Falling into the Undead

Chapter Ten

Save My Soul

Guys I literally cannot wait for you guys to read everything I have written for the first season. I've been so excited while writing and the week drags on before Sunday finally gets here. More than likely I'll drop an extra chapter on Wednesdays as long as I can keep my completed chapters six ahead. So, look forward to that every now and then!

Please enjoy!

And I tried to save a life

With these diamond hands of mine

But they're sharper than a knife

I am aimed to kill

-Aimed to Kill by Jade LeMac

Remington wasn't sure how she had allowed this to happen. Lost in her thoughts for only a few moments and she had let Duane wander off to the other side of the yard. Something had caught his eye, and instead of telling her, he had wandered over to see it for himself.

She could feel her stomach sink.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Rick hadn't left yet. She should have still had time before Duane's life became threatened. It was far too soon, but that didn't change the scene in front of her. She had changed something, and brought Duane out sooner, forcing the timeline to change and adapt.

Duane was standing several yards away from her. He had been crouched down, about to pick up something sticking out of the dirt, when he had frozen in fear. The squeak of fear had come from the sight of his mother, standing only a foot away, her head cocked to the side, as her mouth opened and closed. Her eyes were glossy, blank, and white, not seeing, but noticing far more than she should have while dead.

Remington's fingers tightened around the gun at her side. Duane let out a low keening sound, a moan full of fear, and sadness.

"Duane," she hissed, calling out, catching the eye of the Walker. It stumbled forward, stuck between the easy prey in front of it, and the one being louder. "Get over here." She pulled the gun from its spot on her belt as she raised it. It shook slightly. She hadn't shot a gun in so long. Not from this distance. What if she missed it? What if it drew more to them? "Run!"

The Walker dismissed Remington, its eyes set on the boy, mouth wide, as it snarled and lunged for the dinner that was conveniently in front of it. Remington had stepped forward, shooting across the grass, but she would be too late. If she tried to take it down quietly it would have already taken a bite out of Duane.

She didn't hesitate. It didn't matter what her choice would cost them. She couldn't stand there and let that boy die in front of her. His death would not be on her hands. She couldn't mess up here. She had been an idiot for allowing herself to get lost in thought.

Kids were easily distracted.

They hardly ever listened.

The boy was frozen, he didn't move to try to save himself, his eyes wide with hurt and tears as he watched his mother stumble closer.

"Momma!" he yelled out. "Stop!" But the Walker didn't listen.

Remington stopped.

Raised her gun.

Aimed.

And fired.

The bullet burst forth from the gun. The echoing bam ripped through the air, causing her ears to ring, and forcing her body to move immediately after. She could only feel panic. Fear. It snuck into her lungs, causing a rattling noise to break free, as she tried calming her racing mind. Her fingers curled around the boy, her eyes locked on the crumpled form at his feet, so close to having touched him.

Sobs met her ringing ears. It broke through the white noise that threatened to take over. Duane was crying. There was something strange underneath the sobs, louder than the ringing, but her startled mind was finding it hard to connect it with a word.

Barking.

It was barking.

Pixel was nearby.

She clutched tightly to the boy, hauling him to his feet, knowing he didn't need to see his mother. It was bad enough that he watched her kill her. Not kill, she had only been protecting him, that empty shell was no longer his mother, but he didn't see it like that. She reminded herself of that as the world slowly came back into focus.

There were more sounds.

Someone was yelling at her.

She could hear the faint sounds of growls.

Her head swiveled. The grip she had on the boy was tight, but she could feel danger around them, and her eyes widened at the sight of Walkers entering the yard. There were two, but the noise was louder, like a hum, telling her there would be more behind them.

Had she taken longer to move than she thought, or had they been lying in wait nearby, stuck in eternal limbo until the noise broke them out of it?

She could feel it as Morgan pulled Duane from her arms. Tears raced down his face as well. She could tell she wasn't winning any awards with the two of them, but Duane was safe. Shane tugged at her arm. Trying to move her.

Shock was a horrible thing, but Remington could feel herself coming out of it. Pixel nipped at her heels, telling her to move, as she stumbled after Shane, who held a death grip on her arm. He was speaking, telling her to get into the cellar, as he shoved her forward, down into the darkness. Behind her she could hear Rick talking to Morgan, Morgan trying to soothe the tears of Duane, to quiet him, and Shane who hissed at Pixel to shut up, as he closed the doors. Remington quieted the dog, grabbing at his collar, as she moved them further down the stairs. It was only a few short ones before she hit the basement dirt and concrete.

Shane followed after her.

No one made a peep as they listened to the moans of the Walkers above them. A few banged against the door, causing it to rattle, as Morgan was forced to muffle the sobs of his son.

Remington felt terrible.

What if her actions caused those around her to die? What if it caused her to die?

She was shaking. Taking in several deep breaths she tried to regain control over her actions, and her emotions. She had been close to death before. How did she get through that? The memories were hazy, she never could focus on them. It was always just out of her reach, like mist that she tried to catch, but escaped through her fingers.

A hand came down on her shoulder, ushering her deeper into the cellar, as far from the doors as they could get. They seemed to hesitate as they felt the shaking coming from her.

Remington wasn't certain she could talk even if they were in a position to be making noise.

No one dared utter a word, or turned on a light, as they listened to the banging, and groaning. Remington huddled close to the body next to her, off to her other side she could feel Pixel and know by the sounds of breathing that the others were close by.

She could feel the air squeezing from her lungs, and that raspy sound began to fill the air once more.

The doors were made of thick wood, but would it hold up against the attack of relentless Walkers?

This was all her fault.

But Duane was alive.

Only perhaps not for long.

She wasn't certain whether her vision was darkening because of the Walkers covering any light shining through the cracks of the doorway, or because she was about to pass out.

The cellar slowly disappeared as she was flung quite violently into a past memory. The fear she felt now was similar to the one she had felt then. Where hands gripping her shoulders now were supposed to be comforting, back then they had been damning.

The shaking of her body hadn't been because of fear but someone flinging her around, her head rolling helplessly as she was tossed, before being yanked right back up. She could smell the cigarette smoke lingering in the air, on his clothes, as a raspy voice snarled at her. A whimper had escaped her lips.

She didn't realize that the same noise had escaped her just now.

She was brought from her memories as the hand on her shoulders drifted up, following the curve of her neck, leading to the back of her head, as they silently pushed lightly against her to rest it on their chest. They were taller than her, not a hard feat, as she was certain the only person, she was taller than was Duane himself.

It wasn't until the whispered, "It'll be all right. Stay silent. Yah did good," fell from gruff lips that Remington realized it was Shane who still held onto her. She hadn't realized he had never let go, should have known since she was certain he had been the one to lead her further from the door and would have caught on faster if she was thinking straight. He didn't speak up again, as they huddled, and waited. Her face was smooshed into his chest, and the clothes he was wearing smelt lightly of sweat, dirt, and the must of the cellar, but she found it didn't bother her.

It was comforting knowing someone was there. That she wasn't alone.

She wondered if he was feeling the same way and that's why he had done what he did.

She could feel in the way he held himself that he was tense, out of fear, not anger.

Her arms hung at her sides, her body awkwardly angled at the way he held her, but she didn't try to move. She wasn't certain if she could, her body was still shaking, and though she had started to come down from her panic attack, that didn't mean she wanted Shane to leave her side. Any comfort she could gain was welcomed.

Who knew Shane Walsh was halfway decent at comforting anyone?

Her fingers buried themselves in the fur of her dog's head. She could sense that he was breathing heavily, not certain if it was because of the excitement, they just went through, and his body adapting to the coolness of being underground, or if he could sense the danger.

Closing her eyes she tightened them, trying to block all sound and sight from entering her mind as she waited for something to happen.

With time Duane calmed down, his whimpers letting up, and before long all that was left was the occasional hiccup.

Remington could sense that he was still pressed up against Morgan, the man not trusting any noise not to accidentally escape, as the sounds from above began to quiet as well.

After what felt like hours, and it probably was, the banging against the door drifted away, only leaving the occasional shuffle against wood as the Walkers grew disinterested. Their dinner had grown silent, and for all they knew had gone away.

Her body which had been angled awkwardly had begun to ache a while ago, but she had ignored it. Shane shifted from his spot in front of her, the hand on her head falling away, as he tapped her arm. It was a silent wish for space and Remington was quick to give it to him. Her muscles cried in relief as she stretched and shuffled a few steps to the side, only to run into Rick. She could feel the gun at his side, knew that Morgan hadn't had a holster, and he had been on the opposite side of her. She jumped, quick to try to find a spot that wouldn't cause her to run into anyone or anything.

Her hands reached out in front of her, roaming over something that felt like a table, as she maneuvered around it.

"You're fine," Rick whispered.

She still tried to put distance between herself and everyone else. They were in this situation because of her. Could have died because of her inability to pay attention. Eventually, they would realize that and grow upset with her. This had been a trip to prove to Shane that she could have his back, to be someone he could trust, not more of a nuisance. Someone to watch over in the future. She would have let out a wail of sadness if she wasn't too afraid to make a sound.

Guilt was already curdling her stomach at what Duane had witnessed her do. If it could kill, she would be a goner before the night.

"We'll have to stay until we know it's clear," Shane muttered.

"Could be a few hours," Rick agreed.

"That many," Morgan said, speaking up for the first time. His voice sounded rough, and scratchy as if he had been crying as well. It bit into Remington's skin as she began to pet the dog at her side in an attempt to distract herself. "We'll be best waiting until morning. They won't clear out before nightfall."

Shane cursed. She could hear him shuffling around before a heavy thump signaled, he had sat down. The whimper that escaped her lips hadn't gone unnoticed by the man.

"Fuck," he said, the words barely reaching her ears. "Not your fault. You couldn't let that kid get bit."

"This situation is not on you," Rick said quietly. His were softer, only meant for her ears, as he stood at the corner of the table.

"I shouldn't have used my gun," she whispered quietly back. "I shouldn't have let him get that far away from me. I got lost in my thoughts for just a moment, and then, there she was." She knew it was pointless to speak to Rick about it. She wanted to speak to Morgan. To Duane. To apologize for having done it in front of the boy. She could never forgive herself for what she did, but especially not if they were horrified by her.

"Let them grieve, but no one blames you for this."

․° °․

Merle glared at the horizon. The sun had begun its descent. They had maybe an hour left before dark fell over them. The run into Atlanta had come back hours before. He ended up not going. There were no problems, everyone had come back safely, even if the load they returned with had been light. It had only been successful in the lives that weren't lost. They were still hurting for food.

The man's scowl deepened as he eyed Maisie and Landon from his spot in the chair by his tent. His eyes had followed the children all day, seeking them randomly, as he kept an eye on their safety. The woman, meek, quiet, and too damn brainwashed to leave the abusive shit she called a husband, had been taking good care of them all day. Always a second behind any of the three children. She reminded him of Nala, of how the dog followed after, constantly alert, and tending to anything they needed. Though Nala's were always met with licks to the face. He grimaced at the thought of the woman doing that.

She hadn't been the worst choice for Remington to have choosen. He felt mildly offended that she hadn't asked him, herself, but after yesterday he couldn't exactly blame her.

The harshness in his chest only tightened at the reminder of what he had done while high. The drugs kept him from having a clear memory. It was a bit hazy, but he could make out teasing words, something to do with her, and his brother before he had pushed her. That was clear, sharp, and in focus. The horror on her face, the fear, as she had flinched away from him, and then his brother.

Merle Dixon was not a man that lacked those that flinched in his company. Normally he relished it. No one tried to fuck with him, and if they did, Merle was always happy to beat on someone.

Anyone but women that is.

He had grown up with an abusive piece of shit of a father. The man had sought Merle out many times while growing up to take his frustrations out on. His mother had been hit a few times as well, he could remember how the next mornings were full of apologies and flowers before he'd drink again. After his mother died those apologies were nonexistent, rage being the only thing his father felt, and he tried not to imagine what would have happened to Daryl after her ran away. It was obvious, but Merle liked to live in a world of lies when it came to his baby brother and the past. Didn't want to believe that he had done wrong by him.

Merle wasn't his father. Children and women were not to be fucked with.

Women and fucking only went with one another when it involved the primal desire for pleasure and two bodies using one another. Consensually. Merle may be an asshole, but he was an asshole with lines that he didn't cross.

He had grown fond of the little lady that they stumbled across. She had a spark, was fiery, and never backed down when he messed with her. She had taken and given back equally, and Merle couldn't help but respect her for that. The fact that she was a mother, single, and by herself, had protected those children during a shit storm like this, all by herself, only heightened that respect when he got to know her.

Her little ankle biters weren't even that bad. For children. Especially the little one.

She had tried to seek him out earlier in the day. When she had seen him sharpening his knife, that woman had stopped her. He idly wondered if Remington had told her to keep them away from him. She had been angry with him before she left.

The boy occasionally turned that blank stare on him. Would have believed the discontent if it wasn't for the spark of interest, the need for approval, that he could see in his eyes. He hardly ever showed it toward Merle, but he had seen the way it would appear sometimes when Daryl was around or that cop. It shined brightly when Remington was within a couple of feet of the kid. It was obvious he sought out her approval above all else, as if the kid had something he needed to prove to her, to constantly be noticed, and valued.

He was certain that wasn't her ankle biter by blood.

It was like that woman had hung the moon and stars above him. He hero-worshipped her. That much was obvious.

He gave her props. He hadn't caught on to the fact easily. She treated him as an equal to her daughter, and that one he was certain was hers.

They were both annoyingly intrusive.

He noticed the way the children's excitement and happiness dwindled down as the day neared an end. He could sense their unease, sadness, and worry after Remington and Shane never returned. He could sense it coming from many in the group, especially the lady that she had left in charge of the kids. Merle wondered if she had made plans for her to keep them overnight. Was certain that she hadn't. Remington hadn't seemed willing to leave them overnight.

Something had to have happened.

The thought caused him unease.

He hated it.

Shifting, pulling himself from the seat, Merle needed to do something other than stare at children like a creep. He refused to admit to himself that he worried over them. That he actually sorts of cared for someone that wasn't blood. It was a laughing thought. Merle cared for no one except for Merle, and his baby brother.

Blood was all a Dixon had.

Those two weren't blood. That woman they called mom was not his blood. He shouldn't care about any of them.

Why did his stomach roll uncomfortably then?

He couldn't help but pause when he heard the voice of the kid's caretaker. She sounded worried, but the man that answered back didn't care.

"I don't give a damn that their mother hasn't returned," Ed snarled. "If the bitch didn't care enough about those kids to come back, then it ain't my problem. Git rid of 'em. You've wasted enough time on 'em."

Carol tried defending them, pleading with her husband, but Merle could hear a smack, skin on skin, before a muffled cry.

Merle frowned, his fists tightening at his side. He reminded himself it wasn't his problem. Their marriage issues were none of his business. Those kids, however, he had made it his business when he brought them into camp.

He knew Remington wouldn't want them around the dick anyway. He turned from where he had originally been heading, stalking back toward the children, as he came to a stop in front of them.

"Come on," he said, his head snapping toward where the woman had come back. She looked as if she had been crying, hiding it, but the confusion that blossomed forth read clear on her face. "I'm takin' 'em with me. Can't say shit bout it."

Carol opened her mouth to rebut him but knew that she had nothing she could do for them. Ed had made it clear, and the whole camp knew that Remington was close to the Dixons. She had seen Maisie speaking to the terrifying man in front of her several times. Remington had never seemed to mind, but Carol knew they had some kind of fight this morning. There were no details given, but she had made the woman promise to keep the kids with her, and not allow Maisie to wander away toward the man.

She hadn't said anything about what she should do if she hadn't made it back.

Silently, Carol hoped Remington wouldn't be mad at her, as she nodded her head, and let Merle take them back toward their little camp away from everyone else. At least the kids would be in their own tent for the night.

Maisie looked happy, and excited, even, by the man taking over. Landon, quiet, and pensive, showed no preference as he followed closely after.

They would be fine.

Remington would understand.

․° °․

Merle had known he would regret taking in the children.

He wasn't qualified to take care of kids that were not of his own blood. Though, Merle thought, he probably wasn't qualified to take care of children regardless of blood. He had been a shit brother. He wouldn't deny that. Didn't embrace it either. Had always ran from it.

Remington, in anyone's eyes, could be seen as a good mother.

She'd flay him alive if he did something wrong. Like, make one of them cry.

He eyed the smaller one.

She didn't seem like the crying type, snarky was more like it, but didn't little kids her age cry easily? He wasn't going to tempt it. Didn't know how to deal with it when it happened.

It was different when Remington was around. He wasn't in charge and knew he was doing something wrong from the look on her face.

The two children sat on the log by the fire, low, just embers, lighting up the night enough so he could see their faces. He sighed, leaning forward, watching as they ate the dinner, he had given them.

"When's my momma gonna be back?" Maisie asked, picking at the meat that she had been told was a squirrel. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Squirrels were cute, she didn't like eating cute things, but she was hungry. She had eaten lots of squirrels since coming here.

"Don't know," Merle muttered. He had seen the way her eyes began to twitch and was worried that she would start crying. He wouldn't be proud of it, but Merle Dixon did not console crying girls. He'd leave it for the brother to do. That's what brothers were meant to do, or at least if you weren't a Dixon.

"She wouldn't have left us for so long if something hadn't gone wrong," Landon said, speaking up for the first time. Merle couldn't fault the kid for his words, had thought them himself, but with the way the girl was twitching, he wasn't happy with his timing.

"Did something happen to her?"

The tears had begun to fall down her cheeks. The whimper that escaped her lips sounded like a hurt dog, and Merle flinched at the sound, as his eyes widened in shock and fear. He looked in panic at the boy, gesturing with a nod of his head, to do something. It would have been comical if Maisie hadn't started to cry louder right then and there.

A few heads turned from their fires as they listened to the girl crying.

"Boy," Merle grumbled. "Yah better fix it."

Landon glared, he didn't like the man much, their first meeting leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't trust him. He agreed with every other decision Remington had made, except the fact that she befriended the idiot, for some reason.

Turning to Maisie he reached out, tugging her in his arms, as he began to quietly soothe her. Merle glared at those that stared, he wasn't doing anything wrong, the girl had a right to cry.

"It'll be all right, Maisie," Landon cooed. "In the mornin' she'll be back. Your momma is strong, remember?"

Merle wasn't sure how true those words were but whatever got the girl to quit crying was all right by him.

He believed that woman was strong even if she was a little bit crazy.

I like the glance into Merles head we got to see here. I had more plans for Remington to get closer to Carol but I never seem to be able to place it. It'll probably come up in flashbacks I've got many of those prepared for the future.

Leave a review and tell me what you think!