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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.

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          Isabelle stayed where she was, her arms still over her head as she contemplated her options, her reality. She felt her lip tremble as it sank in, everything would be life or death. Every choice was going to either extend the agony or finish it. Her body was telling her that she was dying, she felt it with every breath, with every step. He could finish it, cut all the pain short, all the horror could disappear. The distant moans and groans of the horde echoed through the trees towards them. No, this was not the way she was going to go. She was not going to be a meal, she was not going to give in. This world would not get the best of her.
Daryl must have seen the change in her eyes. With a curt nod, he offered her a hand and she took it without question, the rough, calloused fingers clamping firmly about her much smaller hand. He pulled her upright with barely any effort. She glanced over her shoulder, cold fear chilling her soul as the first of the walkers appeared. The stench of their rotten flesh permeated the air in sickening waves as the mare shuffled nervously close by. Their shouting must have riled the corpses up as they thudded ever closer. Isabelle stumbled backwards away from them, clamping a hand over her nose.
The horror was flooding in again and she turned to run to the mare, momentarily forgetting Daryl. He was already in the saddle, holding a hand out for her and shouting for her to hurry up. Without question, she clasped his hand and rested her foot on the top of his for leverage. He pulled her up with little effort and she slid onto the mares back, just behind the saddle. The mare didn’t need any further encouragement and surged forwards quicker than she anticipated. With a muffled squeak her arms ended up wrapped about the stranger’s waist to keep her from sliding off. He tensed instantly at her touch as her body pressed tightly into his, arms locked about his waist. She didn’t care if he was comfortable or not, there were corpses following them, snapping at their heels. Her last concern was the man’s comfort level when their lives were on the line.
It didn’t take long for the horse to tire, panting and steaming from the exertion of running over uneven terrain and carrying two she dwindled to a walk. Isabelle glanced over her shoulder, the horde was no longer within sight. At first, she was reluctant to release him, her palms were flat against his chest and she couldn’t help but notice the muscle that rested there. A different kind than she was used, this was worked muscle, not elegant or built for beauty. He smelled of the wilds, her face still resting against his back, deep and earthy scents, she wanted to breathe more deeply of it. It was comforting, it reminded her of home, from when she was a child.
For almost an hour they walked in silence. Isabelle fought against the exhaustion but it was too much and she found herself constantly drifting off against Daryl’s back. Her hands were no longer wrapped about him but hanging limply by her sides, lulled by his calm presence, the smell of happier memories and the mare’s steady stride she drifted in and out of consciousness. She didn’t notice his subtle shifts to stop her from sliding too far one way or the other on his back. He never said a word in complaint to suggest she was not all right to lean on him and she wasn’t going to ask for permission. This was the most relaxed she had been for over a year and she didn’t want it to stop.
“Hey, hey Isabelle, wake up. We’re almost there,” Daryl muttered at her, checking on her over his shoulder. Slowly she stirred, her vision blurred and the world not making sense. “Come on, you need to wake up.”
Reluctantly Isabelle sat straighter, resting her hands on his shoulders as she blinked her eyes open. The world returned gradually, the memories with it, and she sat a little more upright to take in her surroundings. It would be beneficial to get a lay of the land, especially if she needed to escape at any point. Any information she could gather now would be invaluable. They were following a train line towards what appeared to be a clearing. The prison, cold and imposing greeted her chillingly through the trees. She leaned around Daryl to get a better look and blinked in disbelief. There were towers with armed lookouts, just a few walkers around the perimeter fence, some pressed against it and others just milling randomly. Inside the camp a few people wandered or stood talking. It looked so peaceful, so quiet too. Was this to be her salvation? Had she, against all the odds, made it? Did civilisation still exist?
“This is home, for now,” Daryl declared gruffly, turning them off the train track and down a steady slope towards the open area. “It ain’t much but it’s safe.”
          Isabelle felt tears of relief coming to her eyes, she wiped them away quickly so he wouldn’t see them or hear her breath hitch. It was only a safe building; the people were an entirely different matter. For all she knew she was just the latest meal or the latest toy. The number of atrocities she had seen from a distance just these past few months had forever tainted her opinion of human kind. Daryl had already mentioned how she would make a poor walker snack and she’d seen for herself, people thrown to a horde to save others. Only a few months ago, had she seen a man shoot another man in the knee to sate a hungry horde.
Fear began to corrode her small amount of faith in the man. At the minute, he controlled her entire life, he had everything she owned in this wretched world in his hands and she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Panic, unwanted and ice cold flooded her mind and body. She should have never let herself get into this situation, but here she was and she was helpless to whatever these people wanted to do with her. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he’d be able to feel it or hear it and she breathed out slowly to steady herself. The panic was rising though, the panic at the thought of those walls surrounding her, they’d keep the walkers out for sure but what about keeping her in… Would she be able to run? Could she hide? What if…
“Please, let me go,” the fear escaped in a high-pitched request. The mare halted suddenly as Daryl glanced over his shoulder at her.
“We’re not going to hurt you, none of us are like that. You’ll be safe,” Daryl stated again. “Just come and get supplies if you want, no one’ll stop you from leaving. We ain’t going to take the horse or hold you hostage.”
          Slowly she nodded in agreement and the mare moved off once more. Walkers stumbled towards them as they approached but the gates rattled smoothly open and closed without even a pause, keeping them at bay. Isabelle glanced backwards at the man stabbing one through the eye and twitched despite herself in horror. Who were these people?! Daryl guided the mare all the way to the prison entrance and stood her before the cell block. Within seconds of him calling out their arrival there was a flurry of activity as men and women erupted from the prison entrance faster than she could see them all.
          Her senses exploded, smells, sights, and sounds rammed into her consciousness and threatened her very sanity. Daryl was saying something but she couldn’t hear him over the static noise that roared through her ears. Faces, laughter, shouts, chaos. It was too much, it was all too much, where was the forest? The quiet? How was she going to hear the corpses coming with all this going on! They would hear them, they would see and she needed to run. Blindly she fought against the restraining hands, slapping and hitting as she shouted at them to release her, shouted that they needed to run. Her balance abandoned her and the firm hands about her wrists released as she tumbled from the saddle.
          White hot pain sheared through the chaos as a sickening crunch echoed from her left wrist. It drew an agonised cry from her throat and focused her a little more. Now all she could see were feet, a hand touched her back gently but she was too consumed in fear and instead of finding it reassuring it filled her with terror. Scrambling forwards she tried to stand but every time someone tried to touch her she cringed away until she was laid flat on the floor with her hands over her head. She pulled her legs up and pressed her face into her knees, hugging them as close as possible, trying to shrink. So many voices echoed and without a further thought she burst into tears, fear driving away all thought, all conscious ability to cope. It had been a trap and she was going to die or be raped or be eaten… the possibilities were endless! Her chest heaved desperately for air and she knew she was hyperventilating. Her last thought as she lost consciousness was a faint hope that they might at least kill her quickly. Her last sensation, strong arms gently scooping under her and then she started to float to heaven or hell.
Isabelle stirred slowly and stretched, relishing the gentle warmth of the bed and her duvets. Familiar pops and cracks echoed from her body, old injuries eased out of their stiffness. It must have been a rough day yesterday, what had they been rehearsing? She rubbed her hands together until the palms were warm and rested them over her eyes. Breathing deeply, she sat up and folded her legs, blinking through the half-light allowed through her bony fingers. She dropped her hands and froze sensing that something wasn’t right. Metal, concrete? A prison cell? Instinctively she scuttled backwards making herself as small as possible against the metal bars of the headrest. What the hell was happening here? Why wasn’t she at home? Was this Jacob’s fault? Had Raul set her up? Where was Stephanie and Cortina?
          She fought to control her breathing, fought to keep her sanity as her brain kicked into gear once more. All the events of the past year flooded back, causing a pounding headache. Slowly, her memory returned of the man that had come to her rescue, the horde of corpses that had haunted her every step, her horse, and the prison. The horror, the fear, the pain, her fingers knotted into her hair as she rocked in a desperate effort to comfort herself and deal with the memories threatening to consume her. Tears scorched her eyes but couldn’t fall, she was still too dehydrated and her tongue barely soothed her cracked lips. How long had she been here? How had she got here? What had they done to her?
Isabelle slowly released her hair and stared at her hands, the left tightly bound and a deep ache resonating from the broken bones within. She traced fingers over her clean skin, someone had washed her. Carefully she patted down her body but there were too many aches and pains to know if anything was new. Wrapping her arms about her she struggled with the thought that something might have happened while she was unconscious. The only rationalisation against that thought was that she was alive, conscious and had received treatment for her wounds.
Now that the dirt was gone she could see what it had been hiding; she was literally nothing more than skin and bone. Under the bandage on her arm she would have put money on the ability to see the broken bone, her skin was almost translucent. She was more corpse than human. If Daryl hadn’t found her she wouldn’t have lasted even one more night, the sleep she had stolen against his back had been her slowly dying. She wondered if he had known that, if he hadn’t expected her to survive, if he just didn’t want her to die alone. His actions were puzzling.
Distraught at her physical state she looked for the remainder of her clothing, wanting to cover herself as quickly as possible. The jacket was hung over a chair by her bed, the extra jumpers folded up and looking clean for the first time in weeks. Shakily she pulled the socks on. The boots slid on next, followed by the jumpers and jacket as she ran her fingers through clean hair that now hung past the bottom of her shoulder blades. Beyond all rational thought, she berated herself for looking so unkempt.
Her fingers worked quickly, if clumsily, as she pulled her hair tightly into a bun and sighed with relief at the familiar tension it pressed across her scalp. This was normality to her. No loose hairs, no threat of being admonished for not being presentable, for not being perfect. Her eyes slid closed in relief before she realised how ridiculous the thought process was. For a moment, she contemplated ripping the bun back out in defiance of her old life but her hands wouldn’t move. Several voices whispered in the distance beyond the closed cell door, two women and a man from the sounds of them. The echoes distorting their words into something indecipherable. It was enough to fill her heart with fear once more. Quietly she made her way to the door and wrapped her hands around the bars, trying to listen and get an idea of who her gaolers were. Were they discussing her future? Was she going to die?
“About time, you’ve been in and out for almost a week. We barely had time to get food and water in you before you fell back asleep,” Daryl’s voice echoed as he stepped onto the balcony, a bottle of water in his hands.
          Isabelle jumped despite herself at the sound of his voice and rested her forehead against the metal bars of the cell door. Releasing a shaky sigh Isabelle watched him approach confidently as her nerves steadied once more. He had saved her, a redneck of all people. Brought her here to where she had been cleaned, treated and cared for, even if she was now locked in a cell. He paused outside the door and sipped from the water bottle before offering it to her. Despite herself she took it greedily and drank deeply until the bottle was empty. In the past, she would have refused it as tainted goods, someone drinking from the same bottle. Unhygienic to say the least.
“Thank you, for your help,” Isabelle whispered with genuine heart felt gratitude as she gasped for breath.
          Daryl didn’t acknowledge her statement, instead taking the bottle and leaning against the wall to her right. Slowly he raised his eyes to look at her, eye to eye. Isabelle fought the urge to shrink back into the cell, it felt like he was ripping her apart just by looking at her but she wouldn’t lower her gaze. What was it with Americans and their intense, never dropping gaze? As if she was transparent to him, as if he could see her entire life. All the time, everything that he was, stayed sealed away behind all those shields.
“So am I staying in here for the rest of my life now?” Isabelle quipped to break the silent interrogation. “What?” Isabelle whispered as he smiled a small lopsided grin. Daryl chuckled and pushed the cell door gently with his fingertips and she stumbled forwards as it creaked open. It had never been locked, just an illusion. Once again, her cheeks coloured in embarrassment as she recovered her balance. “Oh,” she whispered, brushing her jumpers straight in a futile attempt to hide her embarrassment.
“Think we’d be threatened by a ballerina?” He teased gently as her cheeks coloured again, this time in anger.
“You’ve been through my things,” Isabelle stated, wrapping her arms about herself protectively.
“No, Beth recognised the marks on your feet. Said they looked like her friend’s feet. Don’t worry, it was her that cleaned you up. Her and her sister Maggie,” Daryl watched her carefully, this time she held his gaze unflinchingly. Her stomach rumbled with hunger and licked her lips, wondering if she could ask for more food and water. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”
He motioned for her to follow him, talking position slightly in front of her but matching her pace. Isabelle followed slowly, her legs were already aching and nerves fluttered in her chest, stealing her breath. As happy as she was to leave the cell she was also concerned about who she would encounter outside of it. By the time, they’d reached the stairs her legs were visibly shaking and he’d moved closer. She could smell that same comforting smell, and fought against the urge to inhale it deeply. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the railing and started to make her way down.
“I’m not going to fall,” she hissed at him as he stepped in front of her, an arm half spread to catch her.
          Almost as soon as the words escaped her lips her left knee buckled and she landed smack into his chest and arms. Pushing herself back upright she grasped the bannister and forced her legs to work. “It’s all right, just lean on me,” Daryl muttered, stepping alongside her calmly.
“I am not weak,” Isabelle growled, fighting her own body to go down another step.
“Never said you were,” Daryl ignored her complaints as he pulled her arm over his shoulders and tucked his own about her waist.
          Isabelle huffed and tried to draw her arm back but his hand rested over her wrist too firmly. She met his eyes with a glare before admitting defeat and they made their way down.
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Survival Isn't An Option