Prologue

At first, Jorie Wilson hadn't been too worried about the oncoming "zombie apocalypse".

Perhaps it was the incredibly conservative family she'd been born into, or maybe it was the fact that she'd never exactly been the kind of person to worry herself over something so stupid and unbelievable. Either way, Jorie hadn't been worried at all about the prospect until her workplace went up in everything but flames and the life that she'd lived since arriving in Atlanta from her native Centralhatchee was destroyed.

She hadn't been working at Magic City – where she'd been dancing for the last nine years – on that specific night, having been allowed a night-off in order to take care of Carrie, who had come down with a terrible fever. Jorie had been absolutely devastated and completely confused when she received a phone call at an ungodly hour in the morning from her boss, who sounded like he was about to cry as he explained in a very hushed voice that three girls had been killed and ate by patrons of the club, and that he was closing down Magic City, therefore making her redundant.

At first, she'd thought he was joking, remembering the times that they'd joked about it with the other girls when all of the odd incidents had started. One of the girls, Loretta, had sighed and said that she was quite scared about what was going on – they'd all laughed at her.

"Of course, you believe Fox," – Jorie had scoffed – "you are from Florida, after all"

She regretted it sorely now, especially knowing that poor Loretta was one of the girls that had been killed.

But then her mind turned to the following attacks that had come in such quick succession that it almost felt surreal – the girls watched Fox News on the television in the dingy backroom in horror as the attacks, that were happening all over the country, grew in brutality and number.

"A couple in Dallas, Texas were found dead in their bedroom by their twelve-year-old daughter, who walked in as the attacker stabbed them in the heart. Their daughter proceeded to, in a trance-like state, join in with the attack, and ate parts of their legs, arms and necks –"

"The victim, fifty-one-year-old Eleanor Houghton, was thought by neighbours to have lived alone. Found by her milkman early on Sunday morning, it is suspected by law enforcement that she was alive and conscious while the assailant cannibalised her. There was no sign of a struggle, and the attacker may be a relation –"

"In the latest of the series of bizarre attacks, an unnamed homeless man has been killed. Police allege that Hank Williams, of Southern Indiana, stabbed him and then proceeded to eat parts of his body. It has been reported that Williams had taken a large dosage of LSD before attacking the man –"

"A college student at UCLA has been accused of killing and eating her roommate. The student – who was intoxicated at the time of the vicious attack that, according to witnesses, left blood splattered all down the hallways – attempted to kill three further people and injured a campus security guard before she was shot in the head by law enforcement –"

"Three exotic dancers working in downtown Atlanta, Georgia were brutally attacked and eaten by clients at the strip club they worked at. The club – known as the Magic City – has been closed down until further notice –"

Slowly but surely, suspicion as well as a strange sickness began to arise across the entire nation, as well as absolute frenzy as everyone struggled to get their shit together and run. Everyone started coming down with a strange case of the flu that doctors had never seen before and had no idea how to treat. Weird videos popped up all over the internet and weirder stories became a regular on broadcasting in every state. Then people started dying and rising back up from the dead.

She hadn't even realised in her hasty fight to survive the undead that other survivors would be the biggest threat to her safety – she wasn't frightened of the lamebrains, Jorie was more scared of other people. Not anymore, though… Now she just wanted to get away.

1

JORIE

The outbreak had left Jorie Wilson feeling indefinitely numb.

She had seen a lot – too much, some would say, even for a person trapped in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. She'd experienced a lot, too… Things that she'd resolved long ago to never talk about, things that made her feel the inexplicable urge to close in on herself and block out everything as she wallowed in the grief and the pain. But she couldn't do that anymore, she didn't have that choice. Now, the only choice she had was to run.

Sometimes, she would think of her past, or all she had seen of the world and the dark recesses of the human condition that this world brought out of people as she hastily wrapped her hair in a French braid. She would weave her olive-toned fingers through the strands, trying to hide the insecurities her thick hair gave. Her long, dark tresses would become ratty and knotted, but in a sense, that was what the zombie apocalypse did to Jorie Wilson. It left her feeling ratted, and her stomach would turn into knots.

When she'd been a little girl, Jorie had loved running. She used to run through the fields and dusty roads of rural Centralhatchee with her six siblings, the wind whipping through her dark hair as she squealed and giggled while being chased by her older brothers. Things changed a while before the outbreak, though – she'd hated running for a very long time. Hell, she'd hated everything in this God-forsaken world for a very long time.

As she ran faster than she'd ever ran in her life through the forest with a humid wind blowing her hair from her shoulders and her lungs burning as her legs threatened to give out from exhaustion, Jorie couldn't help but think about her childhood.

Her eyes scanned the area, feet moving so quickly that she could barely take in her surroundings. Up ahead, she zoned in on a tree was rather gnarly – literally and figuratively – and exactly the kind of tree that she used to climb when she was a little girl. Glancing behind her, she couldn't see them behind her, and she hadn't heard them anywhere near her for a while, but didn't dare risk it.

They'd been on her trail since that morning after stumbling across the camp she'd set up for the night, but she'd been on the run from them for weeks.

Thinking quickly, Jorie didn't truly consider any other possibilities as she all but hauled herself up the tree, using all her strength to yank her skeletal body to a high-up branch. She sighed. The moment of calm ended as quickly as it came as she suddenly heard a few voices coming from below and she instantly held her breath.

"The fuck has she gone?"

Jorie didn't breathe for fear that it'd be too loud, and they'd hear her. They were stood directly underneath her tree – one wrong move and they'd spot her. She tensed in fear, trying to make herself as small as possible. She couldn't go back there… She wouldn't.

I'll escape them or I'll die trying, but there's no way in hell I'm going back with them.

"I think she went this way," a male voice said. Tony.

"You were meant to be lookin' out for her, Randall – you're a fucking dumbass," snapped the first man to the youngest of the trio that had been on her trail. Dave.

"Yeah, asshole," said Tony, rounding on Randall. "How did she escape, anyway?"

Randall looked around nervously, thankfully not looking upwards. "Well," – he fiddled with the knife in his hands – "when ya'll were on them two girls and I was holding down their daddy, she just slipped away. I had the bitch tied up so damn tightly that there ain't a chance in hell she could've gotten loose. I really have no fuckin' clue how she managed to escape, but I turned to check on her once we'd all had a go on the girls, and she was just gone. Nothin' left but them cables we tied her up with."

"A fuckin' shame, as well," Tony sighed. "A great piece of ass, she was."

"For fucks sake!" Dave exploded suddenly, and Jorie flinched.

If even the thought of her miraculous escape bought such a visceral reaction from her former captors, Jorie didn't even want to know what they'd do to her if she was found.

"Look, man – and ya'll know I hate to say it – I don't think we're gonna find her," Tony sighed. "We been lookin' for weeks. Even if we did find her, she'll probably be dead or at least halfway there. Dumb bitch ain't got no weapons, no food, no nothin'… Best to just leave her out to die."

"Yeah," agreed Randall. "Camps been in one place for three days – three days too fuckin' long, if you ask me. I don't think nobody back at camp is too happy 'bout it, neither. Either way, I ain't doin' this for another day. We'd've found her by now if she'd really made it out. She'll've prob'ly passed out in a ditch, for all we know. She's lamebrain-bait. I say we just leave her to get ate."

Dave seemed to consider their words, "We'll keep an eye out for her, but we'll move camps tonight. No point in lingerin' in the damn forest."

Jorie listened with bated breath, too afraid to even blink, as the three men went back deeper into the forest – back the way they came – without so much as a glance upwards. She let out the breath she'd been holding, but her body remained totally tense as she leaned back against the tree trunk, unmoving for so long that she lost the feeling in her legs. She wasn't sure how long she sat up in the tree; hours could've passed… days, even.

All she knew as she jumped back down to the ground, landing on legs so shaky that her first few steps resembled that of a new-born foal. Jorie still felt the acute terror that had only ebbed slightly since her escape – she needed a piss, as well. After relieving herself and looking around, realising that she was well-and-truly lost, she resolved to go in the opposite direction that the men had gone in.

And, for the second time that day, Jorie Wilson took off in a sprint.

It was dusk when she reached the outskirts of the forest, drenched in sweat and blood and tears. The sky had turned from a clear blue to shades of muted orange, lilac, yellow and red – it was the prettiest sunset she'd seen in a long time, and was almost an ironic contrast to the situation she was in. Jorie was alone, friendless, weaponless, hungry, on the run from a gang of psychos and in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.

It almost felt like God was mocking her by sending such a pretty sunset despite the shitty situation; as if a nice sunset would solve the fucking evil shit I've seen.

Jorie couldn't help but miss Carrie then… The little girl would've pointed up at the sky with a grin so bright the sun couldn't compete, and made some ridiculously optimistic remark about how it was a sign from the Lord that everything was going to start being okay again. She'd never believe a word that came out of the innocent kid's mouth, but humouring the silly-minded comments that Carrie often made was a strange comfort – Carrie had been her hope for a better existence, a hope that had died as soon as she did.

Carrie hadn't been ruined by this world – Jorie wouldn't let it steal away her innocence – but this world had taken her away from her, and that was something that she'd never truly reconcile herself to. She couldn't truly accept that she was gone, the pain was just too much for her to bear, so she simply ignored it and smothered her sadness until it didn't bother her… Which was exactly what she did as soon as the thought of Carrie crossed her mind.

She looked around, squinting as she struggled to decipher the massive white blob on the horizon. Jorie hadn't ate, drank or even slept for days, and it was wearing on her heavily. Still, she persevered, her final promise to little Carrie fighting its way to the forefront of her mind.

"Promise me – promise me that you'll get away from here," Carrie muttered, coughing weakly. There was a gunshot wound on her chest that Jorie was trying desperately to staunch the blood-flow from; her fingers shaking so badly that it was a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable eventuality that they'd been avoiding for weeks. "Promise me that you'll get away from these people. They aren't kind, they don't have no kindness in their hearts. I heard them hurting you –"

"Shush, baby, save your breath," she blinked back tears, ignoring the eyes of the men around her. It was their fault – they shot Carrie – and they were just stood there, watching as Jorie hovered over the tiny, fever-ridden body of a thirteen-year-old girl that they'd just mercilessly shot. Dave and Tony had given the two some space, going to the front of the shop to pick off any stray lamebrains while they spoke. "Oh, God, Carrie – I'm so, so sorry. I've let you down so bad. I'm so sorry."

"It's O.K.," Carrie whispered. "I don't want to live like this anymore, anyway. Is that bad?"

Jorie's heart broke. "No, darlin', of course it's not bad. You're so brave."

"I don't feel brave," she replied, eyes watering. "I'm scared of dyin', but I'm even more scared of livin'. I'm scared of Dave and Tony, are you?"

"Yeah," Jorie answered honestly.

"Then you gotta run away and find some new people," resolved Carrie as if it was the most simple thing in the world. "These ain't nothin' but bad news, they hurt you and they've hurt a lot of people. You always told me that only bad people do the things they do, and you always said that I shouldn't play with the bad kids at school, so you gotta run away. Promise me. Promise me you'll get away."

"I promise," Jorie swallowed thickly.

Carrie offered her a sweet smile, staring up at her with the same love she always had. She seemed finally satisfied, but her face quickly contorted into a pained expression. "It hurts so bad."

"I know, baby, I'm so sorry –"

She quickly shook herself out of the memory, refusing to allow herself to cry over it again. Jorie had spent the nights after Carrie's death crying into her hair, unable to believe that she'd allowed it to happen. One moment of weakness had cost Carrie's life – she couldn't let herself be weak ever again.

Jorie ventured forwards from the treeline towards the white blob, legs quaking as she walked into an open stretch of grass. Perhaps if she'd have been more coherent, she'd have realised that she was walking through a field towards a farm, but she wasn't.

The past weeks caught up to her suddenly and, before she even knew what had happened, Jorie Wilson fell to the floor, the soft grass doing nothing to cushion her fall. Her head slammed against the ground, hard, and she couldn't help but welcome the blackness as it overtook her, too exhausted to even fight against the darkness as her eyes slid shut.

OTIS

When the sun descended behind the horizon and began to slowly illuminate the sprawling green fields of the Greene Family Farm with a soft orange glow instead of the typical brightness, Otis decided it was high time to return home from the woods nearby – it had been a good day for hunting due to the quiet that had settled over the forest, and the buck thrown over his shoulder attested to it. The crack of his rifle had been the only sound interrupting said silence aside from the gentle breeze and the squelch of the mud under his feet as he followed the deer. He'd woken up that morning with an odd feeling in his chest that had him walking with something of a spring in his step; Otis rose from the bed he shared with his beloved Patricia, washed his face, gotten dressed, eaten and left their room before Hershel Greene and his family could even stir in their sleep.

Patricia called Otis crazy for going out and hunting in times like these, she said it was dangerous and that she didn't want him to get hurt; Otis always replied that he was doing his bit for Hershel and his daughters. He and his wife owed a lot to Hershel… If it hadn't of been for Hershel allowing them to stay on his farm, and for offering Otis and Patricia work on said farm, he had no idea where they'd have ended up.

Granted, it wasn't as if they really needed the extra meat – there was plenty of food on the farm, and Otis went out to hunt for food more as a way to distract himself from the sick people he'd helped lock up in the barn. He liked hunting a lot, too, and always felt rather proud of himself when he managed to bring back a good catch. That day they'd definitely not needed Otis to go out on a hunt, but something in his heart beckoned him to go out into the woods and go hunting, so he did.

He felt very pleased as he hauled the buck through the forest, and was just mid-way through quietly humming a jaunty rendition of I Saw the Light by Hank Williams when he spotted it –

A figure up ahead in the distance was staggering through the fields towards the farm; it was covered in blood, mud and sweat. It was a person – a very skinny one. Otis frowned, setting down the buck to one side as the person took a few more steps before toppling over into the grass, unmoving.

Otis ran over to the figure, rifle clutched in his hands just in case. He wasn't really sure what he'd been expecting as he approached them, but what he found upon looking down definitely wasn't it.

It was an unconscious woman – alive but, judging from her bedraggled appearance and shallow breathing, barely so. She looked to be in her late twenties to early thirties, but Otis couldn't be sure how old she was due to the way that the world they now lived in seemed to add years onto everyone's face; her face was streaked with dirt, and there was a deep cut on her left cheek that left a trail of fresh blood down it as well as a noticeable split lip that looked rather painful; she was incredibly thin, wasting away and sweating in the humid Georgian heat, looking as if Otis had had more hot dinners that day than she'd had in her entire life; and her clothes were torn and filthy, revealing olive skin that was mottled with contusions and lacerations of varying severity, the worst of which being a large cut on her side where Otis assumed she'd been grazed by a bullet. Pre-apocalypse, she would have been a very pretty woman, but the injuries that marred her skeletal frame ruined it any type of beauty she held at that moment in time.

"Oh, dear," he muttered, shaking her shoulder gently. The woman wasn't armed, and she looked so helpless that he couldn't help but feel pity for her. Hershel will help her, Otis thought.

The woman didn't move, simply laying there with her eyes shut as if she was already dead.

Without really thinking over the danger of bringing a stranger into the farm, Otis scooped the woman into his arms – she weighs even less than the buck – and carried her the rest of the distance to the large farmhouse.

This was the feeling he had in his chest, he resolved after contemplating it for a moment. This was why he needed to go out to the woods… to help this woman.

Banging on the door to the farmhouse, the door swung open quickly to reveal Hershel, who's face morphed into a look of confusion as he took in the sight before him.

"What on earth – ?"

"Please, Hershel, she's hurt – she needs help," he gasped. "Found her, unconscious, out on the field... you gotta help her."

Hershel Greene looked down at the woman in Otis' arms for a moment, and sympathy overtook his gaze as he ushered them into the house.

"Inside, now! Patricia, I need my full kit," Hershel turned to Otis' wife, who was watching on in horror. Hershel's two daughters appeared, similar looks upon their faces as they looked at the woman. "Maggie – painkillers, coagulants… Grab everything. Clean towels, sheets, alcohol. In here!"

Otis followed Hershel through the house, and set down the woman on the bed in one of the guest rooms.

"Is she alive?" Beth, the younger of Hershel's daughters, wondered aloud after a while of his wife and Hershel began working on the mysterious woman, trying to bring her back from the brink of death.

"Yeah," Otis replied shakily.

"How'd you find her, Otis?" asked Maggie, frowning.

"I was on my way back from a hunt when I spotted her up ahead comin' out of the woods. She was walkin' towards the farm… She must've seen it an' figured that she may be able to get some help here. I was just about to go an' talk to her, then she just hit the ground – knocked herself out. Looks like she hasn't ate in weeks. Got quite worried when I saw her 'cause she's was bleedin' all over the place… I just had to help her. Wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hadn't."

Beth's eyebrows drew together, and Maggie frowned even deeper. Otis supposed his face looked equally distressed; the poor woman had affected everyone, and he hoped she'd be alright.

"You did the right thing, honey," Patricia said, emerging from the room where she and Hershel were treating the woman. She came to stand beside Otis, and touched his cheek gently. "Hershel says she'll be alright – just needs a few stitches in her cheek and a good hot meal."

Otis sagged in relief, leaning into her cheek, uncaring of the woman's blood that covered it.

"Will she wake up soon?"

"Hopefully."

JORIE

When the darkness finally cleared to a fuzziness, and the last weeks of non-stop running were finally ended with one of the best sleeps she'd had in a long time, Jorie's eyes sprang open and she shot up in bed like she'd been electrocuted, chest heaving.

Jorie had nightmares of what happened in the woods. Watching the murder of at least a dozen innocent people had been a nightmare in itself, but to be haunted by it in her dreams was something she wouldn't have wished upon her worst enemy – sleep was the only true solace she could find in this world, and it had been stolen from her just like Carrie had. Even worse was that they had died at the hands of other survivors, rather than the damned lamebrains. She supposed that if she counted the deaths of the people she knew who had died at the hands of the undead, the number would be far higher than a dozen and probably closer to fifty. So many people that she didn't even know half of their names, not that any of them really mattered to her.

But, for the first time since the beginning of the outbreak, Jorie woke up feeling well-rested. Yes, she'd dreamt of death, but she still managed to actually sleep. She supposed that it had something to do with the fact that she'd slept in a –

"Bed? The fuck?" she muttered to herself, feeling at the woollen blankets covering her legs. "Where am I?"

Jorie pushed back the covers and looked down at herself in shock. She wasn't wearing the dirty black top and mud-caked jeans that she'd donned for months. Instead, she was wearing a large T-shirt that fell to her knees. Frowning as she noticed the bruising and partially healed cuts that covered her body, she tried to get out of the bed but a sudden pain in her side had her reeling as she lay back down on the bed.

"Shit," she muttered, touching her side.

Lifting up the shirt, Jorie gasped as she saw a large bandage covering the left side of her body. Picking up a corner of the gauze, her jaw dropped as neat stitching was found where the open wound that had been a pain in her ass for the past weeks had once been. She touched her cheek – where there had been another cut – and found it in a similar state. Her fingers had been bandaged, as well as her right shin.

The door to the room she was in opened suddenly, and a loud scream left Jorie's throat as her hands grabbed desperately for something nearby to protect herself with, knocking over trinkets in her haste. Her fingers closed around the lamp on the bedside table as the lights turned on and she held it out in front of her protectively, face contorting into a fierce glare.

"Who the fuck are you?"

There was a woman stood at the end of her bed with curly blonde hair, soft features and pale skin. The woman dropped the plate of food that she was holding, and they had a stare off that lasted until a man with white hair ran into the room, closely followed by several other people, who gawked at her as she held out the lamp threateningly.

"Ma'am, please put down the lamp – we ain't gonna hurt you, we saved you," said a fat man with an encouraging smile, and Jorie stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Reluctantly, she lowered the lamp, but kept a sceptical eye trained on them.

"Where am I?"

The old man with white hair stepped forward then, smiling kindly at her. "You're on my farm, Miss – well, we never actually caught your name…"

Jorie stared at them for a moment, trying to suss out whether she could trust them or not.

They did fix me up nice – I'd probably be a lamebrain myself if it weren't for them takin' me into here, wherever I am. All of 'em look pretty harmless, especially the blondies… Hm, tellin' 'em my name won't do no damage. After stitchin' me up like this and saving me, as the fat one said, I guess tellin' 'em my name is the least I can do.

"Jorie," she muttered, but still eyed them suspiciously. "Jorie Wilson."

"Well," said the man, the smile unmoving and actually quite reassuring. "My name is Hershel Greene, and these" – he gestured to a pretty woman with chin-length brown hair and a sweet-looking blonde teenage girl, who smiled at her unsurely – "are my daughters, Maggie and Beth. That there" – Hershel pointed to a boy who looked to be around the same age as the blonde girl – "is Jimmy."

"I'm Otis," said the fat man, who sent her an incredibly kind smile. Otis' arm was wrapped around the woman who had first come into the room. "This is my wife, Patricia."

"Uh, hi," said Jorie awkwardly, feeling a bit bad for scaring her and making her drop the plate. "I'm sorry 'bout your plate and for swearin' at ya, ma'am – 'm just a bit confused right now."

"Understandable," Maggie interjected, Patricia nodding kindly. "You've been through the ringer out there. Daddy spent an hour stitchin' you up. You been out of it for a week. Only managed to wake up long enough to guzzle down some soup."

Jorie tensed, eyes widening. "A week?" she blanched. "Um, if you don't mind me askin', but – well, what's going on? How did I get here?"

"Do you not remember nothin'?" frowned Otis.

"Not much," she shook her head, but regretted doing so instantly as it began pounding, and groaned, cursing under her breath.

"Would you like some painkillers? We'll fix you up a new plate of food," he sent a pointed look at the smashed plate on the floor, and she grimaced, "Bethy'll fetch you some aspirin and then we'll talk about what's gone on. Sound good?"

"Yes, sir – sounds great."

She felt enveloped by warmth, a comforting presence that was both intimate and foreign. Hershel Greene's house was beautiful, and his family were showing her the absolute epitome of southern hospitality; the complete polar opposite of her house and family before all this. Her stomach felt heavy with food, and her face had regained some of its colour.

Jorie sat beside Patricia and Otis, facing Maggie, as they all chatted with Hershel sat at the head of the table and Beth taking the spare seats with Jimmy pulling up a chair – she suspected that they'd intentionally been sat apart by Hershel. They were being unbelievably kind to her, kinder than anyone had ever been to her in her entire life. It was a bit overwhelming.

"I didn't know people like this existed anymore," Jorie said after a while, frowning down at the cup of hot cocoa that had been all but forced into her hands by Patricia. "Since the beginning of all this, I ain't come across people as nice as y'all… I'd been so scared of the lamebrains that I forgot how awful some people are, y'know? Got reminded of it pretty quick – it feels a bit weird to have y'all showin' such kindess. It's every man for 'emself out there."

"Lamebrains?" Beth asked.

"That's what my old group called the zombies," Jorie replied.

Jimmy spoke up, "What happened to your group?"

"Well," she tensed. "There was a disagreement and I decided to leave. I've been on my own ever since."

"You've been alone?" Beth gasped, and Jorie nodded.

"Well," said Otis optimistically, his hand tucked away safely between both of Patricia's. "We can be your new group, now."

Jorie bit her lip, "I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome," she said. "I mean – y'all have been so kind to me, kinder than I deserve… Y'all've done enough –"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Hershel. "It's my land, and I say you can stay as long as you need to; God has chosen us to help one another."

She stared at him for a moment, feeling like she was going to cry. These strangers had shown her more kindness in the time they'd known her than anyone had shown her since the beginning of the outbreak, and before it, even. Good people were hard to come by, and Jorie had struck gold with the Greenes.

"That a Bible quote?" Jorie, unsure of how to react, questioned.

Hershel smiled, shaking his head, "One of my own."

"You a preacher before all this?"

It was Maggie that answered then, laughing slightly. "Only part-time," she quipped.

"Oh, that's cool. My Momma's brother used to be a Church man. Not a very good one, mind you, but Momma thought it'd be a good idea for us to go to the Sunday school he ran when we'd spend summers visitin' him in Macon," Jorie sighed. She didn't know why she was telling them this, but they all gave her such rapt attention that she felt the urge to just blabber on. "Didn't learn all that much, but I always liked listenin' to him talk 'bout God."

"Well, you'll get plenty of that with Daddy," Maggie said, nudging her father gently. "I'm sure y'all two will get on real good."

"Either way, I'm thankful for y'all showin' that there is some good left in this world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me," Hershel seemed incredibly satisfied with Jorie's quoting of the Bible, and smiled indulgently at her.

"No bother at all," Otis interjected, and Jorie smiled at him; she wouldn't forget that it was Otis who helped her here.

"Really, though – I'll pull my weight," Jorie insisted. "If I'm gonna stay, then I'll help where I can… I can cook, clean, hunt... My Daddy's brother had a couple acres and some animals, so I can be a ranch hand, or sumthin'… Wherever ya'll want me –"

"You can help me out – I know I could use the extra hands," Otis suggested. "I hunt for food and help with the animals. Once you're better, you can come on hunts in the woods with me."

Jorie swallowed the fear of the woods that threatened to consume her. Get it together, Lucille, it's just a forest – it's the least you can do for these people.

"That'd be great," she smiled, albeit less sincerely.

"Then it's settled," said Beth with a shy smile in her direction. "Welcome to the farm, Jorie."

A/N: Hey guys, hope you like my new Walking Dead story. Let me know what you think! Follow, favourite and review, LittlexMissxVicious X

Faceclaim for Jorie - Angelina Jolie