Sweet and Salty ~ Carl Grimes

Run, Dixons, Run - 001

That week was the downfall of the world. Everything. It started with the dead rising as vicious monsters, it escalated when the infection spread to those who had not yet died. The dead ones would attack the living like rabid dogs, they'd bite and tear, eat and share. However, it got worse again when the ones who were attacked rose too. You die? You turn. That's the rule. Unless, of course, it was a head wound, then you'd stay dead.

Brooks had seen four. Mrs Vasquez, Robert the local flasher, and two more which had clearly been hikers near her house. Daryl and Merle left once to go to their own homes, but came back, and hadn't gone since. Brooks gave up her bed for Daryl and Merle to take shifts sleeping in, but Brooks was always made to sleep on the sofa. However, you can't get sleep when your father and brothers are plotting.

They'd plot to hunt, kill. Not just buck or fish anymore - no, Will Dixon wanted him and his sons to go and hunt the dead ones. Kill them for sport. Like the whole fall of the world was a joke to him. Daryl and Merle followed in his foot steps like good soldiers, despite the fact that both were grown men, they were still afraid of their father. Afraid to disappoint. Afraid to be different. Afraid of his anger. Afraid of him.

Brooks sat on the ground with Buckster, she slowly went through his fur with her hand. He was old, and fat, each breath was a wheeze, but Brooks loved him with everything in her. Buckster was always there for her, from day one. After all, she was only ten but big old Buckster was fifteen. For those of you who don't know, that's as old as dust in dog years.

"Where's 'at kid?" Will asked, coming down the stairs.

"In the livin' room." Brooks responded, before muttering under her breath. "Where I always am." Merle, who sat on the sofa, chuckled, him being the only one to hear the girl. Daryl was sat in the kitchen, cleaning and reloading some of the Dixon's rifles. 

Will sat behind Brooks on his old leather chair, kicking her back to get her attention. Brooks winced slightly, but silently, turned to face her father. "You comin' huntin' with us today."

"No, thank you." Brooks answered, misinterpreting her father's tone.

"Wasn't a question, baby." Will told her, lightly up a cigarette. 

Brooks frowned. "But it's scary out there, what about the dead ones? The army haven't sorted them yet."

"The army ain't doin' shit, Bambi." Merle spoke, making his younger sister turn to him. "It's us against them. The living verses the dead. That's all it is now. Army can't save us."

Brooks bit her bottom lip, looking up when Daryl entered the room. "Is it true?"

"That the world's gone to shit?" Daryl asked, followed by a scoff as he sat next to his big brother. "Yea, Brookie, ain't goin' back now. But, I heard, and I don't think she should be comin' huntin' with us."

"Why the hell not?" Will huffed, followed by a loud cough. Years of smoking cigarettes were finally taking their tole on the older man.

"Merle was almost bit yesterday. You think a nine year old girl is gonna defend herself better than a forty year old bloke who's seen more bar fights than a bartender?" Daryl asked, resting a foot on the coffee table.

"I'm ten." Brooks corrected, quietly.

Will laughed. "When did that happen?"

"Two weeks ago." Merle answered. Brooks nodded, remembering the day that she spent all alone.

"I thought your birthday was December." Will furrowed his eyebrows.

"Nah, that's mine." Daryl answered.

Will shrugged. "I wouldn't have done anythin' for ya anyways, baby, no reason to sulk."

"I wasn't sulking." Brooks furrowed her eyebrows. "It's been two weeks and I haven't mentioned it onc-" Brooks was cut off by a whack to her head. "Ow!" She yelled, holding where her father had struck her from behind. Even Daryl jumped in shock, Merle just drank more beer to make himself feel better about the situation, to make the pang of pain and guilt in his heart go away.