Cost of Living - Chapter One

Chapter 1 - Neighbors



His head falls forward, the ragged wire around his neck cutting into flesh, rubbing the skin raw with every slight movement. Rick Grimes closes his eyes, his wife's voice reverberating between his ears, the pain evident in her staggered words. Don't go.

"Hey, lift your head up man," Daryl Dixon's voice wavers from somewhere to his right. "You'll choke."

The corners of Rick's mouth twitch as his head slips lower, the thin cord meeting its limit, refusing to relent against the rigid muscles in his neck. The pressure builds behind his eyes first, the wire beginning to constrict his wind pipe, limiting his air flow. His eyelids weigh a ton each ; he's succumbing to his own shallow breathing. Rick welcomes the slinking darkness, the numbing of his limbs, the freedom from guilt of losing that little girl...

Daryl's size 12 slams into the side of Rick's calf. "Cut that shit out." The jolt sends a fresh slice into Rick's neck, forcing him upright, small gasps escaping his throat as he gulps down air by the mouthfuls. He feels the fresh tear in his skin as a sticky warmth trickles down the side of his neck.

"There you go," Satisfied the cop isn't going to off himself next to him, Daryl leans his head back against the beam he's tied to, once again focusing his attention on freeing his wrists. He would have given anything to have Merle beside him instead of this pussy cop, but then again, if Merle would have been with him, they wouldn't be tied to a pole in a dilapidated barn with a psychotic bitch hiding somewhere.

"I'm sorry," Rick whispered, his voice sore and rough.

"Don't be sorry, just help me figure a way outta here," Darryl tugs at the knot around his wrists, clawing at the thick rope that bound his hands together. "We ain't got time to sleep."

She gathers the one with the five o'clock shadow is "Rick" and his redneck friend is "Daryl", but every time she strains to hear more, their voices return to hushed whispers. From her corner of the barn, her vision adjusts to the darkness, allowing her to keep an eye on them, tied to the weight-baring beams, exactly where she had left them.

They must have thought her dim, a single woman, alone, defending her home. They seemed to have a change of heart once she pointed her double-barrel at their chests.

"We had no idea anyone was still living here," the one named Rick had said, his hands poised in the air. "We were just looking for a little girl named Sophia. She was separated from our group when a herd of walkers came through, maybe gather some supplies on the way back. We'll be on our way now." The other one, Daryl, kept his crossbow aimed directly at her head, refusing to move an inch.

"She's by herself," he said calmly, his eyes never leaving the crosshairs. "I'm sure she can be neighborly and share some with us."

She pointed the shotgun directly at him.

"Whoa! Easy," Rick spoke up. "Let's not do anything crazy now. Not enough of the living left, we don't need to be killing each other."

"I'm not looking to kill anyone," she said without taking her eyes off of Daryl. "But I'm not looking to share either. Don't have much anyway."

The sun beat down on them in the field behind the barn, the blistering heat causing beads of sweat to roll down their backs and off the sides of their faces. She kept her gun pointed at Daryl, he focused his crossbow on her, and Rick stood in between, trying to be the peacemaker. An occasional breeze would shake the dry brittle grass at their feet and the collars of their shirts, but they remained motionless. They were at a stalemate.

"Miss?" Rick said. "Miss, what is your name?"

She blinked twice, opened her mouth, then closed it again. She waved her gun at Daryl. "Tell him to put it down now."

"You must be insane," Daryl said, taking half a step towards her. She matched his movement.

"You have no idea."

"Daryl," Rick said, his voice even and calm. "Put it down."

"Now you're crazy," Daryl replied, a drop of sweat sliding off the tip of nose.

"Please," Rick said stepping directly in front of Daryl's bow. "We aren't going to do this."

The redneck didn't blink, didn't move, and as far as she could tell, didn't breath. He continued to bore holes into her, she imagined he hoped this alone would take her out. She cocked the weapon, the sound barely audible but the meaning crystal clear. He exhaled softly, a low growl chasing his breath. He lowered the crossbow and she took a few paces back, eyeballing the cuffs on Rick's belt.

"Hey cowboy, put those on your friend would you?" She circled them, motioning at the cuffs with her chin. "You seem to have a better head on your shoulders."

Rick and Daryl exchanged glances before Daryl relented and set his crossbow at his feet. Without another word, Rick pulled Daryl's hands behind his back and sets the cuffs in place.

"Looks like we got ourselves a problem," she continued to circle them, keeping her gun at the ready. "I certainly don't trust that you'll simply slink away with your tails between your legs and find some other home to loot and I definitely don't like you enough to invite you into my home." She was trying to buy time, to figure out what she was going to do with them. Unfortunately, her present idea was the best she could come up with. She led them to the old barn on the corner of the property and tied them up to the posts, adding a thin strand of wire around their necks as a precaution. Giving them each a full glass of water, she promised to have this mess figured out by morning.

That was a day and a half ago.

Rick had given her the benefit of the doubt that she really didn't want to harm them. She was just scared, alone, and by that accent, definitely not from around here. She was a transplant from somewhere up north, as far as he could tell probably New York. She's miles away from home, alone, and caught two armed men on, what he guessed was, her property. She had every right to defend herself, anyone would. She would come to and let them go and then they could continue looking for Sophia.

That was a day and a half ago. They were beyond parched, their stomachs rumbled, their muscles burned, and it took every last bit of remaining energy to keep their eyes open.

"You think she's dead?" Daryl spoke up, fighting the blanket of sleep washing over him. Rick turns his head towards his partner, only able to see his outstretched leg and left elbow. "Hope not," Rick laughed in spite of himself. "I'll have a hell of a time finding my gun."

"Shoot," Daryl huffs, his fingers cramping, muscles aching from the futile attempt at untying the ropes . "I'll turn this place upside down to find my baby girl. I ain't leavin' without her."

Of course he named that bow, Rick thought, turning his attention to the darkness once again, letting the crickets, frogs, and the rest of the night's noises fill his head. When he was around six he would try to name each and every insect, each and every sound, the act, lulling him to sleep when his father was out working late. He thought better of doing that now, forcing himself to stay awake, the sting of the fresh wound on his neck serving as a reminder why it was dangerous to shut his eyes, even for a moment.

He decides to concentrate on the farm house off in the distance, the moonlight vibrant, completely surrounding it in its silver radiance, acting as a beacon in the darkness. There is a massive tree in the front yard, he can't make out what kind, but it sways gently in the heat, almost waving him in, welcoming him. He imagines bringing Lori, Carl, and the rest of the group there, setting up a safe haven, changing their situation from surviving to thriving and doing exactly what they expected of him. No more deaths. No more being afraid. Simply living out the rest of their lives in peace and as normal as humanly possible.

Shadows dash across the field, ghosts playing hide and seek, away from the eyes of the living. Rick tries and follow their movement as they change shape and bounce in and out of view. He catches sight of one as it takes on a more solid shape, moving slower than the others but definitely moving and with purpose. He slams his eyes shut, trying to clear them of any dust or debris that may be causing him to see things, hoping that when he opens them again...

It continues to move towards the barn, a slow, lingering movement, and behind that one, another follows, and that one is followed by another. Rick spots them dotted across the field all stumbling forward. He closes his eyes again, weeding out the crickets, katydids, and tree frogs, straining to hear what he absolutely doesn't want to hear.

Almost consumed by the evening's white noise, a low gurgling moan latches onto the tepid night breeze, and with it the foul smell of rotting flesh. Rick straightens up, the sounds of the undead mixing in with the night, so clear and vivid now, how had he not noticed before? His heart slams into his chest with such force, he's sure it's what draws their attention, calling them to their location, beckoning them closer as clearly as a gunshot.

Rick catches his breath for the second time that night as he struggles against his restraints, the chorus of the undead as sobering as a cold shower. "Daryl," his whisper barely audible. After a few seconds without a response, he turns his head as much as the wire will allow and tries again. "Daryl!"

"What?!" Daryl growls. When Rick fails to respond, Daryl opens his mouth to speak but stops himself, catching a whiff of the all too familiar smell of death growing stronger every second. "Shit."

They almost simultaneously pull their legs into their chests, slowing their breathing, wracking their brains for a plan. They continue their assault on the ropes, dragging the fibers against the beams, hoping that with enough friction it would begin to unravel.

I'm not going out like this, Daryl thought, slamming his weight into the beam. He'll take the shack out first. He hadn't come as far as he's come, seen as much as he seen, lost as much as he's lost to be handed over on a plate to a bunch of drooling geeks. His brother would never forgive him. She'd never forgive him.

Rick, following suit, digs his heels into the dirt floor and presses his back into the beam, plastering all his weight against it, every jerk of the beam, tightening his metal collar. He had given this woman too much credit, assumed she still had all her wits about her, assumed she would let them go once she saw they weren't a threat. Instead, she was leaving them to die, initially from thirst, hunger, or exposure but now, a gruesome, painful death; being torn apart while struggling to escape.

"Shhhhh!" A small shadow darts in front of them, running to the opening of the barn. They recognize her immediately as she cradles the rifle against her chest like a new born. "Shit, shit, shit!"

She was here the whole time? Rick thought.

"You was here the whole time?" Daryl hisses.

"Mostly," she whispers. "Now shut up."

She could make out five of them, all headed directly towards the barn. The most she had taken out at one time was two, but this was different. They were all crowded together and the rifle would only alert more. Her home would be overrun in no time.

She looks at the two men squirming against their restraints, even in the dim moonlight, she could see the desperation on their faces.

"Let us go," Rick says. "We can help you."

"Shut up," she replies, staring out into the night. They could be of help to her. She could wait until the walkers were feasting on the men, sneak up on them from behind, and then take them out as they devoured the intruders.

"There's too many of them," Rick tries again.

"I said shut up!" she runs past Rick and Daryl towards the back of the barn.

"Where you going?" Daryl calls out in full voice. The dead are close enough to hear and their hungering cries increase and echo throughout the field.

She's back in seconds, standing before them with a pair of machetes, her face hidden in shadow.

Rick's breath catches in his throat, the danger no longer outside. He watches her closely, following her as far as he could as she walks around once and then comes to a complete stop in front of them. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, please don't," Rick's mind is racing as the woman kneels down between them, the glint of the blade flashing against Daryl's shirt. "My name's Rick Grimes. I have a family, a wife, Lori, and a son, Carl. That's Daryl and he-"

"Man, don't be telling this bitch my life story," Daryl says, the hairs rising on the back of his neck as she leans towards him. "Let her do what she's gonna do."

In one movement, she forces Daryl's head to the side with her hand and with a pair of cutters, snaps the piece of wire around his neck. She follows with a slice to the rope tying his hands to the post with the machete. Bringing her face to his, she shoves the handle of the blade into his hand. "Know how to use this?" Daryl answers with a slight nod. "Well get to work. Your friend and I will be right behind you."

Daryl watches as she repeats her actions on Rick, freeing him in seconds and equipping him with the other machete. She jumps up and runs passed Daryl, disappearing into the back of the barn again. "Crazy bitch," he mutters, using the beam for support as he slides up it, his legs protesting under his weight. He looks over at Rick, then past him as the first geek enters the barn, its face half melted and drooping. It turns towards Rick, soft wheezes escape its broken smile.

"Let's get to work," Daryl says, raising the machete high over his head and driving it down, straight into the skull of the walker. It immediately falls silent as he shoves his boot into its ribs and kicks it free of his blade. Rick walks over it and charges the next walker, forcing it onto the ground. It claws at his face and arms, scraping for any bit of flesh. Rick straddles its chest, letting his weight keep the rabid walker in place. Taking the tip of the machete, he places it in the center of the snapping geek's forehead and in one motion, brings it down, clearing the bone and brain. Its arms fall to its sides, its body completely still.

Two more pile into the barn, the taller of the two hungrily lunges towards Daryl, its hands clotted stumps. It rushes Daryl, causing him to drop the machete, pinning him against the wall, a piece of a rotted plank digging into his back. "Aarrgh!" Daryl cries out as the walker bites the air in front of his face. Breathing heavily as the plank begins piercing the skin under his right shoulder blade, he pushes the geek back a few steps, enough to attempt to dislodge the plank from his back. Stabilizing itself, the walker finds its footing and charges him again. Daryl slides off the ragged piece of wood and drops to the floor. The walker falls onto it at full speed, the plank ripping its way through its stomach, coming out the other side, covering Daryl in its dark fluid and the rancid contents of its last meal. It flails against the plank, legs and arms moving in succession, every movement driving it further and further down the wood. Daryl crawls out from underneath the walker as it turns and reaches for him again, weak snarls escaping its throat. Picking up the machete, and now covered in its sticky insides, Daryl repeatedly brings it down against the back of the geeks' neck, chipping away at it, the mushy flesh giving way to the heavy blows. In moments the head topples off the walker's body and onto the floor by Daryl's feet. Daryl lifts his foot and smashes the walker's face in, almost liquefying the remains under his heel.

The other landed on top of Rick, sandwiching him face first against the walker he just killed. Angry hands claw at his face and neck, the stench gagging him, ripping tears from his eyes. He reaches back and grabs a clump of its hair and yanks hard but his grip comes free as a chunk of scalp and hair is left in his hand. He tries again, this time grasping a whole handful but its weight has doubled as it continues howling in his ear. Its movement suddenly ceases as its yanked off of him. Rick quickly rolls onto his side in time to see the woman pulling the walker off of him as Daryl extends his left hand toward him. "I told you this ain't no time for sleeping."

Daryl helps him up, wincing slightly under the pull of Rick's body. Rick notices the pain on his friend's face and feels the color draining from his own.

"You alright?" he asks, placing a hand on his Daryl's shoulder. Shrugging it off, Daryl takes a step back. "Yeah it's just a flesh wound."

The woman turns her back on the outside world and glares at the men. "If you're bit..."

Daryl turns towards her, anger flaring in every part of his body. "You'll what?"

A pair of swollen hands fly around the woman and drag her backwards. She falls onto the walker and flails wildly against it. Her knife flies out of her hand and disappears into the grass as the walker begins chewing on her hair. Useless against its death hold, she slams her head against its face repeatedly, feeling its nose break and cave into itself. Its grip relaxes slightly and she pushes its arms open, scrambling forward towards the direction of the knife. She searches blindly in the darkness, fingers clawing at dry dirt, finding nothing but more dirt and grass. She can hear its labored breaths behind her as it rights itself, coming after her once again. She needs that knife! She won't die tonight! Not like this!

It grabs her legs and begins climbing her, one hand over the other. She flips over, feral kicks meeting pliable surface, as it finds her fleshy inner thigh. It snaps wildly, dragging its teeth across her moist skin. She can feel them watching her, letting her die after what she did to them. Maybe she deserves this.

A dull clang rings out as a shovel head smashes into the walker's face, its cheekbones implode while teeth fly in every direction. Daryl hooks his arms underneath the woman's armpits and pulls her free as Rick finishes off the walker, beating its face in, its distressed gurgling merging with Rick's grunts. Rick jams the shovel into the dirt, leaning against the handle as he attempts to catch his breath, the bloated walker staring blindly up at him. Coughing heavily, Daryl presses his palms against his knees and leans against them, the oppressive heat making it more difficult to recover.

She remains on the ground and stares in bewilderment at the men in front of her; they are barely standing and covered in filth and putrefied pieces. They hadn't left her to die when they could have. Even the redneck, who could have just as easily shot her in the face earlier, pulled her to safety.

Standing up, she brushes the dirt off her hands and the back of her legs and begins walking towards the house. "Max five minute showers each. I need to conserve water." Daryl and Rick fall in line and follow quietly behind her, the cacophony of the night's creatures continuing on without them.





Please continue on to Chapter Two - A Warm Place - #1933409