A single forlorn wail echoes through the mesa, and she stops in her tracks. The evening is warm, but something about the night is wrong. Perhaps it is because it's a windless night, or maybe it's the rusted blue pickup parked outside that definitely isn't her father's. Most of all, the air feels heavy. A wail comes from the deceivingly welcoming glow of the adobe house. As she draws near, another wail drifts from the open window of the portable home, followed by a mournful question, "What have you done?" A single gunshot, followed by a sickening thud. And that's when she knows what she needs to do.
The smell of damp earth fills my lungs as a take a shaky breath in. I open my eyes. I can see the stars through the gaps in the tree branches above. The branches rustle unnaturally, as if urging me to rise. Up, up, up, they seem to whisper.
I sit up, and the chill of the night air sends a shiver down my spine. My head throbs. I try to think back to the last thing I remember. The barn. There are walkers inside. I'm on watch. I pause, blood boiling. Shane. The memories come flooding back.
I wriggle out of some loosely tied bindings on my wrists. He must have known I was going to be conscious for awhile. Shouldn't have let him come near me, I scold myself.
I feel like I'm in a dream, not quite awake but not quite asleep. I can feel that the air is cold, by my body is in a sort of neutral state where I exist sovereignly, unaffected by the elements around me. A breeze that is not quite cold and not quite warm stalks through the trees, bringing with it a feeling of discomfort and anxiety. The sounds of the forest are muted, and all I can hear clearly is my own breathing.
The sound of someone walking nearby breaks through the mental fog, startling me. I press myself flat against the tree trunk as the unknown person shuffles past. I wonder if it's maybe someone from the group, looking for me. A groan and the smell of rotting flesh quickly signify otherwise.
I shift my weight and a twig beneath me snaps, catching the dead woman's attention. Her cloudy blue eyes catch the starlight as she advances toward me at an alarming speed. I dodge her, shoving her into the gnarled tree trunk behind me. She impales herself on a protruding root, and I cringe as I kneel on top of her and use the opportunity to smash her face into the trunk, again and again. Blood from her abdomen soaks through the knees of my pants. I whimper as I repeatedly drive her soft skull into the bark, the cracking of bone and the squelch of flesh filling my ears. Spatters of blood and bone pelt my in the face and I hold my breath. I stop when she's gone limp, but pick up a jagged rock nearby and force it into the base of her skull to be sure. A spurt of blood spatters my shirt, dripping like syrup down my chest. My face and upper body is drenched in what I can only assume is cerebrospinal fluid and blood, and I can already feel whatever is on my face coagulating and settling into the corners of my mouth and nose.
Gunshots ring out in the night, and the hairs on my arms stand up. The anxious feeling in the air grows thicker, threatening to smother me. I start toward the noise, but flinch when someone bumps into me from behind. Instead of snarling or lunging at me, a walker looks me dead in the eyes and growls lowly, pushing past me toward the sound of gunshots. He completely ignores me and limps forward. I ready myself when another appears out of the trees, but this one doesn't even look at me.
Maybe I'm dreaming. I continue to stand very still as walkers continue to pass me by, each barely even noticing me. One pauses near me, sniffing the air intently. He lets out a low growl before hobbling on.
I sniff the air, wondering what he was on the trail of, and nearly gag when the smell of blood and rotten flesh hits me. I look down at my gore covered body. The smell. I quietly realize.
Another gunshot rings out, this one more faint. The scent of smoke and ash fans over my face as we come to the clearing that is the beginning of Hershel's property. It makes me nauseous. The smell of burning wood is all too familiar to me.
Still, I can't help but gasp when I spot the barn, lit ablaze. Dozens of digos stumble toward the barn as the flames angrily lick at the night sky.
I listen for anything, anyone besides the crackling wood and the numerous groans. Nothing. The vehicles are all gone, which means atleast a few made it out. Daryl's bike is nowhere in sight.
No one.
My heart sinks to my stomach followed by the gut wrenching hurt of betrayal rising to my chest as I wonder if Daryl even bothered to look, if anyone said anything at all, or if they were so desperate to save themselves they simply forgot about me.
The loneliness I felt after Denali and Johnny was a dull, aching feeling, like a bruise. With time it seemed to heal. This kind of alone felt like a hard strike to the face, because this time there was a decision, and the decision was to leave me to fend for myself.
Another walker passes me without a second glance. I contemplate my options, then follow him toward the barn.
I shuffle past a group of walkers feeding on something I don't care to investigate, all too aware that my time here is limited.
I silently creep up the porch into the house. The Greene's home is undisturbed for now. Whoever made it out left in a hurry, and left a few things behind. I grab Glenn's backpack, a raggedy green thing strewn cross the dining room table, and stuff it with what I can find in the cupboards. His ball cap sits next to it, no doubt left behind in the frenzy. I pick it up hesitantly, and put it in my bag.
Footsteps creak down the hall, and I snatch a baseball bat from the foot of the stairs, the same one Maggie used just weeks ago.
A desperate whinny rises above the moans that drift through the back window and I zip the bag shut, moving as quietly as possible out the back porch. I grab some dull, rusty scissors sitting out on the kitchen table on my way out, looking around for better options when I hear another drawn out whinny.
Shadow, the black horse from before, rears nervously as a group of digos press against the fence, hands outstretched and grasping for her hungrily. I sling the bag over my shoulder and make a run for the back pasture, throwing open the sliding glass door. A walker drags his mangled leg behind him on the opposite side. After he sniffs the air some, he lets out a low gurgle and hobbles toward me, and a pang of adrenaline courses through my body. He can smell me. I grip the scissors and shove him backwards , driving them into his eye. I throw myself over the railing, easily hopping the wooden fence and darting past the growing herd that press against the gate. The black mare gallops the perimeter of the pasture anxiously, braying to the horses in the opposite field desperately.
"Whoa!" I shout at her, waving my arms in an attempt to slow her.
Shadow's eyes are wide as she rears up, unable to recognize me beneath the gore. I put out my hand for her to sniff and she settles, throwing her head.
The gate strains with the pressure of the dozens of digos on the other side, and I can hear the once sturdy wooden beams pop and crack.
I push myself up onto her back, throwing my leg over her haunches and tightly gripping her mane in my fists.
The top pole of the fence splits, and walkers tumble over the compromised barrier like water overfilling a glass. I slap Shadow's hindquarters with all my strength and she breaks into a full gallop, I think as eager to escape as me. I direct her toward the western fence by the well, and squeeze my eyes shut as we speed nearer, praying she'll make the jump.
Almost effortlessly, I feel her leave the ground and impact the other side in the blink of an eye, continuing on toward the hunting path. We don't stop running for nearly an hour, even when we can't hear the walkers, even when the stars disappear. Shadow only slows to a brisk canter when we get to the edge of the forest, where the old trees end and the saplings begin. I let Shadow forge the path, allowing her instinct to guide us out of the sapling forest and into the sweeping grassland. My mind wanders back across the ever changing Georgia terrain to Daryl, and I wonder where he must be. With the others, I hope. I wonder if he knows I'm alive, and if he even though to go back to look for me. I am torn between hoping he did and praying he didn't.
I shake the longing thoughts from my mind, and try to take solace in knowing he is alive. I'm on my own, now, I tell myself. Have to see things for how they are, not how I want them to be.
Shadow drops into a smooth trot when the sun breeches the horizon, sweat trickling down her neck. The brisk autumn breeze cuts through my skin like a knife and sends rippling waves through the tall grasses. Shadow turns up a gravel road, snorting and nickering softly as though talking to me. I give her a pat on the neck, letting out a sigh of relief. "Good girl." I rasp simply.
I gingerly slide off of Shadow's back when we reach what appears to be some sort of checkpoint for the mountain biking trail Shadow has chosen. I turn to the clearing. There's a splintery looking bench and a bike rack, along with a small brick gazebo overlooking what must be some sort of fish pond. Shadow wades into the shallow water, drinking thirstily. I wonder if it's safe, and decide to trust Shadow's instinct once more, filling a jar for boiling later. I pad back to the gazebo, stretching my aching arms and legs.
Behind a protective layer of plastic, a map of the area rests alongside a description of local birds to look out for. I find the general area I think Hershel's house must have been, just off the highway, and drag my finger through the forest we passed through and across the grassland to the shiny blue star next to the label, YOU ARE HERE.
I contemplate my options. The group had left me for dead. Even Daryl. I blink hard. No one is coming for you, I remind myself harshly. You're alone.
I finally let the anger settle in. Everything I had done for them, and they left me like I was nothing. They couldn't have even been bothered to leave me a weapon, or a car. Left for dead by the people I so desperately worked to please for months.
And Daryl... Was he really so detached that I could go from the one he cared about to a person so disposable?
I decide then and there that I would not seek after any group, especially not the one that left me behind. All they'd ever brought me was pain, just like everyone always does. I'd nearly died for them. I thought that at the very least, Daryl was worth it all, but maybe it was never meant to be anything. Maybe it was that was all we would ever be, an incomplete story, written halfway and without an ending. Maybe it was all in vain. How could someone find happiness in a world like this?
The mid morning sun radiates through the autumn chill. The goosebumps on my arms disappear. The Georgian warmth prevails today, but soon sleeping outside will no longer be an option.
Then again, to head south for the winter seemed like a death sentence. Trapped between the sea and the digos? Not a promising situation.
I'd heard once that the cold slowed the walkers down, and that once it got below freezing they simply stopped moving. Johnny said that the last time he'd heard from his uncle in Wyoming, he'd come across a whole herd standing still in the snow, nearly harmless.
I glance down at my bare legs. Perhaps if I was able to spend another few weeks in what's left of the southern warmth gathering supplies, I could make it somewhere up north. Maybe I could find somewhere for Shadow and I to live, high in the mountains, safe from the walkers and safe from the people.
I can do this. I think to myself. And even if I can't, I have to.