-ˏˋ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ'ᴅ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ.ˊˎ-
Elodie Price had never heard the soft breeze of the wind or the sound of birds singing in the trees.
After losing her older brother and her mother, the world had become grey. Ten years old, and already the unive...
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The morning sun cast a soft, golden light over the farm, but the atmosphere was anything but peaceful. The entire camp was bustling about, a hive of activity. Everyone was working hard to fortify the farm, to make it safer. That meant people hammering the outside walls of the farmhouse right behind her, hammering the barn shut, fixing the RV—all that sorts of stuff.
Normally, Elodie would have sat in any place other than the one she was right now—that being on the wooden fence that lined the edge of the porch of the farmhouse. All the slamming of the hammers would have driven her crazy, but she couldn't hear them now. So she could sit there peacefully and rest her head against the column of the porch, swaying her legs back and forth through the gaps between the railings.
She wore a slightly oversized gray jumper, a hand-me-down from Beth that was still a bit too big. Elodie didn't mind; it was cozy, and cozy was exactly what she needed. The weather was getting colder, and everyone was layering up with coats and sweaters. Sweaters, though, were still a bit too much for Elodie—she felt like she'd melt like a little icecube if she put one on.
Her head throbbed with a headache, her eyes red and puffy from the tears shed the previous night. She knew Daryl had heard her crying, despite her efforts to stay quiet, sharing the same tent as him and all. She hoped she hadn't kept him awake.
Every time she tried to close her eyes, the image of Dale's lifeless body crept into her mind. Because of this, she had barely slept. It was evident in her appearance: dark circles shadowed her eyes, her face was as pale as a ghost, and her hair was a tangled mess—until Maggie had brushed it out for her.
Absentmindly, she picked at the peeling paint on the fence, her eyes tracking the people moving across the fields. Daryl moved between the barn, the farmhouse, and the cars, gathering supplies and checking on Randall. Andrea and Glenn were busy fixing the RV. Beth and others worked on the farmhouse. Everyone was doing something. Even Carl was helping out.
Elodie, however, was just staring off into the distance, lost in thoughts of Dale and his funeral. It felt surreal looking at the filled-up grave, knowing it held his lifeless body. It was strange realizing he was gone, unable to play games with her or listen to her ramble about insignificant things only he seemed to care about.
When all of this started, Elodie hadn't known how many people she would meet—both good and bad. This group, though, they were good. They cared for each other, took care of each other, made each other laugh. They loved each other.
She also hadn't known how terrible the loss of a loved one could be. Before all this, she hadn't lost anyone close to her—only distant relatives she barely knew. She had never been to a funeral.
Then, when Jamie died, she felt the sting of loss for the first time. Losing her big brother left a hole in her heart that couldn't be filled. He was her brother, and no one else could take that place. And then, her mother. It hurt to think about. Elodie knew Catherine hadn't been the best mother, but she was still her mother.
After that, it all happened so fast. Jacqui, Amy, Ed, and Jim had died. Then it was Sophia, and now Dale.
Was it ever going to end? Would people ever stop dying?
Am I goin' to die?
She hadn't noticed Daryl approaching until she felt a gentle nudge against her back, causing her to flinch and snap her head around, only to be met with Daryl standing behind her. He gave her what was probably supposed to be a smile, but looked more like a tight-lipped frown. Elodie smiled back at him, realizing it didn't look any better than his forced smile. She could feel the effort tugging at her lips.
Leaning against the wooden fence next to her, Daryl's hand seemed to itch toward the inner pocket of his vest. Elodie slightly furrowed her brow, curious about what he was reaching for.
Slowly and carefully, he revealed a small handgun in his hands. Elodie's eyes widened, her hands instinctively pulling back. Why was Daryl holding out a gun to her?
"Take it," he mumbled, holding the gun out fully now, ready for her to take.
"Mm-mm." Elodie firmly shook her head, an expression of pure shock and a slight hint of fear. "Don't want to. Stop."
She knew what Daryl was trying to tell her. He had been glancing at her constantly while working around the farm, possibly making sure she was still alive and hadn't gotten eaten by a surprise walker. Having had enough of keeping an eye out for her every other second, he wanted her to carry a gun to protect herself.
Crazy.
"No gun," Elodie said, pushing Daryl's outstretched hand back to his chest, shaking her head once more.
Daryl sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as he put the gun away. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "Alright, fine," he muttered, more to himself than to Elodie. He looked down at her. "But ya still need somethin' to protect yourself with."
Elodie watched him warily, her brow still furrowed in confusion. She trusted Daryl, but the idea of carrying a weapon made her uneasy. She had never imagined needing one before all of this started. The world was a different place now, though, and she understood, even if reluctantly, why Daryl was insisting.
Reaching into another pocket, Daryl pulled out a small, sheathed knife. The blade was barely longer than her palm, but it looked sharp and sturdy. He clipped the holster onto the waistband of her jeans, making sure it was secure. Elodie's eyes widened again, this time with curiosity.
"Look," Daryl said, his voice gentler now. "This ain't as scary as it looks. Just a knife. Simple. Easy to handle."
Elodie looked back up at him, slightly tilting her head in confusion.
"Right, yeah—" Daryl grumbled, scolding himself for forgetting she—of course—couldn't hear him.
Leaning a bit closer, he showed her how to unclip the knife from the holster, his hands moving slowly and deliberately to show her clearly. "See? Ya just press here," He held the knife up to her, ensuring she could see what he was doing, "and it comes out. Hold it like this. And if ya ever need to use it, ya just—" He mimicked a stabbing motion, then immediately stopped and lowered his hand when he saw Elodie's eyes widen further.
Biting down on her lip nervously, she nodded to show she understood. Daryl wanted her to have a weapon, or rather something to defend herself with, and she absolutely did not want a gun. She felt like it was too violent. The loud gunshot would make her ears ring, and maybe her hands would shake. She didn't want to carry a gun. A knife could be a good compromise.
