Hey, y'all! This is my first fanfic for The Walking Dead. I just started watching the show only a few months ago so I apologize if I don't characterize Daryl correctly. I appreciate any feedback and let me know what you think about the OC. Thanks for reading! Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
Chapter One: Storm Clouds
As she followed behind Daryl Dixon, matching his quiet, calculated steps to her own, Grace Montgomery didn't know which was thicker: the sultry summer air or the awkward silence and tension between the two of them.
They had stealthily walked about fifteen miles away from the prison on a hunting expedition. He was armed with his beloved crossbow in his arms and in his backpack, she was certain, a sawed-off double twelve gauge pump shotgun. She carried an array of hunting knives, large and small, on her holster and a .38 revolver. Grace always had one hand on her belt, ready to rapidly propel the knives, if needed, at anything suspicious that moved - alive or dead. She would glance over her shoulder every now and then to make sure they weren't being followed by any walkers.
The sky in the northeast, the direction they had been walking, was becoming overcast. Grace felt an urgency inside her, that they should hurry up and catch something, anything edible to bring back to the group, before the rain started. However, Daryl was positive they were right on the trail of a doe.
As she followed him, Grace curiously studied the back of Daryl. The wings on his vest, his beige pants, tattered and stained with fresh mud and caked on dirt. She watched him move so patiently, almost painstakingly, among the brush. Grace had thought she had seen and known a hunter before, her late father, but even he didn't quite match up to Daryl's fervency for the sport.
Grace didn't realize how intently she had been staring at him until Daryl came to an abrupt crouch and stiffly raised his left arm up, hand balled into a fist, signaling her to cease walking. It happened so swiftly Grace didn't react quickly enough and slightly bumped into Daryl. He shot her an annoyed glance and pulled roughly on her shirt, hard enough that she heard some threads break, and he made her squat down beside him.
"Shhh…" Daryl hoarsely whispered. "She's right o'er there."
Grace lowered herself as far to the ground as she could. She strained her neck looking but couldn't see anything through the thicket.
"Keep watchin' our backs," he whispered as he released the safety on the crossbow and assumed firing position. Grace glanced behind her. Nothing but dense woods. They had only encountered a couple of walkers along the way and easily put them down. This particular area seemed to be pretty desolate. She put a tight grip on one of her knifes.
When Grace turned her head back around, she saw the doe and almost gasped out loud but luckily caught herself. It was about less than ten yards from them. She was sleek and slender, a beautiful light brown color. The doe was sniffing around and suddenly she snapped her head up and it was like she was looking straight at Daryl and Grace with her enormous dark eyes, yet she made no movement. It seemed like a staring contest between all three of them.
Out of Grace's peripheral vision she saw Daryl tightening his grip on the crossbow, finger on the trigger. With a simple tap of the trigger, a bolt was released and the arrow made the sickening sticking sound when it penetrated its target. The doe jumped and skittered up debris, in a mad dash, to hightail it out of sight. Before the doe completely escaped Grace propelled one of her knifes and again, there was another sticking sound. The doe ran panicky down the thicket.
"Nice…," Daryl muttered, but Grace knew it was more of a compliment to himself than to her.
As they both carefully stood up Grace watched Daryl's expression go from pleased to Oh, yeah, I forgot you were with me…when he looked over in her direction.
"Good job," Grace commented as she brushed the debris off her pants.
Daryl gave her, what she thought was meant to be a smug grin, but looked more like scowl.
"C'mon, let's git this show on the road." He drawled and he slug his crossbow over his shoulder. "Ain't got all day. Looks like mama nature is about to piss all o'er us." He nodded toward the darkening rain clouds above.
They walked toward the way the deer had run off to. Daryl mumbled something about "she probably didn't run very far" but Grace wasn't listening. Instead she was wrinkling up her brow, trying to figure out why this guy didn't seem to like her very much. If they were back at the prison, Rick would reassure her that Daryl Dixon didn't seem to like anybody very much. Andrea, when she was still with them, had once told her that he was "about as comforting as a prickly porcupine" but "he'd give the shirt off his back and walk barefoot across burning coals for those he cares about," according to Carol. She had also added with a wink, "He'd never admit that, though."
Grace had been with this group for about a month now. She had met Daryl's group, led by a former police officer named Rick Grimes, in a survivor's camp site just on the outskirts of Atlanta. Grace had been there with the only family she had left, her brother Johnny, who had recently finished his four year stint in the Navy. When the outbreak began, Grace and Johnny left their small rural town and went to Atlanta thinking there would be strength in numbers; that they would find help and above all, an explanation for what was happening to the world. They found the exact opposite, the major metropolis had already fallen to these…virally infected dead people that feed off of live human flesh. Grace and Johnny joined a band of survivors, a group of about ten people, and set up camp. It had been only a few days later when Rick's group had intersected with Grace and Johnny's group.
Things went smoothly for awhile and Grace naively began to think everything was going to be OK after all. Until, in the middle of the night, the walking dead people came from the woods, growling and moaning, sinking their teeth into their sleeping victims. Chaos ensued; screams, gunshots, and cursing filled the night air until all roamers had been put down. There were several causalities, including Johnny. Grace preferred not to think about her brother's final moments, his stomach torn open, his eyes bugged out and gasping for breath. He had given her the .38 revolver and after telling her he loved her, he asked her to do the unthinkable.
She shook her head at the horrible memory, in an attempt to rid herself of it despite knowing she never, ever could. Grace and Daryl approached to where the doe lay, deceased, on the forest floor. She spotted Daryl's bolt in the abdomen of the deer and her knife lodged its neck.
Daryl placed one foot on top of the doe and carefully pulled the arrow out of her, retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it clean. Grace tugged on her knife, the blade had really stuck the animal good. Daryl wordlessly offered his cloth to Grace.
As she wiped the blade she watched him pick up the doe.
"Need any help?" Grace asked, dying to make herself useful. She knew Daryl didn't want her to come along, probably thought she was dead weight.
"Here," Daryl said, thrusting his crossbow toward her. "Put this on yer shoulder." At first Grace struggled with the weight of her backpack and the crossbow and when she saw Daryl's blue eyes flashing, a warning, that she better not tear up his favorite weapon, she felt her cheeks flush and her heart drop. It was like she couldn't do anything right according to this man.
The clouds above were closing in and darkening by the minute. Grace felt a sprinkle or two land on her arm. Daryl had the doe slung around his neck, his calloused hands gripping her hooves.
"Let's roll." He told her. "Git in front of me and step on it, girl. Don't wanna be stuck out here in da rain wit a dead deer 'round my neck."
They made good time, retracing their tracks, finding their way back home. Grace could hear Daryl's steady breathing behind her but she heard something else. Thunder rumbled in the distance and something scurried through the brush, a squirrel or a rabbit dodging out of sight.
A low growl seem to come from Grace's right side. A lone female walker appeared from the brush, moaning and snarling toward them. Grace's stomach twisted in a knot when she saw her- she looked to have been about Grace's age and once young and pretty. Her left shoulder was torn open and there was a huge gash extending down the right side of her face. She snarled viciously at them and Grace quickly drew her knife and propelled it - sticking the dead girl right in the forehead. The walker seem to pause for a brief second and with one last growl, crumpled to the ground.
"Aw, shit…" Grace heard Daryl say from behind. She turned and saw about four more walkers gaining on them.
"Gimme the bow!" he commanded as he dropped the deer from his neck. He didn't need to tell her twice. She tossed it to him without missing a beat and she again drew another knife. Daryl had the crossbow locked and loaded in a blink of eye and was firing bolts at their heads. A another growl came from behind Grace. She turned to see, what used to be a man - black, possibly was in his mid-thirties when he died - shambling at her. He stared at her with those sickly yellowish green eyes, blood dripping from his mouth, hell bent on making her his next meal.
Grace threw the knife, however, it only caught his shoulder blade. The dead man growled angrily and charged at her. Before she knew it she was wrestling the walker on the forest floor, his bloody mouth snapping wildly, trying to sink his teeth into any part of her he could.
"Daryl!" Grace cried, but she knew he was tied up with other roamers that had appeared on the scene, drawn by all the commotion.
"Hang on!" He called back.
He finished off the last walker that had ganged up on him, turned and fired a bolt at the dead man that Grace was struggling with. It went straight through his head and Grace found herself looking square into the face of this corpse with an arrow stuck through him.
She pushed him off of her and retrieved her knife from his shoulder. Daryl strolled over to her, cautiously.
"You bit?" He demanded to know. He had the crossbow aimed at her and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to use it if anybody around him became infected.
She checked her hands, arms, torso and legs. She ran one hand down her neck to feel for any marks.
"No." She concluded, breathlessly. Daryl lowered the crossbow in relief. He turned back toward where he had dropped the deer.
"Goddamn it!" He cried.
Grace glanced around him to see that one of the walkers had apparently chewed on the doe. It was no longer safe to consume. The time they had spent tracking her was now rendered to be in vain.
Daryl angrily kicked up forest debris as he stormed over to where one of the walkers lay. He jerked out his arrow and kicked the corpse repeatedly.
"Son…" Kick. "Of…" Another kick. "A bitch!" Grace flinched as she watched Daryl smash in the walker's face with his boot. He stood there over it, glaring down at it, and then snapped his head up and looked her direction. Grace still sat on the forest floor, in shock and in awe of everything that just happened.
Daryl motioned for her to get up. "C'mon, let's git! I'm tired of this shit…they can go out and look for food tomorrow." He was referring to the others back at the prison. Grace wished she had some telepathic ability to warn the group that Daryl was not going to be in a chipper mood when they returned.
They retrieved all their weapons from the corpses, grabbed up their supplies and headed home. Thundered rolled again this time closer.
