Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.
Wide eyes and gaping mouths. The soft whimpers of a crying child.
Quinn had expected no less.
She stood off to the side of the gathering of survivors seated in the middle of the camp, having interrupted their lunch with the roar of the Subaru's return. Partially hidden from view by Shane's large form, she quietly talked him through the events of the previous day.
But the sailor could still feel their stares. Feel the fear radiating off the group like heat from a fire.
Glenn lie asleep in the back of her car, curled in her sleeping bag. Head wrapped in her soft blue scarf to block out the outside world. The combination of adrenaline crash and pure exhaustion had been too much for the young man to fight off. He had stumbled out of the passenger seat as soon as the Subaru parked and crawled into the back, ignoring the faces that looked upon him as he pulled the hatchback shut, leaving his friend to explain the situation. To clarify how his skin seemed mostly free of the gore that coated the sailor.
His slumber saved him from the stares and the worried murmurs, and for that Quinn was grateful.
"We can't go in alone like that again," She rasped to the deputy, her blue eyes reflecting the conviction in her tone. Their color a stark contrast to the stains saturating her face, "Next time we have to have a team."
The large man nodded, the concerned grimace on his face set in deep lines as the sailor edged by him and paced toward the direction of the quarry reservoir. Her back straight and head high, not showing the turmoil raging in her mind as young dead faces flashed behind her eyes. The only hint of distress found in the subtle way her bloody hands clenched and unclenched in fists at her sides.
Leaving the deputy to decide how much of the gruesome story to relay to the scared faces at his back.
Combat boots tread over dry and dusty gravel, barely rustling the rocks.
She needed to cleanse herself of that school. Of the memory of lifeless children's eyes, and of blood splattering over her body. Quinn knew to keep her sanity in this apocalypse she had to let it go, she couldn't afford to be paralyzed by anything. No matter how atrocious. People needed her, and would need her to do even more gruesome deeds before the end.
Quinn stopped her stride when she reached the edge of the reservoir, her blue eyes scanning the expanse of clear water as she pulled her gun from its holster and placed it on the rocky shore. Her boots and socks followed, obscuring the firearm from view.
Those choice items temporarily abandoned, she started forward again. Wading into the water until she was fully submerged.
Eyes closed under the surface, the sailor could feel the grime washing from her skin; the stiff itching feeling the dry material gave her body slowly lifting. She pulled the tie from her hair and allowed the mane to float free in the water. The liquid ridding her bit by bit of evidence of the day before.
When her lungs could no longer bare the lack of air, Quinn rose to the surface of the reservoir with a kick of her strong legs. Relaxing her soaked body on the water's surface so that she could float on her back, she stared up at the blue sky of the late afternoon. Brown hair floating around her head like a halo.
She had always loved the water. It was one of the reasons she had been so drawn to the SEALs. A career where her knack for jumping off high things into lakes and oceans would be useful. When the world was punishing on the body, water lessened the weight. The sailor let her mind wander to that river in Alaska where her father had first taught Wes and her how to float on their backs. They had been young, some would say too young, to be in that cold water. But Lee's were of tough stock, and their father had made sure they knew that early on. He had been an exceptionally proud man, that Marine. Gone too soon.
A man stood on the shore of the reservoir, arms crossed about his chest as he looked out at the floating woman under furrowed brows. He kicked at the gravel in front of him, trying to decide if he should call out to her or just continue his guard.
The hunter had followed the sailor when she strode away from Shane towards the reservoir. Curious about the stains that covered her body and knowing that the deputy was unlikely to give the group the unabridged version of the story, he had wanted to ask her for himself. Daryl did not like to be kept in the dark. Especially not about danger.
But, when he had seen Quinn leave her firearm on the shore and wade into the water until she disappeared, he realized two things. First, that the sailor desperately needed a moment alone with her thoughts, which he would grant her. The state of her appearance told a dark story on its own, so he imagined the tale itself must be worse. And second, that she was vulnerable to attack, her gun abandoned on the gravel. So the hunter had stood and waited, facing away from the water to allow her privacy while he guarded her back. For Merle, he told himself, his brother would not want a fellow sailor to be unnecessarily endangered. Right?
When he heard her burst to the surface to breathe the hunter had spun to face the expanse of water. Only to find the woman floating on her back, perfectly still, not having noticed his presence. She looked like some mysterious sea creature, with all that wild hair floating about her freckled face.
Many minutes had ticked by before he could bring himself to disturb her. She looked so serene in the water, such a contrast to the fearsome blood-soaked figure that had leapt out of the Subaru earlier. Daryl let out a chirping whistle from his place on the gravel shore.
The effect was immediate.
Quinn glanced over at the water's edge, her keen eyes taking in the shape of the younger Dixon brother standing by her shoes. His bare arms uncrossing as he met her eyes, bringing them to his sides to shove his hands in his pockets. Waiting for her.
The sailor kicked her way into water she could stand in and then waded towards the shore. Swimming would have been quicker, but she was in no rush to leave her sanctuary. Water cascaded off of her body and hair as she slowly emerged from the reservoir; the long waves of her mane stuck to her face and back as she gathered it in a twist and threw it over her shoulder. The gray t-shirt she wore clung to her body, fully saturated. But at least the material of the shirt and her black jeans looked relatively clean now. And she could still feel her knives strapped against her back, which was reassuring given she had forgone leaving them ashore with her gun. Optimism, sailor.
Bare feet standing delicately atop the sharp gravel, Quinn cocked a dark eyebrow at the hunter at her side. "You think they might have locked them in there when the relief stations were over run?" She asked, blue eyes searching blue.
She had retold the story for him, every brutal detail. Quinn had left out some things when she relayed the events to Shane, as she did not trust the deputy to handle the information correctly. But she trusted Daryl, knew that the man before her would have made the same calls that she did. Or at least that he would understand. Quinn may not have quite the acute observation ability that the hunter was blessed with, but she knew a like mind when she saw one. Hard lives breed hard minds.
"Nothin' else makes sense." The hunter responded, his mind trying to create scenarios where leaving dozens of children locked in a building was the best solution, "You think other buildin's could be like tha? Ain't smart sendin' people in if every locked door is hidin' crowds of them fuckers."
Quinn frowned at the thought, hands wringing the excess water out of her hair as she rasped, "Dunno, ace. Not a pleasant thought. Regardless, I told the deputy that we have to go in ready next time. A full team all armed. Glenn and I could have easily been overpowered, can't risk that shit again."
The man at her side let out a frustrated sigh and locked his hands behind his head, ice blue eyes on the sky. Hoping the sunny expanse would bring him answers.
Quinn sank to pull her shoes and socks back on in the silence, allowing him a moment to think. The rest of her clothing was still fairly soaked, so she knew a trip back to her car for a fresh set would soon be necessary.
Boots tied, she holstered her gun and stood as the hunter's gravelly voice sounded again, "We should go find Merle, he's been a fuckin' pain in my ass since you left. An' he'll wanna hear 'bout this shit too."
He began to move back toward the camp, but then hesitated, his sharp eyes running over the sailor's body. Her clothes were soaked from her mermaid-esque frolic in the water; the material of her t-shirt clung to her torso in a way that made the gruff man feel heat rise in his face. Well fuck me.
He cursed under his breath at his body's betrayal. Dixons don't blush.
"Maybe you should change first." He mumbled to the woman, resuming his walk and hearing her fall into step at his shoulder. Besides, last thing he needed was Merle saying some crude shit to her and then them losing a fucking valuable ally. Yeah, that's why.
Quinn was able to extract a change of clothes from her bag and pull them on in the front passenger seat of her Subaru without rousing Glenn. She smiled at his curled form. He still slept peacefully, tucked in the back of the car in her down sleeping bag, her favorite scarf under his head as a pillow. Protected from the Georgia heat by the shade of the trees she'd parked under and the dark tinting of the vehicle's windows.
Fresh undergarments, dry and recently cleaned by Carol blue jeans and her favorite faded Navy t-shirt on her body she headed over towards the Dixons. Leaving her wet clothes hanging on her roof rack.
They were seated on the tailgate of Daryl's old blue truck, reclined against the sides of the bed and taking long drags from a pair of cigarettes. Could have been a vintage Marlboro ad, all that denim and leather.
The sailor chuckled to herself at the thought, the light sound drawing the rednecks' attention as she neared them.
Merle's mouth twitched into a yellowed grin, and after a release of smoke he called out, "Ya look a bit less like the devil incarnate now, Commander."
He was met with a peal of feminine laughter and a snort from his brother as the sailor dropped to sit on a log in front of them. A broad smile gracing her freckled features.
The veteran didn't ask her to retell her story like she had expected.
Either he had guessed the details, or his brother had decided to fill him in before she had wandered over to them. Quinn didn't know which, but she could tell that he knew. There was concern and understanding in the way the wrinkled corners of his eyes squinted at her and the way his mouth settled into a thin smile when he met her gaze. Taking in the haunted memories he saw behind her eyes, and empathizing like only another serviceman could. Death brings memories of death, and we have been to war.
He only asked one question, his gray eyes revealing his curiosity beneath furrowed brows, "Why give up the gun?"
Daryl's eyes shot to the sailor's face after his brother spoke. He had not given a second thought to her choice to give the Asian kid her gun. But now that the hunter contemplated it, the decision seemed odd. Quinn was an expert marksman, probably one of the best in the world going off her rank and rifle collection, so why would she surrender her most deadly weapon to a kid that barely knows how to shoot. Surely it would have been smarter for her to shoot a path through the walkers while he followed her with knives or the crowbar he had brought.
The brunette woman before him chewed her lip, blue eyes shifting between them as she pondered her response.
"There were too many for it to make a dent." She rasped as she played with the end of her ponytail, the long brown strands falling through her fingers. She paused, eyes settling on the vet's face before continuing; "I gave him the gun to calm his nerves, so he wouldn't fall behind while I cut through them. It was the only way to kill quickly enough to make it out and still keep his hands clean."
Quinn hesitated again, bringing her fingers up to press on her temples and closing her eyes, "He wasn't ready for that sort of slaughter, not yet. Not children." The sentence was barely a whisper.
Merle leaned down to rest his hands on his knees, bringing him closer to face level with the sailor seated on the log. "You can't coddle them. Not f'ever, Quinn. This shit world is full of death 'n killin' and they'll have ta get their hands dirty 'ventually," he muttered to her, gravelly voice serious.
Daryl nodded sagely from his brother's side, taking a long drag from his cigarette as his blue eyes stayed stuck to the lip caught between the sailor's teeth. Her tell of contemplation.
"These people are soft, Merle, if we just let them just slaughter everything they'll lose their humanity and their judgment with it. I'll keep the blood on my hands if it keeps their damn decisions sane. We can't afford more bad decisions." She rasped, blue eyes firm as she met the vet's.
Merle nodded to her in understanding, holding his callused hands up in defeat.
The three stayed comfortably in each other's company. Merle tinkering with his motorcycle and telling stories to the younger pair about his escapades abroad while in the Navy. His voice full of gruff laughter.
Daryl busied himself with gutting and skinning the line of squirrels he had caught earlier that day, setting up on the tailgate of his truck just as he had with the deer. Worked as a pretty good table. His eyes occasionally drifting to the roof of his truck's cab, where the sailor perched while cleaning her handgun.
Glenn had woken up from his hibernation and wandered over to sit against the truck, eyes closed against the sun, directly under where the sailor sat on the roof. The Dixons hadn't questioned him, realizing the kid needed to lean on the Commander's calm air, for once keeping their commentary to themselves. Besides, the kid was growing on them.
The others in the camp left them alone, still somewhat shocked from the appearance of the sailor earlier that day on top of the general aversion they had to the Dixons.
Dale sat on top of the RV, keeping watch with an old rife and his trusty pair of binoculars. Angela was at his side, chatting animatedly, keeping the old man thoroughly entertained. Occasionally yelling down to Jim and T who stood in front of the vehicle with the hood open.
The Morales family and Carol's family were each by their own tents. Keeping to themselves for different reasons.
Jacqui and Amy had gone down to the quarry reservoir to do some laundry, or to enjoy the cool water on the hot day, accompanied by little pale Carl. His little smile bursting with youthful energy.
Two people were missing.
Merle snorted when he realized and raised an eyebrow at the Commander with a toothy grin. She rolled her eyes in response before returning to her task. Continuing to screw together the small pieces of metal in her hands.
The deputy and Lori were not very discreet.
The warm evening air was suddenly split by a woman's panicked scream.
"Quinn! Quinn come quick!" Came the scream again, followed by running footsteps as Amy burst into the camp from the path to the reservoir. The blonde's eyes were huge with panic as she tried to calm her breathing. Jacqui hot on her heels.
"What happened?" The sailor responded, abandoning her half assembled handgun on the roof of the truck as she leapt down and ran toward the women. Boots speeding down the gravel path for the second time that day.
"Carl somehow floated to the middle of the reservoir, and now he's stuck! He can't get back! What if he drowns!" Jacqui rambled as Quinn reached her and Amy, running her hands through her hair with panic.
Quinn's dark eyebrows shot up in shock. How the fuck did you let the kid do that…
The sailor dropped a hand on the woman's shoulder, rasping "Calm down and go find his mom." Before turning and veering off the reservoir path, heading for the sharp drop that lined the body of water on all sides but the gravel beach, a plan quickly forming in her mind.
If the little pale boy had floated out into the deeper waters of the reservoir, her best bet to reach him quickly was jumping from the rocky cliff face. It should cut her swim distance down significantly, at least if she had judged the distances right during her float earlier.
She sped to the edge of the rock face, skidding to a stop to look down over the reservoir, her eyes scanning for splashes. Found him. Quinn had been right in her assumption, Carl was far closer to her then to the shore, his little arms creating ripples in the water body as he flailed.
Back pedaling a few steps, the sailor took a deep breath. Two sets of clothes soaked in one day, she thought, still not her record but still not ideal. Propelling herself forward in a sprint the sailor shot toward the edge and dove. Hands locking above her head, body straightening as she plummeted through the air.
Down. Down. Down… Hooyah.
The water broke under her locked hands, allowing her to cut through the surface without resistance or injury in a way that only years of SEAL training could teach. Sending her nearly to the bottom of the reservoir. Dark, cold water encompassed her.
Quinn kicked hard to bring herself back to the sunlight, looking about worriedly when she broke the surface. Searching for Carl.
"Help!" came a child's voice near her, the sound muffled by splashing water. Blue eyes followed the voice and found the panicked pale face barely poking above the water.
Quinn quickly swam toward the struggling boy. Pulling him into her shoulder as soon as he was within arms length, allowing him to cling to her like a life raft as she tread water powerfully with her legs. Hoping to settle him down before attempting to swim back to shore with the boy clinging to her neck.
Panicking people could kill you in the water, and the SEAL had no intention of being strangled by a child.
Her arm firmly around his back, anchoring him to her body, Quinn met the boy's terrified eyes with her own. Trying to radiate calmness as she spoke, "Look at me, little man. We're gonna get outta here, but you've gotta be brave for me. You gotta be strong. Roger?"
Her steady composed voice and the soft stare she offered Carl eventually slowed his breathing. Giving in to her command and nodding, he replied quietly, "Roger."
Swimming sidestroke, she had the boy hold onto her like a piggyback ride. Instructing him: "don't you let go of me, kid. No matter what."
She moved slowly with his added weight, and the extra limbs about her body led to constant splashing around her nose and mouth. Threatening to interfere with her breathing. But Quinn was in her element. What's the weight of a child compared to an unconscious man.
When the water was finally shallow enough for her to stand comfortably in, maybe hip deep, she swung the boy from her back into her arms. Allowing him to wrap skinny arms around her neck as she carried him bridal style.
On the shore she saw three figures, but none were the people she expected. That little Carl needed.
One rushed into the water toward her, splashing loudly as his tall form neared. Taking the boy from her with strong bare arms, The hunter moved to walk close by her side so that she could lean on him if needed. Ice blue eyes bore into hers as Daryl held the boy, relieving her just as her exhaustion from the wild ride of the last 48 hours began to hit her.
"Fuckin' déjà vu." The hunter said under his breath with a smirk at the dripping wet woman at his side.
Rick will grace us with his presence soon, theoretically next chapter. Thanks for reading, folks. - GC
