Rescue Me

I wasn't a huge fan of school. It was far too tedious and boring for someone like me who thrived in chaos and disorder. That being said, I had a particular affinity for biology, particularly as it related to the human body. I learned that adrenaline was activated by our sympathetic nervous system, making our hearts beat faster and diverting blood to our muscles in preparation for fight or flight. Millions of years of human instinct boiled down to one amazing chemical reaction that lit your body on fire.

Of course there was a part of the lesson I didn't learn in school. I didn't know then what I do now. I was an addicted, and adrenaline was my drug of choice. I loved it, craved it. For more than half my life I consumed it like it was my only source of life. It kept me alive, made me an efficient killer, but like all drugs it came with a price.

Adrenaline may make you feel invincible, but that feeling faded far too quickly. The moment your body chemistry leveled out you were left in a dazed stupor, hands shaking, body trembling, and an overwhelming need to sleep for a week.

It was difficult to piece together the exact details of what happened during my high. I was left with feelings, images that flashed in my mind like a disjointed movie. Horrors I couldn't remember but knew to be true because the evidence was stained on my hands and lying at my feet.

This time was no different. The adrenaline from the attack that flooded my system like a tsunami had long since faded. Gone was the feeling that my blood was on fire, leaving in its wake only self-loathing and doubt. The one thing that hadn't faded was the drumming of my heart. It was still beating in my chest like a tiger trying to pry its way out of its cage.

My limbs moved of their own volition, grabbing the outstretched arms of another dead body and dragging the victim to a pile near the fence. The coldness of their limbs and blood splattered clothes didn't register with me on a human level. I was disconnected from everything except the steady thump in my chest.

Everyone was hard at work cleaning up the aftermath of The Saviors attack. It was the middle of night, but no one wanted to leave the dead scattered on the lawn until morning. It was gruesome, tedious work in the dark. In the light of day I doubted many would be able to stomach it.

Wordlessly Daryl bent down and lifted the man's feet, helping me carry him to the pile awaiting burial or cremation. He didn't say anything, didn't even look at me, but I could practically hear his thoughts shouting in my ear. He'd been wearing the same troubled expression since I gutted a Savior and refused to finish him off. Like a child playing with their food I only watched him, ready to inflict suffering on a man I'd already condemned to death for nothing more than my sadistic desires.

With a grunt we tossed the body on the ever-growing pile of Saviors. Jesus and Carl were nearby discussing what we should do with the remains, but I paid them no mind. Licking my lips I dropped my hands to my side, refusing to pick at the dried blood caking my fingernails because it felt a little too much like picking at my soul and I couldn't handle that.

My husband exhaled harshly, gnawing on his thumbnail, eyes never straying from me. I felt Merle watching me too, my brother-in-law growing more concerned with every passing minute, but I had no words to alleviate his concerns. He should be worried. Hell, everyone should be downright terrified. I had no idea how many people I killed tonight. It could be 10 just as easily as 100, but that wasn't the issue. It wasn't even the fact I didn't feel a lick of guilt at taking a life they should fear. What should concern them was the yearning deep in my gut, the overwhelming need to keep going. For the past hour all I'd thought about was tracking down every Savior and killing them with my bare hands.

I was a ticking time bomb, set to explode at any moment.

"Come on."

Daryl didn't wait for a reply, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him. He kept his head down, long, determined strides carrying us away from prying eyes. He didn't stop until we were alone, tucked away in the dark recesses of Hilltop. The sun may be trying to crest on the horizon, but the huge canopy of tree branches behind us cast a massive shadow, concealing us from view. The vegetation might be enough to shield us from the casual passerby, but it does nothing to conceal the tension in my husband's shoulders.

"What do ya 'member?" The question threw me off balance. I wasn't ready for it, the question or the answer.

Swallowing hard I gave him the truth. "Nothing."

The muscles in my left arm were sore, and my knuckles were red and swollen. There was a shallow cut on my right forearm, and my left ankle was tender. The only injury I'd sustained that I could clearly recollect was the one to my ribs, a result of Merle's fumbled attempt to "catch" me. Everything else was a big, fat blank though it wasn't difficult to fill in the blanks. It was like being black out drunk except instead of dry humping strangers or dancing on bars I went on murderous killing sprees.

"What happens?" he asked.

In all the time we'd known each other he'd never asked me this question. This was hardly the first time this happened, but he'd always let it go. Even though I knew it was ridiculous I was nervous.

"Ain't nothin' ya can tell me that will change how I feel 'bout ya."

"In my experience when people say that they rarely mean it." He took a step forward, one finger lifting my chin.

"I ain't people Red." His blue eyes were dark and serous. "I ain't never judged ya, and I ain't gonna start now, but ya can't keep this shit inside. It's eatin' ya up. I can't stand it no more."

That made two of us.

"You're like a redneck Dr. Phil." His stare was unrelenting and wholly unimpressed with my attempt at humor. "Right, that's not funny...we're not ready to laugh and joke...obviously."

Christ, I was more anxious now than when I stole a cop car and crashed it into my father's Dodge Charger as a way to pass the time on a boring Wednesday night.

"Ya stole a cop car?"

"Yes?" Damn brain-to-mouth filter.

He laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Why?"

"Why did I steal a cop car or why did I crash it?"

"Why the cop car? I know why ya crashed it. Cause yur pop was an asshole."

Amen.

"Uh, well, because it was...readily available at the time." He stared at me. "Because I just so happened to be in the back of it."

"Do I wanna know?" I shook my head. He really didn't. He frowned, eyes going a little cross-eyed. "He died when ya were young." My nod of confirmation made the crease between his eyebrows deepen. "How old were ya, 10, 11?"

I grinned, "You trying to do math is kinda like a dog wearing a hat."

"Funny," he scowled. "Ya ready to talk now?"

That sobered me up. Truthfully, no I wasn't, not even a little. I would gladly keep doing math problems and talking about my asshole father, but my time was officially up.

"I don't know how to explain it," I sighed.

"Try."

"I don't...the world just kind of...fades away." He didn't move, hanging on every word. "The colors, the sounds, all of it just...disappears. I'm left with only the most primal parts of myself. I don't feel remorse or pity. I don't feel much of anything. It's the only time I let myself go, let myself do what I was born to do. I kill because it's what I'm good at...because it's them or me, but I can't lie, not to you. There's a part of me, a part buried deep down that...enjoys it."

I hated that part of myself. The only thing that separated me from the likes of Negan, The Governor, and every other lunatic out there was the fact I tried to control the impulse where they did not. That was it. It hardly seemed like enough.

He didn't respond right away and I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. I couldn't imagine processing that statement had our positions been reversed. There was no way to make someone feel better after they confessed to enjoying mass murder. I excepted him to console me, tell me it was OK, but I should have known better. Daryl wasn't someone who conformed to expectations.

"The day I met ya I almost left the group. It was all fallin' apart. Sophia was missin'." He swallowed hard. Even now, just saying her name made his hands shake. "Carl had been shot. Shane was fuckin' crazy as hell. Nobody knew what the fuck to do, but everybody thought I could fix it. I ain't never had no one think I was good for nothin' 'cept fuckin' shit up and now I got a whole group dependin' on me."

It was difficult to remember the group at the beginning. Everyone was so capable now, but back then they'd been struggling to survive one minute to the next. The end of the world was just beginning. Back then they still thought walkers were the worst thing out there.

"My whole life I ran with the wrong crowd. No one expected a Dixon to be nothin' 'cept trash. Fuckin' criminals who were in and out of jail." He ran a hand over the rough stubble of his face. He was clearly uncomfortable talking about this, but continued nonetheless. "I didn't know how to be what they needed so I was gonna walk, leave 'em to fend for themselves. I knew if I left 'em they'd probably die, but I didn't give a damn."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"'Cause ya saved me." His lips twitched at my shocked expression. "I ain't done a damn thing right in my whole life...until ya. Yur the one thing I got right." My lips trembled, tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. "Ya taught me that the past don't matter. Ya made me believe it was possible."

"What?" I sniffled.

"Bein' a different person, a better person." He took a step closer, peering down at me. "Least I can do for the woman I love is repay the favor."

"You can't save me from myself."

He held my face in his hands, eyes intense like he was looking into my soul which I suppose was possible. "Sure I can. Just like ya did for me."

His lips touched mine and the rest of the world melted away. The kiss was slow and soft, comforting in ways that he would never be able to convey verbally. His chiseled chest pressing against mine was a promise I'd be OK. His fingertips tracing my jaw line a vow to rescue me when I was lost in my own mind. And I believed him. It was absolutely insane, but I did. He could do anything so why not this?

My entire life I'd been prepared for anything and everything, until now, until him. I was completely unprepared for Daryl Dixon. In that moment I realized a stark truth, adrenaline wasn't my drug. He was.

He kissed me like my life depended on it. It was a kiss meant to obliterate doubt, in myself and our uncertain future. The worries from last night evaporated when I was in his arms. The kiss was a promise of much more to come and gave me the strength I needed to do what had to be done.

I felt his hands on the back of my neck, playing with my disheveled hair. A smile grew on my face when he tickled it as we finally pulled apart. Sometimes I wished everyone could see this side of him. The caring, articulate, passionate man who didn't struggle with words. He was like a redneck Superman, hiding his true identify from the world, except instead of dorky glasses he had sleeveless shirts.

"Should head back."

"Do we have time for the Monster Mash?" He blinked at me. "Paddling up Coochie Creek?" Nothing. "Pounding the paternal piston?" Not a damn thing. I put my hands on my hips, cocking my head to the side. "Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded. "I just wanted to see how long ya'd keep caterwauling."

"I have 500 more if you're curious."

He snorted, "Maybe later."

We, in fact, did not have time for two person push-ups. Turned out cleaning up dead bodies was quite the time suck. We didn't finish until dusk, and even then we still had a sizeable pile of bodies we couldn't dispose of until the throng of walkers pounding on our fences were relocated to the afterlife.

"You going in?"

I glanced at Deadpool then at the line of people filing into Barrington House. It was too dangerous for everyone to be scattered in Hilltop should The Saviors attempt another attack so Maggie made the executive decision to relocate everyone to the former museum. There were people stuffed into every nook and cranny. The stench of sweat, blood, and fear was so overwhelming I hadn't made it a full minute before I bolted.

"I'm hovering somewhere between a cold chance and Hell," I replied, moving my hands up and down like I was a human scale.

She smirked. "It's not that bad."

Not that bad? Some chic just slipped in a puddle of blood and another was complaining to Glenn that the guy sleeping next to her kept farting in her face.

"It's like the day after an apocalyptic rave in there. It's a firm no for me."

She snorted, squeezing my hand briefly before heading for the house.

Daryl had just finished talking to his brother and was now heading my way. He was on edge. I could tell by the tick in his jaw and the stiffness in his shoulders.

"How's Tara?"

He exhaled harshly, eyes scanning the community. "Fine." I knew him well enough to know there was more to it than a one-syllable word. "She's forgiven that asshole. Just like that, it's all square," he scoffed.

Jesus finished locking the prisoner up, giving me a subtle nod I returned when he passed. "We need sleep."

He grunted, slipping his hand in mine and pulling me behind him. He led us to an empty shack that housed ceramic pots. There was a blanket spread out in the corner facing the door, our packs neatly lined up side-by-side serving as pillows.

"Impressive Katniss," I mused, dropping onto the pallet and stretching like a cat. I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat down, much less rested. "Oh man, that feels absolutely amazing."

"I don't know whether to be turned on or offended."

I chuckled, patting the ground beside me. "Why don't you come over here and we can rub our fun spots together?"

"Yur so full o'shit." Even in the fading light I could see his tiny smile. "Ya ain't gonna do nothin' 'cept pass out and drool on me."

"Yeah, well, that'll be fun too."

He snorted, lying down beside me and taking me in his arms. I rested my head on his chest, the rhythmic thump of his heart pulling me closer to sleep.

"Love you Legolas," I mumbled, snuggling further into him.

"Love ya too Red. Get some sleep."

I was out before he finished the sentence. I didn't dream, thank god, my subconscious too exhausted for anything other than a REM cycle. It felt like hours later when I startled awake, groggy and disoriented. Daryl was out, snoring softly. Carefully I untangled myself from his arms, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. I wasn't sure what woke me, but then I heard it, a faint growling followed by what sounded like a muffled scream.

"Daryl!"

I shoved him hard as I leapt to my feet. He responded immediately, going from a dead sleep to combat ready in the blink of an eye. A snarl sounded in the back of his throat, a knife in his hand ready to strike.

"The fuck?"

I put my finger to my lips, urging him to listen. This time there was no mistaking the screams echoing inside Barrington House.

"Let's go," I said, running out the door, knives ready.

It was pandemonium inside the house, people running, screaming, dying. Walkers were stumbling around, grabbing anything they could get their hands on. I didn't have time to think about the how because people were literally being torn apart. I threw myself into the fray, grabbing a walker lunging for a woman and throwing him to the ground. Plunging my knife in his head I froze, examining him. He was...familiar which meant there wasn't a breach in our perimeter. The threat was coming from inside our walls.

A man screamed in pain, fighting to dislodge a walker chowing down on his hand. Flipping my knife around I threw it at his head. As soon as the walker was dead Sid swooped in, tying a tourniquet and ordering Rick to chop off the infected limb. Rick grimaced, but obeyed, severing the hand with one swing. He was getting better at that.

"Get outside!" I screamed, killing another walker.

A walker lunged at me, and I jumped back, my knees slamming into an end table. Cursing I felt myself falling back. The walker changed directions, teeth snapping together, arms outstretched. Shoving the end table away I crab walked backwards, trying to put distance between us so I had time to recover, but before I could Merle was there, plunging his knife stub into the side of its head.

"Ya good lil' sister?"

I exhaled harshly, climbing to my feet. "Gotta be."

"This shit's crazier than a dog in a hubcap factory."

"Down!" Merle dropped to his knee, and I let the blade fly, the tip impaling an approaching walker in the eye. It flew backwards, hitting the ground so it hard I swear I felt the house shake. I glared at my brother-in-law. "What's rule number 10?"

He scoffed, rising to his feet. "No redneck when our ass is on the line."

"That's strike one." He flipped me off, grabbing a walker by the shirt and killing him. "Get these people out of here."

He nodded, yelling at anyone still human to get out of the house. His deep voice carried above the mayhem, bringing people to their senses. Those able ran for the door. I even saw a few climbing out the windows.

"What the hell happened?" Daryl asked, wiping walker guts off his pants.

Rick turned in a circle, face grim. "I don't know. Maybe walkers got in."

"No." Both men turned to me. "These are ours."

"She's right," Daryl agreed, pointing to a few dead bodies. They'd turned recently, very recently judging by the state of decay. "Must've died a few hours ago."

"No one had any life-threatening injuries," Mr. Miyagi pointed out.

He was right. The worst injury was the guy who wanted to bang Carol, and Sid said his knife wound wasn't fatal. He was going to be off his feet for a while, but he'd make a full recovery.

Someone screamed upstairs, and we took off, taking the stairs three at a time. Maggie rushed by with Glenn behind her, both a little pale. We burst into a room at the end of the hall to find Carol standing over her almost boyfriend's dead body.

"Ya a'right?" Daryl asked, checking her over.

"Yeah." She was panting, struggling to recover from shock. "He...he wasn't bit...but he turned."

We all exchanged worried glances. That made no sense. We all knew the rules. If you were bit you died and turned. If you died, even of natural causes, you turned.

"Negan's bat." All eyes were on Rick who swallowed hard, face white. "When I was out there with him it was covered in walker blood. I just thought...he crossed some of them. Maybe..."

"They have us working for them again," Maggie finished, anger darkening her face, "Killin' our own."

It felt like the ground was dropping out from under us, again. The ramifications of this were devastating. Everyone injured in the attack would turn. It didn't matter if the wound was serious or a flesh wound. It would kill each and every one of them all the same.

"It's the fever." The man on the bed looked near death. His face was white as the sheets he was lying on, sweat drenching his hair. "That's what it is. It makes sense now."

I swallowed hard. Those hurt had to feel like dog shit, dying slowly from the infection that wiped out mankind and having no idea why.

The man whimpered, staring at his bandaged wrist. "One of you...you're gonna have to do it," he cried, "I can't. You gotta do it for me. Please."

I stepped around Rick, slowly making my way to the bed. Daryl's hand wrapped around my wrist, and he tugged me back, shaking his head firmly.

"It's OK."

"Nah, it ain't."

"Darlin's right Firecracker." Merle pulled his pistol from the back of his pants. I pursed my lips, ready to debate, but he sealed the deal with his next words. "Need to go check on Tara."

My blood ran cold and I found it difficult to breathe. My heart went out to the man dying in the bed, but I didn't know him. I did know Tara. She was my friend. She was family and she was going to die.

Rick, Daryl and I made the long walk to Nugget's room in silence. When we opened the door we were met with the business end of Apocalypse Barbie, Beth, and Enid's weapons which made me smile, sort of. The second I saw Tara sitting on the bed cradling her freshly bandaged arm I felt like puking. She looked worried, but not for herself. She had no idea she was dying.

"Good out there?" Apocalypse Barbie asked.

"House is clear." Rick was looking at everyone except Tara. Not that I could blame him. I couldn't even find my voice.

"How'd this happen?"

I couldn't look at Tara. Daryl stood so close to me I could feel the heat from his body washing over me. It did nothing to alleviate the chill in my bones.

Daryl and Rick exchanged a look, both hoping the other would take one for the team and break the news. In the end it was my husband who found the courage to tell her the truth.

"The Saviors did somethin' to their weapons. Everyone they cut up or shot, they all got sick. Some of 'em turned."

"What?" Enid's question was barely more than a whisper. "No."

Tara took the news far better than I would have. She simply nodded, and muttered a tiny, "OK."

"When we were out there, and ya said ya were done waitin'...I coulda killed him. I shoulda," Daryl confessed. He thought this was his fault. Another instance where he'd failed to protect someone he cared about.

"No, he wanted to be here with us. And no matter what he did or how hard he tried I wanted him dead." She smiled sadly, and moved closer, trying to offer her support. "I just couldn't let it be anything else. Karma's a bitch, right?"

"You don't deserve this. No one does," I countered, taking her hand.

"Maybe not, but it's happening all the same."