Tonight the World Dies

I’m not sure how much time passes since we’ve left the vehicles. Time is such a rare find these days, except in the case that any one of our time could be up. I try to tell the time by the position of the sun, but my eyes are so not cooperating and I just give up. Rick has Judith in his arms, having just fed her, and she is halfway to Nappy-Land. We pass water bottles amongst one another, never taking more than enough to just keep ourselves hydrated.

Eventually, like all things, especially time, we run out. Our water bottles are bone dry and our mouths even more so. The dehydration hits so hard I wonder if I’ll start hallucinating soon. I almost wish my mind created the small herd of walkers that now follow us, but unfortunately, as of late, my luck just isn’t that strong. My stomach has long stopped growling, choosing instead to cramp painfully with hunger. My mouth feels like sandpaper, my tongue heavy and dry. I can’t continue this.

“I’m gonna head off and look for water,” I tell Rick. The group stops momentarily and turns to me with hopeful eyes, and for a moment, I think Rick’s going to protest. Instead, he nods at me and he nods at Daryl, ultimately pairing us up.

We head off into the woods, numerous pairs of eyes on us, including one that I know for a fact is glaring. I roll my eyes, and once we’re in the trees and out of sight, I sigh.

I know he’s waiting for me to speak, so I do, “Getting real sick of the little looks your girlfriend is giving me.” So tact was never my strong suit. Daryl seems to falter a moment and looks back towards the road where we left the group. We’re not worried about them moving on without us; they’re so burnt out they’re moving at a snail’s pace.

“You’ve caught them too huh?” is his grunted reply. I look at him then; he’s staring intensely down at the forest floor.

“What, is she sending them your way too?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, not so much, but she talks. Heard what she said to ya the other night. She don’t mean it.”

I scoff. “Ain’t no idea what that woman is bitching about anyways. Ain’t done nothing to give you all the impression that you can’t trust me, have I?”

“Not to me, no. Carol, she’s…she’s protective. She’s been through some shit.”

I scoff again. “We’ve all been through some shit. Ain’t no reason to start threatening people.” He stops.

“You telling me she threatened you?” he asks. His tone is hard to read, but his eyes are not. They’re angry, though whether it’s at me or Carol, I’m not sure.

I shake my head. “Not directly, but I heard it as clearly as I hear you. And I told her I don’t take kindly to threats. Then she just smiled all sweet-like and cuddled up to you like a lost puppy.” My tone bleeds annoyance, and I am surprised when he snorts.

“Carol ain’t no lost puppy. She’s a good person, she just…doesn’t trust easily. None of us do.” He murmured the last part, and right there I knew these people had been through some terrible, dark things.

“Rick seems to trust me, and the others do. You, on the other hand, I ain’t sure about. You’re hard to read, but I like to think I’m learning.” I’ve earned myself another snort.

“Ain’t that I don’t trust ya. Just don’t know ya. But ya haven’t given me any reason to kill you just yet, so consider yourself in the clear.”

It feels weird joking half-heartedly with Daryl like this, and just like that my irritation over Carol dissipates like steam in the winter time. Then, a sound reaches my ears and I freeze. It’s a sound so wonderful I think I just might cry. I look to Daryl, and he looks back at me with a small, barely-there smile that tells me he hears it, too. The sound of running water is like music to my ears, and we continue on until we part the brush and come across a shallow stream. It’s like venturing onto an oasis.

The stream is enveloped in a thick outer layer of vinery and fallen logs. I use my hatchet to hack at some of the thicker strands until Daryl and I are standing on the shore, our boots sticking in the mud. Normally, I’m aware of the need to boil water, but my throat has other ideas and suddenly I’m on my knees in the mud, scooping water like a dog in the summertime. Daryl is right there with me, and I laugh at the absurdity of the two of us, knelt by the water all but dunking our faces in.

On second thought, I do just that. I pull my hair off my neck and shove my entire face in the water, and I can hear Daryl barking out laughter. The water is icy on my face, but it’s the closest to heaven I’ve ever been. When I come up for air I’m sputtering, and the water runs down my sweaty neck. I have half a mind to strip down and jump in, but I know better. Daryl and I exchange wide smiles and start digging through our packs for the water bottles. We’ll boil these for the others, but the temptation was far too great to pass up. Before he stands, Daryl hesitates a moment before heaving a sigh and throwing his head and hair into the water, causing me to laugh as well. His dark hair looks black as it sticks to his forehead, dripping down the front of his shirt.

“Feels good,” he said, his voice rough. I smile again.

“Damn right.”

I dunk my face once more and shove the drenched baby hair off my forehead. Daryl has already stood and is waiting for me, his pack full of freshly-filled water bottles. I hike mine higher on my shoulder, and we head back towards the road. Sounds of conflict reach us as we draw closer, and, after exchanging a look, we barrel out from the trees, weapons drawn. Rick and the group have taken on the walker herd, but chaos has ensued. Before a walker can take a bite out of Rick’s jugular, Daryl fires his crossbow and takes it down. I proceed to hack my way through walkers, until we’re all heaving and tired and hot. I watch a brief, tense exchange between Michonne and Sasha, and I’m led to believe the latter was the cause of the chaos. Since the death of her brother, Sasha has been nothing if not volatile and brooding. I sympathize with her, but I also am not ready to die because her head isn’t in the game.

We walk further up the road, past the bridge, and settle in the dirt on the side of the pavement. A fire is started and Eugene breaks out one of the pans we have left to boil the water Daryl and I hand out. Grateful smiles are shared, and once the water is boiled and cold again, everyone nurses his or her bottle like it’ll be the last. A distant rumble is heard overhead as grey clouds roll in.

Daryl sits beside me, legs crossed in front of him. His hair is still dripping, plastered to his head, and he gives a few shakes of his head, spraying me in the process.

“Watch it!” I laugh, wiping beads of water from my face. He grins crookedly at me, and over his shoulder Carol is watching our exchange with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Even from where I sit I can see her clenched jaw, and her fingers are curled into her baggy pants.

The clanging of glass momentarily draws my attention away from a leering Carol. Abraham has pulled a bottle of amber alcohol out of his pack.

“Seems a congratulatory drink is in order,” he says. He stares intently down at the bottle before holding it out to me. “You well and truly saved our asses. First drink belongs to you two.”

I crack the bottle open and lift it. “Here, here!” I tip the bottle back and take a hefty shot that burns a trail down my throat and instantly warms my stomach. I swallow and wipe my mouth and hold the bottle out to Daryl. He eyes it for a minute before he gives the smallest shake of his head. I frown, but I let it go and take another drink before passing it back to Abraham. I don’t have time to contemplate Daryl’s odd reaction to the booze. A series of low growls echoes from the trees across the road, but they are not the growls of the dead.

To my surprise, five feral dogs step out from the underbrush, hackles raised and teeth bared. The group startles, caught unawares that of all things, we now needed to worry about dogs. I feel a momentary blip of sadness come over me over the fact that these animals used to be pets. Their collars and tags jingle as they edge closer, preparing to attack. Beside me Daryl starts to rise, his crossbow tight in his hands. The others are following his lead, but they don’t get the chance.

In a blink, the dogs are put down by five rapid shots from Sasha’s rifle. Her face depicts no emotion as she sets the rifle down and the rest of us settle. A dark thought crosses my mind as I eye the now dead dogs, my stomach cramping in pain both from hunger and from the idea that I have. Sighing, I look to Daryl, and he seems to be way ahead of me.

The dogs are skinned and dressed and soon their meat is roasting on a handmade spit over the fire we’ve constructed. Rick passes me a plate of dog meat, and before I take it, I forlornly glance at the pile of collars. I reach for them, twirl the tags in my fingers, and pitch them into the coals before taking the proffered plate and digging in. Rick eyes me worriedly, but I manage a convincing enough sad smile that he nods and returns to his children.

Once we’ve all eaten, our bellies full from the first real meal we’ve had for a while, we’re on the move again. Our strength is somewhat renewed and we press on. After roughly an hour, our group stumbles upon an old, rickety ranch house. The shutters are falling off their hinges, and the front screen door has been knocked off either by wind or some other force.

“Daryl, Candace, and Abraham, we’ll scope it out first. If it’s safe, we can hole up here a bit,” Rick says, hands on his hips. I nod and make sure my handgun is loaded. Our ammo is dwindling; pretty soon we’ll be resorting to pointy sticks for defense. I am sandwiched between Rick and the massive space that is Abraham as the four of us step onto the creaky porch.

Daryl steps in front of us and slowly pushes the front door open, the hinges protesting loudly. We all cringe, and Daryl thumps his boot loudly on the doorframe. We wait for the telltale sign of the dead, and we are moderately surprised that it remains silent. I take my place in front of Abraham again as Daryl leads our little procession into the house. I volunteer to check the upstairs, and Abraham backs me up. The stairs are carpeted, a saving grace really, and so our footsteps are silent. The house is covered in layers upon layers of dust; I can’t make out the photos hanging along the wall beside the stairs.

At the top, Abraham and I fan out. One room is a bathroom that is, like the rest of the house, downright filthy. Hard-water has built up in the toilet, and for a moment I’m just floored that there is even still water. The mirror is cracked and layered with grime. I check the medicine cabinet above the toilet and recover a half-full bottle of Tylenol, a tube of antiseptic, and a large tube of toothpaste. Thank god.

No toothbrushes are found, so I use my finger. My mouth tingles and just the fact that my mouth is clean boosts my morale sky-high. Abraham is down the hall when I exit the bathroom. I can hear him rifling through old belongings. I take the room at the end of the hall. The door swings open, stirring up a cloud of dust. I cough and freeze. A low growl is heard inside the dimly-lit room. I remain in the doorway, my handgun raised, as the growling grows in volume. I recognize it as some kind of animal, but I don’t have much time to think. A scurrying in the corner makes my head spin in that direction, and a dark shape comes flying towards me.

I shriek, and I barely register the twang of a crossbow behind me. The dark body hits the bed with a muffled thud, a bolt protruding from its chest. I turn around to see Daryl there, his crossbow still raised. He’s looking at me funnily.

“What?” I ask. He shrugs.

“Never heard ya sound like that before,” he grunts before stalking by me.

“Good shot by the way. The hell is that thing?” I move closer.

“Someone’s poodle gone rabid.” I frown as Daryl picks the dead dog up by a scrawny back leg and carries it away. “Rest of the house is clear.”

We call for the others and we all squeeze into the living room and the dining room. I’ve claimed a spot in the corner of the former room, my few belongings piled carelessly. Rick and Carl and Judith are settled beside me, a fact that I’m not too bothered by. The others choose their places, and I hurry back upstairs to share my finds. When I hold up the tube of toothpaste, the expressions on the others’ faces mimics those of people who’ve stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. They all scrub their teeth twice—even Daryl—and there’s still half a tube left over.

Morale has definitely gone up.