The Walking Dead Forum: Ciggy - Viewing Profile - The Walking Dead Forum

Is it possible to get a password protected members only board for adults that may want to speak more freely? I've seen other forums put this in place and it works fine. It would only be given to those that request and have posted or been a member for a certain amount of time.

Would this be possible?

Saw this on another site and thought it would be another to add to the "I'm bored" and need something to occupy myself pile...

If you could sleep with a comic book character (and no I don't me zzzzz...) who would it be and why?

My picks would be Gambit for his sexy Cajun accent, chivalrous nature and anti-hero qualities. Plus he shuffles a mean deck. My second guy would have to be Jessie Custer. He's just so very, hot. He has balls of steel...he actually called out GOD. He has that cowboy attitude, cigarette smoking, dirty boozing preacher thing that is so irresistible. Being with him would be like going to bed sinning and waking up confessing. Gives me the chills.

Here's the completed story. Finished 4/17/12

Opening Credits:

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Title: By the Sword
Author: Ciggy
Characters: Michonne and Daryl
Category: AU/Comic-TV Crossover
Rating: MA
Warning: This story contains strong language, violence and adult situations.
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and associated characters, settings, ect are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. Original characters, settings and plot (in this story) are the property of the author (in this case, Ciggy).
Summary: Michonne and Daryl meet and all hell breaks loose.
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Chapter 1



"I know you told me not to but the roads were filled with them, what could I do? There's no sense arguing about it now, what's done is done. We have to focus."

Michonne yanked on the chain attached to her undead boyfriend as he trailed armless and jawless behind her. She hurried along, her internal radar thumping uncontrollably in her chest and warning of the danger lurking minutes behind her. Darting in between the heavy wooded brush, she intended to stop only for a moment, long enough to catch her breath behind the temporary security of a tall oak tree. As she rested a noise sounded behind her. She ducked for cover and in the process caught her chains on some unseen object. She slid down the rough bark as a gaggle of walkers moved in close. She yanked on her chains trying to free herself but it was useless. She adjusted her plan and with a bit of maneuvering she gained enough slack to wield her weapon. With Katana in hand she readied herself to strike, only daring a peek when she was sure the coast was clear. A bloody gray finger emerged out of the misty-gray forest. Unlike months before, when she found herself caught in a similar death trap, she did not hesitate to strike. WHOOSH! Her blade, sliced through the undead walker, cutting it in half. The corpse hit the ground nearby with a thud. It was quick and quiet--exactly what she needed it to be, for guns and bullets in this new world could be your friend or your worst enemy.

She rose to her feet, listening to the sounds of leaves as they crackled under bare feet. Out of the mist, the Walkers emerged, slow moving and gurgling on their own half-death. She struck them down one by one, effectively ending their suffering. In that way, she was kind and brutal. She was a modern day Dr. Kevorkian with a blade. She was saving lives and ending them at the same time. When the last of the undead had fallen, she wasted no time darting through the brush, looking for the first break amongst the trees and hopefully signs of life--

****



She had been traveling own for several months, learning the survival techniques necessary to make it in a world gone mad. Her senses became her compass as she familiarized herself with the scent of death, the sound of distant movements and the sight of refuge. All these things kept her alive, not to mention her traveling companions; her limbless former lover and best-friend, taken down along with her children by the mysterious plague that had turned most of the living into the walking dead. When they fell, she had locked them in the pantry and cried for hours until her senses got the better of her. She steeled herself then, and mustered a new strength she thought she had long lost. She brought back her inner warrior and dashed across the neighbors back lawn, hopping the fence and stepping through their glassless patios doors to retrieve the Katana from their son's bedroom wall. The kid had been a public nuisance to her and her family for as long as they had lived there but now, with his sword in hand, she felt her power return. She felt her hands sizzle with the sensation of survival as she held the handle in her grip and eyed the sharp edge of the long blade. Crying on the kitchen floor, she had almost succumb to death, now she had the means to live. All that was left was to plan her exit strategy.



She returned home, listening outside the pantry door. The moans of agony and primal hunger called to her from the other side. She steeled herself to the fear and floured her hands to stave off the weak grip of her sweaty palms. All she had to do was strike once, then again. if she could maim them enough to keep them from grabbing hold of her, she could use them as shields to get her through the clusters of Walkers that were roaming the roads outside her home. She had prepared herself; braids pinned away from her face. Chains. Rope. An old canteen filled with the last good drinking water from her fridge. She dressed for fall, thinking it best not to weigh herself down with too many clothes to keep her movements free and stealth-like. Taking a deep breath, she tied an extension cord to the pantry's doorknob and stood a safe distance back. When ready, she yanked the cord and released. At first nothing, then just when she was nearing the urge to step forward, out came a foot, then a leg, arms and--THRAWP! WHOOSH! SPLAT!

It was over. She hadn't realized her eyes had been closed for the briefest of moments. But in that time, she had done it! She had accomplished what she set out to do. Before her stood two armless Walkers, no longer the people she once loved, now a means to an end. Just that quick, she had regained her instinct for survival.

Back in the present, she emerged from the forest intact, her companions stumbling behind her awkwardly on their chains. In the distance she could see the blackened sides of what was once a farm house. She would approach it with caution but if all was clear, it would be as good a place as any to hold up for a night and maybe scavenge some supplies.



****

Carol had kissed him the night before and it had gotten under his skin; Daryl needed to get away. His mind muddled and his insides pumped with adrenaline, he slipped out of the prison doors in the early morning hours and started across the yard. Axel was on guard duty, his half-hooded eyes spying the gate across the yard as the Walkers continued their futile attempts to claw through from the other side.

He didn't want to answer questions, so he moved with stealth but given Axel had been a long time resident of the prison well before his group had arrived there, the man had grown accustomed to catching the sound of movement in the light and the dark.

"Who is that?" he called out from his lawn chair. Daryl thought not to answer but considering the rifle Axel was gripping in his hand and the jumpiness he had witnessed from him on more than one occasion, he thought it best to announce himself or wind up another casualty on the prison's front lawn.

"It's me, Daryl," he whispered.

"What you doing out here so early in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep, thought I'd come out here and get a head start on siphoning that fuel we need for the generator. There was a line of cars not far from here on the road, we passed them about two miles up from the front gate. I figure they might be good for something and seeing as we've pretty much collected all that was available in the parking lot, I thought I might head up there on my own and get the job done."

Axel studied him in the dim early morning light. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to contemplate his story. "Why not wait for Rick or Glenn to wake up? I'm sure they would go with you."

"Yeah, I thought of that but if I go on my own it would be much faster, plus after what went down with Thomas and the girls, I thought it best we keep as much man power as we can at the home front. On my bike and with my crossbow I can get shit done a lot quicker and quieter than if I had others tagging along."

If Daryl was any other man, he might've felt guilty bringing up Thomas. Axel had been trying his best to shake off the stench his former serial killing cellmate had left behind. Just the mention of his name and Axel's expression fell.

"I didn't like the guy much, always thought he was off somehow but it was just the four of us and he never tried anything with Dexter, Andrew and me; all those months we were holed up in here, I just never thought...I wouldn't have pegged him as one that would hurt children. He seemed kind of on the soft side, you follow me?"

"Axel, I ain't one to judge, I mean I've never held anything against you over Thomas. I'm just saying, we need to keep this place secure is all."

"I don't know...do you think we should be opening the gates now? I mean, it don't seem worth it to get a bit of gas off a few vehicles left in the road. Besides, Hershel says we have enough fuel to keep the generator going for at least another couple weeks."

"C'mon man, do you really want to wait until the fuel runs out to get more?"

Axel scratched his long beard and thought for a moment. Daryl could see in his eyes that he was coming around to the idea.

"Nah, I guess you're right. I would hate to lose out on our movie nights seeing as I ain't ever been much of a reader; that's about all I got for entertainment 'round here, you follow me?"

"Yeah well, if I get out on this road, you'll won't have to worry about that for a while. You'll be up to your neck in romantic comedies for at least another month or so."

"Sounds good to me."

Daryl could make out a thin grin in the low morning light. It seemed he had accomplished what he set out to do.

"I think I outta slip out the side, the herd over there is thinner. It's not as warm this time of day and they seem to retreat when the air is cooler," he said to Axel.

"Alright then, do you need me to help?"

Daryl knew Axel's gesture was a courtesy and not true intention to be acted upon. The man had never been the first to volunteer for any assignments that got him close to the Walkers. He quickly let him off the hook.

"No, I'll be okay, won't be but a few hours, if anyone asks, I should be back by lunch time."

"It's gone take that long?"

"Well, I still got to watch for Walkers don't I."

"Be careful," Axel called at his back but Daryl was already halfway to the side fence. In moments he would be back on his bike and on the road. A bit of morning air would do him some good. He needed time to think, to clear his head of all the doubt and his heart of all the mixed emotions he was feeling. He decided he would head off to Hershel's old Farm. In truth, back at the prison they had enough fuel to last for several months but that information was only privy to himself, Rick and Hershel. He knew Axel would find out the truth soon enough but by then, he would have done what he needed to do. In the meantime, he would leave the safe confines of the prison behind him and hoped by taking the risk, he would find out once and for all who it is he really wanted to be.



****




At ten years old, she learned her first lesson in surviving. It had been one of the hottest days in August when she skipped down the sidewalk toward her grandmother's home, catching the sticky sweetness of vanilla ice cream on her tongue as it dripped down the sides of her sugar cone. She had seen the black and white police cruiser pull up in front of her grandmother's home less than half a block away.. It had been a curious sight but not enough to lose her place in line; so she waited, knowing that once she had her treat in hand she'd be back there in no time and getting a earful from her grandmother--more than likely about her brother stealing a pack of bubble gum from the corner store again or maybe another courtesy visit about her uncle's unpaid parking tickets. It was never anything too bad and unlike other families in her neighborhood, their kind of bad was never serious enough to warrant more than a few words of warning. But as Michonne got closer to the front porch of her grandmother's modest wood-framed house, it became clear that this was no ordinary visit and it had little to do with bubblegum and parking tickets.

The first indication came in her grandmother's eyes--bloodshot and rimmed with tears; they were the saddest she had ever seen them. Even on days when she and her siblings were on their worst behavior and the threat of corporal punishment hung over their heads like an pendulum ready to strike, the softness of her grandmother's gaze always revealed the loopholes in her verbal threats. She was by nature a kind woman, a gentle soul, seemingly unscathed by whatever ugliness enveloped the world outside. This time, Michonne saw no such thing; no comforting swirls of brown to allay her nerves, only pools of mystery, sucking her into their depths like black holes in space.

She climbed the steps, her actions all but unnoticed by the three occupants on the porch but she knew better than to linger. She opened the screen door and ducked inside, huddling behind the door frame to gather as much information as she could from the other side.

Their voices drifted in and out, mixed with the sounds of the neighborhood she found it difficult to follow everything but her ears perked when her grandmother finally spoke. It was something that seemed to come from some other women. The life sucked out of her usual rosy pitch, she sighed and sniffled her way through explaining something that in the end seemed unexplainable.

"I prayed on it but I guess I knew this day might come. I've been caring for her children for going on three years. She wanted to be better, she tried a few times. There were times we really thought she would make it; so many promises...my husband and I tried to help her. Got her in church once and I told her all demons could be healed with the lord's help but something always got in the way. That's how the devil works, you know. Once he gets in, it's hard to get him out. The good reverend says, If you live by the sword, you die by it. I was hoping things would be different for my Nina."

At the time, Michonne found it hard to reconcile the defeat in her grandmother's voice with the steadfast person she had known all her life. It was in that one sentence that everything she knew about the world and the people she loved came to an abrupt halt. Time paused, and in that briefest of moments she found herself caught between the comforting embrace of youth and innocence and the harsh realities of the real world. That day, she had lost something and she had learned a humbling truth; her mother was never coming back. All her hopes that one day her mother would return and take them back home, that they would reunite with her father and live as they use to, was gone. She had learned through that fateful visit that family didn't last forever, that there could come a day when she would be truly alone. She had to prepare herself, she had to be strong. She would learn to live by the sword but unlike her grandmother's prophetic words, she would not die by it. She would master it. She would survive.



****


Riding on his motorcycle, his crossbow strapped to his back and the wind whipping through his dirty blonde hair, he thought of the past several months and his time with the group. His closeness with Carol had made him unsure of himself; the idea struck him long before they found their new home at the prison. The many days he spent searching for her daughter Sophia had given him a sense of purpose and rekindled his hope in the future. For the first time in his life, he had allowed himself to feel for someone other than himself and his hot-headed older brother Merle. When they discovered Sophia in Hershel's barn, decaying and turned amongst the living dead, it felt like his heart had been torn from his chest. It was that moment which reverted him, and the awkward distance that had for so long kept him alive as well as an outsider with the group, returned with a vengeance. He didn't want to care anymore, because to do that with so much tragedy surrounding him, would end his will to live.

His bike roared down the road, plumes of gasoline scented dust filling the air around him. He had been traveling for nearly four hours when he came upon the access road that led to Hershel's farm. He carefully eyed the open field as he made his way up the bumpy path. The open fields around the farm were all but clear with the exception of a few stragglers; All signs of the horde that had overrun them weeks before were nearly gone, leaving behind a handful of starving Walkers, who dead-eyed and marble-mouthed dragged their way through the field toward the carcasses of Hershel's abandoned livestock.

He pulled his bike to a halt a safe distance from the front porch, giving him enough space to quickly flee if the need arose. Cutting off the engine, he retrieved the crossbow from his back and dismounted the bike. He looked down at the new orange jumpsuit Andrea had made for him. It hadn't been too long along that he had found himself dressed in one of these when he did a short stretch for petty theft up in Macon County. It's funny, he thought, how life had a strange way of going full circle. He never thought he would feel comfortable wearing such a thing again but in this new world they were living in, a fitted prison jumpsuit was like wearing a tailor-made suit by Armani; it made him feel fresh and new, most of all, it made him feel human.

He took a quick survey of the perimeter, carefully avoiding the burnt down barn at the rear of the property, the one where they had discovered Sophia--gray skinned and bloody mouthed--it had been Rick's son, Carl that had taken her down that day. He couldn't imagine what that must have been like for someone so young to have to kill a close friend and although he had grown up hard and his brother harder, he could not see himself having the stamina to do the same; he hoped he never had to find out.

Daryl made his way back to Hershel's front porch, taking the steps two at a time. He didn't know why he had chosen this place to be his place of sanctuary. With all the horrors that had occurred there, he guessed most would want to avoid it but he felt Sophia's presence here and somehow that comforted him. As he entered the house, he was struck with how little had changed since they fled from it more than a month before. The furniture was intact and upright and as he moved through the house to the kitchen, he was more surprised to see that the chinaware and dinner plates had remained undisturbed.

"I guess zombies aren't ones for eating on plates," he mumbled to himself.

"Or manners for that matter."

He spun around, his crossbow at the ready as a voice rang out behind him.

"Who's that?"

"I should be asking who you are. After all, I was here first."

From the pantry emerged a woman. Although the weather had warmed significantly she wore a fall out fit, complete with heavy boots, a wool scarf and a military jacket over a mini-dress and colorful leggings. Maybe she's crazy, he thought to himself; she wouldn't be the first to succumb to the mental pressures of a world gone mad. He kept his finger on the trigger of his crossbow, just in case.

"I use to live here. The group I was with, we got ran off by a hoard--barn burned down."

She stared him down with an intensity that made him a tad uncomfortable. To avoid her eyes, he dropped his own and that's when he noticed it--a very sharp blood-stained katana resting against her thigh; the blade glinted under the sunlight filtering into the room from the kitchen window. She caught him staring at it and clutched it tighter, raising it ever so slightly--

"Hey, I didn't know anyone would be here. II just came back to settle something."

"And what would that be?" she asked, her almond shaped eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"You ask a lot of questions."

"I've only asked two, by that count either you're super slow or you're being evasive."

"Listen lady, I don't want any trouble, if it's all the same with you, I'll take off and you can have this place. All I have is bad memories here anyway."

"Why did you come back then...to settle things."

"Why does anyone come back to a place that holds bad memories? I wanted to exercise my demons."

Her eyes softened and her jaw relaxed, the hardened mask she had been wearing when they first encountered each other was slowly disappearing.

"Anyway, like I said...I'll go and you can carry on."

He watched her hand relax, and the katana along with it. He lowered his crossbow at the same time.

"Well, maybe before you go, you wouldn't mind telling me more about this place...like how far the road is...a good way to escape...any food that may have been left behind...supplies..."

"I can say that, we left in a hurry, leaving most everything behind but I can't say for sure if the horde or some foragers didn't clean the place out in our absence. We've been gone for some time."

Her expression fell, as if his revelation put a damper on her plans. He felt bad, it was obvious she was all alone out there. If she had companions, they would have surely shown themselves by now.

"But, he went on to say, "I'm sure there's something that's of use to you around here. I have time to show you where the storage areas are and I suggest you checking out the upstairs bedrooms, Walkers don't usually take the steps..."

"Yeah, it's kind of funny when you think about it, if we all just rushed to the top of a skyscraper maybe we could wait this thing out."

They both laughed but it wasn't the kind of laugh he felt deep in his belly, it was the awkward kind; one that acknowledged something ludicrous or incomprehensible.

"C'mon," he motioned with his crossbow for her to follow him. She tensed as he raised it again. If there wasn't so much uncertainty surrounding them he would have offered to leave it in the house to make her more comfortable but he was no fool--he never went anywhere without his weapon.

He watched her sheathed her Katana and then he headed for the backdoor. He could feel her eyes on him, she was close behind, he wondered if she could be trusted but at this point, he didn't have much of a choice. If she tried something it would come down to who is faster. By the looks of her blade, he might be in trouble.


Chapter 2

Michonne followed Daryl to the back of the property, keeping one eye on him and her ears to the ground; she listened to the rustle of leaves in the wind, the wild-life--well--all that remand of such; crickets, grasshoppers, the occasional frog that hadn't been eaten by a Walker or a survivor desperate for food. Yes. She listened, because she could never be too careful in times like these. It only took a moment for a Walker to approach you from behind, sinking its rotten teeth into your shoulder. And just like that, it could be over.

She had seen it happen time and again to people she met during her travels from Manhattan. There were small groups of survivors here and there, they would give her momentary shelter, but they were complacent people, still believing in the false hope that rescue only lay a short distance beyond the horizon. They paid for their beliefs in blood; The hordes came for them during the night, overtaking their camps and strongholds in a matter of minutes. That was it, no more survivors; well, with the exception of one. She never stuck around long enough to meet the demise of her fellow travelers, instead, she witnessed their fate from a distance. she had paid attention to the mistakes of others and learned that if you stopped for too long, you were asking for trouble.One day. That was all she gave any place and then she moved on.

It had only been a few days before that she changed her plans; she had been headed South, with the intention of going as far as she could travel. She figured her chances of surviving the elements would be better there, but then a brief encounter with a small family of survivors revealed more grim news. Her plans had taken her in the wrong direction. The hordes, they told her, were stronger in the warmer parts of the country but couldn't sustain in colder regions. Damn! She had been only an hour's distance from the farmhouse when she learned that news. That's when it happened. A horde. tens of hundreds of them all moving in the same direction. The family didn't stand a chance and yet, thanks to her katana and her chained companions, she made it out alive. She couldn't say the same for the rest.

Now there was this guy. He had come out of nowhere on his massive bike, sputtering exhaust fumes with a crossbow strapped to his back. He reminded her of some grungy character from a Mad Max film. At first she thought to hide, wait it out but something told her, he wasn't some forager out looking for food and supplies. His movements were slow, deliberate and with a familiarity that told her, he came with a purpose far beyond just surviving.

She glanced over her shoulder, spying the distance they had gone from the farmhouse.

"How far do we need to go."

"We're almost there. Hershel keeps a shed close by here. He had it stocked with a few things in case we had some unfriendly visitors one day--"

"I know those, the kind who won't take no for an answer."

"Yeah, something like that. He kept some of his heavier equipment in there, a tractor and shelves of seedlings."

"He was a farmer, I take it."

"Is a farmer. Yes."

"So where is he now?"

He didn't answer and she was keen enough to know why; he didn't trust her yet. She didn't blame him, she didn't trust him either. She was about to probe him for more answers when the Shed emerged over a short hill. It was a lot bigger than she had imagined. It was also secured with a healthy link of chains and a massive lock.

"Well--it looks promising, if we had a way to get in there. How are we going to get that lock off?"

"He looked back at her, an eyebrow arched to the sky. Great, she was accompanying a criminal. She should have known by the orange jumpsuit. She had seen her fair share of those in her day. Before the world went to shit, she had been a criminal defense attorney. With that thought in mind, she froze. What if he had been a prisoner...what if he was dangerous? She reached for the handle of her Katana, checking that it was still there.

"Thinking about slicing me in half with that thing?" he asked, as he took a makeshift pick out of the pocket of his leather jacket and began working the inside of the shed's lock.

"Not really, I was mostly thinking about covering your ass--since you're distracted at the moment and probably won't be as fast with that crossbow if something snuck up on us. Wouldn't want you getting killed by a Walker before you got that thing open."

"What, you mean to tell me, you couldn't do this yourself? A tough looking sista like you?"

"It's nice to know that even in an undead apocalypse, old habits die hard, right good ole' boy?"

He chuckled. "You got me there."

They heard a click inside the lock. It worked! He yanked on it, freeing it from a link in the chain, then began loosening the rest. "There you go," he said, pulling open the doors of the shed. He stepped to the side, allowing her to enter first. "After you..."

She didn't want him behind her, so she declined. "Men first."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say."

There was little light inside except what filtered through the wood cracks in the walls but she could see enough to confirm that what he told her before was true. A large tractor sat in the middle of the room, it's large wheels collecting dust in the ridges. Along the walls were a series of shelves packed with heavy sacks of what she believed were indeed seedlings. She moved further in, hoping beyond hope that the effort had been worth it. Then she saw it. On the wall to the far back, four shelves stocked with can goods, some even piled in crates on the floor beneath. They had hit the jackpot!

She moved quickly to the wooden crates on the floor, lifting one to test its weight. It was too heavy to carry on its own, she would have to take as many cans as she could into her arms and rucksack. if she had time, maybe she could find a way to bring more with her before she left the farm.

She made her way to the door, where he was leaning and plucking the dirt from under his fingernails with deadly looking blade of his own.

"Got your arms full there. Need some help?"

"Nope. Not at all, I only carry as much as I can handle. It looks like you're handling that blade pretty well. Be careful not to cut yourself."

He chuckled again. "What you think you're the only one handy with a knife?"

"This--is not a knife. It's a katana, and you don't want to know what it feels like going through you."

He tucked his blade away and held up his hands like a prisoner surrendering to her authority. "Hey, just making small talk, no need to threaten me."

He wasn't taking her seriously, the smirk on his lips convinced her of that. She hated when men did that, treated her as if she was some stupid amusement park ride that looked scary from a distance but once ridden proved to be soft on the thrills. In fact, it had been her experience that it usually was men themselves who turned out to be that way. Flaccid and useless.

"I wasn't threatening you. If I were, you would know it. In fact, we wouldn't be talking right now."

With those words, his expression changed from amused to serious. She moved past him, staying a good distance away to keep an eye on his movements. He closed the shed, leaving the lock and chain on the grass where he had dropped them before. Off to side, he had hauled a sack of seedling from one of the shelves inside. This piqued her curiosity.

"C'mon," he said, we better head back for the house. I want to finish up before it gets dark so I can be heading off."

She was happy to hear him speak about leaving, that way she could enjoy the first real meal she had had in a long time, in peace.

"Sure, I'm right behind you," she replied.

With that they took off back down the hill toward the farmhouse. As they got nearer, something caught her eye. The back door which she was sure she had closed when they left, stood ajar. In all her excitement she had forgotten one small detail, one she had yet to share with him.

She had locked her zombified boyfriend and best friend in the farmhouse's pantry. Had they gotten out? Impossible! They had no arms or mouths and their legs were all but useless.

"Wait!" she called to him as they got closer. "Something's not right."

He stopped in his tracks, setting the sack of seedling on the ground by his feet. They listened for a moment and that's when she heard it.



****

"Run!"

She dropped the canned goods and her rucksack. Daryl watched her lift her Katana from her back and dart as fast as possible toward the farmhouse door. He looked to his left, then his right, not seeing anything of immediate alarm but her voice and her actions were more than enough for him to take off. He was a few paces behind her, his breathing heavy as he hauled ass to keep up.

When they reached the back door, she didn't go in right away.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" He called to her, his breathing short and his patience shorter.

"You can't go in yet, not until I've cleared the place," she said, her voice raspy and short from her own labored breathing.

"Cleared from what, I don't see anything...!"

"Trust me--"

"Trust you, lady I don't even know you."

"Shh--" she put a finger to her lips as she held her Katana out in front of her with the opposite hand. She kicked the backdoor gently with her foot and slowly went inside. He had no intentions of staying by the door. Whatever had her spooked had crept under his skin as well. He released the crossbow from his back and followed her inside.

The house was quiet and seemingly the same as they had left it. His eyes darted about the room looking for anything out of place. He noticed the door to the pantry was open but it didn't bother him much, he figured it was the place the woman had been hiding when they first met in the kitchen earlier. She was a few feet in front of him now, continuing her stealth advance into the house. His eyes moved to the floor and that's when his heart stopped. Blood. A couple drops...then more, a trail of it leading out the kitchen and in the direction the woman was now headed. He wondered if she had noticed too. He was about to ask when he heard something crash to the floor ahead of them. She glanced back over her shoulder, her face visibly annoyed at the sight of him.

"I told you to stay put!"

"Pfft! You don't give me orders" He gripped the crossbow tighter, checking the arrows to be sure they were secure. "What the hell was that anyway?!"

"I don't know but it can't be good," she whispered. She crouched beside the archway leading from the dining area to the living room. He chose to stand, spying the area to be sure it was clear. Nothing. Something was in the house, the noise confirmed it but he wasn't some cowboy ready to charge at anything that may be lurking around the corner--he also wasn't a pussy. He didn't need some strange woman with a sword protecting him. He moved closer to her, edging her out by a few inches to take the lead. "Stay here, I know the house a lot better than you. I check can the downstairs bedroom and bathroom while you cover the living room."

She didn't seem to mind him taking the lead. She nodded that she approved of his plan and rose from her crouched position to cross the threshold into the living area. Once she cleared the area, he dashed across to Hershel's old bedroom.

Inside, the familiar beige quilt that had once warmed him when he was recovering from a gunshot wound still lay folded across the foot of the bed. Everything else was pretty much the same too, save some missing items from the open chest of drawers that some of his group had grabbed in their rush to leave the farm that night. He spied the closet door across the room. It was still shut. He contemplated going over and opening it but thought the better of it. If someone was hiding, he would be too close to react. He was quick with his crossbow but not that fast. He devised a plan to see if someone or something was lurking inside. He grabbed a ball of knitting yarn left on the rocking chair beside the bed. It was heavy enough to startle if used to strike the closet door. he threw the yarn, striking the door dead center. He stood and listened a moment, hoping to hear something no matter how small. If he did, he would put an arrow through the door and effectively end whatever was inside.

Nothing.

He retreated from the bedroom, the woman had gone ahead of him and was now returning from the direction of the bathroom.

"All clear in there," she said.

"Here too," he replied.

They stared at each other a moment, he was unsure what to do, had they both been a bit too jumpy for their own good? No, they both had heard something.

He nodded toward the stairs.

"Should we check up there?"

"I thought Walkers didn't use the stairs."

"Well, there could always be an exception."

He lowered his crossbow and walked toward her. "We can go up together, if that's okay with you?"

"I'm glad you asked, I was going anyway."

He felt his lips curling into a grin and that's when he saw them; two armless Walkers moving jerkily toward her. "Look out!" He yelled, then shot two arrows into both of their heads.

He heard her make a noise, something inaudible and guttural all the same. He spun around in time to see both Walkers drop to the floor. We she turned back to him the relief he expected to see on her face wasn't there. Instead, he saw anger.



****

"No! What did you do?!"

She turned from him to the mess on the floor.

They were really gone this time, her ex-lover and best-friend--the undead--but her most valued protectors since whatever this was hit. Their scent had kept her camouflaged from the hordes that roamed the roads and woods along her journey from Manhattan. Now they lay one atop the other, with an arrow to their heads, in a puddle of bloody puss and rotting flesh.

"I just saved your fucking life, that's what I did! What's your problem anyway?"

How could she explain this. She had meant to tell him well before it came to this but she didn't really know him and well, there hadn't been time.

"I know them, well at least who they use to be. I even loved them once. They were protecting me--"

"Have you gone psycho--protecting you? Lady you're fucking nuts!"

"You don't understand--"

"Oh, I understand, I understand completely. We are in the middle of a fucking war and you are crying over the enemy. Fucking--fucking things that are trying to eat you and me and every other fucking living thing on this planet!"

Michonne sighed. What was the use explaining it all now, he would only continue to question her sanity and she didn't need that. She would give him the abbreviated version because what she heard outside was not her Walker pals now dead on the floor. It was something far worst.

"Their scent. It masks the human odor we have and the Walkers think we're one of them. How do you think I've survived this long out here on my own?"

Recognition flickered in his stormy blue eyes.

She sighed "And now, we're fucked."

She watched as he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"You just eliminated the one thing that could have possibly saved our lives."

He shook his head and laughed incredulously at her words.

"You're crazy."

Michonne took a deep breath and walked close enough to him that their faces were nearly inches apart.

"Is your bike fast?"

"What do you think?"

"Then we better go and now, because a horde will be tearing down those doors in a matter of minutes."

A loud pop, like a shotgun firing sounded outside the house. They both turned in the direction of the sound. Michonne moved to the kitchen and peeked through the curtains. She gasped. From the wooded tree-line she saw a huge mob of Walkers headed straight for the farmhouse. Her companion must have seen it too because she could hear him suck in his breath behind her.

"My bike--if we move now, we can get on it and make it to the main road!"

Without further comment they both fled from the house and toward his bike. He mounted it first, with her climbing on behind him, careful to avoid his bow and keep her sword at an angle where it could be of use.

Once. Twice. Three times he attempted to start the engine but the bike on sputtered and gasped before dying.

"Shit--shit, c'mon baby, don't do this to me now!" he yelled into the wind.

Michonne kept watch behind them, looking over her shoulder periodically to see if any stragglers had made their way to the front of the house. When she had looked through the window, they were well inside the field to the farmhouse and had toppled the perimeter gate that she had to cut her way through to get onto the property earlier that day.

"They're getting closer!" she shouted into his ear. "I can feel it!"

"C'mon! C'mon!" he pleaded with the bike.

Once more he revved the engine. This time it started. They shot down the trail and headed toward the main road. Michonne's braids whipping around her face, she held onto him as tight as she could and prayed she wouldn't fall off.

"My bike--"he yelled into the wind. " I didn't get a chance to refuel it yet. I have less than a quarter tank left!"

"What!"

"We'll have to find someplace to refuel or we'll never make it to the group!"

"Wha--what? I can't hear you!"

She had a hard time hearing him over the roar of the engine and the wind tunnel that had formed in her ear.

"I said--we need fuel--the bike won't make it that far. We still have thirty miles to get to where my group is!"

Michonne looked over her shoulder, The farm was getting further and further away but unless they found fuel and fast, there flee from danger would be short lived.

When they reached the main road, he slowed down a bit, giving her a chance to readjust herself on the bike.

"By the way, name's Michonne," she called from behind him.

"Daryl!" he yelled back.

"I thought we should at least know each other's name, considering you saved my life!"

They didn't say much after that.

Racing down the road toward whatever sanctuary his group was holed up at, she found herself lost in a sea of memories. They sped along the desolate road--what she assumed was once a thriving highway--until the bike stalled out and she was left wondering if this was the last living man she would see before she died.

Hi, just introducing myself to the forum. I'm Ciggy. TWD is a great comic and so far I'm enjoying the television show as well. With the comics I've only read issues 1-40 (so far) but hope to get caught up with the rest soon. Although I would love to hang out and debate on forums all day, alas I have grown up responsibilities that I must meet. I do hope to participate in the forum by sharing some of my geek-girl fan fiction. I write to relax and maybe some folks out there will like it as well.

Anyway take care and thanks!