Vanessa Taylor, a sassy blue haired, tattooed cosmetologist with a mouth of a sailor was born and raised in Ohio. One summer while she was visiting her sick father, her connecting flight ends in the city getting shut down, leaving her stranded in th...
I had been using the trees for cover over the last few miles, unsure if he has lookouts planted on the road. I've been canvassing the area as I go, taking my time so I'm not overly tired by the time I show up at his doorstep. From the map that's buried in my back pocket, he's about twenty miles from the Kingdom. I decided to go on foot, allowing him to believe he's safe. The bike would be entirely too loud and horses aren't the best way to travel due to walkers liking to feast on them, too. Count your fucking hours, asshole.
I glance up at the sky, deciding I need to find a place with four walls so I can relax and recollect myself for about an hour or two before I begin to track under the moonlight. Luck seemingly on my side as it only takes a few minutes to locate a house. I kick the door in, waiting for any walkers that might be hiding inside, but also keeping an eye on the strange environment around me. When I'm not met with any tells of the dead, I carefully stalk through the threshold. I lock the door behind me, closing the blinds to each room, while simultaneously checking for anyone alive that could kill me while my guard is down.
I meander up the stairs, stumbling upon a room. I decide to use my nervous energy to scavenge through the belongings in case there's anything useful. However, I don't have high hopes. This far into the Apocalypse, almost every place is bled dry.
I cock my head as I'm proved wrong; a possible new attire staring back at me - it's a black, leather bikers outfit. Curiously, I strip out of my clothes, leaving only my onyx T-shirt. I try on my new find. I let out a small laugh as it fits like this discovery was meant to be mine. With further inspection, I discover a face mask that covers my face, sans my eyes, and a matching hood lying haphazardly next to it. I pull the hood up over my hair, securing it in place. I drag on my combat boots. I finish the look with gloves with the same material.
I stand in front of the full length mirror, falling in love with the outfit. It hides my body shape - for the most part - a long with my tattoos, and identity. It's fucking perfect for a woman is supposed to be dead. I decide this is mine. I leave my leather pants on the bed, returning my sword and its sheath across my back, pinning my throwing knives and their belt across my waist. I hike the bag back on my shoulder, grabbing Carol's bow and arrow on my way out of the room. She decided that bringing a gun would be a bad idea, too much noise, wanting to keep the surprise on my side, she had lent me her weapons.
I don't plan on using a gun anyway. I'm just dying to get my hands on the piece of shit.
Before leaving the house behind, I step inside in the garage, smiling as I find a can of gasoline. I grab one of the empty plastic bottles from my bag. After filling it full of my new find, I dash off into the night with renewed vigor.
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I stand behind the tree, observing Owen's smug face through an open window. I've already silently taken down his guards on watch. It's been too fucking easy. I grip the bow and arrow, dragging it taut. Letting the tension build, I let the arrow go, watching it sing through the air; I smirk as it lodges itself into his leg, nailing him to the wall. I grab the second arrow; making sure he stays against the wall until I get through the door. I finger glides along my throwing knife, tossing it into the air; I grin as it embeds into his shoulder.
