Who's Darcy-Ann Dixon? 》Rick Grimes

Chapter 1-Rick Grimes?

I inhaled and let out a deep breath as my twin brother, Daryl, and I stepped closer to the campsite we were staying at and heard voices talking-or rather, arguing. My brother and I shared a look as we heard the voices quiet down, Daryl and I no longer bothering to be quiet in our footsteps, instead being rather loud. Our hunt was over.

I let out another deep breath as my brother stepped out of the woods, me following just a few steps behind, taking in the scene. I start looking around the sight before me-which was a few people of the camp gathered in this area, a dead deer-my dead deer-a decapitated zombie, or as we like to call them, walker, laying on the ground, and a new guy. But that wasn't it, Shane Walsh, unspoken leader of the group aiming his shotgun in my brother's and I's faces. I scowled at him.

"Get that thing out of my face," I bit out.

"Jesus," he murmured under his breath.

"Son of a bitch," my brother complained. "That's my deer!" He looked at me, both looks of frustration now evident on our faces. We start walking closer to the deer. "Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy, disease-bearing, motherless, poxy, bastard!" Daryl continued to complain as he kicked the walker.

"Calm down son, that's not helping," Dale, an older man in our little group, sighed.

"What do you know about it, old man? Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to 'On Golden Pond?' Trackin' this deer for miles," he said, starting to pull arrows out of the deer, tossing one to me. "Drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison." I watched as Shane and the new guy shared a look, and my scowl deepened. "What d'you think, can we cut around this chewed up part right here?"

"Man, I would not risk that," Shane sighed.

"It's a damn shame," I say. "Well, got some squirrel. About a dozen or so. It'll have to do." I motioned to the squirrels that were with Daryl, the both of us looking around. The walker that was laying on the ground started snapping it's jaw.

"Oh, God!" One of the teenagers-or just out of, I wasn't sure-Amy, complained.

"Come on, people! What the Hell! It's got to be the brain. Don't any of you know nothing?" I groaned. Unlike my brothers, and most people in Georgia for that matter, I for the most part had perfect English grammar, and was missing the Southern accent both my brothers had. I took my katana, a silver-bladed, black with white diamond and hint of gold handle out of it's dark forest green and black sheath, and stabbed it right through the brain, one or two people flinching as I did so. In return, I scoffed. "Get used to it, people. This is our life now."

My brother and I walked into the official camp area, Daryl shouting for our older brother, Merle.

"Merle! Merle, get your ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel. Cook 'em up," he said as he set his crossbow down, me following with my own. I only have my crossbow and my katana, no gun, and I know that will eventually become an issue, not having a gun, but it wasn't at the moment and my crossbow and katana hadn't let me down yet.

"Daryl, Darcy, why don't you slow up a bit, I need to talk to you two," Shane said, walking up to us.

"About what?" I asked, skeptical about the look on his, and now think about it, the look on everyone's faces.

"About Merle," I could feel myself tense up, and my jaw locked. "There was a, uh, a problem in Atlanta."

"What kind of problem?" I grit through my teeth. No one answered.

"He dead?" Daryl asked, and I wouldn't have expected him to stay so calm.

"Not sure," Shane said.