Child Of The Moon. (TWD fanfic. OC x Daryl)

Chapter One Crunch, crunch, kick! A rock goes flying across the hot dry pavement leading down a vacant little town in Georgia. King County, Georgia to be exact. Crunch, crunch, kick! That same rock skids even further, knocking into a lone can crushed to the road floor. It collides upon impact, making a low ruckus. The world wasn't always dead, not until the infection spread across nations. Many cities fell victims, many humans died in a span of the first few weeks. Those weeks then turned into months. Long, hot months. At first, it was a mere battle between the infected and the non-infected. Soon enough a message became clear, supposedly there weren't enough supplies to go around. And the range for enemies became a whole lot wider-- survival of the fittest. A gruesome game to play in the wild. That's where the categories come in. On one side, you have the selfish set of survivors. The ones who use every means necessary to make it through the day, no matter who's lives it costs. On the other side, you have the selfless side-- the very few selective survivors who do anything in their power to ensure the survival of humanity. In the end, the selfish prevail against the selfless. Once you have everything in perspective, the view of the world dims real low. The old world died with those that wished for humanity's survival and what was left behind is a shattered society. Hell, there's barely any society at all. Right now, Marceline Asena Stoker is the few that falls in between the cracks of the system. Suppose she assumes herself to fall under the selfish category. Survival's easy for her-- go in, take what you need (no more, no less) then get out and go. It's a routine, yes, but it's a ritual that's saved her ass multiple times. As a matter of fact, she's treading her way up the road over to the county hospital. Another supply run had to be conducted, Marcy's low on medical supplies again. And lately, she hasn't been able to find any medicine anywhere. Not a lick of pain killers. Well that is until she took a quick pit stop in King County. It looked promising in her eyes. Especially the hospital building looming in the back part of the town, despite the bodies wrapped in sheets. The way they were arranged made her think twice in proceeding her run. Then again, missing a chance to fix up her first aid kit isn't something she'd risk. And so, she's off into making it past the entrance. The smell was heavy with rotten flesh and old flies buzzing constantly. It was nauseating to her nostrils, the stench irritates her sense of smell when she passes by the piles of bodies nestled between each other. Her eyes shifts over, mentally counting the long lines and rows there were. Marcy shakes her head and heaves a deep sigh, things didn't have to end this way. But hey, People are very fickle creatures. Much too complicated to understand on her own terms, which is why she's stuck to being on her own. Literally withering away under the awful Georgian heat. Marcy has never really been a huge fan of intense heat. She'd prefer the cold tundra of Iceland over spending an hour in Georgia and its horrendous summer weather. Because of the intense sunshine, she's grown a shade darker from her usual fair honey glow. Even her dark black hair wasn't helping protect her scalp from the heat. Marcy is pretty sure more freckles formed along the bridge of her nose and more along her cheeks. How bothersome. But here she was..stranded in America and spending the last couple of hours walking under the heavy sun, ignoring the sweat dripping down her backside. It even drips heavily on the back of her neck, no matter if her hair is pulled up. There's been no wind and it's made her completely cranky, to say the least. Now, Marcy has never been in Georgia before. Luckily, she snagged a local map awhile back and has been dutifully mapping out the distances. It's a skill she's acquired, to be handy with reading maps. Maps have helped her avoid cities, they were practically crawling with infected. It'd be a death sentence to be caught up in those herds. Lately since so many people have died and turned, the infected have become restless with the lack of 'food'. And that's when the migration started, multiple infected started moving together. Banding some sort of herd to plow through other towns and cities. Very few make it to the wilderness. This leads to the reason as to why Marcy refuses to stay in one place for too long. Eventually those herds would catch up and so she busies herself in planning a scheduled routine. In and out. Nothing too complicated. Of course, her trip in King County will be cut short after she retrieves a few things from the hospital. One can only hope that the hospital remains untouched. First things first, she has a door to break open. Or the very least, find a way to sneak inside without catching any unwarranted attention. Marcy licks her chapped lips in anticipation as she creeps closer to what looks to be an emergency exit. It was left slightly ajar. That either might be good news or bad news, she hopes for the former. The door creaks an awful metallic sound, it makes her cringe enough to unsheath her trusty weapon-- her katana. The blade has been well taken care of, carefully and meticulously cleaned and sharpened. There was no way, she'd leave her precious sword blunt and dirty. Marcy stretches a leg inside the doorway, grunting as she slowly pulls herself in. The stairway was completely dark. In less than a second, she's fishing around her dusty leather backpack in search of her flashlight. With a quick click on the switch, the low beam flickers enough light to show just where the steps begins. Marcy treads up the stairs in a slow fashion, listening intently for infected. Nothing so far, only a mere humming of some kind. Almost like a broken machine whirring its last juice. A metal door comes into view, completely shut but strangely unchained. Marcy raises a questionable brow, wouldn't one block the door? That's strange. Really strange. Her fingers grips the bar handle, gently tugging it open. Her right eye gets a pretty closed view of the corridor. It was quiet and deserted, broken glass and multiple paper littering the floor. Some lights dangle from the ceiling, broken and wires protruding. She crouches low and enters inside completely, no sign of infected. Deeming it safe, she creeps down the hall. The glass crunches beneath her boot clad feet. It didn't take long for her to reach the first receptionist desk area. Computer chairs were overturned and the copier machines were tossed to the side like they were nothing. Basically the whole desk side was a wreck upon sight. God, the smell. Sure it wasn't as bad as the stench outside but it still grates on her sense of smell. Marcy snorts, mentally pushing out the focus on the smell. Drawers were left half open, crookedly too. The nurses here must've left in a panic. Looking back on it, she might've seen a tank or two parked on the hill by the entrance. So that means the military took a step in destroying a small town. Marcy hums, digging past discarded files and office supplies. So then the army must've made a m******e of the place. Makes sense about the bodies lined up like a dreaded graveyard. Searching even deeper, she ends up finding a small sewing kit. Marcy gently plucks it from underneath a hidden drawer, checking over the sewing needles and what not. It's a score in her book, in case stitching up a wound is needed in the near future. She did come across a roll of bandages, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and a pack of gauze. Hell, she even nabbed a box of sanitation gloves and face masks. Marcy nods in satisfaction, her hazel eyes flickering among the other shredded paper left on the desk. Nothing too important to note, only broken pencils and tossed staplers. Did the military try to extinguish everyone here? There were too many bodies outside, maybe they started putting down everyone. Whether they were infected or not. That's the pitiful part too. The entire human race is infected, doomed to turn in the after life. Well, as long as the brain is still intact. Marcy wasn't aware of it until a few started walking again after being shot down by others for the sake of gasoline. She stood at the sidelines and observed who turned and who didn't after death reaped the dying. She even made the mistake of not double checking and had to slice her blade into a walking corpse. To this day, Marcy makes it her duty to 'double tap' the dead bodies she comes across. Better safe than sorry, right? Marcy would've continued scavenging the receptionist desk if it hadn't been for a distinct noise coming her way. It snapped her back to reality, her fingers itching to yank the handle of her weapon. It creeps closer, clumsily, "..H..Hello?" Her brows furrow in confusion, wary of the voice echoing down the dark hallway. Who is this guy? And why the hell is he blatantly calling out like a dumb ass? "Is anyone here..?", He calls again, louder. Marcy takes a cautious step around the desk, carefully pressing herself completely against the wall. From the corner leading into a different path, she could see a silhouette of a man unsteadily walking down the corridor. Normally, Marcy would've attacked a complete stranger but something about him threw her off. No sane person would stroll along the hall and blindly call for attention. Just who is this guy? She slides her head forward to get a better view, her nose scrunching in the process as she realizes something. This i***t is wearing a hospital gown, completely barefoot and lost to the world. She blinks, her mind going blank as the man glacially turned his head. She must've caught his eye since he suddenly looks relieved to find another breathing soul here, "..Oh! Hey, Miss!" He starts jogging towards her, eagerly wanting some help. "I need some help..! .. Please!", His hospital gown flows around his legs, rustling with his fast pace. Marcy, on the other hand, is struggling to choose whether to cut him down or to figure out what to do with him. Should she ditch him then? He looks like a possible deadweight. Then again, a small part of her is insisting on helping him to some degree. Marcy internally groans, this is completely against her set of rules. Under any circumstances, do not trust anyone. No matter how innocent they look, in the end, people get you killed. No matter if it was intentional or not, caring gets you killed. Or so that's what's been drilled into her mind as a little girl growing up. And here she is, doubting that very mantra that helped keep people in line and out of her way. Marcy gives the man a once over, noting the blood sprouting from the middle of his attire, in the abdominal area. She tenses, was he bit? She scowls, then that would leave her no choice but to kill him before he turns. Should she just walk away, like as if she never saw him in the first place? She shakes her head, he's practically a few feet away from where she's standing. He might just follow her. The man in question stops just a foot away, innocently asking, sounding completely out of breath, "..W..Would you happen to know what happened around here? The hospital looks like hell.." She purses her lips as a pair of confused baby blue eyes stare in anticipation for answers. In the midst of a simple supply run, Marcy managed to snag herself a walking and breathing interruption. Great.