Up In Flames || Daryl Dixon [EDITING]

01

CHAPTER ONE
THE END OF THE FUCKING WORLD

When Mabel imagined the world ending, she hadn't expected it to be so quiet.

The raging fires that had swarmed Atlanta when the bombs dropped, the deadly silence that hung over the highway as evacuees watched their city burn; everything became an eerily distant memory.

Before the fall, Mabel lived in an apartment complex with a coffee maker and flatscreen television. She used to have an assortment of different coloured pantsuits and pencil skirts in her wardrobe that she would wear to work. She even used to have running water and a fridge stocked with fresh food.

Months on, she ended up wearing the same pair of torn jeans that were once black and skin tight on her, but soon faded to grey and hung loose at the hips. She owned about three different t-shirts and had a red checked flannel or black hoodie to choose between when the alternative was being washed.

She was living on a campsite near a quarry (Mabel used to fucking hate camping but she'd tried not to put up too much of a fuss about it since, well, there wasn't exactly an alternative) in a tent that she shared with her little sister Ryan, an equally unenthusiastic camper. There were around twenty of them staying there, most having come across the spot when they were leaving the highway after the city bombing. Mabel liked to call herself one of the founding fathers, since she was the one who's located it, and it had been her idea to hike up the hill with Shane and check it out.

It was a picturesque little place and quite beautiful, especially in the morning when the sun was starting to filter through the trees and made the quarry water glisten.

They all had their own jobs to do around the camp, and the system seemed to work well. Mabel preferred to keep herself busy, it stopped her from having too much time to think.

Initially, she'd found the silence unsettling. Traffic didn't hum in the background anymore, planes no longer flew overhead, the general hustle and bustle of life was gone. There weren't any working radio stations to listen to, no news reports in the background, no music. Even the birds had stopped chirping, as if there was nothing left for them to sing for.

Over time, Mabel had managed to somewhat adjust to the newfound quietness of life. Sometimes, usually when she'd be laying on a towel beside the water with a good book and soaking up the sun, she welcomed it, thinking it was actually quite peaceful – blissful, almost. Until Carl, in a mischievous mood, would sneak over, tip a bucket of water on her and then run away giggling.

Obviously, some things never changed.

Whenever Mabel could not stop her thoughts from flooding in, she often mulled over the beginning of the end. She'd come to the conclusion that they were all a bit stupid for not recognising the severity of the situation.