck moved, their breaths shallow and silent as they waited, listening intently for any remaining stragglers that could've fallen behind the pack. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the cab filled with the sound of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last shadow disappeared into the distance. The night fell eerily quiet, the absence of noise almost as unsettling as the chaos that had just passed.
Daryl slowly removed his hand from Isabelle's mouth. She exhaled softly, her breath shuddering as she moved to slowly sit up.
Her hands were shaking.
The pale light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a dull gray over the soaked landscape. The storm had passed, leaving behind a world cloaked in silence and drenched in cold humidity. The rain had stopped, but the aftermath was evident—the ground was a sodden mess, thick with mud and riddled with puddles reflecting the overcast sky.
Daryl stood outside the truck, his boots sinking into the muck as he surveyed the area. The ground was churned up as far as the eye could see, a chaotic patchwork of footprints left by the herd that had passed in the night. Thousands of impressions pressed into the mud told the story of just how massive the group of walkers had been.
"Never seen anything like this," Codron muttered, his voice low as he crouched near the back wheel, inspecting the axle half-buried in the mire. He wiped a hand over his jaw, smearing mud across his cheek without noticing. "Ground's too soft to get any traction. We're gonna need more than just a push."
Carol stood nearby, her arms crossed over her chest as she scanned the horizon. "We've got to clear a path for the tires," she said, glancing at Daryl. "Might be able to use some of those branches from that tree line over there." She motioned to a stand of spindly trees not far from the truck.
Daryl nodded, his sharp eyes narrowing as he considered their options. "Yeah. Lay 'em down under the wheels, give it somethin' to grip." He chewed his bottom lip as he looked around for anything else that might be of help.
Isabelle nodded absently, her hands gripping the edges of her coat tightly. She hadn't said much since the herd passed, her normally steady composure shaken. Daryl's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he moved toward the front of the truck to check the condition of the front tires.
Carol and Codron set off toward the tree line, their boots squelching against the mud as they went. The sound of snapping branches and muttered curses carried faintly on the damp air.
Daryl crouched beside the truck, his hand trailing over the caked mud on the tire. The rain had done a number on the road, leaving the earth loose and treacherous. He glanced over his shoulder at Isabelle, who was still standing in the same spot, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.
She startled slightly, her gaze snapping up to meet his. "Yeah," she said quickly, though her voice wavered. "Just… it's a lot to take in."
Daryl nodded, his expression softening slightly. "First herd?" he asked, kicking some of the mud from the tire before looking up at her again.
Isabelle managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She glanced down at the muddy ground as she nodded, almost like she was ashamed to admit it.
It was becoming increasingly obvious how well she'd had it since the outbreak. She knew that the shelter of the abbey had given her a slight advantage. Or what she thought was an advantage. But when faced with situations such as last night, she realized that it hadn't adequately prepared her for how the world was now. She'd encountered her fair share of walkers and unnerving run-ins with les affamés. But nothing like the things that Daryl had seen. The things that he'd faced and fought and survived.
A pang of guilt hit her square in the gut.
Daryl straightened slightly, resting a forearm on the hood of the truck as he studied her. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. "Ain't somethin' you need to feel bad about," he said after a moment, his voice rough.
Her head lifted, her blue eyes meeting his. "How can I not?" she asked quietly. "I've been… sheltered. Protected. And now, out here…" She gestured faintly to the mud, the truck, the vast expanse of churned-up ground. "It's like I've been living in a bubble."
Daryl shook his head, stepping closer. "That bubble kept you alive," he said firmly. "Kept Laurent alive. Ain't nothin' wrong with that." He crouched again, his eyes searching hers. "It's different out here, yeah. But you're still standin', still fightin'. That's what matters."
Isabelle swallowed hard, his words sinking in, though the guilt didn't fade. "You make it sound so simple," she murmured, a faint wryness to her tone.
"Simple don't mean easy," Daryl replied. "Ain't easy for any of us." He picked at a piece of chipping paint on the hood of the truck with his thumbnail before he spoke again. "We've seen and survived things that a lot of people didn't. Sometimes I think it's just luck." He laughed and shook his head, his gaze far off as he remembered so many times in the past he thought that he was living out his last moments. Moments when, by all rights, he should've died. But somehow… somehow, he made it through.
Isabelle's gaze softened as she watched him, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. "Luck," she echoed, her voice quiet. "Or maybe you're just too damn stubborn to let anything take you down."
Daryl let out a faint huff of amusement, his lips twitching into the shadow of a smirk. "Yeah, maybe."
Carol and Codron trudged back toward the truck, their arms full of branches and smaller logs. Mud clung to their boots and the bottoms of their pants, but neither seemed to care. Carol dropped her bundle near the truck's front tire, wiping her hands on her thighs as she glanced at Daryl and Isabelle.
Daryl straightened, his gaze flicking to the tree line a short distance ahead. One tree, sturdy and leaning slightly over the edge of the pavement, caught his attention. He jerked his chin toward it. "How much rope we got?" he asked,
Codron pulled the coil of rope from the bed of the truck, giving it a quick once-over. "Twelve, fifteen meters maybe," he answered, unwinding a bit to check for frays.
Daryl paused, his brow furrowing as he looked at Codron. "In English."
Codron stopped mid-check, his eyes deadpan. "I am speaking English, asshole," he shot back without missing a beat.
An unexpected laugh bubbled up from Isabelle at the exchange. "It's about forty to fifty feet, Daryl," she offered, her voice laced with amusement as she walked to the side of the truck and helped Carol position some of the branches in front of the rear tires.
Daryl rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he reached for the rope. Codron, meanwhile, gave an exaggerated shake of his head and muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Americans…"
Daryl inspected the rope, running it through his hands. It was old but still sturdy enough to get the job done if they were careful. "Good. We'll tie it off to that tree." He pointed toward the one he'd been eyeing. "Use it to winch the truck forward, get the tires outta the worst of the mud."
Carol nodded, stepping forward to help with the setup. "It's not perfect, but it should hold," she said, eyeing the tree and the rope in Daryl's hands. She bent down to clear some of the smaller branches that had fallen around the truck's tires, working methodically to give the wheels better traction.
Once they got the setup ready, Daryl stood back to survey the scene. "Alright, let's give it a shot," he said, turning back towards the truck. "Carol, get in and put it in drive. We can try to push. Just take it easy, don't go gunnin' it or you're going to be slingin' mud all over the damn place."
Carol gave a short nod, brushing her hands on her pants as she moved toward the driver's side of the truck. "Got it," she replied, climbing into the seat and adjusting the rear view mirror. She started the engine, the low rumble vibrating through the air.
Daryl positioned himself at the back of the truck opposite to Codron. His hands gripped the edge of the tailgate, his boots planted firmly in the mud. "Alright, give it some gas," he called to Carol, "Just a little!"
The purr of the engine grew slightly louder as Carol pressed the accelerator. The tires spun briefly, slinging mud in wide arcs behind them, plastering Daryl and Codron from head to toe in the sticky mud.
"Whoa, whoa, WHOA WHOA STOP! STOP! Daryl shouted, banging his hand on the tailgate to try and get her attention. Carol finally let off the accelerator, and the engine settled back to a low rumble.
"I said a little," he growled, his voice sharp as he swiped at the mud dripping down his face, only succeeding in smearing it further with his equally muddy sleeve.
Carol rolled the window down aggressively, her irritation clear as she leaned her head out. "That was a little!"
"No, that was too much." Daryl snapped back, his eyes narrowing.
"How am I supposed to know how much is too much?"
"You listen, and if it sounds like it's too much, then it's too much," Daryl growled, his frustration boiling over.
Carol's lips tightened into a thin line, and then she muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Maybe you're too much."
Daryl stood upright, his boots sloshing in the mud as Isabelle quickly turned away, her hand covering her mouth to hide her growing amusement. His sharp eyes locked onto the cab. "What?" he said sharply, his tone challenging.
"What?" Carol echoed back, meeting his glare with her own.
"What?" Daryl repeated, leaning slightly forward.
"What?" Carol shot back again, her face the picture of defiance.
Codron suddenly stood upright, mud dripping from his arms as he threw his hands into the air, his voice cutting through the absurd exchange. "Can we please focus on getting this fucking truck out of the mud so we can get the hell out of this godforsaken place?!"
Both Daryl and Carol snapped their attention to him, their annoyed glares briefly unified. Isabelle bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle a laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.
Without another word, Daryl shook his head, muttering something unintelligible as he moved back to his position behind the truck. Carol rolled her eyes but shifted her focus back to the task at hand, easing her foot onto the accelerator again.
This time, the tires spun less aggressively, and with a groan of effort from the truck's frame, it began to slip free of the thick mud. Daryl and Codron pushed in unison, the combined effort finally propelling the vehicle onto firmer ground.
"There's a creek just over that hill," Carol nodded back in the direction of the trees where she and Codron had scavenged the branches for the tires. She turned toward Daryl, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his mud-caked form. He was futilely trying to brush the muck from his arms, only succeeding in smearing it further.
"We'll get you two a clean set of clothes," she added, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Daryl shot her a look, his lips pulling into a thin line. Codron huffed, wiping at his own jacket with an air of irritation. "I don't care where it is, as long as I'm not sitting in this shit all day," he said, flicking a glob of mud off his sleeve.
Carol drove the truck slowly up the muddy road, following the faint trickle of water running alongside it. The creek crossed the road a little ways up, widening as it curved past the tree line. The water shimmered in the early light, and the sound of it rushing over smooth stones breaking the quiet.
As the truck came to a stop, Codron and Daryl climbed out of the bed, their boots squelching against the wet ground as they made their way to the water's edge.
Isabelle climbed out of the truck and rummaged through Daryl's bag, pulling out a clean set of clothes. She held them up, checking for anything missing before draping them over her arm and grabbing the thick wool blanket from the back seat. Carol did the same with Codron's bag, stacking the clothes against her arm before they made their way down to the creek.
Their footsteps slowed as the men came into view. Both stood knee-deep in the creek, stripped down to their boxers. The frigid water glistened against their skin as they splashed it over their arms and torsos, trying to scrub away the layers of mud.
Daryl's back was turned toward them, the scars criss-crossing his broad shoulders catching the light in stark, uneven lines. Codron, his chest similarly marked with deep, jagged reminders of the past, stood with his arms submerged, his expression tight as he braced against the chill of the water.
Isabelle's steps faltered as her eyes were drawn to Daryl. She couldn't help it—her gaze lingered on the taut lines of his back, the way his muscles shifted beneath the scars that adorned his skin. The early light played against the water clinging to him, each movement fluid, his strength restrained but undeniable. Her breath caught, her chest tightening as she drank him in, reveling in the quiet power of him.
Her gaze shifted reluctantly, landing on Codron. His frame was leaner, but his scars told just as many stories—deep, jagged lines etched into his chest and arms, each one a testament to his survival. The tension in his posture wasn't from the cold; in fact, the frigid water didn't seem to bother him at all. His movements were steady, almost practiced, as he splashed water over his arms and torso, scrubbing away the mud with a casual ease.
Isabelle tilted her head slightly, her thoughts drifting. He didn't even flinch at the icy chill, and she found herself wondering if it was second nature to him. Growing up in the shadow of the Pyrenees, he had probably spent his boyhood playing in cold mountain streams, wading barefoot through the freezing waters without a second thought. It wasn't hard to imagine a younger version of him, carefree and wild, braving the kind of chill that would make others hesitate.
The contrast between him and Daryl was striking. Where Daryl's movements carried a quiet strength tempered by years of hardship, Codron's were sharp, deliberate, and deeply rooted in a familiarity with the cold. And yet, they both bore the marks of countless battles—scarred and unyielding, their bodies maps of everything life had thrown at them.
Isabelle's chest tightened as she considered it, the unspoken parallels between the two men standing out starkly. Though their origins couldn't be more different—one from the rugged mountains of France, the other from the wooded hills of Georgia—they were both shaped by the fight to survive, their scars a shared language of resilience.
Carol's voice broke her from her thoughts, "Clothes!" She called, raising the bundle in offering.
Daryl turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. His hair, damp and sticking to his neck, framed his face as he nodded. "Yeah, alright," he muttered, wading toward the bank with water dripping from his frame.
Isabelle stepped forward, holding out Daryl's clothes. He didn't meet her eyes at first, busy wringing water from his hands before taking the bundle from her. "Thanks," he said, his voice low, barely above the sound of the creek behind them.
As he stood there, the cool air biting against his damp skin, Isabelle noticed the slight quiver in his muscles, his body shivering against the chill. His bottom lip trembled ever so slightly, and there was something almost boyish in the look he gave her—pleading, though he'd never voice it, for warmth.
She chuffed a small laugh and draped the blanket she'd brought over his shoulders, stepping closer to rub her hands up and down his arms through the fabric. Her touch was firm but gentle, trying to coax some warmth back into him.
Daryl glanced down at her, his eyes locking onto hers. The gratitude in his gaze was quiet but unmistakable, and Isabelle's heart clenched at the sight of him like this—raw, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see.
Her lips curved into an apologetic smile as she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cold, quivering bottom lip. She turned and gathered up his muddy and discarded clothes from the bank, holding them at a safe, clean distance from herself.
As Isabelle turned back toward the truck, Daryl's blanket still draped loosely over his shoulders, Codron's voice cut through the quiet, laced with exaggerated indignation.
"Attends, il a droit à une couverture et un baiser?" ("Wait, he gets a blanket AND a kiss?") he said in French, his tone mocking but playful.
Isabelle didn't even pause as she called over her shoulder, her own voice ringing out in French, "Tais-toi, Codron." ("Shut up, Codron.")