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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
- 4
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“Isabelle, right?” A heavily pregnant woman smiled at her from further up the corridor as Daryl lowered her arm from his shoulders.
“Um, yes,” Isabelle responded, gripping onto the handrail for support as her legs trembled once more.
“I’m Lori, Rick’s wife. How are you feeling?” Lori queried, stepping closer and offering a hand. Reluctantly, Isabelle accepted and felt the gentle squeeze of fingers about her own.
“Better, thank you,” Isabelle smiled faintly.
“Hey, I’m Beth, I um… I cleaned you up and this is Maggie, she did your bandages,” the younger girl stepped forwards and encased her in a clumsy hug with the biggest grin Isabelle had seen in a long time. She patted her on the back carefully.
“You took a fair tumble, how’s your wrist holding up?” Maggie asked, pointing towards her bandaged left wrist.
“Oh, er… it’s fine. Bit sore, but that’s to be expected,” Isabelle waved away the concern uncomfortably, feeling increasingly shell shocked as Beth stepped away. “I’m sorry to have caused you all so much trouble.”
“No need to apologise, you needed the help,” Beth grinned openly, patting her arm gently. “We need to stand together now, what’s left of us,” Isabelle smiled weakly and nodded, her heart beating too quickly at the attention. She fought to control the panic, the fear. Endless scenarios ripped through her mind, each more horrifying than the last. What if these people were the last? What if they were all the humans that remained in this world?
“Come on Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you that water,” Daryl muttered, a hand on her elbow, as the women parted to let her past.
She didn’t question him this time, letting him guide her away. Her eyes warily examining each cell they passed but there were no more people in this cell block. They entered a hallway serving as a combined meeting area and kitchen, a couple of metal picnic tables in the middle. He passed her another bottle of crystal clear water from a pile on a counter. Greedily she downed it, not caring if anyone else needed any. Not caring if it was the last bottle or tainted or poisoned. Gasping for air she wiped her mouth, Daryl just looked amused as he handed her another without a word. This one she drank more slowly while taking in her surroundings.
“Rick will be back soon. He’ll want to talk to you,” Daryl muttered as he poured some cereal into a bowl. “He’s a good man, he’ll let you stay if you follow our rules.”
          As if he had heard his name the man she assumed was Rick stepped into the hallway. His eyes locked onto hers, he watched her too intensely and her skin burned under the scrutiny. Something told her not to look away and she held his eyes as he stalked, predatorily, up to her, almost too close for comfort. Instinct made her square her shoulders. She was shorter than him by a good couple of inches but she would be damned if she was going to show the intimidation she felt. He stood in front of her, eyes boring in to hers as he took her measure. Isabelle tilted her chin defiantly.
“My name’s Isabelle,” she held her hand out formally to him, hoping it wasn’t sweaty.
“Rick Grimes,” his hand clasped hers tightly. “Daryl says he found you lost in the forest… on your own… Where’s your group?”
“They died, at the beginning. I’ve been alone ever since,” Isabelle stated clearly, controlling her voice. All the practice from auditions stopping the threatening quaver from erupting. “I escaped Atlanta with my dance troupe, we were on tour from the UK. A couple weeks after we evacuated some men found our camp. I ran when I heard the screams. A few others ran too but we got separated,” Isabelle continued, remembering the night that still haunted her nightmares. She would not feel the fear and she would not show her weakness to these men.
“How do you know they were men and not walkers?” Rick demanded.
“I’m fairly sure walkers don’t rape or pin women down while they…” Isabelle gritted her teeth, unable to continue. “I turned back to see if there were survivors. They were still there however many hours later doing... they hadn’t stopped. I didn’t go back again.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rick commented, still not releasing her eyes. “You can’t stay here,” chills rippled through her core. “We’ll give you some supplies that we can spare and help you get past the horde.”
“What? NO!” She shook her head in denial. “Please, I can’t survive out there any longer. You don’t know what it’s like. There’s no food, the corpses are everywhere. There’s not even enough grass for the horse!” Her voice cracked as despair seeped in, Rick was turning away. Her one chance for salvation from the hell hole that had become her life was slipping through her fingers.
          Ice settled in her stomach, if he sent her away he was effectively signing her death certificate. She turned to Daryl who also refused to meet her gaze despite looking uncomfortable. There was no one else to appeal to, she had to save herself this time. This was her only choice, this was her only way to survive. If he didn’t let her stay she may as well slit her wrists and be done with it. Rapidly she contemplated her options, a trade, perhaps a trade could work.
“Look, I have some meds… in my pack,” Isabelle explained quietly. “You can have them,” she hurriedly added when Daryl frowned with suspicion. “I’m used to aches and pains, from being a dancer, and taking things to ease them. I raided several pharmacies over the winter, took whatever was left. It’s not much but it’s something… Please…” Isabelle pleaded. “Just… just don’t send me back out there.”
“You’re skin and bone, and you don’t know how to take down a walker,” Rick pointed out quietly, meeting her eyes solemnly. “We don’t have the resources to be protecting some frightened little girl,” Rick muttered as the reality hung heavily between them. Anger and fear raged within her at his words sunk in.
“Yes, I’m afraid,” Isabelle shouted furiously, stepping up to face him. “You go out there, on your own, with nothing and no way to survive and tell me how easy it is. Tell me how I shouldn’t be afraid of every single moving thing, that I shouldn’t fear being brought into a prison full of strangers. You dangle hope and sanctuary in front of me like this, you should have just told your crony to shoot me when he found me!” She would not be cast aside, she would not go back out there. “Go on, tell me not to be afraid. Tell me to accept your judgement without argument.”
“That’s not what…” Rick began only to drift off into thought, refusing to look her in the eye. Slowly he turned back looking between both her and Daryl now.
“Rick, few more nights out there and she’ll be at the fence with the other walkers. She’s no threat,” Daryl pointed out. “What’s one more mouth? We could always do with more scavengers, she’s been out there this long and on her own. Done all right as well, all things considered.”
          Isabelle stared at him with unconcealed surprise, she’d half expected him to agree with the other man, as Rick watched him curiously. Slowly he nodded and turned to look at her again. She locked her eyes with Rick once more as she pleaded silently with him. Something told her to keep her mouth shut, that Daryl had somehow rescued her sorry excuse for a life once more.
“All right, you can stay, for now. One step out of line and I’ll put you down myself,” Rick threatened half-heartedly. “You keep your eye on her at all times, you brought her here, she’s your responsibility. Make sure she knows the rules,” he snapped at Daryl before stalking back out of the prison block.
          Isabelle let out a tense breath, not quite daring to believe she’d made it through the ‘interview’. Daryl nudged her gently with his elbow and passed her a bowl before pointing to the table. Shakily she took the bowl from him and dropped heavily onto the bench. What had she gotten herself into? Had she just made her life better or worse? Daryl dropped onto the bench opposite her and drew a blade, sharpening it against a whetstone. She watched him curiously before realising it was her dagger he was sharpening. He caught her eye, span the blade with practised ease and offered her the hilt.
She reached out slowly, wondering if it was a trick. Her fingers closed about the familiar carved wood of the handle, the leather strapping now neatened up and she ran the pad of her thumb carefully over the edge. Her skin split at the sharpness and she winced before licking away the beads of crimson. Carefully she turned the dagger around again and offered it back to Daryl, assuming she would be unarmed from now on. Instead he merely smirked and pushed a small leather holster towards her.
“You’ll need it more than me,” he pointed out. “How long you had it blunt for?”
“I didn’t know they needed sharpening,” Isabelle mumbled in embarrassment.
“Well, I’ll show you how to sharpen it next time it’s blunt,” Daryl muttered, looking more than a little amused at her admission. “You ever handled a gun?”
“No,” Isabelle whispered after another spoonful. “I’ll have to learn though. I get the impression I’m only welcome here if I’m useful and not causing trouble.”
          Daryl nodded absently, his eyes in the cell block and no longer on her. The lack of attention on her soothed her soul and she felt the knots in her back slowly release. She pushed the bowl away once she was finished, ignoring his curious stare as his attention returned to her.
“So, what are the rules?” She queried, desperate to ease the silence that hung between them. “I’d rather not break any unwittingly,” Isabelle smiled, placing the dagger into the sheath for something to do.
“Just don’t upset anyone,” Daryl mumbled still watching her curiously.
“Simple enough,” Isabelle nodded. “I can deal with that,” he smirked and pointed into a corner where her things were piled in a small jumble.
Isabelle shifted free of the table and stumbled towards the saddle bags, ignoring the faint tremors in her muscles. Carefully she peeled back the right-hand flap and rooted through the various items until she found the small bag of drugs. Silently she removed a couple of boxes and pushed them under a jumper, glancing over her shoulder to ensure he hadn’t seen her. Standing smoothly, she tossed the remainder towards Daryl as he stepped closer. He looked through the packets curiously as she turned back to her bags. Dragging the saddle bags onto her shoulders one last time she turned and stared dumbly at Daryl’s outstretched hand. In the past, she would have graciously dropped her bags at his feet and sauntered ahead. She was no stranger to men and their ‘gentlemanly’ behaviours that usually came at a price. Previously she’d have allowed a chaste kiss, if they were attractive perhaps she’d have even gone so far as dinner and a show, but she sensed the world nowadays wouldn’t have such little luxuries as acceptable payment. Was he offering because he wanted to call his debt in?
She looked at the man stood before her more intently. She wouldn’t have given him a second glance in the old world, dismissed him as a beggar or criminal. Yet this was the man that had saved her when others had only meant her harm. The only man to have shown her kindness when he could have taken anything he wanted. He wasn’t holding his hand out for the bags because he wanted something from her, it was pity in his eyes. She’d never been looked at with pity before; jealousy, lust, even hatred, but pity was new. Fire stirred in her heart, she did not need pity. Strutting past him, she headed down the corridor and up the metal steps to the cell she’d awoken in. Dropping the bags and herself onto the bed as Daryl followed slowly, apparently amused at her pathetic attempt to be independent. Her legs and back were screaming at her for her rebellion.
“This is my bunk, you’re on top,” he informed her coolly as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “No offence, but the condition you’re in we need to make sure someone stops you from turning into a walker.”
“Right, no toilet trips or midnight snacks for me then,” Isabelle grumbled quietly as she picked up the saddle bags again and struggled to push them onto the upper bunk. “Wouldn’t want to get shot for walking after all.”
          Swearing under her breath she struggled to climb the ladder and dragged the bags up after her. Pulling the bags closer she contemplated unpacking before dismissing the idea as quickly as it had come to mind. What was the point? How long would she be here? She pulled just one thing free. Her fingers prised open a silken drawstring bag and pulled a pair of still delicately pink pointe shoes out. Slowly, she stroked the satin, she hadn’t looked at them since she last wore them in practice over a year ago. The ribbons threaded through her fingers softly. Would she ever see pointe shoes again or were hers the last? She folded over them, weakness flooding her body in waves of agony and she fought futilely against the falling tears.
“They’re good people, just scared like you. We’ve been hurt by people too, by others,” Daryl explained, apparently assuming her tears were from fear.
          Isabelle laughed roughly and held up the shoes as if they offered an explanation but he just looked more confused. Slowly she clambered down the ladder, pressing them to her chest protectively. She stood before him, looking up into his eyes, struck by the colour.
“You don’t even know what these are, do you?” She stated. “I was thinking how nice it would be to dance again. Then I realised that these are probably the last pointe shoes in the world,” she whispered looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t dare wear them again in case they get damaged.”
“You’re crying over shoes?” Daryl asked in disbelief, his lip quirking unsure if she was joking or not.
Isabelle snorted in amusement, to anyone else it would be ridiculous to explain what these meant to her. How did you explain that your entire life was spent in these shoes, that every breath had once been dedicated to standing on your toes, and that you spoke through your body with words your lips could never put into form? It was ridiculous in this world, purely ironic. Her eyes met his again, she realised his confusion wasn’t based on his understanding of the current world but the one that they had come from. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of a life that had been the opposite and yet so like her own in some ways. The pain, the isolation, but the glimpse into his soul disappeared as quickly as it had appeared before she could garner more.
“Let’s just call it a moment of insanity,” Isabelle whispered softly as she folded the shoes delicately together and climbed back up to her bunk. Gently she placed them carefully by the pillow, reluctant to leave them as if they would disappear. Just to fade away with the rest of the beauty the world had once possessed.
“Well I don’t know many who would cry over shoes to be honest. Seems kind of pointless,” Daryl muttered, completely misunderstanding her smile at the unintended pun he’d made as she stepped down to stand before him again.
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Survival Isn't An Option