~Day fifty-nine~
Daisy Mae Linette reclined atop a weather-worn camper van, having found an unexpected ounce of comfort on the sun-soaked, rust-pocked metal. Her doe-like eyes, idly drifting across the pages of a book before her, were framed by a wild cascade of unruly golden-brown curls that tumbled into a wayward ponytail.
Her clothing, previously blood-soaked, grime-coated and near to tatters, had quietly undergone a transformation. Now, she was adorned in a slightly oversized ensemble, as though she'd borrowed a touch of whimsy from a kinder realm. Cartoon strawberries danced merrily on the pockets of her denim shorts, and a cherished baby pink t-shirt draped loosely over her form.
Despite the unrelenting sun's fierce embrace, its harsh rays coaxing glistening beads of sweat to caress her skin, she clung to her thick plaid coat. Its itchy sleeves were cuffed to her elbows and held in place by a collection of carefully arranged safety pins.
That coat held more significance for her than mere fabric; it was a tangible link to unspoken promises and a treasure trove of memories shared with her brother. Within its folds, a vow lay nestled, a pledge she held close to her heart—a promise that it would one day find its way back to him.
She despised the heat, loathed the oppressive weight of summer. Yet, for him, she'd endure it all.
As her focus waned from the words before her, the characters and their worlds receded into her periphery. Typically, she found herself almost scarily absorbed, but today was different. The icky weather, the annoying gnats and the relentless buzzing of cicadas conspired to strip away all semblance of concentration, leaving her feeling irritated.
Absently, she tapped her bare feet, toenails painted in a vibrant array of hues, against the camper's surface. Each tap produced a soft resonance against the weathered metal, its seasoned frame emitting a chorus of creaks and groans, as though reproaching her for disturbing its well-earned repose.
She let out a soft sigh, rolling over to her back. With a deliberate pause, she closed her book and shifted her position, fixing her gaze upon the expanse of the sky.
In this very spot, she had lovingly fashioned a nest for herself from stained cushions and soft but threadbare blankets—a refuge amidst the occasionally overwhelming reality of the survivor camp she now called 'home'. It stood like a small oasis, perched precariously on the edge of the quarry.
For nearly three weeks, this microcosm had been her world—a world she shared with Glenn and the enigmatic savior who had plucked them from the jaws of peril, a man who bore the name T-Dog.
Unconsciously, her hand found its way to a faded sunshine yellow Jansport bookbag beside her. It bore an eclectic collection of patches, charms, and whimsical embroideries.
Among her modest possessions, it held a cherished spot, nestled deep within her affections. This bookbag had been a lucky discovery, unearthed in the remains of a desolate thrift store during those early, lonely days of survival when it had been just Daisy and Glenn against the world.
In its own peculiar way, the bookbag had become her unwavering companion, a silent friend bearing witness to their odyssey through the apocalypse.
But now, the world was no longer a desolate expanse of solitude. Instead, it thrummed with life, the camp abuzz with the presence of at least half a dozen other survivors at all hours.
Daisy clumsily rolled to her knees, her gaze sweeping across the camp.
In spite of her tender age, she possessed an uncanny knack for forming astute opinions about people. Her maturity had always set her apart, but the unyielding circumstances that enveloped her had hastened her growth, endowing her with a wisdom beyond her years.
She comprehended that trust was a precious currency, one not to be bestowed lightly.
From her vantage point atop the camper van, she astutely observed the intricate dynamics within the camp, a subtle routine she had adopted over the boring days. It was as if she possessed a second sight, a heightened ability to fathom the true character of each survivor.
Within this seemingly unremarkable place, the traits and idiosyncrasies of those around her carried a profound weight. Daisy had unwittingly assumed the role of a silent observer, quietly gauging the essence of each individual - particularly the adults, whom she regarded with a wariness that undoubtedly and deservedly surpassed her interactions with the other children.
Her focus flitted from one survivor to another, tracing a web of connections and characteristics that delineated their makeshift community.
Carol, the quiet pillar of strength in the camp, though often underestimated, had earned Daisy's deepest respect and admiration. There was a serene grace about her that resonated with inner resilience. She always made sure Daisy had a place to rest where she wouldn't be alone and ensured there was food on her plate, that she was always hydrated, and had clean clothes.
Daisy's humming was a soft, soothing accompaniment to her vigil, her small hands gently resting on the roof's edge. Her silent observations continued, not only cataloging the bonds woven within the camp, but also mentally sketching the figures temporarily absent from her view—those out scavenging or hunting, temporarily estranged from the camp's embrace.
Sisters Amy and Andrea were always kind, like rays of sunshine. Their warmth and camaraderie wrapped around her like a comforting blanket and their constant stories and laughter created a sense of safety and happiness, within not only Daisy but most of the camp's inhabitants.
Lori and Shane, on the other hand, were more enigmatic figures in Daisy's silent assessment. Their relationship wove a complex tapestry of emotions. Lori's unwavering determination to keep her family together was obvious, but she always seemed... adrift. As for Officer Shane, a stalwart protector, his intensity both fascinated and concerned Daisy.
Every action, every word that emanated from him carried an edge of urgency. In him, she saw a guardian whose motivations remained veiled, a man forged by the crucible of their new world.
Others in the camp triggered an unmistakable unease in Daisy, their presence akin to warning bells ringing in her head. At the forefront of her concerns stood brothers Daryl and Merle Dixon, men whose gruff demeanors and volatile tempers cast a looming shadow of tension over their budding community.
Daisy had borne witness to their fiery clashes with others, each altercation sending a shiver down her spine. Dale, the kind old man who owned the camper, often played the role of peacemaker, but even he couldn't always stave off the inevitable conflicts.
Yet, above all, it was Ed who personified her deep-seated unease, serving as a living manifestation of her innermost fears. When Carol kindly bestowed upon Daisy the strawberry-themed attire she currently adorned, which had originally belonged to her daughter Sophia, a newfound friend to Daisy, Ed unleashed a torrent of hostility aimed squarely in her direction.
His cruel words, branding her a 'worthless mute brat who didn't belong in the camp,' landed on the little child like a physical blow. It triggered an anxiety attack, an overwhelming onslaught of fear and insecurity that required hours of clinging to Glenn and T-Dog's comforting presence to soothe.
The fear that gripped her wasn't solely tied to Ed's cruelty; it was a reflection of the haunting memories of her father's darkest days. Recollections she desperately wished to bury, memories of a man she had loved deeply, a man whose essence had been irrevocably corroded by the poison of drugs and alcohol.
Daisy longed to preserve the few fleeting moments when her daddy had shown her genuine love, clinging to those precious minutes like a lifeline.
Shaking her head to dispel the bad thoughts, Daisy redirected her attention to her book with a small, determined huff, grabbing it once more and flipping it back several pages, retracing her mental steps to where she had last remembered reading.
She knew that if she kept allowing herself to overthinking, she would spiral into a mess, and so she sought both escape and entertainment in the world of words once more.
Daisy didn't always grasp every word on every page, but that didn't diminish her immersion. The real world had forever been a realm of uncertainty and fear for her, so she had honed the art of slipping into crafted narratives or losing herself in intricately woven observations.
It was like two facets of a coin. On one side, the total absorption in minuscule details that allowed her to ignore the broader picture. On the other, she blissfully drowned in the boundless expanses of her imagination.
In varying circumstances, she'd employ the different, equally unnerving coping mechanisms to drown out the painful clamor of reality.
The seven-year-old, too afraid to truly face the world, navigated through life with these delicate strategies.
Once more, the world around Daisy slowly began to fade into obscurity, leaving only her book and the cocoon of cushions enveloping her.
Yet, as it often did, real life rudely intruded just before she could fully lose herself in her book, shattering her near-comfort. The sudden cacophony of voices from the camp drew her attention away from the pages. Daisy watched with wide eyes as Shane and Dale, among others, huddled around the camp's CB radio, their expressions etched with concern and urgency.
Without a second thought, Daisy folded the corner of the page she was on and swiftly stashed her book haphazardly into her bag. Her imagination went wild, concocting scenarios where Glenn or T-Dog somehow managed to radio in from their expedition into the now dead city of Atlanta.
With childlike enthusiasm and a touch of naivety, she abandoned her nest and scrambled down, her feet hitting the ground with a thud. She didn't even pause to slip on her shoes before she dashed toward the gathering of voices.
In her young heart, she clung fervently to the hope that the voice of whoever was on the radio would belong to Glenn, T-Dog, or the others, even though she knew their walkies couldn't reach this far.
As she drew nearer to the group, the rising clamor of voices grew more distinct.
An argument was brewing.
"I'll go. Give me a vehicle," Lori asserted, crossing her arms.
Officer Shane, face etched with pure stress and irritation, rubbed the back of his neck before responding, "Nobody goes anywhere alone, you know that."
In a abrupt huff, Lori turned and stomped away, Shane following closely behind. The rest of the group also dispersed for the most part, leaving Daisy behind in the wake of their departure.
Her initial excitement quickly dissipated as she realized she had missed the entire exchange. She stood there, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath, her cheeks tinged with a subtle blush of embarrassment. A mere twenty-foot sprint had proven more taxing than she'd anticipated, a humbling reminder of her own limitations
Amy remained perched on a log by the CB radio, her face etched with confusion, while Dale hovered above her, his furrowed brows mirroring her uncertainty.
Daisy stood at a crossroads, her fingers anxiously entwined, caught in a moment of internal debate. She pondered whether to approach them and ask about the situation, or to not.
Conversation had become much less daunting for her compared to when she first arrived at the camp - when she refused to talk to anyone except Glenn and T - but initiating or steering discussions remained a challenge. It wasn't the act of speaking that gave her anxiety, but rather the worry of intruding or becoming a bother to others.
She preferred to stay quiet and follow, not to be followed.
But her labored breathing and persistent wheezing reminded her that she wouldn't be able to converse effectively in her current state, even if she wanted to. With a sense of defeat, she began to back away, hoping to blend into the background without drawing attention.
However, her retreat was short-lived. Mr. Dale, ever observant, spotted her and called out, "Hey over there, kiddo!"
Startled, Daisy turned to find both Amy and Dale now focused on her. Dale beckoned her over, smiling warmly.
Despite the embarrassment coursing through her, Daisy felt compelled not to ignore their call. As she approached, she noticed their mild concern, likely sparked by the audible wheezing that punctuated her every breath.
Glenn had gradually made sure everyone in the camp knew about her breathing problems. While they were gradually improving thanks to the fresher air she now enjoyed, they remained a source of constant worry for the young girl.
Amy's concern was evident, her brow furrowed with worry as she stood and reached out towards Daisy. "Are you okay? Is it your asthma?"
Daisy's discomfort was palpable as she continued to fidget, tugging at her fingers. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "Um... just um... a little."
Dale, attuned to Daisy's mouse-like disposition, spoke in a soft tone, "Do you need your medicine, Daisy?"
She hesitated for a moment, then timidly shook her head in refusal. The thought of using her inhalers was almost as daunting as the prospect of social interaction. They always left her feeling shaky and light-headed.
Dale nodded in understanding, then turned, sat and patted a free spot beside him. "It's alright. Just sit here with me and Amy for a minute - we can all listen for the radio together."
Daisy bit her cheek but nodded, complying. She settled on the log, the worn wood pricking at her skin.
Amy knelt beside her and began to rub daisy's back in a soothing, circular motion. "It's okay, Daisy, just try to breathe slowly."
She despised this feeling—the vulnerability, the sense of inconveniencing others because of her weakness. Hugging her knees to her chest, she stared down at her brightly painted toenails, longing for Glenn's presence.
Dale, noticing her discomfort, attempted to lighten the mood. "You know, I always thought toenails looked better when each is a different color." He nodded towards Amy. "I especially like the glittery ones. What do you think, Amy?"
Amy chuckled softly, nodding over-enthusiastically. "I think they look great."
Daisy looked up, grateful for their effort to make her feel better. "Thanks," She mumbled between wheezes, a small smile gracing her face, "Sophia did it. She has lots of nail polishes."
REWRITTEN