Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.
Warnings: See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.
Authors Note #1: Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!
Rotation – Chapter 13
Fluid colors skimmed across the surface of his mind. Flush. Like the warm glow of the sun as its rays glance across closed lids. There was an angular chin, all soft ivory and impossible smoothness, mixed together with the sensation of coiled strength and unexpected virility hidden just under the beguiling thinness of skin. He knew this. He had felt that strength, that wiry force and fractured determination.
..That good old fashioned South Georgian gumption.
Awareness flickered, as reality went half lit and flighty behind his eyes. The shadows reversed, twisting on their heads until they became backlight by a darkening canvas of macabre colors. He shifted in place, fingers twitching spasmodically at his sides, as if paused in the act of reaching out towards something he could neither name nor define. –Don't.. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't-no.. No.. Soft ivory had turned into sharp teeth and spurting crimson. Run.. But he just couldn't because everything was coming down to the panic fuelled click of his gun ringing out empty. The echoes turning hollow and sullen recognition dawned. Dead eyes. Don't look. Not this… Not like this…-Please..
He jerked himself out of a soft doze, confusion roiling like nausea in his gut as he realized what he had done. His thoughts muddled and slow as awareness came rushing back. Startled, he shifted, limbs hushing through the long grass as he sought to regain his bearings. Cross bow slipping down the length of his arm before he brought it back up to rest in the crux, cradling the weapon in the joint between his shoulder and chest as he embraced the sudden chill. Relishing the sudden sting of cold steel as it lanced across his skin.
Shit.
His chest grew tight from the effort as he fought to keep himself still, all too aware of the furry pair still sleeping in the hollow not twelve meters away. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid.' He muttered. Getting' soft Dixon. Weak. It took him a moment, but he shook it off, breathing out in a long, controlled rush as he worked the kinks out of his neck. He was damned lucky they hadn't moved on him. He never slept on a hunt, never. It was just too damn risky, especially when the stakes were this high.
He looked up through the thin forest canopy, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep as he took in the encompassing stillness. This is what he liked about the deep woods, appreciating its simplicity and complex quiet. Often finding himself longing for the moment where he could just walk into the bush and leave everything else behind, sometimes for days or even weeks at a time. And it always seemed to boil down to the same god damned reason. It was because the forest had neither good nor ill intentions. It just was. The forest was brutal, kind, apathetic, dangerous, and beautiful all at the same time. It never pretended to be anything different. Not like people. Not like feelings and emotions or that niggling ache that a single, well placed word can so often bring to bear.
He breathed in deeply, the air moist and refreshingly clear of the stink of fear and uncertainty that seemed to permeate the very air around the campsite. There was no sign of man here. No buildings or monuments, no man made trails, roads, or even street lights. And he couldn't help but marvel at the contrast. It had to be said that nature seemed largely unaffected by the growing threat humanity was facing, there was no sign of the geeks here, no sign of leaking blood and human suffering. But then again, why shouldn't it? Nature didn't need humanity. Not like they needed it at any rate.
The moon stood out strong, like a big old pizza pie glowing down from above. There was hardly any cloud cover, but somehow everything seemed almost muted. Raising an eyebrow he tracked the moons progress, only idly wondering at the time. His watch had run out of batteries nearly a month ago and he hadn't seen the sense in replacing it. After all there was little left to mark times progression, nothing to give the concept of time any lasting significance at any rate.
..Because there was no more rush hour, no more work, or even closing time. No fifteen minute coffee breaks or seven pm suppers. No more grocery lines or two am last calls at the bar. No nine fifteen late shows or Sunday morning specials on the TV…There wasn't nothin'. Not anymore.
He ran a hand across his face with a muted grunt, ignoring the sting of stubble grinding against his palms, still more angry at himself then anything else. It wasn't that he had lost track of the time, having grown somehow unaware of the slow, but progressive stream that marked the seconds, minutes, and finally hours that made up the structure of a single day. It was more that the concept of time itself had somehow faded in importance.
It was an easy thing to do. Even before all this. Time doesn't matter much out here. At least not in the same way as it did back home.
He knew there were one thousand four hundred and forty minutes in a single day, two thousand eight hundred and eighty in two. Just the same as he knew that there were eight six thousand four hundred seconds in a day. In fact he could recite that number down to the smallest fraction of a decimal point, an ability he largely attributed to the rather militant approach his Math teacher had employed when they started working on their percentage unit back in fourth grade.
It took him back to long nights spent alone after dinner, banished both from Merle and the blaring television in the living room. Hunched over the kitchen table pretending to try and make sense of his homework when all he was really doing was listening to the dialogue from some rerun of M*A*S*H or JAG. Momma had eventually gotten wise to him though, and started making Merle watch television downstairs on that ancient set Momma had inherited from Grandma after she had passed. It was of those dinosaur sets with the wood paneling and bunny ears, its reception was shit and the buttons were busted, but she never could seem to find it in her to throw it away. Merle hadn't been thrilled about it either, but then again he had never really done his own homework by himself either.
He was brought back to the present some time before dawn when the doe rose from amidst the tall river reeds, looking around her cautiously before stretching her long legs as she leaned down to nuzzle her sleepy fawn to its feet. The message itself was clear, it was time to go.
The sun was bright and paused at its height by the time his calculated risk paid off. He ended up hitting pay dirt when the fluffy tailed pair led him straight to the herd about mid afternoon on the third day. It was a sizable herd, fat and sleek with good health, and boasting a large number of yearlings to boot, all sheltered in a sling-shot gulley that was outlined by a natural boundary of shale and mossy mountain rock.
It was a killing valley.
He lost the doe and youngling as they picked their way through to the center of the herd, enveloped by at least thirty identical brown and white speckled hides. But despite the crush it didn't take him long to find his target. In fact she stood out like a hippie at a gun convention.
It was an old doe that was grazing just on the outskirts of the crush, nibbling the heads off a patch of wildflowers as she kept a wary eye on a group of fawns playing rambunctiously nearby. Her hide was criss-crossed with the scars of more then a dozen old wounds, movements stiff and careful with old age and injury. Even her back hind leg appeared to be lame, held up from the ground more often then not as she chewed. He shook his head in muted surprise. It was a wonder she had survived for as long as she had.
Settling into place against a rocky outcrop he pulled an arrow into the slot, muscles screaming at the abuse as he squirmed forward, mindless of the digging rocks and razor sharp points. He took her in as his eyes flickered, aiming down through the sight as he watched the muscles underneath her skin ripple and catch. And for a long moment, he forced himself to simply look. Body humming as his finger pressed tight against the trigger, caressing the tension coiled just underneath as something similar to recognition flowed through him. The correlation sparked across his consciousness with an intensity that was akin to a flash flood in the desert.
She was a fighter... A survivor.
He breathed in deeply, the air around him growing humid and close. Refreshingly clear of everything save for the scent of crushed pine underneath his feet, and the tartness of his own sweat. He had to do this right. She deserved that much. Everything in this world had it's time. And today, that time was hers.
With another breath he brought his shoulders up, muscles tensing as he aimed directly at the specked nape of her grizzled brown throat. And as he leaned forward, shoe soles curling around the sharp outcroppings of jagged edged rocks, the shot lined up perfectly. Like it was meant to be.
His breathing slowed, lungs held tight and controlled as his vision tunnelled, narrowing down the length of the sight until the target alone was all he could see. Yes…
…Calm…Close…Almost there…
The arrow released with a sharp twang, hitting his target with a single fleshy thud. Piercing the jugular straight through and taking her down into the soft grass without even a single, struggling kick. It was the perfect kill, quick and clean…
Only he didn't even get a moment to enjoy it. Because the same second his finger pressed down against the trigger, a strange, impossible voice pierced through the stillness. Blaring through the muted, forest quiet with all the subtly of a rampaging cement mixer.
…A rampaging cement mixer driven by a pathological schizophrenic with anger management issues…
And not surprisingly, just because someone upstairs apparently really, really hated him, that was the exact same moment that the earth began to move…
A/N #1: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)
A/N #2: Again sorry about the wait. Masters university work is INSANE. I am visualizing perhaps three or fours more chapters at this point. I am hoping to get this completed before the new season! Fingers crossed! (Have a feeling that might be a pipe dream though..)
"A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty." – Winston Churchill