CHAPTER ONE: ALMOST

She squeezed her eyes shut and held a new, shiny pair of hair scissors tight to her chest as she tried desperately to build up the nerve she needed to face what was out in the shop. Light groaning complimented by the dull, constant smell of decaying flesh surrounded her hiding place, making her feel like she was on the edge of puking; lord knows she'd already done it often enough.

Only a week ago when the dead started to walk and her workplace had been overrun during her shift, she had taken shelter in the small staff room, blocking the entryway with the heavy lunch table as she tried to come to terms with what was happening outside. Isolated, with no electricity or form of communication, she had barely survived off what had been left in the cupboards, which hadn't been a lot bar a few cans of fruit salad and corn. During her first day of being trapped, an hour after the power had been cut, she had realised that the staff lunches left over in the fridge would soon go off, and she had gladly eaten as much as she could in an attempt to fill up and save her nose from the smell of rotted food later on.

The days in the staff room had passed slowly, the small window at the top of the wall being her only indication of days going by. Her days were filled with terror and boredom as she listened to the groaning just outside the barricaded door, waiting as patiently as possible to be rescued. The nights however, the nights were the worst. Logically, she knew that she wasn't in more danger during the night than she was during the day, having never been that scared of the dark past the age of twelve, but there was just something -horrific- about not being able to see, not being able to try and protect herself properly if the occasion arose. Plus, she was tired at night. She was tired and lethargic, her movements slow and heavy whilst it was dark, leaving her vision compromised as well. At night she was nothing more than a harmless hunk of meat, just waiting to be ripped apart by those things just outside the door.

Despite being so tired, she barely did get any sleep -three hours a night at most- the adrenalin coursing through her body whenever she heard a noise outside, leaving her heart racing and her mind on full-alert.

Now, she crouched behind the table with a shiny pair of scissors, hunger and impatience driving her from her hiding place. As soon as she moved the table they would all know she was there. The sheer terror of having them come after her almost made her hunker back in the corner of the room as she slowly starved to death, but she knew that she couldn't do that to herself. If she were to be ripped apart, she figured that she would at least pass out from fear before she was ripped to shreds; she probably wouldn't feel much at all. Maybe.

"One, two, three,"She whispered as she breathed in deeply, placing a quivering hand on the edge of the table, ready to drag it. "One, two, three,"She placed her other hand and weapon on the table, ready to drag it back, leaving her totally exposed to the dead walking around. "One, two- oh God I can't!" Her voice broke at the end and she fell backwards, palms rubbing her eyes as she tried desperately to catch her breath and calm down. Tears ran down her cheeks, leaving wet tracks and a salty taste in her mouth as she rocked on the spot, drawing her knees tightly to her chest. "I have to," She muttered absently, "I have to -fuck-I have to." In and out she breathed, untensing her muscles and slowly coming to a stand, placing her hands on the table, ready to drag. "Come on, come on, I have to -have to- do this." Her hands shook as she braced herself, tensing her muscles, preparing to pull. "Like a bandaid," She whispered, "Just like a bandaid."

"Don't be a fucking chicken." She moaned, as if in pain, and pulled as hard as she could.

The table was heavier than she remembered as she dragged it backwards. Immediately, she heard the sounds of the dead, groaning, moaning, snapping their infected mouths, dragging their heavy limbs as they came closer and closer to the door. There was no backing out now.

She grabbed her scissors hard in her hand, adrenalin crashing through her body as they got closer to her. If she didn't move now, she'd be trapped, and sure enough, the door cracked open, revealing a single grey sickly coloured hand. Terrified, she threw herself forward and screamed, her body taking over, her survival instinct piloting her every move. She flung herself forward through the door, screaming loud as the dead scratched at her, their mouths hungry for fresh flesh. She tripped over a hair dryer and lost her footing, crashing painfully to the ground, her scissors stabbing her painfully in the bicep.

The muscles in her arm cramped as the blood soaked through her skivvy and she screamed louder, drawing more of the dead into the salon as she pulled the scissors out of her own flesh.
More of the dead stumbled through the front door from the street, moving toward her. Cold hands pawed her exposed ankle and looked back as she kicked, finding one of the dead right there, dead flesh dangling from its snapping mouth. She screamed harder, tears falling from her eyes and she kicked helplessly, trying to crawl to one of the client benches so that she could pull herself up from the floor.

The dead were closing in on her, dragging their feet, opening and closing their mouths wordlessly, hungering for the meat on her body. She was crying now as she grabbed the edge of a bench and pulled herself upwards with both hands, screaming as her injured arm cramped with the effort and more blood soaked her clothing. Once up she pawed aimlessly for anything, having lost her scissors on the floor during her weak getaway. She grabbed the first thing her hand came into contact with -thankfully another pair of scissors- and she stumbled to the next bench, slashing her new weapon through the air. She let the bench support her as five of the dead stumbled within a couple of meters of her. Two more of them dragged themselves through the entryway, leaving her with seven threats, seven things hanging for the chance to rip her apart.

She grabbed for the wall as she attempted to move and screamed when her arm cramped again. She was close to the front of the store, one more bench and she would be there. She shouldered the wall, leaving her blood smothered against it and pulled herself painfully to the next bench. Her body, already weak from lack of food and sleep, took on a heavy, lethargic feeling and she felt her head throb. She was losing too much blood.

Dizzy and nauseas, she stumbled for the exit, barely unable to keep her body from collapsing. She pressed one hand to her injured arm and she screamed feebly, praying helplessly for someone to find her, anyone at all.

She screamed again, her voice weak and breathy, breaking. She had lost to much blood, she was going to die, she was going to be torn apart.
She looked behind her into the lifeless eyes of the dead woman stumbling toward her, praying that it would be quick when suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard a loud bang.

Never, in her entire life, had she ever been happy to hear a gunshot.

"H-help m-me please," She feebly croaked, her hands shaking as she dropped the scissors and let them clatter to the floor. Pressing her hand to her bicep she tried screaming again, trying desperately to catch their attention, wherever they were. The gunshot had been close, maybe a couple of doors down.

Footsteps. Running.

She stumbled to the ground and with as much effort as she could muster, she cried for the stranger outside. Cheeks wet and eyes puffy, blood covering her clothing and smeared over her face she croaked again, "Help m-me ple-please, please h-help." She pressed her hand hander on her bicep to try and stop losing blood, but it was useless.

"Help-" She barely voiced and collapsed further to the ground. Dead people closed in on her and she tried to scream, knowing that she was about to die.

Bang!

Bang, bang, bang!

She opened an eye, her vision blurring from tears and blood loss. "Help," She croaked in another pitiful attempt to be heard, "Please help me."

Then, the world was black.

When Merle Dixon went on a supply run to Atlanta, he didn't think for a second that he would end up half-supporting half-dragging a nearly dead chick from a hair salon.

She had been weak when he found her, crying, calling out, bleeding everywhere; a liability. Yet he had saved her, if only because she would be a hot fuck later on. A small part of him, an incredibly small part of him had felt pity for the half-dead bitch as he watched her collapse to ground, shaking, holding her bleeding arm as the walkers closed in her.

Well, he did always fancy himself a hero.

He chuckled to himself, he, Merle Dixon, some bitch's saviour. Hell, she'd owe him big time when she woke up. Maybe he would get himself a good fucking after all. He'd been complaining to Daryl for the past few days how horny he was and how desperate he was to get high again; maybe this girl -bitch, skank, whatever- would help relieve some of the tension that'd been building over the week.

He lugged her toward a closed-off alley, separated from the street by a high wire fence, and pulled her inside the gate, slamming and locking it shut behind them. He pulled her drooping body toward the truck as his brother appeared where he was loading supplies into the trailer on the back. He wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt and pointed at her with one of the damn arrows he always carried with him.

"Watcher got there?" Daryl asked, jumping down from the trailer and landing hard footed on the ground.

"Found 'er nearly bein' eaten," Merle supplied. He opened the car door and shoved her roughly onto the back seat, rubbing the sweat from his brow. He turned toward his brother who was standing behind him, craning his neck to take a peek at the passed-out girl. "Purty lil' thing ain't she brother?" He said proudly.

Daryl remained silent for a moment, leaning onto the car and crossing his arms, looking at her carefully. "She bit?"

"Naw, just a lil' prick on the arm; reckon it was them scissors she were holdin' when I found 'er."

Daryl moved in closer to get a better look at her. "That ain't no lil' prick, Merle, that's a fuckin' gash. Lost a lotta blood I think," He squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuckin' hell Merle, what're we gunna do with an injured chick?"

Merle waggled his brows, "Whatever we want lil' brother."

Daryl turned around and breathed out harshly, slamming his fist on the roof of the truck. "Damn! Merle you can't just pick up any little hussy ya want and think it's okay to fuck 'er, what the hell?"

"You ain't got no balls Darylina, that's what's wrong with ya, ain't never had any and ain't never will." He chuckled again before opening the passenger side door and rifling through the glove box as he tried to locate the first aid kit. She wouldn't be a good fuck dead, he'd be damned if he ever entered a cold pussy. "Ya got any bandages and that antiseptic stuff in here Darylina?" He called over his shoulder to his brother who was angrily tossing supplies around in the back. He received nothing but a slammed fist and he sneered, knowing very well that he'd pushed his brother's buttons. If Merle was good at anything, it was pressing buttons. There was nothing that he enjoyed more than the satisfaction he got from annoying the shit out of someone.

After a while he found the bandages and the antiseptic and was working on wrapping up her arm in the car. It was difficult to do, considering the car was so small and he was leaning over from the front seat; he wasn't a small guy, and his big frame was making it hard to move.

Eventually though, he was satisfied that the wound had been wrapped properly. Daryl had been right before when he said that it wasn't a just a prick, it was a fuckin' deep gash, and she had already lost a lot of blood. Probably hadn't eaten for days either, seeing as how delirious she'd been when he'd found her. All he could do now was wait for her to wake up and give her a feed, see if she was up for a fuck. Even if she wasn't he'd do it anyway, make it worth her while.

As if he could read his thoughts, Daryl appeared in the door way, wiping the sweat from his brow as he leaned on the car. "Ya ain't gonna fuck her Merle, as soon as she's awake we're leavin' her right here, she's a lost cause, prob'ly be scared outta her mind, start screamin', draw in those walkers."

Merle smirked at his brother and chuckled. "Ya scared, brother? Scared of a lil' purty girl?"

Daryl huffed, "I ain't scared of no girl."

He tapped his fingers on the roof of the truck and walked away, muttering explicatives under his breath. Fuckin' Merle bringing girls back, always the fuckin' same. Hell, he'd done it before the world went to shit! Ain't nothing, not even the damn apocalypse would change his brother. Tough as nuts that ugly shit was.

Daryl looked in the direction of the girl once he'd reached the back of the truck, and swore. What the hell were they going to do with a girl? From what Merle had described she seemed to be weak as hell, scared out of her damn mind, quivering and shaking; shit, she'd be a huge fuckin' liability. They didn't have time to deal with this damn stuff.

But what could he do? He wasn't gonna try and argue with Merle about it anymore, the damn shit head was as stubborn and simpleminded as a mule, there was no way in hell that he'd be changing his mind. He hoped that she woke soon though, it was getting dark out and he didn't have the time to sit up all night and make sure she didn't die and wake up as a walker. Merle wouldn't care, but Daryl certainly did; he didn't want his ass to be walker meat.

"Fuckin' hell Merle," He muttered as he lit a cigarette. "Fuckin' hell."

There was a pain in her arm, a stabbing pain that hit one spot each time, deep under her flesh, spreading around her bicep like some kind of flesh earth quake, hitting at the epicentre and spreading out in a circle. It ached. She moaned softly from the pain of it, finding her mouth dry as hell. She wished that she had a bottle of water or something.

There was a rustling noise from somewhere close to her left and panic immediately slammed through her. She quickly opened her eyes and tried as hard as she could to roll away from whatever it was, instead coming into contact with something hard and covered in material. She croaked, unable to scream with such a scratchy, dry throat and panicked, flailing everywhere. She needed to escape, to get away, to move. Oh God it was just one nightmare after the other! She opened her mouth to try and scream again when something - a hand?- pushed down hard on her mouth.

"Shhhhhh! Good lord girl you'll have 'em coming from miles!" She heard a gruff voice whisper. A human. She stopped trying to scream but struggled to get free from his hand. "For love of God," He whispered again, "Stop tryin' ta move!" Her movements waned a fraction, his voice was harsh. "I ain't letting go 'till you stop moving, you don't know where we are, outside there're them things everywhere. You run and they'll go after ya." He was logical, she figured, and he was human. Her running would do nothing, plus, from the sounds of him, he was rough. She wouldn't be able to outrun him. Maybe. She was quick though, maybe she could, maybe she could try-

"Don't fuckin' think on it, ya stupid?" Damn.

Her eyes were slowly starting to adjust to the low lighting. Judging by his position to her side and the small space she was on, she was in a car. Her head was hitting something metal behind her; probably a door, and the hard thing on her side which had been blocking her was most likely the back of a seat. Yep, she was definitely in a car.

She was safe. Well, relatively safe.

She remembered the snapping mouths, pale eyes and the smell of dead flesh. The moaning, the groaning, the cold hands grabbing at her ankles as she struggled to escape. The snapping, the sheer terror she felt when they closed in on her; yet she was alive.

He'd saved her.

She relaxed her body, assured that someone who saved her from being walker lunch wasn't about to kill her just for the sake of killing her. He seemed to relax as well, because she heard a sigh of relief and the hand covering her mouth was removed.

"Fuckin' chicks," She heard him mumble. "Don' know how to survive," He handed her an open bottle of water then, leaning over to make sure that she didn't spill it anywhere. She eagerly took the crunchy plastic and gulped the liquid down her parched throat. God she was so thirsty.

He let her drink for a bit and once she was done, he took the bottle and watched her for a moment, taking in her shaggy appearance; her hair stuck up in odd clumps all over the place and dry snot was crusted under her nose. She looked up at him and blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

"What's yer name?" He asked her when he put the bottle back in the glove box.

A moment passed as she got her throat to work properly. Croaking, she replied, "B-Bec. Rebecca."

"Ya had a lucky break, girl, hope ya know that."

She rubbed her eyes, all she could smell was decaying flesh and see the pale hands gabbing her. She shuddered, "I know."

What d'you think? Does this have enough potential? Please leave me a review and give me your thoughts! What do you think of Rebecca, and do you like how I've portrayed Daryl and Merle?
Basically, this story will follow canon as much as possible, with Rebecca added in of course. I'm new to writing OCs, so I'm trying to make her as real and close to life as possible. If she seems too whiny, I'm sorry, but she's just a whiny person and I've made her that way so that it a) leaves room for character development, and b) grinds Daryl's gears as much as possible.

So leave me a review please and let me know if you're interested to read more!