Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Survival Isn't An Option	By : Pilgrim Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 6775 -:- 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
- 17
- 18
- 19
Isabelle brushed her fingers over his throat as her lips left his skipping pulse and she walked away back to the fire, dropping the wooden skewer into the flames. Whatever his issue was she wasn’t ready to give up until he told her with no doubt that he wanted nothing to do with her. She glanced back at him, his eyes still looking out of the barn and a strange tension to his shoulders. Without further encouragement she kicked dirt over the fire and grabbed her bow and his crossbow as he stepped up to her. He motioned towards the small backdoor of the barn and without hesitation she followed him. His flung out arm stopped her as he pushed her back and closed the door. She peered over his shoulder and through the gap and pressed a hand to her mouth. Walkers in their hundreds were closing on their position.

“Your arm,” Daryl hissed, nodding towards the still fresh if somewhat cleaner cut on her arm. She’d washed it in the stream but it was still dripping blood.

“What do we do?” Isabelle whispered as she tore the lower half of her tank top off and wrapped it about the wound to reduce the scent.

          Daryl was shaking his head as he took in their surroundings. Isabelle followed suit and spotted a ladder, without thought she grabbed it and pushed it against the half collapsed hay store above them. Silently they made their way up before Daryl pushed the ladder away as the first walker stumbled through the wide open doorway beneath them. It snapped towards the clatter of the ladder and several more burst through. Isabelle bit her lip as she sank down on her stomach into the mouldy hay, the walkers below grumbling away and stumbling over the uneven floor. Daryl held his crossbow close, watching them also as he knelt in the hay.

          The sun was setting, they’d settled against the back of the hay store as the walkers stumbled below them. Isabelle picked at the hay, they’d become almost complacent to the threat below them, so much so that Isabelle had been dozing against Daryl’s shoulder. The group of walkers below had thinned somewhat but there were still enough to give them grief if they didn’t choose their timing to drop into their midst.

“We don’t have to be back until tomorrow,” Isabelle whispered before yawning as Daryl twitched once more nervously. “Calm down.”

          The hay store creaked ominously as Daryl shuffled and they exchanged a look. With no further announcement the wooden planks gave way and they tumbled amid hay and splintered wood to the earthen floor below. Pushing aside the plank on her leg Isabelle fought to her feet and glanced about wide eyed as the walkers stumbled towards them. Daryl shouted for her to run and without a second thought she turned and ran to the doorway barging walkers aside as she went. The twang of a crossbow echoed out across the barn but she didn’t turn to look. She ran desperately for the outer edge of the field and hurdled the fence, heading straight into the forest. In the gloom she stumbled to a standstill and looked around for Daryl.

          He was nowhere to be seen and she turned to head back towards the barn, before realising she’d lost her bow in the barn and one of her daggers. Carefully she pulled her remaining dagger free and stepped towards the clearing edge. There was no sight of Daryl, no noise other than that of the walkers stumbling after her path. She couldn’t stay any longer, they were drawing too close and the bandage around her arm was already sticky with fresh blood after her fall and mad run. A walker snapped and stumbled too close forcing her to retreat further into the forest. With a cry of frustration she turned and ran into the darkness.

Alone again, nothing but the distant caw of carrion birds picking at some recently deceased corpse. Isabelle shifted her position on the tree branch and ignored the walkers gathered below as yet another drop of blood fell to their desperately smacking lips from her fingertips. She glanced at the oozing wound on her arm and pushed against the skin again letting more blood drip down. It was a stupid thing to do but she was struggling to care right now. She was lost, in the middle of a forest with no idea how to get back to the prison and walkers were on her trail insistently with her wound. The pistol had run out of bullets after the first night, leaving her with just her dagger. She sighed heavily and shunted again, rubbing her fingers together until another drop fell.

          The stench of death wafted up to her afresh, the ever present smell of decay had haunted her for so many hours it had almost become negligible. A noise drew her attention to her right and she glanced towards a deer stumbling not too far away. It looked sickly but it would be enough to draw the walkers away. Carefully she felt the balance of her remaining dagger in her fingers and tracked the motion of the deer. Slowly she exhaled before throwing the dagger with as much force as she possessed straight for the deer’s heart. It missed the chest and instead severed its throat. Isabelle stared as it thrashed and flailed before collapsing and twitching, the walker’s insatiable hunger driving them to collapse onto the warm body instantly.

          With the area at the base of the tree clear she dropped and ran again, it didn’t matter that it was night. She was more likely to see the prison at night, if she was even heading in the right direction. The crunching and slurping of the flesh behind her slowly faded away as she ran further. Night passed into day as she stumbled onwards, she didn’t dare pause, didn’t dare look back. The only pause she took was at the streams she crossed. Weariness ached her bones as she spotted a small group of shops still standing in the apocalypse. Vaguely she recognised them, the baby store and the small grocery store and she stumbled onwards, falling through the door and pressing her back to it. If there were walkers in the room it would hardly matter, she couldn’t run anymore. Night was closing in again and she needed to rest, needed to sleep. Clumsily she made her way to the back of the store and collapsed under a fallen stand, the small triangular gap barely big enough for her to fit into.

          Nightmares plagued her and she stirred long before dawn, taking a can and eating the cold contents without thought. Carefully she pulled the torn strip of material from her arm, the skin was hot and a furious crimson all around it. Her fingers ached, her wrist, all the way up to her shoulder. She needed to get back to the camp, Hershel might yet be able to cure her of the growing infection. Leaning back she let the air to the wound and ignored the pain with slow breaths. The prison was near, these shops were close in a car, perhaps just a couple of hours on foot but she hadn’t paid attention to the drive here or back. Did she turn left or right out of this place? Which road… she realised she had a fever and it was burning through her conscious thought.

          In a haze she stumbled from the buildings and turned left to follow the road hopefully in the way of the prison. Stumbling and half blind it felt like an eternity to put one foot in front of the other. The road swirled and swayed in front of her and she frowned at the increasing colours making kaleidoscopes. There was a noise, a distant whirring, and something changing in her vision. Isabelle stumbled one last time and landed on her side on the tarmac, for a moment she could see again but as briefly as it flashed it disappeared.

“Belle?” A distant voice echoed in her mind distantly.

          Isabelle peeled her eyes open as something pressed against her arm. Fiery hot pain raced through her body and she screamed as her sense came back momentarily. Daryl’s fingers were pulling the wrapping off and he looked appalled at the sight of the wound. Carefully he and Rick lifted her between them and got her into the back seat of the car. Silently she slumped sideways on the seat and drifted into unconsciousness.

“Hold her still, we have to seal the wound,” Hershel’s voice drifted to her distantly.

          Isabelle screamed as a needle pierced her already tender skin and her eyes shot open to take in the prison cell. Hershel was on his stool gripping her wrist tightly as he worked on stitching the wound. Rick was pressing down on her elbow and Daryl lent his weight onto her shoulder, keeping her rigid. Tears burnt her eyes as Hershel plucked the needle through repeatedly and her free hand gripped Daryl’s arm tightly as her entire body shook with pain. She was going to throw up or pass out, she didn’t know which and thrashed against the restraining hands.

“Stay still Belle,” Daryl hissed as he pushed her shoulder back down. “It’s got to be done.”

          Isabelle glared at him then at Hershel, almost out of her mind at the agony. Her eyes widened as Hershel lifted a white hot piece of thin metal and she realised what he was going to do. She begged and pleaded and fresh tears raced to her eyes. Her voice failed her as the metal pressed down and her nose was assaulted with the stench of burning flesh. Darkness pressed at the edges of her vision but she wasn’t going to be put out of this world again, she had fainted too much. Spent too long in the darkness, she slowed her breathing and focused on that, pressing her face into the pillow and ignoring the pain as best she could. Finally it was over, Hershel smoothing some herbal mix over the scorched skin.

          Glancing back she stared dumbly at the now large scar on her arm. Just another one to add to her growing collection. All those years she’d imagined the worst looking parts of her body would be her feet, how was she supposed to make this look beautiful? Slowly Rick and Daryl released her and she sat up, fighting down tears for a different reason now. She knew it was stupid to cry over something as petty as her looks in this world, knew that everyone would think her stupid. At the same time, even in this world her looks could have been as much of a weapon as a drawback. Hershel began to wrap her arm in clean bandages and she watched silently as he told her how and when to change it, as if she’d never used bandages to keep holding her body together.

          Hershel whispered and ushered the men out and she sat silently in the quiet of her cell and looked at her fingers. Softly she pressed each tip of her finger to her thumb, at least she still had full use of her extremities. Beth appeared at her doorway, and dropped onto the bed next to her. Fingers wrapped into her left hand and Isabelle looked at the younger girl.

“You ok?” Beth whispered.

“Yeah…” Isabelle brushed the tears away but they were still coming.

“I can get you some more pain killers if you need them,” Beth held a tissue out to her and Isabelle took it with a soft laugh.

“It doesn’t hurt really,” Isabelle smiled back at Beth’s raised eyebrow. “It’s nothing, just a silly thought.”

“Tell me,” Beth shuffled closer and wrapped an arm about her shoulders and Isabelle leaned into the welcoming embrace.

“I just feel like everything I was is gone, my dancing, my lifestyle, my family, my looks… that’s what I’m crying over! This scar, I’m no longer beautiful,” Isabelle broke into fresh tears. “It’s so stupid and I can’t stop thinking it.”

“Don’t think of it as losing what you were, think of it as you growing into something new. Like a butterfly from a caterpillar!” Beth soothed. “What you are now is so much more than what you were before.”

          Isabelle looked at the teenager, with her words wise beyond her years and kind eyes. Even Beth seemed to fit into this world, her youthful hope, adaptability and her innate knowledge of how to make people feel better. Who was she and what was her role in this world? She could do a mediocre job of a hunt unless you had Daryl on offer, she wasn’t even any good at assisting. There was nothing special about her. Once again she was lost in her uselessness. She eased herself free of Beth’s hug.

“I’m sure there’s something we should be getting on with,” Isabelle smiled and stumbled to her feet shakily.

“Oh no, you need to rest that arm, dad’s orders,” Beth intoned forcefully only to back down at Isabelle’s glare.

“I am not sitting around doing nothing, I’ll go insane,” Isabelle stated.

          Carefully she made her way into the corridor, Carol watching her carefully and instantly Daryl was in front of her frowning at Beth. Isabelle glanced back and realised Beth had been meant to keep her in the cell to rest. She laughed and shook her head as she walked past, ignoring the quiver of her legs at the loss of adrenaline. She slumped onto the bench outside and pulled a bucket of potatoes closer and a knife. Daryl dropped into the seat opposite her.

“You need to rest,” He ordered.

“No, I need to do something,” Isabelle responded. “Would you just lie in bed while a bit of a wound healed?”

“It’s not a bit of a wound Belle, you’ve been out of it for almost a week. Hershel’s been fighting to keep you alive, the least you can do is look after yourself now,” Daryl snapped.

“Another week? Seriously? You think I should lounge around and wait for things to get better?” Isabelle stared at him dumbfounded.

“We had to resuscitate you, your heart stopped because of the blood infection,” Daryl glared at her. “We only just got you back.”

          Isabelle blinked a couple of times numbly, she’d died. It had almost all been over and then they’d brought her back.
- 17
- 18
- 19
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Survival Isn't An Option