Dead Man Walking | Rick Grimes

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Before the story starts, I just wanna give a huuuuuuggggeee thank you and shout out to 

Nadredia (@nadreida Wattpad isn't letting me link her username but this is it and I encourage you to check her out! 

She made the new cover and I'm in love with it! Give her some love! ❤

Now onwards to the story 🩷

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The wind was warm, biting into my already sweaty skin. The road ahead was long and winding, littered with idle, overturned cars. There wasn't a single soul in sight, and the silence started driving me crazy. I hitched my pack up my shoulder, feeling the familiar soreness in the surrounding muscles. My face scrunched in pain, but I knew not to make a sound; one sound could put me in grave danger.

I continued down my lonely road, my eyes scanning the emptiness around me and my breathing coming out in ragged breaths as exhaustion seeped in. Finally, despite my best efforts, I cursed under my breath and whimpered, fully giving in to the overwhelming solitude surrounding me. Moments like these made me miss my family terribly – moments of complete mental and physical exhaustion. I veered off towards the woods, desperate for a breather. Practically jogging toward the shady wooded area, I threw myself to the ground and roughly landed on my backpack. Groaning, I sat up and tossed my backpack to the side, grumbling as I rubbed my back and lowered myself to a lying position.

I don't know how long I've been walking down this way, but it had to be over a week; it's been hard. I rubbed my shoulders, feeling my tense muscles; Yup, stiff and sore. Grabbing my backpack, I rummaged inside, searching for my warm water bottle, and took a much-needed sip. The warm water hit my empty stomach, briefly quelling the animal-like hunger eating away at my guts. I closed the bottle tightly and tossed it back into my pack, trying to conserve what little water I had left. As I moved to close my bag, my cut-up fingers grazed the side of the picture frame, making my breath hitch in my throat. Slowly, I grasped the picture frame and let out a shaky breath, feeling tears in my eyes. The picture frame was cracked, but the picture it protected was safe from tears. My eyes studied their faces, a sad smile stretching across my cracked lips.

I took in the sharp angular cheekbones that belonged to my dad, his crooked nose, brown, gelled-back hair, and those comforting brown eyes stared at me. My mom was gorgeous – her full lips stretched, exposing her teeth as she smiled. Her perfectly brushed blonde hair was in her signature ponytail, complementing her diamond-shaped face. Like my dad, she had prominent cheekbones, but my sister and I always said it was due to how skinny she was. Her nose and eyes scrunched like always when she was genuinely happy. Finally, my eyes landed on my sister, Summer. I felt wetness trail down my cheeks as I stared at her. She harbored the same blonde hair as our mom but looked more like our dad – if dad was light-skinned. She was utterly and undisputedly gorgeous. Then you had me. I had red hair, which had supposedly skipped generations on my dad's side. Unlike my sister, I was an even mixture of my parents – nose, face shape, lips like my mom, and eyes and eyebrows like my father. Another main difference was the freckles that scattered across my face, yet another thing I inherited from my grandmother. At first glance, I was the odd one out, looking so starkly different from everyone.

I wiped my tears feverishly, refusing to be sad anymore. Feeling numb was a lot better than this. I stood up, my knees popping, and dusted myself off. Best to keep going; I don't want to be stuck here on the side of the road when the sun sets. I grabbed my backpack and walked along the tree line, enjoying its shade. But like all things in this new life, good things never last. Groans echoed behind me, making me snap my head south and grab the knife on my hip. I pressed myself to a nearby tree, hoping the roamer would pass without noticing me or change its direction. The roamer came closer and closer, its foul stench wafting into my nostrils, making me want to heave. That's one thing I don't think I'll ever get used to – the smell these rotting bastards gave off. Much to my dismay, the roamer didn't walk in the other direction; it kept coming my way. I held my breath, prepping myself by gripping the handle of my hunting knife tighter.