02:
Every dream begins with a dreamer
It's a dream.
It's a dream.
It's a dream.
I said it over and over in my head. I wanted for this to be some sick dream I was having. I wanted to wake up and run downstairs to see Cassie eating breakfast. I wanted her to roll her eyes dramatically when mom said her skirt was too short or when dad forced her to change her clothes. I wanted to watch the awkwardness between mom and dad as he left for work. I wouldn't even care if Clyde were there. I just wanted to wake up.
I feel like I'm in some weird sleep paralysis. I'm aware of my surroundings and the people I'm with. But I can't make myself move. I can't pick myself up and walk for myself. I can't make any sense of what's happening. I just keep screaming.
A hand wraps around my mouth, muffling my screaming.
"Shut her up before she attracts more of 'em."
A voice behind me said angrily.
I knew the voice, I was familiar with that tone of anger, but my mind wouldn't process anything. I just kept seeing her face, pale and blotchy, coming toward me. Her eyes glazed over and dead. The only thing I had ever known, the only thing I had ever fought for, was gone.
"She just saw her family die. Let her grieve, asshole."
I also knew that voice.
In a way, it snapped me out of this paralysis and put my attention back on the current situation. I was being dragged to a truck and thrown inside the cab. My sister and father were coming at the truck, mouths snapping wildly, their eyes fixed on me.
Instincts kicked in and I screamed again.
The truck roared to life and Merle slammed the passenger door just as my sister had reached the vehicle. She was clawing at the window like a hungry demon rose from the dead.
It almost made me laugh. That was actually the most accurate description anyone could give for this situation.
I looked up at Merle and he frowned.
"Were ya bit?"
He asked cautiously.
"Wh-No. I wasn't bit."
I said confused. The world was going to shit and that is what he wanted to know?
"Why does that matter?"
I asked defensively.
"Cause if ya been bit you'll turn."
Daryl answered scoffing.
"Haven't you been listening to the news? The dead are walking around eating each other and you are still just as clueless as you were before."
Daryl was always this cold and closed off to me. I had never done anything to him – never was rude or fed into the rumors about him. I stuck to myself and just hung out with his older brother. I never had the courage to ask him why he was so mean to me. I just smiled politely to him and went about my business.
I didn't like talking to him. He made me feel inferior, like I wasn't good enough for him to talk to. It wasn't a feeling I was familiar with. Most people around here were friendly enough. No one was as friendly as those movies you see about Georgia. There was no 'southern hospitality' here, but if a female had a flat tire, someone would eventually stop to help.
"Stop being a dick."
Merle said putting a comforting arm around me. That was my best friend. He's a drunken racist to everyone except me. I guess when you save someone from choking on their own vomit, they're a friend for life.
Daryl rolled his eyes and kept driving, picking up speed as we exited the town I've lived the last twenty-four years in.
"Where are we going?"
I asked quietly.
"Atlanta. We heard they've got a refugee camp set up there."
Merle answered smiling wide.
I wasn't sure about this. If our little town could be taken over by these…demons, then a city as big as Atlanta was sure to be hit.
But for the first time in a while I saw Merle had some hope in his voice while he clued me in on Atlanta.
"It's supposed to be safe, other survivors living there. Course I ain't worried about that – I got all the company I need, a pretty girl."
He laughed.
"And you've got Daryl."
I said trying to form some friendship between the younger Dixon and me.
Daryl snorted and took his eyes off the road long enough to glare at me.
"Why did we bring her along?"
He asked Merle.
I looked down at my feet and sighed. I didn't understand why he was so angry with me. I hadn't said anything rude or hateful. I just tried to be part of the conversation.
"Don't worry, Kaydence. Daryl is having a hard time adjusting."
"Adjusting?"
"He's never been this close to a girl before."
He said punch Daryl in the arm.
"Fuck the both of you."
Daryl said lighting up a cigarette.
I sighed and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. I tried to get the image of Cassie out of my head. I couldn't stand to think of her as a flesh-hungry monster any long. She was the most innocent, harmless person I ever knew. I wanted to remember her that way. I didn't want to ever close my eyes and see her as that monster again.
It was just a dream.
It was just a dream.
It was just a dream.
A/N:
I notice a lot of people write in slang when writing dialog for Merle or Daryl. My inner writer won't allow that. I'm sorry, it just bugs my OCD.
Also, I don't plan on sticking word-for-word to the Walking Dead series. I feel like that is just copying someone else's work and adding to it. I wanted to retain some of my originality.
Thanks for reading :)