THUNDER BOOMED ON, LIGHTNING too: striking in-between 30 to 40 second intervals as she held her knees suffocatingly up to her chest. The shed she'd garnered as home couldn't really be called a home. She missed being able to use that word: and how potentially good it felt. home. She dreamt of it, every waking night and all the following sleepless days. First, she counted one night. Then two. Then three, to four, to five, until the number reached fifty. Her hair - matted and greasy, her body - scarred, scuffed and burnt red raw from the blaring sun. I used to like hot days, she'd thought when she found herself wandering aimlessly through un-shaded fields and open roads. With her horribly blunt knife, she had cut her jeans from her ankle to her knee, rolling them up so that if she had to, she could run. Carl's flannel hung from her shoulders like gospel, sick, sweet, and untruthful. It wasn't just fabric, held together by checkers and measly string. It was hope. And that was more dangerous than anything in these woods.
To try and salvage her humanity after eating bugs and licking bones clean, she made up a game. She would say her name, over and over, her age, her friends names, her mom's name. She'd recite old conversations to prove to herself that they were actually real. She would whisper everything she knew to the forest, so that maybe, if she did die, it might remember her, and what she did. What she had tried to do.
The rain pattered on roughly outside, as she trembled with a frightful cold and dampened clothes. occasionally, rain would seep through the cracks in the thatched roof, catching her off-guard and rolling from the roots of her hair to the hilt of her chin, like a tear. In her darkest of moments, she might imagine her mother singing her a lullaby (something she'd never done, but she knew other mothers did) or Carl resting his head on her shoulder. Acts so simple, but so comforting. Even if someone was just there - anyone, really, she'd be eternally thankful.
She hadn't even thought of being sad, she'd had to push herself to her limits, crying wasn't even an option. But the acid rain felt lethal this night, and she wished desperately to be someone else. Anyone else. dead, maybe. She could never sleep, so at night she still roamed, and now that she'd stopped - letting the silence consume her - everything had her in it's grasp.
It was here she would stay for three whole days, no food, no water, and a fucked up knife that she had rammed into the wood out of anger and helplessness. This whole time, she had been running from it, sprinting away, but she knew now why it would never go away. At first, she had thought there were only two ways this could go: she could live, or she could die. But now, she really, really wished that was true.
When she had woken up, lying on concrete floor and doused in blood, she didn't know where she was. It came to her quickly, and she was glad it did, as walkers were everywhere. She'd never, ever seen as many as she did that day, and they were all coming to get her.
The rubble hadn't hit her, she was lucky for that. The prison was completely gone, and she only let that sting when she had managed to get away. In the first week, she was confident that she would find someone, at least. When the second rolled around, and she'd nearly died protecting herself from five walkers, she felt less inclined to think so. Her hope was almost completely drained when she lay her eyes on the bus. The bus full of escapees, or, what was left of them.
After that, all she ever questioned was the fact that she might never see any of them again.
4 days in that shed, and she was ready to die. Ready to succumb to the earth, to the world, to lose against it. But she would be peaceful, and selfishly she hoped that maybe if she was going to die, she'd meet one of the many people she had lost in afterlife. And that, was when the door swung wide open and almost smacked her in the face. It made a horrid noise as the draft blew rain water right into her dirt-caked face.
She grabbed the knife that rested limply on the floor beside her, holding it out to protect herself. When the figure revealed themselves, she was shocked to find that they were significantly smaller than she was. Maybe she had grown freakishly in the last few weeks? no, that couldn't be it. Because malnourishment stunted your growth, it did not encourage it. It wasn't until this person turned their head to her, that she realised this was a girl.
"Wait! Wait, I'm not a walker!" she yelled out, but before she could finish her sentence Jane was already lunging for her, making an attempt at her neck, but her fatigue compelled her frail bones to fail, and she just sunk to the floor, completely passed out. She was finally going to die.
ONCE AGAIN, SHE WAS wrong. She cursed as her eyes began to open and everything started to ache. Sunlight streamed in through smashed windows and splinters in the wood, and as she squinted her eyes at the figure that sat infront of her, she realised she hadn't died.
"Hold still," the girl snapped as she did something to Jane's head. Only when she had felt the little pricks of pain did she clock on. The girl was nothing short of pretty - dark skin, long braided hair, with an alarmingly strong grasp.
"What are you doing to me?" Jane asked frantically, trying to move away but she was just too weak.
"Helping you, jeez," the needle pricked again. "You need some water? I collected some from the rain a few days ago. Don't worry, it's filtered." Funnily enough, that was the last thing Jane was worrying about.
"Are you going to kill me?" She asked, a croak evident in her voice. She did need water.
"You definitely need water." The girl poured some of her rainwater into the cap of a bottle and shot it into Jane's mouth, and as soon as she swallowed, she craved more. Her once soft skin was now rough and tarnished, driven with rust of the past and dirt of the future. Blood under her nails, tear stains on her face. She'd never been less herself. Yet, she felt as if this was her truest form, for no good reason at all.
"I'm not going to kill you. I'm only fourteen." She says, and Jane wants to speak up, she wants to tell the girl that she's just a kid too, that she was alone and hurt and scared, and that was funny, because it was obvious.
"My name's Ellie, by the way." Nice name, she thought, though she could not say it.
Jane fell in and out of consciousness, and each time she awoke, she expected the girl to be gone. But every time she was there - sitting in the same spot, just watching.
When she'd awoken for good, she had managed to blurt out her name. Just her name.
"Wow. I didn't think you spoke at all. I'm impressed." The girl offered up a small grin as Jane just sat there, looking abruptly up at her.
"What's your name?" Jane asked, her voice pierced with dryness.
"Ellie. Ellie Mitchell." Ellie answered, getting up from her spot on the floor. She examined Jane, a puzzled look plastered on her face. "You're lucky I got to you before some rotter did. Or worse, another person."
After her interrogation, Ellie backed out the door to go hunt some food. Jane should've been ready for the girl to bolt the minute she stepped free of that door, but frankly she couldn't even care to think about it. So what if she did? It would be just the same as before. If she was lucky, Ellie might just decide to kill her. Put her out of this endless misery.
"We call them walkers." Jane chirped up, when Ellie had come back with cooked squirrel legs. Jane had almost went feral over even the sight of the thing. Now she sat scoffing it down, pulling meat from the bone roughly with her bare teeth.
"Really? Where'd you get that from?"
"I'm not really sure, actually. In the early days, a guy from our group used to call them geeks. What made you call them rotters?" A guy. His name was Glenn. Had she forgotten already?
"They rot and stuff."
"Nice." Jane states, a mouthful of food.
"So like, did you forget your backpack somewhere? Because I don't think we can go back for it."
"What? Oh, no. I don't have one."
"You mean you don't have anything?" Jane nods, watching Ellie closely. She was currently so fascinated by her, between her obscure humour and still intact friendliness - she might actually get Jane back on her feet again.
For the first time in a while, Jane took a look around the shed. She noticed how blankets were shoved in a corner and empty cans adorned the place. it was clearly someone's hideout, or stash. Why had she been so oblivious to something so obvious? If it hadn't been Ellie it would've been someone else, and then she would be dead.
Ellie gestured to a stool beside the mess of comforters, and Jane stood up on her rickety limbs and planted herself onto it. Ellie looked closely at the girl, before grabbing a tattered cloth and mopping up all the blood stains and dirt that has settled to her complexion.
She ran her fingers over the small cuts and bruises sprinkled on Jane's shoulders - humming slightly.
"How'd you get these?"
"I'm not sure," she mumbled, "everything's blurry."
"That's how it was for me, for a long time. But I found my feet. Got this bow-" she says, as she hoists up a beautifully carved wooden bow with a matching leather quiver. The birch was caressed with pattern, some little pictures, others just shapes. The handle was wrapped in gauze, and she suspected Ellie had done so herself. She noticed Jane gawking at it; oh, how beautiful it was.
"Yeah, it was getting uncomfortable to hold, so I came up with a solution."
"It's beautiful." She tells Ellie truthfully.
"I made it. My dad taught me. Before he died." Jane shoots her an apologetic look, but Ellie shoos it away. "Don't be sorry, it was a long time ago now."
"My dad died too." Jane clears her throat before continuing. "He was bit. My sister, as-well."
Ellie says nothing, moving her eyes to assess the wounds on Jane's collarbone.
"We all lived together. A whole group of us. But I had to run. I don't know if I'll ever see them again." She grimaces as the rubbing alcohol seeps into her open skin. "We were attacked. I don't know if anyone is alive. I hope to god they are."
"Wow. My story is less interesting." Ellie took a deep breath before starting. "When this thing started, it was just me and my dad. My mom died when I was younger, and to be honest, I'm glad she did. I'm glad she didn't have to experience this world. Then it was my dad. We survived for a bit, but I knew it was coming. My dad was gaining on age, he was somewhere between 60 and 70. They had me quite late. Anyway, he got bit. Shot himself."
"How did you do it? Survive?" She asks. Ellie smiles.
"I don't know. It's just a thing you learn to do, being out here for so long. You should know that."
I've never been good at surviving, not even when I was safe. She thought, straying away from Ellie's gaze and piercing her eyes out the window.
This was the first night in weeks that Jane had slept, and had not been woken up by a horrific nightmare or a horrible snarling noise. The wind whistled and the rain settled, though the cold never gnawed at her quite as much as it had the previous night. What was different? She wanted to live. She might actually have something ahead of her, something worth it - all possible because of Ellie.
But she did think about Carl a whole lot, which was admittedly painful.
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Ellie is the loml 💗💗💗