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WALK WITH ME

A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction

Chapter 1: CHUPACABRA

There were sounds of footsteps on dry leaves. They were faint, obviously from an experienced hunter, but she could still hear them anyway. Actually, feel was the better word: She could feel them. Emyli was not a hunter but she had been with one for too long she recognized the light, measured but also effortless steps. The sound was coming from above the ravine. Next was the sound of a horse's hooves. The hunter was not on foot anymore, Emyli thought. She couldn't see anything above the waterfalls but still she hid behind the branches and leaves. She had a bad feeling about this.

There was the sound of a horse getting out of control. She readied her weapon: a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire—already bloody. Someone was falling. Emyli lowered herself and watched from a distance. It was a man. She doubted if he could survive such a high and rocky fall. Curiously, the man tried to stand up a few moments after hitting the shallow waters. Bloodied and with an arrow sticking on his side, the man dragged himself to the rocks, pulled both the sleeves of his shirt off and tied the cloth around his waist. Holding his side, the man tried to walk and looked miserable doing it. Emyli thought he was looking for something to aid him with walking. The man vanished from her sight so she moved to the right and accidentally stepped on dry wood. Emyli held her breath as the man looked at her direction. He had sharp ears, Emyli thought unsurprised. The man became alert. He reached for something from his back but his hand was unable to find what it was looking for. Hurriedly, the man went back to the waters. He's looking for his weapon, Emyli surmised. A few moments after, the man retrieved a crossbow and went back to the rocks, looked up, and with gritted teeth, tried to climb back up.

Emyli knew she should be going; she herself did not feel good. Also, the man looked like he could fend for himself and did not seem to be someone who would appreciate company. The man was almost half-way from the ravine's top—which would be very impressive even for someone without an arrow on the side. Emily began to walk away using her own silent footsteps, minding the rising nausea, when she heard another thud.

The man fell again. This time, he didn't get up: He was lying on his back. Emyli was ready to rush towards the man, to help, when she heard the man spoke.

"Merle."

Emyli stopped on her tracks, not sure what to do.

"A shitty day, bro."

Emyli had to look around although it was obvious there was nobody else around. The man was talking to himself—or was hallucinating.

"A girl…they lost a little girl…."

Emyli hid herself again, behind a nearer bush and listened.

"Tried like hell to find 'ya, bro…. We went back for 'ya."

Emyli had been listening intently it was almost too late when she heard the groans. She turned around and had to smash a walker's head a few inches from her. Her body tensed and her heart pounded. At least another walker was on its way. She turned to where the man was lying. She ran as fast as she could when she saw a walker gnawing on the man's foot. Emyli swung her bat with all her might and sent the destroyed head of the walker flying. Breathing heavily, she looked at the man who was half-conscious now trying to sit up.

"Are you okay?" Emyli was able to mutter.

But even before the man could reply, Emyli had to gasp as a walker grabbed her by her long hair. She had to kick the walker backwards, on its knee and then quickly batted its arms off to get free; she then smashed the walker's skull. Meanwhile, another walker was approaching the man who still cannot manage to sit straight. Emyli rushed to his aid but was impeded by two approaching walkers from her side.

"No!" she screamed while banging the walker's head hard with her deadly baseball bat. I've got to save him, that was her thought. She swung the bat and hit the second walker's head with it. With almost no strength left, she turned and looked at the man.

Emyli froze as she watched the man pull the arrow on his side. He was screaming in pain. He then pulled back the string on his crossbow with the walker only a few feet from him. He placed the bloody arrow and released as the walker dived to take a bite off of him.

The arrow struck right on target. The man was back on the ground after pushing the walker aside. Breathing heavily, it seemed like he was to completely lose his consciousness.

Emyli was fast on her feet. He ran toward the man and pushed him to a sitting position and put his arm around her neck.

"Can you hear me? There's more of them so we have to go," Emyli said in between breaths and then tried to pull up but the man was too heavy for her. "Please, pull yourself up…." Emyli pulled again, this time, the man seemed lighter—he was now moving and trying to stand up with her.

They were finally standing and Emyli quickly scanned the surroundings. Clear—for now. She knew they had to hurry.

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When Daryl Dixon became fully conscious, he had a severe headache. He sat up, alert and ready. His arrow and crossbow he spotted on his side. He looked around. He was in a shack. When he was sure it's safe, he breathed a sigh of relief, and it was only then that he remembered he had a punctured side. He was surprised when he found his waist covered with fresh bandages. His lower leg was also wrapped with bandages. He tried to remember how he got there. He remembered being bitten near his foot. He quickly unrolled the bandages and was relieved to see a chunk of skin had been sliced off. He put the bandages back. He then recalled seeing his brother, Merle—he looked around again half-expecting him to be there.

"Pft, I'd be damned if he was really there," he said to himself.

Daryl stood up and walked a few steps, still limping. He peeked through the spaces between the wooden walls. He was greeted by the foul smell and was unsurprised that he was so used to it now. It was afternoon—and it looked like the sun will set in a couple of hours. He then looked down and discovered there were numerous walker bodies outside, probably surrounding the shack, with their stomachs opened and guts haphazardly scattered. He suddenly heard footsteps and turned around with his crossbow raised.

"Glad to see you're okay now."

Daryl lowered his weapon but maintained his firm grip on it.

"And who are ye?"

The girl was small, almost a foot smaller than Daryl; perhaps sixteen or seventeen. She had long, straight, black hair and warm brown eyes. She was wearing black long sleeves and torn jeans and dirty sneakers. There was dried blood on her otherwise pale face. The girl looked so young and innocent—until you see her holding a bloody baseball bat wrapped with barbed wire.

The girl was about to answer but then she closed her eyes and fell on the floor.

"Hey!" Daryl hurriedly went for her and tried to pull her up. He froze when he touched her.

"Silly girl has a fucking fever," he spat.

He stood up, shifting his weight uncomfortably as he decided on what to do with the unconscious girl. He suddenly remembered what happened after he fell from the ravine: that he completely lost his consciousness but someone had rushed to his side and pulled him up, dragged him here—dragged him to safety. And he remembered that that someone was this girl.

Girl is smart enough to scrape my leg, he thought, it would be fucking stupid if she ain't done the same to herself—unless the bite is someplace that can't be butchered.

Daryl reached for the girl. He pulled up the sleeves of her top and examined her arms. No bite. He went for her neck, shoulders and head but also found nothing. Daryl was about to pull the girl's shirt up but he stopped and stood up instead.

Daryl walked towards a huge backpack a few steps from the girl. He rummaged through its contents. He was amused of it as it had candy bars, some canned goods and a first aid kit among others. It looked like the girl had prepared for a camping, he thought. Too bad she forgot paracetamol.

Daryl carried the unconscious girl and placed her on the cot where he was lying. He put the heavy bag beside her and the baseball bat on her palm.

"You better still be in one piece when I get back," Daryl said. He went outside and, after securing the shack's entrance by putting a walker's body in standing position against the wooden door, he retraced their footsteps to get back to the ravine where he fell from.

It was only then that Daryl fully realized how high he fell. His sides still hurt and if he was only able to make it half-way alone, it's simple Math that it was going to be suicide trying to climb back again this time carrying a girl. He had to find another way up, back to the farm.

A few meters from there, he was able to find a path. He followed it as it curved upwards, slowly but steadily. Daryl then hurried back to the shack hoping the girl did not turn in his absence. She did not and he was relieved. He put the heavy back pack on, crossbow ready on his right hand, he held the girl with his left hand, close to his chest. His side cried in pain but he didn't risk holding the crossbow with his left hand (as right was his good hand).

It was a slow journey and Daryl was glad it was uneventful. His side however did not improve and he felt his wounds re-opened. He was practically dragging both of them when they reached the farm.

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Most of the women were preparing dinner inside the Greene's house. Andrea, though, was a different case. She stayed on top of the RV with binoculars and riffle.

"What's with the Annie Oakley routine?" Dale observed walking toward the RV.

"I don't wanna wash clothes anymore, Dale," Andrea answered knowing this could drag on for a while, "I wanna help keep the camp safe. Is that alright with you?"

Dale just sighed, in Andrea's relief. He went inside the RV without another word.

Andrea was sitting when she saw it. She stood up, and screamed.

"Walker! Walker!"

Rick rushed towards the RV and tried to confirm Andrea's claim.

Rick also saw it: It was a figure from a distance, dragging himself, slowly and almost painfully.

"Just one?" Rick asked.

"I bet I can nail it from here," Andrea declared, about to aim with her rifle.

"No, no. Andrea put the gun down," Rick ordered.

The men, Shane, Glenn and T-Dog rushed to their weapons: pick-axe, hacksaw and bat.

"You best let us handle this," Shane said.

"Shane, hold up. Hershel wants to deal with the walkers," Rick impatiently reminded him.

"What for, man?" Shane answered coolly, brisk walking forward, "we got it covered."

"Damn!" Rick cursed and went to the RV to get a gun; he then, followed the boys.

The women seemed to hear the commotion as they, too, rushed to the side of the RV.

"What's happening?" Lori asked in a panicked voice.

"We got us a walker," Andrea answered.

The girls groaned in exasperation.

"Well, is it just one?" Carol asked, scared.

Andrea looked through the binoculars to check.

"Oh my god."

"What!?" Lori asked

"I-it's Daryl!" Andrea said.

"Daryl?" Lori repeated, not quite understanding.

"He looks bad," Andrea said still on the binoculars, "and he's holding a girl!"

"A girl!?" Carol shrieked. "Is it my Sophia!?"

"Can't tell." Andrea let go of the binoculars and went down from the top of the RV.

Andrea, Carol and Maggie ran towards Daryl.

"Is that Daryl!?" Glenn exclaimed.

Glenn was the first one to reach Daryl. Daryl gave him his crossbow. He released the backpack and handed it over to T-Dog. "You ain't gonna open that 'till this girl gets conscious," Daryl warned. He could barely stand straight with his bloody side but maintained his grip on the girl.

"What happened to you!?" Shane asked stepping forward, arms ready to take the girl from Daryl, "and who's this girl?"

But Daryl stepped backwards, distancing the girl from Shane. There was a scared look on his face. His eyes turned to Rick and firmly said, "this girl saved my life." Rick seemed to understand and nodded. Daryl let Rick take the girl; their eyes not looking away. Daryl waited to see Rick's reaction once he realized the girl had a fever.

"I'll take care of this," Rick reassured Daryl; he was now carrying the girl.

Daryl breathed a sigh of relief and passed out. Shane was quick to catch him by the arm.

"What do hell do you think happened?" T-Dog demanded, confused.

"Daryl!" Carol was calling, running towards them.

"Oh my god, is he alive?" Andrea asked, palm on her mouth—the first girl to reach them.

"Breathing," Glenn answered, "his side is bandaged but from the looks of it, he's losing blood. Might need stitches."

"Who's that girl?" Maggie asked Rick as she reached the spot.

No one tried to offer an answer.

Carol came in last; burst into tears when she realized the girl was not Sophia. She knew it could hardly be her. This girl was small but too tall to be Sophia. Still…she had hoped.

"Best we let Hershel see them first," Rick said hurrying back towards the house, closely followed by Shane.

"Guys, isn't this Sophia's?" T-Dog called showing a doll he got from Daryl's back pocket.

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"How's the girl?" Daryl asked the moment he opened his eyes. He was already lying on a bed. He woke up with Hershel stitching his side.

Rick and Shane were inside the room, sitting on chairs, eyes on Daryl.

"In the other room. She'll be fine," Rick assured Daryl, "she's got the normal fever. We had the girls look for bites earlier. There were bruises but no bites."

This seemed to relieve Daryl.

"But really, Daryl," Shane said, exasperated, "you brought a girl with a high fever here without checking for bites?!"

"That girl saved my life!" Daryl snapped at him then he cried of pain as Hershel missed with the stitching. "And I ain't fool not to check. I did! Not just…thoroughly." Daryl looked down, as if embarrassed. "That's still a girl."

This silenced Shane although it was obvious he was still annoyed.

"You found Sophia's doll," Rick commented.

"I found it washed up on the creek bed right there," Daryl explained. "She must have dropped it crossing there somewhere."

"Cuts the grid almost in half," Rick said.

"Yeah, you're welcome," Daryl answered coolly.

"How's he looking?" Rick asked Hershel.

"I had no idea we'd be going through the antibiotics quickly," Hershel replied looking tired. He cuts the thread of Daryl's stitch. "Any idea what happened to my horse?"

"Yeah, the one who almost killed me?" Daryl said in sarcastic tone, "If it's smart, it left the country."

"We call that Nelly," Hershel said, "as in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she'd throw you if you'd bother to ask." Hershel turned to Rick. "It's a wonder you people have survived this long."

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Emyli woke up to the sounds of spoons and forks on plates. She was sweating—a sign that she was getting better. She sat up and removed the damp cloth that fell from her forehead. Emyli pushed the sheets away and walked towards the door. It was ajar but she had to open it a bit more so she can get a clear view of what was happening outside.

There were a lot of people—living people: at least ten. They were eating dinner and there seemed to be an awkward silence hanging in the air.

"Does anybody know how to play a guitar?" The voice came from an Asian guy. The question seemed like an effort made for everyone to relax and talk. Everybody looked tensed—this was not an atmosphere shared by people getting along well. "Dale found a cool one. Somebody's gotta know how to play."

It did not improve the air, though. More awkward silence until a middle-aged woman with curly blonde hair answered, "Otis did." Glances were exchanged.

"Yes, and he was very good, too," an old man added firmly.

Emyli was about to go back to bed after she closed the door but it creaked so loud when she pushed it so that seconds after, all eyes were on her.

"Ahm…ah…I-I was just…."

A man stood up and walked toward her.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked her. Emyli just nodded.

"Why don't you join us?" The voice was from another man—a man with shaved head and sarcastic tone. "We'd like to hear your story."

"I doubt my story will be appreciated over dinner," Emily said coolly and turned her back without closing the door.

"Shane, she's just a kid," Lori snapped at him. Shane just snickered and shook his head.

"I'll prepare her dinner and talk to her," Carol announced.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on Emyli's ajar door. Carol entered the room with a tray of food. She placed it on the bedside table and sat on a chair in front of the bed.

"You seem to have recovered quickly," Carol observed.

Emyli just looked at her with a blank expression.

Carol smiled. "My name is Carol, what's yours?"

She hesitated at first, but gave her name.

"Emyli," Carol repeated with shaky voice, "thank you so much for saving Daryl."

"Daryl?" Emyli asked, "The man with the crossbow?"

Carol nodded as she wiped a tear. "He was looking for my daughter, Sophia."

Emyli did not know how to react.

"Ahm…are you Daryl's wife?" she asked awkwardly.

Carol snorted and smiled again.

"No, no," she replied. She stood up and pointed to the food. "Please eat. Rick and Hershel would like to talk to you later."

Emyli nodded and started eating.

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"Your name is Emyli?" Rick asked. He and Hershel were in the room. Emyli was still on the bed wearing a blank expression.

"Where are you from?" Hershel asked gently.

"Maine," she replied. "My dad and sister were in my aunt's dairy."

Rick and Hershel exchanged looks.

"Antonia's dairy?" Hershel asked again. Emyli nodded. "What happened? Are they still alive?"

Emyli shook her head. "We were attacked. I think a month ago," she recounted. "Aunt Antonia, she was very stubborn. She thought we were safe but…," she bowed her head. "Everyone's gone," she looked at Hershel with a hardened expression. "I barely made it out alive. I've been in the woods since then."

Hershel patted her arm. "Well, you can stay here, now," he told her. He then, turned to Rick. "That dairy is just a few miles from here."

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Emyli did not get a good night sleep considering this was her first time to lie on a soft mattress after over a month. Everything felt so strange. She could feel tension in this group of people—like there's a bomb counting down. She thought she wouldn't want to be around with that bomb ticking. She could fend for herself; there's no reason to stay.

She stood up and went for the curtains. She pushed them a bit and looked.

There was Daryl: up and about in the middle of the night with stitches on his side.

"He just can't sit still," Emyli said to herself while shaking her head. And added without thinking: "like me. Actually."

She went back to bed and finally fell sleep thinking she's not having it rough alone.

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Next chapter: Daryl gets a towel bath….