A/N: I've been a lurker on this fandom for some time, and I thought I'd attempt a Walking Dead fic. Hopefully you guys like it. Comments and CC always welcome.
Chapter One: Up in Ashes.
The ash had barely collapsed from the Virginia Slim, when the door slammed open, drenching the dank interior of the club in dusty sunlight. A loud curt, voice vented the air causing Melanie Buell to wince with ill-concealed irritation.
"Mel! MEL! You in here, woman?"
The woman named Mel frowned at the sound of her name and stubbed out her cigarette in the mouldering ashtray next to her on the bar. She crossed her legs on the stool and waited for her boss, Billy Mckenzie to find her in the dark shadows of the empty room. No doubt he wanted her to work a shift that night. It was a Tuesday, and nobody came mid-week save slavering old truckers stinking of stale-tobacco and axle grease.
"Dammit, Mel where are ya?"
The urgency in Billy's voice made Mel sigh. Perhaps he'd got into some trouble with the Knot-heads, a formidable biker gang who frequented his seedy joint every weekend. Often Mel would see them speaking in hushed voices in the dark corners of the club, a cloud of yellow smoke obscuring their bedraggled beards and Fu Munchu moustaches. She often liked them. They tipped generously, and overlooked the fact she was pushing thirty; an unappealing age to be a stripper. At this thought, Melanie unconsciously gazed at her reflection in the musty mirror behind the bar and saw the unkempt stranger staring back at her. Her eyes had lost their softness long ago, permanently hidden behind strands of hair, dried out through years of supermarket bleach. Melanie always knew she was no beauty, but her youth had suffocated through years of chain-smoking and alchohol. Yet the loss of her looks wasn't troubling her in this moment. Something much worse had happened, and Billy's incessant problems were the least of her concerns.
"There you are!"
She caught a whiff of bourbon, and Billy appeared beside her. With one hairy hand, he forced her to face him.
"Oh … hey," she said in a bored voice.
Billy's thick eyebrows formed one severe line. "What the hell you doing, woman! We gotta go!"
Melanie raised her eyebrows at his words. Well she wasn't expecting him to say that. "Go where, Billy? If you owe Charlie Hicks money again, I'm not interested."
She inwardly shuddered at the name. Charlie Hicks was her least favourite of the Knot-heads. He treated her the worst, but tipped her the most. As soon as Billy got wind of her small fortune, he threatened her into helping his money problems or he'd kick onto the street. Unfortunately for Mel, Billy was also her landlord. Every dollar she earned at "Boobie Bungalow" was preciously saved for her estranged son, Taylor. For fifteen years she would send him money in letters to an inconspicuous address she stole from the adoption agency. She would lament how much she loved him, and how giving him up had been the hardest decision of her life. She received no reply, but Melanie hoped Taylor had lead a better life than she; knocked up at fifteen, abandoned by a crack-head boyfriend and living with a mother who was in and out of jail. It was no life for a baby.
"The hell you on about woman!" Billy's angry voice dragged Melanie from her dark thoughts. "The whole town's gone fuckin' crazy!"
This was nothing new.
"So why you tellin' me?" Melanie sighed. "If you want me to work an extra shift tonight, I'll do it. Only if I get free drinks after work."
Billy pulled his moustache in irritation at her words. Melanie stared at him. "You don't understand, Mel. Shits really hit the fan this time! Some guy got attacked down Cooter Street and people have been riotin' and fleein' across town! They'll be here any minute!"
Melanie frowned and tried to make sense of his words. Okay, so this definitely wasn't new. She'd been sitting in the bar all afternoon, stealing shots of Smirnoff from behind the bar and pondering her future. For everything had now changed.
"Why should I care if a load of bone-headed idiots are trashin' the town? And why you tellin' me?" This was a good point. Billy often treated her like something slimy stuck to the bottom of his boot.
"Because …" Billy's skin had gone white beneath his dark beard. "Candice has – has been attacked … and … well she tried to bite my arm, God dammit! She'd gone fuckin' crazy! I – I only just got away. Everybody was going ape-shit. I tried to look for you at your flat, but it was empty so I knew you must have been here." His eyes rested on the half-empty bottle of Smirnoff.
Melanie felt her stomach drop. Candice was her closest friend. She was the reason she had a roof over her head, and a job after Melanie discovered her mother had overdosed.
"Why didn't you save her! Where is she?" She was on her feet now, her heart pumping tenfold.
"I – I don't know!"
"What do you mean, you don't know!"
"Mel, you weren't there. This is all different. The end o' the fuckin' world or something. All I know is we have to go. Now."
Billy grabbed Melanie's hand, but she tugged it free and slapped him hard. "Why the hell would I go anywhere with you!? You coward! How could you leave Candice!" Fury flashed across Billy's face, but Melanie didn't care. She felt the hot sting of angry tears, and yearned to smash a glass and plunge it in his neck. How could he leave Candice to a violent mob? How could he!
There was a shuddering bang from the street, and a solid object smashed through the window, wiping out all angry thoughts from Melanie's mind. She screamed, as the flaming brick narrowly missed her face. A storm of frantic yelling and crying thundered closer, shaking the gaudy chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
"FUCK THIS!" roared Billy. With surprising agility for a man of fifty, he jumped behind the bar and grabbed a shotgun. A bloody arm appeared snake-like through the smashed window, clawing at the sharp glass without a wince of pain. A pallid face materialised, smeared with blood and snarling like a rabid dog. It was a young man, but his entire body had become taut and animalistic. Melanie was frozen to the spot, and before she could scream, Billy blasted the man through the head.
"NOW DO YOU SEE WHY WE HAVE TO GO!?"
Billy's voice seemed to pierce the stupor of horror filling every fibre in Melanie's body. Her brain was telling her to run, but her legs had forgotten their use. Another face appeared, growling with carnal fury, blood dripping from it's mouth. An old lady, but her eyes were blood-red and was missing an arm. A missing arm for God's sake!
There was another loud bang, and the lady collapsed to the floor with a dull finality. As if in a dream, Melanie felt herself being carried away and watched dimly as more people began to crawl through the window and swarm around the bar where she had sat moments ago.
Before she knew it, she was strapped in the passenger seat of Billy's red truck. In the wing-mirror she saw him quickly packing a bag from the stock-room with food and bullets. Was this all really happening? Maybe she was stuck in a stuporous sleep, passed out in the safety of her flat. Or maybe she had already died.
"Right, I've packed us some gear." Billy leapt behind the wheel, jerking Melanie out of her reverie back to dark, crude reality.
"Where are we going?" Melanie asked him in a hollow voice, ignoring the screaming which was growing louder.
"South. I think every jerk around here has got the same idea, so we're travelling down some country short-cuts." The engine growled into life, and Billy reversed the truck knocking over one of the crazed people. He merely shrugged, and rolled over the corpse without remorse, grinning at the crunching noise beneath the wheels. Melanie winced and curled into a foetal position against the door, clinging onto one of Billy's old fleeces. Part of her brain was grateful she was in the solid safety of Billy's huge truck, but the rest of her mind was a nightmarish haze of snarling teeth and gun-shots.
"Hey. Hey!"
Melanie felt Billy shake her arm and she slowly raised her head. Tears were leaking silently down her face.
"What?"
"I guess you are wonderin' why the heck I looked for ya," he asked gruffly.
Melanie merely shrugged. She didn't really care anymore.
"Well if you must know … it's cus I found this lyin' on your bathroom floor."
He produced a thin, white object from his jeans and gave it to Melanie who gazed at it silently. It was her positive pregnancy test she had done that morning. She expected her stomach to fill with the old acidic dread, but felt nothing.
"So what." She tossed the test on the floor, and stared out the window; the last few rays of sunshine were spreading across the horizon. "I'm guessin' you want me to thank you for savin' my ass."
"That would be appreciated," growled Billy curtly, glancing sideways at Melanie's stiff form. "Not so much of a bastard now, am I?"
"That's still debatable"
Billy chuckled mirthlessly at her words, and clapped her shoulder in a patronising fashion.
"So who's the father then, Melly? Some poor scumbag from the Knot-heads?"
She flinched at his bluntness. The question caught her off-guard, and her brain struggled to find the right words. Truth was, Billy hated the father of her unborn baby with a passion and if she admitted she had slept with one of his sworn enemies, he would surely abandon her right that second. He may have saved her ass, but he was still a man with loose morals. She knew Billy had saved her because like all men, he fancied the look of her breasts and nothing deeper.
Selfish cunt.
Her best bet was to act like the white-trash she was made out to be.
"I don't know, Billy. I've slept with so many men it could be anyones."
Billy practically whooped with laughter. "Well why doesn't that surprise me! But don't you worry, I'll look after your sorry ass from now on. Ain't nowhere else for you to go. Ain't nobody else who'll want ya."
His words stung and Melanie fought the pathetic tears clawing her eyes, and stared unseeingly out of the grimy window. Billy was right. The world had gone to shit, and her only friend was a perverse, overweight strip-club owner with the emotional range of a pinhead. Candice was gone, her son was gone and the father of her unborn child was definitely gone.
The previous morning.
The impatient rapping on the door, made Melanie drop the plastic pregnancy test in alarm. Cursing, she hastily threw it on a shelf, grabbed her pink flannel dressing gown and hurried to the door. It was Daryl, and she unconsciously brushed away the flyaway strands of her unbrushed hair. Breathing deeply, she opened the door.
"Hey," she said, forcing a wide smile. "Thought you weren't comin' over till two."
The man called Daryl, shook his head slightly in exasperation.
"Merle?"
"Merle."
"Come on in."
Daryl risked a shy grin, and Melanie stepped aside to let him through. Her expression suddenly became tense as Daryl hovered near the bathroom. She had to hide the test.
"He got into another fight with the Wilson brothers, last night." Daryl began as he flopped himself onto one of the sunken chairs. It sagged pitifully under his weight.
"Again?" Melanie sympathised, locking the door and keeping a vigil on Daryl's position.
"Yeah, I know. They beat the crap outta him, and I was the one to bail him out. Again."
"Is he alright?" She sat down on the arm of the chair, lighting a Marlboro and crossing her legs. She watched Daryl's eyes slowly wander up to her breasts.
"Yeah," Daryl grunted, his gaze flying back to hers. "It's Merle."
She smiled, and absentmindedly combed her hand through his hair. He sighed at her touch, and Melanie stopped herself before she got carried away. Daryl had that hold of her, no man ever had. He was probably the best-looking man for miles, and despite his surly demeanour, he'd treated her with a kindness she thought was lost forever. It baffled her how different Daryl was to his older brother. She'd heard talk of the Dixon brothers for years, and saw Merle holding court every Saturday, up to his eyeballs in booze and breasts. One night, Merle dragged along an extremely reluctant Daryl for his birthday, and paid Melanie for a lap-dance in a private booth. It was all going well, until Merle produced a small bag of white powder from his leather waist-coat. He offered a rolled up dollar-bill to Daryl, who looked extremely reluctant.
"Oh come on, baby brother, it's your birthday ..." Merle's wicked eyes flew to Melanie, who was backing away. "You ain't going nowhere, darlin' And it's not like you never tried this stuff before ..."
He was right. Melanie had fought drugs most of her life, buying from sleazy drug-lords like Merle Dixon. In dire situations, payment wasn't always cash.
"Come on, missy ..."
Melanie backed up. If she was forced to the take the drugs, she would be ruined and Billy would black-list her from every strip-club across the county. It was one of the worst moments of her life. Merle still had his beady eyes fixed on hers. "I ain't payin' two hundred dollars for you to stand there, woman. Either you join us, or I'll make you!"
Melanie gasped loudly, and Merle sprung to his feet in alarm.
"Shut the hell up, you whore!" he hissed, striding towards her. His sweaty fingers found her throat, and Melanie instinctively kicked him in the groin. Screaming in pain, Merle made to swing his fist at Melanie's face but Daryl swiftly intervened, pinning his furious brother against the wall. A split-second later, the curtains ripped open and Billy and the bouncer - a bear-of-a-man named Hal - appeared and dragged both the brothers outside, kicking them to death. Melanie was stunned at Billy's overreaction but later discovered her boss had a personal vendetta against Merle Dixon who was responsible for the death of his previous wife. She overdosed, and Billy vowed to get his revenge.
But Melanie knew Daryl was different. Had he not protected her? She saw the younger and more honourable Dixon again two weeks after the attack in a small diner in town, and shyly thanked him for defending her. He looked extremely awkward but nodded all the same. Melanie thought that was the last she'd seen of Daryl Dixon, until she clocked him alone at the bar when Billy was out of town. The club had just closed, and she cautiously approached him; intrigued by his presence. Small-talk turned into conversation, and conversation turned into a bonding session over the hardships of their lives, unaware it was the start of something new.
After a few months, Daryl plucked up the courage to ask her for a drink but Melanie refused on the grounds of her job. But after mulling it over, and fed up of waking up sick with loneliness, she accepted. They'd dated for three years, having sex without the fear of her being pregnant. Daryl was convinced he shot blanks, having failed to conceive in a previous long-term relationship. Until now.
"So, I ain't seen you much for the past two-weeks," Daryl said, fiddling with the hem of her dressing-gown. "Everything okay?"
Melanie's stomach flipped. True, she had been avoiding Daryl due to constant morning sickness and migraines. Never did she think it was because of pregnancy.
"Yeah … just been a bit poorly, ya know." She got to her feet, and unnecessarily patted down her hair. "Hey … why don't you grab a Bud, I'm going to put my face on."
Daryl shrugged, and slouched off to the kitchen as she raced to the bathroom. Her eyes flew to the shelf where she'd put the test but it was gone.
"Shit … shit … shit … shit ..."
Panicking, she bent down and began scrambling around on the floor, looking under the cupboard and behind the toilet.
"You okay … what's this?"
Her heart stopped. Two scuffed boots stood in the doorway, and Melanie stared up in horror as Daryl squinted at the pregnancy test in his hands.
"It's … it's nothing."
She rose slowly, as Daryl's face clouded with comprehension. Silence sailed by, and Daryl clenched the pregnancy test in his hand as if it would fly out the window.
"Who's is it?"
"Sorry?"
The words caught her off-guard. Surely, he didn't think she had slept with another man! She laughed slightly at the absurdity of the situation, but this turned out to be a big mistake. The colour was rising in Daryl's cheeks and his eyes were burning with anger.
"Whose is it!"
Melanie felt herself trembling. "It's yours, Daryl! I swear! The test might even be faulty, I -"
"No wonder you've been hidin' for weeks, ya stupid bitch. Been sleepin' behind my back! My brother was right about you, nothin' but a whore!" He threw the test at the wall in disgust and strode up in front of her, his hands outstretched.
"You're going to listen to Merle?" Melanie implored desperately, "I ain't cheated on you! I would never hurt you."
Daryl lowered his hands. A combination of sheer sadness and anger battled on his face. For a moment, he simply looked at her.
"God dammit, I loved you, Mel."
Melanie sank to the floor, her body shaking with paroxysms of grief. So this was it. This was the end. He left her sobbing, exiting the flat in a wave of fury. That was the last time Melanie ever saw Daryl. The next day, her decision to drown her sorrows in Boobie Bungalow saved her life but at what cost? If the world had really ended, what future lay in carrying a baby?