Hi guys, it's Kayla again. I'm trying my hand at a Daryl Dixon OC story, and I know those can get annoying, buuut. I'll try to make the best of it :) Don't forget to review and tell me what you love/hate, I accept all constructive criticism. Anything short of "wow, your story sucks" can help me become the best writer I can be! :D
The wind shook the leaves on the trees, making a beautiful backdrop to a shitty situation. Rick squinted his eyes against the sun and screwed up his face in distressed agitation. In the background, he could hear Carol's muffled, distressed sobs. She stood staring out into the forest, just like she did every day since her daughter, Sophia, went missing. To top it off, besides the search taking up his attention, Rick also had to worry about Shane's newfound want for leadership. He tried to ignore it, really, but it was getting to be too close to a confrontation for his long-surviving patience.
Far away, Daryl walked through the foliage, his feet crunching softly, almost imperceptibly on the arid landscape. Ever alert, he perked up his ears at any little sound, hoping for it to be Sophia. His heart thumped painfully each time it wasn't.
Standing next to a tree to rest after the latest let down, he lowered his bow and just listened to life. It was so odd to think that everything went on the same, even without the background noise of cars or sirens or people. The only thing that changed was them. The squirrels still chattered happily, mindless to the walkers who couldn't reach them down on the ground. The birds flew free and happy, feasting on corpses that hadn't completely decomposed and soaring away when the trundling dead got too near. They were always ready to take off, always ready to go away. Daryl quietly contemplated how it would be to be a bird. To be able to fly away whenever one wished and just get away.
He imagined he couldn't leave, either, if he was that bird and had a choice to stay.
"Sophia!" he called again, shaking off the thoughts. Words meant nothing in this new age of predator and prey. Prey talk. Predators do.
And Daryl was a predator, nothing less.
He walked further away from the highway, perpetually listening out. Daryl was silent, most of the time, not liking confrontation in the group as it always with him as the bad guy, but his lungs burned to scream for the little girl one last time before he head in. Before he did, he heard a soft crunch. He hitched his crossbow higher in his hands—but then it went silent. It came again, nothing more than a slight ruffling. He squeezed the trigger guard lightly in reassurance, ready to shoot if needed. At best, it was a walker. At worst, it was a person with an itchy trigger finger.
He paused, eyes watching as a dark blob slowly moved from the cover of one tree to the next. Daryl followed the movement, eyes darkening at the realization that it was most likely not a walker. The light scuffing of their shoes was indication enough of that. Walkers limped, dragged, and stumbled. This thing was agile, easily moving through the forest with no problem.
Daryl kept quiet as he stalked behind the person from behind. He came up behind the trees slowly, silent weapon raised high. He nearly took a step back at the sight—the girl, for she was definitely female, judging from the long hair and feminine shoulders—was tiny, but on her back was a sword and a rifle, both slung haphazardly on her form. He purposefully crunched a twig to initiate the contact—and he was almost sorry. She swung around, hunting rifle coming off in a matter of moments. Halfway done with sliding it up, she stopped when she actually looked at what made the noise. He almost lowered his weapon at the sight of her thin, unassuming face, but seeing her finish bringing her previous acting of arming herself, he thought differently.
For a while, no one spoke. Both just quietly assessed one another, quietly daring the other to pull the trigger. Daryl noted the old, weathered look of her gun; it was in fine condition, but the stock and butt's paint had been rubbed off, replaced with engravings of names and tally marks. Daryl couldn't help but wonder where they were from.
"Ya shoot that, and all the walkers'll come runnin'," he pointed out, Southern accent thick in the tense moment. Her lips parted slowly, the cracked skin stretching almost unnoticeably into a concerned frown. She lowered her weapon, nodding slowly.
"If you put yours away, I'll put mine away. We can talk like humans that actually respect humanity," she scoffed a bit at the last part. Daryl nodded minutely at her proposal, slowing pointing his crossbow at the ground. She followed his movements, and eventually tugged the rifle back a bit and let it hang, hand on the butt and the muzzle poking into the ground. Daryl did the same, letting it rest by his side but never taking his hand away.
There wasn't any trust there, but it would have to do for their impromptu meeting. "Who are you?" he asked rudely. Though there was a small flicker of lingering civility in people, he never quite had the patience for them, and he figured she wouldn't mind his brusqueness; she had had a weapon aimed for his brain not at all a long time ago.
"Name's Anna," she offered, trying to keep a look of cold courage on her face. It had been a while since she'd had any contact with the outside, and she wasn't planning on letting her guard down and getting shot in the leg and left for walkers, as the man had called them. "Anna Beaumont." Daryl lingered on telling her his name, eying the almost indistinguishable handle of a pistol lodged in her belt. "It's polite to return the favor when told someone's name," she urged impatiently, fingers twitching nervously for the hilt of her sword.
"Daryl," he said slowly, eyes rising to meet hers. "Daryl Dixon."
"You were calling for a girl out there, Mr. Dixon," Anna shook her hair over her shoulder and rubbed a sore spot on her neck, trying to ease the tension by at least looking like she was at ease. "Your girlfriend? Daughter?" she listed, taking the note to back off when his fingers clenched sporadically around the handle of his weapon.
"It's no business of yours," he tightened the muscles in his jaw and widened his stance, making his feelings about her mentioning of Sophia very clear. She held up the hand that wasn't holding her rifle and took a step back.
"I don't need to know," she reasoned, "just wondering, is all. I haven't seen anyone, if that helps. I'll leave you to it. Things don't need to get… nasty," at this, she eyed his crossbow, "I'm just passing through."
Noticing the nervousness in her demeanor, Daryl highly doubted she had a group to protect her, but he couldn't risk letting her go without asking an assuring himself of it. "To a group somewhere, off the highway?" he inquired, bringing the crossbow back up to rest in both hands, still pointing at the leaves littering the earth.
Anna eyed him briefly, shouldering her rifle quietly. "No," she answered. "No." This time, her eyes rested on his, the fierceness flashing in them showing she was ready and full of adrenaline.
"Where ya headed?" he asked another, cautiously aware of her ever increasing anxiety. A scared person would fuck you up, as Merle always said. They believe they have something to live for, so they fight all the harder and thrive to survive. Daryl could see it in her eyes, and if she was telling the truth, she could see it in his, as well. Maybe that's why they were so leery of each other.
Well, that and one could kill you and scavenge your body, of course.
"Nowhere," she muttered, scuffing her boot into the dirt halfheartedly. Daryl raised his eyebrows at how quickly that changed her mood—she was obviously lost, busy doing nothing but walking and sleeping in trees. He respected her ability to survive, but without a plan, eventually she would lose hope and either off herself or get cornered and maimed by the dead. He worked his jaw quietly, pondering his prospects.
"Yeah, I know, I'm inspiring, right?" she chuckled sarcastically, her dry voice cracking with overuse. Her last time using it had been screaming, if she remember correctly. She was surprised she could even form words correctly. She craved the human contact, but at the same time, she pushed it away; it meant danger, but it also meant things were real. And reality was something she needed for a change. Seeing that Daryl was still quiet, thinking over her explanation, she sighed and whispered, "I'm not going to beg to come with you, don't worry; I'm not that deprived of human interaction. Continue with your hunt for the girl," she ordered the last part softly, waving a hand and turning her back to him.
Daryl made his decision, and he prayed to a god he hardly believed in that it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.
"You could do that," he called after her, accent strong. "Or you could come with me and see if we can find this little girl. Then I'd take ya back to camp; there's people there, kids and women and men… if ya wanted," he offered, feeling stupid giving out this drawn out invitation. She looked young, early twenties, but he knew a prideful woman when he saw one. Safety and refuge is hard to shoot down in times like those, but it seemed like she just might from the look on her face.
"You would ask me to come with you, when you don't even know me?" Her voice cracked a bit, making her cough and furrow her brows in concentration to keep her voice steady and the rattle out of her intonation. Daryl shifted in his standing position, slipping his crossbow onto his back. "What if I was bitten, or wanted to kill you? What if, Mr. Dixon?" she scowled, turning back to him completely and taking the steps closer. He could tell she craved to touch his skin, if only to assure herself that he was real; the looks she cast towards his hands, arms, shoulders, and face told it all.
"Do ya?"
"No."
"Then it's settled, then," he said gruffly, turning away from her and stalking away. "You comin' or not?" he called back loudly, the irritation clear in his voice. Though there was a good bit of distance between them by then, he could hear her laugh lightly in disbelief. After another moment of walking alone, he was sure she wasn't going to follow him, but then the sound of hurried steps met his ears. Daryl couldn't help but smirk in minor disbelief, himself.
"So, this girl, Sophia..." Anna started, glancing back up at her new companion. He grunted a bit, fixing the worn leather strap attached to his bow and waiting for her to finish. "… she important to you? You said she was little," she finished lamely, not knowing exactly how well he knew her or if he was just helping out a friend in the group.
"Carol's daughter," his voice was muffled a bit by the wind, but she could hear the exhaustion in his voice. She nodded quietly. If he wanted to continue, he would, but she wouldn't pry. Carol could be his girlfriend or his sister, for all she knew. "Girl got scared off by a group of walkers. Rick found her and told her to stay put while he took care of 'em, but she must have spooked and ran off," he reiterated further for her benefit. She nodded solemnly, hefting her rifle higher onto her shoulder.
"Well, we'll find her," she muttered comfortingly, her eyes seeming abnormally big and doe like when she looked at him. Daryl shifted, trying to ignore the girl's unassuming yet so, so unnerving presence. Her quiet steps matched his, though she kept slightly behind, hand clenched around the hilt of her katana. Daryl didn't know whether it was for comfort or because she didn't trust him.
"Walker," she murmured in warning moments later; her sword was unsheathed in a matter of seconds. She sliced outwards, cutting the head off cleanly, if a little clumsily. He wondered why she even bothered to call him if she was just going to take care of it herself.
Maybe she just liked that she had someone to talk to, after a long time in silence and solitude.
After she stabbed the decapitated head between the eyes, just for good measure, Daryl could see how scrawny her frame was. "When's the last time ya've eaten?" he questioned, holding his crossbow at the ready for more geeks. She shrugged, eyes flitting nervously around. The sound of gurgles and moans filled the air, but neither one of them could tell how many or where from.
"A few days ago. Why?" she whispered back.
"Ya look like death," he admitted grimly. She smiled wearily with a nod.
"That's what happens when the apocalypse appears on your fuckin' doorstep, y'know?"
Daryl eyed her up and made his decision. The moans were getting louder; any second and they'd be encircled, most likely, and she looked like she could topple over at any second. "Follow me!" he ordered gruffly as the first walker made its appearance; its mouth was hanging by a hinge and it was missing an arm. Anna fought the urge to gag at the grotesque sight—zombies were usually ugly, but damn. She ran quickly behind Daryl dodging geeks and hopping around tree roots to avoid being tripped. He was faster than her, and well rested, to boot, so she was having trouble keeping up.
Daryl grabbed her by the wrist suddenly, yanking her away from the reaching hands of a walker. "Thanks," she mumbled breathlessly, falling into step behind him again. The walkers were gaining speed, but their hobbles still weren't enough to catch them outright. It would be the exhaustion that killed them in the end, if they didn't get away soon.
"This way," Daryl dragged her behind him forcefully, the walkers an ever-moving catalyst behind them. He knew to rest would be to die, and that just really didn't fit into his schedule. "Hurry!" he urged irritably, feeling the pressure of looking after another person like a weight on his chest. Her breathing was ragged, but she urged herself onward in determination, matching him stride for stride.
"Fuckin' trying, asshole," she hissed back, refusing to let herself fall behind again. Eventually, the trees started to clear, and they came out onto a highway. Daryl grabbed her wrist, which was undoubtedly bruising already, and pulled her under a car. The geeks trampled around, groaning and giving out short screams after their lost prey. Thank god they don't have good sniffers, Anna thought.
Talking quietly so their undead company couldn't hear, Anna whispered, "We're not anywhere near your group, are we?"
"Nah, we're couple blocks up, in the denser traffic," he hissed back, voice scratchy. "If the geeks come after 'em, they'll see 'em 'fore they get there. Don't worry," he assured, seeing her expression.
They said nothing else for a few moments, listening to the scuffling. Anna prayed one didn't get the sense to drop to its knees and look under the cars, though she doubted they had that little remaining bit of intellect. Daryl's body was hot next to hers, and sweat began to glisten on her brow. She resisted the urge to move further away, fearing the movement would give them away.
It seemed like hours, but finally the last of the dead made its way towards the opposite side of the road, and hopefully away into the forest. Anna refused Daryl's hand as she slipped out from under the car; she already felt useless since he basically had to drag her to safety. He frowned, but let her be.
Daryl led the way back towards his encampment, and she followed dutifully, playing with the leather strap of her rifle. She hated the way she would be coming into this place—dirty, half starved, and as Daryl put it, looking like death. Daryl didn't seem to notice her appearance other than him pointing out her emaciated state, but that didn't mean he wasn't thinking it.
And, let's be honest, Anna hadn't seen a mirror in a while.
"I'm back!" he bellowed out suddenly, striding forward confidently. Anna filtered in behind him, a silent shadow to his loud ferocity. The first one to notice her was a man who immediately struck her as angry and self-loathing.
"Who's this?" he barked, stalking up and glancing at Daryl in disbelief. "Do you know her?"
"Met 'er in the woods. She helped me look for Sophia," he barked back just as hostilely, his blue eyes narrowing into slits on the man.
"Shane, calm down," another man put his hand on Shane's shoulder, his eyes raking down Anna's stock-still form. "Who is this, Daryl?" This man seemed calm, placated, but Anna knew better from experience not to trust men who seemed nice and peachy. They were usually the most manipulative and vile.
"Anna," he squatted down, reloading his crossbow diligently and checking the arrows to make sure all were in top condition. Shane curled his lip at her, but Anna didn't cower back. Instead, she focused on steadying herself on a nearby car, ready to run if anything were to happen. Her arms and legs shook with exhaustion, but she forced herself to stay alert, just in case.
"And just why the fuck did you bring her here?" he snarled again, making his way threateningly towards the girl. She stood, eyes staring impassively back at him. The other man caught his arm roughly, giving him a clear look not to do anything stupid or rash. He turned to her.
"I'm Rick. It's nice to meet you, Anna," he smiled tightly, his eyes flickering to Daryl and back. She gave a brisk nod and a forced smile of her own, eyes twinkling in the fading sunlight.
"Likewise," she hoarsely mumbled. Her throat was scratchy, and she felt weak with exhaustion. She knew she needed rest, and soon. Despite Shane's aggressive behavior, Rick knew what he would do; just like he always did. He gives everyone a chance.
"Go rest," he sighed, rubbing his face. "Daryl will show you where you can go," he nodded, signaling the end of the conversation. Her mouth felt dry as she was left alone with her defender, and she wanted nothing more than to rest like Rick promised. The hostile man before her worked his jaw in anger, shaking his head slowly.
Daryl stood up, glaring warningly at Shane. Anna's shoulder twitched up when he took a threatening step forward, but he followed it through, walking past them both with a scoff and few choice curses. "He's pleasant," she murmured wryly, turning her head away from them. Daryl scoffed, beginning to walk away. Figuring her only chance at finding a decent place to sleep was walking away, she followed sluggishly.
"You need to eat before you sleep. And get some water," he ordered, walking into an RV. Dragging herself after him, she did nothing but nod and take the water bottle he tossed in her direction. She wondered briefly why he was taking the responsibility to make sure she was fed. Probably because he knows I'll just sleep the day away if he didn't make me, she thought humorlessly. It was a good possibility, and sleep looked more welcoming than forcing food into her stomach.
"Here," he broke her out of her thoughts by handing her an unlabeled can. "The people who own the farm have fresher food, but I didn't think introducing a new face would be all that smart," he added.
"Why?" Anna asked, taking the can opener he had laid on the table. As she took tiny bites of food to ease but not overload her stomach, he explained how the owner, Hershel, wasn't too happy with them on his land. She nodded; she wouldn't like someone encroaching on her land, either, especially in times like these.
Soon enough, Daryl left her to her thoughts, pointing out the bed in the back of the RV and the ratty looking couch. Slumping onto the couch, she fell into a fitful sleep.