Hello, guess what, this is an update! Well, actually, I guess that was kind of obvious… yah. I'm hoping everyone likes how this chapter goes! I tried to get everyone's favorite crossbow hunter just right. A hostile asshole who still manages to care about people.
I give a big thanks for follows, favorites, and reviews! I express my extreme gratitude for all the reviewers who took the time to give me feedback on my story.
FrogsCanBePrincessesToo: All your dreams have come true! Okay, I may have exaggerated the dreams thing, but Daryl is in all my dreams, so I assume that is true for everyone else…. *slight spoiler, but not really* Daryl is in this chapter! Anyway, I hope you like the update! *unicorns and kisses*
SilverAdvenger12: You've returned! Yay! Thank you so much for your encouragement and support. I always love to know how people feel about my chapters! *sprinkles and laughter*
Carolinefdq: A new reader means a new friend. Hello comrade! Did that sound creepy? Yeah… it did. Aaanyway, thanks for letting me know that you're interested in my story! *cupcakes and smiles*
DIUC: I'm sorry that last chapter felt slow, sometimes the awesomeness that I'm seeing in my head just doesn't get put into words properly. I guess that's just my inexperience as a writer. I'll try to do better next action scene. Although, I will give you this little hint, I have something planned for our little assailant, it was imperative that he not be caught! Thanks for the feedback and thanks for liking my writing style! *rainbows and hugs*
Disclaimer: I do not own Walking Dead, however if anyone ever wants to give me it to me as a birthday or Christmas present, I am not going to object. In fact, I encourage your generosity.
The chapter, my good people!
Stiff = zombie or walker
"Are you good?" my father asked, hopping down from the lowest branch of the tree. The rough bark rubbed against my back, irritating my wound. My leather jacket laid across my torso, a bullet hole in the right corner. I shivered despite the warm air, the effects of blood loss becoming apparent. My body had grown colder than last night, not a good sign in the least. It meant there wasn't enough blood to circulate in my body and keep me warm.
My legs were tethered to a high up, large branch of the tree, my jeans scratching against the bark uncomfortably. My stomach had been tied to the trunk, the rope carefully avoiding my injury. A water bottle and a packet of crackers sat in between my legs. My pack hung a few branches over, the food that had been stuffed into it was now split between my father and me. I wouldn't reach for anything unless strictly necessary. My gun felt stiff and uncomfortable in its spot on my belt. I didn't know if I would be able to get to it if I spotted a threat, but at least it offered me the façade of comfort. My knife had been lent to my father. I had nothing more than a gun and some ammo to protect myself with.
I couldn't strain my shoulder. The slightest amount of pain would cause me to yelp loudly. It would draw unwanted attention. I couldn't make a sound if I wanted to remain undetected by any stiffs.
Despite all this, I smiled comfortingly down at my father.
"Yeah," I assured him, taking a deep breath, "I'm good."
He nodded. We didn't bother saying goodbyes. Goodbyes meant that one of us wouldn't see the other by nightfall. It meant death.
"Love you, Becky," my father grinned, using my childhood name.
"Love you too, daddy," I beamed, keeping the mood light.
With tired eyes, I watched as he strode a way, purpose and desperation in his step. As soon his retreating form could no longer be seen, I let my smile drop. I groaned, leaning my head back against the tree trunk.
The sunrise just barely glowed through the tree tops. It was a long way from nightfall, my father had time to scavenge for supplies, but somehow, I didn't think that I would have that time. I'd be dead when he got back. I could feel my body waning, needing to give out. I shouldn't have brain damage or any organ failure yet, but still, if I didn't get help soon, those were my best options if I was still alive when my father returned.
I closed my eyes, not asleep, but not awake.
I tried to even out my breathing, maximize my intake of air and keep my heartbeat steady. I would need fresh bindings soon, but I had no way of changing them on my own, not in my condition.
A few swallows of water, an empty packet of crackers, and an unfriendly squirrel later, I found myself fighting the effects of severe dizziness. If I hadn't been tied to the tree, I would undoubtedly be lying on the ground right now, a broken something or other contributing to my pain. I shut my eyes from the blinding sun, wishing it would bring me some warmth.
If I could see myself, I knew what I would look like. Sickly pale skin replacing my recently formed tan. Chapped lips, red and irritated from breathing harshly, despite my efforts to keep my inhalation and exhalation smooth. A bloodied jacket, and underneath it, a bloodied and stained shirt.
I opened my eyes as I heard someone approaching, my senses still working to remain sharp for me. Their feet landed silently, not making any noise. In fact, I didn't even hear any footsteps. The only thing I picked up on, alerting me to a newcomer, was the avid swearing ringing out in the forest. I tried to keep my labored breathing quiet, listening to their vulgar words.
"Damn fucktard… he don't know what he's talkin' bout," a masculine, southern voice grumbled. I turned my head slightly, but didn't immediately see anyone. I remained silent, waiting for a form to appear from the trees. "As if I don't see what's goin' on in that fucked up head of his," the man added.
My eyes finally found the stranger. He was tall, distinctly robust with muscled biceps and a lean body. His skin, as dirty as or dirtier than mine, was tanned from years in the sun. He carried a crossbow on his back and a gun at his hip. I thought I witnessed the flash of a large knife, but then he turned to the left and it disappeared from my view. I knew that if he noticed me and decided to end my pitiful existence, there would be nothing I could do to stop him.
I determinedly continued to stay immobile, holding my breath and scrutinizing the brutal looking man. Dirty blond hair, or maybe a brown, I couldn't tell from the filth, didn't even appear sweaty as he marched through the forest in the heat of the day. He wasn't paying close attention to his surroundings as he muttered angrily to himself. I knew that as long as I did nothing to attract his attention, there was a small chance he wouldn't detect my presence.
His furious mumbling came to a halt as glanced down at the ground. He clearly hadn't been expecting to find anything, but the expression on his face said it all. I knew then that he was a tracker-a hunter. He could identify each and every place I had stepped or touched. If he hadn't been distracted and had decided to search to ground a while back, he would've observed the brawl that went down yesterday afternoon. Surprise coated his relatively handsome-I decided to blame my scattered thoughts on blood loss-face. He bent down quickly, surveying the places I'd stepped and then been dragged. It had been a hassle moving me, trying to distance ourselves from the place of the attack. We couldn't stay in that one place forever, not with my blood, stained into the ground, enticing every stiff with the slightest sense of smell.
He rose back to his feet in a flash, crossbow ready and aimed. I ground my teeth together, praying he wouldn't glance up.
His eyes followed the tracks, slowly trailing after them as if he could see me walking in front of him. Despite the fact that his eyes were focused on the ground, I knew no one would be able to sneak up and get the drop on him. Even from a distance, I could see his muscles rippling, every limb tensed, his body ready to react.
As he came to the base of my tree, I began to panic. My hand groped for my gun, trying not to make a sound. I forced myself to fight the urge to scream as I upset the damage to my shoulder. I desperately attempted to get a grip on the gun and pull it out. He would find me. It was only a matter of time before he peered up into the trees. I needed to be prepared. I needed protection.
Suddenly the ropes around my chest, binding me to the tree, gave some leeway. My whole body jerked to the right, my shoulder harshly scraping against the rough surface of the tree. I yelped, closing my eyes at the discomfort of a bothered wound and at the disappointment of being the one who gave myself away.
When I found the will to open my eyes and ignore the pain, I stared down at a crossbow targeted directly at my brain.
"Who're you?" a severe voice interrogated. I breathed in and out, trying to find a way to talk through the agony. After several moments, each breath bringing another sharp sting to my shoulder, I rolled my head to the side, trying to get a better assessment of him. He studied me, observing my deathlike appearance. "You bit or sumthin'?"
I wheezed out a laugh. Slowly dying from a bite or from a bullet wound, which was worse? I didn't trust this man, but I knew that if he ended up killing me, at least it would be a somewhat honorable death. I had promised myself I would try and survive. I wouldn't go down without a fight.
I stared into his blue eyes, gathering the will to talk.
"No, just shot," I explained, my hand subtly going back to my gun. He appeared to consider something before nodding.
"Where at?"
"My shoulder," I replied without hesitation, if he gave me enough time, I would be able to reach my gun, and then at least we wouldn't be so outmatched.
"How long 'go?" he mumbled apathetically, eyeing my shoulder, though he couldn't see the damage with my jacket covering my whole torso.
I thought about it. Flicking my eyes toward the sky, I estimated the time to be an hour or more before twelve. It had been a while since my father left, but he hadn't been gone so long that the sun had moved directly into the sky.
"Maybe a day, probably a little less," I responded truthfully, my voice breathy and tired.
He scanned the tree up and down before inspecting me suspiciously.
"You get up there all by yerself?" he scrutinized, eyes narrowed, with a distinctly threatening redneck tone to his words. I knew without thinking about it that I would never give my father away.
"I'm stronger than I look," I boasted, covering up my lie with a small, albeit painful, smile. He didn't comment, not saying anything about how it would be impossible to climb a tree this size with no help and a smashed up shoulder. I had been futilely trying to discreetly get a hold on my gun when he answered.
"If you'd stop fumblin' fer your weapon, I'll help you get down," he smirked, nodding toward my hand. I instantly stilled, allowing my arm to fall limply to my side. Sighing, I glared at him, though my exhausted features undoubtedly portrayed nothing stronger than grimace.
"Why would I do that? I'm nothing more than stiff bait down there," I objected, my eyes roughly boring into his baby blue ones.
"Stiff bait?"
"Zombie food," I clarified.
He hoisted his crossbow back over his shoulder, clearly not perceiving me as a threat. "Look," he started, rubbing his strong and dirty hands together, "I got a camp set up 'round here, I can take you, see if we can get you patched up," he offered. While his intentions seemed honest, I hardened my stare in reactionary defense.
"Why should I trust you?" I growled.
He shrugged his shoulders, raising an eyebrow at me.
"You don't have ta, but with a busted up shoulder an' night comin', I reckon you won't last much longer up there, all by yer lonesome." He studied me, waiting for my reaction. If I remained strong, he could either pass it over a pride or confidence. If he decided it was confidence though, he would know that I had a reason to be assured. A reason like someone coming back for me with potential medical supplies. Even if he simply left me alone and thought nothing of my decision to stay, I knew I wouldn't be able to survive till night fall, not without some serious side effects. I squinted at him.
"I'm armed," I warned, hating to surrender, even now. He nodded, regarding my threat but not paying direct attention to it.
I kept my eyes trained on him as he spit into his hands and pulled himself up. Surprisingly, for his solid figure, he climbed the tree with silence and finesse, better than I ever could, even with a healed shoulder. I scowled to myself, hating that he was superior to me in every way at the moment.
When he reached me, I could see a smirk planted on his face, as if he had read my thoughts.
Instead of bothering with untying the rope, he simply pulled out his knife. The large, alarming hunting knife that I had seen glinting in his belt earlier. I swallowed nervously.
The ropes fell away from my chest and I struggled to remain upright, but didn't let him see just how weak I had become. I clenched my fists, forcing my protesting body to provide its own support. Next, the ropes dropped from my legs, tumbling onto the forest floor with a soft thud. I clenched my legs together, praying I wouldn't plummet to the ground along with the rope.
"I'm gonna need ta take a look at that shoulder," he informed, observing my right shoulder, clearly damaged by the way I favored it. I nodded, sure that if I spoke I would lose the focus that I had on not falling to the ground. He was overly gentle, much to my disbelief, as he peeled away the leather jacket. His eyes were trained on the area, as if he would indeed end up seeing a masticated bite instead of a bloody bullet wound. He didn't get to find out as he ended up examining only blood soaked bandages. "I spose you did this all by yerself too?"
"Yes," I murmured, meeting his burning sapphire eyes. As I said this, his mouth moved, as if he were biting his tongue, trying not to say something. He glanced back down at the dirty bindings.
Without asking, he grabbed my pack, shouldering it. I watched him warily, certain that was all he actually wanted. He was probably going to leave me teetering on the branch of this tree, blood pouring out of my wound.
He didn't. Instead, he grabbed me by my good shoulder, hoisting my arm over his neck so that I was leaning on him.
"Yer gonna have ta be okay to get down, I can help you with most yer weight, but yer still gonna need ta climb," he instructed, all business as he began pulling me from my branch.
I whimpered softly, trying not to be too loud as he forced me to descend the tree. He stuck to his word as most of my weight was distributed onto him, but I still had to endure the grueling journey down. As soon as my feet hit the safety of the ground, I pushed myself off of him.
"I can walk," I announced haughtily, not wanting to depend on this stranger for support. He shrugged, leaning against the tree indifferently.
I disproved my words as I took one step and toppled over, my legs not strong enough after so much blood loss. I yelped, a jolt of pain traveling from my shoulder to my chest. I heard an audible sigh.
"I'm gonna need ta carry you." Before I could protest, muscular arms were wrapping around my body and pulling me up. I reveled in the warm heat that they provided, but grunted my disapproval. As my shoulder connected roughly with a solid chest, I cried out, a surge of pain traveling through my whole body. He shushed me instantly, wordlessly scolding me for my outburst. I turned my head away, biting back whimpers and tears. I couldn't deny that the heat from his body was welcomed, but the discomfort of being moved again made my body ache with pain. "You need ta be more quiet, yer gonna attract every walker out 'ere," he commanded. I quickly deduced that walker was his own term for the flesh eating zombies.
I buried my nose in his chest, receiving the distinct scent of musk, dirt, and something else that was purely masculine.
"Sorry," I whispered, not wanting to upset this stranger when I was so vulnerable. He breathed out a slow breath before pulling me up higher.
"If you need sumthin' to keep you from screamin', bite my jacket, not the skin or nothin', just the leather," he offered, a strange air of kindness in his typically unconcerned tone. I did as he asked, grabbing onto the leather with my teeth and biting it hard. It tasted like sweat, mud, and again, something else I couldn't exactly place. I didn't linger long on this, just thankful I wouldn't end up biting my tongue off.
I shut my eyes. I supposed I should have been mapping out the direction we were heading, so I would be able to find my way back, but I couldn't. Not when the pain scorched so intensely. I settled for opening my eyes every now and then, spotting nothing but unfamiliar trees and bushes.
After a bout of silence, I released my hold on the leather, getting a grip on the agony burning in my shoulder. Sheepishly glancing away from the marked leather and saliva stuck to the surface of his vest, I studied the face of my "savior".
A strong chin, determined blue eyes, and tanned, smooth skin. Stubble grew along his jaw, indicating the lack of a razor. He appeared tired, but it easily went unnoticed under his powerful intensity.
"Rebecca," I enlightened, deciding my name was as safe as anything to give. He didn't even glance down at me, staring impassively ahead.
After another few minutes without an answer, I hid my head back into his torso, simply gritting my teeth, refusing to mar the vest with my teeth again. His response was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
"Daryl."
I didn't offer anything signifying that I had heard him, but smiled inwardly, somehow happy with this piece of information.
It wasn't long before I began hearing the unique sounds of people. I didn't know whether we had already been close by, or if the large and quick strides of the man had made travel time faster. Murmuring, clanging, and laughter alerted me to the excess of people near. I couldn't distinguish if this was a good or bad thing. It could mean more trouble for me or it could mean less.
As I heard a distinctly childish giggle, I felt my whole body relax. Children were a good thing, children meant safety. While I expected the group to be twice as hostile as a normal if I were perceived as a danger, I knew with my incapacitated body, I wouldn't be presented as one, at least, not right away.
As we drew closer, I could hear the sound dying down as people were alerted to my presence. The pounding of footsteps, so different than Daryl's silent walk, ran up to me. I hid my face again, suddenly terrified of the unknown. A murmur of voices, gun clicks, and confusion hit my ears.
"Who is that?"
"Why'd you bring them here?"
"What were you thinking?"
"Are they okay?"
"Are they bit?"
I felt Daryl tense up, I knew that if I peeked up, a scowl would be displayed on his face.
"She ain't bit, I ain't that stupid," Daryl growled. He spit, it landing next to someone's feet as I heard them scuttle away.
Fear consumed me as someone spoke up. My heart gradually began to speed its rhythm, beating faster and faster. "Stupid enough to bring her here, now were gonna have to deal with this the hard way." I finally turned my head around to stare at a man with a shaved head and beady eyes. A wild expression was on his face as he held a gun pointed at my face, less than a foot from my nose. I narrowed my eyes at his slightly insane expression, instinctually leaning toward the person who was holding me, no longer thinking of Daryl as a threat compared to these people.
There was a house a ways up. Nearer to us, about twenty or so feet away, stood tents and a RV. I surveyed the area, noticing horses and cattle grazing in the fenced off land. It was a farm, seemingly untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse.
Another man, thinner, with a kinder face and slightly paler skin, placed a hand on the insane man's arm.
"Calm down Shane, we don't know if she's a threat yet."
I scanned the people surrounding me. There were five in total: the clear leader, the one restraining Shane from acting on his wish to kill me. Shane himself, his eyes flicking everywhere with a mad shine in them. A large, gentle looking black man, keeping his gun out, but not aiming it at anyone. An older man, a rifle slung across his back, who didn't point a weapon at me, just observed me with sympathetic eyes. And a blond woman, her hand clenched tightly around her gun, who kept glancing from the leader to Shane, unsure of whom to follow. I strained my eyes, searching her face.
"Andrea?" I breathed.
She hastily turned her gaze from the two conflicting men to me. Her eyes widened considerably.
"Rebecca?" she asked incredulously. I sucked in a breath. My heart pounded even more rapidly as she inched forward uncertainly. She let out a short, sharp chuckle. "You're alive?"
I felt my pulse thudding throughout my body, forcing my wound to become coated with even more blood. I nodded to her, mutely answering her question. I had made it out alive in all of this, so had she, apparently.
As Daryl jostled me harshly, I gasped. I inspected my wound, noticing it leaking crimson liquid all over Daryl's dark shirt.
I quickly rethought Andrea's question about me being alive. "Well, at least, I think so," I said quietly.
Black marred my vision as I turned my eyes back to everyone.
Andrea stepped forward again. I opened my mouth to reassure her I was alright.
And then I blacked out.
So…? Did you like it? I'll tell you what I wasn't happy with, my use of syntax. Just ugh, but when I reread it, I'm like, "I sorta like it like this!" And then I'd be like "but the vocabulary and sentence structure! It matches that of a zombified kindergartener!" But maybe I'm too harsh on myself. Then again, maybe I'm too easy.
So tell me how you felt about everyone and everything and my writing. I would love to know! Thanks for reading!