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~ Pheather

The sun rose in the sky faster then the woman was used to. The air in the shack quickly got unbearably hot. She was sweating profusely and her tongue felt dry. No one came. She wondered if they had forgotten her, or were just preparing her for interrogation. It was almost sun set now. Her knee throbbed. She tried to set her jaw when she heard the familiar heavy footfalls of Daryl, but her composition wavered when she saw he brought a cup of water and a plate of eggs.

The eagerness in her eyes must have showed because Daryl said, "What, you crazy? These are for me." He scooped a small bit of egg with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. He took a sip of water and set them down on the floor, out of reach.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"A sip of water for an answer?" it was the first words she spoke to him. Daryl eyed her, but brought the cup to her lips. She drank as much as she could before he took the cup away. It wasn't much.

"Lindsey. Lindsey Turner." She glared at Daryl from under her mane of chocolate hair.

"Where you from, Lindsey Turner?" he asked, offering the cup. She hesitated a second before drinking.

"Around here."

"Answer."

"My family was killed. Been hiding in the woods. What's it to you?"

"Where you been camping?" he offered the cup. She turned her head to the side. "This can go two ways. I can beat you up until you tell me what I want, or you can drink the damn water." She drank again.

"Bastard." She glowered. He didn't even bat an eyelash. She remained silent.

"You owe me an answer girl." She set her jaw, glaring coldly at his small blue eyes.

Daryl stood up and yanked his knife out of its sheath. He methodically brought the sharp tip to her chin. The polished metal reflected the setting sun sharply and momentarily blinded her. She closed her eyes and felt the tip nick her chin.

"Answer, or it'll be a lot worse for you." He threatened.

"Nowhere. Been kinda a nomad." She finally answered after a short pause.

"Where you been keeping your supplies then?" he asked, keeping the knife out. He drew it closer to her arm. She quivered, a hot sweat breaking out. Her muscles jumped when the quick slice of the knife split the taut skin of her shoulder. She hissed under her breath. He shifted over to the other shoulder. "Where you been keeping your supplies?" he asked again, the tip of the knife pressing into her skin.

"Daryl… That's a redneck name if I ever heard one." Lindsey mused between flashes of pain. Daryl stiffened but otherwise made no answer.

"Answer." He repeated.

When she didn't answer, he cut her again. She flinched. "I'll be back." He said, wiping the knife on a cloth and exiting the shack, bolting the door behind him. He kicked the cup over, spilling the water, and tossed the food outside.

The next day was agony, even worse then before. She decided it was the thirst that taxed her the most. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, each swallow felt like sand, each breath felt like a death rattle. She even scooted over to the almost dry puddle of water by the floor and lapped up some of the warm liquid. Better then nothing, she thought.

Her shoulder wounds reduced to angry throbs throughout the day. Trying to sleep only made the blood gush faster and eventually she managed to stuff some rags in the cuts until they crusted over with fragile scabs.

Daryl came in all his glory, smelling of wood smoke, sweat, dirt, and making a huge racket that sent several songbirds in the fields flying. He came with his knife and another cup of water. She barely moaned before he brought it to her lips. She drank, and this time he didn't take it away. She had almost drained the cup before she started to feel woozy. She inhaled and scented a slightly sweet odor. Lindsey pulled back, but her head swam and she blacked out.

When Lindsey woke, she was still in the shack. The sunlight that streaked the floor had an orange cast, leading her to believe it was sunset. She peeked out a crack and saw she was right. Daryl was sitting across from her, sharpening his knife. She tried to move but was stymied by something heavy on her leg. She looked over and saw her leg had been bound.

"What?" she asked, prodding the bandages with her manacled hands.

"Couldn't damn well do it with you tryin' to kill everyone that went near you." Snickered Daryl, the rasping sound of his whetstone reverberated off into the dusk.

"Why?" she asked. "I'm just the punching bag for the least-educated redneck in the south." She spat.

"Watch your tone girl, we're thinkin' of releasing you." He warned, pointing his knife at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "I gave you all the information you need. What are you gonna do with me?"

"This a'int no monarchy, girl." He said.

"Please, you don't even know what a monarchy is. Why don't you just release me?" she asked.

"'Cus, we got a bunch of dipshits in charge, that's why." He said bitterly. He glanced over when he saw her shift to change positions. She propped her leg up on the stack of clothes in the corner.

"You didn't have to, I was perfectly fine un-splinted." Lindsey spat.

"Hershel said it was a bad sprain." Shrugged Daryl, continuing to sharpen his knife.

"I'm perfectly fine on my own. I have my own supplies elsewhere, I don't need any group to look out for my welfare." She growled. "I don't need any people or…" she trailed off. Daryl looked at Lindsey sharply. Her muscles went ridged, her eyes locked on an unseen image. Suddenly, her body started quivering, her eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed, her body jerking spasmodically.

"Lindsey…?" he cautiously crawled over, placing a hand on her shoulder. She smiled, her body stopped shaking. "Wha-?" In the span of a few seconds, she rolled onto her shoulders, tucked her knees to her chin, and kicked out, firmly planting her feet on his face.

Daryl flew across the shack, his hands cupping his bleeding nose. Lindsey broke the bonds, the rope already frayed. She dropped a small knife, concealed in her boots. She walked over and kicked him beneath the sternum, driving the breath from his lungs and leaving him gasping for air. She dragged him over to the manacles, cuffed his hands, and locked them securely in place. Tugged his knife out of his hands and stowed it in her back pocket just as new air returned to Daryl's lungs. She tore a strip of cloth from the clothes and gagged him. He yelled at her through the cloth.

"Shut up, boy." She smirked and opened the door, peering outside. The neat camp to her left had only a few women washing clothes. Beyond that there was a large white farmhouse, and beyond that was a parked RV guarded by a severe blond woman and an older man in a sun hat. Both had guns strapped to their backs.

The woman bit her lip and was lost in thought until a scuffling from behind told her Daryl had almost completed his escaped. She glanced back. His eyes held anger, yes, and something more. Sadness? Pity?

"Whatever." She whispered, shaking herself. She prepared herself for a quick sprint to the woods on her right. One last glance back to make sure Daryl was sufficiently occupied, another to the woman and man, and she ran.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, only a slight limp slowing her. She heard nothing but the pounding of her heart in her ears, which matched the pounding of her legs on the packed soil. She flinched when she heard a gunshot. She looked back and saw, for a fleeting instant until her hair flew in front of her, obscuring her vision, the blond woman and the man taking aim.

She fell on her face when a bullet grazed her shoulder. Blood and dirt spattered her face. She struggled to get up, to ignore the screaming pain in her left shoulder and knee. She scrambled to her feet and forged on, clapping her hand to the wound, not letting herself slow down to assess the extent of the damage.

After a few more seconds, she reached the safety of the woods and leaped into the nearest tree. An arrow whizzed by her cheek and she fleetingly though that Daryl had escaped but she soon forgot as she grasped a branch and leaped away, as graceful as a squirrel. The cascading darkness was little hindrance; she knew these woods like the back of her hand.

Andrea and Dale trotted up to Daryl, guns at the ready. Daryl unloaded his crossbow and slung it across his back. Andrea and Dale traded looks.

"You a'int going after her?" inquired Andrea, looking worried.

"Yea, need to get supplies, don't I?" he snapped, brushing past them. Dale shrugged and shouldered his gun. Andrea hesitated before doing the same.