The Walking Dead Imagines

Dixon's girl

Bang

The gun went off hitting the glass bottle. It shatters as a group of birds fly overhead from the old oak tree that stood tall behind the young girl.

The girl, around 14, clocks the bolt back unloading the chamber like she has a thousand times before. The hot July sun beat on her arms and neck, giving her a nice tan color with a hint of pink. A bead of sweat feels down her forehead, traveling to her temple as her stunning Georgian baby blue eyes harden as she looks at her next target. An old soda pop can perch on the piece of wood that had been built to tie a horse's reins to.

As the wind blew, it kissed her neck and gave her a wave of calmness. However, it formed a sense of annoyance as it blew her black hair across her eyes. In a fit of frustration, she blows them out of her face. "Gotta ge' Mags ta cut i' again." She whispered frustratedly. The wind blew again, carrying the yells of a grown man across the field. Had it been anyone else, it would sound muffled, but the girl isn't like many.

Well, that's what Maggie says at least. Pulling her gun up to her shoulder. She looks through the scope and spots a man in a cop uniform carrying a boy in his arms. Her eyes squint in judgement and curiosity. "Who in the hell?!" She spat looking in the scope again past the man and spots more people. The two men that ran or rather jogged about three yards behind them. One of them was a stranger but the other one was Otis.

Her crystal eyes widen as she realizes this is one hell of a problem.

Clocking the gun to safety, she throws it up and over her head on her shoulder and takes off back to the farmhouse. Sprinting lightly on her feet with the soft patting of her boots. Her black plaid shirt flapped like a flag over the red tank top, the sleeves have been torn off giving her arms room to breathe and bake under the sun. The worn out jeans bared a hole in the left knee, moving with ease as she pumped her legs faster. Hoping and praying that she beat the unknown men to the house to warn the others.

"Maggie!" The girl started screaming. "Maggie!"

A woman in her late twenties steps out onto the porch of the old white farmhouse. "What is it?!"

The girl slings the gun off her shoulders and starts to puff out. "Otis's back and he brough' people wi' 'im." She explained with a heavy southern accent.

"What?!" She exclaimed, holding a pair of binoculars to her eyes and looking out into the field. Her eyes widen as she whips them down and yells for her father in the house.

The girl runs to the front of the steps. She knocks the gun to her shoulder and flicks the safety off. She stands guarded and ready, just in case. She's grounded like that old oak tree. Eyes squinted, judging, and calculating. The door opens behind her, but she doesn't dare move. As the man moves closer, the young girl pulls the gun up and gets ready to shoot. She knows that it would be something her father would do.

"Was he bit?" Her grandfather asked behind her. She holds the gun up close to her with a white knuckle grip.

"Shot! By your man!" The father spat out in a gasp of breath. The girl then lowers her gun as everyone runs past her.

Even as the girl stands there in the midst of the chaos, she had to be the calmest of them all. She was overlooked most of the time, and that's how she liked it. She was a reserved child, not shy, but reserved. The difference? Whereas shy children feel uncomfortable with new people, she just didn't give a shit. Much like her father.

Damn! She thought. If they don' stop the fuckin' shouting we be gettin' them geeks showen up!

The girl tenses up from her thought. Subconsciously hoping that Maggie didn't hear her. The sound of someone yelling snaps her out of her thoughts. Picking up her gun, she immediately points the crosshairs on the army man's head. As the pair get closer, she clicks the gun off safety.

"Who da' hell are ya?!" She spoke, freezing the army man in his spot. She notices the flame of anger flicker behind his brown orbs. This causes the girl to tense up. Squinting her cold eyes and gripping the gun tighter, not liking this guy one bit.

"I as' ya a question!" She takes a step forward. "Now answer!"

"Kiddo." Otis called out. "It's okay. We can trust them. Put the gun down."

"No." She growled, not breaking eye contact with her target. Otis huffed. "You need to put the gun down girl! You know the rules! You don't point a gun unless you aim to kill."

"I know. And I ain't yer girl!" The girl said, glaring her electric eyes harder. The man before her has his hands raised with glaring eyes. His mind couldn't help but go to a certain short-tempered redneck in his group as he looked down at this kid. Christ, she looked like a cardboard copy of him too. Except the hair, of course.

"Now, you listen here. They be our guests and we will treat them with resp-," Otis started to say but was cut off.

"'Ight, 'ight, jeez!" The girl said, rolling her eyes and pointing the gun to the ground. However, she didn't click off the safety and kept glaring at the newcomer.

The two men walked by the child and headed into the house, with the girl following a few steps behind them.

*Some Time Later*

A few hours have passed since the two men showed up with the shot boy. The young girl sat down on the porch swing whittling away at the stick to a sharp point with the hunting knife her mom gave her before she left with her boyfriend. She could hear the screams from the kid inside, flinching slightly to the cries of pain. She just continued whittling away.

From the short time that they've been here, the girl learned a few things from these new people. One, the boy is Carl. Two, the cop guy is Rick. And the crazy looking guy is Shane. And lastly, there's a group with them.

I'm not happy about this.

The Shane guy left a little while ago with Otis to get supplies in town to safe the poor kid. Maggie left with one of the horses to get Rick's wife, Lori. And I'm bored.

Frustrated, annoyed and bored, the girl cut harder into the stick, breaking it in half under pressure. Sighing, she tossed the stick over the railing. Leaning forward, she folded her hands over each other and rested her chin on them. She gazed out into the tree line. Tuning out the conversation between Hershel and Rick. Not out of privacy or respect for them, but because she couldn't care less about what philosophical bullshit her grandpa was spewing out. However, she tuned back in when they started talking about her.