Torn Apart (A Daryl Dixon/ The Walking Dead Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

Cat's P.O.V
I awake and see concrete walls surrounding me. My vision is blurry and my head hurts like a bitch. I rub my hand over my hair and find a throbbing bump. Midday light is filtering into the darkened room.

"What the hell?" I whisper.

I sit up but am overcome by a head rush. I fall back onto the bed and try to catch my breath. Slowly I sit up and take in my surroundings. There is a sink in the corner along with a toilet, a bunk bed and barred doors. I am in a cell in a prison. I stand up and stretch my arms and legs, feeling as if I haven't moved in a week. I look around and notice my bag and weapons aren't there. Alarmed, I go to walk out the door but it's locked. I tug on the door but it doesn't budge. I hear the noise of people walking and talking in the distance.

"Hello?" I call out, my throat dry.

There is no reply. I try louder.

"Hello?"

Finally I hear movement. I hear a weird metallic sound against the ground as the footsteps come closer. After a moment I see someone. A white haired man is standing there. Well he isn't exactly standing. The man only has one leg and is using crutches to walk. He looks to be in his sixties. His hair is long and is in a ponytail.

"Hello there." He says in a thick country accent, reminding me of my grandfather.

"Hello." I reply.

"How are you feeling?' He asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Like shit to be honest."

He laughs.

"Do you mind telling me why I'm locked in here?" I ask.

"Just a precaution. We don't know if you're a serial killer or what not." He smiles.

I laugh at his response, "Nah, I see no point when there's millions of those things out there that deserve to die. Why kill the living when you can kill the dead right?"

He laughs and nods his head, "I agree."

"So can I get out of here?" I ask, gesturing to the cell.

"Gotta ask you some questions first and then we'll see."

"Okay", I ask sceptically.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

"Walkers?" I ask confused.

"The undead. You know walkers..."

"Interesting name. I like that. Um I don't know, too many to count. It's been a long apocalypse." I laugh.

He nods, "How many people have you killed?"

I stop short. I wasn't expecting that, "One."

"Why?" He asks.

I feel tears begin to ball up in my eyes. I could not cry in front of this man. I wouldn't break down in front of a stranger.

"Because he asked me too." I whisper, looking down.

I hear the sound of keys jingling in the lock. I step back and allow the door to swing open.

"What's your name?" He asks politely.

"Cat Hemmings."

"Nice to meet you Cat, I'm Hershel Greene. Welcome to the Prison." He smiles.

I smile back. I like Hershel. I shake my head at the thought. I barely know him, but he was the first human interaction I've had in a long time and I have to say, it was nice talking to someone again.

"Mind if I take a look at your head?" He asks, gesturing to the bump on my head.

"Um, sure." I say, sitting down on the cot.

Hershel sits next to me, placing his crutches at his side. His fingers gently probe the wound, I wince.

"The swellings gone down. You should be right in a few days." He smiles.

"You a doctor or something?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Actually I was a veterinarian." He laughes.

"Oh. Well I guess that's handy." I smile.

"Well you look starved. How about you come down and get something to eat? Carol's about to pack up but I'm sure there's still food left over."

"That would be great." I smile as my stomach grumbles.

We head out of the cell and down the stairs.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a week. You took a bad hit."

"I don't even remember getting hit." I say.

"Yeah well, I'm sorry about that. Michonne, can be a bit brutal but I'm sure she's sorry."

"Michonne?" I ask confused.

"Yeah. She said you had been following her all day and she was being cautious."

The face of the African American woman came to mind. Of course.

"Yeah well tell her that she has a good hit."

"I'm sure you will be able to tell her yourself." He smiles, gesturing forward.

I walk into the empty room filled with tables and chairs and see an older woman standing at a stove. She has short grey hair and a petite figure.

"Carol, you have stew left for our guest here?"

She turns around to look at me. She has a pleasant face filled with kindness and compassion, odd traits for this world.

"Of course Hershel. Why don't you take a seat...?"

"Cat." I say.

She nods and grabs a bowl. Hershel sits next to me as Carol hands the bowl over. She sits down at the table.

"So Cat, how did you get here?" She asks.

I pause eating, my eyes focused on the stew. It was a long story and frankly she didn't want to get into it.

"Oh, you know. World went to hell, everybody died, you know the usual." I say.

She laughs, "Sarcasm, that's refreshing."

I nod and continue to eat my food.

"So where are you from originally?" She asks.

"Um, Chicago."

"Wow, you've come a long way then haven't you?"

I laugh bitterly, "You have no idea."

I finish my stew, my stomach full for the first time in weeks. I finish the water on the table and stand to wash the dishes.

"I've got that." Carol said, taking the dishes from me.

"I can do that." I say.

"No, no. Hershel, take her to go meet everybody. Everyone's been waiting for you to wake up." She smiles, beginning to wash my plate.

"Well let's go meet everybody Cat."