Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Prologue

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR: Racial slurs (from Merle, of course), sexual assault (implied/attempted), canon-typical violence, sex, blood, gore, illness/vomit, death

When you're a kid, the number one question that everyone asks you is simple: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I, like many other kids, had lofty dreams and always said I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to dress up in fun costumes and play pretend. I wanted to be whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Then, you get older and people start saying, "No, seriously, what are you doing? You have to pay the bills somehow!" The answer that used to get me smiles and coos of admiration became funny, something for my relatives to scoff at and question why I was still clinging to silly childhood dreams.

Okay, maybe I'm not drop-dead gorgeous. I'm no Marilyn Monroe or Catherine Zeta-Jones, but I've got nice eyes (something like hazel) and a pretty great nose, and my body is nice enough, decently proportionate. If anything, I thought my personality could always win me some brownie points. I thought that becoming a star was possible for me but, as time went on and adolescent shyness kicked in, I hid that dream away and followed what my mom and dad wanted for me. I'd follow in their footsteps and become a veterinarian. Animals are cool too, right? I like them.

I did my bachelor's and got into the vet program at my province's best veterinary university, struggling through years of nothing but studying with very little time to enjoy my twenties. Life went on and then, suddenly, it stopped. Put on pause, even. The world ended and God left me behind.

I should probably backtrack a bit, huh? I'll start with a bit more about me as I am now.

I'm not tough and I was never the survivalist type. If you asked me to start a fire without matches, I'd just end up freezing to death. I'm a soft-hearted woman who prefers hugs over drugs, peace over war, living over dying. My idea of a happy life was a husband, a few kids, a dog, a place to lay my head at night, and a career doing something I love. The quintessential American dream.

When I was well on my way to a comfortable life, only a year or two off from completing my doctorate, I snapped, obtained all the necessary documents, dropped out of University, and fled the impossibly quaint life I had in Saskatchewan, Canada. I drove off in my used Toyota in search of better things, head full of dreams of success, searching for my chance. Instead, I broke down in Atlanta, Georgia, and got stuck there, just trying to make ends meet.

I thought, one day, I'd get going again. One day, I would call my parents and apologize for breaking their hearts. Maybe they would speak to me again. One day, everything would fall into place.

Then came the turn and, with it, a life I never could have imagined. The dead rose, overtaking the land with its virus and killing off the majority of the Earth's population in one fell swoop. Money didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered except surviving. Stay strong or get bit. Fight or die. Survive or join the ranks of the walking dead.

I was one of the "lucky" ones, and I really do mean lucky. I never should have made it. The only thought in my head through the turmoil, through the icy sheet of fear that cloaked me was to just survive. Somehow.

I never would have stood a chance, if it weren't for them.