Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Weeks passed as they traipsed through the forest, across open fields and occasionally they strayed down the roads they crossed, no path or direction to mind. After all, which way should you walk when the world had ended, an old quote floated through her mind whenever she was faced with the choice. ‘Do you walk to the left where nothing is right or do you walk to the right where there is nothing left?’ They never stopped except to sleep, Isabelle no longer held the mare’s reins and the mare wandered around her never too far away, grazing as they trudged aimlessly onwards. The toll was beginning to wear them again; a fortnight of rest wasn’t close to enough to recover from the months they had already spent struggling to survive. There was a desperation growing for safety once more, even for a night, just a moment of respite.
Once again the food was dwindling despite her ‘just enough to keep going’ tactics, the few streams they crossed were thankfully brimming with cold clear water. More than once she had sated her hunger by filling her belly with water and saved a can, an old trick she had used over the years. A few houses had appeared on the horizon but there was always either something moving around outside them or slamming into the windows when she dared to get close enough to peer in. There were a few things she was grateful of though the further they wandered into farm land, the better the quality of the grass, it meant her mare was improving. Bones no longer protruded through skin but were flush as her muscle and weight returned. Isabelle had limited her riding to just escaping corpses when they got too close and it was paying off for the horse. She looked well for the first time in months, Isabelle wished she could say the same about herself but judging by her reflection in the streams… she looked wasted away. Barely more than a corpse herself and despair was starting to set in that perhaps she really couldn’t survive this world, even if it did make her feel more alive. The crunch of a branch drew her attention and she reached for her knife as she turned to look behind her. Her reactions were failing her; she was too close to exhaustion.
Isabelle turned and stared numbly at the sight of a cross bow aimed directly at her head and her breath hitched in horror. A man was stood before her, not a corpse as she had suspected. His entire body was primed and he was clearly ready to pounce if she made any move, trigger finger twitching in anticipation. He motioned for her to move her hand away from her knife. Her fingers convulsed as if to go for it regardless but he jerked forwards a step and tutted, chastising her thought. Slowly she obliged, raising her hands and spreading them for him to see the empty palms as she swayed on the spot. How long had her balance been this poor? She understood, all too well, she was at his mercy while that cross bow was trained on her and her mare was too far away to run to in time. There was nothing she could do that would be quicker than his trigger finger, except for possibly collapsing which would be the least helpful of all.
“Easy there. Just keep your hands where I can see them. I’m going to take your weapons,” the man spoke with a lazy southern drawl, his eyes watching her carefully, analysing her, and narrowed with suspicion. She curled her lip on instinct, rednecks… it would have to be a redneck that caught her. Uncivilised, uncultured, god fearing and uneducated. He wouldn’t even know the sweet lilt of Swan Lake or how to hold a knife and fork.
He stepped towards her slowly, the crossbow still aimed at her as he reached forwards for her knife, apparently ignoring her poorly disguised disgust. Roughly he pulled it free and placed it in a holster at his side, rough hands patted down her sides almost knocking her over as he motioned for her hands to go over her head. Isabelle contemplated resisting, punching him, kicking him, she’d even have bitten him if it would have given her a chance but she knew it would be useless whatever she did. He looked far healthier than her, far more muscled, as he moved with ease. The crossbow was trained back on to her after he finished his inspection and he steadied it with both hands as he stepped backwards. Isabelle let her hands lower slowly, keeping them where he could see them. She didn’t want to risk that arrow embedding itself into her.
“What’s your name?” the man asked, watching her curiously.
“Why do you care?” Isabelle whispered, her voice cracking after the months of not using it. She stared straight at him defiantly and fought to keep her body still rather than the swaying that plagued her, she could feel her shoulders rolling forwards, the energy leaving her rapidly. She was going to go down soon, she needed to do something, anything.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, if I wanted to I’ve had plenty of opportunity. I spotted you fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been trailing your clumsy ass all the way out here,” he drawled, lowering his crossbow finally as if that would garner her trust. “I’m Daryl, name for a name?”
“Isabelle, my name’s Isabelle,” Isabelle hissed, nerves getting the best of her as she swayed again and was forced to take a step to stop from face planting the floor. He didn’t even raise the crossbow, they both knew she wasn’t a threat and it irritated her no end.
“Where you from, Isabelle?” Daryl drawled her name out lazily, emphasising every syllable. “That ain’t no American accent that I’ve heard.”
“Why do you care?” Isabelle repeated as calmly as she was able. The man laughed at the more obvious accent that came through as her voice slowly started to remember itself and she felt the colour race to her cheeks.
“You’re English? How the hell did you come to be all the way over here?” Daryl snickered, laughing as she wrinkled her nose at him in distaste.
“It’s hardly of your concern,” Isabelle snapped coldly back, anger running through her blood hotly, giving her a blaze of energy. Her back straightened a little and she glared as best she could.
“Alright your ladyship, no need for the attitude. How are you still alive? Aren’t you English all, you know, tea and cake? You got a group around here?” He drawled, clearly no longer perceiving her as any form of threat as the crossbow was lowered to his thigh even as his eyes glanced at the surrounding area.
          Realising he was distracted, looking around for who he assumed was keeping her alive she turned and ran, the mare had thankfully wandered a little closer. Grabbing the saddle horn Isabelle dragged herself clumsily into the saddle. The only problem was the man was already there, holding the reins with a nonchalant, mildly amused grin on his smug features. Isabelle swallowed her fear and tilted her chin defiantly despite feeling her heart drop. He hadn’t even needed to pull the trigger to keep up with her.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you. How long have you been alone out here?” his tone was softer, gentler as if fearing she would break and it angered her. To be seen as weak, as feeble, as nothing more than a fragile little girl.
“Since the beginning. Since the whole world imploded,” Isabelle glared down at him, contemplating if she could kick him from her higher position on the horse but his hands were firmly wrapped on the reins. Even if he went down the mare would go down with him and he knew it.
“Well your ladyship, you don’t look like you’re doing too well,” he pointed out smoothly, his eyes taking in her wasted form. She doubted he knew just how dire her situation was, her body hidden under the layers of jeans, jacket and jumpers, only her face would be a true indication.
“I’m doing just fine,” she snapped as he nodded with a smirk and she felt her cheeks colour once more.
“I can’t let you stay out here on your own. You’re just a meal on legs,” the man stated factually. “You seen the horde? They’re headed this way.”
          Isabelle laughed softly imaging all the times men had shouted to her in the past year, and before, that they only wanted to help her. The first one she had trusted had almost been her last, the scar on her belly ached at the memory of the blade that pierced it. Now she had no choice, she was at this man’s mercy… if she ran she’d lose her horse, without the horse she knew she wouldn’t survive a day. She couldn’t run anyway, she could barely breathe with the fear that contracted her lungs like a vice and she cursed her lack of attention that had led to her being caught… to being trapped.
“That’s what they all say. Do you believe everything you hear nowadays?” Isabelle whispered, resigning herself to the fact that she was out of options.
“It’s your choice ladyship, I’m with a group. A good group. We’ve taken the prison you’re skirting around, there’s solid walls, beds, even food and water. A field for your nag here,” Daryl patted the mares neck gently and looked up at her again.
Isabelle focused back on him and stared him down. He looked rough, cruel almost, hardened to the world, he was the opposite of herself, he looked made for this world. She couldn’t run no matter how much every iota of her being screamed at her that she had to run, it was certain death. She stayed silent, watching him as his eyes slowly met hers again. They were unreadable. Isabelle had always prided herself on being able to read people. This man though, she couldn’t read him as he tightened the grip on her reins. Perhaps it was the apocalypse that had made him hard, or perhaps it was his previous life but he had nothing to share with her in those eyes. He was used to keeping them guarded.
“How have you survived this long alone?” Daryl questioned, he had every right to look confused. She had no good reason to still be alive other than dumb luck and good fortune.
“I spent the winter with my horse. I found her trapped in a stall after I lost my group. Until now I’ve managed to evade anything that moved,” Isabelle whispered, not wanting to relay any more details.
“How many walkers have you killed?” Daryl queried.
“What are walkers? You mean the corpses?” Isabelle snapped in frustration, he nodded in response. “I don’t hang around long enough to find out if they’re corpses… walkers… or not.”
“So you haven’t killed at all?” he raised an eyebrow at her.
“No. I haven’t killed anyone… you say that like it’s a bad thing!” Isabelle countered sharply.
“It is a bad thing now. You don’t kill then you don’t survive. You won’t always have a horse to rely on!” Daryl retorted, he looked frustrated at her admission.
“All right so I’m useless! I get it, I shouldn’t be alive, but I am. I don’t know why, I don’t know how and…” she felt her voice begin to break again and tears threatened. She would not cry in front of this stranger and her teeth dug into her cheek to keep them at bay as she glared at him.
“You’re coming with me,” Daryl grunted at her, clearly very uncomfortable with her increasing lack of emotional control.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Isabelle growled, her anger peaking. She grasped the saddle horn and aimed a kick at his head, sending all her strength through her fatigued and wasted muscles in one final bid for freedom.
          She never made contact, she doubted she even came close. Before she even registered his hand about her ankle she was on the floor, winded and gasping for breath on her back. Her arms were flung over her head and a dagger pressed to her jugular before she’d even started her first winded gasp. Daryl, looking annoyed, was pressing his knee into her stomach to keep her down as he held the dagger in place. His other hand holding both of her bony wrists easily. Her breath was ragged and not getting any easier as a branch dug into her spine, she could feel fear rising, crushing her throat. This was it, this was how she was going to die. Alone in a forest, her throat slit and her bloodied corpse left as nothing more than an easy meal to things that shouldn’t even exist. Tears threatened but she fought to keep them back. She would not show weakness even if she couldn’t completely control her fear.
“I’m trying to help you, idiot. I can’t leave you out here alone. Don’t you get it, you’ll die, you’re already part way there looking you,” he snapped at her, pressing the dagger tighter until she feared it would actually split her skin. “You either accept my help and we get out of here and you live another day or… I put you out of your misery and leave you for the horde to clean up, you won’t slow them for long though, all skin and bone. Barely a mouthful!” Daryl shouted at her before releasing her and stepping away. “So what’s it going to be ladyship? Do you want to live or die?”
- 2
- 3
- 4
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