Chapter Text
(A/N): welcome to my TWD fic! I have polls planned for future events in the fic that you can vote for on my Tumblr (scary-noodlesblog). Anyway, enjoy! :)
1st Person POV:
It was supposed to be a normal day. I had just gotten home from work, Daryl hadn't even woken up yet. A twelve hour shift, a person with a literal bitemark on their arm, and several GSW cases later I needed a shot of whiskey and some sleep. I've been getting so much overtime with the increase in police shootings, the money is great but I'm exhausted. Perks of being an EMT.
After changing into pajamas, I carefully slide into bed next to my husband. He's a light sleeper so it doesn't surprise me when his arm slides around my waist. Daryl hadn't gotten much sleep recently. The increase in police shootings made him worry about Merle. The drug dealer was almost always in and out of our house. I told Daryl that I didn't care as long as Merle didn't drag us into his bullshit.
Merle kept to his word, he kept the drugs out. He only came in when he was drunk or the drugs were in his system already. Fine by me, I make enough to keep the lights on and feed us. Daryl's income was just fixing things for people in our neighborhood, which we usually saved or spent on leisure stuff.
It felt like I barely got any sleep by the time I heard the front door burst open. Daryl was up so fast, pulling on a shirt as he opened the bedroom door. Merle came stumbling down the hall, yelling that we needed to leave. I thought Merle was high again, hearing him babbling about people eating people in the streets, yelling that his customer attacked him.
I was skeptical, but Daryl believed him, of course. Daryl got our bags, quickly shoving clothes and stuff inside, light but enough to travel. When he saw I wasn't getting out of bed yet, he was gentle. Rushed but gentle. He pulled the comforter down, handing me actual clothes to put on instead of pajamas before going into the bathroom to grab the toiletries and stuff.
I got dressed then go out to the kitchen and start packing our food. The non-perishables. Of course, Merle left the front door open.
It happened so fast. I went to go close the door but before I could, a man stumbled in. It was our neighbor, but he didn't seem right. I let out a scream as he lunged at me, my hands on his shoulders to push him back as he growled, snarling at me.
I struggled against him. I could hear Daryl yelling from down the hall before a gunshot makes my ears ring. The neighbor's body slumps over and I pant, looking over to see Merle pointing his gun at the corpse. Daryl rounds the corner, his calloused hands checking over my face, shoulders, arms, legs, everywhere. There's blood on my shirt. Not mine. I stare into the dead eyes of my neighbor, terrified. I didn't know I was crying until Daryl's thumb wiped away a tear.
Merle goes outside to take our bags to Daryl's truck. Daryl runs back to the bedroom, then back to me. His hands lift my bloodied shirt over my head before helping me put on a clean one. His blue eyes hold worry, concern, but also relief. He's no stranger to what was on the news, or what I was telling him after I got off work.
Merle comes back in and grabs the food I packed, also taking that out to the truck. My husband leads me outside to the truck as well. Once I'm inside, he runs back inside, coming back out with his crossbow and two handguns, mine and his, and knives. Daryl helps Merle load Merle's motorcycle into the bed of the truck before piling in next to me, Daryl driving and Merle on the other side of me on the bench seat.
As we pull out of our driveway, we could see another neighbor tackling a woman in her own yard. Her screams were haunting. The way she pleaded us as we passed, as the thing ate her alive. Daryl kept his hand on my thigh the whole drive, like if he let go I'd join the woman.
"Ho-ly shit." Merle huffs as we drive off.
He reaches over and turns on the radio, a single broadcast coming through. "-police are urging everyone to stay in their homes unless absolutely necessary. Help is on the way. Stay inside, keep your lights off and lock your doors. This is not a test.-"
Daryl only takes his hand off my leg to shut off the radio with a grunt. Of course, he won't shelter in place. Neither would Merle. As far as the Dixon brothers were concerned, it was us against the world. And they'd make sure we won.