The spiral of steam that came out in bursts from her mouth as she tried to get her breathing under control fascinated the shit out of her. It wasn't like she didn't know what caused it.. like many things she just knew and though she'd probably seen it thousands of times before, it was a relatively ' new' thing for her. Funny .. the things a person dwells on after fighting for their lives.
And there was a lot of that going around. Fighting. Surviving. Amelia let her dark slanted eyes lower to the large machete in her hands. The rain was splattering on it's flat surface, mingling with the fresh blood that she had painted it with. She clenched her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut.
Blood was not a new phenomenon.. it was a way of life. Every day, it was either walker blood or human blood. Hell, ever her own blood. She sometimes wished she could remember what the world was like when it wasn't red but then she reminded herself she didn't need to miss something like that. What would be the point? She'd never get those days back even if she could remember.
When Amelia opened her eyes again, she was staring at the bloody corpses in front of her. Two men.. all hands and no amount of gentleness. They'd seen a woman on her own and that was that. She already didn't remember much about the fight that had happened. More often than not she blacked out and when she came to, whatever it was that threatened her was usually undead...or dead.
These two had just stepped out of the woods onto the road in front of her. She has been so caught up in her own world that she didn't even know they were there. With hunting knives and yellow toothed grins, they wasted no time letting their intentions be known. Walkers weren't the only monsters in the world after all.
Amelia's fear and anger flared , she blinked and they were dead. She was good with any weapon. Guns, knives.. whatever anyone put in her hands, she knew how to use and it scared the shit out of her. The things she couldn't remember seemed far more frightening sometimes than the hungry dead.. But it was the things she couldn't remember that seemed to be keeping her alive. Sort of like a voice in the base of her skull that was constantly pestering her with knowledge she had no reason to want to have.
It wasn't till she tried to hoist the backpack onto her shoulders that she realized she was hurt. Her left hand wandered behind her groping her lower back to find the hilt of a knife sticking out just about her butt, embedded all the way in. The sudden realization that she'd been stabbed sent pain reeling through her body. Her legs shook. and her knees gave out from under her as the last of the adrenaline fled. Amelia hit the tar with a smack, rain splattering up around her as her palms flattened out one road. She let the bag fall back onto the ground ,her wet hair spiraled around her face as she panted, one hand trying to get a good grip on the hilt.
Am i supposed to pull it out? or do I keep it in?, She inwardly panicked. She wasn't a doctor or at least she was pretty she wasn't. Would pulling it out cause more damage? What if she bled out? It wasn't like she could turn her head all the way around to properly see the damn thing.
Once she had her hand firmly on the hilt, she began to breathe quicker. " Fuck...fuck.. fuck fuck." She muttered. She didn't typically have a foul mouth but circumstances being , it was needed. Finally she shoved her inner questioning aside and just yanked. The blade slid out but not easily. It tugged somewhat sideways because of the angle she had to pull it at and she couldn't help the scream that escaped her lips.
Amelia collapsed to the wet road, feeling strange hotness spread across her back and left side. The rumbling began to get louder. She then lifted her head just in time to see that it was a motorcycle, with a very wet and somewhat blurry looking man who pulled to a stop near the two dead men. " Why are you blurry?" Amelia asked softly, her voice barely a whisper above the pattering rain. Then everything got very cold and silent just before she closed her eyes and passed out.
The man stepped around the two bodies, crossbow aimed at the women in the road Her eyes seemed to focus on him for a moment before she furrowed her eyebrows and asked, " Why are you blurry?" And then.. plop. Her head hit the pavement and she was out. For a moment, he just stood there watching her. Her hair was plastered to her pale cheeks by the rain and her clothes were ragged and wet. Her boots were worn out and one was held together by duct tape. The backpack at her side was full of holes hastily sewn together with fishing twine and on her lower back was a spreading, dark blood stain that was turning her navy blue windbreaker into a nice shiny black.
He could just leave her there and he did think about it at first.. but that's not why he was out here. The whole point was to recruit people, find survivors. A point he's argued for with Rick. She was a survivor, right? He glanced at the two freshly dead men. He didn't know what happened , not really. He took a guess.. two against one, this frail looking woman who had obviously seen better days ended out on top? Shit. Survivor was right.
He slipped the crossbow over his shoulder, kneeling beside her and pressing his hand to her throat, feeling for a pulse. It was steady, maybe a little slow. He let out a deep breath and let both knees hit the ground at her side, ripping one of his sleeves off as he let his eyes roam the area around them. He rolled the cloth into a pad , lifting up her windbreaker and old plaid shirt to see a knife wound. He pressed the pad against it, then ripped off the other sleeve, tearing it into strips and wrapping it around her. He made a quick work of the makeshift bandage.
" Alright.. " he growled out as he put her backpack on, shifting the crossbow before he turned her over and hoisted her up. He carried her over to the motorcycle, getting her settled in front of him was a bit tricky. Her head was against his shoulder, her face buried into his neck. She was dead weight, but not that much. The woman needed a hell of a good meal.
The motorcycle roared to life and he urged it back on it's way just as the moans of walkers met the air. Three lumbering forms exiting the treeline and making their way toward the bodies of the two men that Daryl and Amelia left behind.