A/N: I know. I know. I take forever to update. My apologies, I just got a little stuck on the details. I'm trying to change things up a bit. I got a great piece of advice from the-lights-there about Lena's character development and the dangers of becoming a mary-sue. I'll be honest, I hadn't the foggiest what that meant. I had to google it. But now I know and knowing is half the battle. The other half is hammering out my plot points and grammatical errors. I'm really excited for the new direction I've decided to take for Lena as a result and I hope you guys will like it too. Once again thank you so much the-lights-there. You're a lifesaver!
Also I'll just quickly mention that I've condensed some of the earlier chapters (combining some of them together). I don't know why I felt the need to to this but it felt more organized. So don't panic that there only 4 chapters now and not 7. It's all still there, just retouched and less scatterbrained.
As always a big thanks to all the lovely folks who take the time to read this story. You're all saints for being so patient with me. Eloquent Dreams, Jezebella Corvus, Amanda, Daliah, Anne Toinette, Issy, Niffer01, Amaya Dixon and anyone I might've forgotten. Thank you for your reviews, they mean so much to me and I truly appreciate it.
And now without further ado, here is the update. Enjoy and please let me know what you think.
The van seemed much farther away than Lena remembered.
Of course she had to take into consideration the fact that she was injured and far less nimble than when she'd first left the mini van. In her current condition crossing the street, much less walking half a mile of it, was an exhausting and time-consuming prospect.
It was high noon by the time they finally reached the mint green mini van. The sun beat down upon Lena and her dedushka's laikas, its rays unforgiving as they traversed the last stretch of road.
Tongues wagging with sweat, the giant dogs followed Lena closely, extremely mindful of her weakened state. However, upon seeing the familiar vehicle, Sputnik, the larger of the two, trotted ahead. Stalin sprinted after him, Lena's injuries completely forgotten. Both were eager to claim the front seat and by proxy the coveted window spot.
Lena rolled her eyes at their antics but made no attempt to quicken her stride.
The effects of whatever painkillers Daryl and his group had given her had long since worn off. The pain in her shoulder now pulsed through her entire body unabated.
Oblivious, the dogs watched her progress with mounting anticipation, all the while nudging and nipping at each other, jockeying for position in front of the passenger door.
She grumbled irritably at how carefree the furry beasts were in comparison to her own irritable mood and fast deteriorating strength.
Lena was feeling far from carefree.
Sweat poured from her every pore. The flimsy hospital gown was soaked through and the paper lining of its armholes had begun to deteriorate. The makeshift sling rubbed the old scar at the side of her neck raw. The friction of sweat and starched cotton dug into the delicate skin with each step. Each shift of her shoulders was fast becoming unbearable.
In short, she was miserable and the god awful purple hippo print on the sling wasn't helping.
She watched, somewhat envious as Sputnik's tongue lolled lazily from the side of his mouth, working to cool his body temperature. She wondered which would be preferable: sweating from every pore in her body or only from her tongue?
Sputnik then leaned down to lick at his privates and she decided that in no way did she envy that particular aspect of their biology. Especially if it meant forever having the lingering taste of sweat and balls on the back of your tongue.
She shook her head in disgust and continued walking.
Just a few feet from the van Lena stopped dead. Once again she was struck with the realization that she had left something behind.
Something important.
The keys to the van.
In her pack.
A pack she was almost positive had been commandeered and pilfered through whilst she was comatose. It had been the farthest thing from her mind upon escaping (again). There hadn't exactly been much time to plan beyond the karate-chop thing. She'd never expected for it to work.
"Fuck," She mumbled, kicking at a solitary rock with the toe of her ratty old boot.
Sputnik came to sit in front of her, the window seat temporarily forgotten, and observed her thoughtfully. Stalin barked excitedly in response to her curse, pushing his bulky brown body against her thigh for attention. She sighed and patted his head.
"What do I do now?" She wondered aloud. She could feel the sun-soaked pavement heating the soles of her boots and it made her irrationally cranky. Again she kicked the small rock, harder this time, sending it into the woods with a soft thump.
Stalin barked again, looking up at her happily. He moved back towards the passenger door, taking advantage of Sputnik's sudden lack of interest.
One-track mind.
Again she rolled her eyes but moved toward the van, Sputnik prancing at her heels. Much to the dogs' chagrin though she bypassed the passenger door. Instead she opened the sliding back door and ushered them in. Any disappointment at being denied the front seat was forgotten in favor of fighting over the middle bench.
She closed the door after them and hobbled to the driver's side. She did a quick survey of her surroundings. When she was satisfied that there was no one, dead or alive, around, she opened the door and plopped down in the seat. The clumsy motion jostled her shoulder, sending a particularly painful jolt through her side. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.
More wary of her shoulder this time, she carefully placed the crossbow between the front seats. She grimaced at the steering wheel for a few seconds, completely at a loss.
Scanning her memory Lena tried to think of every movie she'd ever seen someone hotwire a car in but came up blank. The only memorable films involved clipping a red or blue wire. She was almost positive such a scenario had absolutely nothing to do with cars.
Digging deeper still the only relevant thing she could remember was how, in almost every movie, they had to go under the steering wheel and open something up. This in mind she ducked underneath the console and struggled with her one good arm for a few minutes, finally prying open the plastic covering to reveal the guts of the car: a mess of wires and nobs that left her even more confused than before.
"God I miss the internet." She huffed dramatically.
She had a hunch that a crowbar was required for some part of the procedure. And perhaps the red and blue wires were relevant after all?
Less than twenty minutes later Lena was already giving up, fairly certain she'd in fact ruined her chances of starting the car by cutting every wire in sight. Not the most intelligent tactic she realized belatedly, but it only seemed fair to cut all the blue wires in retaliation for all the poor red ones.
Hindsight is 20/20.
Dropping her head to the steering wheel Lena heaved a long breath and considered her remaining options.
Option 1: Walk back to the truck she'd stolen from Daryl the redneck and his friendly gang and left in a trailer park.
(This option was bound for failure/death because she was very likely to run into dead people on the way. Not only was she not in the mood for dead people, but she was also undoubtably incapable of dealing with dead people at the moment. She also had absolutely no idea how the crossbow worked. She'd mostly taken it from Daryl on principle.)
Option 2: Walk back to base.
(Walking back to base was just not going to happen. It was too far away and she was too weak to ever make it.)
That left only:
Option 3. Walk back to the doctor's office, say sorry to Daryl the furious redneck and his friendly gang that wanted to kill her, and pray to god they don't shoot her again.
Really they were all terrible ideas because they all involved more walking and a lot of it. Lena was all walked out.
She groaned and banged her head on the steering wheel a few more times for good measure, angry at herself for being so stupid.
The passenger door opened suddenly.
Lena merely looked over, too shocked and tired to react properly. She imagined it was Daryl come to kill her at last and was moderately resigned to the possibility.
To her surprise it was not Daryl that met her gaze.
It was Carl.
He sat down next to her and closed the door, flicking the lock. The car meeped in response, all of the locks engaging as a result.
Lena stared at him dumbly.
He removed his too big hat and placed it in his lap then turned to assess her.
"You have got to be shitting me right now." She blurt out, unable to think of anything better to say.
"What are you doing?" The little boy asked, as if the situation weren't at all unusual.
"Trying to get the fuck away from you people. Why can't you just leave me alone?" She demanded. It angered her how candid he was being.
This cannot be real she thought. Maybe I'm just imagining him.
She considered poking him to prove her theory but thought better of it. With the way her luck was going he was definitely real.
"We need your help. We lost our home to a really big herd of walkers and we have no where left to go."
Lena was hardly listening. All she could think about was this idiot kid's face on the back of a milk carton with the words 'Have you seen me?' stamped over his head. She couldn't fathom how he was still alive when so many others weren't.
"Where is your mom?" She asked, interrupting him. He shrugged in response.
"Can I ask you something?" She queried, pinching the bridge of her nose. She saw his head move up and down in her peripheral.
"Has your mother ever told you to go play in traffic?" Lena said sarcastically, her patience flagging.
Not waiting for an answer, she leaned over him and opened the glove box, pulling out an old pack of Marlboros. One of many she hid all over the place nowadays. It was her bizarre version of a scavenger hunt. A psuedo-game she'd come up with knowing that eventually she would run out of cigarettes and have to quit. There was only one lonely cigarette left inside. The lucky.
Not so lucky. She scoffed
"Why would she tell me to do something crazy like that?" He replied, confused.
They stared at each other a moment.
"No reason." She grabbed a matchbook from the cup holder and lit the 'lucky' cigarette, thankful for the temporary calm the first drag of smoke brought her. Her shoulder still ached. She pretended not to feel it.
"You know smoking is bad for you." He observed.
"Alright, for serious kid, get the fuck out of my van." Lena instructed dismissively. Taking her eyes off him she shook off the dead ashes at the tip of the cigarette into the cup holder.
"Out!" She said a little louder.
The longer he sat there the more likely he was to stay.
The longer he stayed the more likely the redneck or Carl's crazy mom found them and tried to kill her.
Carl still hadn't moved and Lena started getting nervous. She would never use the crossbow on him (no matter how obnoxious he was, he was still just a kid) but she was too weak to physically force him out. She didn't stand a chance if someone from his group found them.
"Out! Go home!" She repeated even louder, becoming frantic. Not even halfway through she snubbed her cigarette out in the cup holder, too stressed out to bother finishing it.
Not so lucky.
"I just told you, we don't have a home. It's gone. Overrun. We need you. Please?" Carl argued desperately. The dogs could sense the tension building and were becoming restless. Stalin let out a nervous whimper. Sputnik shifted beside him.
"I can't help you." Lena almost yelled.
"Why not?" He pushed. Stalin's whimpers turned into barks, hearing the panic in Lena's voice
"I just can't!" She pounded her fist on the steering wheel for emphasis.
"Why?" Carl yelled back. Stalin resorted to howling in an attempt to overpower them.
"тише!" Lena hollered over her shoulder. The howling ceased immediately at her firm command. She glared at the young dog. Stalin jumped into the backseat to hide.
Lena turned the glare on Carl hoping it might have a similar effect.
"Okay, seriously kid. First you try to kill me, then your mother tries to rally the pitchfork committee to finish the job, and now you want me to go back and see if the third time really is the charm? No, it's not happening. Get out."
"Please, I'll do anything! I'm sorry I shot you. I thought you were going to hurt Daryl. And my mom is just trying to protect us. They're just scared. They weren't sure about you—" He rambled, becoming as frantic as Lena. His eyes begun to well up with tears. At the sight her resolve started to crack. She groaned and bounced her head on the steering wheel again, trying to drown him out.
"Damn it kid—" She hissed, wanting to cut him off.
"My mom is pregnant." He finished overtop of her. Her head shot back up at his declaration. She stared at him, mouth open in shock. Carl stared back, eyes pleading.
MEANWHILE
"Daryl?" Carol called out.
Her heart stopped at the sight of him lying stock still on the forest floor. She ran toward him.
"Daryl? Oh my god!" She dropped to her knees at his side. Barely noticeable his chest moved up and down with each shallow breath. His eyes were open, blinking rapidly, but he lay unmoving. Carol put a hand to his cheek and found it warm to the touch.
It had been almost twenty minutes since he'd taken the girl outside.
Carol knew something was wrong.
No one else seemed to care what she thought though. And Daryl never listened when she told him to be careful. Worse still none of the others were terribly worried about his wellbeing either.
As soon as he and that girl walked out the front door she'd gotten a bad feeling deep in her bones.
She was the only one to sense it and decided to go check on him. Much to her horror she discovered that once again her instincts had been correct.
"What happened? Daryl? Can you hear me? Can you get up?" She worried, close to tears. She'd already lost her baby girl. They couldn't take Daryl from her too. It just wasn't fair!
His eyes roved over her but his body remained still, stiff as a board. She touched his shoulder and shook it gently. She tried to lift his torso up to lean against her. The weight of him hampered her efforts but her touch seemed to help him regain some movement.
Ever so slowly he craned his neck to look at her. She sighed in relief and pulled his body toward her so that the upper half rested on her lap. She cradled his head in her hands, unaware of the tears that streaked her face.
"What happened?" She asked again with a sniffle. He worked hard to answer her, shaking out his wrists and then his arms in order to wake the sleeping limbs. He pretended not to notice the wet lines running down her cheeks. The blatant show of emotion made him uncomfortable.
"Turned my back." He said slowly. He looked away from her face, directing all of his focus on flexing his feet. First one foot and then the other.
"She did some kind of voodoo karate shit on my neck," He turned his head, cracking his neck, "went down like a felled tree." He grunted, his neck popping a few more times.
"Lori said it Daryl," Carol condescended, "she could have hurt you."
"Couldna hurt me. She's got a bum arm. Just a dumb kid." Daryl snapped.
Carol could tell his pride was wounded. The 'dumb kid' had in fact bested him despite her handicap. She refrained from pointing it out though, not wanting to embarrass him. She was just grateful he was okay. It could have been much worse.
"Well I guess it's good she's gone then. We don't have to worry about her anymore." Carol insisted, kneading his shoulders in a comforting gesture.
Daryl grumbled irritably in response. He pushed away her fussing hands and slowly stood up.
If she was hurt by his attempt to brush her off she didn't let it show. She watched him quietly from her place on the ground, trying to figure him out. Sometimes he was impossible to understand, far more complicated than the others ever gave him credit for.
He brushed the dirt off his pants and turned to offer Carol his hand. She took it bashfully, suddenly very aware of her tears and red cheeks. He pulled her to her feet with a mumbled thank you. She nodded and wiped furiously at her damp cheeks with a wilted sleeve, ashamed of herself for always being so weepy around him.
Without any further explanation he turned and started walking east, away from the building. Carol stood still, confused.
"Where are you going?" She called after him.
"After her." Daryl replied without stopping or looking back.
"Daryl! Don't be ridiculous! You can't give someone your help if they don't want it." She jogged after him, trying to catch up.
"Don't wanna help her anymore. I want my damn crossbow back."
тише (tishe): quiet
Review, pretty please with a crossbow on top?