The Walking Dead - Dixon Bloodfall (A Walking Dead ff)

Chapter Eleven - Familiar Faces

“Can I take a walk?” She asked softly. It was silent, but everybody was busy with their own conversations, and she didn’t want to bother them. Every now and then Quinn would get herself in these thoughtful moods where she’d be quiet and nervous and this was one of those times. As she had suspected, nobody heard her. So she asked again, just slightly louder, and Rick looked up.

 “No.”

He looked back down. He was angry still, whether or not at her was unknown, knee tapping rapidly. Like Rick, she’d always fidget in some way or form when she was mad, in sharp contrast to Merle who’d usually stay inhumanly still and then violently explode without a physical warning. She’d wanted to master that self control but lacked the concentration or patience.

 “Why not?” She prodded innocently.

 He grinded his teeth and she felt the hair on her neck prickle up, so Quinn accepted his answer and wandered back out to the rest of the group, but realized with their conversations and the now crying baby that nobody had the time for her. Which meant, upon further thought, nobody would notice if she were gone.

Slipping out of the prison was easy, there were a lot of unlocked doors. Sneaking across the courtyard however, was not so simple. She felt like they were watching and so she slid carefully against the walls until the remaining space between her and freedom was the dirt and a few fences, so she sprinted until her feet stopped pounding against dusty tan earth and start squishing against still damp mud and grass, and then breathed a loud sigh of relief. Safe and sound, she whispered to herself as she took a few calculated steps and leaned against a tree. It was quiet out there aside from the casual chirps from birds. Thank God for holes in the back fences, huh? No rustling in the bushes or impending doom from a biter, just peaceful silence.

She began to feel guilty after the first hour of missing. Guilty and anxious, because she’d get an earful from Merle when she came back, guilty because he might get shit from Rick. She pictured him resting his hand on his hip and complaining, though her mind made his accent so goofy she started laughing out loud. Quinn turned to her left just a little, making note that the sun was in the beginning moments of setting and that she should come back before nightfall, because though she was capable, there was no way she would risk staying outside at night by herself.

 If she did, it would be the first night she didn’t spend with Merle, and that thought alone was enough to make her chest tighten. So she made a mental note to return before too long went by.

But she didn’t.

By the time the sun had just began to set, settling nicely over the hilled horizon, she was already caught. Quinn was sitting on a mossy log, hands in her pockets, enjoying the silence and watching the frogs hop back and forth in the tiny pond, acquired by rainfall from the weeks before. It was peaceful, and foolishly so, she had let her guard down. The footsteps behind her fell on deaf ears, and a hand went around her mouth and pulled her down. The sun was still setting, leaving the world in a mystical twilight. The silence of the woods was shattered by her muffled sounds of protest. She fought, then stopped, as her eyes settled on the eyes of her would-be assailant. The hand slipped off, and the man backed away, just enough to give her space to readjust herself.

“The hell was that for, Shane?” She asks, wiping her mouth with a face of disgust. “Lucky I didn’t bite your goddamn hand.”

“Didn’t know it was you, Quinn. Sorry.” Shane wipes his hand off on his shirt, pistol bobbing in it’s holster. Shane had arrived months after they got to Woodbury, and instantly there was bad blood between Merle and him. Something about Atlanta, the roof, things Quinn didn’t want to get involved with, but it was clear the animosity between them was strong. It only took a few more months of the Governor’s forcing them to work alongside for that animosity to turn into a mutual tolerance of one another’s existence. They weren’t friends, nor would they ever be, but they could work side by side without trying to slit each other’s throats. He was nice enough to her, though, even stopping by sometimes to give her candy. Shane Walsh had never done anything to give her reason he wasn’t a good man, but now, his sudden appearance after a traumatic occurrence at Woodbury? “Th’ Hell are you doin’ out ‘ere? You with Merle?” His accent was heavy, but ran smoother than Merle’s, and his eyes darted behind her seedily.