Daryl buries the pick axe deep in another survivor's skull. Only the hum of cicadas and Daryl's heavy breathing accompany he gruesome crunch of bone.
It's not a task I will enjoy, but I decide to help. The lives of those in the camp matter more than my personal comfort, I decide. I take out my hunting knife and set to work on some of the others, placing the tip of the blade at their temple before plunging it into their brains.
"You didn't have to do that." Daryl mutters, walking toward another body. "I can handle myself."
Although this is not the gratitude I would like from him, it is what I expect. Only two days, and I can read him like a book.
"I know." I acknowledge simply.
"I'll do it." Carol sniffs, looking to Daryl. I glance down at a half eaten corpse, a man with a pinched face I had seen lurking on the edges of the camp. "He's my husband."
With a gentleness I had never seen before, he hands her the the pick axe and backs away.
She cries out when she slings the pick into his forehead, again and again. I cringe and look away, my eyes wandering to my horse.
"Daryl." I call softly. "Can you help me?"
He looks up form Carol's husbands body, then follows me to the horse. He glances back at me, dumbfounded. "We need to move his body. The smell could draw in more digos." I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Any ideas?"
Daryl looks from the body, then back to me, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can burn him, with the rest."
I nod, and we tie some rope around his back legs, fastening him to Daryl's motorcycle. I follow behind as he drives the body to the growing bonfire at the edge of camp. He douses the carcass in spare gasoline, then strikes a match. Glancing to me, he hands me the matchstick, and I sigh, dropping into onto my horse's body before turning away, muttering a thanks.
Carl stands behind me, his wide blue eyes brimming with tears as he watches the horse go up in flames. He looks down when he sees me, his small fists clenched tight.
I walk toward him slowly, kneel, and lift his chin with my fingers. "It's not your fault." I whisper.
"It is. It is. I said I would take care of him, we made a deal..." He blubbers.
I shake my head, giving him a sympathetic smile. "You couldn't have stopped it." I pull him into a hug, and for a moment I feel like I have taken my own little brother into my arms. His small frame shudders with sobs, and his tears soak through my shirt.
Daryl looks on, ropes in hand. He looks away when I make eye contact with him, then starts up the hill for the funeral.
Afterwards, we gather near the cars, preparing to leave.
I lean against a car, bearing the weight of my saddlebag and Rio's death on my arms.
Lori stands beside me, and Carl sits on the roof of the car.
"Um, Sonora." Lori utters lowly. "Some of us were wondering."
I raise an eyebrow, turning my head.
"Did you and Daryl... Know each other? Before?"
I shake my head. "No. I lived in Oklahoma before." I reply. "Why?"
She blinks once, looking back at me. "It just seems like you're always takin' his side, and he's always takin' yours. Thought you might know each other."
I stand up, annoyed with her prying. "I take his side because more often than not, he's right. You should listen to him more often."
This silences Lori, and she turns away, embarrassed.
Morales and his family tell us they have decided to leave, and Rick and Shane give his family a gun and bullets, to Daryl's dismay.
We pile into the cars and head down the road, hearts heavy.
I shift from one foot to the other, trying to decide which car to join. I instantly regret having snapped at Lori, as I would have most liked to ride with the kids. It's easy to forget painful things when you're in a child's world.
There was only space with one other person.
"You comin'?" Daryl calls from his pick-up, sliding the motorcycle into the bed.
I turn on my heels, nodding, and climb into the passenger seat.
Daryl pops in a tape, some sort of twangy rock. I don't like it much, but I doubt saying so will have any affect. He hums along to the lyrics lowly, eyes trained on the road.
I yawn, the afternoon heat making me tired.
Daryl side eyes me. I sit up straighter, trying to stay awake, but my body betrays me when I yawn again.
"You should prolly get some shut eye." He finally suggests.
"I'm alright." I reply, trying to rub the exhaustion from my eyes.
"You haven't slept all night." He points out.
"Neither have you." I rebuke.
The dashed lines of the road and the low hum of the engine prove to be formidable opponents in the fight against sleep, and my eyelids feel like they weigh fifty pounds.
"Why don't you just sleep?" Daryl demands, a hint of annoyance rising off his voice.
I yawn. "My father told me it is rude to sleep when it's only the two people in the car." I let slip, my tired mind allowing my family to come to the surface. I put my feet up in the dashboard, leaning against the window.
He scoffs. "It's rude to put your feet on other people's dash but you don't look like you have a problem with it."
I slide my feet to the ground. "Sorry."
Daryl looks at me once, then back at the road. "You can sleep. I don't mind." He states simply.
"I do."
He looks at me one last time, chewing on his lip. "Hm."
We sit in a comfortable silence for almost an hour before stopping for the RV. Something about a hose. I don't have much in the way of mechanical knowledge.
The bitten man decides to stay behind, and I respect him for it. I can not even be by myself in life, let alone death.
I give him a small smile when everyone says goodbye, heading back to Daryl's truck. It feels wrong, leaving him on the side of the road like that, but ultimately it is not my decision to make.
"What did you do before?" I ask for the second time, looking to Daryl as night falls outside.
"Just drifted around with Merle." He replies casually, more relaxed than he has ever been around me. "You?"
"I was in college." I smile at the thought.
"What for?"
"Environmental science and natural resources."
He snorts. "So you're a tree hugger." He looks to me with a playful smirk.
Something about the way he says it is funny to me, and I laugh more than I mean to. Maybe I'm just slaphappy. "Something like that." I stifle a giggle.
His mouth does that thing where the corners of his lips tug his permanent frown into a small smile, and I feel myself relishing in the accomplishment.
We arrive in the city, and I sit up a little straighter. The dark shadows of the buildings seem sinister, and the narrow streets treacherous.
"Hey, what'd you mean earlier? When you said your brothers didn't deserve your admiration?" Daryl blurts.
I close my eyes, wishing he hadn't brought it up. "It's a long story."
'What happened?" He presses.
I feel myself shutting down. "In Cherokee culture, it is not polite to speak of the dead." I growl lowly, hoping to end the discussion.
He says nothing, turning back to the road.
Minutes later, we arrive at what must have been the CDC.
Sandbags and tanks litter what was once the north lawn, and decaying bodies are sprawled across the ground.
The blonde woman, Andrea, gags when we pass too close to a pile of bodies, and the kids whimper lowly.
The bodies reek of rotting and disease, and flies buzz around the area, feasting on the flesh of the dead.
"This isn't safe." I mutter lowly. "This is a graveyard."
Daryl looks to me wearily as we pass between the guard gates and an abandoned tank, dead soldiers scattered in the area.
"Keep moving. Stay together." Rick commands from the front.
The whispers of the group hushing one another is the only sound in the area.
The sun sets on the fallen city, and the groans of walkers begin to echo around us as we head for the main entrance. Daryl takes up the back, and I stand beside Carl and Lori so that Dale and I have them protected on either side.
"There's nobody here." T-Dog mumbles.
"Then why are the shutters down?" Rick demands, knocking on the metal doors.
"Walkers!" Daryl warns, spinning and firing effortlessly at an approaching dead man.
Carl whimpers, and I sweep him behind me, scanning the area wildly.
"You led us into a graveyard!" Daryl snarls, echoing my words.
"Shh!" Glenn warns.
"He made a call." Shane defends.
"It was the wrong damn call!" Daryl snaps.
Shane rapidly approaches him, shoving him backwards. "Shut up! Just shut up, you hear me?"
"Hey!" I push Shane with all my strength but can't even manage to knock him off balance. "That isn't helping!"
He glares at me before pacing away. Rick knocks on the metal shutters once more.
Rick looks to me helplessly before Shane steps in front of him, begging him to go elsewhere.
"Where are we gonna go?" Carol cries.
"We need answers tonight, now!" Lori cries.
"We'll figure something out." Rick pleads, looking back at the camera longingly.
"We need to leave." I argue, eyes darting around the darkening area. "Take a look around. There's nowhere to go."
The others start running back to the cars, when Rick calls out.
"The camera. It moved." Rick cries, walking back to the shutters.
"You're seeing things." Dale argues.
"Let it go, Rick." Shane begs, pulling him away.
Rick pounds on the door. "I know you're in there. I know you can hear me." He says into the glassy eyed camera.
"There's nobody here!" Lori screeches, holding Carl in an iron embrace.
"Everybody get back to the cars!" Shane commands. "Sonora, take the front!"
I nod, scouting out ahead. Walkers approach from different directions, drawn to Rick's noise.
"You're killing us!" Rick cries.
I let an arrow fly, downing a digo mere feet away from the group.
As I pull an arrow from my quiver, a walker crawls near Carol's feet. "Daryl!" I warn.
He bends down and knifes it as we stray farther from Rick.
I have almost cleared a path to the cars when I hear a horrible metallic groan, and look back to see a blinding white light in place of the metal shutters.
We stare at the blinding light for a split second , but it feels like an eternity.
I blink slowly, wondering if it's all a dream.