The Walking Dead {Daryl Dixon}

S2Ch4 "Don't rain on my Parade"

I woke up early morning and got ready. Had a long shower and dressed myself properly, prepared for anything that might happen out there. I put on some dark jeans, long socks with combat boots, and a simple tank top with a flannel I found in one of the closets here. I throw two knives, a gun, and extra bullets inside my bag before swinging it around my shoulder. With booming footsteps, I walk over to Merle's room to clean his stump and apply more alcohol to it before putting some gauze on it. Dixon doesn't tend to listen to instructions so it's better to cover the stump before he lets it get dirty. I leave some pills by Merle's bedside before I leave. They won't do much, but I'll take any chance I get to delay the infection.

Downstairs I grab some plastic bags and shove them inside my bag in case I find a goldmine. I devour the leftovers from yesterday and pack some food for the road. I also leave some food cooked in the kitchen in case Merle gets hungry. I don't wanna listen to some lame-ass excuse for him not having eaten when I come back.

I make sure the doors and windows are closed when I walk out. Since Merle is in no condition to do shit, I take it upon myself to check the property for walkers before I leave on my little adventure. First I stab the fuckers in that forsaken pond with a sharpened broomstick; then, I head over to the barn and lock it so that nothing can get in or out of it; and finally, I go look for that orchard Merle mentioned to get rid of the rest of the dead that were having a picnic over there.

The sight was incredibly... unsettling. The trees were pretty, lined up with their blooming fruits, and then there were the rotting corpses chilling by the trees, ruining the scenery. It pisses me off that the green of the grass and the rays of sunlight shining through the leaves of the treetops are going to waste by their disgusting decomposing faces.

"Tch. Gruesome assholes"

I let my bag slip down my arms and back and listened to it fall to the ground with a clattered thud. The sound doesn't seem worthy enough of the attention of the dead ahead of me. That's a win on my part. Since these hippies are having too much fun to notice me, I take my sweet time to select my weapon. I could go for the kill with my knives but I'm curious about how I can end their undead lives with some of the tools around here.

The first thing I found are a couple of pruning saws and lopping shears by the fence surrounding the property, none of which are useful. Then, I found some hedge shears on a wheelbarrow, they might come in handy, but I think it's a little risky getting so close to one of them fuckers just to cut off their heads, besides they're a little rusty. The rake might be useful but I'm not sure if its teeth are pointy nor long enough to actually kill the bastards. In any case, the hand trowels, forks, and weeders that were next to the hedge shears seem like the best option, but I might as well use my knives in that case.

Just for fun I grab one of the hand trowels and take out the knife I have with me on my waist. I'm gonna try the trowel out, see if it can properly kill walkers and if it does, I might look for them whenever I lose a knife. I walk without a care towards the closest three, stepping on dry leaves as I do. The three monstrosities turn at the sound of the crushing leaves beneath my boots. I flash them a tight-lipped smile, not that it matters the brutes can't appreciate beauty even if it stomped on their horrific faces.

The first one looks like an old farmer; he has a straw hat on his back and a utility belt hugging his waist. With a kick to the side, I aim for the back of his knee and watch him fall down. Without wasting any time I stab his head and roll to the side before his buddy can lay a hand on me. Said buddy looks like a younger man with half his face missing, he stumbles over the dead body and falls on top of him. I stab him in his temple. This seems to attract the attention of the walkers farthest from us.

I take a rake leaning against a tree trunk and swing it to the head of the third walker, the plastic teeth go flying with the impact and some get stuck on his rotting head. The dead falls to the side. I look at it with my head to the side, watching in case the hit wasn't strong enough to actually kill it. Turns out it wasn't. He struggled to get on his knees and stand up once more, half his head was caved in. A chuckle leaves my lips without my permission, the sight is weird yet amusing at the same time. I hit him once more and the stick cracks. The dead tries to get up once more. This time my patience is running thin, I slam the stick against its head, and it breaks. The bastard isn't moving anymore but just in case I stab him with the fractured stick in my hand.