Bone Orchard

Chapter Two

Yet the Road is Winding

A/N: Enjoy? Maybe?

These days, waking up to the sound of the dead's unearthly moans sounding in her ears was the standard. It was normal, though she doubted she'd ever stop finding it unnatural.

Hearing the distinct echo of gory fingers scratching against the window of her commandeered Prius, Pearl blinked into consciousness, adjusting her hat from where it lay over her eyes. A single walker leaned against her car door, banging on the glass, coagulated blood tainting its decomposing skin. She recognized the man it used to be: the jovial cashier at the local Piggly Wiggly down the road from her house. It still wore the uniform checkered shirt and "Hi, my name is…" name tag. Except what was once crisp and pressed fabric was now stained and torn.

She started the engine; glad she'd thought to fill the tank before stopping to rest the night previous. Senoia was only about an hour away, but she had barely been able to keep her eyes open, too dragged out to see the road. The third time she'd nearly veered into tree was the final straw; apparently staying awake for 42 hours straight in this world was too much for the human body to handle, even though the mind would only begin acting as if she was dreaming while she was awake after three days. Hallucinating on top of seeing things of nightmares in real life would be just icing on the proverbial shit-cake. She'd rather take her chances waking to something using her guts for an appetizer than lose what was left of her mind.

With a low sigh, she hit the gas, peeling away from that hellish remnant of a past long gone without regret. In the rearview mirror, she could see the walker's Ione corpse hobbling in despondence, like some messed up version of a child reaching for its late mother's spirit. Only that child could be considered everyone left alive and the mother was hope.

Damn that elusive bitch.

For the next 45 minutes, Pearl entertained herself with humming the old show-tunes her momma favored, though her voice was likely closer in resemblance to that of a cater walling cat than the angels of music who sang the originals. Time passed by quickly and she had just entered the country outskirts of her town after finishing a particularly shoddy rendition of "I Got Life" from Hair. It was certainly fitting; after all, she may not be happy or even content, but she was alive and that was enough.

Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach as she came upon "Main Street," witnessing the destruction wrought upon the streets by this infernal pestilence. Florida had been like this—Hell, it'd been worse, but it wasn't Senoia. It wasn't the streets she had walked down hand-in-hand with her daddy before he died. It wasn't the clothing shop where she'd bought her first training bra with her momma crying about her 'baby' growing up. It wasn't the playground where she'd made her first friend, even if they were three years apart in age. It wasn't home.

Finally reaching the turn that led down the long gravel drive to her house, Pearl slowly drove up to the farm, anxiety churning in the pit of her stomach. It was eerily silent; absent of the noises she was accustomed to hearing as she approached. What greeted her as she pulled ahead of the tree line had her slamming on the brakes and darting out of the car to violently vomit up the last thing she'd eaten (alligator, if she remembered correctly).

The rickety old western-style ranch house she had grown up in was gone, replaced with a giant pile of ash and rubble. The sight carved a hole in her blackened heart, leaving her despondent and at sea for what to do next. Her mother was dead; she would have never left. If the house was on fire, she would have sat still and burned with it. The thought had her throwing up bile once more, acid burning her throat painfully, misery coating her insides.

It was real; she'd never see her kind smiling face, never feel her warm arms circling her, never hear her gentle voice greeting her from the kitchen again. Agony reared up like an enraged Stallion, followed closely by a guilt so potent she thought she'd keel over and give herself to the reaper then and there. She was so selfish. How could I have left her all alone? How could I have abandoned her when she needed me most?

And even though she knew why, oh God did she know, it didn't matter; it wasn't a good enough reason. Family was everything and she—she had spat on hers by thinking only of herself.

Hobbling unsteadily back to the rumbling car, Pearl fell into the seat, giving into the tempest of emotion welling inside of her. Deep heavy sobs wracked her slender frame, shuddering gasps leaving her throat raw and ablaze. She hadn't cried like this since that first night, when she'd witnessed one of the boys traveling with her on break—Aidan, she thought, Aidan Brittle from your Statistics class—get torn to pieces by walkers. The Beginning.

So is this The End, then?

Wiping her flushed cheeks haphazardly, Pearl punched the gas, accelerating to over 90 mph in a matter of seconds. An overwhelming desire to be reckless hit her with the force of a freight train. She was on a path of destruction, on the shoot and unwilling to pull in her horns. I don't give a damn. What did it matter anyway? Who would care if she just disappeared forever, if she just drove until the end of the Earth? Who would miss her, mourn her?

Nobody.

Because everybody she had ever loved was dead.

Her foot pressed down farther, the speedometer going up and up and up until the world was nothing more than a green blur passing her by. Without realizing, she had turned down another familiar path by the highway, a barely-there road of dirt and memories. It had only been several minutes before she reached her destination: a true-blue, Simon pure, rundown cabin in the woods. Her daddy's cabin.

They—she—hadn't been there since that last time—a couple months before his heart stopped beating. It was just the same, though, still dilapidated and rickety. Except…it was less friendly now, more…still and intimidating.

Pearl cut the engine quickly, grabbing her backpack as she exited the car. The weight of the handgun in the back of her pants was a comfort, if not a temptation she was loathe to confess to. Somehow, being heeled gave her the feeling of immortality, even though evidence to refute this lay in the scars on her body and calluses of hard work on her hands. However, the logistics that Pearl had always sought to listen to told her the gun wasn't an option this time, not yet at least, so she instead slid the baseball bat from the side pocket of her pack. Nowadays, her title as "best hitter Senoia'd ever saw or see" came in handy; it turned out she was a survivor to the manner born.

I guess that quote from Horace was true, huh? 'Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant.' Probably would'a never known how good I was at killin' and not gettin' killed if not for the world going to shit.

Slowly, she crept up to the house, steps silent against the dew-ridden ground. A sound, like running feet, crunching leaves in quick succession, had her immediately turning around, stance at the ready for whatever came from the depth of the wood.

Pearl expected the undead.

Pearl didn't expect the little girl.

Her heart pounded like a drum, fear and anxiety coursing like a poison through her veins. She was a sound on the goose believer that children were meant to be protected at all costs, so this hit her and it hit her hard.

The walker—oh God, she knew him, what he once was: Mr. Kerston, her eighth grade chem teacher—reached out to grab the girl. As the child opened her mouth to scream, Pearl sprinted forward, one step, two steps, three steps, swinging her bat with the created momentum. The sick sound of skull fracturing and brain matter splattering across the ground echoed in the following silence.

The girl was staring wide-eyed at Pearl, tears and snot streaming down her face in rivers. Her hair was a snarl of dirty blonde tangles nesting about her face, cheeks flushed and limbs quivering with exertion and lingering terror.

Pearl tilted her head to the side, narrowing her enchanting silver orbs, before getting to her feet. She adjusted her hat so it shaded more of her face and took a couple steps forward. Her voice was soft but confident, southern drawl evident and husky, "Are ya' alright?"

She could say nothing back, it seemed, only stand and shake without moving. Pearl set the bloody bat down, leaning it against the bumper of her car beside her. "I ain't gonna hurt ya'."

Still nothing. Pearl tried a different tactic, "Ya' hungry? I've got some Chef Boyardee in the car, and bottled water if ya' want it."

Finally, she gave a response, a single nod, but it was enough.

Pearl smiled.


Several hours later, after Pearl had set up a perimeter of traps in case anybody decided to visit, saw the two sitting in the living room of the cabin, an open can of spaghetti-o's resting beside the girl—Sophia, she had said her name was—and the left over scraps of gator meat set on Pearl's lap. Conversation flowed easily between the two females, the air friendly and light despite the circumstances.

Pearl had not been in the company of another human being for several months. The sound of Sophia's sweet voice was like music to her ears, a respite in the monotonous repetition of growls and snarls the dead were prone to. However, even if it was a balm to the smothering isolation, she was still a bit weary and curious as to how Sophia had ended up in this neck of the woods—though undoubtedly more curious than weary. She was an ace-high shot and could euchre even the wisest of men in a matter of seconds, so she was fairly confident there was nobody that would jeopardize her safety (although, she'd still be mighty careful, "You n'er know when the goin'll get ruff'er than expected, so expect that, Pearly," her momma always said).

"So, why were ya' travelin' alone through the forest, Phi?" Pearl asked sometime into the night, the harmonizing melodies of crickets chirping, swiping their legs like bows across violin strings, sounding from outside. The single window by the front door showcased stars hidden beneath a thick blanket of fog, the moon peaking through the cover every so often to give light to the room.

Picking idly at her food, Sophia answered, voice betraying her sadness and guilt. "We're traveling with a group, me and my mom, going to a place—a fort or something. We were on the road when a bunch of those things showed up…one almost got me, but I ran into the woods. Rick—mom says he's the leader of our group—ran after me, but had to lead some of them away. He told me to walk back to the road, but I got chased by a walker…and now I'm here."

Pearl nodded, mind racing with this new information. "Come mornin' I'll scout around and check the area for any undead. After I clear out, we'll head over ta' the highway to reunite ya', if they're still there."

Sophia seemed to wilt, all happiness petering out. Her words were soft and almost unheard, "They'll be there. I know they will."

Leaning her head back against the wall, Pearl let loose a heavy sigh, pulling out her messy twin-tails to retie them. Her sun-highlighted white blonde hair fell unhindered in feathery waves to just below her breasts, the ends split from maltreatment and less-than-frequent showers. She could feel Sophia's gaze on her and she looked up, a question in her blazing eyes.

The twelve-year-old held a bashful expression, fidgeting slightly with apprehension. She appeared even younger in this moment, her rainbow shirt dirtied and torn as if she had merely come back inside from a long day of playing, "Can I…Can I do your hair? Please?"

Pearl paused, the comb she kept in her bag in hand. After a moment, she passed it to her, turning when Sophia came to kneel behind her. The feel of the comb methodically running through her hair was relaxing, easing some of the tension in her shoulders and back.

Sophia brushed in silence, humming under her breath every so often. It gave Pearl a warm feeling she would never admit to, just the thought of making the girl feel a bit of peace in this world. There was little left to laugh about, a little less to feel happy about than that. It was no sacrifice on her part, either, so what did she have to lose?

Once Sophia was satisfied that all the knots were gone, she handed the comb back to Pearl, who motioned for her to turn around as well. Her hair was a lot shorter than Pearl's, but extremely thick—beautiful, truly. She'd be a knockout when she was older. Pearl found herself murmuring, "I was an only child growing up…After my daddy died, it was jus' me an' my momma, like you." Sophia said nothing, but turned her head slightly to show she was listening. "I always wanted a li'l sister."

A moment, then two passed, and Sophia nodded. "…I always wanted an older sister."

Pearl continued brushing. She felt somewhat bad that she had instigated this, since she wouldn't be staying with Sophia's group and this was likely the only day she'd be with her, but the feeling was over eclipsed by the burst of happiness erupting in her gut. It had been a mighty long time since she'd felt like that. Too long.

Trust was a thing of the past; it had been even before the apocalypse, but that didn't mean the longing was gone. She wanted someone to trust, someone to ride the river with; Sophia could have been it, but she had people waiting for her, people to mourn for her. And Pearl—Pearl had nothing and no one. She suddenly felt so very tired, worn too thin and exhausted beyond reason.

"There," Pearl said as she finished, "You should get some rest. It's been a long day."

Sophia sleepily agreed, sliding up beside her to settle down for the night. Pearl stilled for a moment before slowly wrapping an arm around the smaller girl, pursing her lips as she closed her eyes. I can't tell if meeting her was a blessing or a curse…Is it better to have had, even for only a short time, and lost or have never had at all?

Pearl drifted to sleep before she could find an answer.

A/N: Okay, so I lied…Pearl didn't meet the entire group this chapter. Also, on the matter of Sophia, I know it's been done over and over again, a survivor saving Sophia and then joining the group, but I felt it was necessary. This is a Daryl/OC fic, so I needed to put an end to the developing romance between Carol and Daryl. They bonded over the loss of Sophia, so this is like a way to fix this. Carol will also be playing a (possibly major) part in this, as a motherly figure for Pearl, but I'm still not too sure. Please review if you have the chance! It's much appreciated.

A Whisper None Can Hear