Casualties of Appetite
Chapter 1: Spark

Hello all! Here's my first official fanfic. This will be based in both the Comic book as well as the television show. Of course season 3 isn't out yet but after watching the season 2 finale it's pretty obvious that they are returning, at least somewhat, to the original comic book story. This storyline will take place in the prison, only really having to go on the comics, but the characters in the show (Daryl even existing, Dale's death…etc…) will differ from the comic book. Enjoy!
All characters belong to their respective owners.

She was unrecognizable; her wrists were bound and the skin near the unforgiving silver cuffs had developed numbers of wounds, some open and radiating heat, others scabbed; probably infected. She did not worry about her wrists any longer for she could not feel them. She was strung up, her hands in a crucifix- like position; there was enough give in the chains connected to each cuff that she could lean against the nearest wall and rest her arms some, but not nearly enough to be comfortable.

She couldn't see. Her eyes worked just fine but the room was so void of light her eyes were unable to adjust. She shifted her head to the side and let out a pitiful groan; coming out of a sleep induced by abuse. Her body had been raided, repeatedly like some awful Nordic pillage.

The room smelled of piss and mold. Her captor had placed a small pot in the corner of the room within her space that she was supposed to relive herself over. During the beginning she was able to make it over there but anymore, on her diet of bread and water she had little strength and her dreams would often cause her to soil herself in her sleep. She tried her best not to do this as she was hit harder when she dirtied her "product" and he had to clean her before use.

A sliver of light shined on her face, she grimaced like she was a vampire and it was burning her skin. She was trained like a dog: light was a bad thing. She went to a place, deep and distinct in her mind; a place before the world ended, before she watched all that she cared for, person by person, perish before her eyes.

I am sitting under a tree on an overcast and warm day, but not too warm. I've got a book on my lap that I'm reading. It's a very good book. The flowers are in full bloom and the air smells of roses. I can see my sister knitting on the porch of the large house not too far away. She smiles and waves then continues to knit.

He is coming.

I look in the distance and see my parents driving up in their car, just getting back home from a date night. They seem to be laughing and smiling about something.

He is coming.

I feel the soft breeze from the west twirl around me and blow through my hair. A small white cat trots over to my side and purrs. The petite cat belongs to me; her name is Serenity. She nuzzles up to my side and rubs her head on my hand. I can feel the vibration of her purring on my leg. I begin to pet her.

He.

She is soft.

Is.

Her fur is warm.

"What the hell is going on in here?" An unfamiliar male voice says at the door.
"Is she alive?" Another man asks, pointing a flashlight to the cuffed woman.
"Oh my god," A female voice says in a hushed tone.

She looks up toward the door but the light is too bright and her eyes cannot make out details. She can see three people in shadow. As she tries to make sense of what is happening the three figures move into the room.

"Daryl, is she alive?" The female voice asks.

One of the male figures gets close to her face; she can feel his breath. He places his hand to her forehead as a mother would to check their child's temperature.

"She's warm," The male declares near her ear; his voice drenched in a Southern accent. His voice is rough yet soothing, a sweet contradiction.

"You should check her for bites, Daryl," the other male voice says.

"So I'm the bite checker now?" The man responds.

"She looks like she's about to turn," The female voice states, "Glenn, I've got a really bad feeling. Like something bad's gonna happen," Her southern drawl is almost as thick as the man closest to her.

"Don't worry, Maggie. I'm here." The other male says; his voice void of any particular accent.

The southern man scoffs under his breath, "Rick had to pair me off with the newlyweds."

She couldn't think of what to say, she wanted desperately for them to know she was still alive but her mouth was so dry and her throat so cracked that she didn't know whether or not she'd be able to speak.

The southern man sighs and moves in even closer to the cuffed girl, "Well she ain't tryin' to bite me none."

She hears a gun cock further away from her, "Just in case," the male voice reassures. She hears his footsteps come closer to her and assumes the gun is pointed at her. The southern man puts his hand gently on her neck and wraps around; feeling softly for wounds. He moves his hands down her collar bone and over each shoulder and arm.

"Her wrists are pretty fucked up though," The southern man says stopping at them, "These cuffs are too tight."

He continues wrapping his hands around her back. The sensation sends tingles up and down her spine; she hasn't been touched softly in a long time. He draws his fingers across her hips and down her legs, rounding her feet.

"I don't feel no bites," He says.

"You didn't check her…" The man trails off nervously, "You know… her other parts"

"Glenn, I ain't touching her there. Why don't your girlfriend do that, not my department." The man stands up and takes a few steps back. She hears the woman step forward, looking at the poor pitiful creature lying on the ground. She tugs at her dirtied dress and reaches softly down, fumbling nervously around, almost medically. Her hands shake as she searches for a gaping wound somewhere on her intimate elements. The cuffed girl feels air rush in between her legs as the strange woman looks around.

She hears a stifled gasp as her dress drops, "Dear lord," She says.

"What?" The southern man inquires.

"Her upper thighs…" She trails off.

"She got bit there?" The other man asks.

"No," The woman responds, "I've never seen bruises like that. She's black and blue all the way up."

"So she ain't bit then?" The southern man asks.

"No," She responds.

"We should take her to your dad, Maggie." The other man states, "He'll be able to help her. Daryl, get her left hand and I'll get her right."

"Well yes sir." The man spits back sarcastically.

She feels warm hands wrap around her arms and they struggle to pull her from the grasps of her bonds.

"Goddammit!" The southern man exclaims, "Glenn, stop. We gotta get her outta the cuffs before we can move her," he pauses for a moment, "Hey girlie, you got a bobby pin in that hair of yours."

"No," She scoffs.

"Gimmie your axe then," the man walks over and retrieves it, "All right stand back. I'm gonna need some room."

The axe makes a loud swoosh as it cuts the air and then down to the chains. They do not break on the first strike.

"Careful!" the woman exclaims, "Don't break her arm."

The man stops for a second and shoots her daggers with his eyes, "Honey, if anyone here's gonna be doin' this you best be glad it's me. I'm the only son of a bitch around here with decent aim."

"Not true," The woman mumbles under her breath.

He swings again with a loud grunt, this time warping the chain enough to allow it to break, "See," He says, "Same fucking place every time."

The woman rolls her eyes. He rests the axe to the floor and unhooks the twisted chain, in result the cuffed woman begins to crash to the floor. His body pumps full of adrenaline and he catches her before her head hits the ground; his arms wrapped around her she is enveloped in his scent. It unravels her senses, sending her hormones kicking into frenzy. Her eyes come into focus on his arms; his muscles are flexed and dirty. The woman, now lying in the southern man's arms, tries to muster up strength to speak to him, to thank him.

"Glenn, get the other arm," The man says, she can hear his heartbeat.

She hears another clang and her other arm is freed. The southern man looks down at the wounded creature in his arms. He feels pity for her; sorrow. He had never seen a woman, another person even, treated this way and even though he was hardened, even before the world's end, he felt a melting inside of himself. He felt as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Images of his brother flashed through his mind when he was chained to a roof on a building filled with the undead and left to rot. This girl paralleled his brother's situation, left to die. The only difference was this girl didn't have a hand saw nearby to mutilate but ultimately free herself. If he was capable of crying for this poor girl, he would. The man pushed a small cluster of hair, covered in sweat, from her face. 'Don't you do this Daryl,' he thought, 'She's just some girl.' His heart ached for her.

The woman in his arms tried to move but her body was limp and unresponsive. She breathed in as deeply as she could, "Thank you," her words came out in a whisper.

"What?" The man asked leaning in his ear to her mouth.

"Thank you," She repeated as loud as she could but it was still only a whisper.

He was taken aback. He usually had some witty comeback but in this case he had no words formed that he could speak. 'You're welcome' is the proper response to a 'thank you' but that didn't seem right to him in this situation.

"We'll get you healed up in no time," he forced a smile, something she had not seen for what seemed like years. "You got a name?" He asked softly.

His voice was so comforting; she wanted him to keep speaking. He was captivated by her sheer will to survive.

She parted her lips, readying to form her name when the blood began to drain from her head and the light began to close in her vision on the corners. She faded away in his arms back into a sleep, this time induced by the feeling of safety. She was at peace in this stranger's arms.

"Let's get her to Hershel," The man said, standing up with the girl in his arms, "Now."