Since my first story didn't bode over well and because I didn't have as much heart in it, I erased it and decided to work on the one I really wanted to write and have been for a while now. Thus, this. I hope you enjoy. It is a Daryl and OC romance; don't like, don't read. The story will start from Season 2 and will go on from there. Please, review. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own The Walking Dead, comics or the television series, nor do I own the characters. All I own is my main OC, some other OCs, and some plot points.
Warnings: Daryl and OC romance, crude humor, swearing, mentions of types of abuse, gore, sexual content, and references to drugs and alcohol.
Prologue:
Even beneath the shade of the full leaves and branches within the thick woods provided little sanctuary from the summer humidity of the Georgia sun. As if the atmosphere didn't already feel like Hell on Earth with it crumbling more and more every day thanks to the rapidly increasing undead.
Golden tresses were loosely done in a braid to try and lessen the heat accumulating along her brow and neck, a few damp strands sticking to the of her frame of her flushed and clammy face. Loose, cool clothing felt as heavy as the backpack around her shoulders and the gun strapped to her thigh. Her body protested with every step that took her through the brush, ruddy cowboy boots crunching dead leaves and twigs as quietly as possible while pale green optics looked this way and that, left and right, up and down for any sign of suspicious movement. At the same time, keen ears kept acutely aware to any rustle.
Rustling that she ultimately heard in the near distance, sluggishly heading in her direction. Quickly, despite her exhaustion, the blonde woman ducked behind the nearest tree.
Holding her breath, ignoring how it made her more light-headed than she already felt, the lone female peered over her bare shoulder through the trunk. Closer and closer, the shuffling came until a man or at least the remnants of one, looking more like a decaying corpse than a human being, appeared within her sights. Steadily, making no sudden movements, she reached behind her to peel the small hunting knife from the back of her jeans, where it was tucked.
The Walker, the walking dead man approaching her, was close for her to strike, thus she prepared her person for exactly that. However, just as she was about to do so, a man, a living one, adorned in bloody clothing, jumped out from the woodwork, calling out to the monstrosity. And with no sign of a weapon, no less.
Was he insane? Was he trying to get himself killed?
Frantically, on instinct, the blonde acted quickly.
Springing out from her hiding place, the woman gave a mere albeit forceful flick of the wrist to send the blade into the side of the Walker's head. With a sickening crack and gurgle, it went down motionless. Finally, it was dead with no chances of reanimating, just as the way things were supposed to be.
The man she had just saved just stared, as if dumbfounded by the sight of her, and she opened her mouth to call out to him and question his sanity—who went gallivanting through the woods these days with no way of defending themselves?—only for all the words, breath hitching, to die on her tongue when her ears perked at the sounds of shuffling leaves. Heart lurching, the blonde shakily spun around, yanking out the silver Smith and Wesson pistol from its holster.
The arrow of a crossbow was what she came face to face with; a crossbow that she was all too familiar with. Again, her heart jolted before beginning to pound within her ribcage.
It couldn't be…
Ever so slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet the piercing, cautious one of dark cobalt. That color of eyes and what swirled in them were things she could never forget and never thought she'd ever see again.
" Well, if it ain't lil' Dare-Bear Dixon."
"…'ey, Kit-Kat."