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JUNE 22, 2009
32 DAYS AFTER THE VIRUS C OUTBREAK
WORLD POPULATION: 40%
The woman slowly entered the bar, her arms straight out in front of her as her hands steadily held the gun. She opened the door, banging her fist against the wall and waiting to see if there was any undead responses. When it was all clear, Dahlia walked in, tucking her weapon behind her back, inside her jeans. She paced around the bar, overlooking the mess.
She crouched down, picking up a handful of broken glasses and bullet cases. She concluded that either the people who were here left in a hurry or were forced out. The woman dropped the glass, hearing it crunch under her boots as she went around the bar, her eyes fixating on one thing. There was one last bottle of alcohol left on the shelf, a half full bottle of Scotch. Dahlia preferred light alcohol over dark but since her water ran out about an hour ago, she settled for what she could get. She smiled as she yanked the bottle off of the shelf and grabbed one of the unbroken glasses.
Before she poured the Scotch, she decided to skip the glass all together and just drinking straight from the bottle. As she sat on the bar counter top, she noticed how quiet it was.
You know that quiet where you can hear a silent humming noise? It was constantly like that all the time now. She didn't know how long it would take her to get used to it since she was so used to crowded, urbanized New York City. The duration nowadays seemed to grow short and lonelier each day and the nights long hours were getting to her, each day passing by felt like weeks and she knew they would soon turn to years.
Dahlia chuckled dryly, raising the bootle, "To the survivors!" She raised her fist like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club, only missing the background music, before taking another swing, flinching a bit as it burned going down her throat and filling the aching in her stomach. "I hear that!" A deep voice exclaimed, making Dahlia jump. The sound of the bottle dropping on the ground filled the bar as she drew out her weapon. She jumped off the counter, turning around to see the man.
He looked normal, all black attire and boots just like hers, black hair like hers, dark eyes like hers. But most importantly, a pulse, just like hers. He was first human she had encountered since the very beginning of all of this.
He had this smile on his face, that for a reason unknown, made her want to smack it off and he stood like he was someone of importance. "Oh, come on, darling!" He laughed, walking towards her slowly, "You just dropped a fine bottle of Scotch!"
"Come any closer and I'll shoot," Dahlia said, her expression serious as she firmly held her ground.
The man stopped walking and raised his eyebrow, "Oh? But you haven't even given me a chance." He looked around the bar before pointing to the piano in the corner of the room, "You like show tunes? How 'bout some classics? My friends say I can do a mean Bowie impression," he began laughing, which creeped her out anymore, "At least that's what they used to say but as you may guess, they're all dead now."
"Sorry to hear that," Dahlia replied, her voice coming out more cold and monotone than she meant it to.
"I'm not!" The man laughed, hunching over before holding out his arms, "They were assholes!"
Dahlia continued to stare at the man, now cocking her gun at him and he smiled. "I like you," he pointed to her, "you handle your shit, huh? What's your name?" The woman stayed silent, watching him as he put his hand on his chest, "Well, I'm Negan and I'm pretty sure we're gonna get along pretty fucking great, don't you?"
