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The Machete Girl

First Shot

How long had she been out by her self? Oh yeah, since this shit storm started. Just eighteen years old, brown skin and big hair. She ran her hands though her brown hair streaked with dimmed, cheap, washed out, candy apple red in the side bang. It had been on sale months ago at the hair store she frequented for $6.99, and was it ugly. Even uglier now that it was all stiff and dirty. Her feet were hurting from her boots, her tight, tiny shots becoming uncomfortable. Her knotted halter-top was grass stained, not the best clothing to wear for running around in the woods during the end of the world. She had stolen them from a department store, forgetting it wasn't about looking cute anymore, but old habits died hard. She scratched her right cheek, her nails running over the month old blackened scratches that drew them selves on her skin.

There was a pop, somewhere in the bush. A twig perhaps? She gripped her two machetes in her hands and glanced around. They had been her little brothers, he was in to weapons and shit. For the life of her she would never know why her father let her 14-year-old brother have such dangerous things, it had to have been a 'male thing'. She kept walking, knowing she was more then likely safe. A few Walkers did not scare her; crazy alive sons of bitches did. She saw first hand how insane some people got after the world crashed and burned. The shock turning them in to psychopaths. At least Walkers were stupid. There was another snap of a twig, and she stopped, slowly turned around to see what it was. Turning the right side of her face towards the noise- her 'bad side' she called it. And as she glanced over, she saw a man standing there for a split second in the brush. He had a crossbow raised to his eye. And before she could make a sound he shot. She was knocked off of her feet and fell to the mud. A loud painful yelp jumped from her lips. The arrow had dug its self in just below her collarbone.

"What the fuck!?" She screamed trying to pull the arrow out. She heard her attacker swear under his voice and run towards her. "Do you just go around shooting people!? You stupid redneck mother fucker-ah-God!"

She yelled as she writhed in pain in the mud. Snatching the arrow from her body. He bent over her and covered her mouth with his hand.

"Shut up!" he said with an angry whisper but the girl still uttered under his palm trying to get his hand off of her mouth. He looked down at her, her darkened scratches on her right side and one white cloudy looking eye. That was the thing that made him shoot her, shit at first he thought she was normal until she turned to look at him. Her one eye cloudy like a Walker. But it was apparent he should have gone with his first mind. "I said shut up!" he hissed again. She stopped fighting, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. He put two fingers against her neck; there was still a pulse. She must have passed out from the pain. He grabbed her machetes, slipping them both under his belt. He picked the girl up; he had no choice she would die if he did not take her back to camp. Daryl Dixon was an asshole, but he was not that much of a dick to let a young woman die there in the dirt.

"Hey! I need help!" Daryl yelled staggering in to the camp. Her look was deceiving, she was heaver then she seemed and shit he also had to carry her backpack and weapons. "Are you fools blind!? I need your fucking help!" He yelled again. And this time people listened, everyone was still shaken up from the Walker attack that happened just last night and killed some of their group members. He went out to get some extra food for their journey to the CDC and instead he brought back a black girl. What a day.

"What happened?" The old one, Dale asked wearing his stupid hat.

"I- I thought she was a Walker." Daryl said with a slight choke as he glanced down at the girl in his arms.

"Why on Earth would you think she was a Walker? I mean look at her, she looks alive to me." Dale added with that same surprised expression that he always had.

"Look man, I have my reasons! Now are you going to help me or what?"

"Put her in one of the tents, we'll take care of her there." Rick ordered taking the girls pulse.

She slowly woke up, her eyes fighting to stay open to meet the blue plastic of the cheap tent. Her puncture was stitched up with normal needle and thread. It must had not been that deep, but shit it did it hurt. She glanced over only to find the man that shot her, sitting in the corner of the tent watching her. She had a better look at him now, dark brown greasy hair, and grimy skin, narrow questioning blue eyes. Her eyes left his face landing to his side noticing his hand on his knife. He just looked at her disfiguring scars and her one white eye.

"What happened to yer' face?" He asked with a rough tone of voice, which reminded her of sand paper.

"Well, that's rude." She murmured as she leaned up. "You tried to kill me, and now you want to ask my twenty questions? Fuck ya, Redneck."

"Hey, you watch yer' mouth." He hissed pointing at her. The girl narrowed her eyes at him and sucked her teeth. "What happened to yer' face? And what is yer' name?" He demanded an answer from her. She said nothing at first, running her hand on the stitched area.

"Brandy." She spoke before she sat up and reached for her backpack and rummaged though it. Pulling out a container of prescription pills. Popping two and then shoving them back in to the bag. He was still glaring at her, Brandy raised an over plucked eyebrow at him. "My face looks the way it does because of an accident- I'm not bit. I'm blind in my right eye." She mumbled, scratching her head. The man said nothing to her; he just kept glaring at her. "Who do I owe the pleasure?" She asked with a fake mocking smile, running her finger over her new scar.

"Daryl, Daryl Dixon" He answered, three of his finger still on the hunting knife what was at his side.

"Well, now. That's a surprise I was expectin' something like 'Tim Bob' or 'Bubba.'" Brandy jeered, getting up and grabbing her knapsack.

"Thanks, Daryl for almost killin' me." She said turning and storming out of the tent.

"Hey! Wait!" Daryl yelled following her past the old RV. The other members of the group stopped and looked over at the commotion. Brandy stopped and turned around, her half pretty face wrinkling with anger. He pulled her two machetes from up under his belt and handed them to her. The young woman snatched them away and kept walking.

"Bitch…" Daryl cursed under his breath.

"Whoa, Whoa." She heard someone call out from behind her; she was not going to stop but who ever it was caught up to her. "Hey, hold on." A tall man who had on a Sheriff's hat said to her. Brandy turned to look at him and as soon as she did; she could tell that he was shocked by the right side of her face. His blue eyes wide, scanning them over her scars and her eye. He instinctively went to touch her scars. "Hey, you alright?" Brandy sucked her teeth and whacked his hand away from her face.

"It's from an accident." She hissed at him. "I'm sorry-I-I thought…" He started to say to her, shaking his head. Another man approached them, this one with wavy brown hair and dark eyes. He looked at her the same way everyone else does. "It's from and accident." The first man said to man at his side, knowing what he would say to her. "What's your name?" The Sheriff asked.

"Brandy Simmons." She said grabbing her backpack straps tightly.

"I'm Rick." He said shaking her hand. The other man introduced him self as well, his name was Shane. "You know you can stay, you don't have to go back out there alone." Rick said putting his hands on his hips. She let out a chuckle at his words.

"Yer' meth friend almost killed me." She said pulling down her halter-top collar to the side and showed them the stitches right under her protruding collarbone.

"He mistook you for a Walker, I'm sorry that happened." Rick apologized. "We are headed to the CDC, you can come with us." Brandy snorted and tapped her booted foot in the dirt. "I heard that there might be a cure." He added. Brandy stopped, turning around with a look of speculation, narrowing her eyes and searching Rick's face for a trace of a lie but she found none.

"Whateva' but two things. Numba' one, I keep my weapons." She said looking down at her machetes and Rick noticed a gun on her hip with a silencer. Numba' two, stay out of my business." Brandy said to him and turned to walk away.


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