Hello! I am new to TWD and have been hooked watching the series back to back since I was recommended them by a good friend. I have of course already fallen in love with Daryl, hated Shane throughout, wanted to smack Lori and Carl around a couple of times and been frustrated when Andrea was stupid enough to be all girly and not kill the Governor when she had the chance! Michone, Daryl and Hershel rule!
Thought I would give it a go - hope you enjoy it x
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc for Walking Dead - this is just for fun no profit!
Story: Slightly AU - set around the third season based at the prison. Mostly true to cannon with a couple of tweeks here and there.
Daryl, Rick and Glen rescue a woman who has been held captive by a group of men for the last six months and try to integrate her into their group. Rated M overall for swearing, rape, usual WD kind of gore and possibly sexual content.
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Charlotte Smythe ran faster than she had ever run in her entire life. Her lungs burned fire, fighting each breath she took as she pounded through the forest. The floor was slippery with autumn leaf mulch from the dewy morning but her bare feet landed true and sure, with her desperate need to survive. She threw a prayer up to a higher being that she had never believed in before to give her a chance, a break, anything.
She would have rejoiced smelling the sweet fresh air after being locked in the musty basement of the old farmhouse for the last six months had it not been for the large bear of a man running after her with irrepressible fury. She could hear him grunting and swearing behind her, his laboured breath ragged but she knew that he wouldn't stop. He could run for another ten minutes flat out on pure vengeance and hate after he had discovered what she had done, after she had murdered her captors, men that had been his friends, his brothers.
The shackles that were clamped around her wrists and neck burned against her already torn skin, dried blood crusted gathered under the unforgiving metal. She held onto the chains attached to her wrists, clutching onto them to make sure that her running movement didn't cause them to swing erratically throwing her balance. The short chain hanging down behind her thumped against her back in time with her gait, like a strange metronome against her erratically beating heart.
She had had a choice at the farmhouse; to bolt and pray she ran fast enough to get away or to stand and fight Zeke, the six foot three, two hundred pound goliath with only a small, blood covered hunting knife. Her adrenaline coursed through her veins as she powered on, only hoping that if she couldn't pull away from him she could at least keep him from gaining on her.
She turned out of the forest and almost fell as she clambered up the slight embankment to the highway, only righting her feet momentarily but cursing as she lost a couple of precious seconds. She sprinted a little more surefooted on the concrete not caring which direction she was going as she listened to his heavy boots pounding behind her, to her dismay a lot closer than before.
She glanced up at the skyline, seeing the sky for the first time in what felt like forever made her almost stop dead in wonder. She felt for the first time in months the sunshine on her face, the first cold rays of the morning sun crowning over the treeline was the most beautiful thing she had seen in what felt like an eternity.
In that moment her body gave up, the adrenaline ran out and even her fear could no longer drive her. She felt her muscles in her calves and thighs start to seize up, her lungs started to convulse as she fought the need to cough. She was lightheaded, her pulse banging in her ears until it drowned out every other sound. Her sheer will alone was not enough in those precious seconds to push her further. She knew it was over. That he would catch her and he would kill her. Or worse, he would keep her alive and her torture was just about to begin.
She screamed out in a strangled, desperate yell, her hands flying to her neck as her head snapped back painfully from the sudden force behind her. He had desperately leant forward, sensing her body giving up and reached for the chain around her neck. His hand had managed to clasp the chain and he had stopped dead. Pulling back he had swept her down forcefully, her feet almost leaving the ground with the sudden downward surge and landing on the hard concrete. She fought to breathe, the impact having winded her, when she felt him kneel in front of her and push her legs roughly apart planting himself close to her.
She heard the first crack before she felt a shot of pain cascading down the left side of her face. Her head snapped sideways with the force of the impact and she gasped in shock as she tasted the metallic tang of blood in the back of her throat. She was vaguely aware of him shouting, each swear word being punctuated with another slap until she could feel her skin splitting and burning. She feebly tried to push him away raising her arms to protect herself when she heard a soft woosh, a resounding thunk and a scream of pain from above her. She felt him push from her yelling obscenities at something above and beyond her head, she fell backwards from the lack of strength to lie on her back on the cool asphalt, thankful for the respite in her beating.
"Git the hell away from her, yer fuckin' son of a bitch," A deep voice growled somewhere above her just as she passed out.
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Glen yawned loudly once more stretching his lean limbs above his head, as he cracked his neck.
"Keep yawnin' like tha' short round ya ain't ever gonna catch nothin', ya'll scare it away first." Daryl muttered to his Korean friend, his eyes narrowed in the early dawn light, his keen sense of hearing alert for the scuffles of animals in the undergrowth.
"Remind me again why we have to go hunting at dawn? Why not after breakfast?" He grumbled trying to stifle another yawn.
Rick ducked his head to hide the grin that played across his face as he traipsed through the leaves. The decision to learn how to hunt had been decided yesterday morning at their group meeting. Daryl had nearly been overpowered by a couple of walkers the other night whilst on hunting patrol after his crossbow had misfired and he had been winded. On reflection after the shock of nearly losing their friend had dissipated they had also realised that they would lose one of their best protectors and their only supply of meat would abruptly stop. He had agreed, albeit a little reluctantly, to take small groups out to teach them how to set snares and hunt with a crossbow.
Daryl abruptly stopped and cocked his head to the side, holding his hand out to simultaneously stop them and quiet them as well. The three men stood still, holding their breath trying to catch the sound that had just alerted the hunter. They frowned at each other as they picked it up, very faintly coming from the end of the treeline a hundred yards away.
They stealthily moved around the trees, each with their weapons trained towards the sound and straining to hear more. They all exchanged looks as they realised that it was footfalls, of someone running fast, very fast. Rick and Daryl looked at each other, a silent conversation and decision made in the eye contact. It was probably someone running away from a herd. They both started to move away simultaneously but stopped when Glen threw out his hand frowning at the image in front of him. He flicked his head towards them, " Are you seeing what I am seeing?" He mouthed.
They all watched in grim horror as a scantily clad woman ran down the middle of road towards them with a look of pure terror on her face being pursued by a large man that moved faster than his weight should allow. The brutal way in which he dragged her to the ground and beat her snapped them out of their reverie into action. Daryl raised his crossbow and shot the man in the lower back causing him to let go of the woman who fell limply to the floor. He reared back screaming in pain and shock. As he managed to right himself in an ungainly, disjointed way they circled in front of him all three pointing their weapons at his head.
"Git the hell away from her, yer fuckin' son of a bitch," Daryl growled at him, his steel blue eyes flashing dangerously. He sneered in disgust as the man whimpered standing upright, and staggering a little he stepped away from her. Rick was staring at her, his jaw working as he ground his teeth together in barely controlled anger trying to restrain himself from killing the man with his bare hands. This woman looked like she had been through hell and back.
"She killed my friends!" He shouted in defence to their cold glares, moaning at the pain of the bolt in his back, his breath laboured and sweat pouring off of him. He glanced down at the wretched figure on the floor with pure hatred stamped across his dog like face. None of them reacted to his statement, still staring at him in murderous outrage over the muzzles of their weapons.
Suddenly she reared up from the floor coughing and spluttering blood that had started flowing down her throat, gulping for air. Glen ducked down to her to help her sit up, but she recoiled from him staggering as she unsteadily made it her feet. She quickly scanned the floor panic overtaking her as she desperately looked for the small hunting knife that had fallen from the belt of her skirt when he had grabbed her. A wave of relief almost made her giddy as her dark blue eyes found it, she nearly lost her balance ducking down to grab it and turned to face the strange group of men.
She held the knife out defensively in front of her, blood and spittle flying out of her mouth in a soft mist and down her chin as she tried to regulate her erratic breathing. The men all watched her in spite of themselves lowering their weapons, as she tried to pull the last reserves of her strength to fight. Her eyes roamed over them in turn trying to assess the threat of these new men. The men saw after a second her shoulders slump ever so slightly, a look of defeated resolve cross her face as her inflamed lip quivered involuntarily. Tears burned the corners of her eyes when she realised she was outmatched with just her puny knife. There was no way she would be able to fight her way out.
They stared at her swaying on her feet, pity intermingled with grim revulsion mirrored on each of their faces. Her face was quickly swelling from the beating she had received, strands of her wild dark hair were stuck in the sticky mixture of her blood, sweat and spittle across her face. She was wearing only what had once been a lacy pink bra and French cut knickers set, and a small black slip skirt which barley made past the tops of her thighs. She had shackles on her wrists and a large metal band around her neck with chains and small padlocks attached to them, claw like scratches all over her calves and bare feet where she had run through bushes in the forest unchecked. They all in turn grimaced and looked away as they saw the dry blood that ran down the inside of her thighs to her calves, her once pretty pink lacy underwear blood stained.
A piteous groan broke the silence as her captor fell to one knee, convulsing in pain. In that second Charlotte's resolve snapped, she didn't care anymore if these men had intentions of killing her or capturing her to do exactly what she had fought so hard to get away from. All she knew was that she had to take Zeke out. This man, this leader of a group of the most hardened, moral deprived arseholes she had the displeasure to run into could not live. He was the worst one out of the five men who had raped her, molested her and abused her in every degrading manner. Maybe he would die from his wounds slowly or worse, maybe in a show of brotherhood they would let him live. This was an option that she had to take away at whatever cost. She was now prepared to die on this highway. But only on the condition that she took this scum bag wanker out first.
In one last surge of strength, she clenched her jaw ignoring the pain that pulsed through her temples and let out a low, guttural growl. She rushed at him, the men all stepping back into their defensive positions swinging their weapons to shoulder level in a second but they saw in an instant that her eyes were fixated only for the man between them on his knees. In a blind rage she covered the couple of yards that separated them, raising the knife above her head and swung with all the strength she could muster. He raised his arms in defence, a useless gesture as the sharp knife sliced through the air and partially severed his neck. His hands flew to the gushing slit in his throat, the knife having neatly severed the windpipe and all the arteries. He looked at her in shock as death quickly misted his eyes over and took him backwards to the cold asphalt. All the venom and hatred raging in her veins spurred her on, as her body fell forwards with his corpse until she was kneeling on top of him, she raised her knife and repeatedly plunged it into his head, venting a low scream of frustration, pain and animal hatred.
Soon she was covered in more blood splatters and splinters of bone chips across her exposed mid rift, as a wave of exhaustion hit her, she sagged slightly her body finally giving up. Sitting back on her hunches, kneeling over the pulverised body of her former captor, she momentarily let her head drop back looking at the eggshell blue sky in relief. As she gasped for air in her exhaustion, the release caused a surge of laughter to bubble up inside her, and small hysterical giggle escaped her. She clapped her hand over her mouth at its inappropriateness but shrugged to herself as she fought, and failed, to supress the next one.
She barely noticed the men who stood back from her, their weapons lowered slightly but still cautiously armed and watching her with apprehension for sudden movements. With a new sense of purpose she stood with the knife clutched in her bloodied hands the chains dragging on the floor clanging ominously in the quiet morning air. She looked them over holding each of their gaze for a couple of seconds, with her heart hammering in her chest she slowly started to turn away. She was going to take a risk turning her back on them and hope that their wary countenance would be enough for her to walk away before they recovered from their initial shock.
"Wait," Rick called out to her, taking a small step towards her holstering his weapon but pausing as she turned her swollen eyes to him. "Please don't go, we can help you." He told her gently and grimaced in pity as he gestured to her in what he hoped was a non threatening way, " you need help."
She lifted her chin defiantly and shook her head immediately regretting it as her vision swam, "The last time a man offered to help me when I was injured, his leader ended up employing me as the camp whore." She told him with as much dignity as she could muster. "You will forgive me if I am a little wary of groups of men." She noticed the looks of mild shock as they registered her clipped English accent, and decided that she had already provided them with too much information.
She closed her eyes momentarily trying to regain her sense of balance, as the lightheaded woozy feeling washed over her and fighting the feeling of panic she turned away from them, " Thanks anyway but I will take care of myself," she told them as nonchalantly as she could over her shoulder and started to walk away.
The three men exchanged worried glances as she moved away further down the road, very obviously trying to stay upright and not showing weakness. Rick bit his lip and dry rubbed his face, his hand working the nape of his neck as he ducked his head in thought. He was adverse to letting strangers into the group especially with his children back at the prison but his sense of morality was warring with his usual sense of protectiveness over the group. She desperately needed help, his conscience was bleating to him. A small voice in his head reminded him of Randall and his group of thirty men who had come across a family with two young daughters. If they had come across that group instead of by sheer dumb luck never meeting them, would this have happened to Lori, or Andrea or Carol, or even worse to one of the young girls like Sophia? What had very obviously happened to this poor woman.
However, he had stood back as she had murdered the man in a fit of rage, but in truth he couldn't deny that they all done that at some point since the world had gone to shit. He couldn't blame her for it, mitigating circumstances and all that, in fairness he didn't know what she had been through he could only guess from the state of her. She was obviously distraught and maybe slightly unhinged but the pure rage that he had seen on her face, the contortion of her he guessed normally pretty features had been mesmerising in the only way that horrifying sight can be. He wasn't sure whether it was the circumstances that made her act like that or it was naturally part of her character but could they risk bringing her into their group when they had so much to lose?
"We can't jus' leave her," Daryl murmured in his quiet drawl and squinting sideways at Rick, " She'll die 'fore noon, probably heat exhaustion an' with all tha blood she migh' as well ring tha dinner bell fer tha geeks. Not a nice way ter go." Rick grunted quietly in agreement, glancing at Glen who was frowning in concern at the lone figure walking slowly away. If he didn't know better he would have guessed that she was a walker looking at her gait, her stumbles betraying the weakness in her legs and the last of her strength leaving her.
"You heard her reply when we offered our help, how the hell do we convince her to trust a group of men after what the last group did to her?" Glen ventured, causing Daryl to shrug his lean shoulders in answer. In that moment, fate seemed to make the decision for them as they watched her stumble unsteadily, she swayed on her feet slightly before her legs went from under her making her fall heavily to the floor.
They ran to her, Rick reaching her first, their eyes continuously scanning around them for walkers. He turned her onto her back to check that she was still alive and leaning in to her mouth, he listened to her breathing, and felt a weak pulse reverberating through his fingers at her neck. "She's still alive." He confirmed as Daryl holstered his crossbow over his shoulder.
"Le's git her back ter Hershel then ta git her fixed." He reached down, gently grabbing her hand and wrapping his other hand around her small waist, he counterbalanced his weight to bring her up to sitting position so he could sling her over his shoulder.
"Nooo," She slurred weakly, feebly flailing her other hand against his shoulder and barely being able to open her eyes, "I won't... I won't let you... I won't belong to anyone... anymore." She whispered as her head fell limply back against his muscled arm and her body went lax. Daryl looked at her his heart contracting in sympathy, as a couple of tears escaped from her swollen eyelids, cutting salty tracks through the caked blood.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and coughing gruffly, he changed his mind about picking her up in a fireman's lift. She seemed to have been stripped of every dignity at the hands of these men, and the position of her body over his shoulder would expose her unnecessarily. He looped his arm around her waist and the other under her legs, and hauled up to standing position with her in his arms, knowing it would be more strenuous to carry her back but it was worth the small gesture. She whimpered slightly in pain, with her head lolling against his chest, he gently shushed her in a soothing baritone hum. Miraculously she seemed to nuzzle her forehead against him trustingly like a child, and sighed relaxing in his grip.
Nodding to the other men, avoiding their eyes as he regretted his moment of weakness, they turned back to their home, the prison that lay just beyond the trees.