Till Death Do Us Part: A Daryl Dixon Story (The Walking Dead)

20

'You-' Michonne said, eyeing me with amusement. 'ditched me for a pair of shoes?'
'It's not just a pair of shoes. Nikes are far more than just a pair of shoes. Besides I was prepared to do just about anything to dump those country boots. And now I can slaughter the bastards in style.' I defended my worthy cause.
Michonne snorted and eyed my new shoes without much interest then checked out her own boots, as if thinking "what's wrong with boots?"
'I get the whole Georgian's-are-obsessed-with-cowboys-thing, but I'm more of a Nike girl. My big city routes have never left me.' I smiled proudly. The Nikes in question were black with a white tick. They were lighter than air -perfect for running away from a bunch of angry dead people. My jaw nearly dropped when I saw them on display, and I knew I just had to slip inside and take them. It took everything in me not to burn those ratty pair of boots I'd been wearing for the past several months.
'Just mention it next time before you take off on your own.' Michonne's voice hardly ever rose above a whisper.
'Yes, sensei.' I said, my lips twitching into a smile.
Michonne stopped walking just to glare at me -she hated when I called her that.
'What?' my smile stretched further. 'Just calling a spade a spade.'
'Keep your eyes on the road.' She muttered then carried on walking. I followed after my friend. We walked down the long road in silence, a sound both of us welcomed. We turned down an intersection to be welcomed by less than a dozen or so of our dead friends. Michonne stopped walking and stepped back. She stretched out her arms as if to say "they're all yours." This was her way of saying "thanks for ditching me while looking for aspirin to find shoes." Her stepping back and offering me the group of walkers was much better than the first time we faced such a large group -she had basically shoved me into the little herd and hoped for the best.
Before winter started, I would have never been able to face even one walker head-on. But thanks to my katana-wielding friend, I had learned a few things. Michonne taught me how to use my small frame to my advantage -be light on your feet and let the blade guide you. And I don't mean that Michonne and I snuck off to some nearby Dojo. She believed in trial by error and most of the stuff I learned was because I was thrown head on into battle. I arched my eyebrows at Michonne as she casually folded her arms and waited for me. I pulled my dragon sword out of its sheath. The blade wasn't curved like Michonne's katana, but straight, razor sharp and black. It was light in my hands. I approached the angry dead pricks and sliced, swung and severed my way through them. I left a behind bloody trail of arms, heads and intestines.
'God dammit,' I muttered. The white ticks on my Nikes were now a crimson red. I turned and stared at Michonne, a little smug. I resisted the childish urge to bow. She walked through the pile of guts, stepping over severed bodies, careful not to dirty her boots.
'I'm just glad you don't scream anymore.' Her lips twitched with amusement. Michonne often poked fun of how I used to handle walkers -scream and slash my weapon around in a flapping of arms in an attempt to defend myself. Not the most reliable of methods.
'Oh, c'mon, let me have this one. I think I did a pretty good job.' I said, exasperated. I still clearly remember the day when Michonne came back from a quick run with my dragon sword in her hand. She tossed it to me and I let it clamber to the ground. She told me she was tired of protecting me because "defending the weak will get you dead." Ouch, right. From that cold winter day I was basically forced into defending myself. Slowly but surely I'd picked up on a few things. I had become almost as good of a shot as Andrea. I wasn't nearly as brilliant with a sword as Michonne, but I was much better than I had been a few months ago. And it was enough to survive which was basically the only thing that mattered.
'You want me to clap hands for you?' she mumbled.
'Sure,' I said as I flicked the blood from my blade and returned it to its sheath.
Michonne didn't respond -as expected- and we carried on walking to the deer cooler where we'd left Andrea. It had started with one cough, and then she started sneezing until one day she just up and collapsed. Andrea was a pale and feverish mess. She had told us countless times to just leave her to die, but neither of us would listen to her rambling. I turned to say something snarky to Michonne but paused mid-step when I saw the advertisement in the store window on the opposite side of the street -a huge poster of a crossbow. I took in a sharp breath. Before I could start thinking and obsessing over my old life, I shoved the thoughts deep down into the darkest abyss of my mind. Forgetting where I came from made it easier to carry on with my new life. I had spent half the winter moping and wallowing in my self-pity and anguish. I had spent most of my nights crying and hugging myself to sleep. But enough was enough. My past was just that -the past. I used to be on constant alert, holding onto hope that I might accidentally cross paths with my old group. But as the cold faded away, so did my hopes.
I learnt that the sooner I let go, the easier my life would be. It hurt, God did it hurt. But I was left with no other option. It was easier for Andrea to forget about our old group, because her family had long since left her. But I was a much different case.
'Stop thinking about them.' Michonne's whisper of a voice stopped my thoughts from heading down a dangerous path. I stared at her questionably. How did she know?
'You make the same sad and mopey face every time you think about your old group.' She said matter-of-factly, staring at the crossbow advertisement.
'Always paying attention to the little details, you are.' I muttered and carried on walking. I'd let her think what she wanted to. Despite what she probably thought, this was the first time in weeks that I'd almost had a meltdown. It used to be much worse. But I had found that forgetting where you came from and how it defined you was much easier than facing the truth head on. My husband and the rest of the group were a thing of the past. Till death do us part? How about till a huge-herd-of-dead-people-drives-us-off-a-farm do us part? Pushing my thoughts aside, I asked Michonne something of more importance.
'When are we going to get moving? Walkers seem to be migrating through here.' It wasn't safe in this little county anymore.
'A few more days.' She answered. 'After Andrea gains her strength.'
End of conversation. I'd learned it was easier to get along with Michonne if you agreed with her. We reached the meat locker, and found Andrea in a crumpled pile outside the room where we set up a bed for her. Andrea and Michonne continued their consistent arguing about her state of health. Michonne forced her to take the aspirin and water. Andrea insisted that we leave now. Somehow Andrea always managed to sway Michonne's decisions. Michonne had a soft spot for the weak: which is why she took us in, taught me how to use a sword and took care of Andrea.
We left the deer cooler, our chained and dead companions trailing behind us. Despite my eagerness to use my beautiful dragon sword, our dead friends made that close to impossible. Walkers barely gave us a second glance when we were out in the open with the two dead pricks following after us. It was a win-lose situation. Michonne had some kind of plan -we were to go to the coast, maybe find a boat and sail off to an island, where we would live the rest of our days in paradise. It sounded like a fairy tale, but going after something was far better than going after nothing. We headed on foot for some time.
'Up there.' I said, glancing at the helicopter and the tunnels of black smoke coming from it. Michonne, Andrea and I watched the helicopter crash into the thick trees. A working (well not anymore) helicopter so far into the apocalypse? Did this mean there was still some kind of rescue operation going on? There was only one way to find out. A huge stream of thick black smoke erupted from the crash site. Andrea, as pale and weak as she was, was the first of us to head in that direction. I followed eagerly.
We arrived at the crash site and I gloomily noticed there were no survivors. So much for a rescue team. Andrea decided she'd very much like to throw up right there. I glanced at Michonne, giving her a look that said "I told you so." Michonne ignored me and helped Andrea up. I walked over to the crash site to inspect the damages. Pulling my sword out its sheath, I stepped over debris and walked closer. Michonne joined me after tying the walkers to a tree. I scrunched my face up at the sight of the mutilated torn-in-half body of an army official. His guts spilled out of him and the hot air stank of his insides. We stopped our inspection as soon as we heard the sounds of approaching vehicles. Michonne and I scurried off into the safety of the trees beside Andrea. If I had to learn just one thing from Michonne, it was to never just hand out your trust, especially in this new world. Two heavily armoured SUV's pulled up at the scene. Gripping tighter on the handle of my dragon sword, I watched the men pile out of the cars. Andrea tried her best to muffle her coughs as we watched the men inspect the scene of the crash. A muscular man with a silver baseball bat beat the shit out of two walkers that came too close for comfort.
'Got a breather!' I heard the man who stood beside the helicopter cockpit call out. I assumed he was the leader by the authority that rang deep in his tone. A walker approached us from behind, but before either of us could do anything about it, it walked straight past and was dealt with by the group of men.
'He's saving them.' Andrea said, a relieved smile on her face. 'We should show ourselves.'
'We don't know that for sure.' I whispered back.
'Not yet.' Michonne agreed.
Our dead friend's tied to the tree decided now was the appropriate time to start voicing their opinion. They became even more rowdy after the man in charge plunged his knife into the head of the man who we found torn in half. Well, that wasn't strange at all. The men eventually noticed the snarling of the two dead pricks, which caused Michonne to panic and she proceeded to slice the heads off the only two walkers in the world that I'd miss. The men continued to warily stare at the direction of the walkers who had just died their final death.
'Let's roll out.' The man in charge ordered. I glanced at Michonne -I hoped she knew what she was doing by letting these men drive off. Andrea was sick, and maybe they could treat her. But I guess we would just take our chances on the road. Michonne's gut instincts were usually right.
Branches behind us snapped and Michonne and I both drew our swords.
'Uh-uh-uh,' the voice of Satan himself called out from behind me. 'Easy does it, ladies. Mine's a whole lot bigger than yours. Now put your weapons down. That's it, nice and easy.' My eyes doubled in size as I spun around and stared at Merle Dixon, alive and breathing. Though he was missing a hand and had some kind of knife contraption attached to the stump.
'Oh, shit.' Merle muttered, his face distorted with that dumb grin of his. 'I should have recognised that ass when I saw it! Blondie too? Damn, y'all are lookin' good.'
A walker tried to sneak up on Merle, but he plunged that blade hand of his through its jaw. Merle kept his gun pointed at us. But I wasn't thinking clearly anymore. All the memories, the painful and twisted memories of Merle Dixon came flooding back to me. How stupid of me to think I had moved past my miscarriage and my coma. How stupid of me to think I was rid of Merle Dixon. Having the devil himself standing in front of me brought back the memories of that weak girl who still lived inside of me.
'Now, how's about a hug for your big brother Merle?' he said with a taunting smile.
Andrea's reaction was to lose consciousness and collapse in a heap of skin and bones. Merle chuckled darkly, but I noticed a glint of an emotion I wouldn't pair with Merle flash across his eyes as he took me in. I kept my mouth clamped shut as Merle and his men forced us into their truck. I didn't know where they were taking us and I couldn't care less.
Merle was back from hell to haunt me.