The Woman at The End of The World. (Daryl Dixon)

one.

Shit.

From their low moans advancing behind me, I hear a herd of a couple dozen dead. Without turning, quickly and quietly, I duck into the forest, looking for any place that could mask my smell. Climbing a tree wasn't an option. It would take too much time. I slow down after a few minutes once I feel like I was far enough from the road. Catching my breath, I spot a river a few feet away.

An idea forming in my head, "I hope this works." I mumble to myself.

Approaching the water, I discover an area where the water eroded away the dirt under the tree roots creating a hollow. I squeeze myself in, hoping one of the dead didn't see or hear my hasty exit from the road.

I leave my black gym back sitting at my feet seeing as there wasn't enough room to stow it in my new hiding spot for one. I don't have the luxury to move around to get comfortable. I just wanted to find safety for the time being.

For weeks, I've been wandering aimlessly, trying to find any type of shelter. Unfortunately, I haven't been successful.

During the first week, I ransacked whatever stores or homes I've stumbled upon for any weapons, or necessities. That's how I came across my lucky Glock 17 that's currently sitting in the small of my back. Seated with a gun near your ass in a cramped space? Wonderful. Would not recommend.

This far from the road, I'm at disadvantage of not knowing when the coast was clear. I take this moment to allow myself to rest. I don't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep. Before I knew it, exhaustion had won out.

--

"Have ya seen the news, runt?" My step brother, James, asked as I entered his house, his wise face etched in concern. "I don't think ya should take the flight back home tomorrow."

I flew down to Mississippi to visit my dad for a few weeks. He was sick, so I took a leave from work to come spend as much time with him as I could. Now my visit has come to an end. I stopped by James' house to say my goodbyes to him and his family as I had to return to work in two days. Tomorrow, I fly back to Ohio; with a small layover in Atlanta.

"About the dead coming back? Yeah. I'd like whatever drugs people are taking to be seeing that shit." I shook my head, running a hand through my blue hair. "It's the bath salts all over, again."

James didn't look convinced. He gathered me into his arms, "Call us when you get home, I'm gonna worry about ya until I know ya'r safe."

I smiled, "You know, I'm too annoying and stubborn to get rid of that easily."

James stepped back, laughing. "Ya'r right. Go say goodbye to ya'r nephews and my wife. We're gonna miss you until ya next visit."

Even if James and I aren't blood, he still didn't make me feel like I'm the outcast during my visits. He made me feel like I truly am part of the family.

--

"SOPHIA!" A gruff bellow wakes me, startling me out of the memory dream.

I haven't happened upon another live human since my connecting flight to Cleveland landed in Atlanta, hours before they sent napalm down over the city. They had just started evacuating the airport as soon as the plane landed. I've been on my own in a city I've never set foot in. Talk about luck, since I'm still somehow alive.

I stagger out of my hiding spot, reaching for the knife I had in placed in my combat boots. Exhaustion and soreness begging my body to stay down.

A walking corpse catches me off guard. It stumbling about, excitement that it found a snack causes us to trip and fall back into the water. I fumble around, holding it back, jaws snarling, hoping it'll connect. I let go with one hand, finding an opening, bringing my knife down, puncturing its skull before it could get its rotten teeth in me. It's black blood, rotted skin, and brain matter running down my arm as I shove it off of me.

"Ow; Yuck, what the fuck?" frustration pulses through my veins, I just gave my location away to every corpse in a ten foot radius with all that splashing and fighting. Standing, I kick the body. I'm pretty sure my back hit a few rocks from the pain shooting down my spine.

I limp over to the hollow, grabbing my bag. I throw it over to the higher ground. Following suit, I climb out of the river bed, which was a feat in it's own since I'm wet, dirty.. And now sandy. Too bad I haven't discovered any change of clothes since the day I flew into Atlanta from Gulfport. I'm still dressed in my combat boots, black leggings, and Avenged Sevenfold band shirt. My black leather coat is safely tucked away in my bag.

What can I say, Mom? It was never a phase.

I hear sticks snapping as I prepare to tango with yet another walking corpse. I grab my gun, raising it, I spin towards the sound... just to come face to face with a crossbow.

"Well fuck."