A/N: Hey guys! So this is a fanfic about The Walking Dead's Daryl Dixon, who in my opinion, is long overdue for some "action" haha Mature themes and language throughout. 18+ young ones!
Also, don't own the characters, the main The Walking Dead plot, setting, etc. Just my characters Sarina and Scott. Anyways, enjoy.
Chapter 1
"What the hell you doin here?" I say, raising my crossbow. "Bes' lower your gun."
Shane ignores me, keeping his aim at Randall's head.
"Hey!" I shout. "You hear me?!"
Randall starts to whimper. "Shut up!" Shane and I yell at the same time.
I grind my teeth. "Shoot him, your ass fries."
Shane shakes his head, his mouth twisting in a half smile. "Up till now," he says, "I figured you a smart son o'bitch." He looks up from Randall and stares me down. I fight the weight of my crossbow and keep my aim steady between Shane's eyebrows.
"You let him walk," he says, tipping his head towards Randall, "he'll lead his gang right to us-"
"Heard you the firs' time," I cut in. "Save your crap for Rick."
Shane laughs. "The sheriff went and made you his deputy, good for you," he mocks, holstering his weapon. I lower my crossbow, stepping out of the doorway for him to leave. He glances at it, then starts walking towards it all cocky. "He and his people will bring war to us. Blood lost will be on your hands. Yours and Rick's." He stops next to me. "But let me tell you something," he whispers, leaning close. "If it's Lori's, or Carl's, …I'll have your blood."
I scoff. "Sure, I'll trade some for your ears. Get outta my face."
He shakes his head, leaving. I let out a breath. Piece of shit.
Relaxing my crossbow, I walk over to Randall, kicking his leg with my boot. He shrieks, jumping half a foot.
"Ball up, wuss," I say, checking his blindfold. "You're bein' let off." I unchain him from the pipe and pull him up. He starts yammering against the tape across his mouth.
"Shut up. ..Or I'll break your face some more." I pulled him by his arm. "C'mon."
x...x...x...x...x
Rick tips his head towards the truck. "Put him in the flatbed."
I push Randall. "Go on." He treks up and I cuff him to the side of the flatbed.
"You ready to leave?" Rick asks, opening the driver's sidedoor.
"Yeah."
Rick starts the engine as I hop in, and he drives us off the farm. We go on in silence, keeping our eyes peeled for Walkers. Only twelve hours ago, Dale was still alive..
"60 miles you figure is enough?" Rick says after a while.
I glance behind us, at Randall. Real young.. Real cute.. Nope. "Make it at least 80."
Rick nodded. "We got gas for that… Hey!"
"What?!" I say. I follow his gaze. Up ahead we see two figures on the side of the road. Walkers. Rick was beginning to slow down when the Walkers started sprinting toward us.
"What the hell?" I mutter, reaching for my crossbow at my feet, loading it.
Rick slams on the brakes. "Those aren't Walkers." He turns off the truck and pulls out his pistol. We get out, raising our weapons. They were about 100 feet from us now, a guy and a girl.
"Whoa! Hands above your head!" Rick yells as we approach. I circle around, flanking them to a stop.
"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" shouts the guy, raising his arms high. "We're unarmed!"
"Your girl ain't!" I say, eyeing her sheathed knife tied around her waist.
"Down on the ground!" Rick barks. "Get down!"
The guy and girl lower themselves on their knees then lay down on the road. I go to the girl and pull off her knife, a real good one, military grade. Rick pats down the guy, who was clean.
"I told you not to bring it!" the guy snaps at her.
"Shut up, Scott!" the girl bites back. "You swear I'd leave it behind!"
"Alright, sit up," says Rick as he glances down the road. I looked too, but these two were alone. "Who are you? What are you doing out here by yourselves?"
"By ourselves?" the guy repeats, getting up to one knee. "We're not twelve."
"You look about seventeen," Rick says to the girl.
She scowls. "I'm twenty-three, jackass." She pushes her long, straight dark hair away from her face with one hand.
"Who are you with?" I say, jabbing my question to the guy, Scott.
He narrows his eyes up at me. "No one. You wanna point that thing somewhere else?"
Rick and I exchange looks and lower our weapons.
"Look, we don't want any trouble," says Scott. "Just let us go."
At ten miles from the farm, no way.
"Where are you headed?" Rick asks. They glance at each other and stay silent. "Where did you come from?" Rick continues. "Where's your camp?" The couple doesn't answer. Rick gets closer to them and rests down on one knee to their eye level. "You got, what? One backpack and a knife between the two of you, and you want us to believe you've been surviving like that all on your own? How many people are in your group? Where did you not want to leave your knife behind, sweetheart?"
The girl just returns Rick's stare coolly. She shrugs. "Who's that you got in the back of your truck?" Rick and I look back at Randall chained up on the flatbed. Wrong move. The girl tackles me behind my knees, making me buckle to the ground. Before I can react, she jabs her wrist up my lip and nose, cutting my inner lip and making my nose gush almost immediately.
"Hey!" yells Rick, pulling out his gun, but the girl already locked her arm around my neck and has her knife pressed against my throat.
"Drop it!" she shouts. Rick merely points his gun Scott, who hadn't even moved.
"You drop it," Rick says loudly. "Nobody has to get hurt."
We all look at each other, figuring out the situation. The girl shakes her head and groans. "Dammit, Scott!"
"Damn you, crazy!" Scott snaps back. "Why the hell you gotta go psycho all the time?!"
The girl gave up, letting me go. I immediately got up, yanked her knife out of her hand. She stands up slowly, facing me, unafraid. I pulled her to me by the hair.
"You wanna try that again, bitch?" I say lowly, my bloody breath against her lips. We lock angry stares.
"Relax, Daryl, they're down." Rick says. I let out a huff, letting go of her. We didn't break eye contact, even when Rick pulled me aside. She's trouble.
"So," Rick begins, in a low tone. "What do we do about them?"
I shrug. She smiles slightly, crossing her arms. "Take them along for the ride, drop them off with Randall."
"Yeah," Rick nods. "Yeah I figured the same." Rick turned back to the couple, waving them over. "Let's go, you're coming with us!"
They exchanged looks. "Where?" Scott says.
"Don't you worry about that, just get in the truck," says Rick.
Scott started walking over, but the girl didn't move. "Sarina, come on," Scott snaps. The girl, Sarina, stands her ground. "You're taking us against our will, well at least take us in the other direction," she says.
"Can't do that," Rick says plainly.
"You got no choice, girly," I say, reaching for her arm, but she ducks out.
"Sarina!" Scott snaps.
"Scott!" she snaps back. "Don't forget why we're out here in the first place! We cannot go that way!"
"Why not? Walkers?" Rick asks.
"Walkers?" Scott asks. "You mean Roamers? No."
Sarina presses her lips together. Enough of this! I raise my crossbow and point it at Scott's right leg.
"Get in the truck," I say to Sarina, "Or he crawls in!"
"We can't go back that way!"
"Why not!"
"We just can't!"
"Why!?"
Sarina huffs, defeated. She points at the truck. "Because we're running away from his friends, alright!" Rick and I exchange glances. Randall's boys? Sarina continues. "We're running away from our camp."
Rick turns to Scott. "Why's that?"
Scott shrugs angrily. "You think my sister's crazy?" he says, pointing a thumb at Sarina. "The guys we're getting away from, they're dangerous. They're scavengers, the barbaric kind. We had to get away. They're driving around right now, looking for a place to scavenge, people to rob and hurt. And their camp's that way, the way you were headed. We need to go the other way or at least get off the road. You don't want to listen to us? At least let us go!"
I look at Rick, recognizing the look on his face. Damn it.
"Alright," he says. "We'll head the other way, drop you off with Randall."
"Ha ha," Sarina says, humorless. "Not going anywhere with him."
"Oh well," I say. I know where this is headed.
"Why can't we go back to your camp?" asks Scott.
"NO!" me and Rick answer at the same time. Rick cleared his throat uncomfortably. "No. You're not welcome there."
"He isn't, I can tell," says Scott, eyeing Randall and the open cuts and bruises on his face. Courtesy me and Shane. "Hey Randall, long time no see." Randall shakes his head, not being able to say or see anything himself.
"Let's just get in the truck," Rick says exasperatedly. "We'll work it out on the way." I glance down the road, from where the two nomads came. The road looked empty as far as I could see, but that could change in a minute.
"Fine," scoffs Sarina. "Shotgun."
"You wish," I say, opening the passenger door and pulling forward the seat for her.
She scowls. "You're not thanked." And climbs into the back.
"You're not welcome," I replied. I climb into the passenger seat as Rick and Scott get in through Rick's side.
Rick fires up the truck and we U-turn to go the other way. We drive for a while in silence. I held my breath when we passed the road that leads to the Greene farm, but I didn't suspect that Scott or Sarina figured that that's where we're from. It just looked like any other small road in these parts. I did notice, however, Scott holding his side protectively. A wound?
"So if you guys are getting away from Randall's group," Rick says, breaking the silence. "Why were you on the road? Out in the open? Why not trek through the cover of the trees?"
Scott snorts. "Cuz that's how you literally run into Roamers."
"Is that how you got hurt?" I say.
The truck was silent for a second. "What do you mean?" says Rick.
"Oh, you're talking about this?" says Scott and pulls up his shirt. Yep, an injury, looks like. Covered in an amateur dressing. "Fell into a pointy rock while Sarina and I were running from Roamers."
"Shut up, Scott," Sarina hisses.
"Shut up why?" asks Rick suspiciously.
Scott rolls his eyes. "She doesn't want me to tell you guys about how she wanted to take them all on with her mighty knife."
I laugh, pulling out the thing. It really was a good knife.
"Can I have it back, please?" Sarina asks, all sweet.
"Lemme think about that," I say sarcastically. "No." I caught Rick concealing a smile.
"So listen up," he says in Rick mode. "We're dropping you guys off with Randall a few miles up ahead."
"How many miles," Sarina says loudly.
"Does that matter?" he asks. "We're leaving you far away from your camp you say you're getting away from."
"Fine," she scoffs. Scott tries to say something but she cuts him off. "Just leave it. We don't need 'em."
We drive in silence for over an hour. I spotted a few Walkers along the way but they weren't headed in the direction of the farm so we ignored them and kept driving until we traveled a good 70-80 miles. Rick stopped the truck and turned it off.
"Right," he says, getting out. Scott hopped out after.
"Move it," Sarina says from the back.
I scoff, grabbing my crossbow and getting out. Rick gets on the flatbed and unchains Randall from the truck. He takes off his blind, too, then starts helping him off the truck.
"Where do you think you're going?" Sarina says, grabbing my arm as I started towards the back of the flatbed. "My knife?"
"You wait," I say, pulling out of her grasp. I go to the end up the flatbed to pick up the bag of provisions, handing it to Rick.
"Right," he says. "So here's some food, some water, enough to get you started. "
Scott steps up to us. "Let me talk to you, can we talk for a sec?"
"Scott," Sarina begins, frustrated. "Just let them—"
"Sarina," he cuts in. "I love you, but please just shut up. Please," he says to us, pointing to the side of the road. Rick and I walk over with him.
"Okay, look," he says lowly. "I know you must have some mistrust with our group, I can tell. Randall's face has definitely seen better days." Rick shifts uncomfortably. "But we're not like him!" Scott whispers loudly. "I'm asking, not for me but for my sister, for you to let us join your camp. Listen!" he says we I began to protest. "We can hunt for food, kind of. We can fight off Roamers—"
"Yeah right, Mr. Pointy Rock," I cut in.
"That-" Scott stammers, defending himself. "They ambushed us, okay? I'm pretty handy with a gun, I just don't have one. And Sarina, you should see her handle her knife, she's like a pro."
"That supposed to convince us we could trust 'er?" I say. "She broke my nose."
Scott rolls his eyes. "It ain't broken, man, grow a pair. 'Sides, she's a girl. You're a punkass for letting her get the best of you."
"Scott," Rick says to Scott, holding me back as well. Punkass?! "Right, I know you're jus' tryin to protect your sister, look I get that, but we can't bring you back with us. You're just going to have to tough it out with Randall."
Scott sighs in frustration. "Fine but just know why that's gonna be a problem with my sister." Scott looks over his shoulder at Sarina. She wasn't paying any mind to us. She was just looking across the open meadow on her side of the road, arms crossed. Scott continues, "Sarina will kill me if she knew I was telling you this, so hush it. Two nights ago, the guys in our group came back from their little trip, shaken from their fight with you guys I'm guessing, and a bunch of Roamers, and they got really drunk; and they-they tried to jump my sister, okay? They tried to rape her. Like, gang rape." Rick and I exchange glances. Shit. "Look, Randall wasn't with them, obviously, but if he was back with us at our camp, you can sure as hell bet he would have wanted to get a piece of her. Sure as hell, man. I know it, she knows it, so she hates his and all their guts."
"How'd you get away?" I say, looking at Sarina. She kicks a pebble on the ground, glances at us, then turns her back.
"Two Roamers stumbled into our camp," Scott answers. "The guys spooked, Sarina and I made a break for it during the shooting." Scott sighs, shaking his head. "They- they were about ready to rape her right in front of me." He trains his eyes on Rick. "We're not like them. But you will be if you leave us here, make us split that measly bag of snacks you call provisions between the three of us."
Rick and I exchange glances. And for once I agree with that look. He sighs. "Fine."
A/N: Read and review, peeps, or I may not bother to continue. If there ain't no audience, how can I call my writing art? So please R&R :)
-liz