Violent Delights¹︎ | D.Dixon

2.02 ➸

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CHAPTER TWO
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LEONA HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING THAT night. Simply knowing Sophia was out there on her own, almost certainly alone and definitely terrified, wondering when her group would come to find her, was enough to keep her tossing and turning.

Leona had made herself a place to sleep in the back of an old station wagon she had parked close to the RV earlier in the day. She had taken the time to lay the back seats down before grabbing the extra blankets and pillows from the RV. She laid the thick comforter down first, using it like a thin mattress pad, before throwing pillows down on that, and pulled the other two blankets over the top. She wasn't sure if she'd need both blankets since the space would get warm from her body heat, but she knew how cold Georgia could get at night. She had frowned when the thought came to mind, thinking of how Sophia would probably have to spend the night without blankets or a roof over her head.

Halfway through the night, she woke. There didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to it, but her body didn't seem to care as she jerked herself awake. She ran a hand through her hair, the calloused skin on her palms pulling at some of the strands. But it was the first time in awhile that her hair felt soft. Shane had found a water truck, and everyone had taken a well-deserved rinse. She hadn't cleaned herself since the CDC, and dirt had caked her hair, drying her scalp, and she'd kept it back in a braid.

Sitting up, the blankets pooled around her waist, baring her arms to the air. It was warm in the car, just as she knew it would be. She always slept hot, really hot. It had been an asset to ex-lovers of hers in Minnesota, where warmth was in constant short supply with the exception of the short summer months, where it seemed to double-down.

The one thing about the end of the world that she didn't mind was that she wasn't in the Midwest anymore. Georgia didn't have the chronically bipolar weather patterns Minnesota and surrounding states had, where the threat of a snowstorm in July was never a surprise, but instead had a steady weather pattern, and a tank top was always acceptable, even in December.

Leona's eyes caught movement in the pitch black, only the full moon's light casting a glow over the small camp in the abandoned traffic jam. The first thought that crossed her mind was that it was a walker, and her hand made a move for red-handled machete Carl had found in one of the cars. But the movement of the figure near the front of the RV was too deliberate, and was pacing rather than hobbling around mindlessly.

She didn't let her hand leave the machete's handle as she leaned forward, shifting so she was on her knees while peering through the rear window of the station wagon. It was only when the light glinted off a familiar piece of metal that she knew who it was. Letting go of the machete, she already knew what she was going to do as she popped open the swinging back door.

The sound caught Daryl's attention immediately, and those blue eyes quickly found hers.

Taking note of where the moon was in the sky, she left the back door ajar, knowing she'd return to it soon enough. Ignoring the cooled black top beneath her bare feet, she walked towards the man smoking a cigarette.

"Good morning," she greeted, her tone teasing, but even she could hear the fatigue hiding behind it. She was tired, but not the kind one got from a lack of sleep. She was tired of the way things were. Of people dying, of little girls getting lost in forests filled with walkers, of the world being shit. But all of that had happened before, Leona couldn't pretend that it hadn't, but it was different now. She was desensitized to all the shit she saw on the news of people being murdered in the city she lived in, of people being robbed and beat, but it had never been her shit to deal with, so her life had gone on as it always had. But now it was her shit, front and center, refusing to be ignored, and she wasn't sure just how much more she could take.