I could never write anything that requires moving or a lot of action so I'm giving it a shot in this one. Please go easy on me o^o
Waking up in a jolt she could feel the sweat beads roll down her face. Her breaths were uneven and shallow, "Oh god." She whispered to herself and brushed back her dark brown hair out of her face. Waiting for her sight to focus, she was in a different abandon building every other night. Waking up to a different ceiling every morning was close to tearing her sanity apart. She reached over and grabbed her gun and knives, tucking them carefully into each holsters strapped up and down her waist. She was trying to be as quiet as she could, the song of the dead singing through the hallway of the old house. The groans, grunts, and moans that she had learned to hate with every fiber in her body.
Gripping the hunting knife firmly in her hand she inched to the door peeking through the crack, on the other side of the door were two rotting and decaying assholes shuffling for food. Opening the door she managed to stab the closest one to her in the head and watched as it drop down to its knees truly dead. She turned to see the other one standing perfectly still in front of her before it fell over dead an arrow sticking out of its head. Her eyes followed the direction where it would have been shot from; a man had his next arrow aimed at her. "Thanks I guess?"
"Who else is with ya?" She quickly noticed a bit of a southern accent as he spoke ushering her to put down her knife. She rolled her eyes and wiped the blood on her ripped jeans and placing it in its rightful holster. "Hey, how many are with ya?"
"It's just me." She answered sadly avoiding any eye contact with the strange man. "Can you at least put down the damn crossbow before you shot me in the face? I kinda like living ya know?" She was mocking his accent as she tried to muster any ounce of southern accent she had. He snickered at her fail attempt at a southern accent and lowered the crossbow and ripped out his arrow out of the asshole's head. It could have been ages as they just stood in that little hall staring at each other. "You look really familiar but I just can't put my finger on it."
"You get that feeling too huh?" His eyes looked her up and down, her blue jeans with on the edge of being tight and multiple tears and rip in them, not sure if it was on purpose or accident and a pair of black leather boots ending at her knee caps. A lose white tang top revealing a tattoo on her left collarbone saying 'Carpe Diem - 2008' in cursive. She had about six straps on each side of her legs with either a gun or knife tucked into them, long dark brown that had a natural curl to them and these icy blue eyes that could make just about anyone stare at them for the longest time. His eyes landed on the once white gauze wrapped on her left arm and the look of dried blood seeping through. "You've been bit haven't you? How long ago was it?"
She looked down there was no point in lying to a complete stranger. She actually found it easier telling a stranger her life struggles rather than longtime friend. "It was a while ago. . . I was being careless and it got me. It's already healed up but I just keep the wrap on to keep people from looking at it." She slowly unwrapped the bandage to prove her point; it was fully healed it just left an ugly scar about two inches in length on her forearm. "I wasn't lying. . ."
He couldn't take his eyes off her scar, it could have happened months ago, she should have been died but here she was breathing and talking to him. "How are you-"
"I don't know. I asked myself that a long time ago and every time I see it, I'm reminded that not even this fucking stupid curse would take me. Am I pathetic?"
He chuckled slightly and just smirked at her, "Don't ask me that question. Unless ya wanna get yer feelings hurts. Grab yer stuff; I need to take ya back."
"I don't want to."
"I didn't give ya a choice. Now hurry before they swarm up the stairs." Wrapping back her scar, she grabbed her backpack and leather jacket. She didn't have much to carry with her, hell no one did anymore in this world they lived in now. He held his hand out to her to keep her balance while walking over the dead assholes. She could feel his callouses brushing up against her hands, they weren't soft like a lady's hand but they weren't like sandpaper like his either. She stood next to him, he was a couple inches taller than her by a couple it was more like half a foot taller than her. "What's yer name?"
"Riley Mercer."
"Daryl Dixon." He realized he still had her hand in his and swiftly let go turning around from her. "Let's go before they catch on to us." She followed him down the stairs; he was like some grimy and smelly red neck prince. He was wearing either a black ripped up jeans or it was brown, she couldn't tell. Wearing a black jacket that was covered in dirt and had his arrows pointed in every direction like some secret agent. He put his hand up to signal her to stop; he crept along the wall and turned into the living room. She heard the sound of the arrow releasing and decided to poke her head in to see how many he was up against.
His back was turned to her and she heard the wet sound of rotten flesh mashing up together as he pulled out his arrow. She cringed from the sound, it was something she would probably never get used to and she hated that sound. "Let's go" Riley knew he was a man of very little to none words, looks like he lets his skills do the talking. What has she gotten herself into now?
And work calls for me D; See you next time hopefully?