The Blood of the Blade (TWD Fanfic)

One

I was stranded. 

I wasn't proud, only grateful that I could get away. The icy, autumn breeze swept by, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface of my skin. Their ghastly hands clawed at the metal, rocking the semi-truck. It was a miracle I could even get up here. 

Fear had a way of making people do crazy things. That was the only thing I knew out here.

Their screeching caused me to wince. I was going to be eaten alive. I couldn't help but imagine the flesh being ripped off my bones. I crawled towards the edge and peered down at their rotting faces. There were at least thirty of them crowding the truck. Unfortunately, the noise would only draw more. I couldn't fight them and I didn't have the strength to outrun them. An aggressive rock from the semi-truck made me climb back to the middle of the roof. One mistake, and I was dead.

I closed my eyes in an attempt to rid myself of the terror I felt. I knew it wouldn't work. I couldn't escape the screeches and the clattering of their decomposed jaws. 

"Shit," I whispered through gritted teeth. I clung to the roof not daring to sit up or let go. I reached and patted my swords and my bag. I shut my eyes one last time, then sat up abruptly. I threw open my backpack and searched for my knives. 

Pulling my bag closer, I grabbed one and placed it in my lap. I dug around for a match and some oil then closed the old, raggedy backpack and strapped it back onto my back.

I stopped for a moment to peer through the darkness. More were coming, so this had to be quick. Another, particularly loud screech, sent a shiver down my spine. I tugged a piece of fabric loose from my shirt and cut it with my knife. My hands fumbled as I quickly wrapped it around the handle of the knife and tied it with a tight knot. The lid popped off of the bottle of canola oil and I and poured it on top of the fabric. 

I knew I'd need it at some point.

The light from the match illuminated my face as I stood up. A sigh escaped my lips. I held the match under the small knife. It took less than a second for the flame to ignite the cloth. I grabbed the blade with my fingertips and thrust it forward with all my might. I ducked down and laid on the roof.

 It didn't take long for the fire to start. 

I crawled to the side and watched the dead begin to peel off towards the fire. A breath of relief escaped my lips. I waited a little longer as the fire spread. The dry brush ignited without hesitation and spread without mercy. 

Soon, there was enough for me to fight off. I got to my feet and pulled out my katana swords.

I jumped to the ground from the front of the truck, bracing myself. A few came after me, their screeches loud and distinct. I jabbed the sword through its head and lifted my foot to push it back. 

It collided with another, falling to the ground as blood oozed out of the wound in its head. I didn't have time to end its pathetic life, I had to go. 

My feet scrambled into a run as I dodged a few more dead through the darkness. My sight was limited. The darkness covering the earth was all my eyes could manage to see. The wind lifted my hair long off of my shoulders as I ran. I had to cut it sometime, but I kept avoiding it. 

It was the only thing I had left from the beginning, before all of this. It was just my hair, and this old, torn backpack. 

 I tugged at the worn flannel as the wind ripped it off my shoulder. The same word bounced around my head like a bouncing ball off the wooden floor: shit. I couldn't control the words anymore. They came at their own time, and typically the worst. Those words released a feeling if you will. Every time it rolled off my tongue or echoed in my head, a small bit of built-up frustration went with it. 

 My necklace bounced off my chest with every step. I was running for my life, hopefully, one I would keep. My feet glided across the dead grass. I could hear the Dead in the distance, or at least I hoped was the distance. I was never good at outrunning these damned things. The backpack on my shoulders slammed into my back with every stride. My breath had ceased in the moment, from what I assumed was sheer terror. It had better be, or I was more out of shape than I thought. 

 My mind had circled around three words, three words that would forever be in my vocabulary and ones that would define my life. 

 I'm going to die. 

 I'm going to die. 

 I'm going to die. 

There was no life left for me to live. These monsters would consume my flesh, they would eat my fucking brains. And all I could do was run and prepare myself for the unfortunate event. Unfortunate, but inevitable. 

 The light of the night carried my feet as my legs grew weary. I could still hear them in the distance, but that would be a sound that would always greet my ears. With the reluctance of death, I slowed to a stop. Collapsing to the ground altogether. 

 My chest rose and fell heavily as I attempted to gain control of myself. Man up bitch. My comfort words. My hand reached out, grasping the dead grass, then tossing it in the air as it slowly fell back to the ground. Alright, that was your moment. Now get the fuck up before these things eat you. Against my better judgment, I listened to the demons in my head. 

 I got up with a start, my feet nearly slipping from the torn-up grass. I refused to run. I had come to the conclusion that having the flesh ripped off my bones would be much preferred. With a heave, I clutched my shoulder and began walking through the night.