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NEW WORLD
A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction
Previously: Emyli, a dweller in one of the underground settlements, recalled some of the changes that took place ever since the dead started walking. She was ushering a three-year old boy to sleep when Walkers started clawing on the ground above them. Emyli assured the child that Daryl, one of the Flyers, will make the Walkers go away.
Chapter 2: The Guard at the Tower
Daryl is standing outside the door that leads to a chamber called The Peak. The Sky Castle was built only five years ago, on the top of the highest mountain in North America—built with stones and by people who can fly. The castle has more towers than an elaborate crown and the one he's guarding leads to the highest point of the fortress—thus, its name.
The Flyers call the place they live in the Skies. Daryl can imagine the people on land thinking that they are actually walking and running on clouds; but clouds are still what they are and no one can walk or build houses on them, with or without wings. Homes are built on the highest mountain slopes—only on the highest mountain slopes—surrounded by mist and fog. These homes are built like towers stretching far, far, up and then connected by bridges at the top to a spacious rectangular town center they call the Square. The Sky Castle was built to tower over the homes and the Square. Being at The Peak's entrance, Daryl is thankful he's not afraid of heights.
The meeting with The General started a few hours back. Daryl would wager the meeting is about the Descend two days from now—except all asses of the committees' heads are sitting inside the chamber. This shit couldn't be just about that; this is about something bigger and Daryl's eyelids twitch in unease as he thinks about what it could be.
He walked towards the side of the circular spot. All he can see is the white clouds surrounding him; he can't even make out of the adjacent tower. He held on the stone fence and looked down—perfectly knowing what he'll see: endless mist. Still, he did look down, missing the good ol' earth and the people left behind.
The Landers, as they call all living people left below, are waiting for them to find a cure. Daryl does not need to be part of the Science Committee to know they haven't made significant progress on the matter. They have discovered amusing and disturbing things, but cure is not one of them. He was restless the day he joined the others ascend to build the Skies and he still is to this very day. Daryl, with his wings, belonged; but his mind and heart has always wanted him to go down and continue the struggle on foot. The scientists have confirmed that the Flyers can resist Turning; they will not become Walkers through bite or scratch—but they remain carriers, so the Turn is only triggered through natural death. It is a disturbing fact: The Flyers, high above the sky, away from Walkers—unless there's someone stupid enough not to shoot through the brain of someone who died, they are completely safe; while the Landers remain vulnerable with corpses walking among them.
Daryl sniffed the air and it did not take him more than a second to aim with his crossbow. The mist hinders Daryl to see and not for the first time he wishes for a hole-digger's sight. But even without visual confirmation, he knows the smell and the fluttering wings are all too familiar to him now: Vultures. A handful of other birds are captured to be eaten or domesticated but these birds are not what humans are used to. Vultures' meat is poison and their wild nature hinders them to be properly ridden. They are big—bigger than a full-grown man by a few feet. They are white as snow which makes the birds hard to be seen through the clouds. And they are vultures—as in predators; they do not feed on the dead, they prefer their meat alive.
There are two, Daryl surmised, and he wouldn't be able to fight properly if he stays inside the tower. He stepped on the stone fence and waited. Using the disturbances in the mist as his cue, he timed his jump…and fell on the back of one of the savage birds. The Vulture cried and squirmed violently trying to shake him off. Daryl unsheathed his sharp knife and aimed—but the other bird made an appearance a few meters ahead of him, tearing the clouds with it sharp, open, beak. Daryl ducked instantly and the bird flew past him. The one he's standing on continued to twitch and cry, trying to turn its head around to poke him with its deadly mouth.
Daryl, still ducking, moved to towards the tail of the bird to avoid its beak…then he aimed forward with his crossbow. The other bird will be coming from the same direction once more, he knows it. And when it did come—wailing and noisy—Daryl shot an arrow through its mouth, upward to its brain and the giant white winged-predator fell into white smoke. This other one will be easier: he claimed the knife from his side again, reached and drove it down to the bird's head. It too, dropped dead.
Daryl freed his silver-gray wings and flew.
When the heads of the committees went out of the chambers through the staircase steps several minutes after, Daryl turned his back from the opening. He didn't want to pay them the stupid courtesies. Instead, he let his eyes wander through the clouds, not really looking at anything—'not really seeing anything. When the air echoed the sound of the heavy chamber's door being closed and everyone's feet are on the stairs moving downwards, Daryl finally turned around.
"Wha' was that fuckin' about?" he sneered at Rick with arms crossed.
Rick looked around as if checking if they're really alone. Then he looked at Daryl eying the small patch of blood on the fur covering his shoulders.
"Vultures," Daryl mouthed, "nothing unusual."
Rick nodded and walked towards him. He stared at the white sheet of smoke, not speaking.
Whatever the situation is, Daryl's first reaction will always be fury and right now, he can feel his anger rising because of the suspense. He clenched his fist and kept his distance from Rick—to keep himself from punching the Commander of the Sky Army's Offense Troop.
"How bad is it?" Daryl asked through gritted teeth.
Rick looked at Daryl in the eyes; he looked at his second-in-command firmly and said: "The General wants all of them dead."
Daryl narrowed his eyes. "All of 'em? You mean the Walkers?"
Rick sighed and shook his head. He put a firm hand on Daryl's shoulder.
"All of them," he repeated, "Walkers…Landers…."
Daryl slapped Rick's hands off of him, his face twisted in rage.
"The General wants them annihilated," Rick continues with a shaky voice but stern face, "all the people below. Living and dead."
Next chapter: We meet some ladies from the Land.
Author's Notes:
Hi guys. I'd like to take this opportunity for the good readers who followed and faved this story:
For FOLLOWING:
kjlacey
For FAVE-ING:
zombieslayer5, Band131
And I'm so touched by you guys' COMMENTS/REVIEWS:
zombieslayer5: Aww, I am so happy that you liked this story. Don't worry, this one has pretty much invaded my head, disturbing my waking and sleeping time that I just need to write more to know what will happen. And Daryl's hotness just increased by millions when he had those wings! *fangirl squeals…I can't imagine him without them anymore!
Band131: I'm glad you found the story cool I was actually unsure if anyone else aside from me will like it. Thank you, I appreciate it.
Me (GUEST): I can't wait for the next chapter as well! I pretty much planned the big picture of the story already but I'm still very excited on how each chapter will take shape. Please continue reading
Please stay with me, guys and continue letting me know what you think of this story :)
MERRY CHRISTMAS!