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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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*AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies, I forgot to upload the Saturday chapter! As compensation I shall post the chapter that should have gone up today on Thursday 4th and then continue as usual from that Saturday :) Happy reading!
          Roses, sweet roses… fake… softness… darkness… were her eyes open or closed? Isabelle couldn’t tell but it felt like she was blinking, she could feel her eyelashes leaving her cheeks and tickling them again. So why couldn’t she see anything? Slowly she turned her head to the right, ignoring the aches of a body that had lain on a hard surface for too long. There was nothing to see that way and nothing to her left. Was she blind? Panic began to rise; how could she defend herself if she couldn’t even see? How could she run or hunt or track? How could she find Daryl? See him smile again? When had she last seen him smile?
          Steadying her breathing she struggled to sit up, feeling the tightening of skin on her waist. It felt like there were stitches there and her fingers pressed to the bare skin, puckered against knots of something holding the flesh together. Faintly she recalled it happening, half delirious with pain she’d passed out but there had been light then through a hatch to her left. Blinking rapidly, she saw the faint outline of an almost glow where she assumed the hatch had been. At least she wasn’t blind… that was a small blessing, at least she could see the walkers baring down on her in the no doubt near future.
          A sadistic smirk at her own thought she struggled to her feet, her head brushing against a low cold ceiling of stone or metal. It felt smooth to her fingers but it could be anything really. Stiffly and with great caution she made her way to the glow and it slowly got brighter until she could touch it. Her fingers traced around the smooth edge, definitely defining it as metal. It was perfectly square and a handle, in what she assumed was the centre, greeted her exploring fingers. It felt angled, that would work with the curve of the low ceiling she’d banged her head into. Was she in a cellar? Had the men found her and sealed her in? But why would they have stitched up her wound only to leave her to die… It didn’t make sense. Vaguely she remembered the boots, they hadn’t been Daryl’s… they’d been too battered. She turned her attention to the handle once more and pushed her fingers through the metal loop.
          No matter how she twisted, tugged or threw her meagre weight against it neither the handle or the hatch would budge even a millimetre. It was sealed tight by something outside that far exceeded her weight and strength. She pressed her face as close as possible to peer through the gap but there was nothing to be seen but light. It was even impossible to tell if the light was natural or from a bulb. She tried the handle once more but to no avail. Trapped. She was trapped.
          Panic rose with bile, fear rose with tears and it took all of her sanity to stop from beating against the door. There was no saying who was out there, what was out there. It was too dangerous to draw attention… what if it was that group. What if they had just healed her up to withstand their torture for longer? Her heart was beating too fast; her breath was too short… if she could have seen more she would have seen her vision going darker as she started to hyperventilate. Fighting against the fear, beating it down she pictured Daryl, the group, the prison. Memories that were painful but full of hope at the same time and more realistic than thinking of her further past. Where was Daryl now? She’d lost him, in her foolish risk taking she had lost him. How would he find her now?
          Tears fell silently, the only release she allowed her fear to rip from her. Slowly she sank onto the floor and realised she was no longer swathed in the maxi dress but in slightly over sized jeans and a top of some cotton like material. Whoever it was had stripped her, dressed her… she wondered what else they had seen… what they had done… how long had she been out? The wound still stung, there was a fresh stickiness to it, but that could have been from her movement and irregular breaths tugging against the tenderised skin. Time began to lose meaning, to lose concept, had an hour passed since she’d come to the hatch or just minutes? Did it matter? She turned her eyes to the faint outline of the hatch and stared numbly at it, it was daylight for as long as the light came through that line and there was nothing for her to do but wait. Wait for her captor or saviour to present themselves… or for her last breath to come. Time would tell, either way that hatch wasn’t opening without someone’s assistance and there weren’t many someone’s left.
          A rattle stirred her and she looked up as the hatch lifted to reveal a torch. Blinking she tried to see who held it but it was too bright, shielding her eyes she instead looked to her cell. It was an old bunker, a dishevelled and bloodstained bed at the back, some shelves stocked with precious few supplies and a toilet and sink that looked as if they had long been without water. Whoever it was made their way down the short ladder and rested the lantern on the shelving unit before returning to pull the hatch shut. Isabelle looked at the boots, the same ones that had run to her, and she let her eyes trail up. It was a man, long unkempt hair and a beard mostly untamed. Eyes turned to hers and instantly she knew them.
“Nathaniel?” Isabelle whispered in disbelief as she stared into the green eyes that she had gazed into so many times before. “Is that you?”
“You shouldn’t be up. Are you ok?” Nathaniel whispered, struggling to hold her gaze. His eyes flickering around the bunker nervously.
“Am I dead?” Isabelle frowned and looked to her own hands, memories flooded back of the theatre. The tours, the nights of heated passion, the feel of his body, the quirk of his lips and how his strong hands had once grasped her thighs and waist and lifted her above audiences of thousands.
“Not unless I am too. I don’t think I am, but it’s hard to tell. I might be dead too…” Nathaniel balanced a half rusted iron bar in his hands and pinned it through the handle of the hatch. He still didn’t look at her, instead retreating to sit on the bed with a couple of tins.
          Isabelle followed him dumbly and dropped onto the bed next to him. She stared at the other dancer, still not believing he was here. His handsome face lost beneath dirt and grime. A deep scar ran along his cheek and she knew there must be more over his body. “I thought you were all dead,” She wrapped her arms about his shoulders and felt him pull her closer, arms tight as he pressed his face into her neck. The tins clattered to the floor as he wrapped his arms about her and she suspected he was crying but chose not to mention it.
“I looked for you every day, I wanted to give you this…” He leaned back and pulled a chain up from under his tattered shirt.
          Isabelle let a ring rest against her fingertips and she stared at the still pristine white gold and sparkling princess cut diamonds. Her breath sucked in, she knew what that ring was and she turned her eyes to Nathaniel. He still wouldn’t meet her gaze as he slipped the chain from around his neck and played with it between his fingers before pressing the chain and ring into her hand and closing her fingers over it. “It was always meant for you,” He whispered, staring at her fingers.
“Nathaniel, did anyone else escape that night?” Isabelle questioned.
“I don’t know, I saw you run and I followed until I fell,” Finally his eyes met hers and Isabelle saw the pain and the agony from the years he’d spent alone in this world. Those eyes would have mirrored her own if she hadn’t found the prison group.
“Have you been alone all this time?” Isabelle pressed her hand into his.
“A few came and went and I ran from a few groups,” Nathaniel squeezed her fingers. “There’s a group of men… they… they do things to people. Really bad things. I stayed here since that day, it’s safe although food’s getting low.”
“Nathaniel, I’m with a group. They’re good people, they help each other and they kept me alive more times and in more ways than I care to recount. We need to find them,” Isabelle informed him.
“I just want to stay here, with you… I need to keep you safe,” He suddenly clamped his hands on either side of her face and stared straight into her eyes with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. “I looked for you for so long Isabelle. You’re all I ever thought about, you kept me alive… I killed anyone who might have threatened or scared you.”
“Nathaniel, you’re hurting me,” Isabelle pulled his fingers from her cheeks until they loosened slightly. “They won’t hurt anyone unless they threaten the group. You’d be welcome and you’d be safe and so would I. Safer than just us two alone against the world.”
“I can protect you Isabelle,” Nathaniel kissed her hard, hands tangling in her hair and refusing to let her go. “You’re too beautiful to have scars, I was so sad when I saw the ones on your arm and leg. What group would let you be scarred?”
“They were my own fault,” Isabelle began, trying to untangle his fingers again. His intensity was almost frightening.
“No Isabelle, you should stay here. In this bunker where it’s safe, I’ll look after you,” Nathaniel brushed his fingers over her head again. “You never have to be scared, never afraid.”
          Isabelle ignored his list of ‘never’s and instead looked around for a weapon. There was nothing. How had he survived? Arms pulled her down to the bed and pressed her against a firm if bony chest. The once familiar musculature faded to just bones and lean muscle. She was going to have to convince his shattered brain that they needed to leave. There was no safety in this bunker, they were just a ready tinned meal for the next group of walkers to find. One exit? No one survived with just one exit. She thought back to Corinne, sometimes even two exits weren’t enough. For now, she had no other option but to regain her strength and rest up. Nathaniel’s steady breath was somewhat soothing, if he could rest that well in here perhaps she could gain one night of true rest before they left. She needed to get to Terminus, that was where the group was heading, that was where she’d find Daryl.
          Her eyes fell on the ring and chain still clasped in her hand. Once she would have been delighted about the proposal. Nathaniel had been the darling of the ballet company; every woman had wanted him as their own from his good looks and athletic physique right down to his family’s multimillionaire status. She’d dreamed of going back to the mansion on the Hawaiian beach, dreamed of the waltz they’d danced on the white snows in the Himalayas of the private chalet, she’d been draped in furs and silk. For the past years though, she’d dreamed of nothing but Daryl’s smile. What she’d felt for Nathaniel was nothing but money lust in comparison and now it was pity at the shattered mind that greeted her. Slowly she let her eyes focus on the rugged features of the man who had once challenged cherubs for grace. This world had ruined and broken him as much as it had perfected Daryl.
          Slowly she brushed aside the tendrils of greasy hair from his face, smiling at the shuffle as he wriggled deeper into the mattress. She wondered if she’d ever made him happy, wondered if she’d ever seen him for who he really was. Right now, she wondered if she could fix him. Was he capable of surviving this world? Her head rested on the poor excuse of a pillow and she pressed her forehead to his. She could try, at least she could try and repair some of the damage from the past.
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Survival Isn't An Option