LOVE SCARS || Daryl Dixon

I

ISABELLÁ

IT WAS HOTTER THAN HELL, but what did I expect? It was the middle of summer in Georgia. I was so grateful that I was able to find some shorts because with trousers on in this heat, I wouldn't last. Sweat beaded up on my face as I stalked slowly through the woods, taking care with every step ensuring that I didn't snap a twig and notify ever Rotter of my whereabouts.

My thick brown hair stuck against the back of my neck and down my back. My sweat turning it into some damp hot mess. I was beyond tempted to just hack it all off. It was a liability, always getting in the way. It made me ten times hotter in the summer and I'm sure it would be the death of me one day.
But I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was too pretty. It reminded me of the old world. Back when it mattered how you're hair looked, back when I'd actually have contact with other people.

I crouched down, examining the tracks in-front of me. A deer, I think.

I'd been teaching myself to hunt and track since the beginning. I knew I had to get away from city because it was becoming over run.
When the outbreak happened I was living in the city.  I wasn't alone exactly when the world happened. For the first week or so I was in a group. I wouldn't necessarily have called them my friends from before the outbreak but they were something like that.

But they were dangerous, not in the way you'd expect, they were wreck less and clueless. Groups don't work, you've got to trust the people in the group, protect them. And shockingly, I have trust issues. I'd always been better off alone.

After I split off from the group I headed towards woods and farmland. There were too many rotters in the city, if I stayed there a day longer I'd be dead. For sure. I knew my old group were dead for sure, honestly this didn't bother me too much. Once I moved out the city, I had to learn to hunt because out here there would be no way to survive otherwise.

I carried small revolver which was in a holster above my right hip, two Glock 17s which were strapped to my outer thighs, 6 throwing knifes all hidden in sheaths strapped to my body; one at the base of my spine, one pressed again each of my shoulder blades, one in my boot, another on my inner thigh and the last one pressed obviously against my hip, a XM16E1 rifle strapped across my back. I also had a dozen more knives stashed in my rucksack along with a few grenades and a shit ton of bullets.
I liked to carry light....