Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 29: Eight Months Later

We brave the winter together. We try to better communicate with each other and, with Rick at the helm, we learn to work as a team even when tensions run high elsewhere. Our hair gets longer, we're dirtier than ever, but I've never been so fit in my life. If only our nutrition could keep up with the exercise.

I still stay away from guns, but I get more practice with my knife and machete. I discover that, while I'm not the strongest, I'm agile and not too bad at disabling walkers. I train with Daryl to improve my skills when we're not moving, hiding, or huddling for warmth. There's not much alone time to be had, but that's less temptation for me. We don't need two pregnant women in our group, after all.

Hershel shows me more basic medical training and, not long after the loss of the farm, Carol joins in. I think she's the same as me—we don't want to be seen as useless to our group. She gets an upper hand, though, since she's willing to learn how to shoot. Daryl does his best with me but guns still make me feel sick.

Lori gets bigger and bigger with every week that passes and the rest of us step up to help her whenever we can. We go on supply runs, collect gas, and find ammo where we can, and everyone learns to lean on melee weapons more than bullets to dispatch the walkers we come across. We get a new truck at one point, bringing our vehicle count to three, and Daryl's Chopper makes four.

I tell stories about the snow storms in Canada, how there's nothing to stop those cold prairie winds from freezing you through, how the snowdrifts can easily come up to your knee or deeper. The best parkas are the ones that protect at -40 degrees Celsius. I hope that it keeps spirits high by sharing how much worse it could be. For the most part, it seems to work.

Daryl still doesn't tell me that he loves me, but I feel loved nonetheless. I feel loved in how he holds me close underneath a pile of quilts, in how he guides my hands when we train together, in how he shoots me little side glances when I do something that makes him proud. I feel it especially when in the little private moments we do get, he touches me and kisses me like I'm something precious, murmuring my name into my throat as I stroke him to completion.

God, it was awkward at first. I hadn't done much of anything and he admitted that he hadn't been sober for most of his experiences, but we talked through it. We talked through what felt good, what felt weird, what was almost there but not quite, and it just added to every intense feeling I've ever felt around him.

It feels like one good thing in all of this, that I found him and that he wants me, too. Maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better about it all, but it's working, so I leave it be.

The weather gets warmer. Survival feels easier when you're not shivering.

----------

I wait with Lori, Beth, Hershel, Carol, and all our supplies while the others move ahead to clear a house. After a few minutes, we hear a short, sharp whistle—the signal from Rick that we're good to go. No walkers.

We head up to the front doors, hauling our bedding and backpacks. My trusty bag from the farmhouse stays on my shoulders.

Maggie and Glenn carry out a downed walker as we enter. I smile at Rick, nodding, and he returns it. Rick shuts the door behind us and latches it once we're all safe inside. We gather in the living room, where Daryl is de-feathering some kind of bird.

He notices the curious look I give him and he lifts it. A Great Horned owl, from the looks of it, and I purse my lips. I'm not sure how much meat an owl will have, but at this point, I'm hungry enough to eat anything.

The others check the windows, watching for more trouble, and Lori takes a second to sit down and catch her breath. Glenn and Maggie look over our bags. Carl runs into the room with two cans in his arms. He grabs a can opener from the nearest backpack and gets to work. I get a look at the label. Champ's Pebbles, it says, with a picture of a Pomeranian on the front.