Tonight the World Dies

We're two cracks in the skull
I can see the moon laying real low

Daryl's POV

The woods are silent as we walk. Carol noisily trudges along behind me; I know why she’s volunteered to come with me, and while I’m grateful for the company, apprehension runs rampant within me. In my own typical fashion, I resort to anger and whirl on her. She flinches, a reflex I’m all too familiar with.

“So why’d you really come?” I ask roughly, wanting to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Her lips press into a thin line as she thinks of an appropriate answer.

“Wanted to make sure you’re doing all right,” she says finally, softly. I deflate just a little. I know I’ve been callous with her, with the group, ever since…her, and I feel guilty for it. Just as I’m about to respond she cuts me off, “And I wanted to make sure you had your head on straight.”

I can’t help it; my eyebrows burrow together, and I ask, “The hell you talking about?”

Carol leers and jerks her head back towards the road. “That woman. We should’ve left her behind like she asked. She’s right, you know. No sense in all of us dying because you’re letting her get into your head.” I clench my jaw and I know the action makes her nervous. Her eyes flicker from my jaw back to my eyes.

“What’s your problem with her? She’s one of us now. We don’t leave family behind.”

“She’s not my family,” she spits. “Rick, Maggie, Glenn, hell even Abraham and them, they’re my family.” She takes a large step forward, putting us mere inches apart, and her voice drops. “You’re my family.”

Before I know it, she’s leaning into me, her eyes on my mouth. I almost let it happen—hell I was curious once—but something in my gut spurs me to turn away from her and take a step back. Instantly her demeanor changes to one of defense. I know I’ve hurt her.

“Can’t,” I tell her gruffly. I shake my head once, my greasy hair acting as a curtain in front of my face. “Wouldn’t be fair to ya to lead ya on.”

Carol scoffs derisively. “Why, because you have feelings for that woman? A stranger? We don’t even know where she came from, what she’s done.”

I turn my back on her. “Ain’t none of our business. We all done bad shit. And I ain’t got feelings for no one.” It isn’t a complete lie; true, since Candace joined us I’ve felt a slight pull towards her, but mostly because in a way, she’s just like me. She’s on the outside, though she still belongs. She ain’t ever given me reason not to trust her, even though I know she’s done some shit. The look she gets in her eyes every once in a while is the same one I get too. She’s haunted by unseen ghosts, same as me.

On the other hand, I’ve come to like her company. She doesn’t talk mindlessly for the sake of talking, and she seems to observe more than she likes to let on. Her quietness and tenacity to remain uncaring and on the outside, draws me to her in a way I’m unfamiliar with, and every time I’m near her I’m wanting to know more about her.

“Let’s go,” I order when I don’t hear Carol behind me. “Gotta get something for the group to eat.”

“You mean get her something to eat.” She’s practically spitting again, and I roll my eyes. I’m getting way too old for petty high school bullshit, and I nearly call her out on it when a scurrying fat rabbit cuts across our path. I aim and fire and nail the animal in the neck. It stills, and I string it by its feet to my kill string.

I manage to nail a few squirrels before we’re making our way back to the group. Carol has, to my relief, remained silent. The group is easy to spot. They are resting by the side of the road, and my eyes instantly settle on Candace, who sits sandwiched between Maggie and Carl. She is deathly pale, her eyes glassy, and sweat has broken out on her forehead. I instinctively frown. She’s worse off than I had originally thought, and she doesn’t notice right away when Carol and I meet up with them with our kills. The rest of them eye the squirrels and rabbit ravenously, and a fire is quickly built.

The meat is roasting on a stick over the fire when I crouch down beside Candace with a water bottle in my hand. Her eyes remain unfocused on the fire in front of us, and I can’t help but worry. Her injured ankle is stretched out in front of her, and the wound has bled and oozed fluid through the hem of her jeans, staining them an ugly shade of brown.

“Candace,” I say quietly. No response. I nudge her with the back of my hand in the arm; she sways uneasily and blinks, and her eyes focus on me. I wordlessly hand her the water bottle. She unscrews the cap somewhat clumsily and lifts it to her mouth, drinking slowly. “How ya feeling?”

“Can’t feel my ankle,” she mumbles and shifts her injured leg. “Bad infection, high fever. Don’t think I’m going to go much further.”

“Have ya eaten anything?” She shakes her head and as soon as the meat is finished, I hand her a plate with her portion as well as mine. She glances up at me with the resistance I’m expecting. “Ya need to keep ya strength up till we can find ya some medicine. Can ya do that?”

She coughs as she eats grudgingly and holds the back of her hand to her mouth. Her eyes meet mine, and within them I catch a brief glimpse of fear. It puts ice in my veins. “I’m going to try.”

We camp out beside the road, and Candace has fallen asleep between Maggie and Michonne. Rick and I take watch; the older man has been relentless in his scouring for a place for us to hole up. Every once in a while during our watch, I catch him glancing worriedly at Candace, as if she’s going to succumb to the infection overnight and turn. I can’t deny that the thought has momentarily crossed my mind. When I pressed my hand to her forehead earlier in the day, her skin was raging with fever. I can only imagine that it’s gotten worse, and in her sleep, her body is racked with chills.

“She’s gonna be okay.” Rick’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I cast a quick look at him. His words belie his inner worries over the fate of Candace. I merely grunt in reply and take a few steps away to scope out the trees surrounding us.

The next morning, Abraham has become Candace’s crutch, as the woman is worse off than the day before. She is delusional and I can hear her mumbling behind me, and against my better judgement, I’m worrying my bottom lip, concerned for her. Though neither of us talk all that much, and even less so when in one another’s company, she’s still managed to earn my trust and she’s become one of us. My eyes find Carol, who’s turning every so often to glare at Candace, as if her incoherent, delusional mumbling is such an inconvenience. I feel a momentary surge of anger, but quickly I tamper it down. Carol don’t trust easily, and that ain’t her fault.

Feeling claustrophobic, I break away from the group and head off into the trees. Carol tries to follow me again, but I’m firm in telling her no and I turn my back on her disapproving stare. The trees offer me a reprieve even my closest friend can’t, as well as much needed silence. The silence in the woods is different from the silence amongst the group. A heaviness has settled over all of us, a hopelessness that I’m not sure we’ll break free from. If we don’t find somewhere to hunker down and rebuild ourselves, we’ll all succumb, even me. We’ve been through so much, experienced so much death and loss, that I’m not sure we’re savable. Rick was wrong; we don’t get to come back.

My feet carry me to a wide clearing dotted with trees. A lone barn stands at the edge on the opposite side. Old farming equipment sits rusting in the tall grass. I venture closer and examine the interior of the barn. It’s empty of the dead and the living.

Before I head back to the group, my arms empty of any kind of food, I lean my back against a tree and let my mind run away from me. As my thoughts bounce from one thing to another, I’m suddenly angry again, and realizing I’m angry only makes me more so. Despite the hopelessness bleeding from the group, my anger morphs into a new determination to prevent anyone else from dying, from our group succumbing to darkness and death. The more I recall the shit we’ve been through, the more I decide that Rick was right—we do come back, and we will.

It's with that thought that I shove off the tree and stomp back to the group. When I find them, they’re gathered around something in the middle of the street. Rick notices me over Rosita’s shoulder and storms over to me, a piece of paper crumpled in his hands. In black ink, it reads From a friend. I glance at what everyone is looking at. A cluster of water bottles sits neatly on the pavement. Instantly I’m on alert, my crossbow tightly in my hands. I skim the trees. Surely I would’ve known if we were being followed? Perhaps my mind has been elsewhere for too long.

There’s a scuffle between Abraham and Eugene as the latter attempts to drink from one of the bottles, claiming something about quality assurance. We’re far from dehydrated, but our stores from Candace’s and my water trip are depleting fast, especially since many of us have given our shares to Candace. As the yelling continues, it’s suddenly broken up by the sound of thunder overhead. Not a heartbeat later, rain begins to fall. The others are laughing and clawing for their nearly-empty water bottles, unscrewing the caps and letting the rain funnel in.

There’s a flash, another boom of thunder, and the wind picks up. We’re pummeled with driving rain, and it stings on the skin. The group scrambles, Candace jostling limply between Maggie and Glenn and I jump into action.

“There’s a barn!” I yell over the chaos. Attention is on me, and I lead the way through the trees, trying to keep my feet on the wet leaves lining the forest floor.