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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 scrabbled for her dagger which had spun away as she fell. Three times her fingers just brushed the handle and with every second she was being dragged further away from it. Finally, she got a hold of it and twisted desperately as her chest slid through the windowsill. She sank the blade into the man’s hand, kicked him in the face and grimaced at the sound of a breaking nose. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her and she pulled herself back onto the roof and ran full tilt to the end, the next house was too far away to jump to and already there was a man coming out of the window behind her. Her heart was in her chest, it was pounding too hard and too fast. She looked down, it was only one floor, but that still made it about an 8-foot drop. With only the slightest trepidation she dropped onto her knees and rammed her fingers into the gutter as she slipped her legs over the side. The guttering gave way immediately under her weight and showered her with mouldy leaves and congealed algae dense water. Her ankles gave way as they impacted with hard earth but she didn’t stop to acknowledge the pain as she pushed herself upright and sprinted as fast as she could.
          Pushing herself to her absolute limits Isabelle didn’t stop until her legs gave way and thrust her forwards on the tarmac. She ignored the burn on her knees and gasped for breath as she struggled to stand, if she couldn’t run she needed to hide. Flailing and stumbling she ran to the nearest house and threw herself into the first small room she could find. Desperately she sprawled behind the door and pulled it open so that it made a triangle of protection with the wall. She prayed that the men would be looking for a closed door, suggesting someone was locked inside. Isabelle pinched her nose to ease the pounding headache and block out the smell of the rancid water that was coating her. Gradually she gained control back over her breathing and she could hear the distant sounds of the men. One swearing about his hand, his rough voice carrying over the distance.
          They were getting closer but slowly. Isabelle fought to control her fear, pushed the rising terror down. This was nothing more than standing on the wings before a solo. You had to be still, calm and quiet and not let anyone know you were there even though they all did you had to keep them guessing as to where exactly you would twirl from. They were in the house, at least two of them and her stomach sank. Muttering and cursing and battering furniture, her hands were trembling so violently she was sure they would hear them and she pushed them under her armpits as she bit her lip. Isabelle had never believed in God, or any other religion but right now she’d have sacrificed her first born, her own soul, her eternal self to anyone willing to listen and spare her. She couldn’t go like this, not like this.
          Whether someone heard her silent prayers or she just lucked out she didn’t know but the men left and slowly the groups voices receded as they continued up the road. Tears trailed down her cheeks again and she pulled her knees up to her chest, pressing her eyes into them as she sobbed the horror free. What had happened to Corinne? She’d just left her, she’d run like a little terrified girl and not even tried to help her. Isabelle brushed the tears away and stumbled to her feet. She couldn’t stay in these houses, not on this estate. It was time to leave. After an hour of fearful waiting she made her way to the front door and peered both ways down the street. The sun was directly overhead now, the morning long gone and afternoon speeding quickly ahead. Satisfied that there was no one in the area Isabelle stepped free of the house and headed in the opposite direction that she had heard the men go in. Silently and carefully she hurried quickly towards the road she hoped would lead away from this housing area.
          After several hours of nervous travelling, and a desperate wash in a stream to remove the stinking residue of the gutter, she had made it to a new cul de sac where the houses were even further apart than before. It looked like once it would have been a wealthy suburb with sprawling lawns in front of each house, somewhere she would once have dreamed of living in luxury. The sun was sitting on the horizon ahead, getting ready to cast a deeper darkness over the world and she needed to find somewhere secure for the night. It didn’t sit well with her to stay in one of these houses, they felt too grand for what she had become. Even if they were dilapidated and untended now, one of them had lost their balcony, its curved balustrade now piercing through the wall of a fountain long since dried up. She felt how they looked, the elegant beautiful ballerina who had once danced in diamond encrusted tiaras now torn down to dirt and muck as her crowning glory with gems of encrusted blood instead of rubies. Leather in place of silk in both her clothing and her skin, she looked at the tattered skin of her hands and pushed them into her pockets.
Isabelle trudged past, lost once more in her wish to go back in time. By the time the sun had cast its last rays she was at least a mile from the last mansion. An old church was to her right just ahead and she headed for that only to see the doors closed and bolted shut with heavy duty chains. She didn’t need to get any closer to smell what those once holy walls now housed. Turning her attention to the rector’s house she headed instead to that building. The insides were relatively unscathed, there were tins in the cellar and a porch that ran the entire upper floor. Satisfied at the escape possibilities Isabelle set up her small camp in the smallest of the bedrooms and pushed a low set of drawers against the door. She just needed warning, she could run again after a rest. Downing three cans of food she finished what was left of her water and settled into the bed for the night.
          Morning came with a fine mist of rain. The daylight barely breaking through the rolling clouds. Isabelle wriggled the drawers away from the door and headed down to the cellar to salvage a couple more tins. Several made their way into her stomach and more were rescued into her bag. Still scooping beans from a tin she hit the road and continued her trek away from the men’s supposed territory. She threw the finished tin into the bushes and trekked on, having to hurry only briefly when the thrown tin stirred up a small group of walkers that traced her steps for several miles before following a second sound. The lull of the steady pace made the fine rain slightly less of an annoyance and she ignored the steadying soak of her clothing. It was refreshing, all the dirt of travel being gently rinsed from her body and clothes. She wiped her brow and stared at the almost black line of water on her hand. The leather jacket was doing well at keeping her upper body dry but the dressing gown was starting to get too heavy as it absorbed the mist. By the time it was dry she doubted the useful dead scent would even be there anymore rendering the garment as nothing more than a morbid reminder of the prison. She shrugged it off and let it fall to the tarmac as she trudged on. She didn’t need any more reminders of her lost home.
          After several hours she sank onto a rock at the road side and selected another can as she studied an old gas station opposite. It may have more supplies, possibly even an indication from the prison group as to where to meet. There was also at least one walker pressed up to the glass window looking out. One she could handle, but usually if there was one there would be others. Throwing the finished tin, she brushed her hands off and made her way towards the station. The walker ground its teeth at her and scratched at the glass futilely. Three more stumbled forwards and she dismissed the idea of going in, it wasn’t worth the time and effort.
Shock ran through her system as she turned to return to the road. A sign strapped to one of the pumps met her eyes. Terminus… sanctuary… either that was the group’s message or that was where they would head. Isabelle studied the map carefully, her finger trailing over the path hewed into the map with a thick black line. So absorbed in remembering the map she failed to hear the laughter and the chatter. By the time she heard it she knew it was too late, her finger fell from the map and she turned to look at the men. Corinne, her face beaten, was clamped between them, her hands tied in front of her and one eye barely able to open.
“Well look what we have here boys,” The one who appeared to be the leader chortled.
“That’s the bitch that stabbed me,” Isabelle stared at the one clutching his hand and felt her heart sink.
“Alright Dan, I’m sure she’ll apologise,” The leader drawled again, not taking his eyes off her.
          Isabelle weighed her options, she could run but they were close already and they all looked in better health than her. They were all bigger physically so she wouldn’t be able to overpower them. That left her with very little room for negotiation. She could fight though; she wouldn’t win but they might kill her instead of what she thought they intended… death was definitely favourable. Carefully she reached for her dagger and pulled it free. It was better to die fighting than to die from laying on your back. This would be a gamble but she had one dagger left, just in case. Weighing the blade, she tuned out of their degrading talk about what they were going to do to her and she rested the cold metal lightly in her fingertips. Releasing a shaky sigh, she met the eyes of the leader coldly before flicking her attention to the one on his right and flung the dagger with all her might before throwing herself into a flat out run.
          The dagger hit something or someone and cause a bit of consternation, enough for her to get a ten-foot lead before she heard the footsteps in hot pursuit. She pushed her legs harder than she ever had before, the flip flops flew from her feet and she ran barefoot on the tarmac, ignoring the burn of the rough surface, she’d endured worse during training. If she wasn’t too mistaken she was gaining a lead until her toe stubbed on a pothole and she fell head over heels. Her body tumbled out of control for almost six feet and she lay winded, gasping desperately to get any air into her lungs as the boots caught up to her. A foot landed squarely in her stomach and she curled into herself with a gasp as punches rained onto her cheek and temple. Darkness fell and the last thing she heard was someone shouting for the man to stop.
          Isabelle blinked, her head was pounding and there was little of her that wasn’t aching. It was gloomy and she was indoors, she was led on something soft and slowly the faint moonlight through the window allowed her to see her confinement. She was back in the rector’s house, in the master bedroom this time and she wasn’t alone. A man sat watching her in a chair in the corner, his legs casually crossed and one arm resting on the windowsill as he watched her come round.
“Well hello sleeping beauty,” A rough drawl crept into the room. She kept her silence, choosing to glare at him instead. Vaguely she recognised him as the leader. “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re still alive?”
          Carefully Isabelle swallowed, feeling the tension in her jaw from the swelling. A few more punches had obviously landed since she lost consciousness. She wondered who was responsible and if she could murder them. Slowly she heard something that set her teeth on edge in another room in the house. Corinne’s sobbing and pained cries grated against her ears. The rhythmic thunk of a bed hitting a solid wall joined with laughter. Corinne’s cries dulled for a moment only to re-emerge as a long winded moan of pure agony. It made her feel sick to her stomach and she tried to drown it out and stop the mental imagery that was patrolling through her mind’s eye.
“Don’t worry, that won’t happen to you yet,” The man drawled again. “I claimed you, I like that little fighters spirit of yours. Long as you keep me happy you’re safe.”
          Isabelle turned her eyes to take him in. Greying hair, mid 50’s and rugged looks from a lifetime in labour work. Claimed… how could he claim her. She wasn’t a piece of property. Slowly he rose from his chair and stepped towards her, she pulled her head back but there was only so far she could retreat into the pillow and his fingers clamped onto her chin. She was forced to look at him as his thumb trailed over her cheek. Without thinking she turned her head rapidly and bit his thumb hard, the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. He swore violently pulled his hand away and then backhanded her. She spat the blood from her bitten cheek at him and snarled as she tugged at her tied hands. Tied to a bed post of all things. It was wood, she might be able to snap it with enough force. Too late he grabbed her chin again and forced her mouth open by digging his fingers into where her jaw joined. She struggled to no avail as he laughed.
“I suggest you treat me a little kinder, I’m the only thing standing between you and my boys,” He pressed a too gentle kiss to her cheek. “They don’t care if you survive more than a few rounds between them as long as they get their fun. That girl’s nearly worn out, they haven’t had the pleasure of a woman’s body for a couple of weeks. You two girls came along at just the right time.”
          Isabelle tried to pull away her body from his hand as it trailed down her and grasped her hip. Disgust coursed through her and bile rose in her throat. She could beg, plead… but something told her that wouldn’t work. What would save her from this? She could flirt, she could tease… but he had all the cards. Whichever way she went it was all going to end the same way, the only difference was how damaged she would be by the end of it and how long she would live for. She’d flirted with men she hated before, she knew how to get them to do what she wanted but this was different. He could just take whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Corinne howled in agony with every thump of the bedhead and Isabelle felt the terror start to creep into her core.
“Don’t you dare touch…” She began to hiss as his hand crept lower, pressing against the top of her tied makeshift trousers. He was working at the knots; the glare he gave her promised so much pain.
“I’ll dare and touch little lady as much as I please, you belong to me,” He informed her calmly.
“Keep your hands off me!” Isabelle shouted and tried to kick out as the first knot came undone and let the material fall to one side revealing one long leg up to the waist.
“I’m only going to have a look at what I claimed, you keep shouting and I’ll let everyone look,” He snapped and Isabelle gritted her teeth, pressing her lips furiously together.
          She turned her face away as he unfastened the second one and pushed the material aside, leaving her bare but her underwear from waist down. Without warning he was on the bed, pushing her legs apart as he knelt between them. She took her chance and twisted her legs around him as Daryl had taught her. Pushing her body up she flipped him off the bed and rolled onto her stomach. The rope twisted painfully about her wrists but she didn’t have time to suffer it. Without hesitation she kicked at the wood until it snapped, one eye on the dazed man as he stumbled to his feet, a deep cut over his right eyebrow where he’d head-butted the window sill. Snapping her hands free from the wood she kicked him in the lower back and threw her arms over his head. Pulling tight she let the rope press against his throat and cut off his airway. He thrashed against her but slowly fell silent.
          Isabelle didn’t pause as she rifled through his pockets, lifting daggers, bullets, a few tablets and a pistol. Pulling the largest dagger free she cut through her wrist ties and donned her leather jacket which had been thrown casually over the chair back. Corinne had fallen silent but the bed was still battering into the wall in the room opposite. She could try to run through the house or just risk the window. Quickly she pushed against the window but to no avail, it was nailed shut. Through the house it had to be. Gripping the dagger tightly she headed for the door and noticed the bouncing of the bed had finally ceased. She needed to move and quickly. Bounding through the door she took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the flapping of the skirt as it caught on the bannister railings. Someone stood at the base of the stairs, looking towards the door and she braced herself for what she knew she would have to do.
          Pushing off from several steps higher she landed on the man’s back and pulled her dagger across his throat. Blood flooded out as the man toppled and she rolled from his tumbling corpse. Her bag was in the kitchen to the right, there were shouts from upstairs and she knew they were going to be on her trail in seconds. She grabbed it and the dagger next to it and ran out of the main door. It was dark, it was raining and the world was far beyond being ended. She needed to get away, she needed to hide and recuperate. Her throat was burning as she gasped and pumped her legs harder, pounding down the tarmac road once more without a thought in her head other than to run. A bullet missed her head by millimetres and she dived to the left, falling over a root was safer than running straight in a line down a road. Dodging and ducking through branches and brush she knew the noise she was making would draw walkers but right now the guys with the guns were of a higher concern to her. Eventually their voices faded away but she kept going. She didn’t know if the leader was dead or not but she had definitely killed one of their number and that meant she was marked for death or torture if they ever found her again.
          After a few more minutes her energy failed her and she fell onto her hands and knees into a muddy expanse. Tears she couldn’t put an emotion to were falling from her eyes. Too tired to question it she stumbled back upright and sloshed out of the quagmire before sliding down a tree trunk to rest. She couldn’t stay here; it was too exposed but right now she didn’t have the energy to find a tree with a branch suitable for sleeping on. Her eyes were closed before she even had the chance to contemplate moving to somewhere safer. Fitfully she dozed, screams and cries breaking her dreams apart until dawn.
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Survival Isn't An Option