A few notes from missCanary
Disclaimer: I own none of the TWD characters, only Scarlett.
Okay! So the format is sort of going to change for the next few chapters. I won't be flip-flopping between POVs multiple times, just once. And, as you can see by the "Day One", there will be several chapters like this.
TS-19: I hear ya love, I hear ya! All I will say is that no matter what happens, this is a Shane/OC story!
Enjoy!
xoxo
(Day One)
Scarlett
"One, two, three." They lifted a long, heavy workbench, dragging it to the first garage door. Scarlett swore the tendons in her arms were ripping from the weight of the table, but she forced herself to stay silent. "Turn it on its side," Daryl mumbled. His arms flexed as he strained to lower it quietly. Not that it would have mattered; walkers thrashed against the garage door wildly, already sensing their presence on the other side. Every once in a while it would make her jump, but Scarlett was fairly numb to the commotion at this point. She'd spent all night listening to it.
They stepped back to inspect their work. It wasn't meant to keep the door closed, only to trip up the walkers momentarily if they managed to get the door open. Scarlett and Daryl would need every minute they could get if the herd broke through.
"What now?" Scarlett yelled, trying to be heard over the echo of the pounding on the door.
Daryl looked around the room. "See what we can find," he yelled back, pointing around the garage. Scarlett nodded, grateful for something to do. She was freezing in this concrete building and needed to keep moving. Maybe she'd find some pants to throw over her damn shorts.
They set to work, rummaging through the equipment on the outer edges of the room. Last night had been awful, watching the herd mill around mindlessly outside the building. The walkers hadn't budged an inch. Only about a hundred or so focused on the building; the thought made Scarlett chuckle darkly. "Only" a hundred. The rest wandered around or simply stood still, waiting for something to give them a reason to move. They wouldn't wander off, though, not with this strange pack mentality they seemed to have. Finally, at dawn, Scarlett accepted that they were stuck. Rather than going crazy staring the herd, they'd decided to explore the garage.
A truck sat on the far side of the garage, huge and looming, even without a crate behind it. Scarlett stared at it for a minute before pulling out her gun and climbing onto the cold metal step. She peered inside cautiously, half expecting a rotting face to smash against the window. Nothing appeared. She couldn't really tell what was inside against the shadows and dust. Curiosity won over, and she opened the driver's door.
The smell of death hit her like a brick. Sky erupted into a coughing fit, pulling her shirt over her nose. "Fuck." Still, nothing climbed out at her. It was strange and unnerving. She hung off the side of the truck, noting a door to the sleeper part of the cab. Adjusting the gun in her hand, Scarlett popped the door handle, intending to keep it closed for a moment.
Instead, a body flopped out, crumpling to the floor lifelessly. Scarlett gasped in surprise and hopped backward off the truck; losing her balance. She felt herself collide against Daryl's chest. He caught her roughly, gripping her shoulders as he helped her balance. Daryl held on until he was sure she was steady, and then he moved out from behind her toward the corpse.
She watched him assess the body cautiously, kicking it slightly in the ribs, but it still didn't move. The adrenaline had Scarlett shaking all over again, which irritated her. She was already so worn out. Daryl peeked into the cab of the truck, noting the blood splattered on the walls of the sleeper section. "Think he checked out," he mused, loud enough so that she could hear him. They couldn't see his head, as it was pinned unnaturally under his body. Scarlett found herself wondering if it was the man that owned the shop.
The smell began to seep into the garage. Sky closed the doors quickly, losing her interest in whatever the cab had to offer. "We have to get that out of here," she said, pointing to the body. Daryl nodded with an equal look of disgust on his face.
"Ain't gonna have much luck down here; place is surrounded."
"How, then?" The smell of the rotting corpse would drive them both insane. Daryl looked up and then motioned for her to follow him, leading them up the stairs. Scarlett inhaled deeply as they reached the second floor, grateful for a breath of clean air. The younger Dixon glanced out the office window, pondering for a moment.
"Can't dump him out the window; the herd'll never go away if they see us."
A small hallway off the office led to a bathroom. Above it, there was what looked like an attic door, but more industrial. Daryl strutted over to it, sucking on his teeth as he thought. Sky looked at the ceiling skeptically. "You want to put him in the attic?"
He licked his lips and shifted his weight, reaching high to grab the handle of the door. "Ain't an attic," he muttered, pulling down roughly. A ladder slid down from the door, in the same style as an emergency escape. Scarlett blinked as sunlight flooded the hallway. "My uncle owned a shop like this. Leads to the roof."
He checked that the roof was clear of any surprises and then they retreated downstairs, back to the body. They stared at it warily. "I guess we'll just drag him upstairs," Sky muttered, unsure of her ability to do such a thing. The corpse was huge; at least 200 pounds. She spotted a couple pairs of gloves on a bench and handed Daryl some; he looked at her with obvious annoyance. "If it's wet and it ain't yours, wear gloves," she said simply.
Daryl raised an eyebrow and huffed lightly, yanking on the gloves. "Dunno 'bout that." His reply made Scarlett pause in surprise. The shaggy redneck had a sense of humor, but he was pretty damn conservative in showing it to her. Seeing a glimpse of it always caught her off guard, especially considering their current predicament. "Can ya carry him the whole way?" He looked at her arms skeptically.
"I want to say yes, but we'll find out." He counted to three again and they hoisted the carcass up by its clothes. Scarlett's arm muscles screamed, but she held her grip on the man's jeans, gritting her teeth. "Let's go," she bit out.
They struggled up the steps, trying to maneuver the putrid corpse. He was so heavy; pure dead weight. More than once, they had to set him down so that Scarlett could readjust her grip. She didn't feel too bad about her weak arms, though, as she watched the struggle on Daryl's face and biceps.
When they got to the top of the steps, Scarlett dropped the legs. Daryl shot her a quizzical look as she hopped over to his side. "If we're gonna have to stay here, I don't want him mucking up the office floor." He followed her into the room, toward a door in the hallway. Scarlett flung it open. "I poked around up here while you were sleeping last night. Look at all this shit."
The closet held mostly office supplies and small mechanical equipment, but there was also a large box full of grease-stained sheets and towels. The nurse dragged the box into view, picking up a crumpled sheet and studying it. "We can wrap him in this, right?"
He looked at her with a raised, irritated eyebrow. "Whatever you say, Susie Homemaker." It was clear to her that details such as rotting flesh on the floor they slept on was nothing he cared about. The redneck snatched a roll of electrical tape and went to stand over the body, wincing at the smell. "Let's just fuckin' hurry; the smell is melting my goddamn eyebrows."
They quickly lowered the body onto the sheet and worked to roll him up tightly. It flopped around unceremoniously, making the seasoned nurse feel slightly guilty. However, the smell overpowered her need to be respectful. Every move they made on the body tore a little more liquefied skin, disrupted a little more decomposing flesh. Scarlett tried her hardest not to gag; the smell permeated the air in the small office quickly. When they finished, they both moved onto the stairs quickly, desperate for fresh air.
"How the fuck are we gonna get him up that ladder?" Sky breathed, unsure if she could even stand much longer, let alone hoist a 200 pound body up a ladder. Daryl slumped against the stair railing tiredly.
"No offense, but those skinny-ass arms ain't gonna be much help." Scarlett frowned, offended, despite thinking similar thoughts not two seconds before. She could do it. She needed to do it, since their current situation was her fault. If she'd just got in her Jeep and followed them down the fucking hill, they wouldn't be stuck in this garage.
A pang of grief twisted in her stomach as she thought of Shane. She didn't even know if he was alive; and if he was, then he had no clue that she was alive. She had to be careful, thinking about him. If she started pining after that man in just the right amount of despair, Scarlett would crack.
"Let's just get it over with. If I sit down, I'm not gonna be able to stand back up." Distraction was the only method to keep Scarlett's mind off of everything. Daryl stood without protest, leading them to the hallway.
He assessed his options, looking from the body to the roof door. "Think ya can hold him from the top for a couple seconds; keep him from falling?" Scarlett shrugged and nodded. She didn't really give herself a choice. The younger Dixon licked his lips as he thought. "I'm gonna push the whole ladder up like a lever; y'just gotta drag him out to the roof from there." Scarlett nodded again dumbly.
She climbed up and they wrestled the limp body onto the ladder. Daryl hooked its feet on a rung and looked up at the blonde above him, already out of breath. "'S gonna be all you when I let go. Ya ready?"
"Yep," she gritted, anchoring her feet on either side of the door. He nodded and let go, disappearing around the ladder. "Holy fuck," Scarlett gasped, feeling as though her eyes might pop out from the strain of holding the body. "Daryl," she squeaked, afraid to even breathe. Just as she was about to lose her grip, the body suddenly lifted to horizontal, relieving her instantly from the weight.
"A'ight, pull," he barked. Scarlett obeyed, willing her muscles to work with her just one more time. Come on, Sky. The howling of the walkers in the outside air energized her enough to yank the body with one last, grand burst of power. It dragged onto the paved roof, enough to stay put when Daryl lowered the ladder.
Scarlett let go, feeling her arms and legs shake with fatigue. "Jesus fucking Christ," she gasped, staggering backward. Her legs gave out and she sunk to the ground, rolling to her back ungracefully. It really made Scarlett laugh that she considered herself "exhausted" this morning. The morning didn't even measure up to how she felt now. Lack of food and sleep probably contributed as well. If she had more energy, Sky might be embarrassed at her utter lack of strength; for now though, she just stared up at the cloudy sky and felt her limbs vibrate.
She heard Daryl climb up and wrestle with the corpse, finally shoving it over the side of the building. Scarlett didn't even attempt to help him. The thud was loud and sickening, igniting a slew of hoarse protests from the walkers below. The redneck collapsed down next to her, sucking on an already lit cigarette. She held out her hand for a drag and he handed her the stick, breathing heavily. "I ain't doin' that shit again."
A raindrop hit Scarlett square in the forehead as she nodded absentmindedly in agreement, too tired to speak.
Shane
"Looks like rain." Shane glanced toward the morning sky at Andrea's comment. It sure as hell did. Great, he thought bitterly, loading up the red truck. It already felt like he had a slim-to-none chance of finding Scarlett; adding a downpour was just insulting. He watched Glenn, T-Dog, Amy and Merle sulk toward the truck. It was an army of misfits, but Shane didn't care anymore; he was too exhausted and worried.
Andrea and Dale were on his shit-list for keeping him at the highway all goddamn night. Just thinking about it made the cop's blood boil. Getting down to the road after wrestling that stupid sedan through a forest; looking for Sky and then having to pry it out of Glenn that she was missing; trying to get someone, anyone to help him look… Shane gritted his teeth, slamming the driver's door closed. He knew he couldn't go out there and look for her alone, and they knew it too. A thousand walkers were just too much to risk riding solo. He had no choice but to wait until morning, when he'd be more "well rested" as Dale had emphasized.
Shane didn't sleep at all anyway. He sat on top of the RV, drumming his foot anxiously and straining to see into the forest, looking for that familiar white-blonde hair. Scarlett plagued his mind. He had no idea where she was; not a damn clue. He knew she was with Daryl and that they had the bike, but that was it. He prayed constantly that the younger Dixon had more brains than his fuck-up brother. Sky's life literally depended on it.
Now it was morning, and Shane had wasted no time rounding up the group and heading toward the truck. They didn't dare complain; not even Merle. Merle was missing somebody too, and that was the only reason he and Shane hadn't brawled yet. They were both sporting dangerously short fuses, but the anger fueled their efforts to find Scarlett and Daryl for now.
"I figure we'll go back up to the camp; try and see if we can figure out what direction they went." Shane looked in the rearview mirror, waiting for protests. He found none. Glenn, Merle, and T-Dog all nodded in agreement; Andrea and Amy had opted for the bed of the truck, likely to keep far away from Shane's temper. "Le's roll," he drawled, turning the whining truck and starting back toward the main road.
"Can you think of anywherethat Daryl might'a gone?" Shane aimed the question at Merle, pulling roughly up the mountain road.
Merle snorted. "I don't know shit. This ain't our stompin' grounds. He's probably holed up in some shack deep in the woods." Shane pressed his lips into a hard line. That didn't help at all; he didn't know the damn mountain any better than they did.
They approached the camp once again, and Shane felt a pang of sadness. This place reeked of Scarlett. They'd lived on that campground long enough to feel the grief of having it ripped away. Shane had listened to them discuss going back last night, but everybody ultimately decided that it was too dangerous with so many walkers in the woods. Personally, he didn't care if he lived in a fucking dumpster; Shane just wanted Scarlett back.
He wheeled to a stop in the middle of the field and popped the door open. "Why don' y'all look 'round the edges of the field; see if you can find bike tracks." They dispersed quietly. Shane faintly heard Amy react to Ed's mangled body on the tent as he strode toward the quarry edge. That triggered a memory for him from the commotion of last night. He stopped, looking to his right.
A small mound of fresh dirt stuck up from the earth underneath a tree, surrounded by stones. Shane turned, crossing his arms as he regarded Sophia's grave. The cop exhaled slowly, studying the makeshift tomb. It had remained untouched by the herd, laying a few feet away from their path. Shane couldn't believe that, out of all the people at the camp, Sophia was the one that they had to bury first. He'd heard the whole thing; it was the only news from the group that dragged his mind away from Scarlett briefly. Of course, thinking of Sophia took him right back to Sky; she'd loved that little girl so damn much. It was fucking cruel that she'd had to find Sophia like that.
Shane sniffed angrily and turned away from the scene. He craned his neck over the edge of the quarry, holding his breath for any sign of Scarlett. Four walkers lay in mangled heaps at the bottom of the quarry, twitching against their broken bones. None of them bore the light hair that he was looking for, though. Relief flooded into his cheeks.
Glenn's voice piped up. "Aye, Shane! Think I found the tracks."
It poured now. The sky rumbled deeply above the trees, which couldn't hold the storm off the group. They walked through the woods, soaked to the bone as they searched for Scarlett.
"W-when can we go back?" Amy chattered, shuddering violently. Shane jerked his head, flinging the water off that dripped continuously over his face. His shirt clung to his chest, so soaked that he felt every drop as if it were on his bare skin.
"Over there," Glenn hissed. A walker sloshed toward them in waterlogged boots, thrashing as it tried to move faster. Shane and T-Dog descended upon it quickly, putting the body down as quietly as possible. After scanning the perimeter for any other signs of the dead, he turned to Amy and Andrea.
"Third time y'asked, Amy. Y'all wanna go? Go 'head; truck's that way." Shane didn't have time for Amy. He had other priorities than keeping two girls around that were damn useless to him miserable. Amy looked at him guiltily, then muttered "sorry" and turned to retreat back the way they came. Andrea went with her with a shrug.
Thunder clapped loudly; Shane heard Merle swear. "Track's are gone; gettin' washed away in the storm."
The cop turned and squinted at him through wet eyelashes. "Y'gotta be kiddin' me." He rubbed his face violently, suddenly pissed off at the raindrops. "Aligh' look, we ain't stoppin'. We got his general direction, we'll keep goin' this way." He strode off, feeling like he was losing control of the situation. Merle began to protest, but Shane stopped and held out a hand. "Aye if you wanna go back, Dixon, be my guest. Th'girls went that way. I ain't interested in listening to you bitch an' moan."
A creek swelled to their left with rainwater, rushing shallowly downward. Merle wandered toward it casually, gripping his rifle. "I don' even know what the fuck yer so worried about, cop. My Lil brother is real good at survival." Shane ignored the redneck. He peered over the creek bed, looking for any sign of a struggle. "He disappeared for a whole week, once; just a punk-ass twelve year old. Finally found him holed up in an old barn with the next-door neighbor girl." The older Dixon leered at Shane, spitting. "He always claimed they was just friends, but I know better. Even Daryl ain't gon' turn away a fine piece of ass in the back o' the woods; 'specially not now."
"Dude, what the hell Merle," Glenn muttered.
Shane stilled, clenching his jaw. He turned to Merle, watching the sneer plastered on the older man's face. It amazed him, how relentless this guy was in being an asshole. His own brother was on the other end of a sea of walkers, and he was standing here taunting Shane. "Jesus Christ, you wanna do this right now? You think pickin' a fight while I'm lookin' for Sky is gon' fare well for you?" Their considerably short fuses were growing shorter, especially Shane's.
"Aye, we don't got time for this, y'all. Shane, think about Scarlett." T-Dog's voice cut through Shane's rage like a knife, especially the sound of Scarlett's name. He paused, pushing back the urge to fight Merle; it wasn't easy.
He couldn't ignore it, though. "You're right. Got more shit to worry about than a washed up Atlanta slum dog." Shane knew he was out of line, but he couldn't stop. "Think ya daddy didn't beat ya hard enough, Dixon. Or maybe you didn't have a daddy; maybe he was the one teachin' ya how to cook meth when he should'a been whippin' some god damn decency into you with a belt." For once, Merle had no answer.
The cop moved ahead of the group, trying to calm down, when he heard Glenn yell out his name. Shane barely had time to turn before he was slammed to the ground with blinding force. The wind rushed out of his lungs as he hit the muddy earth, but he still managed to roll to the side before Merle could land a blow to his face from above. T-Dog swooped in and dragged Merle back, giving Shane enough time to stagger to his feet. Mere ripped away from the man's grasp.
"I hope Daryl fucks ya girl, you fuckin' cocksucker. Maybe I'll take a piece for myself when we find her, show her what a real man feels like." This time, Shane charged Merle, colliding with the older Dixon. He knew it was irrational, that he needed to just ignore the redneck and be the bigger man, but Shane had so much pent up anger and energy that it felt good to punch the fuck out of somebody.
"You think you the alpha dog, here?" He drawled loudly, kneeling on Merle's chest. "It's your fault we're here. It's your fault the herd went through the camp; you broke the window; you attracted the walkers." Shane was punching Merle with every statement, bloodying up the man's face. He felt a hand try to draw him off but he shrugged his shoulder away, gripping the redneck's shirt tightly. Just as he was about to punch the man again, he heard a characteristic hiss; a walker. He turned as Glenn and T-Dog moved toward the corpse, and it was just enough time for Merle to gather his wits and punch Shane in the stomach.
Shane rolled off, struggling to stand from the vice-like pain in his abdomen. Merle stood, covered in mud, and rushed at the officer once more, barreling into him bear-hug style and sending them flying backward toward the edge of the creek bank. Shane pushed back with difficulty, trying to find his footing on the slick mud, but he failed. They went careening off the edge. It wasn't a long drop; the creek was fairly shallow. However, it was a tangled mess of roots and rocks at the bottom, and Shane hit the creek bed first.
Searing pain shot up his side like white-hot lightning. He roared in pain, feeling the warmth of blood begin to seep through his soaked shirt. Merle stumbled backward dumbly. He clearly hadn't expected to dive off the edge.
T-Dog and Glenn hopped down into the creek. "You're bleeding, man," Glenn said, helping Shane sit up. Blinding pain erupted in his side as he moved, making him inhale sharply.
"Check my side," he gritted, dragging his shirt up with a shaking hand.
T-Dog whistled quietly. "Damn, you got a gash the size of my fist, brother." Shane breathed heavy through his nose, trying to control the pain, and looked over at Merle. He seemed to have recovered somewhat from the fall.
"Fuck all a y'all," Merle spat, shaking his head as though he were woozy. "I'll find Lil D myself; we'll see who gets into ya girl first." Shane didn't trust himself to open his mouth, for fear that he might yell out in pain. He merely watched Merle stumble down the creek drunkenly, getting caught in micro-currents that threw him even more off-balance.
"Should we let him go?" Glenn asked.
"Yes," Shane replied hoarsely, motioning for them to help him stand. "Fuck him."
It pained me to write some of the stuff Shane said. Blah! But, like I said before, I like characters that have a little evil in them no Prince Charmings or Sleeping Beauties in my stories. Scarlett's POV was pretty task-oriented this time; I'll be diving in to her thoughts a little more next chapter.
Thanks for reading!
xoxoxo