Scraping By, Chapter 9: Urgent Care
Title: Scraping By
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 9: Urgent Care
Shane spotted the overturned Culligan truck from the short cut they'd taken through a small town and radioed a stop to Rick. Whitney, Daryl, and Glenn volunteered to help him load up his Jeep with the bottled water if Rick and the others waited for them further up the road. Not too keen on taking more than one vehicle, Daryl tossed his keys to Andrea.
"Third gear tends to give ya a little trouble. Don't pay it any mind," he said.
Andrea nodded and she and the rest of the caravan drove to the outskirts of the town.
Whitney walked into the intersection across from the liquor mart (it advertised a "drive thru" window) and turned her back to the men gathering the water. The air was stale and she felt strange standing in the middle of the street with burnt husks of cars strewn about.
It looked like a cut scene from some sort of video game. She half expected to be able to hit "pause" and take a break from it all.
She was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn't notice the shuffling footsteps until the walker was close enough to smell it. It had been so quiet that Whitney had even missed catching a glimpse of it in her peripheral vision.
It growled at her-air rasping through lungs that sounded like they were flooded with God knows what. Whitney hadn't seen one so "fresh" in such a long time that it's speed threw her for a loop. It smelled her and gave chase. Hearing the shuffle of feet on the pavement, Daryl turned away from his watch over Glenn and Shane to label the noise.
He started sprinting the second he saw the animated corpse staggering after Whitney.
As his feet pounded the blacktop, Whitney ran toward him and turned awkwardly on her left foot to shoot the walker coming after her. Before she could pull the trigger, Daryl heard a loud, wet pop.
The gun didn't fire.
Whitney's left leg crumpled and she shouted in pain. Daryl was about ten yards away and closing but could plainly see that her kneecap was sitting just a little too far to the side of where it was supposed to. She landed on her ass and scraped off a layer of skin on her wrist when she hit the pavement. The fresh blood spurred the undead bastard onward.
She could see the color and texture of the skin caught in the walker's teeth from an earlier meal, and the stench of urine, feces, and death made her gag. Every muscle in her body shook as her limbs flooded with adrenaline and she could feel the lactic acid burning through her calves and thighs as she tried to crab walk backwards and to aim her gun.
Daryl shouldered his crossbow and fired as he ran.
The arrow lodged in the creature's eye and it fell right into Whitney's lap.
She sputtered and shoved at the corpse, but her hands shook too much for her to get a proper grip and she could feel the papery, dead skin shifting against her shins.
"Get it off! Get it OFF!" she shrieked.
Daryl finally caught up to her and kicked the dead walker off her lap. He reached down to help Whitney stand up and had to adjust his grip on her waist twice to keep from dropping her. She tried to put weight on her left leg and almost fell down again when the pain started to register.
It felt like the air had been knocked out of her and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. Daryl winced when her fingers dug into his arm but kept pulling her away from the intersection and back to the Jeep.
He could still see Shane and Glenn one street over and whistled sharply to get their attention. Glenn was faster running back to the Jeep and immediately helped Daryl lift Whitney into the back seat.
"Jesus Christ, what happened to her?" he asked.
Shane dropped the last water jug, ran up to the three of them, and grimaced at the softball-sized lump that used to be Whitney's knee. She was panting and still hadn't let got of Daryl's arm.
"Her knee-"
"The patella dis-dislocated," Whitney interrupted. She ground her teeth and breathed harshly through her nose.
"Oh, shit," Shane muttered. "What do we do?"
It took her several tries to start talking, but Whitney managed to whisper some instructions as her mind shifted back into the long lost medical crisis mode. "Glenn, I need you to get up behind me and hook your arms under mine."
Glenn swapped places with Daryl and Whitney grabbed the upholstery and took a few shallow breaths to try to calm down.
Whitney practically burrowed into Glenn's arms. "Daryl? I-I need you to grab my foot and p-point my toes up. When I tell you, you pull on my ankle un-until you hear it pop again."
Shane reached out to stop Daryl from continuing, but Whitney glared at the man at her feet. "Do it."
Daryl couldn't look at her face and, instead, focused on the small tattoo Whitney had high on the outside of her right thigh that was partially obscured by the hem of her shorts. He wrapped his hands around her heel and ankle, wedged one leg between her right side and the back of the seat cushion, and dropped his other knee in front of her foot to get a proper angle.
"On three, alright?"
"Fuck," she whimpered. Daryl fought the urge to jerk away when he felt her hand shift from the seat of the Jeep to grab onto his ankle.
"One," he tightened his hands around her sneaker and took a steadying breath. Glenn dropped his head and buried his face in Whitney's hair.
"Two-" Daryl pulled her foot.
She smothered a scream against Glenn's neck and dug her nails into Daryl's ankle. Shane was the only one who watched her knee twitch and the patella slide back in place. By the end of it they were all breathing like they'd just sprinted a mile and Whitney felt herself start to black out.
"Thanks, y'all," she whispered and passed out.
"Holy shit," Glenn gasped. "Holy shit, you guys."
Daryl looked at Shane who was still staring at Whitney's swollen knee. "Shane, drive."
It took a moment to register the order, but he found himself on a sort of automatic pilot as he drove to catch up with the others. Glenn, still holding Whitney under her armpits, looked across at Daryl for any sign of what he should be doing. From the shell-shocked expression on Daryl's face, Glenn knew the older man was just as lost as him but he couldn't help but ask what was on his mind.
"What the hell do we do now?" he shouted above the noise of the tires crunching through debris in the road.
Daryl just stared at the frantic pulse in Whitney's neck. He didn't have an answer for Glenn and it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.
Chapter 8: Gossip | Chapter 10: Urgent Care
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 9: Urgent Care
Shane spotted the overturned Culligan truck from the short cut they'd taken through a small town and radioed a stop to Rick. Whitney, Daryl, and Glenn volunteered to help him load up his Jeep with the bottled water if Rick and the others waited for them further up the road. Not too keen on taking more than one vehicle, Daryl tossed his keys to Andrea.
"Third gear tends to give ya a little trouble. Don't pay it any mind," he said.
Andrea nodded and she and the rest of the caravan drove to the outskirts of the town.
Whitney walked into the intersection across from the liquor mart (it advertised a "drive thru" window) and turned her back to the men gathering the water. The air was stale and she felt strange standing in the middle of the street with burnt husks of cars strewn about.
It looked like a cut scene from some sort of video game. She half expected to be able to hit "pause" and take a break from it all.
She was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn't notice the shuffling footsteps until the walker was close enough to smell it. It had been so quiet that Whitney had even missed catching a glimpse of it in her peripheral vision.
It growled at her-air rasping through lungs that sounded like they were flooded with God knows what. Whitney hadn't seen one so "fresh" in such a long time that it's speed threw her for a loop. It smelled her and gave chase. Hearing the shuffle of feet on the pavement, Daryl turned away from his watch over Glenn and Shane to label the noise.
He started sprinting the second he saw the animated corpse staggering after Whitney.
As his feet pounded the blacktop, Whitney ran toward him and turned awkwardly on her left foot to shoot the walker coming after her. Before she could pull the trigger, Daryl heard a loud, wet pop.
The gun didn't fire.
Whitney's left leg crumpled and she shouted in pain. Daryl was about ten yards away and closing but could plainly see that her kneecap was sitting just a little too far to the side of where it was supposed to. She landed on her ass and scraped off a layer of skin on her wrist when she hit the pavement. The fresh blood spurred the undead bastard onward.
She could see the color and texture of the skin caught in the walker's teeth from an earlier meal, and the stench of urine, feces, and death made her gag. Every muscle in her body shook as her limbs flooded with adrenaline and she could feel the lactic acid burning through her calves and thighs as she tried to crab walk backwards and to aim her gun.
Daryl shouldered his crossbow and fired as he ran.
The arrow lodged in the creature's eye and it fell right into Whitney's lap.
She sputtered and shoved at the corpse, but her hands shook too much for her to get a proper grip and she could feel the papery, dead skin shifting against her shins.
"Get it off! Get it OFF!" she shrieked.
Daryl finally caught up to her and kicked the dead walker off her lap. He reached down to help Whitney stand up and had to adjust his grip on her waist twice to keep from dropping her. She tried to put weight on her left leg and almost fell down again when the pain started to register.
It felt like the air had been knocked out of her and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. Daryl winced when her fingers dug into his arm but kept pulling her away from the intersection and back to the Jeep.
He could still see Shane and Glenn one street over and whistled sharply to get their attention. Glenn was faster running back to the Jeep and immediately helped Daryl lift Whitney into the back seat.
"Jesus Christ, what happened to her?" he asked.
Shane dropped the last water jug, ran up to the three of them, and grimaced at the softball-sized lump that used to be Whitney's knee. She was panting and still hadn't let got of Daryl's arm.
"Her knee-"
"The patella dis-dislocated," Whitney interrupted. She ground her teeth and breathed harshly through her nose.
"Oh, shit," Shane muttered. "What do we do?"
It took her several tries to start talking, but Whitney managed to whisper some instructions as her mind shifted back into the long lost medical crisis mode. "Glenn, I need you to get up behind me and hook your arms under mine."
Glenn swapped places with Daryl and Whitney grabbed the upholstery and took a few shallow breaths to try to calm down.
Whitney practically burrowed into Glenn's arms. "Daryl? I-I need you to grab my foot and p-point my toes up. When I tell you, you pull on my ankle un-until you hear it pop again."
Shane reached out to stop Daryl from continuing, but Whitney glared at the man at her feet. "Do it."
Daryl couldn't look at her face and, instead, focused on the small tattoo Whitney had high on the outside of her right thigh that was partially obscured by the hem of her shorts. He wrapped his hands around her heel and ankle, wedged one leg between her right side and the back of the seat cushion, and dropped his other knee in front of her foot to get a proper angle.
"On three, alright?"
"Fuck," she whimpered. Daryl fought the urge to jerk away when he felt her hand shift from the seat of the Jeep to grab onto his ankle.
"One," he tightened his hands around her sneaker and took a steadying breath. Glenn dropped his head and buried his face in Whitney's hair.
"Two-" Daryl pulled her foot.
She smothered a scream against Glenn's neck and dug her nails into Daryl's ankle. Shane was the only one who watched her knee twitch and the patella slide back in place. By the end of it they were all breathing like they'd just sprinted a mile and Whitney felt herself start to black out.
"Thanks, y'all," she whispered and passed out.
"Holy shit," Glenn gasped. "Holy shit, you guys."
Daryl looked at Shane who was still staring at Whitney's swollen knee. "Shane, drive."
It took a moment to register the order, but he found himself on a sort of automatic pilot as he drove to catch up with the others. Glenn, still holding Whitney under her armpits, looked across at Daryl for any sign of what he should be doing. From the shell-shocked expression on Daryl's face, Glenn knew the older man was just as lost as him but he couldn't help but ask what was on his mind.
"What the hell do we do now?" he shouted above the noise of the tires crunching through debris in the road.
Daryl just stared at the frantic pulse in Whitney's neck. He didn't have an answer for Glenn and it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.
Chapter 8: Gossip | Chapter 10: Urgent Care