From the Shadows
Stubborn
Glenn and Daryl exchanged looks.
“Let's go,” Daryl started to turn away, when Glen grabbed his arm and looked at him with sad eyes.
“We have to help her.”
“She don't want our help, said so herself.”
“Please, Daryl. We can't just leave her to die... I mean, she kind of saved us.”
Daryl sighed heavily, and walked over to her slumped body. He removed the arrow from her abdomen. Since it pierced all the way through, he broke it and removed the two pieces easily, and without furthering the damage. He grabbed a piece of cloth and pressed it against the wounds on each side, and wrapped another cloth around to keep it in place. The arrow lodged in her shoulder would need medical assistance from Hershel. He broke off the end, to prevent it from getting caught on anything and tearing the hole bigger. The wound on her head had clotted and stopped bleeding. She looked a mess. Glenn walked back into the house to collect anything he thought might be hers. He found a bow and quiver, some more knives and a small backpack with a water bottle. She traveled light, so there wasn't much for him to grab. Daryl carried the woman's body and his crossbow, and Glenn carried her belongings as well as his own possessions.
Twenty minutes from the farm, the woman regained consciousness and panicked. The events from earlier were just a blur, a black haze of fading memory. Thinking she was taken captive by the man who shot her, she squirmed and fought, and punched Daryl in the mouth. He dropped her accidentally, swore, and put his hand to his mouth as it bled. She fell hard on the ground, but crawled away and pulled the knife from her thigh. She leaned up against the nearest tree and hissed, “Just s-stay away from me.”
She was in pain, but had a high tolerance for it. She straightened up and her vision cleared, and she realized who was with her.
“What the fuck was tha' for?!” Daryl yelled.
“I didn't know who you were. Quite frankly, I still don't. Where were you taking me?” She responded.
“Back to our camp. We have a doctor who can help you,” Glenn calmly answered. Daryl was still fuming from being hit.
“Don't. I can take care of myself,” she exclaimed. The motto of her childhood.
“You got shot, you realize tha'? You can't jus' rip tha' shit out. It'll get infected, thas how you wanna go? From a fuckin' arrow?” Daryl was still pissed. He learned how to deal with people by condescension or simply ignoring them. He chose the former.
Glenn tried to rephrase Daryl's aggression in nicer terms, “We just want to help. You don't have to stay, but, at least get it looked at.”
The woman had grown to be fiercely independent. She thought accepting help was being weak, and the left a sour taste in the back of her throat. But the redneck was right, she needed help. She couldn't remove it on her own, and while she had the knowledge to repair and stitch up all of her injuries up until now, this was out of her league. The repair was basic, but the location was impossible.
She hesitated, and stared at her feet. She took in a deep breathe before accepting minor defeat. “Okay... I'll go with you.”
Glenn couldn't help but smile, as he bounced in the direction of the farm. Daryl spit out a bit of blood in her direction, grunted, and kept walking. She managed to keep pace with these strangers, and in no time was at the farm. She forgot about her head injury, and rubbed her head, reopening the wound and sending fresh blood down over the caked blood already staining her face. She got a little woozy, and Daryl, closest to her, kept her from falling. He haphazardly handed her off to Glenn, not wanting anything to do with her, and she was escorted inside the farm house. She didn't notice all the eyes staring at her as she limped across the field.
She was placed on a bed, and she sat uncomfortably upright. An older man with white hair walked in, and had the softest voice she had ever heard. “Hello. My name's Hershel Greene. Let's see what we can do here for you.”
He started with the arrow in her shoulder, the worst of her injuries. She sat sideways in a chair facing him. He beckoned for a young female to grab him some medicine, which the new woman sharply declined.
“What I am going to do is going to hurt a lot. I don't want you passing out or flinching too much. A little medicine won't hurt ya.”
“That medicine is not mine. I can deal without it. Do what you have to do, I'll stay still.”
He shrugged at her stubbornness, and offered her something to bite on. She accepted, and was surprisingly calm throughout the entire procedure. She hissed through her teeth at parts, and clenched the seat of the chair until her knuckles were white, but as promised, she stayed still. Hershel sewed up her shoulder, her abdomen and her head, the latter two significantly more pleasant than the first.
“Now, I'd like you to lay down and take it easy. You've lost blood, and you're exhausted. Take a breather, and in a little while, you can take a bath. Maggie, my daughter, might have some clothes for you. If I offer you antibiotics, will you at least take those?”
She nodded her head. She wasn't dumb enough to come all this way and still get an infection. She was quiet, and only talked when she felt she had to, or when she was allowed to. Talking lead to becoming personal and getting attached, or it meant getting hit. She knew in childhood not to depend on anyone, for no one will ever truly be there. She kept to herself most of the time, but something about this man intrigued her, and she wanted to talk.
As Hershel was leaving and about to close the door, she asked, “Veterinarian?”
Hershel turned around, surprised she said anything. His face warmed up and he responded, “Yes. How did you know?”
She kicked at the floor like a child, suddenly shy and feeling awkward. “Well, vets are always nicer than doctors.”
Hershel stood there and was both complimented and confused, but didn't really see the connection.
“Some people are forced to be doctors because of pay or by their parents. No one is forced to be a vet. They make less money. If you're a vet, you are because you really want to be, and are happy with your job. Doctors don't have the same sincerity. Vets know the same stuff a doctor does.”
Hershel smiled again, and nodded his head approvingly. He thanked her, reminded her to rest, and closed her door. She slowly laid down on the bed, careful not to irritate her wounds. She stared at the ceiling, realizing the last time she saw anyone alive, they were trying to kidnap her. She felt safe, which in turn made her concerned. I don't know these people. I can't feel safe. They are complete strangers.
She was surprised she had managed to fall asleep, but when she woke, a pair of fresh clothes and a towel were sitting on the end of the bed. She shucked off her boots, and headed towards the bathroom. She managed to not run into anyone, which was ideal. She locked the door, and looked at herself. She hardly recognized herself. She hadn't gone this long without a shower since childhood. She quickly stripped off her clothes, and hopped in the shower. She knew better than to take a vanity shower, and quickly washed and conditioned her hair, and soaped off the layers of dirt from her tanned skin. She didn't know what to do with her dirty clothes, so she folded them and brought them back to the room with her. Once there, she found food on the side table with a glass of water. She had forgotten how long it had been since she had eaten something, and scarfed it down in minutes.
Soon after, the Asian boy from earlier entered the room. He seems happy to see me.
“Hi! I'm Glenn by the way. Glenn Rhee.”
She shifted uncomfortably from the familiarities, but responded politely with her own name. “Uh, I'm Teagan.” No last name needed anymore.
“Glad to see you're doing well. We brought your stuff... I hope I grabbed everything. You didn't seem to have a lot.” He placed her belonging on the end of the bed. She noticed something was missing, and dismissed it temporarily.
“Thanks,” she barely seemed to utter.
Glenn started to feel the awkwardness in the room grow. The exchanging of names did not ease the unfamiliarity like he had hoped. He shifted from left to right, eventually saying,
“So, uhm, I'm going to go outside. Feel free to join us!” He exited the room quickly, leaving Teagan to herself. She got up, and exited the room as well, but not following Glenn. She wanted to know the scope of the house, know her exits, in case something happened. She ran into Hershel, who kindly but firmly reprimanded her for being up and about. She stared at her feet, wanting to avoid confrontation. She asked the question that had been bouncing around her head since arrival.
“When can I leave?”
“Let's go,” Daryl started to turn away, when Glen grabbed his arm and looked at him with sad eyes.
“We have to help her.”
“She don't want our help, said so herself.”
“Please, Daryl. We can't just leave her to die... I mean, she kind of saved us.”
Daryl sighed heavily, and walked over to her slumped body. He removed the arrow from her abdomen. Since it pierced all the way through, he broke it and removed the two pieces easily, and without furthering the damage. He grabbed a piece of cloth and pressed it against the wounds on each side, and wrapped another cloth around to keep it in place. The arrow lodged in her shoulder would need medical assistance from Hershel. He broke off the end, to prevent it from getting caught on anything and tearing the hole bigger. The wound on her head had clotted and stopped bleeding. She looked a mess. Glenn walked back into the house to collect anything he thought might be hers. He found a bow and quiver, some more knives and a small backpack with a water bottle. She traveled light, so there wasn't much for him to grab. Daryl carried the woman's body and his crossbow, and Glenn carried her belongings as well as his own possessions.
Twenty minutes from the farm, the woman regained consciousness and panicked. The events from earlier were just a blur, a black haze of fading memory. Thinking she was taken captive by the man who shot her, she squirmed and fought, and punched Daryl in the mouth. He dropped her accidentally, swore, and put his hand to his mouth as it bled. She fell hard on the ground, but crawled away and pulled the knife from her thigh. She leaned up against the nearest tree and hissed, “Just s-stay away from me.”
She was in pain, but had a high tolerance for it. She straightened up and her vision cleared, and she realized who was with her.
“What the fuck was tha' for?!” Daryl yelled.
“I didn't know who you were. Quite frankly, I still don't. Where were you taking me?” She responded.
“Back to our camp. We have a doctor who can help you,” Glenn calmly answered. Daryl was still fuming from being hit.
“Don't. I can take care of myself,” she exclaimed. The motto of her childhood.
“You got shot, you realize tha'? You can't jus' rip tha' shit out. It'll get infected, thas how you wanna go? From a fuckin' arrow?” Daryl was still pissed. He learned how to deal with people by condescension or simply ignoring them. He chose the former.
Glenn tried to rephrase Daryl's aggression in nicer terms, “We just want to help. You don't have to stay, but, at least get it looked at.”
The woman had grown to be fiercely independent. She thought accepting help was being weak, and the left a sour taste in the back of her throat. But the redneck was right, she needed help. She couldn't remove it on her own, and while she had the knowledge to repair and stitch up all of her injuries up until now, this was out of her league. The repair was basic, but the location was impossible.
She hesitated, and stared at her feet. She took in a deep breathe before accepting minor defeat. “Okay... I'll go with you.”
Glenn couldn't help but smile, as he bounced in the direction of the farm. Daryl spit out a bit of blood in her direction, grunted, and kept walking. She managed to keep pace with these strangers, and in no time was at the farm. She forgot about her head injury, and rubbed her head, reopening the wound and sending fresh blood down over the caked blood already staining her face. She got a little woozy, and Daryl, closest to her, kept her from falling. He haphazardly handed her off to Glenn, not wanting anything to do with her, and she was escorted inside the farm house. She didn't notice all the eyes staring at her as she limped across the field.
She was placed on a bed, and she sat uncomfortably upright. An older man with white hair walked in, and had the softest voice she had ever heard. “Hello. My name's Hershel Greene. Let's see what we can do here for you.”
He started with the arrow in her shoulder, the worst of her injuries. She sat sideways in a chair facing him. He beckoned for a young female to grab him some medicine, which the new woman sharply declined.
“What I am going to do is going to hurt a lot. I don't want you passing out or flinching too much. A little medicine won't hurt ya.”
“That medicine is not mine. I can deal without it. Do what you have to do, I'll stay still.”
He shrugged at her stubbornness, and offered her something to bite on. She accepted, and was surprisingly calm throughout the entire procedure. She hissed through her teeth at parts, and clenched the seat of the chair until her knuckles were white, but as promised, she stayed still. Hershel sewed up her shoulder, her abdomen and her head, the latter two significantly more pleasant than the first.
“Now, I'd like you to lay down and take it easy. You've lost blood, and you're exhausted. Take a breather, and in a little while, you can take a bath. Maggie, my daughter, might have some clothes for you. If I offer you antibiotics, will you at least take those?”
She nodded her head. She wasn't dumb enough to come all this way and still get an infection. She was quiet, and only talked when she felt she had to, or when she was allowed to. Talking lead to becoming personal and getting attached, or it meant getting hit. She knew in childhood not to depend on anyone, for no one will ever truly be there. She kept to herself most of the time, but something about this man intrigued her, and she wanted to talk.
As Hershel was leaving and about to close the door, she asked, “Veterinarian?”
Hershel turned around, surprised she said anything. His face warmed up and he responded, “Yes. How did you know?”
She kicked at the floor like a child, suddenly shy and feeling awkward. “Well, vets are always nicer than doctors.”
Hershel stood there and was both complimented and confused, but didn't really see the connection.
“Some people are forced to be doctors because of pay or by their parents. No one is forced to be a vet. They make less money. If you're a vet, you are because you really want to be, and are happy with your job. Doctors don't have the same sincerity. Vets know the same stuff a doctor does.”
Hershel smiled again, and nodded his head approvingly. He thanked her, reminded her to rest, and closed her door. She slowly laid down on the bed, careful not to irritate her wounds. She stared at the ceiling, realizing the last time she saw anyone alive, they were trying to kidnap her. She felt safe, which in turn made her concerned. I don't know these people. I can't feel safe. They are complete strangers.
She was surprised she had managed to fall asleep, but when she woke, a pair of fresh clothes and a towel were sitting on the end of the bed. She shucked off her boots, and headed towards the bathroom. She managed to not run into anyone, which was ideal. She locked the door, and looked at herself. She hardly recognized herself. She hadn't gone this long without a shower since childhood. She quickly stripped off her clothes, and hopped in the shower. She knew better than to take a vanity shower, and quickly washed and conditioned her hair, and soaped off the layers of dirt from her tanned skin. She didn't know what to do with her dirty clothes, so she folded them and brought them back to the room with her. Once there, she found food on the side table with a glass of water. She had forgotten how long it had been since she had eaten something, and scarfed it down in minutes.
Soon after, the Asian boy from earlier entered the room. He seems happy to see me.
“Hi! I'm Glenn by the way. Glenn Rhee.”
She shifted uncomfortably from the familiarities, but responded politely with her own name. “Uh, I'm Teagan.” No last name needed anymore.
“Glad to see you're doing well. We brought your stuff... I hope I grabbed everything. You didn't seem to have a lot.” He placed her belonging on the end of the bed. She noticed something was missing, and dismissed it temporarily.
“Thanks,” she barely seemed to utter.
Glenn started to feel the awkwardness in the room grow. The exchanging of names did not ease the unfamiliarity like he had hoped. He shifted from left to right, eventually saying,
“So, uhm, I'm going to go outside. Feel free to join us!” He exited the room quickly, leaving Teagan to herself. She got up, and exited the room as well, but not following Glenn. She wanted to know the scope of the house, know her exits, in case something happened. She ran into Hershel, who kindly but firmly reprimanded her for being up and about. She stared at her feet, wanting to avoid confrontation. She asked the question that had been bouncing around her head since arrival.
“When can I leave?”