Uncanny (A Very Undead Birthday)
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to The Walking Dead.
Other Stuff: This is the second piece of fanfiction I've written about "Walking Dead." Enjoy!
Chapter 1: The Escape
Daryl Dixon wiped blood out of his eyes and screamed into the night.
"Rick!"
The sound seemed to carry and then dissipate in the humid air, scattering and gone as if it had never existed.
It was supposed to be a routine scouting expedition. Short and sweet. Leave the lights on for us, everyone. Back in time for birthday cake.
Daryl could not remember a time when he had run so fast and for so long. His lungs ached and burned, he gasped for breath, and he clutched his rib cage on his right side where he had fallen in his haste to escape.
Grimes and Dixon had been exploring various areas surrounding the prison, going farther than they had ever ventured before in the hopes that they would discover where the Governor was hiding out, when they had stumbled upon the horde.
They had run back together at first, but then Daryl had lost sight of Rick, blending in with the darkness of twilight in the dense forest. Daryl remembered felling dozens of walkers, wasting arrows faster than he could keep track. He remembered the panic of knowing that he was alone. He remembered falling suddenly, tripping in the darkness because he couldn't see. He remembered the pain exploding in his rib cage and the grit of dirt in his mouth as he fell into the depths of nothingness.
He ran. Dixon ran for survival, calling out Rick's name with the hope that he was still alive, that they could flee together and make it home all right. He ran despite the pain that threatened to close his eyes and force him to succumb to the walkers moaning viciously just behind him.
Then, a miracle occurred.
He saw a light in the darkness.
The forest parted and yawned, revealing a clearing, featuring a small farmhouse surrounded by an overgrown cornfield. It was all so charming and perfect. Daryl shook his head briefly, uncertain if what he was seeing was real or a hallucination, but a better look told him that it was definitely real, and there were lights on inside the house.
How is that possible?
"Rick?!" he called out again, sure that Grimes had spotted the house and was the one responsible for the lights, like a signal of safety.
Daryl ran with the last strength left inside him. He hurled through the thick corn, brushing stalks aside as they scratched his face, small streams of blood running down his arms. His mouth dry and his right side throbbing with pain, Daryl staggered out of the cornfield and approached the house as if it was a beacon of hope in the night.
You're getting soft.
He pushed the thought aside and wobbled to the front door, banging his fists on the door in desperate earnestness.
"Rick! It's me! Let me in! Please! Help!"
When the door abruptly opened, Dixon found himself falling inside, landing with a thud on the foyer's rosy red carpet. Daryl, straining in agony, suddenly looked up into the crinkly eyes of a senior citizen.
"Well, hello, Alfie. You look absolutely dead."
Daryl Dixon felt consciousness slip away as his face met the rug and the old lady slammed the door shut behind him.