MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
So sorry this took forever. Had finals for college and finished filming, going into digital photography and motion graphic classes. Recently got into painting as well, I plan to submit some pieces of my paintings to an art gallery at my school in spring and we also got a Student Film Festival in April. So, my producer is getting a professional actor and we're making a ten minute pilot of our Allen. I might make a twitter about it. Anyway, enjoy Roy's return!
The following morning, Daryl had never felt so refreshed with such a good sleep. Actually, one could say it was great. It would've been greater if he had woken up to all this being a dream. Back at the cell next to Angela, but no. It was still real, Daryl kept wanting to wake up to it all being a dream but that had to stop at some point, right?
Though his legs needed stretching for sleeping in a box filled with velvet lining and a plush pillow. His back was extremely thankful, compared to sleeping on the dirt ground or in a trunk of a car. The hunter sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and climbed out of the coffin. He stretched his arms and back, picking up his crossbow finding Beth sleeping on the couch in the other room. How she felt comfortable sleeping in the room with the corpse- Oh, the lid was closed. Beth must have closed it before going to bed. Daryl walked over, nudging her shoulder gently as she was curled up on the couch.
"Hey, time to eat." He told softly, seeing her stir at the mention of food.
She sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes as the sun shined through the cracks in the boarded window. "How'd you sleep?" Beth asked, stretching her arms over her head.
"Best sleep I had in years." He told. "You?" Daryl watched her get to her feet, limping a bit. Her ankle must have locked up during the sleep.
"Pretty good." She responded, moving toward the kitchen.
Daryl watched her move slower than before, he walked toward the hall and nodded. "Come on, hungry as a bull."
Beth scoffed with a smile. "I'm going as fast as I can."
"Forget that."
Daryl surprised her but scooping her unto his arms and kicking the door open. Beth laughed as he maneuvered around the table filled with their food and placed her down on a chair.
"Here ya go. Whew." He walked around and took his own seat, grabbing the pigs feet first. "A'right, let's eat."
The sudden sound of cans rattling from outside paused them. Daryl got to his feet and grabbed his crossbow. Beth stood to follow, but he pointed a finger at her. "Stay." He told, rushing to the door.
Beth stood nonetheless as Daryl approached the door, trying to peek through the wood in the glass window. He didn't see a walker but saw something moving. Cautiously, he opened the door finding a one eyed dog standing there. He panted and looked pretty excited that a human had greeted him.
"It's just a damn dog." He called to Beth, so she knew he was alright. Daryl crouched down and reached for the dog. "Hi." He greeted, letting him sniff his hand. "Come here, boy."
Though the dog didn't like the grabbing motion Daryl made and yelped as the dog ran off the porch. The cans shook from his tail sweeping past it, Daryl stood with a sigh. Seeing he spooked the poor thing, he stepped back into the house and shut the door.
"He wouldn't come in?" Beth asked, entering the hall.
Daryl turned to her, "I told ya to stay back." he said walking up to her.
"Yeah." She nodded, biting back a grin. "But Daryl, you said there was a dog." Ah, of course hearing about a furry canine would get her attention from staying somewhere safe.
"Maybe he'll come back 'round." He told, nudging her back into the kitchen. "Come on."
The two went in, sitting down to have their meal. So far, their morning was starting off with a hitch.
Unknown if it was morning or night, all Angela knew was that it was dark when she woke up. Her back resting in a bed and her arm felt like it was floating. Squinting her eyes, she wished they were adjust to the darkness. Everything felt numb and her head was spinning. Her arm tugged and it felt like something was tight around her wrist, something jingled like metal against metal. Her mind tried to figure out what it was as she kept moving her arm, it felt cold. The room felt cold, tugging her legs she found they were free but felt like jello. Angela parted her lips, finding her mouth tasting of cotton and dry as a bone. She took in a deep slow breath, not wanting the nausea to rise as she found moving her body was impossible.
"Mer...Me….Merle…." She mumbled out, trying to form her words together. Her mind was growing less foggy and her eyes dilated better to the darkness. "Merle…! Merle!"
Her arm, the cold metal against her wrist, she was handcuffed to the post of the bed she laid in. Her bad arm resting at her side, wrapped neatly and felt less painful to move as she rose into a sitting position. Her hand felt the clothing over her body, she still wore the pull over shirt and her jeans as she rubbed her knees together.
"Merle!? Where are you, Merle!?" She screamed out, panicking.
Angela remembered she had been arguing with him in the car, over a stupid test stick. Then the car went down and everything went black. Now where she was handcuffed to a bed with her arm in better condition and Merle missing.
The sound of a door opening caught her attention, she covered her eyes as the light blinded her. Pitch black returned once the door slammed shut, and the echo of footsteps came closer to Angela. Her hand searched for her knife or anything to defend herself, but found all her weapons gone.
"Merle!"
A male voice chuckled, making her skin crawl. "Merle? Me-earl? Mar-rel?" He tried to pronounce the name in different ways as if not understanding it. "Nah, nah. Never heard dat name, Sweetheart."
"Where is he!?" She screeched, her eyes scanning the dark room for him.
"Calm down, Sugar." He purred, "N' here I 'tought I'd find little 'ol KayKay n' 'dat car wit' ya." a click of his tongue was heard. "N'stead, found 'nother man, ain't even yer brother."
Angela, ready to lunge at the man, now froze as her mind urged her body to curl into the corner of the bed. Those names, that accent, the tone. She knew this man.
"No, no, no…" She stuttered, shaking her head as her eyes rapidly searched everywhere. It couldn't be, he was dead! Dead! All the way back at that college campus, dead and gone. "I-It can't be-"
The sudden click of a lamp turning on jolted her, wiping her head to the left corner of the room. The yellow light illuminating the room, casting shadows from her, the bed and the figure next to the lamp. Her eyes went wide at the male figure that joined her in the small room. Her worst fears had come true; that man, that monster was alive; Roy Benson.
He looked thinner than the last she saw him, not dressed as a neat suited man like before. He wore dark dirty jeans with a belt keeping it them on his thin frame, dark blue plaid shirt tucked into his jeans. Another belt hung on his hips where his hand rested on a gun holstered on his side. A leather coat over his body reached down to his knees, if he didn't have his hand resting on his gun, she wouldn't even know he had a weapon on his person, the collar sticking up against his neck. No longer did he sport a goatee, now a groomed ginger mustache was perched above his lip and his hair cut short with no long ponytail.
His wide grin wasn't as welcoming as he thought it was. His arms extended out as if expecting a hug, the coat falling over to hide his gun. "Angel! Darlin'!"
Once he took a step, his boots tap against the cement ground, Angela recoiled against the wall, tugging at her arm wanting to be free as she was restricted.
He paused, tilting his head in question at her reaction. "Dontchya recognize me? It's 'ol Roy!" He laughed, bringing a hand up to comb through his short thin ginger hair. "All 'dis time, I thought ya was dead back at 'ta college." His voice sounded genuine, as if seeing her from the 'dead' was a long wish to come true.
He just smiled, shaking his head as his arms fell to his side. "Ya look amazin', Darlin'." Roy praised, eyes scanning her. Angela brought the blanket up, too stunned to respond, despite the many questions and demands buzzing in her skull.
"Yer hair is growin' back." He complimented. "Once I spotted dat scar, I knew-"
"Why are you not dead!?" She screamed out, silencing the room.
Roy's brows raised, stunned by her sudden below. He shoved his hands into his pockets sighing. He looked down at the flood, then at the door as if thinking over his words. Giving a side glance, he shook his head.
"Ain't even gonna 'tank me for fixin' ya little wound, Angel?" Was his response, looking hurt by her words.
Angela ignored his words, though tempted to look at her arm to see what he did. Roy noticed and rose his chin up proudly.
"Had a snag 'dere, didn'tchya?" He asked, his hands digging in the pocket and fishing out something small between his index finger and thumb. "Now, I ain't no gun know-it-all, but I is sure 'dat ain't supposed 'ta be in yer arm."
Roy laughed making Angela's spine shiver, hair standing on the ends of her neck and arms. "You're supposed to be dead."
"As a gentleman, I should answer yer question." He pressed his hand to his chest, flicking the bullet somewhere into the darkness. Angela flinched hearing it clink against the floor somewhere. "After everyone made 'dere promise, I found myself alone."
"You didn't drink it." She hissed at him.
He shook his head. "No, couldn't bring myself 'ta do it."
"I saw you-I saw you drink that shit!"
Roy shrugged, looking around the barely lit room. "Yes, I drank sometin', but not what everyone else did." He extended his hand out to her. "I see ya didn't drink it, makes 'dis all fate."
"Where is he?"
His brows shot up, a smile brought to his features. "Ah, I was hopin' ya would ask 'bout him." Roy chuckled, shoving his hand in his pocket again. "Y'know, ever since-"
"What did you do to Merle?"
Roy's smile faded, looking annoyed hearing that name again. He slowly shook his head, striding to the door. Angela leaned toward the edge of her bed, seeing him making his exit.
"Did you kill him? Leave him to die?" She questioned, hoping the older Dixon was actually alive. "Tell me!"
Roy paused opening the door, light entering the room as it shined on Angela in the bed. "Ya disappoint me, Angel." He turned, leaning his hand against the door handle. "Here I tought ya wanted 'ta know where someone important was. Yer family, yer blood."
Angela's face paled, was he talking about who she thought he was. Was he really alive and well? Was he really here, now?
"I'll let Nolan know ya done gave up on him."
With that, he slammed the door, the muffled screaming ignored as he wandered to his next job. Walking past the tall shelves of boxes and assorted old unneeded items, the lights lit up the back cold room until he hit the switch. Roy could hear the engine humming of the generator he used to gain electricity for his home. He praised himself on keeping that freezer section of the food store he called 'home' on, not only to keep needed foods he found nice and cold, but for his visitor.
Entering the back rooms, he buttoned his coat, shrugging his shoulders as if he was about to enter a tundra region. He swung the door opened and entered the room, reaching up to pull the string lighting the room up. There, under the light, he found his new visitor bound to a chair shivering horribly without his newly acquired bowling shirt. Roy liked the shirt, wanting it he took it leaving this one armed man in his wife beater. Roy pulled up a chair and sat across from him, humming to himself. The man's arms were duct taped behind the back of the chair, legs taped to the ones to the chair and even his torso was tightly taped to the chair for extra measure. Only his neck was the free to move part of his body.
"We gonna have a chat finally?" Roy asked, crossing one leg over the other. The one armed man didn't respond, his skin was pale and body shivered begging for warmth. "I've tried 'ta get ya 'ta talk, but ya just sit 'dere 'n I gotta be honest." Roy chuckled, leaning his arms onto his knee. "It's gettin' annoyin'."
Merle didn't respond, his head hung staring down at his lap. No matter what Roy questioned or said, the man refused to speak or acknowledge him. Unlike Angela who had her injures tended to, his was still staining his head and lips from his bleeding nose. Roy thought maybe he became brain damaged, but there had to be something to make him talk.
"Name Merle?" He asked, leaning back against the chair. "Dat's what she calls ya."
Once he mentioned that, the redneck's head slowly rose up glaring deeply at him. Roy grinned, glad to get a reaction. He uncrossed his legs and pressed his palms into his knees with excitement.
"Praise 'ta Lord, ya alive!" He joked, though the other man found no amusement in this. "I can assume yer name is Merle?"
"What'd ya do to her?" Her rasped, making Roy grin at his suppressed stuttered question. "If ya done something-"
"Oh, I only removed 'dat pesky bullet from her arm, is all. Wrapped her head n' made sure she was more comfortable 'den bein' n' 'dat ditch ya launched her in." He told, seeing Merle's arms tug at his bindings. Wanting to punch him, no doubt.
"Ya'll be making a mistake, asshole." He growled lowly at him.
Roy stood and walked over, bending over to get real close in Merle's face. "Ya from here 'n don't even 'tank me for savin' ya'll lives?" He tisked as Merle struggled in the chair, face turning from near palish blue to red within seconds.
"Short temper, I see." Roy commented, standing straight in case he tried to headbutt him. "Well, I 'tank ya, good sir." He stepped back and bowed at Merle making his anger flare even more. He raised his head, grinning at him. "Ta name's Roy Benson, I'll be takin' care of her for now on."
Merle's eyes went wide, anger flaring to a point a pulsating pain rushed to his head. Roy, he knew that fucking name from somewhere.
Not Angela, no, not Daryl. It was someone else-
Kaylee, Princess mentioned him! She told how he was the one who left the first scar on Angela's face, the reason their brother was gone, the community lost, and attempted rape to Kaylee.
Teeth clenched and hand tightened into a fist as it shook under his restraints. "You fuck!"
Roy jumped back, startled by the man's sudden echoing bellow. "P-Pardon?"
Merle spat spit from his lips as he snarled at the man like a chained animal. "I'll make sure to kill ya, making sure ya wished ya were dead before meeting me!" The chair shook as he struggled more under the tight duct tape. Roy stepped back, actually fearful of the man escaping.
"Once I'm free, I'll break every bone in your body, cut every muscle and rip out every organ. You'll feel every pain ya caused, ya sick fuck!" Merle promised, teeth clenched tightly.
Roy fixed the collar of his coat and turned ready to adjust the temperature of the freezer. "I 'tink it's time ya took a nap, my friend."
Merle kept barking at his back as Roy reached for the thermostat, adjusting the cold. The fans grew louder over the yelling, but eventually faded out.
Angela tugged and yanked at her handcuffs, resorting to kicking the metal bed post in attempt to bend or break the damned thing. She had to escape, had to find Merle and get the fuck out of there. The back of her mind kept pestering about Nolan, he mentioned Nolan.
"No." She told herself, shaking her head. "He's dead, he's a lying prick."
"Am I now?" Angela jumped, head shooting over to the door as it creaked open. Roy leaned against the door with a tray in his hand. "'Tought ya might be hungry. Ya look a little too thin, for my opinion."
Angela curled back against the bed as he approached her, placing the tray on the other end of the bed. He stood by, hands shoved in his pants as if waiting to see her eat. She just glared at him, he returned it with a hurtful look.
"Ya just keep glarin' at me, Angel. If I hadn't stopped, ya woulda been eaten fer sure." He shrugged, shaking his head. "I just wanted 'ta know, how ya surrived back 'dere."
"The hell should I know? We just didn't die."
A brow was raised, "We?" he questioned. Angela bit her lip, opening the cut on her lower lip. "What 'we' would ya be talkin' 'bout?"
Angela turned away, her eyes falling on the tray of food. There was a well made sandwich, with chips on the side and bottle of cold water. Roy tilted his head, then bent to the side to get a look at her face.
"Angel-"
"Stop calling me that!" She barked, swinging her foot to kick the tray. The food went flying all over the floor, the bottle rolling away.
Roy flinched at the kick, but recomposed himself as he eyed the woman. "What kind of animal have ya become, Sugar. Ya used 'ta be so sophisticated, a proud woman."
Angela jumped when he stepped forward and grabbed her chin roughly. Her body trembled in fear at his touch, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"I have very little patience, Angel. Who is dis other person? Is it Kaylee?" Angela tried to dart her eyes away, then closed them feeling tears swell up in them. "It was KayKay. He figured. "Ohh sweet, little, baby Darlin'." Roy let her go, shoving her away as he stood over her. "Where might she be?"
Angela rubbed her jaw, glaring down at the blanket. "Dead." Roy blinked at that answer, hearing a strain in her voice. "She's dead. She was killed."
"Someone murdered that sweet Honey Child?" He questioned, raising his hands to his hips. "Who would dare-"
"Someone like you." She hissed, her green piercing gaze rising at him. "A monster, just like you."
Roy lost his temper, backhanding Angela across her cheek. She cried out feeling the sting, curling against the wall as she held her swelling cheek.
"Don't be spewin' such 'nsults, Angel." He growled, lips curling in a snarl.
"You tried to rape her!" Angela cried out, not caring what pain he could bring her. "She told me everything! You couldn't have her, so you were going to punish her!"
"She needed to learn her place!" Roy barked at her. "In 'dis world, 'ta men protect 'n women follow!"
"Says the man who hid behind my brother like a bitch!" Angela accused. "You're a coward!"
Roy growled, lunging himself at her as his hands wrapped around her throat. She gasped, feeling her windpipes tighten at his grip, her hand clawing at his hands. He let one hand go and grabbed her wrist, pinning her to the bed and climbing on top of her.
"I ain't no coward." He growled, lowering to press his lips to her ear. She shuddered at the touch, trying to turn away from him as she felt hot tears in her eyes. "I survived, I lived, I made it out here. I'll be damned if I let a woman call me a coward."
His hand released her throat but held her chin again as he looked into her eyes. He was about to continue, but found something else in those fear filled eyes. There was a fighter in there, her eyes glaring back despite the trembling in her body and labored breathing through her nose.
"Nah, ya ain't a coward." Roy rubbed his thumb against her boney cheek. "Yer an Angel."
He finally let her go and kicked the tray out of his path as he walked to the door. "I'll prepare 'ta meetin'. Ya deserve to see him, at least once."
Angela slowly sat up, staring at him. He just chuckled and shut the door, the clicking of a lock heard and his footsteps fading. The scarred woman yanked and pulled at the cuffs, feeling the bruises start to form on her wrists. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room, nothing was within her reach. Her eyes fell on her hand, finding her stomach churning at the thought of breaking her wrist or even gnawing her way out. She sat up closer, inspecting how closely tight it was around the wrist. If her thumb wasn't in the way she could-
Angela chewed her lip tasting the copper blood from her cut. No, she wouldn't be cutting her thumb off or breaking it. All she had to do was dislocate it, making it easier to slip the cuffs off. She took in some even breaths, preparing herself as she gripped her thumb. With a quick movement, she popped the joint, holding a scream as she closed her eyes tightly at the jolting pain. Angela slipped her wrist free and stood, stepping about wanting to pop it back into place. She didn't even want to see the sight of her dislocated thumb, the feeling was enough for her. Remembering how to relocate joints when kids got injured, she moved her thumb and roughly pushed it back into place letting out a yell. Angela fell to her knees, able to move her thumb though the pain stayed with her.
"Okay, Okay."
She caught her breath, now free from her restraint. Her feet lead her to the door, testing the lock, but was shocked to find it swing open. Didn't she hear the lock click, maybe he was fooling her. The light blinded her momentarily, finding herself in a storage room. Stepping out for a second, the walls of boxes and containers proved they were in some super market as they were labeled with pantry brands. Angela cautiously wandered the room, finding scissors sitting on an open box. She instinctively took them, finding some solace to have a weapon in hand.
She peeked out the double doors, seeing the store just as dimly lit as the room she was in. Angela had to fine Merle and get out of there. She just hoped he wasn't left back in that car, eaten alive.
Angela walked past the pick up section then the sports section. This was one big outlet store, the sounds of a humming engine told her he had a back up generator running somewhere to keep the electricity going. Roy wasn't kidding, he had managed to keep this place and the electricity going for who knows how long.
The sudden sound of a high pitch screech made her duck down as if Roy was nearby. But the sound was over some speakers above head in the rafters. "Dear ol' Angel. I knew ya would find a way out." Came Roy's voice over the loudspeakers.
"Where's Merle!?" She barked at the ceiling, keeping low by the bike section.
"Merle? 'dat one armed man, right? Well, he's a tad busy at 'ta moment." Roy dismissed. "He needed 'ta cool down dat hot temper of his." He chuckled, Angela looked around before sprinting down the aisle to find any signs to where each section of the store was.
"Why are you doing this?" She questioned, scissors tight in her fist.
"Because ya need 'ta see 'ta truth, Angel." He told, as if he was sincere in his words. "Yer brother is right here n' 'dis buildin'. He 'tought ya was dead all 'dis time, ya 'n KayKay. 'Tough, I can't say much, ya might have 'ta tell him 'bout 'dat." Roy sighed into the microphone.
"You think you can play these mind games with me!?" She barked out, glaring at the ceiling.
"Don't be testin' my patience!" He yelled. "Let me help ya. If ya don't want 'ta see Nolan, I'll tell ya where Merle is, 'den I'll just have 'ta put him out of his misery. How's 'tat'?"
Angela growled and just ran down an isle to who knows where. Her shoes collided with stray boxes and hangers all over. She then had found herself in the clothing section, center of the store. She slipped the scissors into her back pocket and climbed onto a counter by the dressing rooms to see the layout of the building.
"Yer pissin' me off!" He barked, making her nerves rack more on where Merle was hidden. "Do ya not care!?"
"Why should I even believe you!?" Angela barked above her. "You're nothing but a sick, con artist coward!"
There was some silence there, Angela focused on the store layout once more. Where was Merle being kept? She thought at this point, maybe he wasn't here at all. Knowing him, he would've curb stomped Roy's head and rip off every limp. But the fact he hasn't heard him yelling or any sign of being held somewhere, had Roy actually killed Merle?
"You tried to rape my sister, you scarred my face, and left thousands of innocent people to die while you still live on! Why should I trust you!?" She screamed, feeling her throat grow sore from yelling. "Just tell me where Merle is! He's my family! My brother! Nolan is dead!"
The day was filled with just keeping watch for Daryl Dixon at the funeral home. Beth rested well for her ankle, Daryl made no notion to keep moving as the day continued. The teen played the piano at times, bringing music into the house as Daryl sat in the other room adjusting his crossbow. Whenever the music stopped, he paused to hear her making sure she was alright. Once light footsteps were heard, he assumed she was wandering the place and continued his adjustments. Daryl expected to find the owner of the place to come up to the door, but as the day progressed, he was sure they weren't returning today.
That night, as the two ate their dinner, Daryl ate out of that jelly jar he claimed. He noticed Beth writing something in her notes, finding curiosity getting the better of him.
"Whatcha writtin'?" He asked, scooping the jelly into his mouth.
"I'm gonna leave a thank-you note." She told.
Daryl watched her start writing on the lined paper. "Why?" He asked.
Beth looked up, "For when they come back." she answered. "If they come back." She added, leaning back in her seat. "Even if they're not coming back, I still want to say thanks."
Daryl watched her write, a thought had gotten into his head throughout the day on leaving this place. Now was the time to voice the thought out to her.
"Maybe ya don't have to leave that." He told, she looked up. "Maybe we stick 'round here for a while." Daryl took another spoonful. "They come back, we'll just make it work." The stare Beth was given made try to keep his thought train processing.
"They may be nuts but, maybe it'll be a'right." He shrugged.
Beth grinned, just as he expected. "So you do think there are still good people around." The teen chuckled as Daryl shrugged again. "What changed your mind?"
The hunter eyed her up, still eating out of his jar to break the glanced from her. "Ya know."
"What?" She urged, wanting to hear him say it. Daryl swallowed and tilted his head shrugging once more.
He mumbled a 'I don't know' at her, making her head shake.
"Don't," she imitated him, rolling her eyes at him. "What changed your mind?" All Daryl did was keep staring at her, he was giving her an answer. She finally realized it, her smile fading with an "Oh." at him.
The cans outside rattled, but they didn't became as alert as the sounds of the dog barking was heard. Daryl shoved his spoon into the jar and held a finger up. "I'm gonna give that mutt one more chance." He reached for his pigs feet, taking out a piece to offer the canine.
Beth chuckled as he stood and marched out of the kitchen. "Ya better eat this, mutt." He muttered himself, walking up to the door. He swung it open but immediately tried to slam it shut once the sight of walkers were at the door.
"Beth!" He barked, pressing his back against the door to keep them getting in. "Beth!"
She came out, crossbow in hand hearing the alert in his voice. She tossed him the crossbow seeing the hands sticking out from the door. "Run!" He told her, catching the weapon but she didn't move. "Run!"
Beth turned and left down the hall, Daryl jumped from the door as it opened wide for god knows how many walkers to welcome themselves in. He fired at the one lunging at him, the arrow impaling its skull falling to the clean hardwood floor. Daryl ran down the hall, losing track whatever room Beth ran to.
"Beth, pry open a window! Get your shit!" He told her, heading toward the stairs down to the morgue. He had to lead them away from her.
"I'm not gonna leave you!" He heard her voice echo from somewhere in the back.
Daryl made a sharp turn, hearing them on his ass. "Go out! Go up the road! I'll meet ya there!"
Beth hesitated at the hall, hearing the walkers chase after his heavy footsteps. "Go!" He urged, making her back to a room where the black bag was kept. She slung it over and bolted out the back door.
Daryl rushed down the stairs finding the morgue and reloading his bow. The first walker reaching the steps got a bolt lodged in its brain and slumped against the wall. He tossed his crossbow and grabbed the first sharp thing he found on the set of tools displayed on a table. Using the wheeled table with the clean corpse, he slide it to make a blockade between him and the oncoming walkers. As they reached toward him, they pressed him into a corner with the table, but he proceed to stab as many in the head as fast as possible to thin them out. He had managed to stab five walkers but found the numbers growing too big to keep this up.
Taking a risk, Daryl dove under the table and crawled through their legs and getting out with the other table to trap them. He stabbed a few more heads before grabbing his crossbow again. He fired at a walker coming down the stairs and stabbed another making its way down the second steps.
The house was no longer safe, he had to get to Beth outside in case it was a herd that arrived. He rushed outside, finding a few stragglers in the yard. He had no time for them, he bolted past them through the graveyard to find the road and get back to Beth. One walker blocked his path, he felt his energy wasting in the killings. He simply swung his crossbow at the walker's head, splitting its skull. He ran around the fallen body, keeping his eyes peeled in the dark woods to find the teen.
Once he came upon the road, all he found was the bag she took with its contents spilled out. Had she dropped it and ran off? His heart sank when he heard tires screeching, finding a car with a white cross on the back window speeding off down the road. No, something worse had happened. Beth was being kidnapped!
"Beth!" Daryl cried, sprinting after the car thinking he'd catch up. "Beth!"
The car turned sharply right as Daryl ran after, he couldn't let this happen to her. "Beth!"
Daryl run even with his lungs burning, feet aching, and legs shaking. He kept speeding down the road until the following day when the sun came out to beat down on his sweating soaking head. The hunter couldn't let this happen, he can't repeat this again. Not again, please don't do this, he pleaded.
Soon, he fell into a walk as he panted for air in the cold morning. His mind was spinning when he found himself a fork in the road passing train tracks. He kept turning about in circles, searching for any sign in the road, leaves, just anything- Something- to tell him where Beth was.
His hands shook as the crossbow fell from his dying grip. Soon his legs gave out, collapsing into the asphalt. She was gone, and here he sat alone. No one was left, it was just him and him alone.
Alone.
In the freezer room, Merle felt it becoming a struggle to breath. His shoulders shuddered exhaling and inhaling, shivering as the cold air entered his lungs. The older Dixon was tough as nails, this was nothing compared to chopping his hand off on a roof.
Merle continued to tug and kick his feet to get free. He was sure the bayonet at the end of him arm was no longer attached, but feeling the tape covering his arms proved impossible to even loosen them. As he continued to struggle, he swore he felt his arms growing less and less stuck to the adhesive. Frowning, he tilting his head, feeling the creek of his joints as he felt his arms becoming loose. His eyes looked around, feeling the fans blowing cold air into the freeze, was the cold doing something to it?
Deciding to take a chance, Merle looked up finding a fan above him but not directly. He took in a breath and moved his body to the side, jerking the chair over for the fan to blow right at him. The floor proved to be slippery as the wooden legs of the chair slipped, making him fall onto the ice cold cement floor. He let out a yell as he felt the cold stab his skin like thousands of tiny knives when his face and arm collided with the floor. Okay, this was now like swimming in a frozen lake.
But wait! He might take this as an advantage. Merle rocked back and forth and eventually got onto his back, hissing at the stinging cold cement floor against his bare arms. He just rubbed his arms, ignoring the wooden back of the chair grinding against his arms.
He can't do this, he couldn't do this now. His chest burned as he caught his breath from running for so many hours through the night. No one left in his life, they were all gone. Was this how it would be for Daryl Dixon? Wandering around alone, eating snakes and waiting for his time to end?
It was about mid day, Daryl just sat there loathing himself. He couldn't keep Beth safe, what made him think he even could? Boots slowly came into his vision, a man holding a rifle stood before him.
"Well, lookit here." The man muttered, as if he had found a fresh kill.
Daryl's head slowly lifted, finding five men circle him, he felt like a trapped racoon. The first man stepped forward, reaching for his crossbow. Daryl wasn't going to be down without a fight. Raising his fist, he punched the man down to the ground, jumping to his feet as he aimed his crossbow at him. The five other men aimed at Daryl, the redneck just glared down at the gray haired man.
"Damnit, hold up!" He barked, noting toward his men than at Daryl.
"I'm claiming the vest." Came a voice behind him, Daryl ignored the compound bow pointed at his back. "I like 'em wings." He grinned.
"Hold. Up." The man repeated, wiping the blood from his nose.
Seeing the red on his hand made him release a chuckle, evolving into laughter. Daryl stepped back, he dealt with enough crazy. Was he another one in this insane world? Once his laughter died, the smile stayed as he got back to his feet.
"A bowman." He mused, checking if his nose had stopped bleeding. "I respect that. See, a man with a rifle, he could be some kind of photographer or soccer coach back in the day. But a bowman's a bowman, through and through."
Daryl didn't show any interest in what he was saying, the hunter was filled with anger and disappointment. All at himself, but now wanted to take these emotions out on this man and his lackeys.
"What you got there? Hundred-fifty pound draw weight?" He asked, his eyes never leaving Daryl's narrowed gaze. He had no fear talking to this man as if they were just chit chatting at a bar. "I'll be donkey-licked if that don't fire at least three hundred feet per second."
"I've been looking for a weapon like that." He shrugged, Daryl's arms moved to keep his arm between his eyes. "Of course, I'd want one with more ammo, minus the oblongata stains."
The compound bowman behind Daryl laughed, almost excited for this little interaction. "Got yourself into some trouble, partner?"
Not even giving a single glance or word. When Daryl still showed no sign of dropping his weapon, the man sighed. "You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over." He warned, then he knew why he was doing this. "That what you want? Come on, fella, suicide is stupid."
Is that was Daryl was doing? If he did shoot this man, those guys would fill his body with led and arrows. Down it would go, left behind to get eaten or turned into another wandering walker. Would he join Angela, wherever she would be? No, would he even get to be with her? What if she wasn't dead and he just pulled a stupid move?
The man's lips curled back into that grin again. "Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people? Name's Joe."
Daryl didn't even think his own body was obeying his mind. His brain felt shut down as his aim lowered, the crossbow resting at his side. "Daryl." He told.
Everyone's weapons finally lowered, Daryl glanced around getting a good look at the men surrounding him. Shifting his footing, he looked back at the man, Joe, who just nodded as if accepting him in his group was a good choice. Was joining these men a good choice, though?
So, what I found the most recently biggest delay in any writing or works is I just found myself not feeling too well. Not mental wise, just physically feeling off. I don't know if it's my anxiety doing this or just the transition to Spring Semester next month. During my winter break I was busy making presents and cleaning the house for the holidays. So, i barely had time to just take a breather let alone write anything. Hopefully this is just stress getting to me and nothing serious. I tend to panic when my health becomes a factor, so I'll keep you all updated.
Also, I went to Walker Stalker 2019 and I'll be honest- I was a bit disappointed this year. The staff was really rude with my parents when they needed places to sit (they were handicapped, my mom has sciatica and my dad has had knee-replacements) during our walk arounds. Everytime they found seats for handicap, staff would kick them out, claiming they were needed for a panel (which was currently empty and not ready for another two hours) or that they had to keep it open for people with 'real' handicaps. Note, my parents do not walk around with assistance of canes or walkers. My dad is in his early 60s and my mom in her late 50s, but they are healthy people with just leg problems that need time to sit and rest. It runs in our family so we can't do anything about it. I got really mad when the fifth guy kicked my mom out right when her pain kicked in, meanwhile the fattest guy I ever saw was taking up two chairs and didn't even bother him a bit.
Yes, I did get my mom and I got a photo with Norman Reedus, but unlike with Rooker where it was well timed between photos to chat for a minute, the photographer was rude and pushing everyone. I know, there was hundreds of people wanting photos done and time was a need. But, they didn't even give my mom a moment to stand close to Norman before the flash went off and we were rushed out. I got to say hellow and joke how he was my birthday present, he laughed with an 'uh-oh'. But, I guess I shouldn't have expected such. Because we were General Admission, we weren't even allowed to ask to do poses. I was gonna offer we flip the camera off, but they said we weren't allow. Meanwhile, waiting for the photos to print, the VIPs and Gold/Platinum members got theirs and I saw them with hats and props.
So, Walker Stalker, in my eyes, is a money grubber, just like Creation Entertainment for Supernatural. Did you know it's over 1,000$ just for a GOLDEN ticket for a weekend!? There's no general admission, or a ticket for just one day. Not to mention a autograph with someone, such as Misha Collins, is like over 200$! It's not fair, and it makes me sad that the actors are okay with this. Especially Misha, who grew up homeless and poor during his childhood. 40-60$ for a weekend ticket, okay makes sense. Hell, I'd pay maybe 70$ for an autograph and a small chat, worth it! But being a college student whose budget goes towards art supplies and film props/costumes, I would never afford such a chance.
I ended up skipping out Sunday, I didn't want to trouble my parents driving near 2 hours the next day just to spend 4 hours walking around and getting barked at. I got my ticket half off and theirs were free from friends, so we didn't care. Unlike Rooker where I, once again, got to express my dream at a panel, I didn't attend any as none were on Saturday with Norman or Jeffery. So, if there were ones Sunday, I chose to miss out not wanting to ruin my parent's Sunday. It'd be just beneficial to just go bowling or to an Escape Room for my birthdays for now on. Besides, I want to save my money up for a car and apartment one day.
Once I get up there with my shows or movies, and if you guys or any fans would want to take photos or such, I will have my prices super low. I know I don't have full control, but then I'll just attend the con as a fan, pay for my ticket, and wander around to fully meet and greet my fans. Because I wouldn't be able to sleep at night, if I knew it would be over 100$ just for a fan wanting my signature and to talk to me. I want to feel equal to fans, never above. Because I know what its like to feel that distance and I want to assure, the distance is closer then you think.
Sorry for my rant, needed to get that out. Anyway, hope to get the next chapter out. Look out for a new story on New Years as a sneak peek for a brand new story being worked on for Summer 2019!
Thanks klove93, , Skylar97, Quininly for the follows and favorites!
Crossbow-Angel92- Yes! I love my cliffhangers! I'll absolutely link it once we get our actor and stuff together!
RedVelvetPanPa- Hahaha! Funny, that wasn't even my intention! Glad it came across by accident. The thought of connecting him to Terminous came to mind, but it ruins the great runion I have planned! Thanks, I'll link it once we get things settled! We might just go to making our own website so we don't have to worry about youtube's bullshit policies.