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Survival Isn't An Option	By : Pilgrim Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 6774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters from the series. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Isabelle stirred slowly, pushing the blanket from her body before realising it shouldn’t have been there in the first place. She’d fallen asleep before she’d had the chance to pull it up. Blinking in the light of the mid morning sun she eased herself upright. She needed to get some form of curtain up, it must have been glaring for Daryl as well in the upper bunk… if he ever slept there! She was sure the man didn’t sleep. Turning to the chair she swore as a lifeless body presented itself in the bright light. Pressing herself against the concrete wall she fought down the panic as she realised it was only Daryl, not a stranger or a walker. His head rested against the concrete wall, eyes closed and jaw slack with sleep. She watched silently as his chest rose and fell regularly, it looked as if he’d fallen asleep watching her sleep, his face still turned towards where she had been. Releasing her breath, Isabelle shuffled from the bed, tugging her boots on as quietly as possible before heading for the cell door. “You ok?” His deep voice rippled from behind her, causing her to jump again in surprise. She released a shuddering breath.
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” Isabelle apologised, turning to face him without meeting his eyes. “Thanks for the blanket.”
“You were shivering,” Daryl stated as he leaned forwards, elbows on his knees as he watched her. “You were crying again, as well.”
“Sorry, just bad dreams,” Isabelle explained brusquely, not wanting to explain how every night she went back to the bonfire.
“Hershel said you wanted to talk to me about something? Do you wanna talk now?” Daryl queried, concern still in his eyes as she fought to meet his gaze without blushing. What was it with this redneck that rendered her useless?
“No, sorry he must have misunderstood,” Isabelle stuttered through the words clumsily. “I’m just…”
“Isabelle, you can talk to me you know. I ain’t gonna judge you,” Daryl left the chair to come and stand directly in front of her. Instinctively she stepped back, wanting more space between them. Her back collided with the wall and the chill of panic at being trapped flooded her senses.
“I’m fine, really. Thank you,” she whispered in response. “I just, I need some time,” the words fell from her lips quickly as she brushed past him and fled the prison. She needed the open air, space, room to breathe and didn’t stop walking until she reached the perimeter fence. Her fingers looped through the chill metal links and she gripped tightly, grounding herself against the metal. Slowing her breath, focusing on the here and now she pushed back the remaining cold tendrils of the ghost hands. They slowly retreated from her throat and her breath came more steadily.
Silently her eyes met those of a walker. The clouded pupils drawing her attention as it reached a rotten arm towards her. Stretching through the outer chain links as if it could reach her, the bare teeth gnashing in frustration. Isabelle rested her forehead against the chains, she was safe here. The gap between the two fences more than sufficient to remove any threat from the walkers patrolling the outside. Her eyes locked with the walker. What had stopped her from meeting that fate? Really? Had it been some form of unknown survival skills on her part? Luck? No, she knew the answer, no matter what he said. It had been Daryl. If he hadn’t found her she would have been feeding the corpses that now trudged towards her, she might even have joined their ranks. Right now, she could have been on the other side of the fence. The pain, the loss, everything gone but the need to feed on flesh. Her fingers wrapped more tightly about the chain link in an effort to ground herself again. To stop the panic, the despair and the disgust that rose from her thoughts. She shouldn’t be here. Pulling the dagger from the holster strapped to her belt she turned the sharpened blade over in her hand. With little more thought she pressed the blade into her palm and drew it slowly across.
The crimson ran down her fingers, the pleasure radiating from the open wound as her mind cleared. All the thoughts falling away like leaves from a tree. Snapping jaws drew her attention and she stared at the walker as it thrashed against the fence to get to her. Squeezing more blood from the cut she wiped her hand over the fence, watching as the droplets beaded together and the walker grew more frantic. It started to throw itself forcefully against the fence, creating a small ruckus as the fence rattled. Two more stumbled closer, drawn by the noise and the smell. They pressed themselves against the fence as their arms waved futilely in her direction. She smiled faintly, before turning back to look at the prison. Sure enough she spotted the silhouette of Daryl near the gateway. His arms folded over his chest and it was clear he had seen everything. Her eyes locked with his in challenge as she pressed her nails into the wound and shuddered at the twisted rush. He’d already seen her sick little secret, there was no point hiding it now.
Pushing herself away from the fence she made her way back towards the prison, glancing back at the walkers once more. She envied them, their simple existence, all of their struggles and stresses over. “You know, it’s easier to talk,” Daryl muttered as she finally reached him. Isabelle paused she stood alongside him and met his eyes more confidently. Anger and frustration rose in her, how dare he have followed her, how dare he presume to know her!
“Is that what you do to get over your past?” Isabelle quipped back instantly, regretting her words just as quickly. The flash of pain in his eyes was hidden swiftly but it was there for long enough for her to catch it.
Silently Daryl gritted his teeth, not looking at her for a moment. A spark of fear went through her, had she pushed it too far? She didn’t know anything about him really, making such remarks was not wise. This was not the diplomatic ballet corps, he didn’t have to be civil or even acknowledge her if he didn’t want to. She had no power here, no influence, she didn’t even have a single element of control. He kept coming back to her because he seemed to care, for a reason that evaded her. “Let me see your hand,” he finally responded, holding his hand out for hers.
“It’s fine,” Isabelle responded, turning it over to show him the cut. “I didn’t go deep,” she whispered, feeling ashamed to admit the cut despite the fact that he had just seen her do it for himself.
“You should get it cleaned, come on,” Daryl motioned for her to accompany him back into the prison.
“Daryl, it’s ok I’ll sort it,” Isabelle closed her fingers over it again.
“Beth’s in there,” he muttered, shrugging as he turned back to watching the walkers at the fence. Isabelle followed his gaze and winced as more collected around where she had been. They were pressing against the fence, curving it inward slightly. “Perhaps next time, don’t do it where the walkers are.” He stepped away from her, drawing a dagger as he neared the fence. She watched him enter the walkway and methodically stab the walkers, cleaning up her mess without another word.
Glancing back at him mercilessly stabbing another walker in the head before heading inside she wondered once again what his story was. Where he’d come from and how he’d come to be here. She got the impression that no one really knew, that the question had been asked more times than any cared to admit and never answered. Stepping into the hallway Beth smiled from the picnic table, her arms safely cradling the baby. Hershel opposite her, mixing some formula as the baby sucked on Beth’s finger hungrily. The young girl cooing at her softly. “I er, cut my hand, is there a bandage anywhere?” Isabelle muttered in embarrassment as they both turned to look at her in surprise.
“That looks bad, what did you do?” Beth asked, wide eyed at the blood still dripping from Isabelle’s fingers.
“It’s not that bad,” Isabelle blushed as she headed towards the cabinet Hershel was pointing to. “Thanks,” she pulled several different boxes out before finding the right one and taking a seat with them.
“You want a hand?” Hershel asked gently.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Isabelle smiled back, already holding the padding in place and beginning to wind the bandage around securely. “Would you be able to teach me how to do more first aid though? If that’s all right?”
“Of course I can, the world needs more healers in it now,” Hershel smiled widely, causing her own smile to break through more genuinely.
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Nausea, rolling through her body, and turning her world upside down. Isabelle stumbled out of the bed, collapsing onto her hands and knees and shuddering. Instantly a hand was on her back, Daryl’s voice, slightly panicked asking what was wrong. A cold hand pressed to her forehead and she shrank away fitfully, rolling onto her side as the world span and swirled. In the distance she could hear a panicked voice calling for Hershel, heavy footsteps leaving and returning and another hand pressed to her forehead. Pain ripped through her palm as the bandage was pulled away and she cried out despite herself. She thrashed feebly against the restraining hands as she was lifted and dropped back onto the mattress.
“Blood poisoning,” Hershel’s distorted voice echoed eerily in her mind. More words joined but she couldn’t hear them as she struggled to stay conscious and away from the hands that were pawing at her. Pulling jumpers over her head, cold compresses against her forehead and over her chest. Something about a temperature but it couldn’t have been about her, she was freezing. Who would be cruel enough to put cold wet cloths on her?
Next thing she knew someone was ramming their fingers into her jaw and prising it open, dropping something solid in and then pouring a cold liquid. She tried to spit it out only for the hand to clamp over her nose until she swallowed them. Gasping and spluttering she waved ineffectually at the shadow people moving around her. Someone shouted her name and she sat upright, startled at the familiarity of the voice.
“Jacob?” She cried out, searching blindly through the forest, brushing aside branches as they smacked against her suddenly tender body. “Jacob, don’t leave me,” she screamed.
A large branch landed over her chest and she fell to the soft leaf strewn floor. Struggling to release herself from it she thrashed violently. The branch twisted and turned and then she was looking at Daryl. Concerned eyes almost touching hers and he was saying something but she couldn’t understand, it didn’t make sense! She felt her lips move, words fall freely from them as he leaned forwards and fell through her. Tumbling head over heels down a concrete slope she tried to stop herself, she needed to get back to Daryl. He stopped the world from spinning, it made sense when he was around even if she was deaf. His cold hand touched her cheek and she stopped tumbling with a sickening clarity. The world cleared and she blinked as she focused on the blue eyes boring into her soul. “It’s ok, take these and then get some sleep,” he whispered as she blinked blearily at him.
“But the forest, what if I can’t find you,” Isabelle mumbled as the panic rose and she grasped his arm tightly. “The tablets make the forest thicker,” she explained, pushing away the tablets in his hand.
“Not these ones, they’ll make sure you can find me again,” Daryl muttered as he pressed them to her lips again.
Isabelle nodded as she took them with the water. “Don’t lose me, I’m so lost,” Isabelle pleaded. “So lost in the forest, darkness and hands and I’m scared. Jacob, he left me, he did… things and then he left me,” Isabelle explained urgently. “Bad things, things that forests shouldn’t have,” she whispered.
“It’s all right, he won’t find you,” the words whispered through her mind as she slipped out of consciousness. Aware of nothing more than a warm arm still trapped in her fingers grasp.
- 9
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- 11
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Survival Isn't An Option