When the dead roam - (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 12 - Horde 101

Lou stared at the dozen walkers that roamed behind the wired gates in front of her. Baggy clothes hung off their malnourished bodies and blood spilled from their torn organs as they shuffled around the enclosure. Pained groans erupted from their mouths as they begged for food that would never arrive, at least unless Lou decided today was her day to die.

"Del Armo Foods" she stated, reading the banner that hung across the large bland building before passing the binoculars to Daryl "Could be supplies"

Daryl held the device in front of his face, allowing him to gain a better view of the scene in front of him. "Nah, we aught to keep going" he mumbled "Keep following those tracks"

"They're long gone Daryl - we would have caught 'em by now" she sighed, running her hands through the knotted mess on her head "At least if we went back with a truck full of food it wouldn't be a completely wasted journey"

"Alrigh'" Daryl nodded, pulling his knife from his pocket and tapping the metal blade on the bars. In sync the decaying bodies turned. The dinner bell had rang and they were all starving. Slowly they stumbled their way towards their prey, arms outstretched and mangled skin dangling from the bones of their fingers. "Ready?"

She nodded at male, gripping the handle of her knife and preparing, as usual, to fight the undead. Lou would never admit it, but the feeling of the metal blade gliding across the bones of a walker gave her a small amount of pleasure. She felt in control. Alive. Something they, most definitely, were not. Once each body lay at their feet Lou linked her fingers through the gaps of the wired fence and pushed it to the side, allowing them both access to the warehouse that the dead had called home. Two deliver vans sat in the courtyard. Dust and dirt decorated the outside of the vehicles, showing just how long they had been sat there. Teenagers of the old world would have drawn in the dirt. Crude messages would have been written just above the listence plate and drawings would have kept them company. Things were much simpler back then. At least the dead would stay that way. Dead.

"You check tha' one" Daryl instructed, pointing to the van that resided on the left side of her "I got this one"

She pulled her handgun from the back of her trousers, ensuring she was protected at all times as she approached the vehicle. Carefully she crouched down and placed her soft hand on the cold, rusted handle before pushing it down. As she did so, a loud click erupted in the air around them as a wire above her snapped, allowing the cargo door to fly open and alerting the walkers contained inside that a meal was just outside.

"Fuck!" she breathed as she noticed the dead bodies hanging down from the roof of the shipment container, walkers making their way past the mangled torso's and towards the panicked raven haired girl.

"Move - Now!" Daryl shouted, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her away from prying hands. He pushed her through the gap between the moving bodies, ramming his knife into their heads as he tried to find a safe escape for them.

"Down here!" she yelled above the groans, clasping his dirty hand and pulling him underneath the van to temporary safety. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

Decaying hands scraped at the concrete floor beside them. Every inch they clawed at gave them a little more chance at scoring themselves a snack. A W was carved directly in the center of each forehead that surrounded her, blood dripping slowly from a few recent kills. Daryl fumbled with a metal chain that lay on the ground next to him, tugging it towards him and kicking the nearest skin craving monster in the head as he did so.

"Come on" he said scampering out of the nearest gap between death and living and wrapping the rusted metal around his fist. He lifted the chain off the ground and swung it to the left, decapitating three of the walking dead as he did so. The two darted between the hoard, ducking under limbs as they raced towards the lone car that was conveniently placed in the center of the compound. The doors slammed behind them. They were trapped inside a metal tin, nothing but glass to protect them as they awaited certain death.

"Bollocks"