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Salvation
Summary: Daryl Dixon has hunkered down for the apocalypse, and he's all but ready to spend the rest of whatever amount of time's he's got drinking himself into a stupor until the walking dead find him. But his entire world is turned upside down—again—when an injured stranger lands on his doorstep.
Chapter 1
Daryl Dixon shivered as the winds changed. Taking a peek up at the blackening sky, he would have thought all hell was about to break loose, if it hadn't already. He grunted, hammering in the last of the nails into the boards over the shutters. With a last glimpse up at the rolling clouds, he retreated into the little cabin. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing he'd ever owned for himself, only because a grandfather he'd never met up and died and left it to him in his will.
He grabbed his beer off the top of the old black and white television set. It wouldn't work, even if he'd had electricity, so it pretty much served as another dust collector.
He settled down in his chair, a chair very much like the one his old man's ass had been plastered to in the last few years of his life. He smirked as he took a sip. Daryl'd never been one to sit around and drink all day, but the world fell apart, there were no jobs to go to, there was no money to earn, and the dead were getting up and eating the living. So why not just stay in and drink? It sounded like a solid plan.
The shutters groaned, and the old cabin creaked and shuddered as the wind picked up, whistling through cracks in the walls. He muttered under his breath and put his beer down, heading over to shove a book case in front of the problem wall. He made a mental note to fix it later. Piece of shit cabin was falling apart, but it wasn't exactly a great time to head into town to the hardware store. If it wasn't the storm that would kill him, it was the hoard of walking dead outside.
A flash of lightening was immediately followed by the booming thunder that shook the little cabin so hard the silverware rattled in the drawers. His hand squeaked against the glass as he rubbed at the fog on the window, and he one of the older trees outside had fallen, and the cover of his brother's motorcycle had blown off and slapped up against one of the fence posts.
"Fuck," he groaned, pulling his coat on and tugging the door open. He rushed outside, narrowly avoiding getting smacked in the head by a flying tree branch, and he grabbed his motorcycle by the handles and struggled to get it up to the side of the cabin. He grabbed a chain and looped it through the spokes of one tire before sliding the chain around an old pipe sticking out of the ground. Once he retrieved the cover, he pulled it back over the bike and rushed back into the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him.
He shivered and shrugged his coat off, moving over to the kitchen sink to grab a dry towel. As he ran it through his hair and over his face and neck, he heard something outside. At first, he thought it was the wind, but when it grew louder, he could hear it was a scream.
"What the hell?" he mumbled, going back to the door and peeking out the window next to it. All he could see were sheets of rainwater soaking the earth. But when a bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky, the world lit up long enough for him to see a shadow running in the rain. His head told him to let it go, pretend he didn't see anything. The voice of his brother echoed through his head. Ain't your business. Leave it be. Don't go there, baby brother. But before he knew what was happening, the figure was pounding on his door.
"Hello? Please, help me!" It was a woman. Don't do it, Darylena. She's just a set of tits. It's a cruel world. She can't help herself, maybe she should just stay on the other side of that door. Hell, she's probably bit. Dead already. Daryl swallowed hard, pushing back all the bullshit he'd been fed his whole life, all the every man for himself bullshit his brother had pounded into his brain all throughout school, which was why he'd been the weird loner kid that everybody whispered about in the cafeteria. Fuck, Merle. Merle was in prison or dead now. But he wasn't.
He opened the door, not sure what the hell he was expecting, but he sure as hell didn't expect to see the most beautiful damned thing he'd ever seen in his life. Standing there, shivering and drenched with rain, her short, auburn hair with streaks of grey plastered to her head, blue eyes wet with what was either rain or tears. She was cut up and bruised, and before he even had the chance to ask her if she was bit, she began to fall, and he caught her before she hit the floor.
What the hell just happened?
She was light in his arms, even soaking wet, and he gave the door a kick, slamming it hard against the wind. He carried her over to the couch and lay her down. She was shivering and soaked to the bone. Without hesitation, he covered her with a blanket, and he moved to add a couple logs to the fireplace. The wood twisted and snapped as the flames feasted on them, and he warmed his hands there for a moment, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next. Check her for bites, dummy. He was slightly irritated that his train of thought came in the sound of Merle's voice tonight, but he paid it no mind. He moved back to the couch, kneeling down, examining the injuries.
She had a black eye, her nose was bloodied, but it didn't look broken. He lifted the blanket to see the scratches on her arms, the bruises in the shape of fingers. Somebody had jerked her around, that was for damned sure, but who?
He saw no evidence of bites, and no blood spots on her clothing to indicate the bites were hidden beneath clothing. He took a deep breath and covered her again. Not having the slightest clue what to do next, he went to the kitchen and poured some water into a fire-friendly coffee pot. He poured the grinds in and stirred, knowing it would probably taste like shit, but it would be warm, and she would need warm when she woke up. If she woke up.
He moved back to the fire and crouched down, hanging the pot on a wire he'd rigged above the fire. As the water began to boil, he lowered himself to sit on the floor and watched her from across the room. She moaned softly, her hands balling into fists against the blanket. Wherever the hell she'd come from, she sure as hell had no business going back.