Amelia- may's story isn't all that different from anyone else's. The word went to shit, and the dead don't want to die. She has lost people and so has everyone else. Who she was before isn't who she now but here is one difference between Amelia may and every other survivor she as come across. She does't know who she was.. and who she is? Well, she is still trying to figure that out. During the mayhem of the beginning of the apocalypse, a fateful smack on the head stole her memory. All she has ever known is the world she is living in now but that doesn't means she's adept to surviving it, Eventually she ends up on deaths door until a man on a motorcycle chooses to save her life. Amelia- may has to decide if who she was is worth fighting for or if she'll fight that comes with what's forgotten and strive for something better with the one man who can see past it all.


16. I'm going to skin you alive!

Dylan sat in the truck for about ten minutes, tapping his fingers along with some country song. Who'd ever owned the vehicle before had a hell of a CD collection. He was studying the front of the house. The downstairs windows had been boarded up long ago, though a few had fallen or been torn off. The paint on the siding was peeling from weather wear, the porch had a broken bench off to the side. On the stairs was a puddle of blood. Nothing big but enough to tell him that Daryl was hurt bad.


He reached forward, turning off the ignition, yanking out the screw driver he'd used to start the truck. He grabbed his bag, slipping the tool back in before zipping the bag and putting it over his head, the strap across his chest. He grabbed his gun and opened the door, slipping out of the cab. The dead grass crunched beneath his feet as he moved toward the porch. He stopped at the puddle of blood, touching it with his fingers with a small smile. Then he stood up shifting his gun from one hand to the other.

He didn't go up the stairs, he took a few steps backward. All the curtains were closed , none of them moved. The house was quiet and seemingly empty but he knew they were still there. He'd been watching, every moment. He began to roam the property, walking around the outside of the house. It didn't appear they'd done anything to secure themselves. And it wasn't like Daryl would be much use with his leg having a hole in it. Not to mention all their provisions now in his possession. He'd taken them all out of their truck before he crashed it into the gas pups back at the depot. Their extra ammo, their food and water. It was all his now. By the looks of the place they'd shelter in, they had very little to work with.

He finally made his was back to the front of the house. He narrows his eyes on the door and cleared his throat. " Ameliaaaa." He called out her name, dragging it out. He didn't expect any response just yet. He took one step up. " I know you can hear me." He continued. " How's the redneck doing?" He took another step. " Leg hurting like a bitch, I imagine." Another step, then another til he was on the wrap around porch. " Come out and play! I promise I'll only drag Daryl's death out a little bit." And he reached for the door handle.


Amelia froze at the sound of her name. The voice they bother heard was only muffled slightly by the door and the walls between them. She knew that voice. It sent shivers down her spine the more he spoke. And she could feel a small panic building in her gut. When he talked about Daryl, that panic began to sizzle into anger. Daryl's hand squeezed hers, and they exchanged glances. She couldn't read his expression but he nodded at her.

They waited .. and then..


One second he was pushing the door in, the next he was flying back onto the porch tumbling down the stairs, his ears ringing like there were thousands of little sirens going off in his head. The wind has been completely knocked out of him and he coughed, wheezing desperately trying to get his wits back . When he sat up a bit, pain flooded his body. He was littered it splinters , some big and some small. A piece of wood was literally sticking out of his forearm and his side was no better. " FUUUCK!" He roared out, grinding his teeth as he pushed himself to he feet. " You bitch!" He yelled at her, stumbling a little to the side.

He never saw it coming. Where the fuck had she gotten explosives? He yanked the wood out of his arm, slit and blood drooling from his mouth. Then he yanked the one out of his side, which thankfully wasn't too deep. " I'm going to sking you alive!" He yelled out again . Rage filled him with adrenaline and he grabbed his gun, leaving the bag wherever it had flown off to. He went into the house, bleeding as he went , this time very careful.



They both tensed at the blast, Daryl squeezed her hand a bit more as they stood in unison peering down the hall. Beads of sweat trailed own her back. She had to swallow, her body buzzing with building adrenaline. Daryl was pretty much in the same boat beside her, his crossbow raised at the stairs. The more that asshole yelled the tighter he grips got on the hilt. He was ready to let an arrow loose at any second. " I'm going to skin you alive!" They both heard the man yell and the sound of his boots hitting the floorboards in the living room. Daryl couldn't help but sneer. He would be damned of he let him touch Amelia.


" That wasn't nice, Amelia. I was going to be so kind to you... torture your boyfriend only a little bit but now..." He chuckled, teeth bared as he swung his gun around as he checked every inch of every step he too. " Now I'm going to make it last all night, while you watch." He stepped into the kitchen, over a pile of bloody towels and some gauze wrappers. His smile grew larger and he turned back around, moving to the stair case. 



Daryl couldn't help it, he had to shift his stance a little, his leg throbbing so badly that it felt like it weighed a million pounds. The floor board creaked ever so slightly. He was also sweating alot more than he should. He wondered if he was running a fever but it didn't matter. Wasn't anything they could do about it at the moment. They both stiffened with the first sound of crunching glass.



Dylan stopped the moment he heard the glass crunching and he peered up the length of the stairs. " Smart girl." He said, lowering his gun a little and lifting his foot, setting it back down at the foot of the stairs. " Waiting for me, are you?" He stepped backward again and he thought of something. He staggered back then turned for the front door. His side was bleeding a stream of blood down his leg. He left a trail of it as he went but he ignored it. He headed back outside and went for the truck, grabbing his bag as he went. " I'm coming, sweetheart." He muttered, growling a little as he settled back into the drivers seat. A moment later, the engine roared to life. His foot slammed against the gas pedal and the truck lurched forward heading straight for the front door.



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