A dark-haired woman, perched in a tree like a bird, watched the prison. Several people were inside the fence. Honest-to-God living people. Not dead people walking but real live people. The terrible reek of the decayed bodies that they were burning wafted its way to her nose. Ugh. She gagged. She should be used to the stench by now but she wasn't and doubted that she ever would be. She tied a dirty red bandana around the lower half of her face. It didn't really help dispel the odor much but it was better than nothing.
Now the question was, did she want to make contact with these people? The last group she was with left her with a bad taste and a desire to avoid other survivors altogether. However, she was practical and knew she couldn't survive long on her own. Safety in numbers, right? That's not what her daddy would say but he wasn't here to help her. Ain't nobody you can count on but yourself and your family. Don't you ever forget it, Ladybug. This group looked like a family. They worked together like a family. There was a young boy in a big hat laughing with a blonde teenage girl. An old man on crutches who could be someone's grandpa. A woman with short hair was feeding a bottle to a baby. Two men were throwing decayed corpses on the fire. Another was in the guard tower. He had binoculars and watched the road that led to the gate. She made sure to stay hidden from his view. Another man walked the fence, stopping occasionally to examine it closer. Maybe these people were different than the others. She wanted them to be different.
The young woman had been on her own only a week, give or take a day, or two, or maybe even three. One day was just like another now and she had lost count. She was so hungry. So tired. Nights were still cold and she was afraid to go to sleep. Afraid she'd wake up to being eaten alive by the dead. So a fitful nap here and there, only if she found a safe place, had to suffice. Just enough to sleep to function was what she managed to get by on. Barely.
She had been in Atlanta for her college roommate's wedding when the dead started walking. Things got out of hand fast at the bachelorette party and it went downhill from there. A fight broke out. Someone got bit and then someone else. When she saw a supposedly dead bridesmaid rise up and bite the bride, she high-tailed it back to her hotel room, packed her stuff and got the hell out of Dodge. At least she tried. She escaped the city only to be stuck in the gridlock that had turned every highway leaving Atlanta into a parking lot.
She was just so damned tired of running and hiding. She blinked the tears back that threatened to fall. Cut that shit out, girl. Ain't nothin' worse than a crybaby. Tears ain't never fixed nothin'. Her daddy's voice echoed in her head. She hadn't seen him for almost ten years but he was never far from her thoughts, especially now. Sure he was an asshole and a pretty lousy father figure but he did teach her a thing or two in summers she spent with him that had kept her alive this far. Her daddy wasn't there half the time because he was either in jail or only God knows where and she stayed with her uncle who was a marginally better "surrogate" father. Her friends assumed her stepfather was actually her real dad and she didn't bother to correct them. Her momma, Rachel Landry, said it took months to undo the damage her daddy and uncle caused. At the tender age of five, she called a playmate a "stupid fucking bitch" and got kicked out of the play group. As soon as they got home, her momma called and cussed her daddy out, threatening to stop the visits. But it was a bluff, of course. Her momma wasn't giving up her kid-free summers so she kept sending her only daughter back to Georgia to her backwoods redneck daddy and his backwoods redneck brother. Once, she even heard her daddy tell her uncle that she probably wasn't even his kid. Her momma tried to slap him but he caught her hand and growled, "Just get the hell outta here but you best come get the kid 'fore school starts."
A loud rumble jolted her awake. Shit! She must have dozed off again. What was that? The rumble grew into an ear-splitting roar. A familiar ear-splitting roar! The dead at the fence were getting riled up at the racket. There were shouts at the gate. The man in the watch tower began picking off the dead as they turned towards the clamor. A large man in prison garb pulled the gate open with screech and immediately slammed it shut when the Triumph Bonneville with two riders blew through.
"Daddy? Oh my God," she cried. It can't be. The bike and riders disappeared from her sight. It is him! He's alive! He's really alive! That was her daddy's customized Triumph. It was one-of-a-kind. He loved that bike. She would play in the front yard while he tinkered with it every weekend. She smiled to herself remembering the the day she actually got to ride on it with him. "Get yer swimsuit, Ladybug. We're goin' to the lake!" She scrambled up behind him and wrapped her skinny arms around his waist. "Hold on tight, baby girl!" he hollered over his shoulder. Her uncle followed in his truck with the fishing poles and sandwiches. They spent the whole afternoon just having fun, swimming, fishing and napping. Her daddy didn't even get mad when she "caught" him in the arm with a fish hook. He just pushed the barb through his skin, cut it off and pulled it out while she stood watching with big eyes and trembling lips. He patted her head. "Don't worry, darlin.' Ain't nothin'." Then he picked her up and threw her in the lake.
I finally found you, Daddy. With a trembling breath she lowered herself to the ground. She half-ran, half-stumbled toward the prison gate. "Daddy!" She could make it if she ran fast enough. Just a little farther. She tripped over her own feet and hit the ground hard, skinning her knees and palms. "Damn it! Wait!" she screamed. "Please!" Her voice was hoarse with disuse. No! They didn't hear her but she kept running.
Oh God! She wasn't going to make it. Her hollering caught the attention of the dead milling around the gate and they turned toward her. She wasn't much faster than the broken bodies coming at her. She could dodge them...she fell again. Tears blinded her.
Get up, Ladybug!
"I'm trying, Daddy."
Tryin'? Shit, girl. Just do it! Run!
She jumped up and ran, her daddy's harsh voice spurring her forward.
A bullet whistled by her head. "Don't shoot! Please, don't shoot!" she cried out.
Don't look back, baby girl! Keep goin'! Almost there. She wove around the dead with their reaching arms and desperate growls and threw herself against the prison gate and began climbing. She didn't stop until she reached the razor wire. She clung on for dear life with her bloody, damaged hands as the people who gathered on the inside began stabbing the encroaching dead through the fence.
"Hold on, girl!" someone yelled.
Like I would let go, she thought. Even though her hands throbbed in pain, she could probably hold on forever. They might have to pry her fingers loose to get her down.
"Are we going to let her in?" asked the boy in the big hat.
"Amanda?" a masculine voice asked with disbelief.
She burst into sobs. "Uncle Daryl!"
"Open the fuckin' gate!" he ordered. The man squinted up at her as he came around to stand beneath her. "You look like a damned treed 'possum, girl."
"I'm stuck." Her sore fingers wouldn't budge.
"Get the fuck down or I'm goin' put an arrow in your ass!" he warned, impatiently.
"Don't yell at me! I'm trying!"
"Come on, girl. Hurry up more walkers are coming!" Amanda screamed as the tall black man, called Oscar, yanked hard on her feet, pulling her loose. She fell with an "oomph" against the solid wall of his chest but he caught her before she hit the ground and carried her roughly inside the gate while her uncle slammed it shut, locking the remaining dead outside.
"Damn, college girl. You still alive? You really are a Dixon." Daryl Dixon pulled her into a bear hug. She collapsed against his chest crying and laughing at the same time.
"I heard that stupid bike. Daddy's stupid, wonderful bike. I knew ya'll had to be here." He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe. "I can't believe I found ya'll, Uncle Daryl. I've been looking for so long." He stiffened and she pulled back to look at his grim face. "Where's Daddy?"
He shook his head. "Don't know for sure, Possum. Ain't seen him for about a year." Amanda swallowed a lump in her throat and tried not to sob again. Tears ain't never fixed nothin'. But, the tears streamed down her face anyway. She was just too exhausted to fight them anymore.
"Hey, hey, girl," Daryl said softly and tilted her chin up. "He's a Dixon. If you survived this shit, you know your daddy did. Right? I just ain't found him yet. Only Merle can kill Merle."
That's what she was afraid of. Her daddy had always been his own worse enemy. She nodded and forced a smile. At least she found Daryl. "Now, c'mon, Possum. Let's get you fed and you can meet the rest of our people."
