𝒍𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂 ➶ [ s. walsh ]

iv. | ❝ not my daddy. ❞

LOLITA.
iv. | ❝ not my daddy. ❞

✧

LITTLE DID THEY KNOW, Cassandra was right.

The following morning, the pair were lying sprawled on opposite sides of their tent, catching a few hours sleep before they carried on with the monotony that was daily camp routine. Outside, the sound of children screaming pierced the air, followed by frantic shouting from the rest of the group.

Cassandra was the first to react, rolling out of her sleeping bag dressed in nothing but one of Shane's over-sized T-shirts, before crawling towards him. "Shane!" she hissed, panic-stricken as she shook his shoulder roughly. "Shane!"

The dark-haired sheriff's deputy's weary eyes shot open, a look of concern flashing across his face as he heard what was going on outside. He sat up, reaching for his rifle hastily. "Stay here," he commanded, clambering out of his sleeping bag and rubbing the back of his head as he staggered out of the tent.

"Fuck that," the brown-eyed beauty muttered, scrambling to her feet and running after him.

Shane heard her fast-paced footsteps behind him and turned his head, a scowl contorting his handsome features. "What'd I tell you?" he hissed, before pointing back towards the camp. "Go back to the tent, girl - and for Christ's sake, put some clothes on!"

"You can't tell me what to do," she snapped as she flounced past him, tossing her coppery curls and turning her head to flash him a venomous look. "You're not my daddy."

He attempted to fight the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips, shaking his head and letting out a low chuckle at her sassy - and easily misinterpreted - retort. "Well, maybe we could change that," he muttered under his breath.

The pair joined the rest of the group a few moments later. The survivors stood in a semi-circle around the bloody carcass of a deer, which was being gnawed at by a festering walker. Shane grabbed Cassandra's wrist, pulling her behind him sharply before stepping forward, aiming his rifle at the walker's head. The other men followed suit, watching as the geek staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his jaw and a raspy growl leaving his throat.

Simultaneously, the men all began hitting him with their assorted weapons. The walking cadaver lurched from one survivor to the next, teeth bared and arms outstretched, until Dale promptly sliced off his head with a pick-axe.

Amy, a young blonde girl who wasn't much older than Cassandra, let out a groan as the walker's body fell to the ground with a loud thud, and yet continued gnashing its teeth and attempting to nip at the ankles of those standing near his dismembered skull. Her sister, Andrea, draped an arm around the blonde's shoulder and led her away hastily.

Just as the others began to disperse, the sound of twigs crunching underfoot caused Cassandra to grab Shane's shirt, fisting her fingers against the soft fabric as he raised his gun, standing in front of her protectively. The group waited with baited breath, only to be faced with the grimy face of Daryl Dixon, the brother of the man who'd been left behind in Atlanta.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed, approaching the cluster of survivors with a scowl plastered across his features. "That's my deer! Look at it. All gnawed on by this.... Filthy, disease-bearing, motherless, poxy bastard!" At this, he gave the walker's corpse a hearty kick, an annoyed grunt escaping his lips.

"Calm down, son," Dale said, intervening. "That's not helping."

"What do you know about it, old man?" the redneck sneered, taking an aggressive step towards Dale while squaring his shoulders. "Why don't you take that stupid hat of yours and go back to 'On Golden Pond'?" He paused, backing away and dropping to his knees beside the half-eaten doe. "I've been tracking this deer for miles.... Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison," he told the rest of the group. "What do you think? Do you think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?"

"I would not risk that," Shane interjected, slinging his rifle over his shoulders and shaking his head.

"That's a damn shame," Daryl murmured in response, sighing. "I got some squirrel.... About a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

With that, the others began to head back to camp. Cassandra remained at Shane's side, feeling somewhat safe whenever she was near him. She watched, curious, as Daryl glanced around at the empty tents, a furrow at his brow. "Merle?" he called. "Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up!"

⠀༚⠀⠀༷⠀⠀ྃ