My first walking dead story, I don't think I'm going to follow the walking dead story line, but this begins after they escape the farm.
PR
He had picked a dandy place to take a nap; we're her thoughts as she gazed stoically down at the unconscious filthy male before her. Her dark brown eyes flickered up briefly to the walkers stumbling quickly towards what they assumed would be their next meal. She unsheathed her Katana. Once they were taken care of, she turned her attention to the unconscious male once again, her eyes landing on his crossbow, still gripped tightly in his hand.
Her nose twitched, she had smelled it earlier, the odor of something burning. Did this guy come from that?
Now what?
Her eyes flickered around the woods again, as if the answer was someplace hidden in the trees. To save him; to not to save him, was the question. She had been doing so well so far, no stupid mistakes yet – nothing serious anyway. In the beginning there had been lots of mistakes of course, ones she had learned from. This could be a mistake; he was unconscious and could die anyway and slow her down.
Her considering eyes found him again, and scanned him over for noticeable bit marks. Nothing she could make out under the thick layer of dirt which coated his skin. Her eyes found her jawless, armless walkers.
How in the hell was she going to carry him?
_{
It had been difficult; he weighed a good amount and was completely unconscious. When she had finally gotten him inside the cabin she had cleared before her track in the woods, her back was screaming. She had roughly deposited the unconscious male on the couch, a puff of dust coating the air. She then rolled her shoulders with a frown.
Three hours later she was flipping through the home's family photo album, her eyes flicking upwards to look at the unconscious man every now and again. He was still breathing, but unconscious. She couldn't figure out why, he was still unconscious, he had no outwardly wounds. He better live after that track she had to make with him.
Her hands ran over the laminated photos, taking one of a man out of the cover and held it up beside the unconscious man's face. Nope, it wasn't him and she honestly didn't think it would be. It was worth a shot. Not like it would have mattered much anyway. She takes a sit back in the leather recliner on the other side of the coffee table, the album in her lap as she flips through it a fifth time.
A low groan broke the quiet and her eyes instantly shot up to the man, her hand finding her sword. She watched him grip his head and shake it very slowly for a while. He was completely oblivious to everything around him as he groaned in pain.
So it was his head that was hurt. Makes a lot of sense, Michoone thinks. "You alright? He literally jumps, and his head swirled around to her, his wide light eyes looking at her in surprise. The look on his face was sort of funny, eyes wide, mouth open. "Are you alright?" The woman once again asks.
His dark brows furrow together and his eyes and his mouth close. A few seconds later his mouth opens, "I… I…" He's struggling to talk, which makes her frown.
"What's your name?"
His eyes open again and he gently shakes his head. He looks confused, confused about what his name is.
"I don't…" He begins finally finding words. He moves for he's sitting rather than lying on the couch. "Daryl… my name, I think."
"You think?" She echoes.
He frowns again and grips his head between his arms, groaning loudly. "My head hurts."
A crash outside has Michoone tensing and whispering harshly. "More then that's going to hurt if those things hear you groaning in hear like that."
He looks at her. "What things?"
Oh boy…
{_
"I don't get it."
Michoone's face hardly hid her annoyance. It had seemed like a good idea to show the man rather than try to explain. That's why she had lugged 'Daryl's' clumsy ass – he's seriously clumsy she quickly realized, as he fell and tripped over himself – all the way upstairs to look out of the upstairs window at the walker bumbling about outside, and she was honestly surprised none of the walkers heard any of his stumbling.
"What is it you don't get?" Michonne asked, watching his face as it took in everything outside the window.
"All of it… Why in tha hell would they wanna eat other people?"
"People… They ain't anymore." His vocabulary had gotten better over the last hour, along with an accent, but his memories weren't. Michoone was no expert on memory loss but it hardly took an expert to realize this was bad.
"If one of those things bit me, I turn into one of'em."
"Yeah…" She answered that question for the fifth time. Besides the memory loss there was diffidently something else wrong with his brain, it would explain his almost comical clumsiness and his need to ask questions more than once.
"I don't get it." He mumbles quietly.
Michonne tells him they should try to get to sleep because they would have to leave in the morning. She was hesitant to leave out with him for obvious reasons, but the number of walkers outside was growing steadily. She let him have the couch and she took guard, she hoped by morning he would have his memories back, at least enough to be useful.
PR