BONE CRUSH

Part 3

Bodies were piled up for burning in the far corner of the field and Daryl's gaze kept slipping back to where they were stacked, barely an outline visible in the dense night. Rick walked along the edge of the fence itself, searching for a gap that wasn't there, pacing like some sworn solider with orders.

"He's getting his steps in," Carol said from the ground below the tipped over bus, awkwardly setting a plate on the edge before hoisting herself up, Daryl rushing to help the process. "Won't matter how many times he goes around, he'll just keep looking for something to fail."

The group was mostly content into cautious optimism. They hadn't had such a win since the farm. A decent fence keeping away the undead meant resting for the first time in months, chill receeding as winter turned into spring. Tiny fires dotted around the center of the field, a tenative home base, and they gathered in tight to ward off a bit of the chill still lingering in the air.

But Rick had no optimism left. Hope was burnt out, like a candle extinguished.

That was the consequence, he knew, of losing a brother.

"He'll ease up when he gets tired enough," Daryl muttered, eyeing the plate. "What are you doing up here?"

"Figured you needed company."

"I'm fine," he said, almost petulant. But he took the offering easily enough, scant food choices that barely did a thing to stop the hunger pains. "You cold? You're gonna freeze."

"I'm a grown woman," Carol scoffed. "Think I can make a decision about wearing a jacket on my own."

He scowled. It had been a risky shuffle, desperate to make runs to picked over stores, looking for anything to survive winter itself. All the cars on the road had shit tires that didn't transition well for snow and ice and Daryl struggled to keep up enough supplies for decent maintenance. Glenn tried with the rest, checking out racks and bins, looking for boots and mittens, anything to keep them going.

Survival had been hasty up until this one moment. Stars spilled overhead and for once they didn't have to worry about the light of the campfires attracting attention. The undead rattled at the fences, strong and still standing upright, unable to slip through the chain links.

Daryl kept to his perch, however, just to stare at the field. It reminded him of the size of a decent soccer field, framed by bleachers and benches instead of barbed wire and a prison, familiar territory for his battered heart.

But it wasn't a soccer field. It wasn't going to be a soccer field. Rick and Hershel could make their plans to culvitvate crops and growth, Maggie could formulate how she was going to engineer water from the outside creek, and the rest could make homes around it... but it wasn't what his heart bitterly remembered.

Carol stretched her arms out, unlocking a bit of the tension from her shoulders. "Ivy was after some of the batteries for that flashlight, you know."

He gave her a look. "You didn't give 'em to her, right?"

"She's not my kid." Carol's mouth managed a serene smile. "Would've chased T-Dog up a tree if I didn't pull them out."

"Thought I told you to stay out of my bag."

"Did you?"

Daryl scoffed at her, turning to peer back at the group, counting the shadowy forms of his family until he saw somebody sitting off alone, a bright light in her hand to presumably light up a book. "Trying to get her to ease up on the night time activities. Something about that old concept about sleep. She's gonna stunt her height if she keeps pulling out that damned flashlight."

"Your fight, not mine."

"Traitor."

Her smile widened. And then it shrank, moonlight cutting some of the darkness from her expression. "You've done this before, haven't you?"