The Walking Dead - Dixon Bloodfall (A Walking Dead ff)

Chapter Eight - Volatile Times

The scene before them was hectic as it was loud. The men were clamored on top of an old flatbed, shooting and shouting at the hungry walkers that groaned and clawed at them, obliviously demonstrating what not to do in an undead encounter. She didn’t understand a word they said but knew deeply the panic they felt. Daryl slid into the midst of the chaos quickly and started shooting and chopping away, while she on the other hand was unclear where to start. There was a wrench near an old corpse, and figuring it was a good start, picked it up. A good thing too, seeing as the adjacent body rushed to life at her scent and lunged for her arm. She quickly clocked it against his temple and shattered it’s eye. Still it moaned and so she hit it again, and again, and again. There were walkers everywhere, grabbing for the men's leg, breaking into a car, hobbling after Daryl. She felt overwhelmingly powerless and so she ran for the closest thing to her, the car, and swung away. It was a lot harder than shooting, that was for sure. Splintering a bone and feeling it in your wrist, having dark and thick blood splattering against you, it made you want to puke. Two thoughts resounded in her mind, “It was once human.” and “It’s not anymore.” After she dispatched of one walker, something that at one point was once an older gentleman, the attention of two undead females on either side turned from crying woman and her equally distressed baby inside the car to her. Quinn froze when the two sets of diseased eyes set their sights on her, snarling as their bony hands reached.

 “I gotcha Quinn.” A bullet sored clear through one of the walker’s heads, followed by another shot into the second’s. She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turned to Merle, who nodded at her from a few feet away. There was a third walker still in the backseat and so she rounded the hood of the car, carefully avoiding the corpse beneath her, in time to see Daryl yank the zombie back and impale his skull with an arrow he had tightly gripped in his palm. Merle lazily wandered up the bridge, his eyes on the family the entire time. Daryl seemed on edge again, although this time it was understandable. Quinn had relaxed greatly and was leaning against the car, basking in the Georgia sun. She did her part today, she deserved to relax and be proud for just a little while.

Merle passed her and opened the back seat door, pushing her gently out of the way as the it opened. This outraged the older of the two men, who began shouting in what sounded like Spanish. Like a swift reflex Merle extended his gun, leveling it clean between his eyes. Quinn tightened the grip on her wrench just slightly. “Slow down beaner. That ain’t no way to say thank you.”

“Let’em go.” Daryl said sternly.

“The least they can do is -” He bent down and shuffled around in the backseat of the car. “Give us an enchilada or somethin’, huh?” Quinn continued her unwavering eye contact with the men, proving silently she’d protect Merle at all costs. They were confused and angry, and so was she.

“Get out of the car.” She turned her neck to the sound of Daryl’s voice and her eyes made contact with the slender sleek frame of Daryl's crossbow. It was loaded and set just under his chin. She felt something inside her boil up, anger, but it settled just beneath the surface of her skin. She wouldn’t hurt Daryl. Not unless he hurt Merle first. He had it pointed at the back of his head.

“I know you ain’t talkin’ to me, brother.”

“Get in your car and get the hell out of here!”

The family complied quietly. She slid the wrench into her pocket and sighed. Before she could even finalize the thought “Merle’s gonna flip shit”, he did exactly that. First he stormed off, then Daryl, who’s stride was quicker than his senior and so he quickly wound up ahead of Merle. Quinn followed them slowly. She was not looking forward to this at all.

“What the shit you doin’, pointin’ that thing at me?” Merle growled at his younger brother. Quinn guessed, from a safe distance of course, that she had been with Merle for around the better part of three years. Time was a luxury nobody had anymore, much less kept track of. During those three years, through sickness and in health, she had seen Merle lose his cool over a dozen times, and like a volcano erupting he burned everything in his path, even her once or twice. Something struck her this time though, as if the mere notion that his brother of all people would go against him started a fire in his soul that threatened to burn down the entire forest around them. For once, Merle frightened her, and he had only said ten words.