Stray // Daryl Dixon

Takin' in Strays

"Drop yer' weapons," the dirty redneck said as he walked towards me, his crossbow still pointed at my face. He wore a beige shirt that he had ripped the sleeves off of, his naturally toned arms covered in sweat and dirt like my own. 

"You could have killed me!" I shouted, my temper getting the better of me. "If the creeper's head had been any more rotted you would have killed me-"

"Drop yer' weapons," he snarled again, cutting me off as he took another step forward. I huffed out a rage-filled breath, reluctantly listening to his orders and slowly took my gun out and placed it on the floor. One of the other men walked over and kicked it to the side and forced my crowbar out of the creeper's head. He was dressed in a sheriff's uniform and had a large bag of guns thrown over his shoulder.

"Who are you?" The cop asked as he patted me down for any more weapons, taking my bag and rifle in the process. The other two men approached taking spots on either side of the guy with the crossbow, probably just as interested in finding out who the hell I was and more importantly if I was a threat.

"Scarlett Jensen," I held eye contact with the cop, "but you can call me Scar."

"What are you doing in the city by yourself?" He further questioned. "Do you have a camp? Are you alone?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, debating on whether I should tell him the truth or not. I decided against it. If they had a camp then I could try to get myself there, before making my way back home. I mean I didn't have many other options, they could be my escape route.

"No camp," I responded, "I came into the city with my brother because we heard the word of a refuge set up, but when we got here it was completely overrun-"

"Where's your brother now?" The younger boy asked, cutting me off. He looked to be around my age, possibly even younger.

I froze when he asked that, stuttering my words, "He didn't make it." Was all I could get out and each of them showed a flash of pity and understanding before quickly washing it away. "Do you have camp?" I finally asked and they all glanced at each other, most of them looking at the cop, almost as if they were trying to figure out how they should answer. As they brought their attention back to me I noticed a creeper shuffle around the corner. It was quiet and walked slowly, so I kept an eye on it, ready for when I had to kill it. "I'm a good shot, my father taught me as a kid, I never miss," I spoke up, pleading my case.

"Don't matter how good you are," the redneck snarled, which made my blood boil. Something about this guy pushed my buttons. It was the arrogance.

"I don't think I was talking to you," I snapped, "and from the looks of it, doesn't seem like you're the one in charge here."

"Aye missy, don't think you should be talkin' that way to a man that just saved yer' life," He fought back before the sound of the creeper approaching finally caught their attention. Each of their heads snapped behind them. It was coming up right behind the redneck, reaching for him. Reacting quicker than them I stepped towards the cop, pulling the knife out of his pocket before throwing it at the walker. The blade released from my fingers hurling just inches past the redneck's head and lodged its way directly in the centre of the creeper's forehead.

"Consider it even," I stated. They all stood there for a moment, processing what just happened.

"We have a camp," the cop finally responded, looking back towards me. "I'm Rick Grimes, this is Daryl," he nodded toward the archer who finally dropped his weapon, no longer seeing me as a threat, "that's Glenn and T-Dog," he then looked at the younger boy and the burly man. I nodded back at them. "You can come back with us, but you abide by our rules and you contribute what you can."