A/N: Brief summary: After the world ends, the government isn't around to hide their secrets. Some secrets couldn't hide if they wanted to. Some secrets hide all too much. Other secrets lie around in wait, silently anticipating the day they can break their shell and be open to the world. In my case, to a family.
Disclaimer: I do not own in any way The Walking Dead, Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon (as much as I may want to), or any of the characters you are familiar with and native to the story. I do own my main character (who's name is yet to be disclosed), her storyline, the idea for her story line, and all other characters that are not from the original TV show.
It was cold. Far too cold for Georgia. But then it was unbearably hot. So hot I was sure I could cook an egg on my forehead. A moment later it was freezing. Then right back to sweltering. One thing I've learned is that if you're close to death already, the weather doesn't matter. The sun was still high in the sky but waves of chills relentlessly swept over me, goose bumps on my skin as numerous as the dead. By this time it was impossible for me to tell if it was my body responding to the weather or to the gaping wound in my side.
I was caught in periodic unconscious spells. Black would consume my mind for a few seconds and all would be blank, no pain, no sight, no smell. But those brief moments were short lived and each time I was harshly yanked back into painful reality. I gasped for precious air, each step like having a knife thrust into my side. It could've been worse. I could be dead. I'll be okay. I was trained for these scenarios. I went through the steps in my head.
Step one: Control the bleeding.
I limped over to a fallen log lying on a river bed not too far away. Gingerly, I sat on the surface of the wood, cringing as it came into contact with my side. I stretched my right leg away from the log to keep from causing more pain than was necessary. Tugging the hem of my shirt upwards and away from the wound, I hissed, biting into my collar. I unbuttoned my pants and inhaled, readying myself for the wave of pain I was about to endure. I just wanted to get this over with. I yanked the top of my pants down to my thigh, the fabric irritating the wound as it passed over. I squeezed my eyes shut. It wasn't the nastiest of scrapes. If the aim had been even slightly more angled to the left, I would have a bullet imbedded into my leg and my day would've probably won an award for being the shittiest.
I pushed my index and middle finger into the muscle where my torso met my right leg. The 'bikini line' they had told me.
Step two: Clean the wound
If it had been a normal day, before the whole world had gone to shit, I would've rejoiced at sight of the river. Water to drink and water to clean bullet holes. Today however, my life seemed to be taking a turn for the worst.
I grit my teeth and pulled out my canteen of drinking water. Time was spent purifying this water for the times I needed refreshment. I knew I would have to use it for cleaning wounds anyway, but it hurt all the more now that it was necessary. I wasn't going to risk getting infected from dirty water just so I could save myself one day to die the next.
I knew I already was, in a way, but I wasn't quite ready to push my luck.
A rustling from behind startled me and I jerked my head up, knife in hand. A goon was stumbling towards me, idiotically groaning and gnashing its teeth. I squinted, stars appearing in front of my eyes. Of all times, this was not a good one to be attacked for my innards. Wincing as I attempted to balance on my left leg, I grabbed hold of its chest and imbedded my knife into its skull. Pushing it into the river, I thumped back onto the log with a huff. I bit back a groan as I struggled to wet a rag, my hands trembling and more water spilling out of the canteen than I needed. I clamped the rag onto my side and hissed. It stung like a bitch, but I had to get this done.
Step Three: Bandage the wound
Holding the rag with my left hand I rummaged through my backpack with my right. I was running low on bandages so I had to wisely use what I had left. I shifted a bit to help myself get a good hold on the bandage, and then wrapped it around my other side. Gauze tape was the cherry on the ice cream, holding everything in place. Shelter was the first thing on my mind. There was no way I could survive the night with a limp and limited water supply.
After looking around for signs of life, or anything with the absence of, I carefully stood up. Almost immediately, pain shot through my side like fire and I once again bit my tongue to keep from crying out. Attracting attention to myself in my current state was like camping with food in your tent: guaranteed suicide.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped gingerly ahead. Again came the expected result, pain. I winced each step I took, trying to come up with anything to keep my mind away. I busied myself with an eye out for goons and signs of possible shelter. I faintly remembered Philip mentioning a prison and hostile forces in the same sentence. Shelter was the only thing that mattered to me at this moment, hopefully I could find it before nightfall and hopefully the people staying there, if there happened to be any, would be docile enough to let me stay until I was healed.
If I had to fight them for it, fine, I've done worse.
A goon groaned in front of me and although I kept walking, I waited for it to approach me. I didn't have enough energy to waste chasing after stragglers. Its decaying fingers reached out to grab a hold of my clothes, but I pushed it into a tree and quickly ended its life. Or whatever was left of it, if it was considered life at all. If my senses weren't too preoccupied with the searing pain in my right torso they would've elaborated on the hideous stench that arose from the corpse. Instead, I was too exhausted to pay attention to the smell and wearily continued forward.
Stars sparkled in the edges of my vision and I struggled to continue in a straight line. Evening was quickly coming upon the world and I still had no plan of temporary refuge. I was betting my life on this prison. The chances of me surviving this night with no food and a bleeding abdomen were as slim as a goon politely asking to sit down for tea.
I'll admit, that was an exaggeration, but at this moment I couldn't care. I felt like I had been sat on by a sumo wrestler and my legs lit aflame. And generously tossed into a clothes dryer for a few rounds.
My stomach began to turn in knots and my eyesight began to go hazy. Bile rose in my throat and I stumbled along until my arm hit a tree. Balancing myself against its sturdy trunk, I leaned forward to place my other hand on my knee. The bullet wound screamed at the sudden application of pressure, but I ignored it. My eyesight was just beginning to return when an unsettling sensation traveled from my gut to my throat and the next thing I knew I was emptying the contents of my stomach onto the ground in front of me. I coughed and sputtered and the curses that began to spill out of my mouth turned into gurgling as my belly decided to go for another round.
As soon as my body had relieved itself and I wiped away the spittle at the edge of my mouth, I breathed heavily and leaned against the tree trunk. How I wished I could just lie down in the leaves and fall asleep right then and there, but to do that would be to sign the contract for your imminent death.
Thoroughly exhausted, I resumed my trek through the forest, the ever falling night threatening to close any minute. A goon groaned from somewhere behind me, but I didn't turn to look for it. Instead, I briskly picked up my pace despite the aching wound in my side threatening to kill me itself.
I began to come to terms with death. My eyes were starting to give out on me and I was almost positive I wouldn't feel my leg in the morning at the extent I had pushed it. My luck had run out and skill could only take me so far, despite the many years of training I had endured.
I wasn't going to sit there and wait for death to come to me, however. That would be rather boring and I'd rather limp my way into a posse of goons than put a bullet in my brain, waiting for something that I might have a small chance of avoiding. A slim chance is always better than none.
Speaking of the devil, a posse of goons was exactly what I walked into. The sky was already darkening and there was one, maybe two hours of light left at the most. Enough to see my hand in front of my face, but not enough to find cover while surrounded by monsters trying to tear you apart and pick their bones from their teeth.
I buried the blade of my dagger into the eye socket of the closest goon. There were about a dozen of them, probably more that I couldn't see. They were scattered, thank heaven, and not all had noticed my presence.
Then my heart skipped a beat. Maybe my luck hadn't run out. Ahead of me peeked double rows of chain link fences. Beyond them loomed a dark, ominous building I could only presume to be the prison.
Ignoring the searing pain shooting through my leg, I started to run. If I had been in peak condition I could've made it to the fences in mere seconds, but I hadn't been in that state for a long time and I was surrounded by goons wanting to eat me. I buried my blade into another skull and pushed the body aside. More had noticed me and had started wobbling their way to where I stood, but all I could think of was getting to the other side of those fences. If there were stragglers I could pick them off, somewhere even remotely safe to stay for the night was suitable for my condition.
My speed picked up. I had to get there before the goons bore upon me, and there was no way I could let that happen with refuge being so close in front of me. I could almost touch it.
There was a figure standing on the other side. At first I thought it was a walker, but it just stood there, not moving.
"Hey…" I called out, my voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "Hey!" I called again, managing to get it loud enough I was sure the figure heard me.
The moaning of the goons became louder as I finally reached the fence. Another figure appeared next to the first.
"Open the gate," the command came out of my mouth before I could think of what I was saying. "Open it, please…" This place was my last hope. If I couldn't get on the other side of this fence now, I was goon dinner. Their groans only became louder as they came closer and I let go of the fence only to silence the moans of a goon ready to tear into my shoulder. I heard voices, human voices, coming from the two figures, but the hungry calls of the goons behind me silenced any hope of me hearing what they were saying. The voices stopped but the figures didn't move to help me. If anything, the first figure turned around and the other figure followed suit. It was then I realized they weren't going to help me, if I wanted to live I'd have to save myself.
I kicked a goon away and pulled myself up the fence. Small feet gave me an advantage as the toe of my shoes slipped easily through the gaps. The only drawback I had was the river of blood and severe pain emanating from my side. I was positive I just ripped whatever mend it had formed since I had cleaned it, but right now safety was my number one concern. If I lived past this night I could clean it in the morning.
I clamped my jaw tightly on the collar of my jacket to stifle the cries of pain that threatened to escape as I pulled myself further and further up the fence. The goons could no longer reach my boots, but one misstep and I was a late night snack for them for sure. The barbed wire at the top dug into my hands as I pulled myself up the final stretch. Any normal person would think I've lost my mind, climbing over prison walls that have the sole purpose of keeping that from happening. Perhaps I have, fear and pain do scary things to people.
By now darkness had fully come upon us and I was struggling for a good hold on the other side of the fence. At last I was able to link my fingers through the holes, too high for the goons to reach, and prepared to jump to the other side. I was now positive I'd lost my mind, but at this moment I had nothing to lose. It was either fall to your imminent death of consumption by walking corpses, or fall and grasp to the slim chance of not dying. I chose the latter, and jumped. My boots hit the ground first, but my leg finally betrayed me and I collapsed on the hard ground. My head hit it hard, and the last I remember was thinking I could've sworn I'd left the goons behind, when I felt a pair of hands grasp my shoulders.
A/N: For any of my readers that follow my Assassin's Creed fanfic, Queen of Hearts, don't get your feathers ruffled and expect an update soon.:)
R+R is great, constructive criticism is my sole desire in life.
With much love, ~Tiny.
