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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 for forgetting Saturday's chapter! Please enjoy the extended one for today, next Saturday will be uploaded as usual :) Happy reading!
          Slowly her vision cleared from the temple strike and Isabelle took in her surroundings. Weapons carelessly littered the barn, food ranged across shelving and the carcass of a cow hung from a rafter. A fire puffing smoke up to keep flies from it. This was not going to be easy to escape from. “Name’s Ray, short for Raymond,” the leader smirked as he introduced himself. He paused, looking at her pointedly.
“You want my name?” Isabelle snapped.
“It’s customary,” He leaned forwards to meet her gaze. “Although I have no problem with calling you whore.”
          Isabelle winced at the term and looked away. “Rose, my name’s Rose,” she whispered.
“Well I know that isn’t true, that man we stole you from started to say something like Belle? You don’t want to lie to me, this can be either a good experience for you or a very bad one,” Ray glared straight into her eyes, she resisted the urge to scrabble backwards to gain some distance.
“Belle was his name for me, French for beauty. My real name is Rose,” Isabelle stated, clear and confident in the hope that it would appear as truth.
“Well ain’t he the cultured one, we’re not in France. Well Rose, settle in and get comfortable,” Ray stood, adjusting his trousers and strolling back to the other men, “I’ll see you tonight.”
          Isabelle watched him leave and settle into a hammock by the entrance. Activity stayed at the other end of the barn, apparently the end she was to inhabit was for storage and pleasure only. Shuffling in the straw she pushed it into a form of nest, it would be better to rest and recover from the nights run before anything happened. Her mind wandered back to Daryl and the group, she wondered if they’d prevent him from coming, convince him that she was no good for any of them. Perhaps no one would come for her after all. Why would they risk themselves for just her? No one had spoken out to stop her but at the same time she knew her lies had fallen fluidly enough that their denial of them would have caused more issues. Wriggling she lay on her back and stared at the open roof above her, the shackles rattling in constant reminder of her entrapment. She hoped Carol wasn’t too right about the groups lack of value of her, even if they just waited at the riverside for her it would be enough. Her eyes slipped closed quicker than she had anticipated they would.
          A reverberating slap shot her back awake and the rawness of her throat told her what had caused it. Ray was leaning over her looking furious and she couldn’t help but laugh at his expression of horror and anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Oh I forgot to tell you, I suffer from night terrors,” Isabelle hissed with a malicious pleasure, sitting upright and grinning at him. “Sorry, is that a problem?”
          The second slap hit harder followed by panicked shouts from the front of the barn. Growls and groans of walkers echoed down the barn. “You stupid bitch, I should rip your throat out and feed it to them,” Ray screamed at her, spittle flying. He hurried back to the front of the building as walkers breeched the main doors and poured in.
          It was only a small group of walkers but in the confines of the barn it quickly turned into chaos. Isabelle stumbled to her feet as a walker ran towards her. Fingers clamped onto her shoulders and she clasped her hands together, slamming her fists into the walker’s underjaw. Its head snapped backwards, the decomposing sinews barely strong enough to hold it in place anyway. She shrieked as it tried to grasp her head and kicked it way desperately. A man ran up and plunged a sword through its skull as a cacophony of bullets echoed out. Isabelle ducked as they sprayed in her direction, several piercing the man’s chest. He fell limply next to her, gurgling in his own blood. She scrabbled for his sword and caught another walker in the chest, it kept walking down the blade.
          Caught between disgust and fear Isabelle twisted to embed the sword into the supporting beam her shackles were chained to. The walker snapping its jaws and reaching for her around the wood, her shackles allowing her just enough room to stay out of its grasp. Slowly the chaos ceased, quietening to men moaning and crying in pain. Several screamed as they realised they were bitten or scratched, they begged and pleaded but Ray and those uninjured mercilessly took them out. Ray himself stood on the man who had taken the bullets instead of her and slid a dagger into his skull without so much as a squint of his eyes. Slowly he turned his attention to her, bloodlust resting there and she shrank back despite himself as he swung the dagger.
          Isabelle pressed herself back against the wooden strut, aware that the only reason the dagger hadn’t gone for her throat was because he’d been aiming for the walker to her left. He stood millimetres from her face, glaring down. “You owe me a lot of men,” the voice hissed out.
          Her breath released in a rush as he tugged the dagger free and stalked away to begin the clear up. From a group of thirty men only ten remained. She couldn’t decide whether to be elated or concerned. Every one of them glared at her as they dragged bodies to a bonfire outside, furious at the loss of their comrades. Silently she watched and waited for the backlash that would inevitably come. One man stalked towards her as the sun began to set only for Ray to call him back, demanding that he had the ‘first run of the bitch’. Nerves settled into her stomach, the slice of bread and meat thrown to her turning her stomach. The man serving her smirking as he realised it was from nerves. She watched him tell Ray, the man apparently getting more excited at the thought of her fear.
          If there was a rescue party coming they’d better come soon. He seemed to be working on the theory of causing her more fear. Stories of previous conquests began to be discussed, loudly, obviously intended for her to overhear. Her stomach sank, these men were not interested in the simple pleasures and every story had an element of rape to it. She started to wonder if she would survive even one minute, never mind a night. Her attention turned to the shackles, she twisted her wrists but there was no escape from them unless she wanted to skin her wrists. She contemplated the chance of this being successful, if her hands were slick with blood they might slip free. Instantly she set to working the shackles roughly over her wrists, wincing at the pain but still driving forwards.
          Finally, some blood began to run from the multitude of cuts and she started tugging, pressing her foot against the chains as a deadweight. Slowly they began to slip over the skin, her very bones protesting the pressure. Forcing her breath to steady she focused on the pressure, focused on keeping the blood fresh around the pressure points. With a sickening pop her right hand slipped free, the skin ripped from wrists and from her knuckles. Without pause she set to work on her left hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The quiet voice of Ray purred out and she stared wide eyed up at him.
“No,” She shrieked as he pulled her upright by her throat, her right hand scrabbling against him in desperation as he cut her airway off.
“If you wanted to be free for this, you only had to ask,” Ray licked at her cheek as she thrashed against him.
          A second man stepped up and grasped her left hand, snapping the shackle off roughly. She cried out at the pain and suspected something had broken in the rough treatment. Hands clamped about her tenderised wrists roughly and feet collided simultaneously with the backs of her knees, forcing her to drop onto them. Another hand tangled into her hair, gripped hard enough to almost rip it from the roots and she realised she was level with Ray’s crotch and completely pinned. A man on each wrist, pulling them taut so that she couldn’t move, another essentially grasping her skull and at least one more grasping each ankle. The man grinning down at her in insane pleasure at her pinned position.
          There was one last line of defence but it would mean waiting and letting at least part of the hell begin. Ray grasped her chin, jammed his fingers into the joints of her jaw and forced it open. On instinct she writhed against the restraint, getting a cuff for her efforts and a firmer grip from all involved.
“Now little girl, you’re going to be very good and let us enjoy you all night. It’s the least you can do after killing all of our friends. If you’re lucky you’ll survive the night for tomorrow,” Ray laughed cruelly and spat on her face.
          Isabelle thrashed against him but even her strongest muscles were futile against the pressure of a minimum of five men and they merely laughed at her efforts this time. Ray unzipped his trousers with one hand, letting his dick fall free. His fingers still digging into her jaw, keeping it open. He was taunting her, stroking himself into fullness right in front of her eyes. She closed her ears to his words as he described in detail everything he and his men would do and focused on her own action. Without warning he was pressing himself into her mouth, she gagged despite herself and got a cuff for her efforts. Fingers still pressing into her jaw preventing her from biting down as she intended. She thrashed once more as he started to pump into her mouth and this time when he raised his fist to punch her she bit down with all her might.
          The man screamed, thrashed against her and blood flooded her mouth. With a final tug she felt the skin separate as he ripped himself free. Instantly Ray was on the floor, his legs giving way as blood pumped from the almost destroyed part of his anatomy. The men holding her let go, freaked and panicked at the sight of their leader. She didn’t wait for a better invitation and flung herself upright, letting the blood run down her chin. Legs pumping, she sprinted across the barn, grabbing another dagger from a workspace as she ran. She didn’t wait to see how much distance she had between herself and the men. Skidding she turned a sharp 90 degrees, a small estate car attracting her attention. Without a second thought she dived to the driver’s side and tugged the door open. Slamming the door shut she slapped the various door locks down and began a frantic search for keys. Thankfully they were already in the ignition.
          With a vicious twist of the fob the engine roared to life and her foot ploughed into the accelerator hard enough to make the wheel’s spin. Finally, it got grip and surged forwards down the dirt road. Carelessly she powered the car down the straight road until the first few corners. After the third almost hit of a tree she was forced to slow her speed or risk finishing her journey with the car embedded in part of the forest. Too little, too late she felt the tyres lose traction and the car began to slide in slow motion sideways. The trees loomed ominously as the back end of the car spun around and sent her at a greater impulsion straight into an old oak. A crack louder than thunder echoing in her ears as she screamed and was flung to the opposite side of the car. Her head collided with the bent support strut as glass shattered around her.
          Darkness was wrapped about her, pain and the stench of blood racking her senses. Her mind reeled, her eyes struggling to focus on anything, barely able to see. With a groan she sat up, slowly remembering the men, Daryl, the group… she slumped backwards, a pain deep in her belly stopping any motion of sitting up. The faint imprint of the steering wheel visible through her torn t-shirt as a deepening bruise. There was nothing around her, no noise of animal or person. Taking the break, she stayed where she was, she could wait until morning. There was no point stumbling through the woods in the dark. The taste of blood, fresh and old was still in her mouth and she rubbed at her split lips with her arm.
          In the distance car lights lit up the road and she shrank backwards. It was to no avail, whoever it was would find her and she was in no state to run anymore. The car pulled up, the engine killed and the doors slammed. Voices echoed eerily as the men stepped up to the smashed windows and shone torches in. Isabelle shielded her eyes and tried to see who they were as they worked at the doors and reached in. Hands tugged at her gently and helped her from the car. The second she started to stand her vision blurred one last time, arms catching her with a surprised shout at the last minute as she collapsed.
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Survival Isn't An Option