[ xxi. cherokee rose ]

october 31st, 2010

➸➸➸

ASTRID BLAMED HER EXHAUSTION on the instability of her haywire mind as it spiraled over the last twelve hours because when morning finally came on the highway, neither Astrid nor Daryl had changed at all in how they acted toward each other, how they spoke to each other—and how they looked at each other. The prior night's search—and its conclusion—was seemingly forgotten. Or ignored.

But Astrid refused to think of it a moment longer. She had other concerns to worry about, which included making sure she did not fall off the back of Daryl's motorcycle as he tore his way quickly down the dirt road, leading to what the mailbox sign back at the welcome gate half a mile up the highway labeled: the Greene Family Farm.

In the distance, rising up quickly, a massive three-story farmhouse loomed, and Astrid gasped in shock at the sight. Acres upon acres of pristine and open fields stood untouched by the horrors that had ravaged the rest of the planet.

As they arrived on the outskirts of the front lawn, Astrid could see members of their group who had arrived the day prior scattered around the massive green yard. Daryl parked the motorcycle in the shade of some trees on the edge of the dirt drive, and Glenn approached them warmly as the RV pulled into place behind them. 

Glenn, always a sight for Astrid's worn eyes, offered her a helping hand off the bike, and concern filled her features as she immediately asked, "How's Carl?"

Glenn opened his mouth to reply but was swiftly interrupted by Rick, who had also been quick to greet them. "He survived the surgery, and he's going to be just fine," He informed Astrid and Daryl, approaching their small group with a warm smile. Astrid crossed over into the sheriff's embrace and exhaled a long sigh of relief into his shoulder.

"How did it happen?" She prodded.

"Just a stupid accident," Rick answered, pulling back. "Just some stupid hunting accident."

Astrid soon noticed Shane Walsh behind Rick as more distance was put between them, but he was walking with a heavy limp as he approached. He had also shaved his entire head—a complete 180 of appearance from less than twenty-four hours ago. 

"What the hell happened to you?" She called out to him.

Shane let out a wry chuckle at her question. "Otis and I had to go on a run to a nearby town to get the equipment for Carl's surgery," He explained. "I busted up my ankle from a bad fall."

"Doesn't explain the hair," She pointed out.  "Or the lack of it, I guess I should say."

"This?" Shane said. One of his own large and cut hands ran along his nearly bald skull, and he chuckled again, though Astrid felt no warmth in it. "Just thought I needed a new look," He attempted to joke.

No one laughed. Yet Astrid did not push the man given the exhaustion so wearily clear in his dark eyes. She crossed over to him and embraced him in a hug as well. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. Is this Otis guy okay, too?" She wondered.

Shane's facade faltered for a moment before Rick intervened, gripping her shoulder tightly as he revealed the awful truth. "He didn't make it back."

Astrid's expression fell. "I'm sorry to hear that," She murmured.

"There will be a service for Otis this morning, over by those trees," Rick informed. "Most are heading that way now."

Astrid spoke for herself, Daryl, and Glenn when she said, "We'll be there." As Rick and Shane walked off to continue their preparations for the Greene family's service, Astrid knew they needed to pay their respects to the fallen stranger as well. Otis had saved one of their own, after all.

Once they were all gathered for the funeral—excluding little Carl who was now recovering up in the farmhouse—Astrid began absorbing the names of the individuals living on the farm, of those who had essentially opened their home up to her group. Their host, Hershel Greene, the white-haired patriarch, led the somber ceremony. His brunette- and blonde-haired daughters, Maggie and Beth Greene, stood close by his sides. And closest to the rock formation, meant to be a gravesite without a body, was a woman named Patricia, Otis's wife.

Astrid could not help but feel a profound sympathy for Patricia as she watched the woman out of the corner of her eye, knowing the anguish that came with loss. Based upon Patricia's cries and sheer agony as she endured the service, Astrid presumed she was unexposed to death in this new nature of the world. However, the Lancaster woman supposed she did not entirely recognize this pain either. She could not dare to imagine the torture that came with losing the love of one's life. She hoped she never had the chance to feel it.

The service proceeded to end with a heartfelt prayer and a few words from Shane, relaying the significance of Otis's presence among them. As the gathering of the two groups then came to a close, Astrid caught Shane's eyes upon on her as people began to make their way back toward the farmhouse. Astrid held his gaze for a long moment, searching, but she could not detect the meaning behind his watchful stare back in her direction.

She settled for a final farewell nod toward the troubled-looking man. Then she turned and walked back to the house.

➸➸➸

IN THE WAKE OF the past several day's events, a new makeshift camp of sorts sprang up on the outskirts of the Greene farmhouse's front yard. Astrid and Andrea decided they would share a tent on the property, and hastily set it up together and established their own belongings before rejoining the rest of a large group that had gathered nearby.

Rick, Daryl, Shane, Hershel, and Maggie were huddled around a large map laid out over the hood of Carol's Jeep, their faces narrowed with focus. "Heading out for Sophia again?" Astrid called to the sheriff as she and Andrea stepped up beside him.

Rick nodded, but there was a hint of frustration in his response. "Sort of," He admitted. "Between a bad leg and blood transfusions, Shane and I can't go far. Hershel's ruling."

"So it's jus' me, then," Daryl concluded. He pointed to a large section on the map. "I'll head up the creek today and search for her there."

An eager fire burned in Astrid's eyes as she leaned forward and glanced at the hunter from across the hood. "Can I come?" She asked.

"Fine with me," Daryl answered with a grunt. "Long as you don't slow me down."

Astrid merely rolled her eyes.

"I'll drive up to the interstate to see if she wandered her way back," Shane decided. "I'm not completely bedridden. Rick, you should see about getting these people some guns in their hands—get started on training."

Hershel immediately shot down Shane's suggestion. "I'm not comfortable with that," He said. "My family hasn't had the need to use guns yet, and I hope we never have to."

"But what if a herd wanders by?" Andrea challenged. "We can't take them on with just knives. I'd feel a lot safer carrying my gun."

Rick shook his head. "We're guests here, and we'll abide by your rules, Hershel. This is your property, and we will respect that," He declared, pulling his gun from his waistband, and placing it on the hood of the car. He looked expectantly at the others, expecting them to follow suit. Shane begrudgingly placed his gun next to Rick's, followed shortly by Astrid and Andrea. Rick nodded appreciatively at the compliance of his own people, and then once again took charge, setting a new plan in motion. "Alright, first we finish setting up camp, and then we start an organized search for Sophia."

"Rick, I hate to even ask this question." Shane's voice grew grave. "But what happens if we find her, and she's bit or already turned?"

There was a brief pause. "We do what needs to be done," Rick finally relented.

Maggie's voice softened as she asked the heartbreaking question, "And what do you tell her mother?"

"The truth," Astrid whispered. "As much as it hurts, we tell her what we need to." Her eyes locked with Hershel and Maggie's. Confusion and disgust flickered in the father and daughter's expressions before they ultimately turned away and walked off toward their house in silence. The weight of their unspoken judgment lingered, but Astrid ignored it. They would all one day have to face such a choice, no matter how painful it was.

As the others soon wandered off to help with the building camp, Daryl and Astrid remained by the car, a pile of guns before them. The hunter's eyes held hers. "Ready to go?" He asked.

Astrid nodded as her attention dropped back to her pistol left idle on the hood of the Jeep. Taking a deep breath, she swiftly swiped the gun from the pile and slid it into her waistband. She concealed it beneath her oversized shirt, the act serving as a shield to protect not just herself but also those she had rapidly grown to care for.

Astrid turned to face Daryl, their eyes locking once more as she replied, "Whenever you're ready."

Daryl's sharp eyes briefly flickered toward the hidden gun on Astrid's hip, but he did not utter a word about it. With a shared nod, they pushed off the car, their footsteps falling in sync as they made their way into the fields and towards the woods. As they ventured deeper into the wilderness, Astrid spared one final glance back at the farmhouse—at her new temporary shelter—before ultimately disappearing into the woods after the hunter.

➸➸➸

ASTRID TRUDGED ON THROUGH the dense forest, but even after several hours, there was no sign of young Sophia Peletier. The Lancaster woman tried not to become discouraged by this, but the initial hope she had once clung to was now slipping uncontrollably through her fingers like grains of sand. Helplessness pulled at the threads in her bones. Three days had passed—and still nothing.

Astrid could not help but think of what her brother had once told her after a shift in his line of work. People disappeared all the time. People were found all the time, too. But the difference between being found alive or dead relied purely on the clock. See, Dominic had told Astrid, when a person goes missing, their best chance at being found alive is in the first seventy-two hours. After three days, people start looking for their body.

Was Astrid now looking for a body? The once clear path ahead of recovery for a little girl now seemed muddled, obscured by her own growing doubt and fear. Astrid could not shake the nagging thought that they might never find Sophia, that she could be lost in this vast wilderness forever. The haunting silence of the forest seemed to amplify her growing uncertainty, every rustle of leaves or distant snap of a twig fueling her imagination with sinister possibilities.

Astrid's mind played a relentless loop of "what ifs" and "should haves," tormenting her with thoughts of missed opportunities and better choices she could have made to prevent this situation. Nearly every waking moment, Astrid now questioned her decisions, wondering if she had been too careless or too impulsive, leading them all to this desperate search for a growing ghost.

Amidst her growing uncertainty, a crushing wave of guilt washed over her, too. She could not escape the harsh truth that it was her choice to accompany Rick that fateful day, leaving Sophia alone and vulnerable on the creek bed. She blamed herself for not staying there, for not protecting Sophia when she had the chance. The image of Carol's accusing eyes haunted her, and Astrid could not shake the feeling that she had let everyone down, especially the grieving mother.

Astrid's heart felt heavy with remorse as she replayed the moment that she last saw Sophia, the memory etched in her mind like a painful scar. The girl had been so scared when she crawled into that little hideout. She had begged Astrid to stay, and Astrid had not listened. Now, she wished she could turn back time, take a different path, make different choices—but she was stuck in the unforgiving present, facing the consequences of her actions.

Astrid's steps grew slower, and her shoulders slumped. She tried to push back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill from her eyes.

"You're quiet today."

Daryl's rugged tone reached Astrid through the twisted mess of her mind. The furrowed lines of her brow ceased, and her hands unclenched from their fists. She could not let him see the anguish so blatant on her face—on her entire body. She refused to let him see her weakness like this. If he did, he might send her back to camp.

"As opposed to other days?" Astrid finally returned.

Daryl nodded.  A moment passed before he pressed, "You 'lright?"

"I'm just . . ." Astrid struggled to find the right word. It was the wrong word, too. "Focused."

She could feel Daryl's lingering gaze on her, and she wondered if he could tell that she was lying. He never called her on it, though. They continued walking again, the weight of the silence hanging heavy over them. A short time later, Astrid glanced back toward the hunter who walked beside her. He would not push her to speak again unless she did it herself. She liked that about him, his unspoken understanding.

"Do you know what I would be doing right about now if this were a normal day?" Astrid prompted.

"No," Daryl huffed, his eyes peeled toward the ground, watching his and her every step. "But I bet you're goin' to tell me."

"I would be in school," She confessed, not missing a beat.

"Get held back about fifteen years?"

"Ha-ha." Astrid rolled her eyes as the hunter smirked at his own attempt to make her smile. "I would be in nursing school."

"Learn much there?" Daryl wondered.

"Not really. Not as much as I should have with the amount of time I had already given to the program," She admitted, feeling a pang of regret for her lack of focus back then. "That's probably why I almost failed out. I don't think I was meant to work in the medical field. But both of my parents were doctors. When my brother didn't follow in their footsteps, I kind of felt obligated to."

The hunter sent her a strange look, as if seeing right through her. "Can't see you bein' a doctor," He admitted. "If you can't even handle needles 'n all."

Astrid chuckled. She was faintly surprised that Daryl even remembered that small detail about her. "Needles don't bother me if I'm not the one getting stuck," She insisted. She glanced at Daryl again, her green eyes searching his enigmatic face, hoping to draw more information from the reticent hunter, rather than sharing more of herself. She wanted to know what Daryl Dixon's life was like before the world fell apart, before they became survivors in an undead wasteland. She sensed that there was so much more to him than met the eye. "What about you?  What did you do before all this?" She wondered.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders, "Nothing, really," He said.

"Oh, come on, you had to have done something," Astrid pressed. "What made you get out of bed every day?"

The hunter simply shrugged his shoulders again and fell silent again, essentially closing himself off from further questioning. The way his eyes narrowed slightly told Astrid that she had touched upon a touchy subject, and she instantly regretted pushing him too far. As they continued their silent walk, Astrid's thoughts turned anxious. Maybe she should have stayed behind at camp. Fresh guilt gnawed at her for possibly pushing Daryl away again with her intrusive questions. She had not meant anything cruel by it.

Suddenly, Daryl's voice broke the stillness of the forest, whispering urgently, "Look," as he crouched down slightly.

Astrid bent down beside him in the grass and followed his icy gaze, her own eyes now fixed on something tall and dark standing in the distance. She frowned, initially unable to discern the shape in the dim light, but as her eyes adjusted, she realized it was a two-story house. Daryl rose back to his feet, and she followed right behind him, covering his six. He had his crossbow raised high, on the lookout, while she tightened her grip on her gun.

Astrid's mind briefly wandered to the issue of carrying guns on the Greene property, and she felt a simmering of irritation at Hershel's decision to prohibit it. They needed all the protection they could get in their hostile environment. It amazed Astrid that their family had not even dealt with the matter of the dead's invasion yet, but she knew that they would have to face the dilemma sooner or later.

Astrid and Daryl soon broke through the dense wood and into a small backyard field behind the house. There were no walkers in sight as they crossed the overgrown lawn towards the front door. "Sophia!" Astrid called out, her voice bouncing off the towering trees.

"Quiet!" Daryl snapped sternly. "We don't know if we're alone."

Astrid glared into the side of Daryl's head as she reached for the door handle. The hunter gripped her shoulder, and his touch reassured her, knowing that he had her back if things went awry. Her heart raced in her chest as she tried to imagine all the possibilities that awaited them on the other side of that door.

Without another moment's hesitation, Astrid threw the front door open and burst inside with her gun held high. She quickly scanned the foyer room, ready to confront any threat head-on. But there was nothing. The entryway was entirely empty.

"All clear," Astrid called to Daryl as he entered the house behind her. The hunter nodded in acknowledgment and swiftly moved into the living room, his eyes keenly surveying the area. Astrid headed towards the staircase down the hallway. "I'll take the upstairs, you take the downstairs," She instructed. "Be careful."

Daryl grunted in response. The Lancaster woman could not expect anything less.

As Astrid ascended the stairs, each creak of the wooden steps intensified her nerves, reminding her that anything could be waiting for her on the upper floor. She approached the top cautiously, her breath held, and her gun held firmly in her grasp.

The upstairs was eerily still, and a thick layer of dust covered the wooden floors, like a time capsule untouched by human presence for far too long. She moved towards the nearest door, her heart pounding with each step. She searched every nook and cranny, her eyes darting for any sign of the missing girl or any potential undead trap. But the rooms were empty, and the unsettling silence persisted.

Descending the stairs once more, her footsteps heavy with disappointment, Astrid could only hope that Daryl had more luck downstairs. "Find anything?" She asked as she made her way over to the large kitchen where Daryl stood with his back to her, his attention fixed on something inside a closet. She frowned as she approached him. "Daryl?"

The quiet hunter turned to face her. "Sophia was here," He announced.

Astrid could hardly believe her ears. Her heart skipped a beat, and her eyes widened in astonishment. "How can you tell?" She demanded.

Daryl handed Astrid a half-finished can of sardines, and her hands trembled as she examined it. "These are fresh," He said, his voice filled with certainty. He then pointed to the closet where a bundle of blankets lay. "She slept in there, too," He deduced. The realization hit Astrid as she surveyed the small shelter. Truly only a small child could have fit in there.

"How long ago do you think she was here?" Astrid questioned as she bent down to search the closet for more signs.

"Only a day or two ago," Daryl replied. He tapped on her shoulder, signaling her back to her feet. "We should head back," he said. "Show the others what we've found."

"What?" Astrid exclaimed sharply. "We can't go back. This is the first good lead we've had. We have to follow it!"

"Astrid, it's almost sunset," Daryl said, trying to reason with her. "We'll pick up this trail first thing in the mornin', all right?"

As Astrid immediately locked eyes with the hunter, she knew she was not going to win this argument. And deep down, she knew Daryl was right. The woods were dangerous enough in the daylight. She could not fathom navigating them in the dark. If they risked it, they could wind up just like Sophia, lost in the Georgian wilderness' abyss.

Realizing how close they both still stood in the closet's narrow entryway, Astrid stepped away to create some distance. "Let's go," She reluctantly conceded. Her words nearly came out in a mutter, the stubborn Lancaster woman still trying to come to terms with the unfortunate—but wise—decision.

Daryl stayed close, providing silent support for the upset Astrid as they exited the empty house. Sophia had been so close, tantalizingly within reach, yet still so far. As they walked back towards the tree line, Daryl abruptly stopped in front of a bush of flowers, drawing Astrid's attention. She frowned, wondering what the hell he was up to as he crouched down beside the white blooms.

"What are you doing?" Astrid wondered. She could not help but hope that this unexpected pause might lead them to another clue. Perhaps the hunter had spotted something she had missed.

"Do you know what these are?" Daryl asked, glancing back at her. Confused, she shook her head, urging him to continue. "This is a Cherokee Rose," He revealed.

"What about them?" Astrid inquired.

Daryl stood back up, his eyes locked on the flowers. "Well, the story goes . . . that when American soldiers were movin' Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee Mothers were grievin' and cryin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way from exposure and disease and starvation. A lot of them just disappeared," He explained as he pulled a stem softly from the ground. "So, the elders said a prayer and asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits—to give them strength. Hope. The next day, this rose started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell."

The tale of sorrow and resilience echoed in Astrid's heart as she watched the hunter unfold so carefully, so honestly before her. Then, as if driven by the spirits themselves, Daryl turned to Astrid, his hand extending one of the delicate flowers towards her.

Astrid froze, her heart pounding in her chest, as she looked at the pure flower in the hunter's bruised hand. The unexpected gesture stirred something within Astrid that she had long buried beneath since the end of days. She had never anticipated such tenderness from Daryl. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she reached out and gently took the stem into her own calloused fingers. Tears welled in Astrid's eyes, and a tender smile graced her lips. The hunter almost seemed to smile back.

"I'm not fool enough to believe there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother," Daryl's hardened voice broke through the poignance, bringing her back to the present. "But I do believe there's one bloomin' for that little girl."

Astrid wiped under her eyes with her free hand and looked back down at the small patch of flowers. "We should bring one back for Carol," She suggested. Daryl nodded his agreement. He bent down to pick another flower, and Astrid found herself smiling at his unwavering dedication and hidden kindness. In that moment, as Daryl stood back up and joined her side once more, an additional new blooming stem in his gritty hands, Astrid saw the hunter's heart, a heart that cared profoundly deep.

Without another word, Astrid and Daryl began to retreat back into the shelter of the trees, leaving behind the two-story house and the Cherokee Rose—but carrying between them a newfound ember of hope, burning brighter than ever before.

~~~~~~~~~~