Chapter One

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners.  The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  The author is no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Warnings: Rated Mature for language, gore and adult situations.  Readers under the age of 18 are discouraged from reading.

.

.

.

Scars Of Survival
Chapter One

Give me a lever long enough, and I shall move the world.  ~ Archimedes

My back pressed up against the bark of an old Georgia White-Oak, while my ass was falling asleep on the narrow branch of my perch was not the way I expected to spend this summer.  I had a small ceremony in mind for the end of season and lots of planning to do in the time between. But after the world turned to shit, I guess I didn’t have much of a choice.  It was all about survival now and I wasn’t so luck as to have my man around to provide the things I had once taken for granted; like eating and sleeping without the threat of the undead. He was not here to provide my safety, not anymore.

The humidity was at an all time high, at least that’s what I told myself when I internally bitched about the sweat pouring down my legs and back.  It was thick, heavy and oh-so hot.  My body was sweltering under the thick material of my forest print-camouflage jeans and the reinforced patches on my ass, knees and shins did not help the heat factor any.  But I had learned long ago, in a much different time, that I would rather be hot and sweaty than to suffer the bite of one the many snakes slithering around out here in the hills.  Most of them weren’t poisonous but that didn’t mean that a bite didn’t hurt like a bitch.  Then of course, there was always… the others.

In light of the infection that had spread its way through my home state like a wildfire it was the only sensible thing - besides the obvious zombie - that I could think to call them.  The others: Those who are infected and rise after a clinical death.

I’d unfortunately seen it happen myself once, the turning of a human being I once knew into the one of the dead, flesh eating monsters that I imagine anyone who was still of the living had seen with their own eyes.  It was only once though, but it was still enough to make me squirm and promise myself to never give those things the upper hand.  I just wish I had factored the nasty human race in with that little promise, I might not be in this position if I had.

It was just after the infection had spread to my little corner of Georgia, did I get my first look at a bite.  It was a normal, lazy Thursday night in Trenton, my hometown.  It wasn’t planned for me to be there but after the call I’d gotten from one of my mother’s many guy friends, I didn’t have much choice.  She had fallen off the wagon once more, although I wasn’t really sure she had ever climbed on to begin with.  Point was, she had overdosed in her living room and now it was left to me to get her settled into a plushy rehab facility.  Oh, the joys of coming home. 

After moping up her vomit and making sure she was settle in for her long haul of a six month treatment, I decided I needed a fucking drink in the worst way.  It was impossibly slow but it was Thursday and Thursday’s were always like that.  Only the regulars made the trip in but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary either, that was everyday. The regulars of “Backwoods Bar & Grill”  greeted me with smiles, cheers and well wishes on my upcoming plans to do the one thing I swore I’d never do.  Get married. 

The little blonde, Cassy, behind the bar was sweet as peach pie but it was obvious after a few minutes, that she didn’t have a clue what she was doing.  Jerry was nowhere in sight and she looked flustered as Hell.  So being the nice southern girl I was, I threw on my apron that had a permanent residence behind the bar and showed her how to mix a few things.

I knew something was up when my old boss came shuffling through the front door an hour later, in a rush and carrying on about some crazy asshole taking a chunk outta his arm.  His appearance was off, too… way off.  Normally Jerry, the owner of “Backwoods” was an attractive man, almost all women thought so, even at his respectable age of fifty-three.  But as he struggled to pull himself up to the bar, I just knew…

He looked like shit.  His skin was already graying in some areas and he was white as a sheet in others.  His arm was forming thick pustules of yellow and purple where he had clearly been bitten on the forearm.  And the heat that was radiating off of him… dear Jesus, he was burning alive.  I half expected him to combust into flames and turn to ash before my very eyes. 

As Jerry stood there, bleeding out all over the floor while the bar patrons crowded around him to help and call for an ambulance, I realized I was done with this town.  I should have never come back in the first place.  Mama was always gonna be hype, she had been for most of my life and if she really wanted to kill herself so badly, it was high time I let her.  My fiancé begged me not to go but he knew as well as I did that if I didn’t, I’d feel the guilt for years to come.  But after this… I was done.

I didn’t say a word as I untied my short apron and cashed out what little tips I had still sitting in the drawer from when I quit four years ago but I figured the extra cash might come in handy.  Nor did I say anything when I grabbed my keys and hauled-ass out the door.  I had heard enough through radio transmission and news broadcasts to know what this was.  I just never in a million years thought it would effect me, I guess no one ever does.  I never thought the infection would spread to my little slice of heaven way out here in the hills.  Apparently, it had.

The drive to my daddy’s cabin away from home was a blur I barely recalled.  I remember trying to call the house in Dalton, hoping he would answer but knowing the possibility of it happening were stacked, and not in my favor.  He never did answer the phone but I did leave a message full of tears and I love you’s.  It would have to do.  My mind focused after my little melt down and quickly got back to the task at hand; which was figuring out what I was going to do.  I had no intentions of staying in Trenton so I knew right away that I would be packing for a long stay in the woods.  I was headed east.  I was going home.

My daddy’s little cabin in the woods was just at the base of Lookout Mountain, it was secure and had enough food and natural gas to last me a good long while.  Some might call me stupid for leaving it, but he was all I had left and I wasn’t about the spend the apocalypse without him.  It had been ingrained from birth that the world would go to Hell in a hand basket before my time was up and I was trained to be ready for certain situations.  My father had always been a paranoid man, all the way up to his death.  I even chucked to myself when I entered the rustic room of his armory; I bet daddy never thought it would be flesh eating zombies that ended the world. 

I packed as lightly as I could but made sure I had enough clothes to last me through the cold mountain nights and winters; thick denim camouflage, long sleeves, sturdy boots, under-armor and lots of socks… Basically anything I could layer to protect myself from the prospect of being bitten.  My compression bow, a few rifles, a few side arms and my grandfathers machete and skinning knives were next.  Then it was merely a matter of loading as much non-perishables out of the pantry, some homemade jerky and lots of bottled water.

My first couple of weeks weren’t bad at all, it reminded me of the long trips to hunting camp without the disgusting smelling men.  I met a few others, families that didn’t mind trading me the protection of their camp for a few hours of sleep in exchange for canned goods or something I had killed on the go.  It was extremely lonely at times, watching lovers snuggle by firelight and it made me miss him all the more. 

However, during my second month of the end of the world, I learned a hard lesson about being kind to strangers.  The lesson; don’t trust anybody!  It was a solid group, easily eighteen of them or more; women, children ect.  They were all heavily armed and made me feel secure, safe.  I was very wrong in that judgment and I would be wearing the proof of that misjudgment for the rest of my life. 

I felt incredibly vain the first time I caught a reflection of myself in a creekbed not far from where I escaped.  I felt disgusted by the view and wondered if he would look at me like I was the monster now, should I ever see him again.  I wasn’t so sure anymore.  It was a stupid thought anyhow, I know he wouldn’t say a damn thing about them, my scars, other than his first fit of rage.  It was a materialistic way of looking at things but I couldn’t help but think that blushing brides were not supposed to look like the Joker on their wedding day. 

I should have been happy just to have escaped with my life and most of my dignity.  I should have been thrilled that I killed the bastard that tried to rape me.  But I just couldn’t, not at first.  Not knowing that I would wear the scars of my own stupidity on my face and back, forever.

It took a couple of weeks after, for be to become right with myself again.  The stitches in my face were healing and about ready to come out.  My back was still sore but at least I had kept infection at bay.  The healing of my body did wonderful things for my soul and I started looking at them in a new light.  Yes, I was no longer the beauty I had once been, but I was also no longer in need of such vanities.  They were a badge of honor.  A mark of survival.  And I had survived.

Those scars insured that I would never again make so careless a mistake.  Trust was something to be earned and not easily given.   No.  I would never make that mistake again. 

After my self reflection in the woods, I did my best to steer clear of others, not that it was hard.  If I did come across a group of nomads they usually stayed well away from me.  I guess my new face was more useful than I first thought.  Men would always look disgusted and the women would shield their children from the sight of me, while they looked on in pity.  I couldn’t decided which was worse, disgust or pity?  

I had been on my own again for three days when I came across some prime hunting land, which was what I was in desperate need of.  Those bastards that had played operation on my face had taken just about everything I had.  I never did see my rifle or side arms again.  Those city-slickin’ idiots were too stupid to figure out the bow and my knives were what ended my tormentors life. 

A light crackling of foliage in the underbrush of my tree snapped me from my distracting and depressing thoughts and brought catching the dinner I’d been tracking most of the morning back to the forefront of my mind.  The deer sign was thick in this area and I knew there had to be a herd of doe and possibly a few young bucks close by.  The bucks were the furthest thing from my mind right now, it wasn’t rut and more than likely they’d really taste like shit in this warm weather.  No.  My target was a fat doe and her yearling grazing near a small crick.  The doe herself couldn’t be more than a couple of years old herself; going by her size and clear lack of self-preserving instincts. 

Raising my head slightly from my blind, I lined up my sights.  I did a quick check to make sure I was downwind enough as not to alert her to my numb ass sitting in the tree not thirty feet from where she was drinking.  She was blissfully unaware and it was all that I needed.  I drew my bow, released all the air from my lungs and relished in the sounds of the fletching of my arrow as it cut through the air and met its mark just under her shoulder blade.  A perfect shot.

More than happy with myself and the feast I’d be enjoying this evening, I let my guard slip.  Failing to notice odd sounds in the woods was a disastrous mistake and I had made it yet again.  I didn’t hear the sound of footsteps drawing in from the south, I never heard them until they were right on me.  I guess I could blame it on hunger and how I rushed because of it, I could even blame it on the adrenaline rush still coursing through me from the hunt.  But realistically, it was a fuckin’ mistake.

A stupid fuckin’ mistake.

I was just starting my descent from the ragged limbs that had been my permanent chair for the last three hours to the forest floor.  Stupid smile on my face and everything, when I heard a loud crack of a twig snapping, then another.  Not prepared for the noise at all, my grip slackened and before I knew it I was plummeting to the ground.  My head smacked a wayward branch as I went and not long after my body met the dry Georgia clay with a loud thump.

Trying to right myself was a task I wasn’t ready for.  My vision was blurry at best as I tried to shake off the fall, but it was of little use.  I felt fuzzy, light and completely nauseated, my stomach rolling with each movement I made.  Voice were heard in the distance, coming towards me quickly, distorted but obviously human.  Not that it mattered much to me anymore.  Human or Other, they were both bad.  I had found out first hand that some humans could be ten times the evil of one of those things.  Fuck, at least those things had an excuse. 

It was silly, but the only thing I could think about when black spots started to cloud my vision was how pissed I was about bleeding allover myself and the fact that someone else would be enjoying my kill tonight.  Bastards.

~ Meanwhile ~

It was sometime after noon Daryl suspected, going by the sun beating down on him from directly overhead.  It was fairly quiet in camp, more than likely due to the lack of Shane, T-dog and Glenn.  The younger of the Dixon boys could really care less about the lack of their loud mouths and it was of his opinion that it was high time they got off their ass’ and did something more productive than stalking around camp with a shot-gun, acting like he was still a sheriff in these parts.  It was in the opinion of both the Dixon boys that these were times of lawlessness and there was no room for a mouthy pig to be dictating things like he still had a stake in what people did with their lives. 

They had left this morning, earlier than he would have expected of the city boy’s and the nosy cop, their mission: try their hand at trapping.  Daryl and Merle and almost laughed their selves sick when Shane had mentioned what they were up to.  Daryl suspected that that group of rag-tag idiots would have a better chance of trapping a hare in the walker infested streets of Atlanta than in the woods, but he said nothing.  

Chancing a sideways glance at his brother, Daryl couldn’t hold back his amused snort at his brothers position in the ratty lawn chair he was dozed off in.  He was completely slack in a lounged position, his feet spread apart and limp as a noodle. 

Whatever Merle was on at the moment suited Daryl just fine; he was quiet and easier to contend with in this prone state.  The loud, swine like snores of his older brother were both laughable and alarming at the same time. 

What if he wasn’t around?  It was clear what would happen to his pitifully addicted sibling; he wouldn’t last a day on his own like this.  The biggest part of surviving these days was to always be on your guard, something his older brother was seriously lacking.  It would be more likely for Merle to spring awake at the sound of his rattling stash than the groans of a walker.  It was for this reason that Daryl had decided to stick close this morning.

Thinking about his brother and his helplessness had him absentmindedly thinking of her.  He knew Lillian or as he pronounced it ‘Lili’ann’ was a strong, stubborn woman who for as long as he’s known could make a fellows manhood shrink faster than any number of those things put together.  But he also knew how friendly and trusting she was.  Would she be able to survive the harshness of this new world?  He suspected she could, ain’t none of the other shit in her life ever stopped her. 

Just as he had decided to change his train of thought to something lighter, before things inside him got twisted up in knots, the sounds of raised voices carried through camp.  The shouts of Shane and Glenn were loud enough that even Merle stirred grumpily from his sleep.  “Wha’ tha fucks goin’ on?” 

“Don’ rightly know,” Daryl muttered, rising to his feet and making his way down the dirt path to the center of camp where everyone had seemed to gather. 

The others were circled like a pack of vultures at the entrance to the beat up R.V., speaking in rough whispers about a girl and wondering if she’d been bit.  Daryl swore under his breath.  Just what they fuckin’ needed; another mouth to feed, a possibly infected mouth to feed.  If he had a guess he’d peg that whop sheriff to be at fault for this, he would be the one to go hurtling around the woods playing hero. 

He didn’t hang around long after that, there was no way in hell he was about to pry himself through that pack of fussing women to get a better look.  If she was infected he’d deal with it when the time came and if she lived… well he’d see her eventually. 

He did however notice the nice, fat doe sitting off to the side, yet to be hung and skinned.  He almost couldn’t believe it.  There was just no way those morons had shot themselves such a find animal.  He decided to think little of it and make his way back to Merle.

Merle was still sitting in that shitty lawn chair when he walked back to their tent, warm beer in hand and shielding his eyes from the hot summer sun.  “Wht’s tha’ verdict, baby brother?” 

Daryl eyed him suspiciously for a moment, confused more than anything.  “Huh?” 

“Dam’it boy, ya stupid ’er somethin’?  Wht’d they plannin’ fer Lil’ sugar tits?”  He replied slapping his thigh like he found the whole situation entirely too amusing.  It put Daryl on edge, even more than usual.  Merle obviously knew something he did not.  He took a glance at the camp below and noticed that Merle was in the perfect position to have seen everything.  So he had already seen her.

“Don’know, they ain’t sayin’ just yet.”  He told his brother with a noncommittal shrug as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. 

Merle sniggered again to himself before pulling his black Stetson low over his brow as he stretched his arms high and wide over his head in a stretch.  “Ya might wanna check it out, baby brother, might be worth yer wile.” 

“Wha’da know?”  Daryl asked gruffly, eyeing his brothers easy posture with even more scrutiny.  He definitely knew something but he wasn’t so stupid to think Merle was about to say anything more on the subject.  No, it would be more fun for the older Dixon to sit back and watch Daryl squirm. 

When Merle said nothing in reply to his question, he plopped himself down on the worn out cooler near the opening of their tent and muttered, “Whatever.” before going back to cleaning his gear.  It wasn’t worth the breath to ask anymore.  Merle was like a flesh and bone Fort. Knox when he wanted to be.  He’d have better luck when Merle got fucked up after dinner, that was if he ate any. 

~

It was near dark when the proverbial dinner bell rang and the younger Dixon made his way towards camp on orders to fetch supper.  He hated having to wait on Merle like some bitch but it was better than dealing with the consciences if his older brother went himself.  More than likely it would just result in Merle insulting one of the woman, or all of them, which in turn would end up in a fight with wonder-cop. 

Camp was a little quieter than he expected and Daryl wasn’t sure if it was out of respect for their new houseguest or fear.  Judging by the looks on everyone’s face, he’d say it was the latter.  Everyone looked pale and violently ill, like they’d just seen the most horrific sight of their lives.  What noise was going around the camp was hushed whispers and he only caught them when he took his seat at stump and waited for his turn at the stew being passed around. 

“I just can’t believe it?”  Andrea provided with a shutter.  “How could someone do that to another human being?” 

The answer was clear to everyone else, they didn’t know. 

“Shhh!”  The dark skinned woman spit in a whisper.  “She could be awake.”  she said with a nasty glare at the older blonde.  At Andrea’s confused expression she added.  “How would you feel if you were in her condition and heard strangers whispering about you around a campfire?”

Daryl was confused as hell as to what they were talking about.  Apparently the girl Shane had brought in from the woods was injured, but he figured that out when he saw the idiot running through the camp with her.  It didn’t take him long to figure out that maybe this girl had injuries sustained from the non-walker variety.  He wasn’t so ignorant not to know that not everyone in this apocalypse were good people.

“Well,”  Shane piped out, his deep voice nearly echoing off the trees in the distance.  “She’s gonna haf’ta fess up eventually, we got’a know if she’s a threat or if whoever did that to ’er is gonna come lookin’ for lost property.

Daryl’s head snapped up and pinned the large man with a hard look, what a fuckin’ dick. 

“That was a shitty thing to say man.”  T-dog offered, the entire group agreeing with him instantly. 

Dale stood from his squatted position of portioning out dinner and stuck his hands up before an argument ensued.  “Calm down everyone. I agree with Shane that we need to know what her story is but for Christ sake man, have some tact.  The girls obviously been through a lot.” 

“Wht’ happened to’er?”  Daryl found himself asking before he thought about it.  He nearly wanted to groan and smack himself for the slip.  He didn’t want a full biography on some chick he didn’t know and he knew it was most likely what he was going to get. 

Lori, holding her boy to her chest started to shake her head at everyone but before she could get her mouth open, Amy beat her to the chase.  “Someone sicko cut her up.”

“Amy!”  Andrea and Lori admonished.  They clearly didn’t want the Dixon’s knowing about the girl at all, it was clear on their faces. 

Dale sighed and retook his squat, lifting a ladle of thick broth and meat to Glenn.  “We didn’t have to do much other than stitch the wound on her head from Shane spooking her out of that tree, looks like she did the majority of them herself.  I think I’m going to have to re-stitch a few though, took quiet a fall.  But…”  he paused looking around at the rest of the group.  “I’m running out of supplies.” 

It hung in the air like a death sentence.  Daryl already knew that big-billy-wop-cop wouldn’t risk his own ass to get the shit Dale needed. 

“Will she hold with just gauze and bandages?”   The Jacqui asked.  “I didn’t get a very good look.” 

Andrea winced, “Trust me, you don’t want to.” 

Dale looked at both women before grabbing another bowl and filling to the brim before answering.  “It’s going to have to, for now.”  He nodded at Daryl then, holding the steaming bowl his way in offering. 

Daryl raised his right arm to grab it, not taking his left off the strap of his Hornton.  Dale gasped, losing his purchase on the bowl itself and taking hold of Daryl’s wrist instead.  

“Wha’th Hell, old man?”  Daryl spat, his eyes hard and narrowed but they softened to confusion at the wide-eyed look Dale was giving the tattoo that peeked out slightly from his right bicep.

“What is it, Dale?”  Shane asked warily, standing from his seat and grabbing the twelve-gage at his feet.  “Is he bit or somethin’?”

Dale seemed to be ignoring Shane altogether as he continued to stare at the dancing demon barely noticeable in the fire light, if it weren’t for the angle, Dale wouldn’t have noticed it either.  “What is it?”  Lori asked, fearfully, clutching Carl tighter to his chest.

“This tattoo…”  Dale trailed off, his eyes never wavering.  “Is it common?”  

Daryl looked at the man like he was crazy for a moment, wondering why the hell his tattoo had anything to do with the old man spilling his dinner all over the forest floor.  “No.”  he answered gruffly.  “I drew’it, why?”  

Dale’s eyes jerked up from the intricate design of inked lines that depicted a dancing demon to look Daryl square in the eyes, his face going pale as he did.  “Have you ever seen it on anyone else?”  

Daryl felt his knees start to shake and his eyes well up as he answered.  “Just one.” 

The look on Dale’s face said it all.  Daryl legs buckled and he crashed hard to the dirt beneath him before he stumbled to his feet in a wobbly run for the R.V., shouting for his brother. 

His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he ran, his skin already breaking out in a cold sweat.  He tried not to think about what the others had said earlier, about her condition and just thank god she was alive. If it was even her. 

He threw the door open with a loud slam, not giving a care if the window busted out in the process.  He could hear Merle screaming at his back for him not to look, which he didn’t understand… until he did. 

He felt himself go cold at that first glance.  He couldn’t even say her name. 

Lying there in the back bunk, under the window was his Lillian but she was far from the woman he’d sent off a couple months ago to visit her momma, no where near.  She was absolutely mutilated, a thick scar running the length of the left side of her face and another running horizontally from bridge of her nose to the apple of her cheek.  Her entire body was full of them.  Jagged, angry looking wounds. 

A scream sounded from somewhere close, it was long and painful but Daryl could barely hear it from all the ringing in his ears.  He could hardly make out Shane demanding something, most likely demanding that he leave.  Let him fuckin’ try. 

When two burly arms picked him off the floor of the camper, Daryl realized two things at once.  One, that at some point the ground had come up and bit him and two, that terrible scream was coming from him. 

“Calm down, ya wire’e little shit!”  That was Merle’s voice, he knew that.

“The fucks wrong with him, he doesn’t need to be in here!”  Shane’s voice shouted.  “Get a hold of ‘em and get him outside!” 

Daryl’s head cleared all at once and his hand instinctively went for the large blade at his side when Merle’s arms tightened and his scratchy voice touched his ears again.  “Ya try that, Pig and Baby-bro’s gonna stick ya good.  He ain’t fuckin’ around.  You hear wha’ I’m sayin’ pretty boy.  He. Will. Kill. You.”

“What’s going on?”  Glenn asked as he timidly peeked into the camper to watch the bigger Dixon struggle with the younger. 

Merle peek over his shoulder.  “Are y’all fuckin’ stupid?”  He yelled exasperatedly.  “That’s his woman!” 

That was the last thing Daryl heard before he gave out again and slumped to the floor.