GRIM REALITY. dixon.
"WHAT THE HELL!"
THE FOREST WAS SILENT BESIDES THE normal chatter of the animals residing and the footsteps of the two men as they hiked through it. Silence was passed between the men as they walked, their boots slumping against the mud created by the rain during the previous night. They hoped another downpour wouldn't start until they were beneath the cover of the cabin—or rather their safe house for the night.
No one handled the end of the world well. Even the toughest 'sumbitch was somewhere out there losing his mind over the reality that was tossed on people like water to coals—that is if he was even still alive. The illness that had been described in the news during the duration of the last month or so had gone from a simplistic 'cold' to an intense outbreak. Jess Collins hypothesized with his nephew Daryl about what was going on as they traveled up the ridge to his remote hunting cabin.
Daryl simply grunted out his responses to his uncle who was trying to work his mind around what they had just seen. The younger of the two found it unbearable to curl his tongue and purse his lips in order to form substantive words. He didn't want to speak; not after what he had just witnessed.
He didn't know love, not really. The closest he got to it was from his Uncle Jess, who his own father went in and out of estranged contact with. Every encounter between Will Dixon and Jess either ended with the pair piss drunk or tossing blows at each other's face bringing up issues that had long since passed. With the burning desire to earn his father's respect, Daryl often turned a blind eye to Jess, disregarding him when he reached out. They were on good terms this last week, which lead to the group heading up the hill for a hunting trip. Throw some beers back, shoot their guns in the air, and take home some venison to cook up — it was supposed to be good. Therapeutic for the brothers who hadn't gone hunting with one another since they were in their early 20's.
Daryl knew one thing, however, if it seemed too good to be true then it probably was. They came out of nowhere like a crazed bull detecting red the second they laid their sights on the three men. They ripped into Will before anyone could even blink yet the elder man was quick to fight against the people who were tearing their teeth into his flesh. Would it really be considered a mercy kill if he deserved it?
Daryl was unable to raise the gun himself no matter how many times he fantasized about doing exactly that. Jess rose up. "Sorry, brother." The shot reverberated against the pines as the bullet spat out of his hand. A river of blood flowed while Will Dixon waited on the shore for a boat to paddle him to hell.
In movies and T.V. shows no one actually cried. It was acting after all; not methodically. Crying has never, and would never be beautiful. It was raw and excruciating. Puffy bleary eyes stained with red, blotched mottled skin, nose wet and running. Dry body racking sobs, distraught heaving wails, weeping in wretched despair, silent tears rolling down fat cheeks, eternal flow of tears. Chains bolted around their throats with a key unknown, an anvil rested on their sternum, diamond gems that trailed down their neck and onto their heart escaping into the fabric they wore or slipping off their pouted lips.
A single tear. Just one. That's all Daryl Dixon would grant his father. Just one. Not for the man he was, but for the man he could have been. Daryl released a singular drop for the father he should have had, but never got.
Jess had remained calmer than the usual person who not only had just witnessed a pair of humans attack his brother but also had put his gun to said brothers temple. His finger clenched and it was over moments after it began. His intestines spewed onto the floor in pink-brownish coils the dark red blood that pooled around him was already darkening. There was no saving him. A mercy kill.
Their feet stepped in perfect coordination like they had designed the choreography of the trek down to each and every footfall. Despite the stormy forecast, the evening light in the sky remained bright enough for the men to advance without the guide of artificial light. Such fluorescence and dominance could not be concealed behind the creeping somber clouds, the moon illuminated intimidatingly on the forest below it like that of the eye of the devil gazing straight into the soul of the damned.
Both men found tranquil contentment in the darkness of the night and without the trepidation it could almost be mistaken for a simplistic night out.
"It's not much further now," Jess guaranteed, his voice was unlike nothing many had ever heard before. Like a drum, but deeper, like a tuba, but deeper. It was creamy, like butter, but it could be as rocky as rocky road ice cream. His tone was as low as the sun at midnight. Daryl nodded.
They proceeded in silence. Daryl favored the muteness just as he preferred to keep moving no matter the circumstance. Restless and itinerant.
Jess stopped; Daryl didn't like to stop. His eyes darted to his uncle in undeniable interrogation before he observed the elder man hold a finger to his chapped lips pointing at whatever was in front of them. Through the trees, they could detect a figure. Back turned to them gasping heavily — another infected human?
They stepped closer deliberately. Hands clutched tightly on the crossbow that Jess himself had gifted his nephew years ago. Jess' fingers wrapped around his rifle.
Eyes narrowed while brows concurrently furrowed. They were small — and it was a she. She looked wrong; incongruous. Being there in the heart of the thick dark woods alone. Like a velvet white couch occupying the outside porch of a meth house. A porcelain vase in a bull's pen. A single white rose in a blazing furnace. A kitten in the wolf's den.
Her chestnut hair draped down softly curving along the ends, streaked and matted with blood and grime; an assortment of leaves and twigs. Her arms quivered at her sides, bare and slick with the cardinal ichor. Jess questioned her. Why was she there? Was she even still alive? Was she one of the creatures that assaulted Will only hours ago. She wasn't coming after them the way the infected were, she didn't turn with chomping teeth and reaching hands. She shivered in place. Goosebumps were all but apparent to the boys who stood feet away.
She shifted. Dead on her feet. "Running." The second her raspy voice spoke knees buckled sending the bloodied and beaten girl to the forest floor. Her head crashed against the earth with a loud crack as she slumped against the sheets of leaves and mud.
Jess surged forward the instant she began to waiver yet dropped behind a second too late. Before his arms could catch her, she like a child's balloon slipped from him like a toddler with wobbly fingers. Without a consideration or a blink, he crumpled to his knees alongside her, striving to feel a pulse on her neck. Pleading and praying to feel at least a dull thump—anything.
"She alive?" Daryl urged glancing between his uncle and the damsel who was drenched in blood. Her nose stood at a crooked angle with a trail of desiccated blood over her lips; unmistakably broken. A deep gash on her shoulder was now leaning nastily in the dirt unquestionably growing contaminated and infected with each second she laid there defeated.
Jess nodded. "She's alive." He hurled his rifle to Daryl who despite carrying his crossbow was able to catch it with a certain amount of ease. He reached his arms underneath the blonde girls' legs and another behind her back, raising the lithe body into his arms.
"What are ya doing Jess?"
"She's not dying out here Daryl," Jess narrated finitely without room for discussion or dispute. "I ain't gonna let her and neither are you. Let's go." Within the forest, the two foreign men carried the bloodied lady to their newly established residence.
Unknowingly, Violet Monroe had obtained a guiding light. Different from the one she'd grown used to following but just as radiant and warm.
Hopefully, it wouldn't dim.
ahhh I'm so fucking excited for this story. It takes me a lot longer to write these chapters than my other stories where the writing style is WAY different but I feel like this is worth it! Also this 'part one' chapters of this story is based off of 'survival instinct' the walking dead game that gives some background to the Dixon's past at the start of the apocalypse, some things are going to be changed to include violet but the foundation is from 'survival instinct'
And if you're reading this I hope you're enjoying it! And if you are please drop a comment ! It'll make me really really happy!