⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter one 𓆪༻⋆
synopsis: you get spooked on your way back to camp... and ed learns a valuable lesson.
cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist
a/n: this'll all make sense trust
When the sisters at St. Eloise's School for Wayward Girls preached about the end times, you always thought it was bullshit.
Talk of earthquakes, and pestilences, and false prophets, as if those things didn't already exist.
It was stupid.
And you thought all the other girls who believed in that shit were stupid, too.
In fact, you found the whole Catholic thing to be utterly stupid.
There was no being up above, surveilling the world and providing wisdom and comfort to his followers.
There was no sunshine-and-rainbows afterlife, where you'd spend the rest of eternity in living it up in luxury.
There was no greater purpose or higher calling, or reward for living a life of virtue and righteousness.
The whole Catholic thing was nothing but a mass of death-fearing assholes wanting a way out of paying for their crimes by "confessing their sins".
It was all bullshit.
And you had the cane scars to prove it.
But... if there was one thing they got right—of all things—it was the resurrection of the dead.
You let out a silent chuckle, carefully peering down the shaft of your arrow as you set your sights on a nice, fat goose.
If there was a God, he had a fucked up sense of humor.
Narrowing your eyes, you watched as the bird ruffled its feathers, dipping its wings in the pond before brushing them over its head, cleaning itself as it waded through the water.
"That's right..." you muttered, allowing it to drift closer. "Line up, duckie."
You held steady, lying in wait as you crouched among the tweeds and the tall grass.
Until it finally lined up just right.
Without hesitation, you released your arrow, the snap of the bowstring punctuating the goose's life as you shot it dead in the cheek, killing it instantly.
"Thank you, Kehetu," you sighed, standing to your full height.
Your foster father.
He was native—Comanche—and never had the privilege of having his own children.
But he loved and cared for you all the same, and taught you everything he and his forefathers had ever learned.
How to live off the land...
How to hunt for your food...
Complex wilderness survival...
Typical teen girl stuff.
Trudging through the mud, you crossed the bank and stepped into the shallow end of the pond, snatching up your kill by the neck and yanking the arrow out its head with a sick squelch.
'Better start headin' back... m'gonna lose the light soon.'
You hummed to yourself, glancing up at the sky as you used the rope slung over your shoulder to attach your bird to the three other geese you hunted.
Letting out a soft grunt, you slung your bow across your back, starting off back toward camp.
If you were being honest, you didn't have the slightest idea as to why you were holing up with a bunch of strangers.
It wasn't like you needed protection.
Or assistance...
Or comfort...
With your survival skills, you had gotten along the first two weeks of the apocalypse perfectly fine.
Almost eerily so.
But to you, there wasn't much difference from your routine pre-outbreak.
Snag a Honey Bun from the corner store, show up late to your old man's car shop, start working, and then return to his cabin in the sticks for a rabbit dinner and a beer.
Only change now was that Honey Buns were practically nonexistent.
But you'd stumbled across these people about two weeks ago, and quickly realized that a great many of them weren't going to last a month.
They were too cushy... too accustomed to the luxuries that came with modern life... too attached to the normalcy they'd been living in for so long.
Hell, you were sure that if you dropped any number of them out in the woods on their own, they wouldn't last a single day.
You sighed, tightening your grip on the rope as you trekked up a small hill.
Call it pity... call it empathy... hell, call it the charity Sister Margaret wouldn't shut the hell up about.
But something in the pit of your chest couldn't leave these people to fend for themselves.
Not like this.
Not with the world as it was now.
Nearing the clearing, you took notice of some rustling, instantly snapping yourself out of your thoughts and focusing up.
With practiced ease, you readied your bow, quietly pulling an arrow out of your otter-skin quiver.
You lowered your stance, stalking carefully as you slowly approached the edge of the trees.
'No way it's a biter... they never come this far up the mountain...'
Inhaling a sharp, silent breath, you lunged into the clearing, drawing your arrow on the first thing that moved.
Only to find it was Dale and the others, weapons ready as they stood around a half-eaten deer.
"Fuckin' Christ," you groaned, lowering your bow with an annoyed snarl. "Hell's the matter with you assholes? I almost shot Dale."
Quickly surveying the group, you realized there was a new face among the bunch.
A man... with scruffy stubble, a white tee, and an authoritative air about him
"Who the hell is he?"
"I—"
"Son of a bitch," a familiar voice spat, emerging from the woods to the right of you.
'Fuck me...'
"Thas' mah deer!" Daryl exclaimed, trudging toward where it lay, right next to a dead walker. "Look at it. All gnawed on by this..."
His brows furrowed as he dealt swift kicks to the corpse's stomach.
"Filthy... disease-bearin'... motherless... poxy bastard!"
"Calm down, son. That's not helping," Dale sighed, resting his hands on his hips.
"What do you know about it, old man?" Darly scoffed, stepping around the carcass to get in his face. "Why donchu take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond?"
"Ay, watch your fuckin' mouth, trailer park," you spat, sizing the man up with a sharp glare.
"Fuck you," he scoffed, turning around to tug his bolts out of the deer. "I been trackin' this deer for miles... was gonna drag it back to camp... cook us up some venison."
Leaning down, he traced the area where the walker had eaten its lunch.
"Whaddya think? You think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?"
"I would not risk that," Shane denied, hanging his arms on the shotgun resting around his neck.
"Thas' a damn shame," Daryl sighed. "Well, I got some squirrel—'bout a dozen or so. That'll havtah do."
"I picked up about four geese," you chimed, holding up your rope. "Should be more than enough."
Glancing over in your direction, Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly, not very appreciative of the one-up.
But you flashed him a small smirk, pleased.
'Serves you right, asshole...'
You and your fellow hunter had been at odds since the moment you met—mostly because of his racist-ass brother... but odds nonetheless.
Merle was not quiet whatsoever about his distaste for "your kind", and you took quite a great deal of offense to that given you were one of the main members feeding the damn group, as well as making sure all the vehicles were in shape for a speedy getaway.
But anyone who had beef with Merle, had beef with Daryl, no matter how well-founded.
Just then, the head of the decapitated walker groaned back to life, blinking its cloudy eyes with a harsh snarl.
"C'mon, people. What the hell?" Daryl scolded, stepping forward and shooting it in the head. "It's gotta be the brain."
He scoffed, roughly tugging his bolt out its eye before walking off.
"Don't chu know nothin'?"
"Can someone explain to me how the women wound up doin' all the Hattie McDaniel work" Jacqui grumbled, plopping down a hamper of dirty clothes next to the creek.
"The world ended. Didn't you get the memo?" Amy chuckled, dryly.
Carol paused a moment, glancing back at her husband, Ed, who leaned idly against one of the truck beds.
"It's just the way it is," she sighed, setting aside a clean shirt.
"Not how it should be," you scoffed, muffled by the knife between your teeth as you plucked your third goose.
"Well, I do miss my Maytag."
"I miss my Benz... my Satnav," Andrea agreed.
"I miss my coffee maker with that dual-drip filter and built-in grinder, honey," Jacqui groaned, wistfully.
"My computer... and texting," Amy huffed.
You paused a moment, wondering on what pleasure you missed that wasn't readily available.
"Cold beer... maybe my truck," you stated, pulling out another tail feather.
"I miss my vibrator," Andrea blurted, making you snort.
"Oh!" Jacqui smirked, turning to the woman with a knowing look.
"Oh, my God!"
Making sure the coast was clear, Carol looked around, before turning back to the group.
"Me, too."
At that, the lot of women burst into laughter, you included.
Out of all of you—besides Lori and Miranda—Carol was the only one with an actual husband or partner to speak of.
It was a surprise to see she hadn't gotten much recently.
'Never thought people would have trouble puttin' out in the apocalypse...'
"What's so funny?" Ed suddenly chimed, appearing out of nowhere.
"Just swappin' war stories, Ed," Andrea chuckled, riding out her laughter.
But Carol was less amused.
In fact, her face immediately fell the moment she set sights on her husband.
The action sent a spike of anger coursing through your veins, and introduced a certain furrow to your brow.
Ed was a do-nothing, abusive asshole, who was known for putting his hands on Carol, and their young girl, Sophia.
You'd seen the bruises before, and their fearful silence, and you offered more than once to handle the situation for them.
With society collapsed there was no law, and with no law, there was no murder.
And whether it was Ed or goddamn goose made no difference to you.
A carcass was a carcass.
But Carol insisted you stay out if it, and you respected her wishes.
Though... that didn't mean you had to like it.
"There a problem, Ed?" you asked, sharply, as you drew the knife from your mouth, turning to glance at him with an annoyed glare.
"Nothin' that concerns you," he fired back, taking a puff of his cigarette. "And you ought to focus on your work. This ain't no comedy club."
"Oh, yeah? 'Cause I'm lookin' at somethin' real funny right now," you spat, staring him down.
"(y/n)," Carol whispered, sharply.
"Nah, he don't like how his laundry's done, he can do it his damn self."
Rising to your feet, you snatched up a wet pair of pants, tossing it into his chest.
"Go 'head. Feel free to pitch in."
Roughly, he threw it right back, hitting you square in the neck.
"Ain't my job, missy."
You scoffed, eyes widening at his audacity.
"(y/n), don't—"
"What is your job, asshole? Bum around smokin' cigarettes?" you barked, cutting Amy off.
"Well, it sure as hell ain't listenin' to some smart mouth bitch. I tell you that."
"This bitch is makin' sure that yo' fatass fuckin' eats tonight."
"C'mon. Let's go," he ignored you, his orders directed toward Carol.
"Nah, she ain't gotta go anywhere witchu," you denied.
"It's none of your business. Come on, now. You heard me."
Whipping around, you turned to the woman, your eyes softening.
"Carol."
"(y/n), please. It doesn't matter."
"Hey," Ed stepped forward, getting into your face. "Don't think I won't knock you on your ass 'cause you some city-born cooze, all right?"
"Knock who? You wanna settle this, we can settle this right here."
"You don't wanna keep proddin' the bull here, okay? Now I am done talkin'. C'mon."
Lunging forward, he snatched up Carol's arm, getting ready to pull her off.
"No, Carol," Andrea stepped up, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to—"
"She don't havtah what?! I tell you what!"
Ed's hand suddenly whipped up, striking his wife across the face with a harsh slap.
And you took that as the a-okay.
As the women screamed, you flipped around your knife, slashing him across the cheek before shoving him to the ground with the heel of your boot.
"You don't fuckin' touch her!" you shouted, holding your weapon at the ready in case he got back up.
"Cmere!" Shane suddenly appeared, stepping over Ed's body and grabbing him by the shirt before landing a harsh punch on the man's eye.
Gasps echoed throughout the group as he beat on the man mercilessly, slamming hit after hit after hit after hit into his face meat.
Shoulders sinking slightly, you let out a quiet huff, sheathing your knife in the belt loop next to your crowbar as you stepped back to watch the show.
You weren't remorseful in the slightest.
Shane was doing what you'd been dreaming about for the longest.
Though, you could tell that things were going downhill fast as he kept his pace, not letting up as a minute went by.
'Shit.'
"Shane, stop!"
"Stop it!"
"Just stop!"
"Ed!" Carol sobbed, having to be held up by Jacqui and Amy.
"He's limp, man," you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Don't kill 'im in front of his wife."
Pausing a moment, Shane grabbed Ed by the face, leaning in nice and close.
"You put your hands on your wife, your little girl, or anybody else in this camp one more time, I will not stop next time. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?!"
"Yesh..." Ed slurred, barely able to see.
"I'll beat you to death, Ed."
With that, Shane landed one final blow, before finally rising to his feet, sending a swift kick to Ed's stomach before storming off.
"Oh, Ed!" Carol cried, running to her husband's side with tears in her eyes. "Ed, I'm sorry!"
With a sharp huff, you turned to head back to the creek, plopping yourself back down on your rock and picking up your goose.
Shoulders tight, you glared down at the bird, roughly slicing off its down feathers.
'Charity... what a load of bullshit...'