This is the first fic I write in english so if you could tell me if anything is wrong or there's something I should know, you would help me a lot. I love constructive reviews!
I ran through the woods as fast as I could, grabbing hard the little knife I had been able to find. Little, but effective. The blade was already covered in blood and brains, just like my clothes and hands. All I could hear behind me were growls, closer and louder. My heart was pounding hard against my chest and I felt my throat dry. It hurt, but stop my race would be the last thing I would do. If I did, I would die.
I felt exhausted with every step. I hadn't eaten or slept in three days. I was surprised by the fact that I hadn't passed out yet. I stopped a few seconds to catch my breath before continue my race, when a branch on the floor made me trip up. I fell on my knees and let out a growl of pain feeling the cramps on them.
More growls could be heard and the hair on my arms rose up in alarm while I returned to my feet. Trying to ignore the pain, I ran again. A few bastards appeared on my sight, right in front of me. I buried my knife's blade in the skull of the one who was closer to me and proceed to do the same thing with the other. Their bodies fell with a deaf sound and I passed through.
I had advanced a few steps when I saw, in the distance, a little hill I would be able to climb. It didn't measure more than three meters and it became my goal. There could be a road on the surface, so I could follow it and arrive to a town or village to search for supplies.
But in front of me was a group of Walkers. Growling and showing their rotten, dirty teeth. I cursed under my breath and turned, trying to find another way to reach the hill. There was none. The Walkers were close enough to follow me if I ran, so I took a deep breath and started killing them. With every move I made I stepped back, walking away from their dangerous hands.
I killed the last one and left the others behind me before running as fast as my tired legs allowed me. I didn't stop until I reached the hill. I rested both hands on one of the thick branches and pushed myself to lie on my stomach.
A dead hand hooked on my ankle and I panicked. I began to swing my leg with desperation, feeling tears on my eyes. I didn't want to die without see my family again. I knew they were safe and I had to find them. A bunch of Walkers was below my feet, grunting and with their arm on the air, trying to catch me. When the Walker finally let me go, I rested my knees on the branch and slowly stood on it, supporting myself with both hands on the wall. Thinking carefully, I started to climb with the help of the protruded branches. On the ground, the dead, hungry bodies piled up.
In the middle of the way, my foot slipped and with a scream I descended some steps. My hand reached a branch and my fall stopped. A few tears fell down my face as I felt the blade of my knife digging into my left palm, blood squirting down my arm.
Quickly but carefully, I climbed again trying to ignore the pain of my hand. The top was closer and I couldn't hear any Walkers there. I had an opportunity after all. I raised my hand and grabbed the edge, pushing me once again.
I let out a moan as I sat on the land, not wanting to cry anymore. I was wiping my tears, leaving a trail of blood on my face, when I heard steps.
"Sophia!", a masculine voice screamed, alerting me. Two men appeared before I could even stand up and their eyes fixed on me. One of them had a sheriff uniform and a hat, blue eyes and light beard. A gun hung from his waist. The other one was dirty and wore a sleeveless shirt and vest. The crossbow in his hand was pointing me, his cold blue eyes too. Cold sweat covered my forehead and my heart began to bump fast. I was afraid.
"Throw the knife." Said the one with the crossbow. I did what he had told me and raised my hands, not wanting problems.
"Did they bite you?" the sheriff asked me. I shook my head slowly and tried to rise, but the pain on my knee returned me to the floor. The sheriff approached and looked forward my bloodied hand. "How have you done that?"
"My knife." I said after a few seconds. "I tripped."
He frowned. "Looks awful."
Meanwhile, the other man never stopped pointing at me with his crossbow. In his eyes I could see distrust.
The sheriff bent in front of me and pointed my hand. "Can I?" He grabbed my hand and looked at my palm as I observed it for the first time. The cut was deep and some matchwood were stuck in my skin. My hands were dirty and it was an awful sensation.
He sighted. "You'll need stitches. Hershel will help you."
The crossbow man looked the sheriff like he had lost his mind. I felt insulted.
"We don't know her." He pointed me with his weapon and Rick looked at him. "Are you going to take her without knowing if she's dangerous?"
The sheriff looked at me, thinking about the crossbow man's words. He smiled and grabbed my arm, putting it around his shoulders and helping me to stand up. "Yes."
"You'll explain this to the group."
The sheriff ignored him. "What's your name?"
I walked carefully, feeling a cramp each time I put weight on my leg. "Scarlett."