Every time when I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face gettin clearer
The past is gone
It went by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got dues in life to pay
Dream On ~ Aerosmith
"Damn it!" Billie snatches her leg from yet another twisted, fallen tree. A dead branch catches at the edge of her blouse, tearing the edge and freeing the length of it from the waistband of her jeans. The stupid thing was becoming more of a hindrance, both in the high sun and low jagged surroundings that seem to want to grab on for the ride. She shrugs out of the shirt and lets her skin breathe for a moment.
"Oh man, why didn't I do that sooner?" She glances down to the panting dog now lying at her feet, no longer able to hold his own weight if he really didn't have to. They had been walking for God knows how long, ten fucking hours for what it felt like. Realistically, it was probably just two, also counting the hour it took to drive away from her parent's place.
The woods were maybe turning out to not be such a good idea. She had no damn clue where she was, nor any landmarks to point her in a familiar direction. The road was too crowded, too many people drawing the attention of the rotting cannibals wandering, albeit slowly, to the easy source of food. With a car running on fumes, the best choice at the time seemed to be abandonment. The Pontiac may be nothing but scrap metal now, but hell if she didn't take some of those bastards down on her way out.
Two sharp, out of place, whistles grab Billie's attention immediately. That was definitely not a bird. Her head whips in each direction, the bow hanging awkwardly at her shoulder slapping her cheek raw.
"Is someone there?" She immediately regrets the words as they tumble from her lips. Might as well strip down right now and wait for the madman with an axe to lop her head off.
Norman is on his feet now, glancing to the only familiar face left in his world. His heightened senses would make it much easier to discern which direction the misplaced noise came from, Billie returning his gaze as he begins sniffing at the air. Again the whistle sounds, this time low and drawn out.
Now they were just fucking with her.
OOO
Laundry day. Just thinking the words left a dirty taste in Billie's mouth. Sexism is clearly still alive and well in this post-apocalyptic world as each of the women in camp does their part of the chore. Her job as it were, begrudgingly so, is to gather and fold the already dried clothes. Carol had already gotten a head start on her own line, Billie not even a quarter of the way along in comparison.
"This sucks." Amy groans. The blonde teenager winces as her sister, Andrea, flicks playfully at the back of her ear. The pair is in charge of hanging the freshly washed apparel, quick on the heels of Billie's lackluster pace.
"Quit your complaining." Andrea scolds from behind the cover of a men's undershirt. Jim's by the look of it.
"Not like she's wrong." Billie points out, smirking at the peeved look the elder sister casts her way. Andrea shakes her head, her smile betraying the attempts of relaying annoyance. The woman was too easy to read for her own good.
A quick glance around camp only reminds Billie of the inequalities of the gender roles in this place. Not that the men weren't pulling their weight, far from it. Glenn and T-Dog sit alert atop the RV, keeping watch for any signs of the horrors of the outside world breaking through the tree line. Shane is probably off somewhere keeping inventory and upkeep of weapons taken care of. While the Dixon boys were off on their morning hunt, Dale and Jim were tinkering around with the vehicles. That leaves Morales to keep an eye on the children, along with the help of Norman chasing them around camp. A well-oiled machine with only one kink in the gears.
Ed. What a waste of space, sperm, and food that man was. He manages to make Billie's blood boil and freeze over at the same time, what with his constant glaring and 'do nothing, receive everything' attitude.
"Mind yer own fuckin' business, live longer that way." That's what she had been told after her first week with the group, after Merle had dragged her ass out of the woods laughing and swearing under his breath about scaring off all the deer within a mile radius. If not for the constantly reappearing bruises on both his wife Carol's thin frame and the even smaller Sophia, Billie just might have been able to put that advice to use. Ironically enough, that is also what manages to keep her loud trap shut. That broken woman was the first on the list to receive retribution for any one of them poking the bear as it were.
The man in question is currently doing what he does best, staring. Or "watchin' the women" as he might put it.
Jackass
Only more reason to get these stupid clothes off the line and get done with the tedious, but necessary, task.
"Mom!" Carl approaches swiftly, stopping before bouncing against the legs of his mother Lori, the unofficial official matriarch of the group. The tone of his voice is not worrisome, T-Dog and Glenn's head snapping up from their position atop the RV regardless.
"Shane says he's gonna show me how to clean the guns." Blue eyes sparkle above freckled cheeks, the excitement of doing a 'big boy' task clearly overwhelming to the little boy. Billie is somewhat envious; the most lethal thing they had allowed her to touch since arriving was her own arrows as she handed them off to Daryl. He'd all but confiscated them after their first meeting, his eyes nearly widening to a normal level at the sight of ammo suitable for his crossbow. He did let her keep the scrunchie.
Bastard
"You be careful now. Listen to everything Shane tells you and don't mess around with anything loaded." Lori chides, ruffling her son's dark hair. The woman's trust in that man is unquestionable, as is the general attitude of the group.
The ex-cop was an easy pick for leader, and already well established by the time Billie came around. He'd been mistrustful at first; she was after all some stray that Merle Dixon of all people had plucked out of the wild, with a mangy mutt companion to match. It didn't take long for the woman to prove herself harmless, not that she wasn't working on that particular attitude. Lopping off her hair and carrying around an, albeit empty, bow was a decent start. She had even improved her form within the last two weeks, exhausting through a few make-shift arrows carved from wood deemed too damp to use for the fire. Without proper materials though, the projectiles were nowhere near accurate enough to develop upon her aim. You had to take what you could get these days. Small miracles and whatnot.
Merle had offered his assistance in the matter, repeatedly. The idea of the burly man's hands freely directing over any part of her body was hardly appealing, decent aim or not. Daryl was really the obvious first choice in that department, his 'I give a shit' attitude derailing any sort of request for assistance however.
"Hey Billie," A hand snapping in her face draws her from her daze, "We've been standing here for five minutes. I think that one is already dry now." Amy laughs at her sister's obvious reflection, Andrea's remarkable blue eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.
"Laugh it up, I'll still be done before you." Billie returns, wagging a finger at the young woman. She folds yet another pair of still slightly stained jeans over her forearm.
"So Andrea, about tomorrow," Billie casts a quick glance to Amy, careful in her choice of words, "They've got a solid plan right? In and out, no fuss."
"Glenn's still a little nervous about bringing along such a large group into the city, but yea, that's the general idea." She too looks over to her sister as well, "We'll be back in no time, and Billie will keep an eye on you." The end of that sentence goes unspoken, it doesn't need to. The statement is clearly evident in the gaze that Andrea returns to Billie.
If I don't come back
Billie nods, forcing a reassuring smile at the concerned wrinkle of Amy's forehead. It is simply too hard to look the girl in the eyes without cracking in her resolve. The rest of the chore is finished in an uncomfortable silence, the reality of their situation once again slapping at them hard across the face.
It is just after one now according to timekeeper Dale. The high sun seems to reassure the fact, a perfect time to lie back in the shade and maybe carve out another batch of practice arrows. Billie falls into a heap at her usual tree somewhere along the outside of the perimeter, her single person shelter not far off.
She whistles twice, calling Norman to her side. He stops for a moment, cocking his head to the side curiously as he stares back at her. She should really know better by now, damn dog never follows a command. The pile of sticks she had started on two days ago still lies bundled at the base of the tree, most already sharpened to a fine enough point to shred through its cloth target. An old shirt of Merle's too bloody and torn to wear, even for him. Not that he had exactly lent the thing to her in the first place, but he sure wasn't missing it.
Her stomach growls at the thought of the man, mentally praying that they would be successful on today's quick hunt. They weren't going to bring back much, what with Merle tagging along for tomorrow's supply run along with Glenn, Andrea, Jacqui, T-Dog and Morales. Not enough time in one day for them to track down some large game like a deer or a hog. Still, a hungry girl can dream.
Reaching into her back pocket, Billie removes the hidden switchblade tucked safe beneath the sweat rag she also let hang from it. Shane could bitch and moan about proper training all he wants, she knew how to use a fucking knife.
She sets a slow pace for herself. A task to distract from the pangs of an empty stomach is better left prolonged. It was selfish to whine about, she knew this. What claim does she have to any food brought back by another's hand? That the brothers share the fruit of their labor with a group of people too afraid to talk to them is a Godsend.
Billie bites her lip, ever more fervent in the task of teaching herself something useful. Something that someday might allow her to contribute to the well-being of these people trying so desperately to endure. A clean change of clothes is hardly going to keep your mind sharp and legs moving.
Her arms work fervently over the bend of her knees, notching small divots at the end of each projectile to hold against the bow's string. She doesn't bother with fletching, never does. These were merely for practice, and learning how to craft them from hand is clear out of her skill set. Again, something Daryl would know but be reluctant to share.
Fucker
"What's that?" The voice is so quiet Billie is almost sure for a moment that it came from her imagination, the small shadow of Eliza Morales the only proof as to otherwise. The girl clings tightly to the rag doll at her chest, naturally curious large brown eyes watching the knife move over the wood.
"This?" Billie wags the finished arrow between two fingers, "It's an arrow, I use it with this bow over here."
"What for?" A quick peek over her shoulder reveals Sophia also standing behind her friend, pinching at the ends of her hair nervously. Billie smiles while getting up onto her feet.
"Well, a lot of things. I can use it to get food, and it can also help keep us safe-"
"From the monsters?" Sophia finally pipes up. A flash of sadness passes over Billie's eyes, even more so when the girl glances back to her father hovering agonizingly close over Carol's shoulder. Billie waves the shy child closer, hunching over to speak quietly to the pair.
"Especially from the monsters." She nods back over her shoulder, signaling to the torn shirt pinned to a low branch, "Wanna see?" Both girls nod enthusiastically. Little boys weren't the only ones that could learn how to fight back.
Billie snatches the hunting bow from its spot near the tent, signaling the girls to follow with the other hand full of improvised arrows. Aside from the occasional inquisitive glances from some of the others, she never really performed in front of an audience before, never given the chance to see if she would shake under pressure.
"Alright ladies!" Billie announces while turning to face her giggling company, "Prepare yourself for amazement." She winks at the children, lining her feet up in the manner she has come to know as most comfortable and efficient. Her left foot points out towards her intended target, the right staggering back and squaring off.
Raising the bow to eye level, she lines up the shot. A brief tang of guilt racks through her mind, the memory of her mother's death still fresh from the faintly recollected dream still playing about in her head.
The arrow releases and snags against the corner of the fabric before bouncing off the tree behind it. Billie frowns, turning to look at the two little girls reactions.
"Hmm…well that wasn't very good was it?" They simultaneously shake their heads, Billie reaching down to grab another wooden bolt and settle it against the drawstring. She digs her feet deeper into the dirt, letting one long breath out with pinched lips.
"Your arms too low." The clearly male voice almost causes her to waste yet another arrow. A calloused hand grips at the elbow drawn back behind her, forcing it awkwardly up to a position where her hand rests right just below her ear.
"An' spread your legs out more, you're too stiff." Daryl's tan boots kicks out at her left leg, doing just as he commands and spreading her stance. Billie doesn't look back, but she can clearly feel the heat of his gaze as he paces around her, evaluating every embarrassing inch of her incorrectly self-taught form.
"Nah! Your hips are all wrong." Billie receives no warning before she receives a sharp smack from the length of an actual arrow at the right side of her hip. She yelps, more out of surprise than pain, still aware enough not to let the string loose between her fingers.
"Relax that elbow girl!" Another thwack, this one her arm holding the bow, causes Billie to snarl at the man still lurking just outside her peripheral vision.
"I swear to God Dixon, you hit me again-" Billie flinches as the arrow hits her lower back. She doesn't need to see his face to know he is smiling that crooked half smile of his.
"You tighten those back muscles when you're 'bout ready to shoot." Daryl stops pacing, apparently satisfied with his given level of instruction and abuse. This had been what she wanted, wasn't it? Maybe with a bit less bruising, but one cannot really choose to be picky, even more so now.
Billie exhales, doing as instructed and constricting her back muscles before sending the crude arrow soaring through the air, careful to remain in the admittedly uncomfortable form Daryl practically beat her into.
Butthead
With a bittersweet smile, she watches as the wood slices through the worn shirt with ease, the accuracy exceptionally better even with the shoddy construction in which it had been crafted.
"Son of a bitch," Billie mutters, turning to face Daryl's surely cocky but well deserving smirk. She is only met with the back of his head however, a hand running through his brown hair and across the back of his neck as he stomps off quietly to his tent. It only figures the redneck wouldn't wait around to see the result of his assistance, what did he care? He has already done more than is ever expected by bringing back a long rope of squirrel to share with the rest of the group. Last thing he needs is to be roped into teaching an inexperienced city girl how to shoot straight.
Billie gnaws against the side of her cheek, unable to look away from his retreating back. Daryl is such a rough character to figure out, not that she is some kind of shrink or something. Merle is an open book; every trait might as well be tattooed all over his dopey face, if not for it spewing from his mouth in some form of racism or sexism every time he speaks. As for Daryl, he is always so reserved, so quiet. Every now and then she would catch him staring at the others in camp, or even herself, the look on his face almost desperate for acceptance from someone else other than his own kin. He reminds her of a beaten dog, easy to snap at any hand while at the same time begging for affection.
"Hey Daryl!" His head turns to the side to watch her in his peripheral vision, her lip still tucked between her teeth, "Thanks for that." He nods once, tossing the length of dead squirrels onto the lain out tarp while wrenching open the flap to his tent and disappearing inside. Billie smiles to herself stupidly, the thrill of advancement in her archery skill worth any sort of awkwardness with a Dixon.
The girls, who had been quiet throughout the entire scene, shuffle behind her and draw her attention. Sophia looks especially nervous, eyes darting a mile a minute between Billie's bow and Daryl stalking around his camp brandishing a large knife.
"You said that would fight monsters," She observes quietly, "He was hittin' you, why didn't you use it?" Billie's eyes go wide at the accusation. She couldn't really blame the girl, all she knew was the sight of her father beatin' on her poor mother, and likely herself.
"You think Daryl's a monster?" Sophia glances over to the man to assure his disinterest, then nods vehemently. Billie sighs heavily, taking a step to the girl and placing a hand upon her shoulder.
"Sophia, unless you're a squirrel, you have nothin' to worry about with Daryl." This cracks a smile on the girl's worried demeanor, "He was just messin' around, didn't actually hurt me." Billie bends her arm back and forth to emphasize her point. She can tell the girl is not thoroughly convinced, and maybe she really shouldn't be. It is after all the general consensus of the group that both Dixon boys were anything but gentle. Though Billie could hardly believe that Daryl would be the one out of the two to ever lash out physically. Without good reason of course, but never at a child.
"Hey, why don't you girls go wrangle up Norman for me? Hell will freeze over before that dog will listen to anythin' I say." Eliza smiles widely at Sophia before grabbing her hand and the pair of them running off towards the aforementioned hound, prancing around like he owns the damn forest. Still crouched on one knee, Billie watches them run away with a sad smile. How horrible this new world has to be for the children of the camp, especially one who had lived in their own personal Hell before the dead even began to rise. Billie was lucky to be able to draw upon the happy memories of her childhood to keep her sane, many of the adults were. These kids would only be able to remember death and fear, with only a few moments of brief levity. How fucked up and twisted that order of events have worked themselves out.
Billie can feel the heat of someone's gaze on her back, her head turning to see Daryl's blue eyes unflinching away from hers. She isn't sure if he had heard her conversation with Sophia, not farfetched given the proximity of their two tents. If he had, it's easy to read the subtle expression of surprise etched on his pinched expression. He can't very well have had many people defend his humanity, not with that silent rage vibe he gave off almost constantly.
Billie nods once before turning to enter her tent, an unspoken yet equally understood communication of recognition passing between them.
A/N: Thank you Emberka-2012 for the review! Also thanks to the person who reviewed as a guest…you know who you are. Hope I introduced some of the Atlanta survivors well, we'll definitely be seeing a lot more of them. Also got some lovely, arrow whacking interaction between Daryl and Billie here, hopefully you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.