You know, one would think that the world ending would be, as it should be, shitty, for lack of a better or more accurate term. And you'd, predictably, be right in that assumption. Even the Christians fucking called it, something about Jesus saying the dead would come back to life or some other shit like that. Mayans predicted it too, but the dumb bastards probably weren't able to count since they were a few years late in the prediction. Religion might be wasted on me but you have to admit that the shit people come up with and 'foresee' is just so freakishly real sometimes, you know? Way too real for my liking. I swear my comfort level has hit such an all-time low that there's no point of return.
Oh shit, I completely forgot what my original thought had been. Leave it to the crazy girl to babble about the end of the world as she knows it. Sometimes you just can't help but get carried away and rant a little bit right? Thought so.
Anyway, what I was kind of trying to say before was that the world ending really put a damper on my plan making of the future. I was going to do big things, you know? Not quite sure what they really would have been yet though as I was just a lowly waitress with some random and useless college classes under my belt, but hey, a girl can dream. But I can tell you one thing; the dead walking was definitely not part of my grand scheme to take over the world. Neither was running around playing army in the bushes or skulking around an overrun city of dead people I never cared, or even thought of, making nice with. Yet here I am, doing it anyway, machete in hand and an empty revolver tucked into the back of my jeans like some wannabe wangster white chick. I'm not going to lie and say I didn't feel the least bit badass carrying around a gun –that wasn't even loaded –in my ass crack. If I had a holster I would have definitely been calling myself Clint Eastwood.
But before I get too carried away, I should start at the actual beginning.
I had just been some simple Canadian weirdo before this, alright? I liked to watch Lord of the Rings and Star Wars and read dirty little romance novels. I didn't ask for any of this undead shit. All I wanted was a nice vacation to Atlanta for the summer to visit some old friends that moved there after high school but no. I had to get caught on the south side of the border in the scorching heat in a city I didn't know how to differentiate from any other fucking city in the U.S. Except for maybe New York and Vegas; those are their own category as far as I'm concerned. But yeah, me; the flamboyant weirdo that I am has to get stuck in Atlanta. Alone. During the middle of a goddamn zombie apocalypse! You know those friends I was visiting? Gone. Fucking gone. Got bit, had a fever and died only to 'wake up' and try to make me their knew chew toy.
As you can imagine, I grabbed whatever I could find in my immediate vicinity to beat their asses and high tail it out of their apartment, traumatized not only because I had just watched my friends fucking die right in front of my goddamn face, but also because of the fact that that got back up after that and tried to eat me. Luckily for me I was able to haul ass out of Atlanta only hours before the napalm started going off, the only thing on me to protect my ass was a goddamn pocket knife I took with me everywhere since arriving in the States and a wooden stick that I had managed to salvage from my escape of beating my friends over the head with a chair from the kitchen.
So then I ended up wondering the side of the road amongst a gaggle of crazy ass Atlantians trying to get as far away from the city as possible, dodging cars that were stuck in a traffic build up as they went. The dead, or zombies if you will, were everywhere, following the noise and scent of fresh meat like dogs after a bone, but mauling like a lioness on the plains of Africa. It was chaos and I honestly didn't know what to do. My little knife and whomping stick weren't going to protect my ass from being bitten for much longer considering the fuckers kept getting back up. I couldn't understand why they just wouldn't die already. I'm pretty sure a cut to the jugular would render any other human down for the count, but why weren't these things?
Just as I saw my latest 'victim' get back up slowly after my assault with the chair leg I suppressed a whimper of frustration that would definitely compare to a child throwing a tantrum after losing in a videogame. I was already covered in coagulated blood from these damn things, my glasses all streaked with the thick liquid and my jeans and tank top hardly recognizable anymore. I didn't even want to think about how much of that shit was in my hair.
Daisy, as I so rightfully named my current pain in the ass as it used to be a woman that was wearing a very flowery sundress, came at me again and I prepared myself to lash out with my knife again and hopefully hit whatever weak spot these things must have had, but before I even got the chance a loud 'pop' echoed in the air causing more people to scream, but I didn't make a single sound as 'Daisy' fell to the concrete only a foot in front of me, a gaping bullet hole in its forehead. Speechless, I lifted my eyes from the fallen zombie and immediately spun around when there was a hoarse cackle behind me like whoever it came from just hacked up a lung.
My dark hair whipped around my face as I turned, its sticky blood covered strands plastering to my cheek, forehead and glasses as I brandished my chair leg like some kind of sword. Through the strands of hair and streaks of dark blood inhibiting my vision I was able to glimpse a long barrel of a gun practically next to my head as I heard footsteps approach me. Frantically I brought my hands up, being careful not to stab myself in the eye mind you, and pulled my hair away from my face hastily in order to see who it was that had saved my ass. Before I was completely visual again, that rough voice that had laughed earlier spoke up.
"Gotta aim for the head there, Darlin'," he chuckled letting off another shot as he came to my side. "Otherwise, ya ain't gonna be nothin' but Walker niblets." Finally somewhat able to see again I got a good look at my savior with a shot gun. He was tall, not much taller than me, around 6 feet or more with blue eyes, a square jaw and short dirty blonde almost brown hair. He was a decent build, that much I could tell from his exposed arms from the cut off shirt and vest he wore. I could pin what he was just by looking at him: redneck. And I couldn't have been happier to see one in my whole damn life. He was older than me, probably mid to late 30's whereas I was in my mid 20's.
He was smirking at me, a threat not currently being present as I stared at him in shock, glasses tilted half-hazardly over the bridge of my nose, hair probably wilder than a lion's mane and stick and knife held up in front of me, not sure what to do. He laughed that cackling dry cough of a laugh again as he threw a look over his shoulder and nodded towards me. "Looky here, Darlina, we found us a point Dexter," he laughed and I followed where he had been looking to find another younger redneck, cut off sleeves and all, perched atop the bed of a beat up old blue ford that also held a nice black motorcycle with a crossbow in his hands. He didn't reply to the man that had spoken, but instead squinted his already somewhat squinted blue eyes as he watched out for any other 'Walkers' that came close to us. His hair was longer and darker and instead of the smile that graced the other man's lips, he had a small scowl. My guess was from the nickname man number one called him.
"Quit fuckin' 'round, Merle. Get yer ass back in the truck," he stated barely casting me a glance as he hopped off the truck bed and to the ground.
'Merle' laughed again and looked at me as I was still silent with shock, gripping my weapons in my hands so hard my knuckles were white. "Looks like ya need some help, Darlin," he said to me and I turned my attention from the man near the truck to him, but not before looking around quickly to get a look at the people and Walkers that were still around. Still unable to speak coherently, I gave him a nod and he grinned before taking the gun in one hand and slinging his left arm over my shoulders as if we were best buddies all the while leading me back to the blue truck.
I opened my mouth to protest the fact that he wanted me to go with them, but was interrupted by a Walker suddenly popping up behind him over his right shoulder. Before either men could react or even shout my left hand that held my stingy little pocket knife swung around the lodged itself into the forehead of the undead human with a sickening crunch and squelch, spraying its blood all over the side of Merle's face. Pulling it out just as quickly the Walker fell to the ground behind us, Merle's arm left my shoulder as he took a step away and there was silence for a moment as I stared at the knife in my hand and the fresh blood that stained my fingers.
"Holy fuck," Merle cursed looking between the Walker and me with his lips parted in shock. A grin came to my lips and I laughed softly while looking at the knife again and then to Merle's shocked expression.
"Good advice. Thanks," I chuckled while lowering the knife to my side before skipping merrily over to the truck with Merle not too far behind. Before I was ready to say no, that there was no way that a single lonely white girl was going to get into a truck with a couple of rednecks, but given my current situation and circumstances being what they were, with the dead walking and all, my guess was that I was probably safer with them than any other person I could have possibly run into.
"What the fuck, Merle?" the other man grunted at the older man as we pulled ourselves into the front of the truck where he had already situated himself before the wheel. He was looking at me like I was some sort of bug you couldn't scrape off the windshield, but regardless tore away from the scene of dead and alive maniacs on the highway and made for a little side road in the trees just as soon as Merle's door slammed shut.
"Shut the fuck up an' drive, lil' brother," Merle grouched back. "Dexter here saved my skin; we're bringin' her with us." His little brother scowled and glared out the window as we sped away from the highway and I bit my tongue from preventing myself from pointing out that he had been bringing me to the truck before I had stabbed that Walker. It was obvious Merle was the ring leader and that his little brother just shut his mouth like he was told to as he drove. After settling the shot gun between his legs and silence filled the cab, I thought it best to break the awkward moment. It might have not been awkward for me, but I was pressed in the middle between two grown men that smelled like sweat and while one didn't seem to mind, I was feeling uncomfortable with the other leaning away from me while he drove like I had some sort of skin disease.
"My name's not 'Dexter'," I said finally, lifting my hands to make quotations with my fingers and rolling my eyes. "It's Max."
The driver let out a snort of amusement, but Merle full out laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard in years, hooting and hollering like a wolf baying to the moon and his rough voice making the sound almost painful to listen too. Just listening to it made me want to clear my throat. "Max, huh? That ain't no better," he laughed, his arm coming around my shoulders again all buddy-buddy-like as he shook me slightly.
"Yup," was my only answer as I was currently being jostled around by a man twice my muscle mass and a bumpy ride in a truck that seemed to have no suspension whatsoever.
"Well, Max," Merle laughed while holding out his right hand for me to shake. "I'm Merle Dixon. This here's my brother, Daryl." After we shook hands he pointed to the man driving, but he made no indication as to whether or not he was going to acknowledge the introductions at all. Which he didn't.
Merle smelled bad. Being crushed into his side as I was it was hard not to notice the odour of sweat, blood and whatever else on him. I suppose I couldn't really complain though, the guy had gotten me out of that shit hole for no reason other than maybe I looked as pathetic as I felt. Merle didn't seem the type to just dish out 'I'll save your ass' cards wherever he pleased, but somehow I was able to make him without even knowing it.
As we drove through the little paths that I'm sure you wouldn't be able to drive on if the world wasn't ending, we passed tree after tree and I wondered briefly where it was we were going, not even worried about the fact that there was a possibility they were taking me out to the woods to murder my sorry Canadian ass. I guess in the back of my mind I figured people were too worried about the dead walking around to even think about murdering the few that were still alive and coherent.
After a good twenty minutes of Merle jabbering on about god knows what, Daryl turned onto a little path that led to a clearing and stopped the truck. The brothers immediately vacated the vehicle and I followed with my knife and stick in hand as they started removing things from the truck bed. Backpacks, duffle bags, a cooler. God I hope they had beer in that cooler; I need a nice cold one after the shit I went through today. Without even saying a word I reached into the truck bed myself and hauled out a rather large bag that was goddamn heavy, but I was able to heave it over my shoulders as the brothers gave me long looks of curiosity.
Lifting an eyebrow back at them in challenge I heaved one of the straps higher over my shoulder for a better grip. I had dropped my chair leg in the process of wrestling the thing onto my back and had decided to just leave it there, it didn't do much anyways. "What?" I asked them as I hunched over, cursing silently as my thick framed glasses slid down my nose a little.
"Look at ya, already helpin' out an' shit," Merle snickered as he adjusted his grip on one of the cooler handles, Daryl already having the other end in his own hand. "She might actually be some use to us, lil' brother. Could turn her into a pack mule." Winking at his younger brother while Daryl just ignored him we moved into the trees.
I'm not stupid, I didn't miss the wink Merle sent at Daryl and I hoped to god I wouldn't have to sleep with one eye open tonight. Then again, even if I wasn't with them I'd most likely be sleeping with one eye open regardless. No one wants to wake up to their head getting chewed on. Not being vain or anything, but I'd prefer my face attached to my skull, thank you very much. Is that too much to ask?
I stayed silent while we made our way through the trees until the brothers came to a little clearing just a bit smaller than the one we left the truck in and set down the cooler with a soft thud in the grass. Sighing with relief I allowed the bag I carried to drop somewhat roughly on the ground, rubbing at my sore shoulders. Daryl turned slightly to send me a glare and I was confused as to why at first until I saw him eyeing the bag I just dropped.
"Oh shit, sorry. Was there something valuable in there or something?" I asked hastily, worried I might have broken something, but when Daryl stepped forward to haul the bag up with one hand easily I felt my pride being bruised as he brought it over to the middle of the clearing and set it down almost gently with the others.
"Nah, ain't nothin' valuable in that there bag, 'less you think the tent an' Darlina's knife cleanin' kit is valuable," Merle snorted as he dragged a few of their bags over to where Daryl was currently removing items from the bags he had. "Ever been campin', Darlin'?"
"Oh hell yeah. Shit loads of times. We used to go every year for two weeks back home. I used to set up my tent in the back yard even so that I didn't have to deal with the heat in the house," I laughed, also moving over to help them set up the tent that turned out to be a pretty decent size. It wasn't one of those shitty two-man tents that claimed they could fit four. Clearly the makers of these things didn't know what 'fat' was.
The Dixon brothers looked at each other with slight surprise before Daryl turned and spoke directly to me for the first time. "Ever been huntin'?"
Shaking my head as I spread the tent out to be pitched I replied with, "No, but my dad used to. He did teach me how to shoot the 22 when I was younger and l spent most of my childhood shooting at beer cans with the pellet gun. Grew up around guns and knives my whole life. Can't say that my aim's perfect though."
The notable shock on their faces almost made me laugh as I started hammering the plastic pegs into the somewhat soft dirt under the tent. Clearly these guys weren't expecting that answer and why would they? Just looking at me one would think I was some innocent little bookworm that wouldn't be caught voluntarily around artillery. That was my sister, not me. Pausing slightly at the thought of my sister and wondering where she was at that moment I almost missed Merle's comment on the matter.
"Shoot," he said as I hammered in the last peg. "Here I was thinkin' we picked up a nice little piece of ass an' we end up pickin' up a goddamn country chick."
"You picked her up," Daryl corrected as he assembled one folded up rod for the tent and I worked on the other. Glancing at me quickly he turned back to his brother and added. "I ain't dipping my dick in there if you are neither. Ain't fuckin' sharin' no pussy with ya."
"Excuse me?" I choked out as I barely contained my laughter. Though Daryl's last statement was mumbled I still heard it and instead of being offended I found it hilarious even as Merle got that glint in his eye at the prospect that he'd have me all to himself. Fucker better think again. "Look I appreciate you guys letting me tag along and everything, but nobody, and I mean nobody, is dipping any dicks anywhere unless it's in a fucking tree knot. Got it?" Turning to Merle I pointed a finger at him, clutching the half put together tent pole in my left hand. "And don't even try to pull that 'I saved your ass, you owe me' bullshit. If I remember correctly I saved your ass too so we're even."
I half expected Merle or Daryl to freak out and get mad at me and tell me to leave, but instead Daryl just gave a half twitch of his lip as his brother outright guffawed, leaning back and staring at the sky as he did. "Ya got some kinda mouth on ya there, Dexter. Fiery little spit fuck, I like ya."
Laughing we went back to setting up the tent and getting camp together and for a moment I almost forgot that we were currently in the middle of an apocalypse. There were no zombies walking around eating people and no bombs falling on the city I had just spent the last two months cooped up in with my recently deceased friends, there was just me and the two brothers, sitting around a small ass campfire cooking some squirrel to eat for supper. I'd never had squirrel before, but hey, I wasn't about to turn down meat when the world was going to hell. Besides I didn't exactly see any cows around. So, I ate that squirrel that I had dubbed as Zippy and laughed at the somewhat shocked expressions from the two men as I did so without any hesitation or veiled disgust. It was survival of the fittest, you either eat the damn squirrel or you die, simple as that was how I saw it. Besides, the beer in my other hand complimented it nicely.
The evening progressed into night and the fire was put out as we retreated to the tent. Daryl wordlessly volunteered to sit outside the tent to keep an eye out for Walkers and I had thought of protesting at first, but by then he was already out of the tent and zipping it back up. Besides, I was bushed and if I tried to keep watch I wouldn't be able to guarantee that I wouldn't fall asleep and also all I had was my knife for protection so really there wasn't much I could do if I was on watch. Merle fell asleep no problem under the thin beige sheet he used as a blanket and snores slowly filled the tent as I too attempted to doze off. It took a while, but I eventually did nod off curled up under my own sheet at the other side of the tent from Merle. I might have trusted them to not touch me while awake, but who knows what they might attempt if I was asleep. I'm a heavy sleeper sometimes, but I'd definitely wake up if someone was touching my hoo-hoo. You can count on that.