Hi guys, I really hope you enjoy this first chapter of my new story. A couple of things you should know: I love The Walking Dead, but I don't want to retell the stories they've already told. So while I will use characters, places, and events from TWD, these will not always occur how and when you expect based on the TV show. For example, while my story is kind of set around season 3, Shane is still alive. Other characters who die in the series may live in my story, and some characters may not appear at all. So please read the story how it is, and try not to think too much about the timeline of the series, as it will start to be very confusing!

Any feedback is always appreciated, and I really look forward to seeing where this story goes. I hope you enjoy it! :)

When I woke up that morning, I knew that something had changed. The air felt different, as if it was somehow heavier than it had been when I fell asleep. The silence, which I had become so accustomed to over the past few months, no longer felt safe and familiar. I had a feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Slowly, not wanting to make a sound, I sat up on the couch I had been sleeping on: trying to will my ears into hearing something, anything that might tell me why I felt so uneasy.

Nothing.

I had fallen asleep reading again: some trashy novel I found a few weeks ago on one of my forays into the other apartments on my floor. It wasn't the kind of book I would've read back when I had a normal life, but things were different now, and good literature was hard to come by. Besides, I supposed it would have other uses when I inevitably ran out of toilet paper. I put the book onto the floor, and climbed to my feet, padding across the thick carpet towards the door.

I leaned against the heavy wood and peered through the peephole. All seemed normal, yet I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. I reached for the crowbar propped against the wall, feeling a little better with the heavy metal in my hands. Slowly, and oh so quietly, I opened the door and stepped outside.

All seemed normal at first glance, and I crept further into the familiar hallway. I had become rather too familiar with it, in fact, over the past few months. I felt like I could describe every carpet stain, every scuff on the walls, and every chip in the skirting board, in great detail. It wasn't just the hallway, I was becoming more knowledgeable about the apartments of my absent neighbours too, since I had found the building supervisor's keys a few weeks ago. My own food supplies had run out, and the fact that everyone had left in such a hurry meant that most of the cupboards were relatively full.

I reached the end of the hallway, and was just starting to convince myself that everything was as it should be, when I realised it wasn't. I had rounded the corner towards the stairs, which I had blocked months ago by pushing a heavy bookcase in front of them. The Dead (what other word was there for those things?), were clearly uninterested in climbing the six flights of stairs to my floor, and so I had lived quietly, and alone, for months. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had seen another person, living or dead.

But clearly that was about to change, the bookcase had toppled over, and a trail of blood led up the other set of stairs, the ones leading to the top floor of the building. I knew I had to follow it, I had to find out who, or what, was up there, but my legs were unwilling to move for at least five minutes. Finally, I mustered up all the courage I had and, gripping the crowbar tightly, I took the stairs to the seventh floor. The trail of blood led to apartment 25. I could see the door was ajar, and there were definite sounds of movement inside. I felt a lump in my throat, which failed to go away no matter how much I tried to swallow.

What should I do? Go in?

What if it was one of the Dead?

What if it wasn't?

What if it was a living person, but they try to hurt me?

I could run.

The thought hit me like a train. Since moving the bookcase and sealing myself in here, I never once considered running: leaving the safety of my apartment building for the danger of the outside. I'd been safe up here for months, how long could I truly hope to last out there? I shook my head, no, I would have to go in and deal with whoever, or whatever, was in the apartment. Maybe it would be ok. Maybe they would be someone like me, someone who just wanted to stay safe.

I moved closer and very slowly opened the door. I considered calling out: if it was a regular person, it might be safer to announce my presence, but I couldn't risk it. On first glance the living room seemed empty, though there was a heavy smell of rotting meat in the air. I stepped carefully over a broken glass vase, noting that the trail of blood was much heavier now. The hairs on my arms were standing on end, but I told myself that was just because it was cold.

Then I saw them. Five creatures, kneeling down around a body in the kitchen. I felt a choke raising in my throat, but instinctively clasped a hand to my mouth to silence it. Whoever had been bleeding was now on the floor, and the five Dead were feeding on him hungrily. I felt faint, I had not been this close to those things in a long time. I knew I had to get out. I could lock this apartment before they heard me, move the bookcase back to stop any more coming up. Perhaps I could still be safe.

I backed away slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on the gorging creatures.

Crack!

I looked down to see a piece of the broken vase under my sneaker. I heard the Dead growling, and when I looked up they were already on their feet. I spun round, running from the room without looking back. I was halfway down the stairs when I realised I might've still had time to lock the door behind me. Not now. Instead I ran towards my apartment, narrowly avoiding a collision with two Dead women who were coming up the stairs.

I ran so fast my throat burned, but soon I was at my front door. I threw myself inside, slamming it closed behind me. I slid the lock into place just as the Dead arrived. They hammered against the heavy wood, but mercifully it held strong.

I stood with my back to the door, then allowed myself to slide to the ground. My heart seemed to show no sign of slowing. This was it. The world may have ended months ago, but this was the first time I had been well and truly fucked.

I wasn't sure how long I had been trapped in my apartment. I lost track of time because I began sleeping at odd hours. I knew it had been days since I encountered the Dead, yet every time I looked through the peephole they were still there. They had long since stopped hammering on the door, but looked as if they had no intention of doing anything other than shuffling around outside. I couldn't hope to survive a fight with them, or a drop from one of my windows, so until they moved on I had no way of getting out.

One morning, it must've been five or six days after being trapped, I realised I would not survive much longer. I had one small bottle of water, and no food. No one was coming to save me, so I had two choices: starve to death in safety, or attempt to fight my way out. In reality, the first option was the most appealing. Even if I somehow managed to kill or avoid the Dead in the hallway (and that was beyond doubtful), where would I even go? I had no idea what it was really like out there, were there even any living people left?

I shook my head, scoffing at the idea that I could be the only one who had managed to survive so far. Of course there would be people, there were always people. Soldiers in some army base, or Government officials in underground bunkers, or even armed rednecks out in the sticks. There would be survivors, people always found a way to stay alive. Sure, getting ripped apart and eaten wasn't exactly the way I planned on dying, but I would not allow myself to waste away to nothing trapped in this apartment I had come to hate. I would escape, and it would be today.

Or maybe tomorrow.

At that moment there was a sound from the hall outside. Not the normal shuffling and groaning I had started to become used to. No, these were small thuds, as though heavy objects were being dropped onto the thick carpet. Then a smash.

I grabbed my crowbar and ran to the peephole. No sign of the Dead. Was this my chance?

Without pausing to talk myself out of it, I flung open the door.

I didn't realise I was standing in a pool of blood until I felt it soak through my sneakers. I looked down, and saw the bodies of two of the Dead at my feet. Their heads were several feet away under the hall table.

Who did this?

The question was immediately answered when a woman walked purposefully out of one of the apartments down the hall, wiping the blade of what looked like a samurai sword on a rag. She was tall, dark skinned, and wore an expression of disbelief when she saw me.

"Hi," I said into the silence, embarrassingly aware of how strange that word sounded in the current situation.

The woman glanced around. "Are you alone in there?" She asked, pointing towards my apartment with her still dripping sword. I nodded.

"Good," she replied, striding purposefully towards me. I stepped back instinctively to let her inside, and realised that she was bleeding.

"It's not a bite," she said quickly. "I cut myself on some glass. You got a needle and thread?"

I grimaced, I knew where this was going, and despite the current climate I was still incredibly squeamish. But this woman needed help, so I simply nodded, and gestured for her to come inside.

"I'm Michonne," the woman said once she was sitting on the couch.

"Kate." My voice sounded strange, and I realised that I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken to another person. I was out of practice conversation-wise.

"Didn't know there was anyone alive in here," Michonne said, looking around the apartment.

"Just me," I replied, "Everyone left on the buses when the evacuation order came."

"But not you?" Michonne asked.

I shrugged, "I missed the bus. Probably for the best, I don't like crowds." Michonne gave a half smile.

It took me several minutes to find a sewing kit in one of my bedroom drawers, and then several more trying to work out when on earth I had ever decided to purchase it: I was not known for my haberdashery skills. In fact, the last time I had tried to sew on a button, I ended up stitching a shirt together. Then remembered what I was meant to be doing, and hurried back to Michonne. "Will this do?" I asked.

Michonne nodded, then lifted her shirt slightly to show the wound in her side. "Would you mind?" She asked. It wasn't that bad, but it must've been enough to make the colour drain from my face, because Michonne quickly added, "Maybe I'll do it."

I handed her the sewing kit gratefully, watching as she threaded a needle and then, as if she had done it a thousand times, began to stitch up the wound. I could only watch for a few seconds before I started to feel a little faint, and so I headed to the kitchen to see if I had anything at all to offer this woman. Then I remembered I didn't, but perhaps I could check the other apartments now they were clear "I'll get you something to eat," I said to Michonne. "I'll be right back."

When I returned I was surprised to see Michonne was already up and walking around the apartment. In fact, she was rifling through my kitchen drawers. She looked a little sheepish when she realised I was watching her. "Sorry," she replied. "It's a habit. I haven't seen another person for a while, and most houses I go into are empty."

"You live out there?" I asked, gesturing to the window and unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

"I move a lot," Michonne replied. "It's safer that way, but yeah."

Neither of us said anything for a few moments, it was clear that we weren't all that used to talking to other people. "You're good with that," I finally said, nodding at Michonne's sword.

Michonne shrugged. "It does the job, you have to go for the head. You know that, right?"

I nodded, even though I didn't know that, but I guessed it made sense. Michonne clearly wasn't buying it, however, because she continued. "Have you fought those things before?"

There wasn't much point lying. "Not really. Only one. I mostly ran on the first day, and I've been here ever since."

Michonne looked genuinely shocked, but she composed herself quickly. She looked around my living room again. "What are your plans now?" She asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Michonne continued, "Are you going to stay here?"

I considered this, what an odd question. "What other choice is there? I've got food, water, and it's safe again…Thanks for that by the way."

Michonne brushed off the thanks, "What about when the food runs out?"

I didn't want to think about that. Sure, the apartments had been pretty full of supplies, but they wouldn't last forever. I sighed, "I don't know," I replied honestly.

"You could come with me."

I blinked, I hadn't been expecting that. "Why?" I asked, before realising how rude it sounded.

"Well….I could teach you how to take care of yourself…" Michonne began.

"No, I mean, why would you want to?" I clarified. "I mean, I'll hardly be any help. I'll probably slow you down more than anything…"

Michonne smiled properly for the first time since I met her. It changed her face entirely, softening it, and making her look far more like the kind of person you would want to spend time with. "I guess it'll just be nice to have someone to talk to."

"You've clearly never had to spend any time in a car with me."

Michonne smiled again. She seemed like she genuinely just wanted some company, and I knew I'd be a hell of a lot safer with her than I would be if I tried to make it out there alone. But that didn't mean so much now that the building was safe again. I wondered if I should ask it I should ask for some time to think it over, yet found myself nodding immediately.

It wasn't like I had many other options, and besides that, it'd been months since the initial outbreak.

How bad could it really be out there?