Georgian Redneck

Chapter 37- Uninvited Guests

I wake up to unbearable screams and yells from below. What the hell's going on? This isn't how I wake up most of the time. The first thing that comes to mind is that something's horribly wrong.

Carl wakes up immediately after me and looks at me with an expression that translates to pure horror and fear. "C'mon" I whisper to him, just incase there's any walkers in the block. But why... How would they get in? There's no way that they could have gotten past Rick or Daryl or Glenn or anyone. But if it were a herd... There's bars. That'd keep them back. But then again, the bars could be god knows how old. Rusty.

I swiftly stand up and pull my sharp machete out of its holder, pulling Carl close to my side in the process. If walkers did mannage to get into this block, this little boy ain't dying. Holy shit I feel like a trained ninja because of that move.

"Diana! Hershel..." Carl tugs on my long sleeve and points at the cells below with a shaky hand. What's he on about? A bloodied Rick and Glenn are carrying Hershel. Without the bottom half of his right leg.

What the fuck happened? Oh my god Hershel. Hershel!

"What happened?!" I yell as I sprint down the metal steps and into the small cell that Hershel's in, Carl not far behind. This can't be happening.

Lori and Carol are tending to his bleeding stump with white towels upon towels. Red now.

I stare in shock while the Greene sisters cry into each others shoulders in the corner of the cell. Yet I still can't feel the all-too familiar salty tears streaming down my face.

I'm guessing there are no walkers. And I guess I've turned into an emotionless asshole. But this is fucking serious now.

"Walker got him. Rick had to cut the... the leg off" Maggie chokes out between her quiet sobs. No. Not Hershel. Not the man who provided us with safety, food and water. Not this man. Anybody but this man. He's so nice and helpful and important and...

I grip my machete tighter with a shaky hand and walk out of the cell and into our... Room where we eat? A mini Cell Block C cafeteria? I'm not even sure if that's what this used to be and what I should call it. But nicknames aren't important right now.

But what I see surprises me. Hell, I'm beyond surprise now. T-Dog and Rick have their guns raised, pointing them at a group of five prisoners standing by the entrance to the tombs. Of course, with the exception of Daryl who has his crossbow.

They're all dressed in blue prison uniforms and one guy which looks like their leader's pointing a small, black gun at Rick. I wouldn't have thought there'd be any prisoners left by now... Where did these guys even come from? I don't like the look of them. Well, tree of them.

A small bastard that looks like Kevin Hart, a Mexican drug dealer type and a tall dude that looks like the guy from Armageddon. I don't like the look of these two. They pose danger for us. For a moment, Hershel gets pushed to the back of my mind.

"And I want her." the sleazy leader smirks creepily at me. Oh god. Not this. What the hell's even going on? They shouldn't be here. They should be dead. I don't think twice about the fact that I just wished someone to be dead. After all, I've done it so many times I've lost count.

I strut over between Rick and Daryl and smirk at the Mexican man with longish brown hair which looks like it hasn't been washed in quite a while. Time to be a teasing bitch. It'll boost my self-confidence and make me forget about Hershel momentarily.

"Oh, I see. You want this? I'd like to see you try." I motion to myself with a smirk, and growl the last part of the sentence. Not that I'm actually confident with my body. Daryl knows that, so that's why he throws me a confused expression, which luckily none of the guys pick up on.

Of course this wasn't one of my smartest moves, but it's psychological trick I've learned about three years ago while consulting a rape victim. I hope he's doing well. Yes, 'he'. Because guys can be raped too. Society somehow seems to have forgotten that.

He points his small gun at my grinning face, his previous smirk dissapearing and slowly being replaced by a death glare which isn't nearly as meanincing as Hershel's. "You bitch!" He shouts, making Daryl break his calm facade and erupt. It's not often I see him like this.

"Don' you dare call her a bitch again or I'll kill you." He half-growls and half-shouts, making his threat seem more... Serious. An angry Daryl isn't something I like seeing. Well, I don't mind it, but I prefer to steer clear of him when he's in the mood.

My stomach fills with butterflies at that statement. Even if it's a death threat. It's unbelievable that amids this screwed up world, I managed to bump into him. The only man that's made me feel special and loved. It's his small gestures, or protectiveness, that make me love him even more. Fuck. Love?

On the other hand, if I got a dollar for every death glare I've gotten throughout the past year, I'd probably be able to afford five packs of beer. Maybe even more, if I went to a cheap store.

"Enough. Diana, go inside." Rick says calmly, averting the other mans attention to him. I'm about to argue with him, but he quickly silences me.

"Please." With that one word, it's settled. Rick doesn't say 'please' often, so that's the main reason why I'm shutting up. Not sure if I'd like to go along with these guys anyway, where ever they're going. I just hope our group will be safe.

I pat Rick on the shoulder and give Daryl a quick peck on the lips before flipping the prisoners off and closing the bar doors that separate us and the rest of our group. I hear some murmurs from the prisoner about my behaviour but I don't give a fuck. The Mexican leader isn't to be trusted. Nor is the small, dark-skinned man. Or the big teddy bear.

As soon as I'm out of sight, my sassiness drops and a dull feeling fills me up. 

(A/N)
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