Walking With the Dead

The next several days passed like a blur. For the first time, every minute of Emma’s day was filled with activity. When she wasn’t studying first-aid from Hershel, she was reading the various medical books he lent her. There were half a dozen books in all: books about medicinal plants, edible plants, books about how to identify illnesses and treatments. Emma was surprised at how excited she was to be learning something, and knowing it would be useful.

Hershel had even allowed Emma to work on his farm animals. She treated an infected cut on a pig and set a broken bone in a chicken’s leg. Even though the chicken ended up on the Greene’s dinner table that night, Hershel said it was important for her to learn how to align bones properly. Emma hoped she would never have to set broken bones on a human, but at least now she would be prepared to do it.

In addition to learning about medicine, Shane had offered to teach gun safety to anyone who wanted it. Emma was one of the first to jump on his offer, because he had promised that anyone who showed they were in complete control of their aim could have their gun back. Emma had done well enough during the practice, shooting her target more than she missed it. Of course, it was Andrea who stole the show; she could hit the bulls-eye from fifty feet. Nonetheless, Emma proved herself worthy of carrying around her gun once again. Even though Emma knew she could only use her gun in the most extreme of emergencies, it was comforting to feel the gun holstered against her hip.

One day, after Emma’s lesson with Hershel, Carol had asked Emma if she wanted to help preserve vegetables.

“The Greene’s harvested more vegetables than they know what to do with. Patricia told me they normally sell their goods at the farmer’s market but, well, those don’t exist anymore.” Carol smiled, small crow’s feet spreading from the corners of her eyes. It was truly heart-warming to see Carol’s smile. It had been too long since the last time she smiled. “I thought it would be nice if we helped them preserve vegetables. That way nothing would go to waste, and there will be food during winter.”

That seemed to be everyone’s worry these days: preparing for winter. It was nearing the end of summer, and winter would only be a few months away. Emma had no idea what winter was like in Georgia; she didn’t think it would be as cold as Seattle, but she wasn’t sure. The fact that everyone was concerned with gathering enough food and firewood and extra coats and blankets from town had Emma concerned.

But what concerned Emma most was whether they would be allowed to stay at the Greene farm. Hershel had made it clear that once Sophia was found, they would be forced to leave. What if they couldn’t find a safe place to stay before winter came? Emma seriously doubted they would be able to survive in tents and Dale’s RV all winter long.

There’s no use in worrying about this now, Emma told herself. Emma had learned these past months that worrying about the future was too draining, because everything was so uncertain. The best thing she could do was focus on surviving through the day. And today I am not going to freeze to death.

So, Emma decided to help Carol preserve vegetables. While Carol worked on preparing a brine solution for the pickling, Emma chopped up cucumbers so they would fit easily in the jar. Emma wasn’t paying much attention to her chopping, because the next thing she knew there was a sharp pain in the side of her thumb.

“Shit,” Emma hissed as her blood blossomed on her thumb. Instinctively, Emma brought her thumb to her mouth.

“Typical city girl. Can’t even cut a cucumber. Bet you’ve never had to cook yourself a meal in your life, huh, Princess?”

Emma heard Daryl’s taunting voice from behind, and something inside of her snapped. She’d had enough of Daryl’s attitude. The reasonless taunts. His constant degrading remarks. Calling her Princess. Emma was sick and tired of it.

Forgetting about her bleeding thumb, Emma stood up and whirled around. “What the hell is your problem, Daryl?”

Emma was pleased that there was a flicker of surprise on Daryl’s face. He hadn’t expected Emma to speak up. He probably thought she would just clench her teeth and take his insults in silence, like she had before.

“The problem isn’t mine,” Daryl retorted through a clenched jaw.

“Yeah? Well I beg to differ. Ever since I’ve been here all you’ve been is mean.” Emma cringed inwardly, suddenly aware that she sounded like a child complaining about how life wasn’t fair. She decided to be more aggressive. “I haven’t done a single thing to you, and all you’ve done to me is disrespect me and treat me like shit. So yeah, the problem is definitely you.”

“Fine. You want to know what my problem is? It’s you. All you do is mope around, actin’ useless. And whenever someone goes out on a limb and invites you to help, you cause more trouble then you’re worth. You do know that the geek that attacked Andrea was your fault, right?”

Emma clenched her jaw. Her throat had suddenly gone dry. So she wasn’t the only one who suspected that had been her fault. Somehow, because Daryl had outwardly accused her, she felt like it had become the truth.

“My problem with you is that you are a spoiled little selfish bitch who complains instead of working to make things better.”

Emma was only vaguely aware their argument had attracted a crowd, but she didn’t care. Daryl had struck a nerve, and Emma couldn’t control what poured from her mouth next. “I’d rather be a spoiled bitch than a stupid hick with daddy issues. I know that’s why you’re out there searching for Sophia every day. She reminds you of yourself, and you wish that your dad had gone out looking for you instead of sitting on his fat ass not even caring he had a son!”

Emma felt Daryl’s fist collide against her face before she saw it.

Before, Emma had always thought authors exaggerated in books when they described their main character as “seeing stars” after getting hit, but now she knew that was the exact case. For the most agonizing moment in her life, the only thing Emma could see were bright flashes of stars erupting before her eyes. The only thing she could hear was the high-pitched ringing in her left ear. After the stars faded the world was a giant spinning mess, but she saw enough to see Shane and Rick were trying to contain Daryl.

Emma saw Daryl’s mouth moving rapidly, probably spilling curses left and right. His eyes were wild with rage. Emma felt someone put a hand under each of her armpits and the world twisted and turned as they hoisted her into a standing position. When did I even fall down?

Emma watched as Rick and Shane tried to lead Daryl away. Seeing Daryl’s retreating body sparked a delirious rage within her. There was no way she was going to let Daryl escape unscathed. Pushing herself away from the arms that held her, Emma launched herself at Daryl, climbing onto his back.

Emma held on like a madwoman as Daryl twisted his body, trying to throw her off. Emma dug her fingers into his face. She felt her fingertips moisten as she drew blood. She pulled her hands away, formed them into fists, and started beating the sides of his face.

Suddenly, Emma was falling face-first through the air. Emma didn’t know how Daryl managed to do it, but he threw her over him. Emma landed on the ground in a painful heap. Not even a second later, she was being pulled up and a suffocating pressure grew around her neck. It only took Emma a second to realize Daryl had her in a headlock.

Emma couldn’t breathe. She struggled against Daryl, clawing desperately at the arms that encircled her neck. For some reason, the complete lack of oxygen cleared her mind. Emma came to the realization that if something didn’t stop him, Daryl would kill her.

Just then, a shower of icy cold water sprayed all over her. The coldness shocked Emma to the bone, and it must have shocked Daryl just as much, because his grip on her neck loosened instantly. Emma fell to the ground, coughing and choking as the water continued to spill over her. Finally, after about ten seconds, it stopped.

Shaking, Emma looked up. She saw Hershel standing over her, a hose in his hands. He had soaked Emma and Daryl with water, the same way you do to a couple of dogs to get them to stop fighting. Humiliation and pain burned her cheeks red. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rick and Shane had had pinned a soaked Daryl to the ground.

“I want the lot of you off my land now! I will not tolerate this any longer!”

There was a stunned silence as everyone absorbed the meaning behind what Hershel had just said. Emma felt sick to her stomach out of a mixture of shame and pain. Despite the fact the world was spinning and her head throbbed with unbearable pain, Emma somehow found her way to her feet, and she started running.

She had no real destination in mind; she just wanted to get away. Get away from Daryl and Hershel, and everyone who blamed her for ruining the best thing that had happened to them since the apocalypse hit. She ran until she couldn’t run anymore, until her legs gave out and she fell to the ground, puking. She laid her head down on the ground, not caring she was in a pile of her own puke. Emma closed her eyes and willed the world to stop spinning.

Emma didn’t know how much time had passed before she heard a rustling noise. Emma’s eyes snapped open, and even though her vision was blurry she noticed she was in the forest. Fear clutched her heart as she realized how vulnerable she was. The rustling grew louder, and Emma feared the worst: Walker.

She sat up and grabbed for her gun. She held it in her hands, shaking. She saw a blurry figure advancing toward her. Emma aimed the gun, but her hands were shaking too bad; she dropped it. A string of curses fell from her mouth as she reached for the gun. Just before she grabbed the plastic grip of the gun, a large hand clamped around her hand, pulling it away.

“Shh, Emma. It’s me.”

Emma looked up. She had to blink and wait for her eyes to focus. “Rick?”

Rick nodded, and Emma felt her stomach turn cold. She had never before talked with Rick. Rick was the unofficial leader of the Atlanta survivors, and he had a lot of responsibility. Normally, he only bothered to talk to someone when there was a problem. So, until now, Rick had never had a reason to talk to Emma.

A sickening lump grew in Emma’s throat, and before she could stop herself, she started to cry. “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! I’ve ruined everything! We don’t have a place to live now, and it’s all because I can’t keep my mouth shut!”

Rick made small hushing noises and wiped at the side of Emma’s face with a handkerchief. Emma was in too much pain to be embarrassed that he was wiping her own puke off her face. “I had a talk with Hershel and he’s letting us stay here. Hershel Greene is a man of his word, and he promised us we can stay here until we find Sophia. He might not be happy about it, but that’s how it’s going to be.”

Emma was quiet as she worked to comprehend what Rick was saying. It took too much effort to think; it was like her brain was covered in fuzzy cotton and absorbed her entire thought process. “So… We don’t have to leave?”

“No. Come on, we need Hershel to take a look at your eye.”

Rick wrapped his arm around Emma and supported her as they slowly made their way back to the farm. Rick went the back way into the farmhouse, which Emma was thankful for. She wasn’t ready to face the other Atlanta survivors yet. Rick led Emma into the kitchen where Hershel was working on cleaning the cuts on Daryl’s face.

Emma froze when she saw Daryl. She felt her heartbeat quicken. He was the absolute last person she wanted to see. Emma suspected Daryl was feeling the same way about her; he didn’t acknowledge her presence, just kept his eyes glued to the wall in front of him. Emma did notice, however, that his jaw had grown tight.

“You found her. Good. Emma, take a seat over there,” Hershel said, motioning to chair on the other side of the room. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” He then started to dab a cotton ball, damp with antiseptic, along Daryl’s cheek, causing him to wince noticeably.

Hershel was good to his word. Emma had only waited for a minute before he had finished slathering an antibiotic salve across Daryl’s cheek – to protect it from any invading germs and to speed the healing process. Daryl made a motion to stand up and leave, but Hershel put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to sit down.

“You’re not free to go yet. Not until I’m done with Emma,” Hershel stated.

“Jesus Christ. Just let me go, already. I’ve wasted enough time as it is,” Daryl mumbled.

“You do not use the lord’s name in vain in my house,” Hershel said in a low roar. That settled the issue. Daryl sat back down, and Hershel went over to Emma.

He started examining Emma’s face. He shined a light in her eyes and muttered something about a concussion. Hershel ordered Patricia to get a frozen steak from the icebox and warm a bowl of water. While Patricia was doing that, he worked on cleaning the cuts on Emma’s face.

Once done, Hershel had Emma press the steak against the swollen side of her face. The coolness felt great on her skin and she let a relieved sigh fall from her lips.

“Enjoy it while you can. It’s going to be hurting in a few minutes,” Hershel warned.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Emma was in complete agony. Hershel had replaced the frozen steak with a cloth of hot water. After the freezing temperatures of the steak, the hot water felt like lava against her skin. The pain brought tears to her eyes. Hershel mentioned something that alternating between hot and cold compresses draws more antibodies to the surface and speeds up the healing process, but Emma didn’t care. She just wanted the pain to stop. Just when she finally acclimated to the temperature of the warmth, the compress would be switched to the frozen steak, and her pain would start all over again.

This continued on for over an hour. The entire time Daryl was sitting in the back of the room. Initially, Emma had wondered why Hershel wanted Daryl to sit through this. But after the fourth time she changed compresses, Emma understood. He wanted to make Daryl feel guilty about what he’d done, and the best way to do that was to see the pain Emma was going through because of him. Hershel was a father, so no doubt he had experience punishing his children for being mean to each other. Emma wondered if Hershel used this same method of punishment-by-guilt on his own children. For some reason, Emma didn’t doubt it.

While Emma hoped that Daryl felt bad for what he did – she was going through a lot of pain after all – she felt bad for Daryl at the same time. Everyone was treating him like the bad guy and her like the victim, which wasn’t the case. Emma had hurt Daryl just as badly as he hurt her. Sure, Daryl wasn’t in physical pain, but Emma knew the things she said had to have hurt him. While else would he strike her the way he had?

“Well, I think we’re done here,” Hershel said after what felt like an eternity. He took the steak from Emma, which was halfway thawed, and handed her a couple white pills. “You may leave now, Daryl.” Daryl didn’t have to be told twice. He quickly left the kitchen, letting the door slam closed behind him.

“What are these?” Emma asked. The tension that had been clutching around her heart lessened. She was glad to be away from Daryl.

“Pain medications.” Hershel began cleaning up the area.

“Good. I can’t wait to take these and sleep the day away.” Emma popped the pills in her mouth and washed them down with a gulp of water.

“Oh, you can’t go to sleep,” Hershel said.

“Why not?”

“You have a mild concussion. It’s dangerous to sleep in your condition. You might not wake up.”

“So I have to stay up all through the night?”

Hershel nodded. “Don’t worry. I have a book you might be interested in.” He set a heavy tome on the kitchen table and Emma looked at it. It was the Greene family Bible. Emma sighed as she ran a finger along the worn leather spine. It was going to be a very long night.