A/N: Welcome to my first official story! I've recently begun watching the Walking Dead and am a fan of the TV Series, and unfortunately, I am unable to read the comics. But, my dedication to the series will hopefully erase any plot mistakes. Anyway, please excuse any grammar mistakes as I do not have a Beta reader. This story will be rated T first, and later M because of the utter violence within the series, and any other...romantic situations that may or may not occur. Please enjoy the read!

I do not own any Walking Dead characters except my own OC and her family.

Chapter 1: Live Like a Phoenix

I killed my family.

That's really all I can think about, nowadays. They weren't even a part of the undead—my parents and sisters had total control of their minds…though who can fault them for wanting out of this hellish world?

I feel like a part of me wanted them to die, though. I'm a horrible, horrible person, but I knew that they weren't built for this "new" world. My youngest sister couldn't even handle tripping down the sidewalk without crying—how could I expect her to expertly handle a semi-automatic and shoot three living corpses in a ten-second window? My father, though a strong militarist and country born-and-bred, knew how to handle wild things, his old age wouldn't help him survive, and my mother would die of fright if she stepped out onto the blood coated streets.

Because of that, I guess I wasn't truly surprised when my dad asked me to kill them.

There were six of us stuck in downtown Los Angeles, California. Six members of my immediate family (plus two more, if you counted dogs), trapped in our shabby two-bedroom apartment, hearing and watching the chaos and bloodshed going down in the streets. Shouts and cries could constantly be heard—some whimpering from nearby rooms, some from my own 19-year old sister. I kept to myself, though, not daring to say any words of comfort to my wailing sister, fearing that I would trigger an anxiety attack among my siblings.

Perched on the kitchen sink, I took a chance glancing outside the apartment building. Peering down my gun's scope, I watched as couples and families were torn apart—most literally. I couldn't keep my eyes away from the people-eating monsters tearing down my once commonly walked road, bile rising in the back of my throat as my eyes stalled over a young, healthy mother abandoning her three-year old child to corpses to live. Disgusting.

Watch your family, not them! I kept telling myself. I need to keep them safe—the sooner the streets are empty the sooner I can get them to safety. Eyes darting back and forth from person to "person," calculations kept running through my mind as I tried to analyze the best way to get to the freeway without being seen by those ungodly beings. Maybe my mother noticed my worry, for she soon walked unsteadily over to my perch after leaving the dogs behind with my father.

"Stop it, Diana." She smiled at me, though I could not detect any genuine trace of happiness. "You're so serious. You're worrying your sisters." And me, went the unspoken phrase.

I tried smiling at my sweet mother, though I'm sure it appeared like a grimace. "I'm just thinking—no need to worry, mamá. I'll get us through this."

She nodded, but it seemed like it was more for my benefit than for hers, and I took this chance to look over her aging features. I noticed that I could still find comfort in her salt-and-pepper colored hair and laugh-lined eyes, and my worry for the world eased when my mother strode towards me and eased the handgun down.

"I know the world is…different right now," at this I snorted, "but you need to keep a level-head. You are not expected to make decisions for us—we make those ourselves." I nodded, but my gaze kept straying to the windowsill.

At this, she smacked my arm. "I mean it. Those riots out there are not deaf to me or your father. This old woman understands more than you believe."

My eyebrows jumped from her remark in an automatic response, "Mom, you're not ol—".

"I'm fifty-nine, and I can't even walk to the kitchen without wanting to take a nap." Seeing me about to refute her remark once more, my mother gave me a warning look, and my mouth closed immediately.

Mom adjusted her glasses-frame, and quickly demanded, "Go check on your sisters. I need to speak with your father."

Unable to deny my mother, I pocketed my handgun and headed to the master bedroom, where the acoustic guitar could be heard playing. I paused in the hallway, savoring those good vibrations, until the sound abruptly quit.

"I can't do this anymore," whispered the voice of my 19-year old sister, Maria. Do what, I thought. "I can't—I can't stand those screams outside. I don't like it. They keep getting closer every time." My eyes narrowed at this, as over my worry, I failed to notice this.

"Neither can any of us, but something tells me that this is going to be a normal occurrence," replied the trembling tone of Sandra, the third oldest daughter in the family, only three years younger than my 32-year-old self.

At this, various sighs could be heard, none more dramatic than the eldest of Rosa's, who happened to turn 40 just this past week. "And something tells me that whatever is going on will only get worse from now." A small sniffle could be heard. "Quit crying, Teresa, you're nineteen, you should know that crying won't help us now."

Rosa never really was the most sympathetic of siblings, but she always pulled through for us when we needed a reality check. Nevertheless, I entered the room at her comment, intent on admonishing her for her careless attitude. I glared at her, yet she just ignored my silent demand to quit it.

"You know it too, Dee," My dark eyes fell at this, and Rosa continued on, "Don't try to sugarcoat it."

"I'm not," I replied, "But you should know better than to scare us. We could use a little hope right now," pointedly gazing into the common dark chocolate eyes that my mother passed onto us, silently reassuring each of my siblings that I was here for them.

"Diana's right, Rosa. You're too busy worrying about what you're gonna do about your next hair appointment, so quit trying to bring us down too," said Sandra. Nice going, Sandra. I thought as I looked over the rapidly reddening face of Rosa. Now you've done it.

Rosa stood up, turned her back, and unexpectedly, walked straight out of the room and into the bathroom. It was odd, considering how she normally isn't afraid to say what she thinks, but somewhat understandable regarding the need for peace and quiet in this cramped room.

"Damn," whistled Sandra. "I've never seen her like that."

Maria turned her dark head towards Sandra, and bitingly replied, "She was supposed to get her haircut with her boyfriend's sister."

At this, shock pervaded the faces of me and Sandra, knowing that Rosa had lost both her boyfriend and best friend. Death has never been so close. "Think next time, Sandy," continued Maria.

Sandra sighed, beginning to get up from her position on the worn leather sofa. "I should say sorry."

"No," I instantly replied, "She needs time. We need to get the grief out of our systems before we can move on."

I knew how grief blinded people, and how dangerous it could be. Following in the military steps after my father, I served in the Air Force as a battle manager for five years, directing battle tactics towards flying troops. If any soldier lost a close comrade, a mission could be easily compromised, and it only took so many lost lives before the military could figure that out.

Sandra nodded, and Maria soon went back to crying. "And move your fat-ass off the couch, Sandra, that thing has had enough of your shit these years." At this, Maria giggled, and Sandra laughed, knowing I only said it to get rid of the lingering fear in the room. I grinned, beginning to leave the area after hearing the call for me to go to the living room.

"Be careful, Diana." I stopped my movements at the sound of Maria's young voice, wondering what the hell she was going on about. "Just… we love you. You'll take care of us, and we have faith in you."

At that, unexpected tears glistened in my eyes, and I doubled-back and hugged both Maria and Sandra. "It's just going to the living room, Maria. It's only like, 20 steps, not a damn mission to Afghanistan."

Sandra grinned, "We know."

Once again, my siblings and I laughed, and I wished that things could be that simple, where I would be in control of my soldiers rather than being another snack for the roamers out there.

"Diana," called out my father within a few short seconds of after entering the living room.

"Sir." I answered, recognizing the tone of his voice not as a father, but a military commander.

He turned to face me, and although I was taller than his 5'5 frame, he still had the ability to intimidate anyone who came across him—including his own daughters. His stern expression and narrowed hazel eyes were only accentuated by his silvered hair, furthering my alarm by the seriousness he conveyed. Seeing me stand stock-straight at his attitude, however, he softened his posture as an attempt to get me to relax, I concluded. It worked.

"I'm sorry." My brows furrowed, believing he had nothing to apologize for. "Sorry for having myself and this family relying on you so much." I shook my head at this remark—any decent person would prioritize their family first and foremost. "I'd carry some of the burden myself, but with my age…I can only plan. And you're old man's not very good at that."

I grinned wryly, knowing he was more of a man of action than words. That's always been evident, while my mother was the brains of the family. I'd inherited the best from both worlds, with my ability to stick out any physical confrontation from my father and simultaneously use my wits to secure any goal from my mom. I knew this because I was told that when my parents first met, my father was fighting with people at a trashy bar, while mom used her assets (or more specifically, her ass) to calm the men down. Not soon after, or so I've been told, my dad kept following my mother around, and when she retorted in Spanish to leave her alone, he replied back in the same language. And when that eventually led to a relationship, mom soon became pregnant out of wedlock. They had my bastard brother (literally and figuratively), and thus began the start of my currently family.

"I wish your brother was here," Dad said wistfully as he stroked both of his German Shepherds.

I turned my head at this, choosing to ignore his comment. It's not that he was dead like thousands of others, but the douchebag abandoned our family even before this apocalypse. He'd never cared for any of his sisters, including me. He was the absent one, and soon my siblings and I forced ourselves to forget and ignore him, as he was only used to living a life of greed and violence, being in and out of jail multiple times. The "man" was a leech, using my parents to get money to use for his ridiculous antics, and quickly abandoning us soon after. Needless to say, my parents never stopped loving him, whereas I could never begin to.

"This family needs to be together now more than ever."

I agreed to this, though I saw no need for my brother to be here—I didn't even know if he was alive. If he was, he'd only cause trouble for the rest of us, I fervently believed.

My dad sighed, running his wrinkled hands down his face. "That being said, I need to know if you will do whatever it takes to keep this family safe."

I lifted my hand in a mock-salute, replying, "That goes unsaid."

My father lifted his dark eyes at me. "I need to hear it."

I sighed, the seriousness of the topic settling into my bones, "I will do whatever it takes to keep this family safe. If I need to kill someone… so be it." Father relaxed somewhat, but something beckoned me to ask, "What's going on? You know this family is my world." Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, as tension lined his features once more.

"You were the last of my daughters to come here."

I nodded, as when I had first heard of the so-called disease spreading across the country, I was on leave from the Air Force, and booked the first flight to LA to be with my family. The rest of my sisters had been there already, as they were valley girls and could not survive outside the life of the city. I was miles away in Georgia, living near Fort Benning in case my superiors decided to cut my leave short. And when that wasn't the case, I had chosen to wear my uniform, hoping that it would help me in getting a flight to California. Hectic, was the word I would use to describe the airport when I got there. People were leaving, crying, and screaming for their mothers—I had wanted to do the same, but when people would grab at my shoulders and demand an explanation for the disease, I could only shrug them off and reply, "Have hope. The CDC is working on a cure." What a crock of shit—I knew it, and people who looked towards me knew it too. I knew and my superiors knew that this virus was hopeless, and it was going to invade every aspect of life whether we wanted it to or not.

"We were together for a few hours before you came here, and we…talked." My father said.

"Talked about what?" I asked, wondering where he was getting at.

"I told them," he stated, though judging by my confused expression, he sighed in frustration and clarified his statement. "I told them that no matter how we die, we will become one of them."

My eyebrows jumped—only the military and CDC knew of this. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if one of his old military buddies told him about it.

"Joe told me." Of course. G.I. Joe, as we liked to call him, was always involved in the military, and was actually part of the reason for me to join the Air Force, though my father vehemently opposed it. "He told me before died two days ago."

I paused, already aware of Joe's death. "Was he bitten?" I asked.

"No. The man wasn't even scratched. In fact, he asked me to kill him if he were to turn." My father sat down on the loveseat at this comment. "I thought this was bull, but when I waited a few hours… sure enough, those damn eyes were staring at me, and he looked hungry."

I knew my father loved that man, as they were old war buddies, but if anyone were capable of killing their best friend, it would be him. "You shot him?" I questioned, wanting to confirm the action.

Dad nodded. "Just once, straight in the head. I mourned him, but it's better to celebrate his life than his death. Damn idiot just had to die from a heart attack, though." He laughed wryly at this, and quickly fell silent.

"But when I told your mother and sisters… they were worse off than I was." My father looked haunted at this comment, and continued on, "They said, 'What's the point of living, then? Nothing we do is gonna stop this plague!' I didn't know what to say. Even your mother couldn't figure it out.

"We hoped that by the time you showed up, they would have calmed down," said Dad.

I'd only just arrived this morning, and judging by the quickly darkening sky, it's only been about a day since he'd told them of the news.

"And?" I questioned. "Have they told you any differently?"

At this, my father held his breath, visibly calming himself down. "No."

And that word struck my heart like a thousand knives into a single piece of meat.

"Because of that," again my father paused, "we need to let you know our plans for you. All of us have decided that we don't want to live, and there is no speech on Earth that can help us now. You're my daughter, and I trust none more than you to ensure our deaths."

I couldn't breathe. What fucking father would ask that!? Kill my family! I'd sooner throw myself to the human-eating hordes of monsters than kill my only family. And yet, when I was stomping through the room to walk outside and perform that very action, I found that I could not.

Why? I asked myself. Because you want to live.

How can I live with killing my family? I wondered, and I belatedly realized I had said that out loud when Maria came into the living room and answered that question.

"It's simple: You will live because we want you to, and we know that you can and deserve to survive this world more than anybody else."

I looked up at her, noticing her petite frame and skinny legs, her gangly arms brushing her straight dark-brown hair back to rid them of the salty moisture she couldn't seem to stop giving off. I watched as I saw her tears drip down her olive skin tone and onto her dirtied pink frilled shirt, helpless to stop the tears from flowing. For the first time, I saw no light in her eyes and no darkness either—simply nothing. Like my baby sister didn't even exist anymore. And that's when I realized that she truly has no hope for her future—and even if we were to survive this, how can we guarantee her our old life back?

"That's not true." I tried to convince myself. "Family sticks together. We need to live together—I can't do this on my own." I choked back sobs, refusing to cry.

"Yes, mi hija, you can." My mother said, appearing from the hallway. She walked over to me and urged me to her 5 foot height, and began to hug and pat my head like when I was a child. "How many did you say you killed on your way to this apartamento?"

I shook the gathering tears in my eyes and steadily replied, "Seven, mamá."

"How long did it take to do that?"

"I don't know… few minutes. Maybe less." I couldn't see her point, and continued to rub at my cloudy eyes. Stop it. A voice told me. They're not dead.

They will be if they want me to go along with this.

Mom grinned proudly at me. "You were at the top of your squad in the Air Force, and as much as I didn't want you to go overseas, I knew you would survive." She laughed haughtily. "A mother knows these things."

Sandra, who'd been watching the entire ordeal, stepped in and added, "We were never truly scared when you were in the service. Just worried that you'd get hurt—Jesus, you'd never even fractured a bone! How could we expect you to die?"

I shook my head, hoping to get rid of negative thoughts. I should be comforting them.

They're the ones who want to die. You will have no one when they leave, and you need as many words as you can get to get you through this.

I'm going to be alone.

"You're too damn hard to kill. I should know, I tried to a couple of times," joked Rosa, who finally reappeared from the bathroom. I noticed her makeup was gone, and I much preferred this natural skin tone to the one painted upon her.

"I took care of you for eight years," continued Rosa, "and that entire time you always wanted to do things your own way. I nearly went insane from cleaning up the messes you made."

She hugged me as well, and pulled apart not too quickly afterwards, as she'd never been much of a hugger. "Dumbass, I want you to live for us. We're dying so you can live—stop it!" She snapped, looking at the tears streaming down my positively reddened face.

I guess that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Everyone in the room started crying, even my father, who'd always kept a silent vigil over the family. Now, though, he was damn proud of his tears. The dogs kept whining, pushing their heads at our legs and begging attention. I bent down and pet them, letting them lick away at the salt water present on my face.

"And if I don't want that? How do you all know that I won't kill myself after you're gone?" I soon said.

Silence struck the room, and my father tentatively replied, "We trust that you won't. You'll live for us, and like a phoenix rising from the ashes, our family will live forever with every action that you take."

"Do not blame yourself, Diana," came the gentle voice of my mother. "We're making our deaths an option—this is what we want. Know that even if you were not to do it, we would still find some other way."

And that brought up the question of, "Why me?"

Here, my sisters and parents grinned sadly at me. "Knowing that our lives were taken by your hand rather than those monsters out there…I'd feel much safer knowing that I won't become one of them," said Rosa.

I accepted that answer, though I knew that any statement involving their deaths would never make sense to me.

"When?" I whispered.

"The apocalypse isn't waiting for you—it's already happening. You need to get out of here as soon as you can. Big cities are never safe, but right now, grab supplies, find shelter, find weapons. Do not take what you have for granted—though whatever God wants from this, I believe the message is to survive and live."

My dad's words have never stuck in my mind more deeply than this, and against my will, I could already feel myself calculating and mentally checking what I will need to make it back to Fort Benning.

"When?" I demanded once more. "When do you want to die?"

I looked into the eyes of my family members, silently begging for an answer. When none replied, I knew that the answer was now.

"We've already taken sleeping pills. We'll fall asleep within the hour, and you need to leave then… after…" here, my mother sobbed and began muttering in Spanish.

My father's face came into view then, and he told me, "Ask us anything. Talk. Yell. Whatever you need to move on from us, and onto living."

And for the remaining hour that we had together, we did. All of us spoke with one another, crying and laughing, telling secrets and sharing old stories. It was one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking moments I'd ever had with my family, and I'd wished it would never end. But when my baby sister Maria soon fell asleep, followed by Sandra and then Rosa, I knew our time together was truly nearing the end.

My mother gave me one last kiss and a hushed Te amo, and fell asleep on the living room couch. At this, my father took a strand of her and kissed it, holding her hand with his as he told me one last thing.

"You need to kill us with a knife. Do not waste any bullets on us—you know that. Aim for the head, and only use guns when you see no way out."

I nodded, now empty of any tears and emotions, being led only by logic in an attempt to save myself from the incoming slaughter.

"Take the dogs, Hades and Anubis. They were trained by me, and they'll be useful." I trusted my father's words, knowing he didn't play around with animals if they weren't useful or loyal to some extent.

When he began to nod off, he gave me a hug, nodding with appreciation. "I love you, Diana. Please, live." He smiled one last time at me, and he soon fell asleep beside my mother, never to awake again.

And when I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife I could find, hovering over and lovingly looking over my family. I will live, I forced myself to believe as I knelt towards Maria first, Your deaths will not be in vain.

The dogs whined at the strong scent of blood, but did not dare to attack me. Instead, they comforted me as I sobbed bloodied tears into their fur, and they followed me after I packed as much food as I could into my large army duffle bag and began to flee the now haunted apartment. I wiped away blood from my hands, becoming numb as the reality of what I'd done at that moment struck me.

I forced the emotion away once more, telling myself that it will be alright to mourn later, and looked towards shop windows. I watched as only dead eyes stared back at me.

As chaos roamed the city of Los Angeles, California, a lone figure and two short but fast moving bodies stepped out onto a fire-escape, breaking into and looting several stores. None of the undead heard the person, and any who dared to come too close to her were taken out by a quick slip of the knife. She moved with intent and purpose, perhaps to live or die, but as soon as she moved away from the city in a sleek black Prius, her desire became clear. She fled the city of Los Angeles, and for the next month, began traveling the single road while dodging corpses, gathering supplies, and hunting for food. She would eventually come upon Fort Benning in Georgia, hoping to serve her country in this existential crisis.

What she came upon, however, was an absolute absence of any human life. She did not cry, nor did she turn back around. She looked through the crowds of the undead and spotted a ticket to the armory, and began to silently stalk towards the building.

She went unnoticed once more, and she stole as many pieces of weaponry and defense as her lithe arms could carry. She would continuously double back, until she would come across a group of four walkers, though she eventually took that small group out with her handgun.

She would soon decide that the danger was not worth the treasure trove waiting within that Fort, and later fled the area with her loyal companions until she would meet up with other survivors, each group more desperate than the last.

Each time, she would flee the groups she came upon until the number ran up to nine different bands. She never lost her will to live, however, and she never forgot the deaths of her family. The cities she would come upon were always empty of the living, though her dogs would always keep watch and help her survive the intense feeling of isolation. With each loss of the group in the months of the apocalypse, she would replenish her armory with newly acquired weapons from both military bases and weapon shops.

In one special week, however, she finally came across group number ten. She would come to cling to them like family, and provide much needed services to the people within it. Her dogs would finally receive a break, and she found that she could relax easily here, unlike with others.

The people, though obviously broken, fascinated the woman, and she helped to keep them alive with her military outlook on the undead. Her dogs would also contribute with tracking, hunting, and even as happy companions for many. Though her wits never ceased to surprise the members of the group, her sad expressions intrigued one specific member, and they would soon form an unlikely attachment.

And though there is always the chance of death, Diana never lost hope for a better future.