Outcast (A TWD Fanfiction)

Chapter 1: The Piper

                                                        " And I chiefly use my charm

                                                   On creatures that do people harm,

                                              The mole and toad and newt and viper;

                                                    And people call me the Pied Piper."

(Before the events of Season 6, Episode 10: The Next World. The story picks up just before Rick and Daryl meet Jesus/2 months after the walkers and Wolves attack Alexandria, following Deanna's death, and Daryl, Abe and Sasha take out Negan's bikers.)

(PRESENT)

Boots crunched some bits of broken glass into the pavement below as their owner took cautious strides over them.

The hot Virginian sun beat down cruelly onto the small town below, and the two men stopped to catch their breath, one of them pulling a canteen out of their bag.

"There's nothin left here. We've searched everywhere. Let's head back to the car," the man with the canteen said, taking a sip before passing it off to his companion.

As if on queue,  the men heard a loud screech from the nearby trees.

The other man instinctively got low, instructing the first one to do the same, holding a single finger to his mouth in warning. Together, they made their way towards the amplified sound.

As they got closer to the growing sound, the trees in the area began to thin out. They gave way to a sprawling hill, and just below, a giant superstore and parking lot filled with empty, abandoned vehicles.

The two men exchanged a look.

"Careful, Daryl. We don't have a lot of cover going down this slope," the man said, using the natural cover of fallen limbs and rocks to get closer to the sound.

From their vantage point, the two men quickly noticed that they weren't the only ones attracted to the sound. The undead that normally just shuffled aimlessly through the huge, paved landscape turned their heads towards the sound and had also begun their pursuit to find its source.

The two men worked their way around to the back of the supercenter, where deliveries and shipments would normally be received.

The entire area was closed off with a chain link fence. They watched from a safe distance as more of the undead were drawn to the sound, clawing at the fence from the outside.

The source of the noise was an electric guitar, hooked up to a small sound system.

A hooded figure stood, expertly shredding chords, on top of an eighteen wheeler that was backed into the delivery dock of the warehouse. Cords dangled from the monolith truck, meandering back inside the building.

"Is that..."

"Free Bird?"

For a second, the man's eyes lit up and he laughed, a small grin tugging at his lips.

"Rick, look," Daryl said to him, pointing at the loading dock.

Dozens of canisters of gasoline were scattered, laid out beneath the folding doors, empty. That's when the duo noticed the soaked pavement that stretched around the perimeter of the fence, as well as the entire fenced area itself.

"Don't think there'll be an encore," Daryl muttered.

Not only was the musician's playing drawing a large audience from outside the gates, but visitors came to see the performance from inside the store as well. In almost an orderly fashion, they shuffled out into the empty, fenced parking lot.

A large crowd of the undead began thronging around the base of the semi, blindly clawing and grasping upwards for their next meal.

From their place behind an abandoned car, the two men looked on. Daryl was itching to help, his crossbow at the ready.

Rick placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wait. We don't know who this person is, or if there are more of them." Rick tapped his foot to the music. "Besides, it looks like they've got it under control."

After playing the final note of their guitar solo, the figure lit up a homemade Molotov cocktail and threw it at the base of the fence.

Rick and Daryl looked on as the flames spread and the fence, along with all the walkers, came alive in a wall of fire. The fire spread rapidly, hungrily lapping at the gasoline trail laid out for it.

The men watched as the figure grabbed their guitar and swiftly retreated into the warehouse, folding down the sliding doors behind them.

The other exit door also slammed shut, locking all of the walkers out of the store. Stuck in the receiving center, all of the undead snarled as they went up in flame.

Intrigued, Rick and Daryl cautiously worked their way back around to the front of the store, being careful to avoid capturing the attention of the undead.

Minutes passed, and then carts began rolling out the front doors, filled to the brim with canned goods and useful supplies, batteries and camping gear, some bedding and clothes.

The figure, who was clad in dark, layered clothes, a gas mask, and a long, tattered trench coat, quickly went to work loading their findings into the back of a relatively new pickup truck.

Once they were finished with the task of unloading, which had created a bit of noise, the figure grabbed a can of spray paint.

Hastily, they scrawled the word: CLEAR in huge green letters onto the front of the store before turning around to bury a knife into the head of a walker that grew too close.

The figure kicked another walker backwards, into more of the oncoming herd that was now wrapping around front from the back of the store. They picked up their guitar, almost reluctantly, before smashing it over the nearest walker's skull, breaking both in the process.

Using the empty shopping carts to their advantage, the person used them as a protective barrier between themself and the undead, stabbing a couple with the remaining neck of the guitar.

Before they let themselves get surrounded, the person jumped into their truck and peeled out of the parking lot.

Rick and Daryl watched from the vantage point to see which direction the stranger headed, before retreating to their own vehicle. They intended to see where this capable survivor was headed, and if there were more like them out there.