A/N: Welcome back! I have many ideas to go with this storyline, and I can't wait to get them out there :) Once again, this entire story will be based on the television series, and any changes you see from the episodes are purposely altered to suit my needs. If any WD characters introduced are out of character, please excuse that, as I am either doing it intentionally or accidentally.
Thank you, my lovely first readers! You know who you are!
If you enjoy the story so far, don't forget to leave a review!
I don't own the Walking Dead, but I wish I did.
Chapter 2: Moving On
I can't say that I recall anything after the incident. It was all just a blur—I had put myself into such a state of shock I could hardly function emotionally. The only thoughts that I could actively conceive of were to simply gather supplies, gather weapons, and find shelter, which were the basic human necessities in this world. I'm somewhat proud to say that my military training lent some aid to the situation at hand, but my survival is just a dumb luck.
I didn't even have anyone or anything to live for—except maybe my dogs. Even then, I thought that I'd save Hades and Anubis the trouble of taking care of me and let them live on their own. It's more than I deserve anyway.
Quit feeling sorry for yourself. They wanted it, and they didn't want to hold you back. If you die, then what's the point of their sacrifice? I thought, forcibly shaking my head out of those negative thoughts. If keep myself in this depression, then there really is no surviving.
I tried my best to stay true to my identity, but in the senseless violence, I found that I reverted back to my military training. So, I kept a strict regimen for myself, as I felt that I needed some sort of stability. With a renewed sense of duty, I knew it was my responsibility as an American soldier to help people survive, and that's what I did. It's why I went looking for groups of people—I wanted to help.
I never stuck around for more than three weeks, though; Life was quickly dwindling and I felt I needed to find as many survivors as I could. With each group I came across, I would often spend countless hours helping old fathers and innocent teenagers prepare for a defense against the corpses, as none of us ever thought the day would come when we needed to defend ourselves against from what should be strangers passing us by uncaringly on the street. Some took to the violence well, and others did not, so much so that I knew that whatever knowledge they happened to gleam from me would only aid in their own deaths. So I'd smile and push them harder—I didn't want my efforts to be in vain.
"Every minute alive counts", I found myself saying.
Sometimes the training would go by without a hitch, and with others, hordes of corpses would show up unexpectedly and destroy life in seconds. I had no control whatsoever—and neither did anybody else. It seemed as if death was a constant, and that made me wary of the living. Any person could be corrupted by the chaos, including myself.
I'd come across people who were so violent that they were a danger to others as well as themselves, and I'd be forced to take them down. Some would sympathetically pat my back, while others would aggressively reprimand my actions and demand my absence.
I was all too happy to do so.
Despite the mass depression engulfing the world, I still found a way to learn new things. This made me appreciate not only life, but the world more, as the only thing that hadn't changed was the weather. I took solace in rolling thunderstorms and biting winds. I adored the green trees and the beauty of the wild. I loved any moment of silence, as I knew it could be my last. I eventually came to terms with my families' deaths, and truly understood that they wanted me to live—not in worry of everything, but in appreciation for what I had. I now saw that I had no need to be depressed and angry, and in this case, the truth really did set me free.
Within months of the outbreak, I became more and more relaxed. I never became truly stress free, but with my family gone in the world, I found that I didn't have anyone to worry about. While I still continued my search for survivors, I kept myself a priority, no longer throwing caution to the wind. My dogs, I found, were less wary as well, though they still kept watch for incoming dead.
With their vigil, I felt safer than I had been in a long time. So, I felt that I had to reward myself and my dogs for our success in being alive as long as we had.
"Haven't had fresh meat in a while," I said aloud, looking towards my dogs. "You two would love something other than dried dog food, huh?"
Hades, the more animated of the two German Shepherds, stuck his head out of the open window of the car I'd been driving and howled. Anubis merely lolled his tongue in response, seemingly uncaring. I smiled at the silliness they provided, happy that dog food was a plenty for them—people only cared to feed themselves, and dared not touch pet products. More for them.
With my decision made to treat ourselves, I parked the hybrid black Prius on the crowded yet abandoned Georgia freeway, and took care to hide any weapons and valuable food stuffs out of prying eyes. I prepared my bags for a week long trek through the green woods and walked towards the forest, stepping off the pavement with no hesitation. Traps soon became laid for any potential food, and my tent was soon set up.
No trouble so far.
I smiled once more, and began to play with my two dogs, throwing toys and watching as they played tug of war with a worn piece of rope through the trees. They pranced around, and I was determined to keep them healthy and happy.
I dusted myself off of dirt and removed my army jacket, choosing to wrap it around my waist before I would sweat myself to death. I grabbed my well-packed Army duffle bag before calling the dogs to my side. I strapped a sack of arrows to my back and kept a hunting bow in hand, as I knew guns were only asking for corpse trouble. I pet my dogs lovingly before stretching my arms towards the sky, determined to find myself a deer.
The first night out in the woods I could hardly sleep. Even though I'd come to terms with the deaths of my family, I found that nightmares still plagued my dreams. I recall one where my parents and sisters were throwing vulgar words and sometimes even objects at me, forcing me to relive their deaths over and over and over again.
"You should have given us a chance," was what my 19-year old sister Maria would say before falling to the floor in a puddle of her own fresh, shimmering blood.
"I know," I would sob back.
And then I would wake up with fresh tears trailing down my cheeks and two whining German Shepherds at my side, comforting me as if they'd had the same dream.
I could never be more grateful for those dogs, as they're what kept me safe and sane when I needed it the most. I had once read somewhere that they prioritized human emotions over that of other dogs, and this loyalty was something that I deeply admired. Hades and Anubis, both male, both sleek and fast, even saved my neck a couple of times. They'd bark once for incoming corpses, twice for entire groups, and three times and more to draw their attention away from me. Each time I nearly collapsed in fear of their deaths, and each time they would come back to me when I'd lost hope, blood soaking their muzzles. And this led me to the issue of the dead—I always marveled at my dogs' ability to bite and kill the deceased and not become infected, but I consistently made sure to scrub their mouths clean to be safe. This made me wonder if the disease was something that only affected humans, as whenever I'd come across the half-eaten torso of a bull, the animal itself hadn't turned.
I counted this as a blessing, as with less things trying to kill me out in the world, the longer I could live—both me and my dogs. For them.
I stepped out of my tent not too long afterwards, looking to breathe fresh air. My dogs followed me, watching my moves silently. I sighed, drying the tears that streaked my face with my shirt. I glanced at the full moon in the sky, feeling the calm in the air relax my heightened senses.
"Whatever God wants from this, I believe the message is to survive and live," echoed the words of my father.
I was walking through this seemingly endless forest this lovely Georgia morning, hunting some damn animal that just had to set off fifty of my fucking traps without getting caught when I stumbled across an odd scene. And when I meant odd, I meant odder than dead people coming back to life as cannibals.
My dogs didn't even bark at it—they just curiously looked at the being passed out on the muddied ground, it was so odd. So when I surveyed the forest for the person that shot an arrow in his side, I couldn't find a damn thing. From what I could tell, the very area I was standing on was how he got down there—there was no other explanation. Behind me I'd noticed several grooves in the dirt, which previously made me think I finally had a solid lead to the animal that destroyed my traps. Now, though, it only confirmed as to how he got to his predicament in this lovely patch of woods.
How he'd survived this far was beyond me.
"Stay." I relayed towards Hades and Anubis, who'd immediately sat still at my command.
I figured I'd do that man the decency of killing him (if he wasn't already dead from the fall) to keep him from turning, so I decided to go down there myself. I quickly retrieved a strong line of rope from my pack, and easily tied it around the truck of a nearby tree. I adjusted my black sports gloves, and yanked on the rope to make sure it was secure, afterwards tying it around my waist. I began to carefully jump downwards from tree to tree, though I did have the occasional misstep of the foot.
When I finally reached the bottom of the caved-in portion of the woods, I found that it was peaceful—much more so than other parts of the forest.
Interesting, as most parts of the world are always touched by the living dead.
I turned my eyes to nearby trees, and was glad when I could not detect any potentially harmful movement. I soon pulled out a hunting knife from my belt, intent on examining the man in front of me.
I made sure to poke the man's side, and when no movement came about, I put my index and middle fingers to the carotid artery in his neck. Cold…but there's a faint a pulse there. He's lucky I got here when I did.
I made sure to look over the arrow in his side, and though I had no clue to where the arrow had come from, I knew it couldn't be mine. I always catalogued my armory, especially my stock of arrows, obsessively—there wasn't much else to do when you couldn't get on the internet. Finding that hunting bow and arrow three months ago was a relief, as it was too risky to get too close to groups of corpses with only a hunting knife. Guns and bullets themselves were too loud, and would only attract more trouble. Needless to say, I had a ton of practice with that bow and I eventually became a damn near expert, so this man's situation couldn't be a misfire from an arrow of mine.
I concluded that this either happened from a shoot and run (highly unlikely, considering it would've been smarter to finish the job) or this just happened from his fall.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to forget the mystery, as there was an injured man who seemed to kind of need my help. I gently tapped the tip of his nose to get him to wake up. Couldn't punch the man if I didn't want him to panic—he'd definitely tear himself up if he moved around too much.
"Fucking Merle. Quit it." I heard him mutter. By the slight twang in his voice, he sounded like a Georgia native—really not uncommon. I hadn't come by any other accents in my time here, so it didn't really surprise me. He's probably dreaming, I later thought.
"Hey, my name's not Merle, it's Diana." I responded.
He seemed to not hear me, and only opened his eyes towards the comment, though they remained unseeing. He mumbled a vague, "You sound like a bitch."
My form stilled, and I could barely keep myself from laughing. I'd heard far worse things in my training in the Air Force—the words didn't even phase me.
"Call me a bitch all you want, but that won't stop me from calling you a dipshit for getting yourself into this mess," I retorted before poking at the arrow protruding from his torso.
He seemed to realize these words were far too real, and from the wince that crossed his face, he clearly felt my little jab, as he soon came to his senses. "Who the hell're you!?" He demanded, trying to force himself up from the ground. The man found that he could not move much, as my arm was on his chest, thus forcing him to stay low on the floor.
My gaze hardened slightly, unsure if I could trust him not to try and attack me. I used the most tranquil voice I could muster when I told him to, "Calm down. I'm not trying to hurt you—you did enough of that yourself. I was just strolling by when I found you like this."
He growled at me, "I don't know why you didn't kill me, but I ain't stickin' 'round to find out." He threw his weight up at me, making me lean backwards to look up at him as he forced my arm away.
"Can you even kill a lady?" I questioned, knowing that most men in this end of times believed that they had to protect every woman they came across.
"You try to kill me and you'll find out." He stated bluntly.
I shrugged. "Fair enough. But just so you know, if you can't trust the person, trust in the uniform," I said, gesturing to my dirtied camo military attire. I had several of the same uniforms, so if one was ruined, I was glad to have a spare. The jacket and pants did well with hiding in the forest, and the pure intimidation factor it came with was wonderful to scare people from attacking me.
I expected that he'd relax when seeing my apparel, but instead, his eyes narrowed, and he lunged at me, spitting, "Do you know what the fuck we're dealing with here!? This is the apocalypse! It ain't a damn rodeo—you and the rest of the U.S. military were 'sposed to—"
I suspected he had more words to say, so I stopped him there, "Trust me, we didn't know as much as you think we knew. Most of us were scared and wanted to go back home, and most of us died, just like you civilians. So shut your damn trap and know that things aren't always what they seem."
His posture didn't relax, but when I got up from my position on the ground, he didn't try to continue speaking. Good, I thought. It's better than him yelling to kingdom come.
I sighed, "I saw that you had an arrow in your side, so I thought I'd put you out before you became…corpsy. To my surprise, you were alive, and here we are." I threw my arms in the air to emphasize my point, gesturing between our distant bodies.
He scoffed, "Ain't nobody that'd help a person without some kinda game plan."
I frowned, but found truth in his point. "I agree, but what would I want with this?" I questioned, pointing to his pale (yet surprisingly fit) form. He looked horrible, dirt covering each inch of his skin, and sweat glistening down and staining his clothing. This man could have been considered handsome, though I guess the apocalypse always messed up personal appearances in favor of survival. "You're injured—what would I use you for?"
He looked away at this, refusing to answer my question. Taking it as a win in my book, I surveyed my surroundings once more, after hearing my dogs growl. The man turned towards the sound in tense curiosity, only to look towards the cliff where my two dogs lay.
"My dogs think something's nearby—they don't make a single sound unless something dangerous is close," I said to him just as the telltale dragging of feet and gurgling sound of the dead came near. "You're shouting attracted some crazies—hopefully it'll just be a couple."
I looked towards the water, watching as the dead strode along the wet dirt while making their way towards us. I had counted three—easy enough, I thought.
"I'll take them." Before he could even protest, I'd already drawn my hunting bow from my back and expertly pierced the incoming skull of a corpse.
"Stay still—I didn't join the military and survive that just to die," I stated, but even at that comment, he ignored my request and began to tug at the arrow in his side, before pulling it through with a muffled shout. Worried he'd make irreparable damage, I strode towards him without thinking. "Stop! You'll hurt yourself more!"
With my back turned, I only saw the shadow of the corpse before it quickly fell on top me. I'd panicked slightly, but found my struggles were useless when I realized that the thing was dead from the very arrow pulled from the man's side.
From my resumed position on the ground, I barely caught the hint of a smirk before he himself tumbled from the football tackle of the third dead man. I grabbed the hunting knife I seemed to have dropped earlier, and began to make my way towards the man to help him out when Hades and Anubis emerged from the cliff I'd left them on. They sped their way towards the corpse, and quickly tackled it off from the man, dispatching it with wild growls and a simple snap of the jaws.
"Dogs are handy," said the man, somewhat impressed by the agility and strength of the German Shepherds.
I grinned proudly at my boys, before calling them to the lake to wash out their mouths. "Damn straight."
I unlaced my shoes, intent on getting at a well-deserved foot soaking while I cleaned my dogs. I walked towards the bed of water, and soon paused my advancements as soon as I felt a hard object touch the bottom of my feet. I bent down, getting the front of my shirt wet before finding the foreign object.
I stared at the sleek black crossbow before holding it up and proclaiming, "This is yours, right?" The man look stunned for a second there, and replied with a mumble of confirmation. "It has to have arrows—they around here somewhere?" I continued, searching the same area for a container of arrows.
He strode towards the water, looking intent on finding them himself, though not before he took the crossbow from my arms with averted eyes and a quiet, "Thanks."
I gave a half-smile, replying with a hushed "You're welcome." I paused not too long into the search for arrows when a question came to mind. "What's your name?" I asked.
The man's body stilled for a second, though he stopped and looked up at me. He looked silly, as he was clearly soaked from his dive into the deeper sections of the water. From the only few minutes that we'd met, it made me grin at him, as I'd only seen his tough exterior.
He gazed into my eyes for the smallest miniscule of time, and I felt as if he was searching for any ulterior motives or just genuine curiosity. Judging by the eventual release of tension in his shoulders, I believed he saw something he could trust when he soon replied "Daryl. Daryl Dixon."
