Thank you for all the lovely messages and encouragement on all my stories- I show good reviews to my flatmates 'cause I'm all warm and fuzzy… :D
In relation to this story, im now struggling with whether or not to stick to the plot of the real walking dead or take some artistic license, your thoughts?
The Flu
He kept dragging her around. He knew he shouldn't, oh he was well aware that he shouldn't be doing that. His own anger was stifling her, leaving her glaring at him reproachfully when she wasn't too busy pitying him from a far. He really couldn't stand this girl. More and more she was just there. A constant pounding reminder in his head that the prison happened, that he existed and that there was nothing he could do.
She was covered in grime. Her top was snagged in several places. Red lines ran along her arms from flyaway braches. He wondered how much worse he must look. Probably like death. He felt like it. She bit into the snake, pulling a face and chewing it as if she'd rather be anywhere else. Not that he would, or could, blame her for that thought.
Finally she snapped, putting the snake aside and sighing.
''I want a drink.''
He knew what she meant. He grew up with Merle of course he knew what she meant. But still he sarcastically passed her the water bottle, hoping it would shut her damned mouth up. She huffed at him, standing up and walking away. Maybe he had finally gone and pushed her away.
It didn't matter that it was Beth Greene. It didn't matter that he had held her when she'd cried or he had gone out of his way to help Maggie get her birthday present. She couldn't be the special someone he wanted to talk to because that life had led him to this. He had nothing, nothing at all but the reminder of a family he had lost out on again. All he had was her.
They hadn't spoken properly, not since that damn flu. Near wiped them all out and left little preparation for the attack. If only they had been stronger. If only they hadn't lost so many.
The flu spread quickly. Thinking about it now seemed so far away, had that really only been days ago? The prison falling too, seemed an eternity or so. Beth seemed different though not even a fortnight ago had he run out her room firing arrows into walkers he once called friends. She seemed so much older in his memory.
He looked across as if to prove a point. She was throwing rocks to distract some walkers, standing independently from him as if she were allowed to leave. If having her there was a bad enough reminder, then losing her hope would kill him. Only he couldn't even admit that to himself.
He grabbed her arm, hoping to pull her back to camp, his anger flaring over the internal thought of apologising. She glared at him, struggling and swearing at him in a ridiculous fashion. He wanted to laugh at the childish threat she posed. He wanted to cry at the innocent she still had.
There was something of Maggie in the way she looked at him, a defiant stance of confidence that could get her killed. Her eyes grazed over him, back on their camp as she realised she was standing back on square one. Then she did the last thing he thought she would do. She started walking, saying nothing at all. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do but pick up his shit and follow her across the damn woods. They kept a few good feet of animosity between them, buffering their anger with enough space so that neither one of them could snap at the other. Tired, scared and hungry they walked.
He never got to hear her thoughts. How she had been so happy he survived the prison, before that the flu. She had been locked up with Judith and they both missed his strange awkward company. She never told him 'thank you' for petting her hair as she slept, or arming her correctly. It didn't even cross her mind anymore that this man was the same one who showed such sweetness. Instead she was running on empty, nothing but optimism in her tank and not enough time to stop and ask him what the hell his problem was. Instead she had to believe he would come around and be the man he used to be.
The golf club was eerie. Not her best idea, but hey he didn't stop her. She just about deserved it when that walkers fought with her, the bottle just staking him as his heart beat a bit too loudly for his own indifference. There was a gruff joke in honesty of his voice.
''Said you could take care of yerself- y'did.''
It was, what could only be described as, shocked relief that short circuited his anger momentarily. The praise made her look at him with those round blues of hers, the walker gore hanging off her. He didn't know why that made her more likable.
They kept searching through the club.
And piece by piece he stated seeing Beth as Beth again. She worried about the dead, saying it mattered what happened to them. Her soft voice made him think of merle, and what he would want for his brother. So he got the blanket and covered the damn walker up.
He couldn't help thinking he had underestimated her.
''Come on, yer first drink ain't gonna be no damn peach schnapps.'' The words felt foreign on his tongue, his own motives totally unclear. All he knew was somewhere between entering this hell hole with her, a light had switched on in his head. Beth was at the bar; young and lost. And all she had to show for it was a grumpy redneck and a few blood stains. She deserved more than that.
Even if more meant moonshine.