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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Isabelle stumbled upright, already Beth was pulling her father up and equipping him with his crutches. It became apparent why someone had screamed. Behind the small group of survivors, walkers stumbled and shuffled closer from within the prison, Maggie and Lori firing pistols at them as they guided a young boy away. Another pair she hadn’t met yet were battling with sealing the courtyard gate. Isabelle didn’t wait to see if they were successful as a walker stumbled towards her, its lower jaw flapping uselessly as bony fingers stretched for her. What was she supposed to do? Slap it? Scream at it? The panic started to threaten her and she forced herself to calm down. The only possible thing that could help her was the line of parked vehicles against the fence. The decision was made for her as the walker stumbled and snagged its fingers on her jacket cuff. This time it was her that screamed as adrenaline finally pushed her to react.
Yanking her arm free she turned on her heel and ran for the parked pickup closest to her. Fingers grasping and tugging at the door handle until it opened. Just in time she dived in and slammed the door shut behind her as walkers piled against the windows. Hands, bloodied and dirtied smacked against the glass clumsily, teeth grinding as more than one pressed their faces close enough to the glass for their noses to be crushed into nothing more than a stain. Retching emptily Isabelle slammed her palm down over the door locks and scrambled into the back seat before realising the walkers were already clambering over the flatbed and squashing themselves against the small ventilation window. An arm flailed through the small opening and latched onto the shoulder of her jacket. With a cry of terror, she slammed the pane of glass closed, the rotten arm dropping from its host and into the foot well. Almost beside herself, Isabelle pulled her feet up and shrank away from it gagging at the sight.
Staring dumbly at the mess of death pressed against every window she contemplated her options. She could stay put and pray someone came to her rescue or she could try and escape. The last option was hilarious to consider. What was she going to do… climb through a window and ignore them gnawing on her? Although waiting for someone to come to her rescue was almost as ridiculous. For all she knew and could see through the writhing corpses the others had fled the prison complex to never return. Almost as soon as the thought passed through her mind she noticed the number of smacking hands were fewer. Clumsily she scrambled her way back to the front seats as more light broke through and the walkers started to leave. Slowly she stopped hyperventilating and forced her breath into a more natural pattern. Through the bloodstains, she could see a group of people heading into the prison.
Carefully she opened the pickup’s door, half expecting a walker to come at her. With a surge of nausea, she lowered her feet to the blood-stained concrete and gingerly made her way away from the pickup. Disbelieving, she looked around the empty courtyard now littered with nothing more than unmoving corpses. Who were these people? Only then did she hear the siren, notice the horde of walkers slowly gathering at the perimeter fence. For a moment, she panicked that they would leave her and headed for the door nearest to her. “Isabelle, you just stay put and stay out of the way,” Beth’s father called out to her from across the courtyard as he and Beth opened the door to join her. “They’re very good at this, they’ll be absolutely fine. All we have to do is stay out of the way and keep calm.”
“Isabelle, this is my dad. His name’s Hershel,” Beth smiled sweetly to hide her concern as she introduced them. Isabelle could see the nervousness in her eyes as they all glanced towards the prison doors. United they were wondering what would come back through them, the lost members of the group or more walkers.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Isabelle offered a relatively clean hand to the man, a soft but firm grip clasped about her fingers.
“And you, how’s that wrist doing?” Hershel gestured towards her splinted left arm.
“It’s ok, your daughter, er, Maggie, she did a great job on it,” Isabelle rubbed her fingers over the bandage. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”
“You’ve had medical training?” Hershel asked as Beth helped him to sit on the picnic bench.
“Only on myself, ballerina, you get used to patching yourself up,” Isabelle smiled wistfully as his chuckled. He reminded her of her grandfather, the same kindly smile and understanding eyes. A pang of loss went through her. What had happened to everyone she knew? Would she see them again?
          Exhaustion poured through her body and she settled back onto the bench alongside him and Beth. She turned her eyes from the mangled bodies surrounding them. Minutes passed in echoing silence as they listened for any indication of anyone returning. They all jumped at the ricocheting noise of gunshots, Isabelle grasping for Beth’s hand on instinct. The sirens finally ceased and an eerie silence hung between them. The three of them, Beth, Hershel and Isabelle, shared a look of concern as the silence dragged out. Isabelle licked her lips nervously, her fingers squeezing Beth’s hand as strongly as she was squeezing hers back. Were they all that was left? A cripple, a teenager and an emaciated ballerina? Some survival group! Another gunshot rang out causing them to all jump once more, the noise louder for the silence. Without a thought, she started for the doorway that the sound had come from.
“Isabelle, you go into that prison and you’ll just be a liability. Stay here, there’ll be plenty more opportunities for you to help when you’ll actually be useful,” Hershel ordered more firmly.
          Almost as soon as the words escaped him the group of men burst from the entrance opposite causing Isabelle to stumble to a standstill. She spotted Daryl emerging last, his crossbow held tightly in his hands and she felt a tear of relief escape. Confused by the emotion she turned her face away, refusing to look at anyone as she fought to understand the tear and sense of relief that had erupted at the sight of the man. Not once had she felt like this at the sight of anyone, least of all some red neck she knew nothing about.
Chaos and confusion erupted in a cacophony of noise, names were being shouted in desperation and fear as the group tried to reunite. The noise fell instantly at the sound of a baby crying. Isabelle stared, not knowing, not understanding, what the others had already realised. She stared dumbly at Rick, crying in the middle of the courtyard, the despair on the faces of many of the group and she finally realised. The baby was here at the expense of her mother; Lori. Their world had collapsed about them and only she wasn’t directly affected. She stared at the people around her, united in grief. This group loved each of their own with a strength she hadn’t seen, ever, in her entire lifespan. Uncomfortably she stepped away, what was this place? How did these people know each other? What was happening? She wrapped her arms about herself and shrank away from the group, not wanting to be there, not wanting to intrude. Too much, it was too much.
          Torn between the desire to run from the chaos and the desire to stay with people, Isabelle hovered on the outskirts. She watched silently as the group rebuilt itself, each member contributing in some way, either with comfort or planning. They worked so fluidly together. They whispered and shouted at each other and slowly she memorised the names of each one. The boy, hurrying after his new sister was Carl and the man, holding Maggie as she cried against his chest, was Glenn. All their relationships, the dynamics and each of their roles within the group became apparent. Those that comforted others and those that struggled with stress, those that planned, that led and those that followed. It was all information that she could use and she stored it away willingly. Information was always useful. Whether she stayed or left, it would be useful.
          Conversation dwindled as action was decided, Rick had long since disappeared into the prison as the others picked up the pieces of his shattered family. She wondered what kind of man could leave his new-born daughter alone like that and a son that had just lost his mother. He must trust the group implicitly or something else had happened, something that would drive a man from his children and to the corpse of his wife. She wondered what it was, wondered if she could ask. Something told her to hold her tongue. Daryl headed towards her, moving towards the prison, bloodied knife still in hand and crossbow over his shoulder. Isabelle shuffled out of the way and watched him go past, followed by most of the group. A few stayed behind, started to move and clear the bodies.
“Can you grab a bucket of water and a cloth, please?” Glenn queried as he gently guided Maggie past her.
          Isabelle nodded, following them up the steps and hunting out the supplies. She paused outside the cell door as she heard the whispered conversation within. Clanging the bucket against the wall to announce her approach she gave them a minute more to compose themselves before clearing her throat at the entrance to the cell. Glenn met her with a brief, strained smile. “Thanks,” he took the bucket and cloth from her and headed back to the bent over Maggie, wiping the blood and grime tenderly from her skin.
Isabelle watched for a moment before leaving, rubbing her arms in a futile attempt at self-comfort. She headed back to her cell, not knowing where else to go. No one had looked at her like that, no one had touched her like that. She didn’t even know that caring like that existed within human nature. It was almost unknown for such kindness to come her way, rather, it had been before this group. At least, not without a price. How could there be such sentiment at the end of the world? When everything was cold and dead and ugly? She paused at the doorway to her cell, having reached it quicker than anticipated while being deep in thought. Spotting Daryl’s feet, one foot on top of the other in an almost child-like pose, she faltered, having forgotten that he was already here. “Hey,” she called before entering, before he could see her, just in case he wanted privacy. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, just grabbing a few things. We need supplies for the baby,” Daryl muttered as she stepped into the room.
“Oh, that’s a good idea. Will you have to go far?” Isabelle rubbed her arms nervously once more as she watched him clean blood and pieces of flesh from his dagger. She fought down the urge to gag and turned her face away.
“Dunno, we passed a nursery on our way here. They might still have something we can use, or we’ll have to go further afield,” he lowered the dagger, apparently having noticed her turning green. “You ok?”
“Yeah, still adjusting to the whole er… blood, guts and death thing,” Isabelle motioned towards the now cleaner dagger.
“Better adjust quick, it’s not going away any time soon,” Daryl pointed out, sheathing his dagger and pulling arrows free from their holder for inspection.
“I know,” Isabelle scowled at him and leaned back against the wall. “Does it actually get easier though?”
          This time he paused before answering, mulling over his words slowly as if knowing this was a key issue of hers. “It does and it doesn’t,” he started, continuing to straighten the alignment of one arrow before tweaking the crossbow’s strings. “Walkers get easier, they look less human every day but freshly turned, friends and family… they don’t. You just get used to it though, it’s a kind of easier,” Daryl finished tuning the bow and began to pack a small bag to take with him.
“What do I do if I want to leave? Can I leave?” Isabelle whispered, afraid of the answer, afraid he would interpret something from the question.
“You can go whenever you want, you’re not a prisoner,” Daryl pointed out calmly. “Only question you’ve got to ask yourself is… what’s out there for you to go to?”
          Isabelle blinked. That was not the response she had expected. She had expected a no, or a why, or some form of debate over what she owed these people for their assistance, for the use of their supplies. Not a question. He glanced at her over his shoulder, as if he wanted an answer. Was there anything out there for her? Other than death? Why did she even want to leave after fighting her case so hard with Rick? Confused and exhausted, she shook her head. “There’s nothing,” Isabelle acknowledged, curious as to his frown when she responded.
          He shouldered his pack, flicking his hair from his eyes and he looked at her in a calculating fashion. Her breath hitched as he quirked a half smile at her and strode past, “Try not to get in trouble until I get back. I know it’ll be a challenge.”
          Isabelle followed, after a moment of thought, but paused at the top of the stairs as he strode away without a backwards glance. What was she going to say? Don’t go, I need you? What on earth was she trailing this man for? Why was he making her breath catch and her heart skip a beat? Maggie emerged moments later, a bag packed and Glenn by her side. The distant thrum of a motorbike engine and the rattle of a metal gate announced their departure. Pain throbbed through her left wrist and she glanced down at her knuckles, they were white with the pressure she was gripping the metal bannister. She let go, rubbing the tender muscles gently. What was going on with her? Since when did a half arsed, lopsided smile send her stomach into knots? Since when did she fear that someone wouldn’t return? Hadn’t she always made her way in this accursed world alone? She’d always survived, somehow.
“Hey Isabelle, you ok? Come on, come sit with us,” Beth whispered as she wrapped fingers into hers. Startled she looked at the smaller girl, she hadn’t even been aware of her coming up the stairs. She needed to get over this guy and quickly, “It’s ok, it’ll all be ok.”
          Incapable of further thought Isabelle allowed her to lead her down. It was quiet in the block apart from the baby’s soft noises and the occasional sniff from Carl as he rocked her. Isabelle dropped onto the bench with them, her arms wrapped tightly about herself in a vain attempt at comfort. Soft conversation rolled between them, Hershel and Beth talking enough to make the cellblock seem homely. It was almost like the canteen at her first boarding school, it had been so peaceful and friendly there. When they were young, before life became a competition. The simple calming presence soothed her slowly, the old familiarity of peace, companionship and love between comrades. Tears were threatening but she wouldn’t let them fall as her body slowly began to release the tension it had been holding for so long. These people would not see her as weak, no one else had and she was damned if she’d allow anyone to see now. No matter what Daryl said about showing her true self. Her true self would not be weak.
- 6
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Survival Isn't An Option