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Don't Die

Day 11

Day 11

It all happened too fast.

Sam had run away from the house through the kitchen door, closely followed by the heavy, hurried steps from Daryl and Merle. Daryl ran faster than her and guided the other two around Sam’s house to reach his own. As they reached the porch, Sam looked back and saw Bobbi-Jo’s dead, stumbling but surprisingly agile body turning the corner, seemingly looking for them, the half face she still had with perfect makeup, but her eyes void of any life.

They had entered the Dixon’s house, locked all the doors, and had been there ever since. The house had three entrances; the front door, the kitchen door to the side, which led to another small porch, and the basement hatch door, that had always been locked and blocked by an old wardrobe and had never been a viable way in and out. The kitchen door was now blocked by an old and very heavy dresser, cardboard blocking the glass view. The front door, the only one that was left unblocked, was constantly guarded.

If she were to tell, Sam wouldn’t know if it was the electricity, the phone signal or the internet that went down first. She didn’t remember if they searched through the house looking for things that could be useful before or after they saw dozens of dead people walking around on the street, Bobbi-Jo among them. The battery radio still worked, but no useful information came out of it.

It was a virus. It was a parasite. It was bacteria. The cure was known. No, that cure didn’t work. It was the end of the world. Don’t let yourself get bit by one of them. That’s how you die, and then turn. We will find the cure; we’ve got the best people working on it. Don’t get bit until then. The CDCs all over the country were working on it. Go to Atlanta. Go to Atlanta. There’s a center, food and shelter until the cure is found. It’s safe. Don’t get bit and go to Atlanta.

“Yeah, but that ain’t true, is it?” Merle dragged in the same old, drunken voice, bottle of beer in hand, his back to the arm of the couch, a leg resting along it. “Sons of bitches don’t know nothin’.”

“What are you on about?” Daryl asked from his watch by the window.

“D wasn’t bit, was he now?”

“Nope,” Sam answered from the other couch where she was lying. “Died from a stab in the neck. Only one who bit him was me.”

“Wha’?” Merle questioned, frowning.

“I bit him, you don’t remember that?” she said as she sat up, her bare feet resting on the worn out, dusty mat. “The night before. And I sure as hell ain’t one of those fuckin’ dead things”, she got up, leaning over to reach for a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table. “So ya right, son of bitches know nothing.”

“We don’t know he wasn’t bit,” Daryl said looking at Sam as she approached him putting one cigarette between her lips and handing him the pack. “He coulda been. Damn fucker was so hammered all the time, coulda forget it happened.”

“Or that.” Sam agreed.

Daryl threw the pack at Merle after he took a cigarette for himself and they went silent again, like they were most part of time when Daryl and Merle weren’t fighting, foul mouthed and disagreeing on everything. Sam hadn’t slept more than a few minutes, but she felt alert, she had never needed many hours asleep to feel fine. What worried her now was that, after ten days in that house, their pantry had been emptied while they just sat around, ate, fought and waited for something to happen. She worried that, after so long, nothing was actually going to change. Not if they didn’t take action, any kind of action.

“I’m going home.” Sam broke the silence after a couple of hours.

“You insane?” Merle asked. “Ya can’t go back there. The street’s taken by those things. Your house’s taken.”

“You gonna end up like ‘em.” Daryl completed.

“Good to see you guys agreeing on something.” Sam crossed her arms and glared at them. “I’m gonna take things. Food, clothes, first aid kit, weapons. Lots of knives in the kitchen, a pistol in Bobbi-Jo’s bedroom. A rifle on the wall that might still work if we find ammo. Things on the fridge might still be good. Gonna pack all I can, you should too if we’re gonna make it to Atlanta.”

“I ain’t goin’ to no fuckin’ Atlanta.” Merle sat up, both feet now on the mat. “Won’t be nothin’ there. Shelter and food for free to everyone? Bullshit. Rich people, is all.”

“So you gonna stay here?” Sam questioned opening her arms to gesture around the living room. “And do what? Starve to death? Thirst yourself dry? You don’t even wanna go next door for supplies, how ya gonna get food?”

He didn’t answer, only crossed his arms, shaking his head, a stubborn smirk still on his lips.

“We know how to kill ‘em.” Daryl said turning to Sam again. “Just gotta stab in the brain and don’t let ‘em come close.”

“I got two good hunting knives there, one in Owen, the other in D. Should get ‘em back too.”

They moved at the same time, saying nothing else, towards the kitchen table where they had previously set out a sort of kitchen knives. Daryl grabbed two of them as well as the crossbow. Sam chose a big butcher knife and two smaller ones, and moved to the door sheathing them into her waistband being followed by Daryl.

“Ok, gotta stay together. Don’t go wondering alone.” Sam told him.

“I’ll have your back while you take the things.” He agreed and they gave each other a sharp nod.

Daryl pulled the door open and they went outside. The noise of the door and their steps attracted the attention of two dead people who were closest to the house, by the sidewalk. They turned their heads in a slow motion, but as their dead eyes found the two living people on the porch, it was like their bodies came to life, groaning excitedly and taking stumbling but fast steps in their direction.

“Noise attracts them.” Daryl stated what Sam was thinking a moment before shooting an arrow right into the eye of the male one. They went down the steps and on the bottom Daryl stopped to reload the crossbow, hands working on it but head raised and eyes looking around attentively. The second dead, a female, was closer to Sam now. “In the brain!” Daryl reminded her.

She remembered how soft and easy it had been to stick the knife into D’s eye, so that’s what she went for before it could even get close enough to her. Blood splattered on her as the eyeball popped. All Sam could think was that if this was how one got infected with whatever that was, she was screwed.

“Let’s go.” Sam put the thought aside for now and they ran across the yard towards her house. There was one more there and Daryl’s arrow reached it easily. As they got to the steps, Sam heard a groan and looked back.

It was Bobbi-Jo, or what used to be her. Sam stared at her as her corpse started going to her. After ten days of her death, her figure was now something completely different. Her exposed flesh had started decaying; her eyes seemed even whiter than before, what was left of the skin of her face a nauseating shade of gray. Her eye makeup had oozed down her cheek.

“Sam!” Daryl’s voice called from the porch. Sam didn’t remember having ever heard him say her name before. She hadn’t been sure if he knew it.

“Go, I got her.” She told him and heard his steps entering the house only a moment later. Sam let Bobbi-Jo approach, less agile than she had been days before, but still quick. When she was close enough, Sam grabbed her by the neck, keeping her dead, moaning form away at arm’s length. Sam’s heart bit fast inside her chest, her throat suddenly tightening. Bobbi was small, same size as Sam, but had always been thinner as an effect of too many drugs.

In the moment she looked into Bobbi-Jo’s dead eyes, she remembered years of having her present in her life. The moment she had met her, her father bringing her to their house and introducing her as his girlfriend. She remembered thinking how could she be her dad’s girlfriend if she looked to be her own age. Later, she had found out Bobbi-Jo was only seven years older than herself. Sam remembered them moving from Atlanta to Savannah. She hadn’t wanted to. Her dad didn’t really want to either, but Bobbi-Jo had insisted. That’s when they stared living together, and it was hell on earth. They fought all the time when her dad wasn’t home, and in the beginning Bobbi-Jo would pretend to be the victim when he arrived, but after a while she didn’t even do that anymore. Sam hated her. She hated her with all her might, she hated her for all the horrible things she told her, for the physical fights, for making her father suffer, for cheating on him, for spending all the money he had gathered from years of hard work in a carpentry. For pretending in front of friends and family that she was suffering when he was dying from cancer. For getting herself a new boyfriend less than a month after he died.

She hated having had to stay in the house. She hated having Bobbi-Jo still live in the house. They each owned half of it, neither wanted to leave it to the other.

“Yeah, you bitch?” Sam snarled at her. “How’d ya like that? All the trouble ya had and that’s how ya die. Hope it was as painful as his death.” She raised the knife, eyes burning with all the remaining anger she carried with her all this time, “That’s for my dad!”

The knife entered her left eye and Sam held it in place for a long moment. The knot in her throat tightened painfully, the rage in her eyes being instantly replaced by tears. As Sam pulled he knife out, a wet noise following a splash of stinky blood, Bobbi-Jo’s body fell to the ground. With a sob, Sam felt no satisfaction; it just didn’t feel like it was enough. Leaning over, she stabbed a few more times, into her other eye and even into the hard bone of her temple and forehead, and she didn’t know it, but she was groaning in anger at each stab. Finally, Sam stopped and straightened up, breathing hard, staring down at the disfigured head. The hand holding the knife was shaking, a tear escaping her eye.

When she turned, unable to look at the mass of flesh on her feet any longer, she saw Daryl standing under the door frame, eyes watching her carefully, head turned downwards, crossbow hanging on his side.

“It’s clear.” he said quietly when Sam just looked at him, eyes empty. “Was just one of ‘em inside.”

Without a word, Sam climbed the four steps towards the door, but Daryl didn’t move. She stopped on the step below him and looked up, eyebrows raised in question.

“You ok?” he murmured.

“Stop asking me that.”

Her voice sounded stronger than she felt at the moment; she took a step up and passed by Daryl, their shoulders touching briefly. Stopping just by the front door, she looked around. It had been days, the house and the bodies smelled horrible, putridly. She didn’t look at the corpses for long. Daryl had already closed the kitchen door, so the only way in and out was through the front. He was taking his arrow out of the eye of the random guy Bobbi-Jo had brought home that night. Sam felt bile on her throat again at the smell of the living room of the house she had called home for so many years. It didn’t feel like it anymore.

“Go, I’ll keep watch.” Her neighbor said while he cleaned the tip of an arrow on the fabric of the couch.

Sam didn’t take long to go through the whole house. She emptied the cabinet of canned food into a backpack, clothes she thought could be functional into a handbag, the two different pairs of boots she had and one she took from Bobbi-Jo. The carton of Morley packs, half a bottle of whiskey. That was for the boys. The first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. A couple of soap bars, toothbrush and toothpaste. She took the gun, checking it was loaded, two boxes of bullets from Bobbi-Jo’s wardrobe, knives from the kitchen, the rifle from the wall, and that was it.

“Hey,” Daryl stopped touching a finger softly on her shoulder as she was heading to the door carrying all the bags by herself, without asking for help. She stopped in a halt and looked up at him, a frown on her face. “Thought ya’d want this.”

He handed her a picture he took from a frame on the living room wall. Sam saw the back of it first, a sloppy handwriting that said “Jack and Sam at Chastain Park, spring 1989”. Turning it around, she saw her nine year old self sitting on top of a slide, smiling widely, blonde hair shining under the sun. Standing by her side, smiling awkwardly at the camera, her father, sandy hair graying on the sides, unkempt stubble, dark brown eyes lit up with contentment.

Sam felt her throat once again and an uncomfortable prickle in her eyes, and she just nodded without looking up at Daryl. She folded the picture carefully twice and reached around to her back pocket, tucking it in. She took a deep breath in and looked up at Daryl for just a second before looking out the door once again.

“Let’s go.”

They both stopped on the step, though, Daryl once again higher than her, when they saw Merle ride his bike out of the garage of the next door house. He rode not once looking back, speeding away with a loud rumble, dead corpses trying to rush after it.

“Son of a bitch!” Daryl shouted as he rushed past Sam down the steps. She ran after him, crossing the yard to his porch and into the house. When Sam entered, seconds after Daryl, he was rushing over the other rooms of his house. She left all the bags by the front door before going looking for him.

“Fuckin’ bastard!” He was yelling when they met again on the corridor.

“He just left?” She asked him.

“You saw him leave, didn’t ya?” He answered angrily.

Sam raised her hands lifting her eyebrows in affront. Daryl just rushed past her mumbling “fuck” and she followed him into Merle’s bedroom.

“His stuff still here.” He noticed as she stood by the door.

“He’ll come back,” she said, arms crossed. “he wouldn’t leave you in this--”

“--the hell he wouldn’t!” Daryl raised his voice again. “Is wha’ Merle do, he leaves. Not the first time.” His voice was bitter as he strode past her. When she reached the living room, having followed him one more time, Daryl was picking up one of the bags from the floor. “We should go.”

“What if he comes back?” She asked crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yeah, maybe in a couple of months.” Daryl snorted out.

“C’mon Daryl, we don’t know that.”

“You know nothing ‘bout Merle.” he snarled turning to her, a backpack over one shoulder. “He ain’t coming back!”

“Daryl, listen, he’s just left, you sure you don’t want to wait at least a bit?”

“Why do you care if he come back anyway?”

“I don’t, really, but I know that if we leave now you might not find your brother again.” She uncrossed her arms and took a couple of steps towards him, speaking calmly. “We don’t know what’s gonna happen, how things are out there… What if you don’t see him again? What if you don’t see him again just ‘cause you couldn’t wait a few hours?”

Daryl looked from Sam to the door and back again, unsure, biting the skin of his lower lip.

“It’s past three, anyway,” Sam kept talking. “it’ll get dark soon; I don’t think we should travel at night. If not for Merle let’s at least just wait ‘til morning ‘cause it might be safer.”

Daryl stared at her, worry creasing his forehead, still biting his lip. He nodded sharply once after a moment and dropped the bag to the ground again, then moved away from her. In the hallway leading to his bedroom, he said “You watch over, I’ll take a nap.”

* * *

Daryl woke up in his darkened bedroom and the deafening silence told him that Merle was not back. He wasn’t surprised, just once again disappointed. Next thing he thought about was Sam; he’d slept longer than planned as a result of at least two nights without sleep. With a grunt, he got up from the bed and made his slow way to the bathroom, feeling his way instinctively rather than by sight. Inside the tiny bathroom, he felt for the candle and matches that had been resting on the sink and lit it up. His reflection on the mirror was somewhat phantasmagoric, lit upwards by the flicking flame. He stared at himself for a moment, his contempt clear on his features, purplish shadows under his eyes, uneven stubble growing. He could have snarled at himself. If that was what the girl he had in his house right now saw when she looked at him, he felt sorry for her. Stuck in this old, stinky house with the Dixons in the end of the world. Or, Daryl reminded himself with a snort, one Dixon.

He decided he should shave. It had been too long now, even though he was never able to grow a real full beard, and if they were going to hit the road tomorrow, he should do it tonight. He took a moment to use the toilet before starting to do it, but was surprised by the complete lack of water in the pipes.

“Hey, we got no water.” He said entering the living room, taking a couple of seconds to find Sam’s figure standing by the window, looking out through a gap in the curtain. It was very dark there, no candles lit and he could only see her silhouette. He saw she turned her head to look at him. “Jus’ warnin’ ya so ya’d have no surprise in here”, he pointed over his shoulder in the direction o he bathroom.

“Yeah,” her voice was low and a little hoarse. “I tried to cook somethin’ and the water was out. We got one more can of soup… Then jus’ things I bought from home.”

She turned to the window again and Daryl stood there staring at her. Not that she saw it. Her eyes were trained on the street, where now she could see six dead people roaming. Their moans and crickets and cicadas singing were the soundtrack of the night.

“You okay?”

Sam jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. It was closer than she expected it to be. She turned her head to him sharply.

“Sorry.” he said smirking.

“Jesus, Daryl” she turned away from him again, brows furred. “I’m fine. Told ya not to ask me that.”

“Is jus’…” he shrugged. “Voice’s weird. You been cryin’?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, still looking out. “No.”

“Alright.” he stated and moved away from her in an instant. Sam followed him with her eyes, curiosity tightening the crease of her brows. Was he not going to insist even a little bit?

“Did ya eat?” he asked already from the kitchen.

“No. Not hungry, you go ahead.” she responded mechanically, trying to see him in the dark, unsuccessfully. In a minute he was back, the cold can of soup in hand, half of its content in a bowl that he handed to her. She didn’t take it, arms still crossed.

“Eat.” he told her firmly.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she took the bowl and they ate silently, both standing looking out.

“There’s Mr. Walker from 4th street.” Daryl said around a mouthful of soup, pointing to the dead chubby, old man wearing suspenders.

“Yeah, a dead Walker.” Sam joked in a dead serious voice.

He chuckled for a moment but caught himself and lowered his head to his can of soup quickly, going silent again.

“Why did you help me?” Sam asked suddenly after finishing her half soup.

“Wha’?”

“That day, with D.” she turned a little more to him. “You went all the way to the diner to warn me about him. Why did ya do that?”

He shrugged, “Was in the area.”

“Seriously, Daryl.”

He looked out again, his expression closing up, and was silent for a moment. Sam just waited, staring up at him.

“Couldn’t hear him say what he’d do to ya and do nothin’.”

He remembered clearly what had happened after Sam had escaped D that night. She had been able to defend herself, but he’d been ready. He’d jump in any moment if she needed, and he almost did when D kissed her. He was already going to them when she bit him and raised her knife, making him stop. After D went back and sat on the porch couch, laughter gone and simple, pure hatred in his words, he described exactly what he’d do to her to make her pay. In details. In the end of the night, Daryl had punched D in the face for taking a cigarette from him, just as an excuse. He knew, at the moment he’d been speaking, he’d never let those things happen. The words disgusted him; he couldn’t imagine permitting them to actually happen. During his sordid monologue, Daryl had exchanged a look with Merle and knew his brother was thinking the same.

“Alright.” Sam said, but continued, “Okay, you warned me, I told you I could take care of myself, but then you showed up there and helped me, and stick around and helped with the… Walker things, and then took me in here, and I’ve been here for days. It’s ‘bout all that I’m asking. Why you helping me?”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” he turned his head to her, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Oh, c’mon Daryl!” Sam threw her arms up.

“’Cause you needed, is why!” he cried, getting pissed. It was easy to piss him off, Sam had learned already. “You our neighbor twenty fuckin’ years, don’t gotta be best buddies with someone to help.”

“Well, you’re right we ain’t best buddies, but we were never even a little bit. We ain’t never talked to each other, and now I’m here practically living in your house!”

“It’s the fuckin’ walker apocalypse out there!” Daryl yelled angrily pointing out the window. “What a fuckin’ cold blooded motherfucker ya take me for? Ya thought I’d let the men rape and torture you, and then leave you to die alone eaten by the dead?” he snarled and took a step further, standing very close to her. Sam looked up at him, towering at least ten inches above her, but she didn’t flinch or blink. “That the kinda man ya take me for?”

He saw her swallow; her eyes locked to his, and only then realized how close he was to her. He’d never been that close before and now, even in the dark, he could see details in her that he’d never had before. A little scar on her left eyebrow, interrupting it for millimeters. Very light freckles on her cheekbone. A very light shade of the bruise D had given her days before.
Sam realized she should say something. Daryl hadn’t moved after his question, so maybe it hadn’t been rhetorical. She soundlessly cleared her throat of the lump that had formed there before saying in a very low voice, “Torture?”

Daryl nodded slowly, his jaws clenching tightly. “Yeah.”

And yet, he didn’t move.

“Guess I never thanked you.” Sam whispered.

That made him lower his eyes and turn again to the window. “‘S nothin’.” he mumbled tightly.

“You helped me avoid rape and torture. Guess that’s somethin’.”

Before moving away from him, feeling too awkward and uncomfortable being so close to him, Sam touched his bicep quickly, squeezing it lightly before letting go.

Notes

Sorry for taking almost two weeks to update! Won't take that long in the future :)
Thank you all for reading, hope you're enjoying it.

Special thanks to aryaaa and Punished Snake

Comments

Such an amazing new chapter!! When ya gunna start teaching the rest of us how to write like ya?

Steph Daugherty Steph Daugherty
3/14/17

Oh wow!!! Great chapter!!!

JetCmoon JetCmoon
3/6/17

What a great update! Loved how it was Sam that taught Ed a lesson. And that little moment between Sam and Shane...so good.

Grimesgirl63 Grimesgirl63
3/6/17

@Steph Daugherty
Thank you so much for your comment Steph! You made my day

AliceDays AliceDays
2/24/17

I really love it thus far! This story is the reason I got an account so I could comment on how absolutely amazing this story is!

Steph Daugherty Steph Daugherty
2/24/17