A/N: Just a bit of housekeeping before I let you read the first chapter:
1) I [finally] got a new computer, installed Microsoft Word, and started writing...but instead of updating ficts I already started, I started a new one. :-P This one (because after the episode "Cherokee Rose", I have fallen in love with Daryl).
2) Sorry for the title of the fict, but I seem to find inspiration for titles in songs/song titles. (Most of my ficts are song titles.)
3) Updates will be sporadic and might be few and far between, so I appologise now for long delays.
4) I, myself, swear like a sailor on shore leave, so my characters will as well.
5) I have been watching the show (obviously) and I have read (and own) all of the graphic novels that are available...but I'm still not entirely sure where the second season is going, so I'm going to mix show and novels, but I'll stick closer to the show since not everyone reads the novels...but you should because they are amazing! That being said, this fict starts after season 1.
I think that's all...for now. (LOL)
Enjoy the first chapter!
She was on her way to Fort McPherson from Fort Gillem in the...ahem...borrowed camouflaged Hummer. Driving north on I-75, the damn thing decided to blow a gasket. And she was only a couple of miles from the exit for McPherson. Slowing the vehicle down, she angled it towards the side of the road, making it look like it was abandoned. Just in case. Once stopped, she glared through the windshield at the smoke steadily rising from under the hood. Smacking the steering wheel, she sighed, then got out of the Hummer, grabbing the shovel resting in the passenger's side as she did so.
The woman circled the vehicle twice, slowly, searching the surrounding area to be on the look out for the walking dead. Seeing that she was not in immediate danger, she walked near the front of the vehicle and leaned the shovel against the tire. Taking another look over her shoulders, she put her hands on the underside of the hood (at the top, just under the windshield) and lifted, raising the metal and getting a face full of steam. Batting the steam out of her face with one hand and coughing lightly, she took one look at the engine and scoffed.
Why bother? She thought. I'm totally outta my depth here. I definitely picked the wrong field of study.
She propped the hood up with the metal arm, and leaned both hands onto the edge, glaring at the machine as if that would fix her problem. She slammed a hand down onto the metal before taking a few steps back, shucking off her button-down, plaid, flannel shirt and chucking it to the pavement, leaving her in a plain OD green T-shirt.
"Alright, you son of a bitch, if you don't stop smoking in five minutes, I'm leaving you here." She growled at the Hummer as if it were another person.
Putting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head to the sky and grunted. "Goddamn. I'm talking to a Hummer." She muttered. "I need more water. Soon."
She lowered her head as a hissing noise sounded from said Hummer. More steam rose from the engine, creating a larger cloud.
"Oh, you..." She trailed off as she marched up to the vehicle, scowling, and kicked the tire and side paneling with the sole of her foot. "Stupid-" Kick. "Son of a-" Kick. "Motherfucking-" Kick. "Piece of shit I hate driving!" One final swift kick to the door was enough to leave a small dent...and shut the door only slightly.
"Ahhh!" She yelled in frustration, scrubbing her hands over her face before pacing away from the Hummer, then turning back to glare at it.
She was about to launch herself at the vehicle to start another one-sided attack when she heard the distant sound of a motor. Pausing in mid-step, she listened closely, shutting her eyes to determine which way the sound was coming from. It was coming from the north...and it was getting closer.
Snapping her eyes open, she gasped softly and turned to look up the road. At the bend, a little more than three miles away, she could just make out the specks of three kinds of vehicles coming down the road. Turning, she picked up her flannel and threw it hastily over her shoulders as she ran back to the cab of the Hummer. Crawling in, she reached for the small bag on the passenger's seat and quickly pulled out the collapsible binoculars. Jumping out of the vehicle again, she moved closer to the center of the road to make sure her view was unobstructed by the smoke and other vehicles before raising the binocs to her eyes. She focused quickly on the lead vehicle as it traveled down the small hill: a classic, black motorcycle, followed by a rather old RV with a beat-up station wagon bringing up the rear.
"Shit." She muttered lowering the binocs. She sprinted back to the Hummer and practically dove into the front seat to grab the SIG-Sauer P220 semi-automatic pistol off the passenger's seat. She glanced up, still sprawled across the seats, and saw that the small convoy was getting steadily closer.
Tossing about some more mumbled swearing and cursing, she quickly climbed back out of the Hummer and ran to the back of the vehicle. She folded up the binoculars quickly and shoved them in the lower pocket of her dark khaki cargo pants, then took a look around the side of the Hummer. Realizing that she only had seconds to spare, she leaned back and sprinted towards the wooded area to the right, hoping that the people wouldn't see her run.
Once in the relative "safety" of the trees, she adjusted her flannel shirt as she watched the road like a hawk. Cursing again, she figured she was in trouble when the Hummer still continued to billow out steam as if it were the engine of a train.
That fuckin' thing's full of more fuckin' water than I am. She thought, glaring once more at the Hummer. She then remembered that she left the shovel in plan view, still leaned up against the tire, and let loose another round of swears.
She watched up the road as the motorcycle pulled further ahead of the others and slowed down near the Hummer, eventually coming to a stop. The man with (what could have been) dirty blonde hair, sleeveless plaid shirt, and work pants astride the cycle looked over the disabled vehicle. He gave some sort of signal to the RV behind him, which slowed to a stop several hundred yards away, making the station wagon stop as well. No one got out of either vehicle, but the motorcycle guy kicked down the kickstand and swung his leg over the bike. Getting off and unslinging a hunting crossbow from his shoulder, he pointing it at the Hummer as he approached it slowly, heading to the open driver's side door.
Frowning, the woman instantly made a decision. She didn't want to have her meager supplies ransacked by some more traveling survivors, so she steeled herself with a deep breath, letting it out in a huff, and crouched low. Bringing the SIG in front of her body, she gripped it with both hands and slowly flicked the safety off.
Moving as fast as she could in her couched position, she made her way on as straight an angle as possible so as not to alert the RV and station wagon to her presence. When she reached the back of the Hummer, she took a quick, stealthy look about the back bumper to see where the crossbow-wielding man was. He was sticking his head and bow into the Hummer, so she quickly moved to the back door and paused, raising the SIG and glancing at the RV at the same time, half-expecting to hear someone call out to warn the man in her Hummer.
No warning came.
"Back away from the vehicle and I won't have to shoot you." She demanded sternly, watching the man down the barrel of the SIG.
A/N: So? What'd you think? Please leave a review and let me know. (I'll try to make longer chapters in the future.)