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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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          The kindly voice of Hershel stirred her, his sweet and caring face to her right. Blinking through the sweat that was pouring down and over her eyes was a tough trial to fight through but something told her she had to keep pushing through the urge to fall back asleep, or had she been unconscious? A cool cloth pressed to her forehead and she moaned at the sweet pleasure of it. How long had it been? A day? Two? Or just a few hours. It felt like an eternity, everything hurting, breath rattling and a temperature bordering on a furnace that was scorching her very soul. A cup pressed to her lips, the sweet taste of berries and other ingredients, possibly even honey trickled soothingly down her throat. The warmth from the drink a different kind of heat, calming her insides so that the nausea abated just for a moment.
“You’re doing better than the rest,” Hershel whispered. “Got a secret?”
“Kaley said to sit up,” Isabelle huskily broke out. “Not sure it’ll help when I get to the drowning stage though.”
“Well it looks to be working so far,” Hershel pressed another cold compress to her head.
“Any sign of Daryl?” Isabelle crackled, coughing the bubbling blood aside and not caring if her obsession with Daryl was more obvious.
“Not yet, it’s only been a couple of hours though,” Hershel offered another drink. “He’ll come back, don’t you worry.”
          Isabelle nodded but she saw the doubt in Hershel’s eyes. She was too tired to question it. Besides, what was there to question? He was out in the world, they both knew the odds were 50/50… he’d either return or he wouldn’t. She could hear Caleb coughing in the cell next to hers and others gurgling their life away. It sounded dire and she wondered how many would leave this cell block walking and how many under sheets with holes in their brains. In the distance a walker hissed again, several cells away and she pondered who had lost the fight this time. Slowly she looked at Hershel again, at the faint remnants of blood that had been splattered onto his forehead from someone’s cough. He smiled, knowing full well she had seen.
“Don’t worry about Daryl, just focus on getting better,” Hershel repeated.
“What are the odds of me walking out of this cell, not as a walker?” Isabelle questioned after coughing up yet more blood.
“Let’s not worry about the odds,” Hershel stated, pressing the cup again to her lips.
“Not high then,” Isabelle brushed the droplets away.
“Get some rest,” She watched as he hobbled away and closed the cell door once more.
          Isabelle shuffled, easing the pain in her lower back by pushing a pillow under it. It lowered her head but meant she had a spine again. Another walker hissed, this one from the upper floor. They were dropping like flies. The sound of them left her tense, they were too close but who was left that was capable of killing them. The best she could hope for was that they stayed behind bars. She coughed again, more blood coming up and she struggled to catch her breath again. It was coming, the end was coming. Gasping she sat further upright, how was she supposed to stop from drowning in her own blood? Barely capable of thinking and hardly conscious she threw herself onto her chest and tipped her head over the side of the bed. Blood poured freely but as it left air seeped in, stinging and cold it pierced into her lungs. The cloud of her vision cleared and she stayed hanging over the side, her chin against the cold metal.
          The door rattled open and a hand patted over her back, loosening more blood clots onto the floor. Pillows pushed against her chest and made the downward tilt more extreme without infringing on her lungs capacity to expand. Wearily she glanced up at Hershel, concern etched over his face. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t try to scare me like that again, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Sorry, just didn’t fancy drowning tonight,” Isabelle gasped. “I’m ok now, I’ll sleep like this… just in case.” Hershel retreated once more. “Hershel, lock my door.”
          Isabelle met his gaze seriously and nodded as he bolted the door and locked it quietly. Silently she let her head hang down once more and closed her eyes. In her head she told herself it was to stop any walkers from getting in, in her heart it was the fear of what might get out. With a shuddering breath she forced the panic away and focused on keeping her breaths even and steady. She would beat this, she had to beat this. Fitfully she dozed off again among coughs and gurgling chokes.
          Morning rose, the chill air piercing through the bars. Her breath shuddered but there was no gargling, she’d made it. One night down. Surely that meant her odds had improved? Carefully she sat up, her chest aching and her throat raw. The pool of blood had congealed, taking over most of the floor in a thin sticky layer. Her eyes took her in the colour of hands, an ethereal grey and sickly yellow hue. Too much blood loss, stiffly she swung her legs round and rapped against the door. Hershel was there almost instantly, his eyes showed his shock at seeing her alive.
“Well you know, I like to keep all of you on your toes,” Isabelle groaned out. “Can I have some water to drink and wash with please?”
“Not going to lie, I didn’t think you’d be here,” Hershel smiled as he unlocked the door and pointed to the water supply. “Glad you are though.”
“Is Daryl…” Isabelle whispered only to receive Hershel’s kind smile and the shake of his head. Not back yet then, they’d been out all night. Holding back her fears she shuffled over, muttering thanks as she helped herself to a drink, a sponge and half a bucket of water. Sloughing the blood from her skin before she turned to mopping the floor of her cell.
          Satisfied at the cleaner surfaces she made her way into the corridor. As much as her appetite had deserted her she knew she needed to eat. Fingers wrapping about an apple she bit into it as she walked down the cells and ignored the stain of blood under her nails. Men and women were sprawled on their cots, some breathing, some choking and some ready to turn. She drew her dagger and finished those already gone. Hershel frowned at her but no one had seen her ministrations and at least it kept their walker problem at bay for now. A desperate sounding cough erupted from up the stairs, she turned her eyes to the stairs as Mika called out only for another shout to erupt as Hershel was sent flying. Her fingers fled to her dagger and she pulled it free as two more walkers appeared, each biting into another victim. It was happening again, only this time there was no one outside of the cell block left to help.
          Stumbling she thrust the dagger into the temple of one, the second thrust missed and the walker lunged for her, sending her flying to the floor. Her vision swirling she fought desperately against the weight of the man and finally managed to get her dagger into his head. Hayley, a once pretty girl stumbled towards her, blood pouring from her eyes and mouth and Isabelle shouted out for help. Her energy all but gone with the loss of blood from the previous night. Exhaustion making her limbs tremble she fought her way back onto her feet and pushed the walker backwards only for another to emerge from a cell to her right. Why weren’t there any guns here? She hadn’t realised how much effort went into the dagger.
          Isabelle screamed for Hershel, Glenn, Sasha, anyone but it was just chaos. She could hear gunshots from outside, a click of a shotgun and Hayley and the man were on her. She kicked at the walker at her feet as Hayley bit into the knife, her jaws split on the blade and thankfully the blade pressed far enough back to pierce the brain. A shotgun fire went off and the man at her ankles fell away. Too tired to brush the bodies away from her she stayed with the corpses on top of her ignoring the stench of death and illness. There was noise further up, it sounded like they were struggling to keep someone alive. She could wait, the weight of Hayley, the feel of her blood was hardly a concern anymore. Peace had been restored to the cell block.
          A couple of people shuffled forwards from their cells, pulling the corpses away from her. A man she thought was called Joseph pulled her to her feet even as he coughed and together they made it to the picnic table. Silently they sat looking at each other. Isabelle glanced down at her sodden frame, the dress soaked through with blood once more. She was rapidly giving up any hope of ever feeling clean again, of ever getting the stain of blood from her skin. A clattering from outside heralded Tyreese’s frantic entrance and Isabelle pointed to Sasha’s cell. Carefully she patted Joseph’s hand and headed back to her cell. The door shuddering closed as her strength came and went.
“Belle?” The voice she had prayed to hear called out urgently and she paused her pathetic attempt at pulling the door shut.
“Daryl?” She called out, barely able to get the name from her chapped lips.
          Within an instant he was there, whether a figment of her imagination or an actual person she didn’t care. If she was dying there was no one else she’d rather see. He barged through the door and wrapped her in a bear hug, not questioning the blood, apparently not even noticing it as his fingers tangled in her matted hair and pressed her head into his chest. Isabelle returned it with tears of relief, joy… she didn’t know what they were other than they were no longer blood. Fingers knotted into his waistcoat and refused to let go even as he eased her head backwards to look her in the eyes.
          The world stopped as their gaze met and spun dizzily back into reality as his eyes raked over every iota of her face. She knew she looked awful, knew the pallor of her skin hardly gave confidence for her health. His frown confirmed her suspicions. Apparently Hel would have looked healthier at this precise moment in time. It didn’t matter he was here… and he shouldn’t be.
“You should be in here; you’ll get sick…” Isabelle pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter, we got the medicine Caleb needed,” Daryl muttered slowly extricating his clothing from her clasp. “You ok?”
          He was looking her up and down, finally seeing the blood. “It’s not mine,” Isabelle whispered. “There were walkers, I got stuck.”
          The world swirled and her eyes saw nothing but darkness, what had remained of her adrenaline had finally left her. The last glimpse of light catching Daryl’s face, broken in concern was burned into her memory.
          It was dark, quiet and cold by the time she woke again. A thin blanket covered her and she was back on the cot. The dress had been replaced with another, several sizes too large and with a skirt so voluminous it could have acted as a tent. There wasn’t any noise at all, something wasn’t right. Stiffly Isabelle pushed herself onto her elbows, her throat was dry and her lips chapped. How long had it been since she’d had a drink? If anyone asked she would have quite confidently told them that her throat and tongue had been replaced with parchment. With a groan she made her way to the cell door and looked through to an empty cell block, medical equipment, clothes, all sorts were scatted around as if they had been dropped in great haste. Her cell door wasn’t locked at least and she tugged it open just wide enough for her once again emaciated frame to squeeze through.
          It was abandoned? There was no one here. Her bare feet scuffed against the concrete floor, it was the only noise in hearing distance. First things first she need a drink, a weapon and shoes of some form and then she needed to find where everyone else was. Had they just cleared the block ready to be cleaned and left her to sleep? It seemed unlikely and she couldn’t hear any other breaths, sleeping or awake. There wasn’t even the groan of a walker. Shakily she drank several cups of water and filled a bottle to take with her to the other cell block. The walk back to her temporary cell was almost draining to the point of exhaustion and she rested on the picnic table half way. A kitchen knife left casually on the surface presented her with the weapon she’d been after. Her dagger must be around somewhere but the more she took in her surroundings the less confidence she had that finding it was going to be a priority.
          There was a smell of burning, a faded smell of smoke and oil. It was setting her on edge. These were not the smells of the camp, and then it hit her. The almost overwhelming stench of death and decay, it was as if… but it couldn’t be… had the prison been over run? Was there a way to see from in this cell without opening the main cell block door? Her eyes took in the faint moonlight pouring through the barred windows high above. If she was careful she might be able to see through them by climbing over the balcony. Carefully she made her way up the stairs and precariously balanced on the railings as she leaned forwards. Hands just grasping the bars she pulled herself onto the sloped sill of the window and looked out.
          Her heart sank lower than she thought it could do, it was past her feet. The courtyard was full of walkers, the fence in the distance was hidden beneath the horde. To the left was a tank, still smoking but only faintly. What the hell had happened? One thing was clear, the prison was abandoned and she had been left behind in the chaos. Slowly she made her way back onto the railing and over onto the balcony. Numbly she slid her back down the wall and pushed her fingers into greasy hair. She had been left and there was no way out apart from through the prison or through the courtyard. Worse than that… she was on her own, truly on her own.
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Survival Isn't An Option