[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 409 - Daryl's Spring Is Coming

At dusk, the tally came in.

Daryl walked up to Leon with a crumpled piece of paper and got straight to the point.

"Carl, seven."

"Duane, four."

"Clementine, three. Sophia, two."

"The rest combined, five."

Leon nodded. No surprise on his face.

He'd known all along it would end up this way. That kid Carl had a ruthless streak buried bone-deep. Today had just ripped it out by the roots — the most brutal way possible.

He walked over to the group of kids. They still reeked of blood. Tear tracks and grime cut through every face. But not a single one of them was crying anymore.

They stood ramrod straight, like a pack of wolf cubs.

Leon's gaze swept over each of them and settled on Carl's taut little face.

Slowly, he drew the golden Desert Eagle from his hip.

"Come here, kid."

Carl's breath stopped.

He walked forward one step at a time, eyes locked on that weapon catching the dying light of the sun, lethal and gleaming and completely real.

Leon held it out.

"Take it."

Carl stretched out his hands, still trembling slightly, and accepted the gun. It sat in his grip like an iron ingot.

It felt like a dream.

"The gun is yours," Leon said, his voice level. "For one week. Perform well enough, and it stays yours."

"I..." Carl opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He couldn't find the words.

Leon gave him no room to get emotional.

"Use it. Protect everyone you care about."

"If you can't protect the people right beside you, then that gun in your hands is nothing but a noisy piece of scrap metal." He held Carl's gaze. "Do you understand?"

Carl glanced at the two girls. Then he looked down at the massive piece of hardware in his grip, the kind that could blow half a Walker's skull off in one shot.

He nodded hard.

"I understand."

Leon patted his shoulder, then turned and walked toward the Humvee.

The other boys stared at the golden cannon in Carl's hands. The envy on their faces wasn't even trying to hide itself.

"Don't look at him like that," Leon's voice drifted from behind the vehicle.

"He earned it."

A beat.

"But you lot didn't do too badly either."

CLANG!

A military ammo crate hit the dirt. The lid fell open, and a dozen-odd black Glock 17s lay inside, quiet and still.

"Same deal for all of you." Leon jabbed a finger at the crate. "One each. Two magazines."

"Not as flashy as Carl's, but it'll save your life when it counts."

The kids' eyes lit up all at once.

Even Duane, who'd been standing there looking like the world had ended, couldn't stop the grin that broke across his face.

They crowded forward, trembling, picking their pistols like they were choosing something precious, each one finally closing their hands around a gun of their own.

Leon watched them clutch their new treasures, not one of them able to let go, and smiled.

Good.

In this goddamn world, nothing gave a person more security than a gun they controlled themselves. That was exactly what he wanted, to carve that feeling into their bones, deep enough that it never left.

"Alright. Get the hell out of here, all of you. Shower, then food."

"Pull your weight from now on. I catch any of you slacking off, the guns go back in the box."

The kids nodded in rapid unison and scattered like startled birds, each one clutching their prize to their chest, sprinting toward the prison in a wave of barely contained excitement.

Leon turned around.

Carol was still standing exactly where he'd left her, staring at Sophia with a blank, distant look. Her eyes were full of something complicated and unresolvable.

"Sophia, you..."

She took a breath. "Are you feeling alright?"

Sophia's steps slowed. She turned back to look at her mother, at the worry written plainly across that familiar face.

Her own small face still carried the tear tracks. But there was none of the fragility Carol had braced herself for. None of the fear.

She just shook her head. And then she smiled.

"I'm fine, Mom."

"I'm just... a little tired."

She turned and ran to catch up with Carl and the others.

Carol watched her go. That small figure, barely anything at all, and yet somehow utterly resolved.

Her heart ached.

She felt like she was losing her.

"She just grew up."

A low voice came from behind her.

Daryl Dixon had walked over at some point. He had his crossbow in hand, shoulder resting against the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Leon acts like a lunatic sometimes," he said. "But he's not wrong."

"You can't protect her forever."

Carol didn't turn around. She lifted the back of her hand to the corner of her eye, quiet and careful. The catch in her voice was one she didn't even hear herself.

"Thank you, Daryl Dixon."

"For what?" He went still for a moment, genuinely confused. He didn't think he'd said anything worth thanking.

"For always being there."

Something shifted on Daryl Dixon's face, the face that usually had stay the hell away from me stamped across every inch of it. A rare, uncomfortable flicker. Something he clearly didn't know what to do with.

He scratched the back of his messy hair. Stayed quiet for a stretch.

Then, in a voice that came out almost stiff, he forced the words out.

"Dinner... together tonight?"

Carol's body went still.

She turned around slowly, looking at this man who had pulled her back from the edge more times than she could count, back at the quarry and every day since.

He was the same scrappy mess he'd always been. That leather vest had been worn down to the point where you could barely guess its original color. His eyes were darting sideways, anywhere but her face.

Like a clumsy kid asking a girl out for the very first time.

Carol watched him fidget, and that hollow place in her chest, the one her daughter's growing up had quietly carved out, felt something ease into it. Just a little. Just enough.

She hesitated for a few seconds.

Then she nodded, soft and certain.

"Okay."

➤ Next: Carol's Gratitude — Tears Unshed