As The World Falls

Summary:

Life used to be relatively simple. We were born. We lived. We loved. We cried. We died. It was the only constant life provided for us. Relationships are formed. Some are broken. Families thrive, while others fell apart. We took the good feelings along with the bad. Life used to have so much to offer.

Now life is not so simple. No. Now the world is much darker, filled with very little hope.

Author's Note: This story will eventually grow into a Daryl/OC. I know, there are plenty out there, but I want to take my shot at it. The story is going to be a long one, many chapters, but will be broken up into different Parts, following the Seasons. This story follows my OC and her small group of friends as they come across the refugee camp. At least give it a chance and leave a review, let me know what you like about the story and what you don't like about it. I am planning on keeping it as original as I can while maintaining the original story line.

Part One
Chapter One
Abomination

(n) 1. anything abominable; anything greatly disliked or abhorred. 2. intense aversion or loathing; detestation. 3. a vile, shameful, or detestable action, condition, habit, etc.

The loud Rock music fills the air of the tattoo shop as Isaac and I begin the final cleaning process. Making sure to sanitize equipment, double-check the disposable needles are properly disposed of and restocking and checking the materials, I sigh as I crack my back and fingers. Saturdays are our designated 'Walk-In's' and exhausting after twelve hours of non-stop tattooing and design graphing, but each night a soft smile plays on my lips. Hey, people may frown on those that get inked, but I love what I do for a living. Setting the alarm, I follow Isaac out of the front door, instantly lighting up a cigarette as we stalk across the dimly lit parking lot.

"So, are you still coming over for the family dinner tomorrow?" Isaac asks, his blue eyes looking over at me as he takes a drag of his own cigarette, "Mel was upset when you skipped out of the last one."

Rolling my eyes playfully at my step-brother, I give his shoulder a shove we pause between our vehicles, "Don't worry, bro. I'll be there. I can't help it that my dumb-ass of a roommate was arrested for public intoxication."

Isaac lets out a chuckle as he unlocks his car door, tossing his things into the passenger seat, "Yeah. Tell that dumb shit if he fucks around with our family dinners again, I'll whoop his ass."

Stomping out the spent cigarette, I zip up my leather motorcycle jacket as I straddle the 'crotch rocket' and flash him a smirk, "Careful, I-Suck," I chuckle as he flips me off, "Don't go giving him incentive to do it again."

"Gah," Isaac groans out in disgust, causing me to laugh again as I pull my gloves on, "You, my dear, are fucked in the head. I'll see you later, Sis."

Pulling my helmet down over my head, I start the bike, driving to the exit of the parking lot. Pausing at the stop sign, I give Isaac a mocking salute before shooting out of the parking lot, heading down the barren streets. As I speed down the winding roads, I muse over really wanting to go to the 'family dinners'. While Isaac and I get along for being step-siblings, I've never had the patience for the three others I obtained. Ma tells me I should get my anger problems checked out. I don't know how many times I had to protest needing a shrink, they just needed to learn how to shut the fuck up. My step-sister, the youngest of the bunch, is a catty girl in her mid-teens and acts like a spoiled bitch. I don't know how many times the little twit ran her mouth, insulting my mother. I never once spoke ill of her father, who is a pretty decent guy, just opinionated over everything that isn't his business. The next step-sibling, is a cocky son of a bitch that I try desperately to ignore. I haven't really figured out how Isaac is related to his siblings by blood.

Gunning the engine as I weave down the back roads through the mountains, I shake away the thoughts of my step-family. Ma never really understood. I did try to get along with them. We're just too different and our out-looks in life are so radically different that 'family dinners' end up in a huge argument. Lauren, my bubbly teenage step-sister, is so close-minded it makes me sick to my stomach. Jason, my arrogant piss-ant of step-brother, has constantly questioned my lack of religious beliefs that I want to bash his head in. Even with the age difference between my twenty-eight year old self and my nineteen-year-old step-brother Isaac, we clicked easier.

Dropping the keys on the kitchen counter, I run my fingers through my hair as my other hand shifts through the mail. Rubbing the back of my neck, working the kinks out, my ears perk up as a shuffling sound pierces the silence of the house. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My house is never quiet. Not even in the middle of the night.

'I won't always be there to protect you. You're gonna need to learn how to hold your own in a crisis.'

Instinctively snatching a knife from the cutting block, I inwardly snort at the stereotypical beginning to a cheesy slasher movie. Moving through the dimly lit house as quiet as possible, my heart begins to race as the shuffling sound grows closer. Clenching the handle of the knife, I swallow back the fear racing through my veins.

'Fear will always cloud your judgment. You must use your fear as a weapon itself, use it to survive.'

Feeling a clammy, cold hand grab my arm, my reaction is immediately as I swing around, slashing at the intruder. Stumbling away from the body, I choke back the tension and fear as I slap my hand against the wall, hitting the lights. I'm not sure what the fuck it is, but there's no way that thing is human. Hollow yellow, blood-shot eyes stare blankly as black blood oozes down its chest, as if the thing isn't hindered by blood loss.

'When your back is against a wall, make sure whatever move you make is the only one you have to make. Never give your opponent an edge.'

As the familiar, bass voice fills my head, the words faded and echoing between my ears, I feel myself tense. Pushing through my fear, I lash out, sinking the large blade into the side of the thing's head. Immediately an animalistic groan leaves its lips before it drops to the ground, silent and still. Worried about Jamie, I pull the blade from the thing's head before racing upstairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as possible. A curious crunching and mushing sounds from behind a door, my hand slowly turning the door knob. Pushing open the door, I swallow the bile in my throat at the sight of Jamie's prone body lying across the bed. His torso ripped apart, another one of those things with its head buried in his intestines as it feasts with ravenous hunger. Moving quickly, I drive the blade through the thing's head, black blood beginning to coat my gloves. As it collapses over Jamie's desecrated body, I kick the thing off of him and shudder as I kneel next to his dead body.

"Oh, Jamie-boy," I murmur, my hands shaking as I brush his bangs from his pale, expressionless face.

A shriek leaves my lips when his eyelids part. Seeing those once-brown eyes yellow and bloodshot, the same emptiness clouding his gaze, I react instinctively, slamming the blade through the top of his head. Cursing Heaven above and Hell below, I continue to ram the knife, chopping through flesh, bone and grey matter, sobs finally escaping my throat. I can't be sure how long I remain sitting there, blood and gore filling the air with the stench of death and decay, the emptiness of my thought pattern broken at the sound of my phone ringing.

"Charlie!" Isaac's shaky voice rings through my mind.

Realizing this is not happening to just me, I swallow back my own sorrow as I move to my feet, gathering whatever items I can carry with me, "I'll meet you by the bridge at the half-point. Get whatever you can together, pack lightly and only what you need."

Stuffing clothing and food into my bag, I head into my kitchen. Collecting every decent knife, I swallow back my resolve as I tug open the only drawer that is rarely ever touched in the whole house. The black Beretta m9 resting in the drawer seems to glare at me, but I shake away my dislike of guns. He would be disappointed if I didn't take it with me. Checking the clip and gathering whatever ammo I can find, I make sure the safety is on as I slip it into the inside pocket of my jacket. Heading back to the bike, I quickly tug on the helmet and speed down the roads.

"Aunt Letty!"

Catching the flying body of my niece, I embrace the eight-year-old tightly, thankful that the kid is safe before my gaze meets Isaac climbing out of his father's truck. Seeing the pained expression on his face, I give into the torrent of emotions as we embrace. We only remain embraced for a short while before I toss my bag into the back of the truck, both of us hoisting my bike up onto the bed of the truck. Seeing more than enough bags, I nod over at Isaac, who flashes me a pained smile as he straps Mel into the backseat.

"Where are we headed?" Isaac asks, his eyes searching my own.

Pulling down the zipper, I remove the Beretta from my pocket, seeing his eyes flicker with understanding as I say, "South. I don't know what's going on, but Colt has to know something. How are we on supplies?"

"We'll only need to stop for gas," Isaac replies, biting down on his pierced lip as if hesitating to ask the questions running through his head.

"Jamie's gone. Whatever is going on seems to be a pandemic or viral at the very least. Nothing seems to effect these things except head shots."

Isaac glances over his shoulder to check on the tearful face of the sleeping child, "Lauren. Dad. Ma. Jason almost made it out, but...I couldn't go back. I had Mel."

I look away, feeling my own pain spread across my face as I hear the sorrowful tone in his voice. I am thankful he saved Mel. I don't know what I would have done if we had lost the girl.

Stopping for gas was quite the...experience? After days of non-stop driving, Isaac and I swapping driving responsibilities, we managed to make three stops for gas before running into problems. Agreeing to keep weapons on us at all times, I hop out of the truck, stretching briefly before grabbing Mel. Leading the small girl to the bathroom, I make sure the girl stays behind me as I look around for any sign of those things. Seeing none, I pull her inside and lock the door. Letting Mel do her business, I lean forward, hands bracing against the sink as I stare at my reflection.

My short, choppy brown hair is a complete disaster, greasy due to a lack of a shower and my usually pale skin appears more pale than usual, dirt and grime across my cheeks and forehead. Black bags signaling exhaustion pull at the bottom of my eyelids, my light hazel-gold eyes bloodshot and tired. Shaking my head, I turn on the water, cupping my hands under the faucet. Splashing water on my face, the cold temperature shocking away a bit of weariness from my mind as my hands grab for the rough, brown paper towels that are really no better than paper bags. Scrubbing at my face, I toss away the rag before scrubbing at my dirty hands, scratching at my skin as if to get rid of the invisible black blood that caked the gloves I had disposed of.

As Mel exits the stall, a gunshot pierces the air and I immediately reach for my own weapon, grabbing Mel's hand. Unlocking the door, I push forward at silent as possible, peering over at the truck. Not seeing Isaac, I step out, tugging Mel along, and catch a glimpse of a scuffle inside the gas station. Instructing Mel to make a run for the truck and get inside, emphasizing the need to lock the doors, I race into the store. Seeing Isaac plunge a knife into the skull of one of those things, I don't pause as a scuffle sounds from behind the counter. Seeing one of the abominations behind the glass, scratching at the barrier keeping it from feasting on any people, I raise my gun as its lips snap at the glass. Pressing the barrel of the gun against the glass, its mouth open and head tilted back, I pull the trigger, watching as black blood and grey matter splatters against the shelves stacked with cigarettes.

Hearing Isaac's familiar footsteps, I instruct him to gather supplies before unlatching the door to the area behind the counter. Grabbing cartons of cigarettes, I turn to the computerized screen of the register. Plugging in sixty dollars worth in gas, I press against the button signaling the start of the pump, making sure to ring it in as cash. Nodding curtly to Isaac who hoists bags of bottled water and food, I slip out from behind the counter I lead the way back to the truck. Hearing the muffled screams from inside the truck, I sneer as I raise my gun, putting a bullet into the brain of one of the things scratching at window of the truck.

Keeping watch as Isaac begins to pump the gas, I jab the blade of a knife into another diseased brain, not waiting as I raise my gun in the opposite direction. Seeing the rotted mouth wrapped around the barrel of my gun, I smirk.

"Sayonara, motherfucker," I growl out, pulling the trigger.

Using the things shirt to wipe the black blood and other fluids from my gun, I release the limp carcass as Isaac shouts for us to get into the truck. Diving into the truck, I am quick to turn the key, speeding out of the gas station. Speeding down the streets with one hand on the wheel, I hear Isaac ask Mel of her well-being as I rip into one of the cartons of cigarettes. Pulling out a pack, I use my teeth to remove the cellophane wrapping, my index finger pulling up the lid of the box. Thumbing out a cigarette, my lips wrap around the filter before I toss the pack to Isaac, my finger digging into the center console for my lighter. Inhaling the nicotine, I let out a tired sigh as my adrenaline slowly fades.

"Aunt Letty?"

Glancing up, seeing the brown eyes of my niece, I offer the girl a small smile, "Yeah, baby girl?"

"How much longer until we're at Daddy's house?"

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I share a glance with Isaac, who shrugs sympathetically, before answering, "Should be there in a couple of hours. Why don't you close your eyes, get some rest?"

It isn't until she is asleep that I feel Isaac's gaze burning a hole into the side of my head, "What?"

"What if Colt isn't...himself?" he questions hesitantly.

Clenching the steering wheel, I flick the ashes of the cigarette through the small, crack in the window, "We won't know until we see it for ourselves. Until then, we believe he is alive and raising some Hell of his own," Meeting his gaze, I smirk, "Come on, bro. This is Colt we're talking about. The guy's too fucking stubborn to die from these things."

Hearing a snort of amused agreement, I turn back to the road.

'Keep her safe, Charlie. My world would be a lot darker without my Melody.'

Nodding to the echo of the past, I choke back the emotions that flood with it.

"Daddy!"

The gun aimed at my forehead drops immediately as the small body of my niece plows into the surprised torso of Colton Livingston. I had never been happier to see bodies lying across the front lawn of my brother's house. Glancing back to see Isaac shutting the gate to the driveway, I give my step-brother a small, tired smile when I feel strong arms wrap around me. With my face pressed against the stern chest of my brother, the comfort and protection surrounding me gives me the incentive to drop my walls. Tears of loss, pain and exhaustion flow from me, my body shuddering into the tight embrace.

"Come on. Let's get you guys inside," Colt whispers as he breaks away from the embrace, lifting his daughter into his arms as he enters the house.

Feeling Isaac drape an arm over my shoulders, I allow myself to be led inside. Nothing is said as I drop my bags to the floor, immediately walking upstairs and stepping into the first bathroom I come across. Turning on the water, I strip myself of my clothing before stepping under the boiling spray. My fingernails dig, scrubbing rough and painfully as I try to push away the picture of Jamie's body. I can't be sure how long I remain in the shower, but a familiar knock sounds against the door before it opens. Seeing Colt's shadow from the other side of the curtain, I rinse away the last of the soap and turn off the water. Hanging my hand out of the curtain, I snatch the robe placed in my hand. Sliding it over my naked body, I carefully step out while grabbing a towel to dry off my hair.

"Isaac told me about Ma, Brian and the kids," Nodding mutely in response, I run the towel over my head, "and that queer friend of yours, Jamie."

Sneering at him, I slam my knuckles against his shoulder, "Shut the fuck up. I walked in on one of those...things devouring his intestines like it was a buffet," I shudder at the memory, "Queer or not, Jamie was a good friend."

"I know," Colt murmurs, his eyes apologetic, "I'm just glad you are safe. Thank you," I blink at the gratitude in his voice, "for saving my baby girl."

"This was the only place I figured we'd get answers from," Giving a pointed glance at the army fatigues he's dressed in.

Colt rubs the back of his neck, nodding, "When Melody goes to sleep. I promise. I will tell you everything I know."

I don't like his explanation. In fact, I hate it. A viral infection that spreads through the dead? It sounds like something out of a B-rated movie. Isaac and I listen as Colt goes into detail, telling us about how the disease spreads, the danger of these...abominations. Colt is calling them Walkers. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Head shots are the only way to kill them. He goes into explaining how he had decided to wait it out a week, hoping that we would show, and how he took the time to pack provisions in preparation of a long haul.

"So, where do we go from here?" I ask, not glancing up from sharpening the military-grade knife, my boot-clad feet propped up on the table. "We can't stay here. You know how the government reacts to situations like these."

Glancing up briefly to catch his pained nod, I flash him a sympathetic half-smile as he answers, "We go south. I have a friend that might have an idea of what's going on."

"When?" I question curtly, sheathing the knife before I pluck the butterfly knife off of the table.

Releasing the latch, I flip it open, watching the black blade appear as the bite handle arches around the pivot pins, my fingers wrapping around the safe handle the moment the bite meets it, "I'll give you guys some time to rest up. We'll head out in a few days."

Snorting, I flip the blade closed, 'Well, say good-bye to your old life Charlotte.'

Author's Note:

Before I get readers assuming that Charlie is one of those Mary Sue types, I promise you, she isn't. She can't hunt, barely knows how to fish and she has serious anxiety issues about being around people she doesn't know. She actually hates unneeded violence, but understands that there are times where one must defend themselves. She also lacks what people call a 'verbal filter', so nine times out of ten, she pisses people off without meaning to. I do hope you understand Colt taught Charlie how to defend herself due to his militant background and during her school years. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Feedback is welcomed and creative criticism is appreciated, but insults will be simply ignored. If you don't like the story, they created this cool feature called a 'back page'.

Thanks again!