Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.
Warning: This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.
Pairing: Daryl x Lillian James Harper
Chapter One~Give me a lever long enough, and I shall move the world – Archimedes~
Miserable. It was the only solid word to describe—without a doubt—exactly how I felt right at the time.
My back was pressed up against the hard bark of an old Georgia White-Oak, my ass was fallin' asleep on the narrow branch of my perch and I was hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night.
All in all, this was not how I had expected to spend my summer.
It wasn't even close.
With that thought in mind, I briefly released my gaze from the slow running stream in front of me and down to my left hand. There was no ring there, but there had been at one time.
Before the end of the world I had a little ceremony in mind for the second week of October; I was gonna get married. This summer was supposed to be spent rushing around, looking at dresses, tasting cake and sending out invitations, not killing reanimated bodies and living out of a backpack.
But after the world turned to shit, it wasn't a choice anymore.
Everything was about survival now and I wasn't so lucky to have my man around to provide the things that—I had not so long ago—taken for granted. Even simple things like eating or sleeping without the threat of scavengers or the undead were now surely missed. My man was not here to provide that safety for me, so I had to do it myself. It was usually easier said than done.
A bead of sweat tickled the skin on my back, bringing me back to awareness. The humidity in this part of Georgia was at an all-time high, or at least that was what I said when I internally bitched about the sweat that was pouring down my back and legs.
The air was thick, heavy and oh-so-hot. My body was sweltering under the copious material of my forest print-camouflage jeans and the reinforced patches on my ass, knees and shins did not do me any favors. I'm sure I would have been more comfortable in the pair of soft cut-offs in my bag, but I had learned long ago that I would rather be hot and sweaty than to suffer the bite of one of the many snakes slithering around out here in the hills. It didn't really matter that most of the snakes in this area weren't poisonous, because either way the bite hurt like a bitch and would easily become infected. Then, of course, there were always…geeks.
In light of the infection that had swept through my home state like a wildfire, it was the only sensible thing—besides the obvious zombie—that I could think to call them. Geeks: Those who are infected and rise after a clinical death.
I had—unfortunately—seen it happen myself once or twice, and I can tell you that the turning of a human being that I had once known into one of those things was horrifying. It was disgusting and I imagine that anyone that had the great misfortune of witnessing it wished they didn't.
It had only been once that it happened to someone I knew, but it was still enough to make me squirm every time I thought about it. That was the day I promised myself to never let one of those things get the upper hand. Now, I just wished I had factored the nasty human race into that little promise; things would certainly be different now if I had.
It was just after the infection had spread to my little corner of Georgia that I got my first—up close and personal—look at a bite.
It was an unassuming and lazy Thursday night in Trenton, my hometown. I hadn't even planned to be there at the time as I had moved to Dalton several years before, but I had gotten a call from one of my mother's many guy "friends" and I didn't have a choice but to come home. My mother had fallen off the wagon once again, though, I wasn't sure she had ever climbed on the wagon to begin with. The point is; she had overdosed in her living room and it was up to me to get her settled into another plushy rehab facility in Chattanooga. Oh the joys of family.
It took most of the day to pick her up from the hospital and get her settled in for her new round of treatment. I returned to Trenton later that evening and spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning up my mother's house. After mopping up her vomit from the living room floor, I decided that I needed a fuckin' drink in the worst way.
It was surreal being back at Backwoods Bar & Grill again. I hadn't set foot in this place since I quit and moved to Dalton almost five years ago. It was slow but it was Thursday and Thursdays were always like this. Only the locals made the trip up the mountain but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary; the regulars came in religiously every day. Pat, Jack, Heidi and Shirley all greeted me with smiles and well wishes for my upcoming plans to do the one thing I swore I'd never do, get married.
Casey, the little blond behind the bar was as sweet as peach pie, but after several failed attempts at making my Digger it became glaringly obvious that she had no idea what she was doing.
Since she looked flustered as hell and Jerry's dumbass was nowhere in sight I decided to help the girl out. I threw on my old apron, which amusingly enough—was still behind the bar, I made up a few containers of Heidi and Shirley's Washington Apples so she'd have enough to get her to Saturday and showed her how to mix a few basics that I knew she would have to learn how to make working in that bar.
I knew something was wrong when my old boss came shuffling through the front door an hour later. He was rushed and was carrying on about some crazy asshole takin' a chunk out of his arm. Something was definitely wrong, his appearance was…off too,…way off. Normally Jerry—the owner of Backwoods—was an attractive man. Almost all women thought so and he sure as Hell had enough ex-wives to prove it. Even at his respectable age of fifty-five I'd seen the man take home plenty of girls around my age. When he struggled like an eighty year old man to pull himself up the bar, I just knew…
He looked like shit. His skin was graying in some areas and he was white as a sheet in others. His arm—his bite—was forming thick yellow pustules that emitted an odor so foul it nearly made me gag. And the heat that was radiating off his body…dear Jesus, he was burning alive. I half expected him to combust into flames and turn to ash before my very eyes.
As the crowd gathered around Jerry—who was now bleeding from his eyes, ears and nose—I realized I was done with this town. I should have never came back in the first place. My fiancé had begged me not to go, but I knew my guilty conscience would eat at me forever if I didn't. But no more. Mama was always gonna be a druggy—she had been most of my life—and the sooner I dealt with that fact…the better. If she wanted to kill herself so badly just so she could get high, it was high time I let her. I was done.
I didn't say a word to anyone as I untied my short black apron and cashed out what little tips I had still sitting in the drawer from five years ago. I had plenty of money on my cards but I figured the extra cash in hand would come in handy. Nor did I bother saying goodbye when I grabbed my keys and hauled as out the back door. I had heard enough through radio transmissions and news broadcasts to know what this was; it just never occurred to me that the infection would ever make it out of Atlanta. I certainly didn't think it would make it to my little slice of heaven way out here in the hills. Apparently, it had.
I wasn't for sure what I would do now, but I did know where I was gonna start.
The drive to my daddy's cabin was a blur I barely recalled. I remembered that I tried to call the house in Dalton several times, hoping he would answer but knowing the possibility of that happen was not in my favor. He didn't answer the phone, so I left a message full of tears and told him how much I loved him, praying beyond hope that he was safe and that I might see him again one day. It wasn't what I wanted, but it would have to do.
My mind came back into focus after my mini-meltdown and I quickly got back to the task at hand; which was figuring out what I was gonna do. I had no intentions of staying in Trenton, so I knew right away that I would have to be ready for a long stay in the woods because I would most likely be going on foot at some point. The roads were already a mess when I had taken Mama to the treatment facility and I wasn't about to get caught up in that jacked up car jam. I was headed east. I was going home.
My daddy's cabin in the woods was just at the base of Lookout Mountain. It was secure property and had enough food, water, and natural gas to last me a good long while. Some folks might call me stupid for leaving such a treasure trove, but my man was all I had left in the world and I wasn't about to spend the apocalypse without him.
It was funny. My Daddy had been goin' on for decades that the world was gonna come to an end soon, so it was kinda instilled in me from the time I was a little girl how to survive. He had always been a paranoid man, and he made damn sure his daughter was trained and overly prepared for nearly any situation. I chuckled to myself when I entered the rustic room that held his armory; I bet Daddy never thought it would be flesh eating zombies that finally took us all out.
Then again, maybe he did.
My compression bow, a few rifles, side arms and my father's machete and skinnin' knives and my granddaddy's hatchet were the first things I thought to grab.
I packed as lightly as I could, but made sure I had enough clothes to get me through the cold mountain nights and frigid winters. I made sure I had an overstock of reinforced camouflage, thermals, long sleeves, sturdy boots, under armor and lots of thick socks… basically anything I could layer to protect myself from the prospect of being bitten. Then it was just a matter of loading as much non-perishable food from the pantry I could find, some homemade jerky and lots of bottled water. Then of course, I cleaned out my Dad's cigarette stash of both the legal and non-legal varieties.
My first couple of weeks weren't bad at all, and I only had to kill a few geeks here and there, but for the most part, it reminded me hunting trips and camping without the disgusting smelling men. I met a few families that didn't mind trading me the protection of the camp for a few hours of undisturbed sleep in exchange for some of the can goods or the animal pelts I had acquired on the go. It was extremely lonely during those times. Having to watch the married couples or young lovers snuggle by the firelight made me miss my man so much it hurt.
However, during my second month into the end of the world, I learned a hard lesson about trusting strangers. The lesson was simple: don't trust anybody!
I was so damn exhausted and hungry that I didn't even think twice when I met a group just on the outskirts of Trion. It was a solid group, easily eighteen of them or more. It was stupid decision, but because they had woman and children with them it never crossed my mind that they might try and hurt me, or that the woman and children might not have been there by their own free will. They were heavily armed, but at the time it just made me feel secure…safe. I was very wrong and now, I would be wearing the scars of that misjudgment for the rest of my life.
It might have been incredibly vain that I bawled the first time I saw the reflection of my face in a creek not far from where I escaped, but I couldn't help it. My face was ruined and I was disgusted by the view. It made me insecure and constantly question myself of what Daryl might think of me if he ever saw me again. From the time I had met him almost nine years ago, he always had away about him that made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet…now, I wasn't so sure. It was a stupid though anyhow, I knew he wouldn't say a damned thing about them (my scars) other than the fit of rage he'd go into when he first saw them. It was unproductive way to look at things, but I just couldn't help but think that a bride shouldn't look like the Joker on her wedding day.
It was obvious what they were planning for me and I should have just been happy that I escaped at all, with most of my dignity intact. I should have been thrilled that I killed one of the bastards that tried to rape me, but I just couldn't…not at first. I couldn't justify being happy, not when I would be wearing the scars of my own stupidity on my body forever.
It took me a couple weeks for me to become right with myself again. The stitches in my face were healing and about ready to come out. My back was still sore but at least it hadn't gotten infected. The healing of my body did wonderful things for my soul and I started to look at them in a new light. Yes, I was no longer the beauty I had once been, but I it was the end of the world…who needed a beauty queen. They were a mark of survival…and by God, I had survived. Those scars were a badge of remembrance. They insured that I would never again make so careless a mistake. Trust was now something to be earned and not easily given. No, I would never make that mistake again.
After my little self-reflection in the woods I did my best to steer clear of others—both of the human and walking dead variety. It wasn't hard keeping other humans away, any groups of nomads I had come across after I had my "surgery" usually stayed well away from me.
In my lighter moments I mused that my new face was more of a useful replant than I had originally thought. Before the scars I was often leered at both before and after the outbreak, but now men always looked disgusted when they saw my face and women would shield their children from the sight of me while they looked on in pity. I couldn't decide which was worse, the disgust or the pity.
It had been over a week since I last saw anybody, not that I minded. I had recently come across some prime hunting ground with a lot of fresh deer sign and I was in desperate need of some protein. Those bastards that had played Operation on my face had taken just about everything I had. I never did see my rifle or side arms again, they were the first things confiscated when I was captured. Too bad for those city-slinkin' idiots were to stupid or lazy to figure out my bow and my knives were left in the wall tent where I was tied up. That mistake on their part was what inevitably saved my ass.
A light crackling of the foliage in the brush under my tree thankfully snapped my out of my dark and depressing thoughts and brought my mind back into focus and back to the task at hand; which was killin' me some supper. The deer sign had been thick in this particular area. Hell, any dummy worth his salt could tell there was a herd close by. My target was a fat doe and her yearling grazing the sweet grass near the crick. The doe herself couldn't be more than a couple years old herself; judging by her size and the clear lack of instincts, and that was mighty alright with me.
Not wanting to spook the deer, I wiped my sweaty palms across my legs and carefully lifted my bow from its rest on the branch. I did a quick sight check and prayed like Hell that I was downwind enough not to alert her of my numb ass sitting in the tree not thirty feet from where she was drinking.
Fortunately for me she was blissfully unaware and she didn't so much as flick an ear at my small movements. Drawing in a deep breath, I drew my bow and lined up my crosshairs and released my breath just before I let go of the string. I relished in the sound the arrow made as it released, cutting through the air and meeting its mark just under her shoulder blade. My man would'a been proud, it was a perfect shot.
I'll admit, I squealed a little on the inside as I thought of the feast I'd be enjoying this evening. There would be a lot of work between now and supper time but it would be worth it to have some sound protein in my diet for a change. In the fog of my own happiness, I let my guard slip, failing to notice the sounds of footfalls drawing in from the south, I never even heard them until they were right on me. It was another stupid mistake on my part; failing to notice odd sounds in the woods was a disaster waiting to happen and because of my luck, it did happen.
I guess I could have blamed my mistake on the hunger gnawin' at my belly, and how I rushed because of it. I could even blame it on the adrenaline that left me shaky right after a hunt. But realistically, it was just a stupid fuckin' mistake; one that I had made yet again.
Still overcome with happy endorphins, I started my descent from the ragged tree limbs that had served as my chair for the past three hours, stupid smile on my face and everything. Then of course I finally heard the nose coming from below. It was the sound of a twig snapping, then another and another. Not prepared for the noise of walking feet, I startled and lost my grip. Before I knew what was what I was plummeting to the ground, my head smacking against a wayward branch before my body smacked into the unforgiving Georgia clay with a loud thud.
With a groan, I tried to right myself into a sitting position. It was a task that apparently my body wasn't ready for because my vision swam before my eyes and I fell backwards again. I tried to shake it off and made to try again but it was no use, I was tremblin' like a new born colt and my stomach rolled with every movement I made.
I could hear distorted voices in the distance and feet pounding against the ground, which meant they weren't those things; not that that mattered much to me anymore. Human or Geek, they were both bad and headed straight for me. I knew that humans could be ten time the evil of one of those things; fuck at least those things couldn't help themselves.
It might seem silly, but my last thoughts before the black spots took hold of my vision was how pissed off I was that I was bleedin' all over myself and probably dying while some maggot got to eat my dinner…
~(Author's Notes)~
Hello Readers,
First of all I'd like to say sorry for those of you that have already read through chapter one and chapter two before and are reading this again. Those chapters were not ready to be posted when they were.
For those of you reading for the first time, welcome.
This will be a Daryl x OC Romance set in an Alternate Universe. Some of the characters will be slightly OOC and some will be very much OOC because of the situations leading up to the outbreak of Walking Dead.
If you are a Merle hater, be warned: Merle is still an asshole but he's softer towards my Original Character for reasons that will be explained as the story goes on.
Daryl will for the most part remain the same, but will soften much easier due to his relationship with the OC.
This story may not be for you, but thanks for giving it a chance.
Thanks for reading,
LittleRin26