Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Tell Me You Love Me

I've always hated water. Swimming pools, lakes, rivers, bath tubs they all sucked. In the summer when all the kids in the neighborhood clamored to the pool or the nearby lake I stayed safely tucked away on dry land. I didn't like the feeling of being soaked, the wet hair, the sticky bathing suits, the grimy film it left behind on your skin. I hated all of it. Even my showers were held to the bare minimum, used only for hygiene, not pleasure. Get in, get clean, get out. No dilly-dally. No long, drawn out bathing rituals complete with shower singing or scented candles and frilly luffas.

Nope. Not me.

This made my current predicament suck a particularly nasty set of donkey-balls. It'd been raining for hours and as far as I could tell the heavens had no plans to stop anytime soon. I felt like Noah without the ark. People said I had issues. I said people who smiled when it rained were the ones with the real issues. I was keeping my eyes on those fuckers, trust.

I trudged through the water logged forest at a snail's pace, if that. I'd long since abandoned trying to locate anything even resembling Daryl's trail and was instead trying to locate any form of shelter or a lifeboat, but there was nothing but trees, walkers, and more water around every bend. I was tired, wet, cold and night was rapidly approaching. Translation, I was severely screwed.

The guttural snarls of the dead following behind me were barely audible over the howling wind and thunder. It was hard to judge their distance in this weather, but I couldn't take the chance of being caught in the open. The few dozen I'd fought off while traipsing through this nightmare were difficult to dispatch. The mud, the limited visibility, my water soaked clothes and gear weighing me down, all of it made killing them that much more dangerous.

I leaned against a massive tree, breathing in heavy gasps of air, hands braced on my knees. Mud coated my legs up to my knees and bruises were already forming on my arms from slipping and sliding down a hill on my ass. Not my finest moment, but this weather made me as coordinated as a rhinoceros on roller skates. The only good news was I was no longer covered in walker guts. I would take mud over intestines any day of the week.

It could have been a trick of the weather, but I swore the moans were getting closer meaning the small herd was headed straight for me. I pressed my back into the tree, trying to make myself as small as possible as I tightened the grip on my rifle. Exhaustion was another serious issue with no solution. While I debated the pros and cons of confronting the dead or hoping they passed me by four shuffled into view. I pressed my lips together in disgust, keeping my fingers crossed I didn't puke up my meager breakfast. Water logged walkers were not for the faint of heart. The rain had one of two effects on the dead. For some the pelting rain acted like a power washer, sloughing the skin right off their decaying bodies, the flesh pooling at their feet in jellylike clumps. Others seemed to soak up it up like a dying plant, their bodies swelling and bloating to the point of bursting. I didn't know which one was worse, but I knew one thing, they both made me sick to my stomach.

Because my luck was non-existent the group stopped, their heads swiveling left and right as they sniffed the air trying to locate my scent. Just like animals their sense of smell deteriorated with the decline in the weather and thank god because it was probably the only thing keeping me alive. I inhaled deeply, watching as they fanned out, searching and closed my eyes briefly.  I couldn't outrun them in this weather and there was no way I could leave a group this large roaming the area I planned to call home for the night. If they weren't going to move on they had to die.

I mentally counted down from three in my head, getting my head on straight. 

Three.

Be quick.  Be efficient.