The bright moon dappled a rapidly moving shadow as it flitted among the trees. Long brown hair flowed like quicksilver over tense shoulders as the figure gripped the thick branch of a massive pine in the center of the dense woods. The cool night air trailed invisible fingers over the tops of the ivory-stained trees, rustling the leaves and enticing crickets to chirp mournful songs.
Alighting in a clearing bathed in moonlight, a slender woman materialized from the shadows of the hulking trees.
She was not lacking for muscle. Her arms and legs were firm and smooth, not too thin nor was there an excess of fat. Long mahogany hair rippled unbound around a smooth, youthful face. Though she was only in her late thirties, wire-thin wrinkles connected her upturned nose to the corners of her Cupid's bow mouth and creased her eyes. This gave her an ageless quality and only seemed to magnify her beauty.
Her sharp emerald eyes scanned the perimeter of the clearing, looking for signs of life, or lack thereof. She angled her face to the wind and sniffed the onrushing breeze. She stopped, paused to consider her findings, opening her mouth partly to taste the scent, and scuttled up a beech to her left.
Her nose was correct; three large figures walked into the clearing a few moments after the woman left.
The man in the lead held a crossbow at the ready. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and thickly built. His face was pointed and covered by a mop of scraggly dirty-blond hair. Stubble coated his chin and upper lip. His eyes were small and, though difficult to see, a clear blue, and darted about the clearing restlessly.
The man behind him was a hair shorter, wiry, and looked older. Though his hair was a solid black, the thick stubble that covered his face was peppered with white. His eyes were piercing and blue, and seemed to be the only thing alive in his gaunt face. A small pistol was holstered to his belt. Though he didn't lead the small party, he had an air of authority.
The last man was an inch or so taller than the first. His muscles looked chiseled and well built. His face was long and severe, with a hooked nose and a shaved head. He carried a long rifle, held at the ready.
"What are we looking for again?" asked the last man impatiently. His voice was deep, with a pleasing southern drawl.
"I told you, I saw somethin'." Said the first man. His accent was thicker and his voice more gravely. A twig cracked from across the clearing. The man with the crossbow pointed it in the direction of the sound and held still for a few moments.
"What is this 'somethin''?" asked the last man.
"C'mon Daryl, we'll find it in the morning." Said the second man. His voice was also accented, but deeper and throatier. The last man rolled his eyes. He muttered something, probably a curse, and started to walk back. Daryl stayed rooted to the spot.
"C'mon Daryl." Repeated the second man. "Shane! Wait up!" he called into the forest. Shane's combat boots crushed the dried leaves below them as he reentered the clearing.
"Rick, all he saw was a walker or wild animal." He protested, hefting his gun. "Let's just go home." Rick looked at the moon, then the horizon. He judged it would be a few hours until the first daylight.
"Fine, we'll find it in the morning." Daryl glowered at Shane and slung his crossbow on his back.
There came a crack from a branch to their right. The woman in the tree cringed. This tree wouldn't hold her weight for much longer. The thin, close-packed branches were starting to give way. She held her breath, hoping they didn't see her. Daryl cocked his head at the tree beside him.
Suddenly, the branches gave way, sending her tumbling down. She landed on her back ten feet away from Daryl with a dull thud. The woman slowly got to her knees and raised her hands in a gesture of peace. The three men aimed their weapons at the woman, neither moving.
"Who are you?" asked Shane, stepping forward.
The woman remained mute.
"Who are you?" repeated Shane, advancing aggressively.
No answer. Daryl stalked closer, crossbow aimed at her head. He was only a few steps away.
"What's your name, girl?" Daryl growled. Impatient, he started towards the woman, intending to bind her wrists. His hand was almost on her wrist when she sprang into action. She swiftly balled her left hand into a fist, cupped the fist in her other hand and, using her right to add momentum, jabbed her left elbow in Daryl's injured side. Without time for a surprised yelp, an iron-hard fist followed. She turned to Shane, who was directly behind her. Too close. She changed tactics.
She grabbed the barrel of his gun, yanked, and then shoved back in his face, catching his nose and making it bleed. Ducking to the side, she rammed her knee in his groin then, using the same leg, twisted her torso so her foot was parallel to the ground, flexed and released her leg, her foot contacting with his knee squarely. There was a faint pop as the knee bent the wrong way, twisting but not breaking. Shane growled and, using his injured leg, kicked the woman's own right knee. She hissed in pain and punched him in the face. He was thrown to the ground. She turned to face Rick, limping slightly, but he had already drawn his gun and pointed it between her eyes.
"I didn't kick him hard enough to break it." Said the woman, breathing heavily.
"I know." Said Rick simply. "Daryl, Shane, you two okay?"
"Okay?!" sputtered Daryl. He was breathing just as heavily as the woman, and wheezing too. "She fucking kicked my arrow wound!"
"Shane?" asked Rick.
"Fine." He growled through gritted teeth. Rick spared a glance for Shane, but returned to the woman soon after. She returned his steely look with one of her own.
"What are we gonna do with her?" Asked Shane.
"Dunno. She's a liability if we keep her in the woods." conceded Rick.
"The hell she is." Daryl spat, massaging his side.
"We can't take her back to camp!" protested Shane, looking wild-eyed at Rick and Daryl.
"We can lock her in the shed." Suggested Rick.
"We can kill her." Shane said this all too eagerly. He looked meaningfully at Rick. "Is she really worth the risk?" Rick avoided the woman's eyes, contemplating what to do.
"You could just let me go and I'll never bother you again." The woman asked shyly. Rick laughed harshly.
"Not a chance." He raised the gun with renewed vigor. She flinched.
"Let's just lock her in the shed." Said Daryl, annoyed. Rick and Shane looked over, surprised. Daryl was usually quiet and content to blend into the background, coming out when something needed to be killed or beat up. He let the others do the talking. This deviation from character was not unnoticed.
"Fine." Said Rick sharply. "Find out why she's here, what she wants, and what to do with her." Daryl looked away from everyone. The woman was secretly relieved but didn't show it. Rick put away his gun and traded it for a length of rope. He deftly bound her hands and blindfolded her with a spare handkerchief. Unseeing, she forced herself to give in to the direction of the men as Rick shoved her towards Daryl. He caught her roughly by the back of her shirt and tossed her in front of him. He guided her through the dense forest, his hands holding onto her bonds.
It took longer to get to the Greene farm then the woman remembered. She could smell it long before she saw it. She guessed her captors were taking detours to keep her from knowing where they were taking her. The truth was, she had seen the Greene farm before, even stole some eggs and a chicken. After the large group moved in and she saw the firepower they were packing, she knew it would be suicidal to attempt something like that again. The first streaks of dawn stained the horizon when she emerged from the woods.
The dense undergrowth and dead leaves under her feet changed to tall grass, then packed dirt and stones. Daryl conferred with Rick and Shane in quiet undertones. She felt Daryl's rough hands grab her collar and pushed her foreword.
"Welcome home." Said Daryl in a monotonous voice. He shoved her into a shack about hundred feet from where the group was camped. A mostly dead oak tree shaded half the shed. Still bound, Daryl attached manacles to her wrists and chained them to the floor. He unwound the bandanna and tossed it on a pile of old, ratty blankets in the corner. The woman shivered. She knew all too well how cold nights could get here, even in summer.
The shack was larger then she expected, but still no bigger then a large lawn mower. The walls were made of thinly spaced boards that allowed thin bars of sunlight to streak the rotting floorboards. Through one of the closer cracks, the woman gazed at the streak of pink the painted the eastern horizon. The roof was taller then expected too, with some of the shingles falling in and sunlight dribbling down.
As Daryl started to untie the rope, he realized her hands and wrists were too thin for the manacles to properly hold her captive. He left the rope on and looped the chains through her wrists.
"You're stayin' here until we can figure out what to do with you." He informed her, testing to see if the chains would hold. He punched her in the face. "Payback." He sneered. The reaction was instantaneous.
The woman rolled onto her shoulders, tucked her knees to her chin, and kicked out, aiming for the belly button. Her aim was true. She heard the breath whoosh out of his lungs and the heavy thud of him dropping to the ground.
She alighted on her feet and, leaning heavily on her uninjured side, began yanking the chain. It wouldn't budge. She got down on her knees and twisted around, displaying astounding flexibility, and yanking the knot with her teeth.
Daryl was sprawled on the floor of the shack. The woman spared a glance from between the fibers of the now frayed rope and continued working the knot. It was futile because Daryl got up, with some difficulty, and yanked her hair. He withdrew a hunting knife from his pocket and brought it to the exposed skin of her neck. The woman was breathing heavily, teeth bared, muscles quivering from their short excursion.
She felt the thin stripe of cool metal touch her warm flesh and flinched, gazing at Daryl with pure loathing. He tightened his grip on her hair and increased the pressure on the knife, drawing a single bead of blood.
"Don't even think about it." He breathed.
He let go of her hair and stowed the knife back in his pocket. Before exiting, he deliberately wiped the hand that held her hair on his pants, exited, bolted the door, and left.
