CHEROKEE ROSE (D. DIXON)

7.

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."