Nothin' or Somethin'
Chapter 11-Missed a Spot
The deadhead fell on me then and I quickly block it from taking a bite out of my face with an arm shoved on its neck. It desperately snaps its jaw at me, blood dripping from it, while its now fingerless hands repeatedly smack against me, desperate to get a hold. Luckily, I succeeded in removing their ability to grab anything before tripping on god knows what. Now would be a good time for Rick to at lend a hand and retrieve my knife for me. But that's probably asking too much from dumbass Officer Friendly. I mean he hasn't said another word, so he probably accepted my words and went off to god knows where.
"Yer a heavy fuck." I grumble turning my head to the side to see what I was doing while struggling to keep it up and away not having the strength to push it off while reaching for a blasted jumbo windshield washer bottle, said thing that tripped me, to smash it against its head. As an empty hand would only be asking for it to be bit. So not a good idea.
"F'a you freshie!" I exclaim as I get a hold of the blasted thing and proceed to smash the side of its head with the bottle with enough force to send the deadhead to the side. I make quick work of moving and pinning its arms under my legs and head down with the bottle. "God I really hate fresh ones." I breathe out then taking the time to get my breath while looking towards the swing door, sure enough faced with no Rick in sight, as the deadhead just keeps snapping its jaw, trying in vain to get a chunk of my flesh.
That's when the swing door slams open revealing an annoyed Daryl and somewhat concerned Rick; guess he went to get Daryl just in case. Though just in case bitch was a late bitch. Couldn't handle being back up on your own could you Officer Friendly.
"The hell ya doin?" Daryl growls so I tell him "What it looks like, handling it." before turning my attention back to the deadhead, raise the bottle, and smash it down. Annoyingly it didn't do much with a single full force blow, so I bring it up and smash it down again muttering "Stupid useless bottle tripped me up." Again, I raise the bottle and smash it down, this time with a "Freshie just a pain in the ass like always." Then I raise and smash with each word "So. God. Damned. Annoying!" before breathing out a "Finally." with a final smash when its head is finally smashed open, dead brain chunks getting everywhere. On the list of what not to use as a weapon against the deadheads, a jumbo windshield washer bottle. I mean I don't foresee me ever needing to use one again or ever choosing too, but still.
They're both silent so I lean back and shake my hands free of some chunks that got on them with a muttering of "I really hate fresh ones." "Fresh?" Rick questions then, obviously confused, causing me to sigh out "Do I really have to tell ya everything?" This of course earns an annoyed sound from Daryl and a sigh from Rick. Releasing a sigh, myself, I stand before using the hem of my relatively clean shirt to clean off the parts of my face I could feel had chunks, instantly causing the two to look away from me, while I start to explain "Freshly turned. No rigor mortis yet." Finishing my task, I return my shirt to its proper place, as I continue "Still relatively quick and can still see the difference between the living and the dead regardless of smell. Annoying pains in the ass they are. Though, I guess some could be a little more docile depending on the person or situation. So, I guess I can't blame ya too much. I've only ever come across the annoying ones."
"How fresh would you say this one was?" Rick questions then, leader voice active, coming to the reality of what I've said, finally looking back over at me. "Few hours at least. Definitely less than a day. Probably killed the deadhead clerk we saw out front before coming in here. We'd have to check it to see if it's the one that took the chunk out of his arm or not." I say nudging said arm with my foot. Though, it did look a little too big to simply be a deadhead bite. Maybe an animal?
"Na, think it was the dead dog I found behind the counter. Had some fresh knife wounds and blood on 'em. No sign of any bites neither." Daryl pipes up with then, finally looking back at me, causing me to nod voicing "Ah, so that's what it was. Makes sense. The state of this place could indicate a dog was living here and this fudge nut probably attacked it to try and eat it or keep it from eating the rest of the food." Before looking back at the dead guy and giving him a nice kick for good measure with a "Got what ya deserved huh. Couldn't just leave it be."
They're both giving me a weird look now when I look back at them causing me to tell them "What? Are ya really gonna say killin' a dog is necessary right now? A dog has more benefits to us by being alive than just being food. Even if the dog'd gone feral it can be domesticated again." "'av a point." Daryl grumbles while Rick says a "True." Before muttering "Man's best friend." Oh, still a sore spot is it? Well his quote 'best friend' wanted to kill him and he took care of the problem.
"Anyway, where the hell'd my knife go? Losing a weapon is not something we can afford." I question before looking to the ground muttering "I'm gonna have to end up tyin' the fuckin' thing to my hand." "There." Daryl voices then so I glance up at him and slowly follow where he was pointing and subsequently looking to the furthest of the shelves. Sure, as shit there it was, it's handle barely stopping it from going fully under the blasted thing. How the hell'd he spot it so quick? You know what, he probably saw it when he looked away from me.
"How the hell'd it get all the way over there?" I mutter going to retrieve it as Rick voices "Let's get back to the group." Before he leaves to more than likely do just that. "How many more times?" I grumble to my knife as I bend down to pick it up. Straitening when I get it, I turn to head back myself only to be faced with freaking Daryl, again, earning another exclaimed "Fuckin' hell Daryl! The hell ya doin'?!" as I involuntarily step back and subsequently into the freaking shelves.
"Ya missed a spot." He says, amusement clear on his face but does take a small step back, earning a confused "What?" as I look up at him. He sighs before he pulls the rag from his back pocket and then brushes it to the side of my face a few times grumbling something under his breath. Finally registering what's going on I smack his arm away with a "I-I'm not a kid." And quickly shove past him, heading back to the group while feeling my face burn in embarrassment that my voice cracked a little. I'm just gonna crawl in a hole and die.
"Old Man'd say otherwise." I hear his amused tone say behind me, meaning he was following me back. "Ya an old man now?" I snap back earning what sounded like an amused laugh from him before he caught himself and scoffed "I ain't old. I meant yer dad. Merle too." "Well, yer older than me." I say, my own amusement lacing my words then earning a "Not by much right?" "Oh? Askin' a woman her age now are we Dixon? Don't ya know ya don't do that?" I laugh out which earns an annoyed but also amused "Fuck off." "Hey, ya following me and kept talkin'. Not the other way around." I state back which just earns an angry grunt.
That's when we get close to the re-joined group and my family's attention instantly snaps to us, well Daryl only a glance before zeroing in on me. "Rick said you had some trouble with a walker. You alright?" Hershel questions then, father voice active, so I simply nod with a huff of annoyance. Where's the faith? I was taking care of myself long before the dead started to walk. What's the difference now that they do?