The art of survival (Maya Hart/joshaya)

Chapter 1

So I decided to write another GMW story. This is in the middle of an apocalypse, so you know, the walking dead and stuff. It will probably be a Joshaya story but I haven't really decided yet. Leave your thoughts down below if you have any ideas. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy the story.

I pulled the trigger and the familiar bang echoed through my ears. I didn't even flinch anymore. I didn't feel the chills down my back or the guilt gripping around my hearth with cold hands. I didn't feel sick about the blood coming from the hole that was perfectly placed in the man's forehead. He died directly. I didn't even need to check his pulse. He was dead, another man to add onto my list.

I checked his pockets and found some dry food and a passport. I carefully placed the passport in his pocket once again and grabbed his gun. I checked it closely. It was in worse shape than mine and it had eight bullets left. I took seven of them and then I wiped of any fingerprints off of the gun and placed it in his right hand. He had held the gun in his right hand when I met him so he was probably using his right arm when shooting. Every detail had to be perfect. I needed people to think that he committed suicide. At least long enough so that I could run a long way from here. It may sound harsh but in this world you need to do what you have to do. I hadn't been here a long time so I would be the first person the people in the community would suspect as a murderer. I might only be five feet tall and having my blonde long hair in two braids but the coldness and darkness I had lived in had made me hard. People scented that even before I opened my mouth.

I quickly took my backpack and put the dried pineapple in it. It wasn't much but it was something. I made sure that my knife and gun was safely placed in my belt and put on my dirty green backpack again. I was just about to leave when I heard the sound of something crushing the dry leaves on the ground. Reacting directly, I jumped to the nearest tree and quickly climbed up on it so that I was protected by the tightly placed leaves. If someone was coming they wouldn't see me. I sat still and waited. It is probably just a growler. That was what I called them. They were like zombies. They were dead but it didn't feel right to call them that. They were growlers. They are growlers.

They were coming closer. I took the knife in my hand in case I would have to make a run for it. I looked down on the ground. It was only three growlers. I could take them out in my sleep by now. A year ago I had trouble with just one. I sighed of relief. One thing I had learned the hard way was that it wasn't the growlers that were the big threat in this world. It was the humans. I jumped down from the tree and quickly stabbed one of the growlers in the head. By the time another of them had turned around I quickly pierced through its eye with my knife. When I tried to pull out the knife from the skull I realized it was stuck. I tried once again to pull it out to no luck, just my luck. I turned around and dragged the last walker down on the ground and stomped on its face. My brown boots were covered with disgustingly read blood that had splashed onto my military jacket and jeans. I took a moment to breathe before I took a secure grip around the handle of my knife and pulled it out. Then I ran, I had already wasted so much time. Time was something that was always very unreliable in this world.