DISCLAIMER: Ain't got no rights, not to the characters or the walking dead. Some times it'll follow the show, most time than not it's AU. I'll try to stay in the characters right form, while adding some of my own, and creative liberties.
The first thing Daryl Dixon saw through the haze of fog was the lurching of a long since dead man, arms extended towards him- his jaw chomping and teeth searing, wanting nothing more than to draw blood, hands wanting to kill. He felt her at his back, grunting from the strain of having to pull the stolen axe from the cranium of the falling walker, her arm brushing his to let him know she was still there. Still alive. Still breathing and fighting with him.
The pair had come tearing through the trees in a mad attempt to lose the group of hollering crazies that ambushed their make shift caravan during their first supply run since the group had established a new, semi-permanent, home base in an almost completed apartment complex. Daryl had been in the lead on a salvaged dirt bike- he's always preferred two wheels to four, no matter the type of vehicle is was. As good as he was with a bow or a knife, he was better on a bike.
However, that didn't stop him from swerving and rolling off the two wheeled machine, sliding across pavement and rocks 'till his body, and gravity, worked for him and he slowed. He'd hardly just seen the multiple layers of barbed-wire thrown haphazardly across the road, which is how he'd ended up flat on his back, grunting and thanking whom-ever might be out there that he'd worn an actual sleeved shirt that day.
The car behind him skidded and jerked jack-knifed in the road, Michonne slamming the brakes down to avoid running over the sprawled out man and his bike. No sooner did the tires stop spinning did the doors fly open, all four scampering out of the small town car to see what had caused the normally careful motorist to suddenly wreck.
It was Michonne who went straight to the source, the barb wire, while Glenn began to do a look about. Carl and Reagan, the group's latest take-in, jogging over Daryl, who was now standing and muttering unheard words. "Hey! Everyone good over-"Glenn started to shout, but was quickly hushed as the window was suddenly shot out, the sound ringing all around.
"SCAT!" Daryl shouted to the group, all five heading to the tree line for cover- it wouldn't be long now before the dead heard and made their slow, decaying way to them. Daryl pulled Carl down into a shallow trench as an arrow embedded into the tree three inches above where the boys head had been.
Eyes never leaving looking away from between the two fallen branches Carl spoke, "What the hell is happening!?" He gained no response as another shout made them perk up. It was a females voice, but definitely not Michonnes, the voice was too small, with too much of an accent; Reagan. At the sound of her bleak and yelped "Fuck!" Daryl was bonding thru the trees to find her, Carl hot on his tail- gun raised and ready to shoot. The duo had made a turn when Daryl was knocked clean backwards, for the second time that day, on his back. 'Oof' and several grunts came from both Reagan and Daryl, Carl staying quiet while he scanned the trees for Michonne and Glenn.
"The hells wrong with ya'!" Daryl started in, before he noticed the long cut down the small girl's forearm, blood flowing between her fingers as she pressed into the near foot-long cut. He reached out a dirt covered hand to check and see how deep the cut was as Regan jerked her arm back, grabbing Carls out stretched hand and standing up-right again. "We gotta move, he ain't far-", as if the 'he' had been waiting for a signal to appear, a tall, broad man reached from beyond the tree and yanked Reagan's pale blonde hair backwards, pressing a pre-bloodied knife to her neck.
Carl, whose gun was already drawn, spun and aimed…then aimed higher as Daryl raised his crossbow to level with the cold, dead and dark eyes of the man. The man grinned, showing sharpened bloody teeth, and then he giggled. A real long, eerily drawn out giggle. Reagan's eye's wide and wild, blood running down her arm, dripping small drops from her elbow to the leaf scattered forest floor. Arms bent behind her head to try and loosen the vice grip on her hair, she wiggled. Daryl eyed the man, him nor Carl speaking as the man just giggled and whispered about good eating's and babies. The fanged man dropped her hair and gripped her wrists; both in one hand, and yanked them behind her back. He then flung her sideways, directly into a tree, knocking the wind from her as he advanced towards her two companions.
He was clearly insane, for he kept giggling and smiling as he raised the long rusted and bloody knife over-head. Insane or stupid, Daryl wasn't sure because the guy had knife against a gun and a bow. "Carl!" Reagan gasped, wanting to scream for him to shoot…but she didn't have to. He'd known from the second the broad man had dropped the girl that he was going to shoot him. Normally the teen would allow Daryl to handle this- his weapon was much quieter and more practical for this world than a pistol, but Carl figured there had already been a few shots fired at them and that was more than enough to draw the walkers in. What he wasn't counting on was the second gun shot, and the bullet that sliced thru the air almost deadly close to his upper leg.
The graze-by forced him forward in shock, waking Daryl from his brief moment of awe at the teens perfect head shot. Daryl grabbed Carl's side to prevent him from falling and looked for Reagan, who was already on her feet and taking Carls gun. "Gotta go..." Daryl drawled out in a rushed breath, half carrying the limping boy. Reagan occasionally spinning to see if they were being followed, or if she could see Michonne or Glenn.
Jumping down a small drop-off, the three kept running thru the woods in a large circle trying to make their way back to the abandoned car. When it occurred to Daryl that they weren't being followed he slowed enough to let Carl almost touch the ground. The kid was nearly fifteen, but Daryl had many years and height on his side. Reagan pushed forward from the tree line towards a small opening field, almost thinking her eyes had been tricked into seeing something shinning. She was about to turn back towards the males when a whistle snapped her head back to the field. Michonne was standing along the trees just across it, Glenn kneeling beside her. Alerting Carl and Daryl of this, the three headed passed the trees, pausing to be cautious, and then began to move. It wasn't until they were half-way into the clearing when the sound of what had to be a Jeep or some other off-road vehicle jerked their attention back behind them.
Michonne didn't have to shout the "Move your asses, hurry!" to get them going, but it didn't stop her; Glenn rocking on the balls of his feet beside her, ready to run as soon as the three made their way to them. Daryl had basically carried the teen across the field, and was relieved when Glenn tucked his arm under the teens. "Where's Rea?" Glenn rasped out in ragged breaths as they ran/limped. This struck Daryl odd, Reagan was with them a moment before the engines rev had kicked their asses into high gear; he turned, seeing her, or what he assumed was her as the grass was tall and there were two men shirking and hunched over in the field.
Letting go of Carl, Daryl yelled for the three to keep going, to back track to "home base." He wheeled around and raised his bow, knocking a bolt ready and then letting it sore into one of the men's shoulders. He was ready to draw it back again when he saw a flash and heard a yelp of pain, and then a shrill laugh. Reagan has raised her boot-knife and sliced on the men's faces. Not as deep as she'd have liked but enough so that he'd let go of her legs and she was able to shove her boot clad foot into the face of the other.
Rolling onto her stomach and sprinting towards the crossbow wielding figure, moving down around the tree line, hollering for her to hurry the hell up. As if she had to be told twice, her muscles seared and her stomached burned from the quick breaths and constant moving, but Reagan has made it to him and jumping towards Daryl, grabbing his arms and spinning- they ran.
And ran, and ran; 'till they burst into a larger clearing that had to be near water, what with all the fog around them. The pair heard the groans before they could see any sign of a walking corpse. Instantly lost in the muck, they turned back to back. A tactic the group had used many times on runs, or during life on the run.
So Daryl wasn't all the shocked when Reagan grabbed his hand with her free one and began scooting her feet forward, with him following. In fact, the only thing that shocked Daryl was when a pair of headlights shown thru the fog, illuminating the dark shapes of three walker bodies. Having turned to see where the light came from, Reagan never saw the walker come from behind and grab her. She only felt the dull weight on her shoulder and then the white-hot pain of teeth imbedding into the meat between her shoulder and neck. The corpse ripping back, her pale flesh being swallowed down its skinless throat; Daryl heard the girl next to him gasp as she was pulled backwards, drawing his focus from the lights to her in time to see her pull forward again and swing on her heels, bringing the axe down into the forehead of a walker.
Just as he turned back towards the approaching lights he was shoved backwards as Reagan jumped in front of him, raising her arm to defend them both. He watched wide-eyed with limps hands as the decaying walker sank its rotten teeth into her smooth, pale skin. A cold sweat washed over Daryl as she whimpered once before ripping her arm from its mouth, a few teeth implanted into the meaty skin still.
"Daryl! Run!" Reagan yelled turning and grabbing his hand with her un-bit arm while cradling the blood soaked other to her chest.
They ran for hours, or what felt like hours, all in a wide circle to find the road again. Daryl now pulling her in the direction he seemed to think would lead them back 'home'. Finally, as the sun started to lower slightly, Reagan jerked her hand from his and stopped. Daryl whipped around, expecting to find her digging her knife into a walker, having lost the axe after being bitten. Instead he saw her frowning and looking at her arm.
"C'mere…" Daryl started, but as he took a step forward, she took two back. His frown deepened, "Ya ain't turned yet, c'mere an we can cut it off now…stop it 'fore it even starts…" However, neither moved as Reagan pulled the collar of her vest over, showing him the still bleeding ripped flesh. "You can't cut this away Daryl…I'm sorry…" Reagan trailed off, raising her good arm to her face, biting at her thumb nail. Daryl just watched her, too shocked to speak. Eyes wide and mouth ajar, he stepped towards her. This time she didn't move backwards- too lost in thought to notice him advancing; him too lost in her confession of having been terminally bitten to notice the sound of twigs breaking too close by.
"I ain't gon' leave ya 'ere…" Daryl says, grabbing for her arms, "We can go back, get Bob to figure somethin' out…" Reagan raised her head, and he saw defeat in her storm-grey eyes….defeat and sadness. Reagan just shook her head, muttering how she only had one regret and now she wouldn't get to have a re-do. Daryl lowered his eyes to hers, rubbing his hands absent mindedly up and down her arms. "You know what it was?" She spoke, looking directly at him for the first time in days, "Jus' letting you walk out that day, back at the showers…now I'll never know…"
Reagan attempted to step back after her "confession", but Daryl's grasp just got tighter. He started to speak when Reagan suddenly spun them, switching their places. That's when Daryl saw it, the same giggling man, now with a long cut down his cheek, aiming a gun. He didn't have time to knock them down, the shot had already been fired and Reagan was knocked forward, small hands clutching into his leather vest.
"Rhea! Rhea…not like this…" Was the only thing she heard as the world turned even colder and became a mass of black fog.
