I do not own anything to do with AMC's The Walking Dead. I do own my made up characters. Enjoy.
Go easy on me please :3 Enjoy.
- EmmieRoo
Say My Name
Quiet. Tip-toe, light steps. The dirt stirred beneath her feet; not a leaf crunched or twig snapped. She had hunted before, a few times back at the farm with her father. Mainly small critters: rabbits, squirrels. Here was the big game; the hunt her father never let her attempt. Too dangerous, too hard to track, who knew? She couldn't ask him why he wouldn't let her do it, just like a lot of other things he didn't let her do, so pondering would do nothing. Here she was now, in the present, fighting day to day for her next meal, with the game at the end of her fingertips. A buck; she'd been tracking it for a few days now. So many times she'd almost had it, ready to make the shot, ready to take it home so she could feed herself for, hell, probably close to a week.
It would go far, the buck. She never ate much; she couldn't afford to on a day to day basis – just enough to get her by. Plus she was by herself.
Her stomach twisted slightly; not from the hunger pains. She ignored it. No time for distractions.
The buck's tracks became random, huddled and almost frantic, a cluster of disturbed soil and torn up roots. There was a metallic smell in the air mixed with a well known, not at all comforting stench that offended her nostrils. Had to be quick or the buck wouldn't be the only meal for them.
She slung her crossbow over her shoulder and turned to head back home, until she heard a horse's frantic cries. Stray? No, there couldn't be. Not out here. With a hand on the machete strapped to her waist she made a beeline towards the horse.
Who's out there? What do they... Am I prepared? What if there's more than one?
She swallowed her questions. No distractions. It was really none of her business; who it was, what happened or what they wanted. She was fine by herself – coping. She can live without much food; she always had. Oldest of six can get a bit tough. It's not like she could just leave; next oldest was eight years younger and barely knew the ropes. How cruel life can be. Someone had to be there for the pups; to teach them how to track, use a weapon to hunt, skin what they kill – teach them what her father had taught her to do so long ago. All someone had to do was teach the kid how to protect kin and look out for them. She was just about to do it herself before it all went to shit.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. One of them, staggering towards the noise and too distracted through tunnel vision to notice her walk straight up to it, machete held tight in her right hand as she buried deep in the back of its head. Blood spurted everywhere; her face screwed up at the sight of her messed up vest. She held tight to her blood-soaked weapon and headed down that thing's intended path with slow, quiet steps.
The Georgian heat was ridiculous today, like normal it was hot, but that day seemed hotter than the rest. It didn't matter that she was in and out of the shade of the trees that towered over her, sweat fell in small beads down her neck and made her back feel sticky. Wearing gear didn't help. It's not like it mattered; don't have to worry about looks anymore. But as far as she was concerned, she was the most attractive thing alive. Grime, blood, sweat and all.
A small grin tweaked at the corner of her lip.
The terrain dipped – a sharp and deep fall, nasty for anyone who lost their footing or got distracted – to reveal a small creek that ended in a pool of murky water. There was someone down there, someone lying on the damp sand next to the creek. Someone that was bleeding, she could see an arrow sticking from his abdomen.
Fuck. They will be attracted to the smell of his blood. He's as good as gone.
But she couldn't ignore it; she couldn't do nothing. If he wasn't hurt, if he just got back up, brushed himself off and went on his merry way back to wherever the hell her came from, she'd be okay. She could let him do it without feeling bad if she spotted him again craving human flesh. She wouldn't feel guilty – he made that choice, not her. She wanted him to wake up so he could sort out what he'd gotten himself into by his lonesome. She could just turn around and walk away. She shouldn't have to babysit a stranger.
He didn't move. Damn her morals. She kicked the dirt and cursed.
She found a way down to him that wouldn't have compromised her health and made her way over to him, her boots sinking slightly in the damp sand. He was breathing. Laboured breaths albeit, but breathing nonetheless. His tracks indicated that he'd dragged himself over to where he currently lay unconscious. He'd slipped and fallen into a sort of waterfall and then into the water. Somewhere along the way, he stuck himself with his own arrow. Bravo. It sure does take talent to do. There was a crossbow a foot out of his reach, no arrows except the one protruding from his abdomen. Not a fatal injury, serious enough that it would need stitches and he'd need some pain killers, but not serious enough to lose sleep over. She'd seen worse. Much worse.
She scanned his body for bites or scratches. None as far as she could see while he was still clothed, and there was no patches of fresh blood on his body, save the result from his accident. In reality, she couldn't do anything to help him until he woke up; the only thing she could think of was keeping them from feasting on him. She'd do it because of her stupid, stinking morals. They weren't very good morals, she acknowledged that, but she had to do what she could to survive. Sitting next to this guy, waiting for them to come – it wasn't exactly the way she wanted to spend her day.
What about when he woke up? Was he going to have enough strength to climb the way she'd come? It wasn't too much trouble to come down, but it was an odd angle to climb back up. She wouldn't be able to carry him. Fuck. What had she gotten herself into?
She scanned his body. He'd ripped the sleeves off his brown flannelette shirt and tied it around the arrow. The bleeding had stopped somewhat, a cut on his temple had oozed now-dry blood down the right side of his face, which was also covered in dry sweat and dirt. His short brown hair was the same.
He stirred slightly, his lashes flickering. He moved his head, his eyes open, but not focused. He smiled after a spell and let out a small amused grunt.
"Merle... Shitty day, bro."
She looked at him, confusion covering every inch of her expression as she slowly got up from next to him. He might flail and panic if he woke up and saw her with a few weapons.
"Screw you."
Well that's not very nice.
He swallowed, his eyes shut again, trying to breath in the disgusting heat.
"Girl..." he frowned, swallowed again. "They lost a little girl."
A little girl. That must be why he was out here on his lonesome. Little girl's gone mission; Boy Wonder steps up and plays hero. Look at where that got you, champ.
"Shut up."
She smirked.
"Tried like hell to find you, bro."
He lost a little girl and his brother? That's rough. She frowned as he raised his eyebrows, his expression filled with pain.
"You lit out. All you had to do was wait."
Her attention snapped to a rustle in the bushes across the creek. She put a hand on her machete, her fingers drumming at the side of her waist.
"I ain't nobody's bitch." He muttered.
One of them emerged from behind a bush on the other side of the creek, stumbling as it came down the hill. Her frown deepened as she drew a carving knife from her thigh holster. Not like she was using soon. As the walker approached her, pale grey eyes with a dash of cannibal-crazy fixated on her, arms out, reaching for its next meal, the body behind her groaned and shifted. She quickly checked on him, his blue eyes clearly seeing that thing heading their way and panicked, pulling his body towards his weapon.
Two steps forward; she plunged the knife through its eye. It immediately fell to the ground to become a heavy sack of dead-for-good. Easy done. On their own, they're virtually harmless – if you have the right gear and know how to use it.
The man behind her started breathing heavily and moving; he was definitely conscious now. Frantic, panicked noises escaped his lips and she turned. Another one of them heading straight for him as he ripped the arrow out of his abdomen, as if it was life or death. It wasn't really; she just drove her knife into the side of its head. Her blade sunk right in, she could feel the thing's skull touching her knuckle. Body count was at two. Child's play. She looked for more coming in the direction it gracefully staggered from. There lay the buck she'd been tracking, just amongst some shrubs, ripped to pieces, guts out in the open and half gnawed on.
Annoyed, she kicked the thing.
"Fucker ate my fucking game."
He must not have registered her existence until that moment, his eyes darting back and forth from her eyes to the thing and back up to her.
"Come on," she said with a sigh, "we have to get you cleaned up."
But he simply stared at her, his once laboured breath becoming even and paced. His hard face was set as a cold scowl.
She made an annoyed noise and brushed her fringe out of her face with her clean hand. "I need to clean and stitch your wound or it'll get infected."
He still said nothing and scowled as her before ripping the rest of his flannelette shirt, bunching it into a ball and pushing it against the hole in his side. He frowned as he tied it up with the sleeve.
She groaned as his stubborn attitude. "Let me help you. You need medical attention."
"I'm fine," he growled and attempted to bring himself to his feet, ashamed when he staggered back to the rocks he was sitting on. "I don't need help from no girl." He was angry that he'd been saved from potential death by a girl. She put her hands on her hips. Oh, no he didn't.
"A woman just saved your ass. There were three of those things coming your way at the same time I was; one on the way here and two I killed just now. Cost me my game and a week's worth of food to save your ass from those things. If anything, you owe me. So do me a favour and stop being a little bitch and let me help you."
He grunted at her, conceding.
Her temperament lightened, "thank you."
He snorted, looking at his crossbow. She stepped over and scooped it up, handing it back to him in one movement. He set it up, pulling the bowstring back and setting the lone arrow in place. She waited for him to point it at her, like anyone else would do if their chance of survival was compromised – or if the whole situation made them a little crazy. But he didn't. He slung it over his shoulder and grunted as he lifted himself to his feet, awkwardly bending so his arm supported him the whole way until he was completely upright.
His piercing blue eyes met hers questioningly.
"I'm hauled up at my farm, 'bout a mile South West from here. I have the equipment necessary for stitching your wound. We can climb out of here from–"
"Why you helpin' me?"
The question didn't surprise her in the slightest.
"Honestly, I don't know. But if I hadn't, you wouldn't be as alive as you are now."
He grunted. "I'm fine on my own."
She nodded to his makeshift bandage, soaked in fresh blood, raising an eyebrow. "Sure don't seem that way."
"You don't know nothin', girl."
"Look," she sighed, digging into her pockets. She unscrewed the white cap off a small orange container she'd managed to steal from a pharmacy and poured two small white pills into her clean hand. She always had some on her, just in case. "Take these pain killers. Strong shit."
He plucked them from her palm and took the water bottle she offered him. He downed the pills instantly.
She snickered, a small smile tugging at her lips. She raised a hand to cover her eyes, but squinted anyway when she looked up at the sky. "When they kick in it'll be easier to climb. We've still got a bit of light; won't take too long to get back. I'm asking you now to not be a pain in my ass and just stay for the night. Just one night so you can be fit to fly tomorrow. I don't want my saving your ass to be a waste of time."
He grunted, handing back the bottle of water and she rolled her eyes. "Come on."