Life I Left Behind (A Daryl Dixon Story)

Chapter Sixty-Seven

I began picking up twigs and sticks on the ground near my feet, accruing a small bundle of wood in my arms. It was mostly quiet in the forest, the only sounds being my boots against the forest floor and the occasionally chirping of a bird or insect. I made sure to keep the clearing at my back, so I wouldn't get turned around. I was getting ready to go back when I finally heard the distinct noise I was always weary of. The groaning and snarling of a walker. I took a tentative step in the direction of the sound, debating whether or not to let it be. Especially since it hadn't seen me yet. There was always the off chance, though, that it would eventually stumble its way into our clearing. Better to deal with it while I had the advantage. As the walker's rasping grew louder, I knelt quietly to the ground and set the rest of my kindling sticks in a pile near the base of the tree trunk. I gripped my baseball bat tight in both hands.

When I stepped around the side of the tree, I paused. There was a walker. Emaciated and more skeleton than flesh. A knife handle protruded from its chest, where it lay propped against a thick tree trunk. When it saw me, it began grasping at me with bony hands. The skin over it's upper lip had decayed, displaying the yellowed, rotted teeth inside its mouth. I lowered my weapon. This thing could barely move. It wasn't a threat to anybody, lying here starving to death.

Scattered around the base of the trunk were what I assumed to be its belongings. There was a brown canvas backpack, a mildewed rolled up sleeping bag, and dirty blue rain tarp draped over a makeshift shelter crafted from fallen tree limbs. I inched forward and grabbed the canvas bag before sitting back on my heels to search through it. A small cigarette lighter, a compass, an empty canteen, and a small first aid kit. In a small zippered pocket on the front was a wallet. I felt my eyebrows knit together. It was a strange thing to be carrying around still, especially when everything else in the pack was survival items. I supposed that it was the same as me carrying around my old ipod for so long. It had kept me tied to my old life, a constant reminder that once upon time there had been more than just survival.

Curiosity got the better of me and I folded open the worn leather. A wry smile tugged at my lips when I saw the crumpled twenty dollar bill tucked inside. Worthless now. It was ironic considering money had ruled most peoples lives. Now, it didn't matter how rich or poor you used to be. No one was any better than anyone else. I tucked the paper money into my back pocket. Now it would be a good fire starter. There were a few credit cards and a driver's license. I carefully slid it out and stared at the picture. A good looking man with dark brown hair and a clean shaven face smiled back at me. My eyes flickered between the man in the photo and the decrepit, barely human looking creature at my feet. Austin Michael Spence, twenty-seven years old. Just barely younger than I was.

Poking out from a hidden pocket was a folded piece of thick paper. I pulled it out and carefully unfolded a photograph. It was worn and weathered, crease lines crossing over the occupants in the photo. It was obvious he had opened and folded this back up many, many times. He was there, smiling in front of a lake. The sun reflected off the glassy surface behind him, and the sky was a perfect shade of blue. He had his arm around a pretty woman with short, chin length blonde hair. In her arms was a little boy. He had thick, curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. His chubby arms were wrapped around his mother's neck as she held him against her hip. For some unknown reason, the photograph stirred something within me. It didn't matter that it was a family of complete strangers. They had been happy. They had been alive. I looked back at the still growing walker. Now this was what was left.

My hand pressed over my stomach, anxious for the life inside of me. There would never be pictures smiling in front of a lake. There would never be backyard barbecues or birthday parties. There would never be first days of school or lazy summer days spent playing in a sprinkler in the front yard. Instead there would be this and eventually, maybe one day it would be me against the tree trunk and some stranger would come by and go through my belongings. Only they wouldn't find anything of the person I used to be. I didn't have a wallet. I didn't have photographs. All I had was Daryl, Gabe, and this baby. If anything ever happened to them...then I'd be nothing.