House is haunted
I just want to go for a ride
Out and on
Before I set this room alight
Left alone forever and for crimes unclear
With my patience gone
Someone take me far from here
Gasoline ~ Audioslave
The red arm of the speedometer ticks away silently beneath her peripheral vision. It is cloudy, and the left windshield wiper on the car does nothing to rid the glass of the gathering mud. Neither of that matters of course, not anymore.
Knuckles are white against the steering wheel as she continues to drive dangerously fast across the back roads of the Atlanta woods. A path driven many times before, never at this pace, but well known nonetheless.
"Oh God." Billie mumbles to herself, for probably the twenty-fifth time now. She's been behind the wheel for over an hour, maybe more. Time seems to have become meaningless as well. Her thoughts are still frantic with what little information has been gathered in haste. Things were bad, people were dying, reason enough to grab the car keys and high tail it the fuck out of work.
She contemplates fiddling with the radio again. Not much point anymore. All broadcasts told to go into the city; Billie chose to go the opposite.
A ranch is in the clearing about a mile off, the destination as it were. By all accounts, everything looks normal, much to the relief of her rapidly beating heart. The horses are grazing calmly, serenely, a needed comfort from the chaos that is occurring just a dozen miles away.
The Pontiac, beaten and dented, arrives in a cloud of dust and dirt. Her legs are shaky after such a long period of immobility. Adrenaline dulls the ache.
"Norman!" Billie almost burst into tears at the sight of the large dog dashing from around the gate, clearing the fence in one leap and running to greet her. The German Shepard seems nearly as happy, although he always did tend to appear as such. She spends little time to appease his eager attentions, merely patting him on the head as she move past and run up to the front door, the soft pads of his four paws hitting the dirt behind her.
The first thing Billie notices as she enters the unlocked door is the smell. Oh God, the smell. A sense of overpowering dread follows soon after.
"Mom?" Her voice cracks underneath this immense pressure. The house is dark, overcast skies only adding a dim, eerie sort of light. This isn't right. It is nearly dinner, and where her mother would normally be busying herself in the kitchen is instead filled with yet more consuming silence.
Norman whines plaintively behind her. Never was much of a risk taker that one. She reaches back and scratches his ear comfortingly, carefully navigating her way throughout the empty kitchen.
"Henry? Please, somebody." She is pleading with the air now, hands grasping at the walls as she blindly walks through the narrow hall. The master bedroom is to her left; her stepfather's study just a further bit down to the right. The stench is growing stronger as she reaches for the doorknob, the alarms in her mind causing hesitation. Did she really want to see what is behind this door? By the smell alone, she can tell that it is coming from this room, whatever it is.
"Mom?" Billie can hear movement, dulled by the loud creak of the door's hinges as she peeks her head through first. It doesn't take long for her to find the source; the familiar flowery patterned back of her mother's nightgown the first to catch her attention.
Norman lets out a weak bark like whine before growling defensively, his pointed ears pinning to the back of his head as he takes a low stance before her. The hunched figure does not respond at first, the immobile legs of a stout man leaving no questions to be asked as to what held it's current focus. The bloodied and puss oozing head whips around just as Billie reaches forward to grasp onto Norman's collar, eyes glazed over with a hunger-lust and small intestines hanging from it's slacked jaw.
She takes only a second to ponder the situation. Yes, it is wearing her mother's face, and yes, it was just now eating the man who practically raised her from birth. The fight or flight instinct is stronger than any sense of melancholy, and it only takes her a second more to yank Norman back and slam the door shut.
A loud screech erupts from the other side of the door, soon followed by the frantic bangs of the creature beating carelessly against it. Billie moves to escape the way she came, Norman barking warningly before running to the opposite end and into the study. He at least seems to know what he is doing, and seeing as she does not, Billie soon follows.
Another door between them and that thing allows her another moment to reassemble her thoughts, her back falling against the wood as she slides down to the carpet. They wouldn't hold, not for long. God bless the man, but Henry was indeed no handyman. These doors were probably as old as the ranch, and the hinges wouldn't fare much better.
Adrenaline helps to keep focus on the task on hand, surviving. Billie scans the room while Norman paces nervously by the window. Escape, that's a start. She doesn't notice that tears are beginning to steam down her cheeks. She doesn't have the luxury.
Billie scampers to the desk on the other end of the room, the hair's she had so painstakingly placed into a bun this morning now framing her face like a tattered curtain.
Hands yank and tug and rake, searching for any sort of defensive favor. A letter opener, some scissors, hell she'd even take a damn sharpened pencil. Preferably, she would love to find something that could put distance between this creature and herself. Of all the things her doughy stepfather could have kept secret, she silently prays that there was a stashed handgun hidden in these drawers somewhere.
Christmas comes to mind, two years ago to be precise. A gift given to Henry from her uncle Jimmy, her mother's brother and a lifetime hunter. A top of the line, compound hunting bow. Guaranteed to take down any deer, hog, or even an "enraged fucking grizzly" if you believed uncle Jimmy that is. Hunting wasn't exactly the amateur golfer's cup of tea, but he accepted the gift graciously enough, even promising to go out with Billie's uncle one of these times.
Her heart seems to stop for a moment as she glances over to the adjoining closet. If any God still exists and took pity upon her poor, royally screwed soul, her stepfather would have stuffed that damned thing back into that crowded closet never to be looked at again. A loud crack echoes throughout the house, followed by a few loud bangs and a long, guttural moan.
It made it through the first door.
It's not long after, that the desperate clawing at wood begins to start at the study door. Billie doesn't waste another second to get to that closet, nearly ripping the handle off as she wrenches it open.
It is definitely crowded, not helpful for the current situation. She knocks over a few boxes to dig her way to the back, eyes squinting in the darkness to barely make out a faint outline of a tautly stringed object leaning against the wall.
"Thank you." She whispers, unsure as to whom exactly she is thanking at that moment. Her fingers find purchase at the bow and grip it tightly, as if her very life depends on it, which of course, it does. The custom arrows are not far off, bundled neatly together with a scrunchie of all things.
"Oh, mom." Billie smiles sadly, bittersweet memories causing her hand to tremble and teeth to gnaw against her lower lip. Norman begins barking once more, shaking her head back into reality as she once again climbs throughout the maze of forgotten junk.
Norman is on high alert, his stance fearful yet defensive as the insistent pounding is joined by a familiar popping noise. Billie too takes a weak stand next to her canine companion, drawing the bow up to chest level and notching an arrow. Hardly experienced in the art of archery, she's seen enough movies and played enough video games to get the main gist of the skill.
"Alright boy," She glances down to Norman, his dark eyes portraying the same fear hidden beneath her own glare, "I can do this, right?" She unsuccessfully tries to wipe the tears clouding her gaze with her shoulder, leveling the sight of the bow at the same petite height that would be at her mother's head.
The door cracks in two with the sound of Norman's predatory bark. The bloodied face of her mother emerges from the destruction, Billie's fingers flinching back as the arrow flies loose unintentionally. It misses its mark, embedding itself in the wooden trim of whatever remains of the doorframe. She turns around to unsheathe another arrow, silent sobs racking across her body as she once again faces her clearly dead but still moving mother. Her torso is almost completely through the wreckage, gnarled fingers grasping desperately at the air separating them.
The muscles in Billie's arm burn, unused to this sort of activity, as she once again draws back the arrow she intends to send flying into my mother's skull. Taking a second to remember to exhale, she lines up the shot.
"I'm so sorry." The arrow does not miss this time, landing off center and to the left of her decaying forehead. Her movements cease, along with Norman's insistent barking.
The instincts of survival at any cost disappear just as soon as they had appeared, Billie crumbling to the floor as the empty eyes of her mother look on. The realness of the situation takes hold, her entire body shaking as she continues to cry unabashed. She can faintly feel Norman's cold nose nudging at her temple, his continued whining relaying her own broken feelings.
OOO
Birds chirping. Always with the goddamn chirping.
The world was over. The overwhelming dead walk the streets of the few remaining living, but hell if the fucking birds wouldn't shut up for one morning.
Billie rubs a hand over her face, stuck somewhere between the two conscious states that occupy the mind. Another nightmare of the night she had killed her own mother, then stepfather, and had to burn their bodies with siphoned gasoline. Not a good night's sleep in the faintest sense.
She glances over to the hound twitching quietly near the entrance of the tent, his snout the only thing peeking out through the flap. His tail flops twice, his head soon snapping up in attention at the awareness of his owner's eyes upon him.
"Morning handsome." She remarks, kicking a sweat soaked leg out from under the unzipped sleeping bag. Why she continued to sleep in such a thing in this sweltering Georgia heat, she really couldn't say. Maybe it had something to do with a false sense of security? Yet another thing separating her from the animated corpses that wanted so desperately to tear into her flesh like a peeled grapefruit. Who knows these days?
Norman trots over to nuzzle at her exposed neck, hot breath brushing back the shortened strands of dark hair barely reaching to her shoulders.
"I know buddy, it's hot and you're hungry." She ruffles the thick fur at his neck, "How bout we go take a dip after we check with the others, yea?" It's still early, probably around five thirty by the looks of the orange glow creeping through the tent. Only a few of the other survivors in camp would be up by now, Billie moving quietly to the dirt, blood, and God knows what else encrusted jeans lying unfolded on the other end of the blanket.
The hot sun does nothing to lighten her mood as she emerges. This heat, one of the many reasons Billie tended to travel so frequently from her homeland. In another life, she would have liked to live somewhere breezy, frequent with rain and little risk of drought in the summer. That would be nice. Then again, so would four solid walls without the stench of rotten flesh mattered against them.
"Mornin!" Billie shields her eyes from the glare as she glances up to the source of noise, Dale's white bearded face grinning down at her from his spot atop the RV. She waves up with her free hand, plucking the damp tank top from her skin allowing the slightly less warm air to brush against her abdomen.
Carol is also not too far off, situated at her usual position at the clothesline near the south end of the camp. Her daughter Sophia is also there, collecting whatever clothespins may have fallen to the ground and otherwise assisting.
A small whine reminds Billie of the canine impatient to shed some of that thick undercoat. Not that she can blame him. Just watching the poor dog pant around all day makes her want to pass out most of the time.
"I'm heading down to the lake," She calls up to the elder man reclining back in a lawn chair, "I'll be back in an hour."
"Are you sure you don't want to wait for some of the other women? I don't like the idea of anyone walkin off on their own." His gaze is apprehensive beneath the floppy fisherman's hat. This fatherly concern he shared for the group is heartwarming, if not a bit alarming at his ease of trust in complete strangers.
Billie waves him off once more, this time in dismissal.
"I'm fine. Plus I'm not alone," She pats the side of the formidable looking hound, "Killer here won't let nothin get the jump on me." Which was true. Norman would let Billie know about a Geek a mile away without a second's hesitation. Helping her in a fight however, well, the dog still is a bit unsure as how to react accordingly to the ravenous once human creatures.
Dale seems comforted nonetheless, nodding before casting his eyes back onto the vast wilderness that both terrifies and protects them.
The walk down the quarry to the encompassed lake is a bit of a hike for the pair, Billie grabbing a fierce looking stick along the way to use as leverage against the steep slope of the land. Not a bad weapon either, if the worse was to come of her little side trip as so easily it could in this fucked up world she was living in, surviving in.
Norman on the other hand is already halfway down the trail, Billie not surprised if he was to forget her completely. His momentary hesitations and brief glances back insist otherwise.
"Where ya off to girlie?" Billie's insides twist at the familiar drawl calling out from behind her, "It ain't safe for a pretty little thing to be walkin 'round all unprotected." She doesn't turn around, purposefully ignoring his goading tone up until the moment his hand clamps down onto her bare shoulder.
His breath hits the back of her ear, the distinct stench of nicotine and wild animal clinging to the back of her shirt as strong as the sweat pooling at the base of her spine.
"Good morning Merle, looks like you slept well." He doesn't respond, merely clicks his tongue as the heat of his gaze sweeps over her backside.
"Hardly, what with all that moanin and groanin ya were doin. Dreamin 'bout me again darlin? All ya need to do is ask." The smirk on his crooked lips is down right predatory as Billie finally turns to face him, her own smirk almost an equal match.
"Nah, this one was about Daryl." Merle lets out a barking laughter, which to anyone else would have seemed just plain scary. To Billie though, she knew deep down the man was nothin but hot air, mean words, and a puffed up chest. A front to hide the beaten and scared kid he was determined to not remember.
"Daryl? Why would ya want my pencil dick little brother? Man wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she had her four titties an' a big red arrow pointin to her pussy." Billie had to laugh at the one, "Nah, girl like ya needs a man, a big man. And honey, I'm big in all the right places, don't ya worry."
Billie returns to her descent of the quarry, her boot slipping somewhat against the unsteady terrain of dust and rocks.
"Speaking of," She shrugs easily from Merle's loosened grip, ignoring the tail end of his previous statement, "Where is your little shadow today? Finding himself more rats to drag back to camp?"
"Them rats will seem mighty tasty when ya got nothin to gnaw on in a couple days sweetheart, don't ya be judgin nothin yet." Billie shrugs, glancing over her shoulder to see Merle following close at her heels.
"Who's judging? Never said anythin about rats being bad, to eat or otherwise." She points an accusatory finger back in his direction, "Sounds like you're the one who is judging." Another roaring laughter follows, Merle patting the smaller woman on the shoulder before jogging on up ahead. He reaches Norman at the base of the trail, the dog bouncing joyfully against his legs. If anyone were to put the fight in that dog, it would be Merle Dixon, and Billie was all too happy to go ahead and let him. It was hard enough covering her own ass against a horde of undead, let alone a cowardly pooch with sharp teeth and nails at his unwilling disposal. So much for that killer instinct.
Poor Norman had been all but useless as an asset from the moment of escaping the nightmares of her mother's ranch, through the mad dash back to the city and assumed safety, to the moment of discovery of the small band of survivors vehemently advising her to abandon that hope and join with them. How she survived at all before that was still a mystery. Her Pontiac, serving as a valuable battering ram against the wall of zombies that separated her from the main road, had become useless soon after. With no vehicle, a dog better suited for napping, and herself holding a weapon with no training how to operate it, Billie was pretty much just screwed.
Pure dumb luck, really the only explanation for anything good happening these past two months.
"Merle!" The second Dixon brother's bellow for the first causes Billie to flinch and scowl, a typical reaction nowadays to anything louder than a normal speaking tone. Reaching the bottom Billie glances up to see Daryl bounding down the trio's previously traveled path, crossbow bouncing against his back as always. Along with that almost pained squint of his, hiding what Billie knew to be two almost unsettling blue eyes.
Agile as any seasoned hunter would be, the younger man makes it down in nearly half the time it took Merle's oversized ass to, doubling that against Billie's casual stride.
"The fuck Merle?" He glances, annoyed, between Merle's disinterested expression and Billie's uncaring one, her lightly tapping Norman on the behind as a signal to move forward to the lake. They leave the two Dixon brothers to whatever the hell was going on between them, none of it any of her business really. She neither cared, nor had the patience to stick around close enough to eavesdrop.
Not that they weren't an interesting pair, far from it. Honestly between the normalcies of the rest of the group, the Dixons were a goddamn sideshow. Between Merle's constant racial slurs and Daryl's obvious indifference to everything and everyone around him, they were just not a very pleasant pair to be around is all. Even still, Billie had managed to spare a few moments to attempt to be cordial to the men, Merle's instant fondness of Norman and shameless sexual insinuations towards her the only reactions she had managed to pry out. Daryl she had just given up on completely.
The water glistens alluringly in sight as the German Shepard barrels ahead again, disrupting the calm lake with a hurried splash. Billie is all too ready to rush in after, sparing a quick glace back to the brothers now locked in a heated argument. Too distracted as it were to notice the young woman strip from her well worn in clothing, down to a bra and mismatching underpants.
She slips into the water unnoticed, well, except for Norman. Not that he much cared for an almost naked human woman treading water beside him. Ducking her head underwater she lets the grim and mud that had caked onto her unevenly chopped hair wash away with the gentle ripples. For a moment, it is almost too easy to imagine the rest of the mess dirtying Billie from the inside out to float away with browning water. To forget the arrow piercing her parent's skull, the charred flesh forevermore staining her nostrils, the last tear she vowed to shed at their ambiguous ashes, her promise to survive all this madness and give them a proper funeral.
If only for a second.
A/N: Alright! So there it is, the first chapter of my Daryl/OC story. I hope to fully explain the character of Billie gradually throughout the events that will also change her. I will keep this short, please as always leave a review or shoot me a message if you enjoyed this introduction and wish me to continue. Best fucking motivator in the world! I pray that all of you caught the little joke there with the name I chose for Billie's dog, I really do. If not, well you probably need to get the hell out of this story and start Googling.