Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

t h r e e

Presley awakened to the sound of Zeva's soft growl. She turned her head, seeing the dog perched in the passengers side of the Jeep. Stumbling around the camp was a roamer. Her tattered clothing barely hung onto her skin, making her appear frail and very breakable. Presley noted she'd been a dead one for a while.

Thankfully, she'd packed up their stuff last night so there was no need to get out of the car. Rubbing her eyes groggily, she patted the black dog on the head before starting the Jeep. The roamer turned, jaw dropping as she stumbled towards the window. She pressed herself to the glass of the Sahara, trying to knaw through it to get to the living creatures on the inside. Ignoring the dead, Presley urged the Jeep Sahara out of the camp, leaving the dead in the dust.

She drove in silence. It was days like these she wished that Zeva could at least talk. Sometimes she wondered if she as really just going crazy. Who wouldn't, at this day and age? Shaking her head, she pressed play on a CD. Unfortunately the music selection was limited, due to the fact that Sirius radio no longer existed. She relied on CDs to amuse herself, picking up a new one on random raids.

She hummed along to the song, driving along the unfamiliar road. She knew that there was a small town a ways away from the place that she had set camp. She could only hope that it was actually in this direction. A sign proved her assumption had been correct.

Having grown up in Washington, her knowledge of the Georgia land was limited. She relied on maps, now that GPS didn't exist anymore. While it did take longer, it was just as efficient.

"Lookie here, cupcake." She chirped as she pulled up to the gas station. A few roamers turned and looked at her, bloody drool dripping down from their lips. Taking no time, she stepped out of the Jeep and adjusted the quiver on her back. Three arrows later, Zeva was bounding forward and carefully pulling the arrows from the corpses. The bodies hadn't even had the chance to get close enough to get a good whiff.

They both hesitated in front of the building. Zeva didn't growl, signaling that there at least wasn't anything right on the other side of the door. Knocking an arrow into place, she kicked the door open and shuffled inside, turning and looking over every section. The black dog's head swiveled back and forth, ready to alert her owner.

Most of the stuff was picked over, but a few bags and cans kept her hopeful. She collected until the basket was overflowing, and even then continued picking. She only stopped when Zeva froze, the hair on the back of her neck bristling. Presley stopped, laying down the basket as silently as she possibly could and readied her bow. Silent as the wind, she crept around the corner, ready to fire at the creature that had spooked the both of them.

Only, instead of golden-white eyes, a pair of brown eyes looked up at her. "Don't shoot." He said quickly, putting his hand up in submission. He looked friendly enough. Though, obviously there was some fire to him, otherwise he wouldn't be alive.

"Lay down your knife." Presley ordered quickly, and the Asian hesitantly obeyed. "And all your other weapons."

He hesitated, before pulling out his gun and laying it on the floor beside his knife. "Are you alone?" Zeva continued to growl from beside the girl.

"Yes."

"Do you have a group?" He remained silent. She still insisted in him answering. "Well do you?"

"Yes."

Presley nodded, looking down at the supplies he'd gathered. He had nearly as much as herself. She lowered her bow, but still kept it at hand.

"Good for you." She said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. She smiled and stuck out a hand, tilting her head to the side. "Names Presley."

He froze, looking at her in terror. "Wait, you're Presley?"