Summary: Harleigh Johnson thought that after stumbling upon the group in the forest, her life could improve greatly. That she'd no longer have to watch her back every moment of every day. She couldn't have been more wrong. To the innocent, Woodbury looked like a pleasant, ideal place to live, but for those in the Governor's inner circle, it was anything but. When Harleigh finally makes a break for it and finds herself at home with the prison group, she's forced to choose between the instincts and ideas she was raised on or a path much different than the one she had been previously forced to choose.
When a sudden friendship is formed between the her and a man she'd never have imagined, she's forced to move even farther from her comfort zone, all while breaking down the wall the man had put up to keep emotions and real feelings at bay.
In the end, it all comes down to survival. Some will prevail, others, will not.
They say death is easy, that it's living that's the real tricky part. After what I've seen, after what I've had to do to survive these last few months, I couldn't agree more.
When the outbreak first hit my hometown, my family and I were prepared. Or rather, my uncle and I were. My uncle Jimmy was a doomsday prepper. He was always prepared for the end of the world. He had a bunker in his basement, three years' worth of clean water, countless boxes of dehydrated rations, and most importantly, a stock pile on weapons ranging from simple hunting knife to semi-automatic rifles.
When the news finally began to tell people to bunker down and lock their doors, I took to the road, traveling the 100 miles north to my uncle's house in southern Georgia. There, I found the one thing I had feared most. He wasn't dead, not really. Instead, he was growling and snapping, a deep bite wound in his neck. He was one of them.
I had grown up on horror movies and listening to my uncle go on and on about zombies, so I knew to aim for the head. Thankfully, out of habit, and out of the simple fact that I'd been hunting since I was old enough to hold a bow, I put my uncle down, burying him in the backyard next to the little oak tree we had planted together when I was only four years old. Back then, life was simple, ya know?
After he was laid to rest, I raided the bunker for anything and everything I could carry. I packed as many cases of dehydrated rations as I dared to carry, along with as much ammo and medical supplies as I could fit into the few duffle bags he had laying around the little room. I took only what I knew how to use. The crossbow that was much too heavy for me to actually use, along with all the bolts. The small pistol I had been using ever since I was 13. The bow that was hand crafted on my 16th birthday. Lastly, the beautifully made sword that my father had given to me after his mother died. His mother, my grandmother, was a firm believer that a woman should know how to wield a weapon and protect the lives of her children, no matter what. Could she see me now, she'd be proud.
My father, on the other hand, was a cruel, wicked man. I was a tomboy from the time I could walk. I was always getting myself into the same trouble as my older brother, Johnny and James were, rather than staying home being the precious little girl my baby sister, Joanna was. My mother called me her ugly duckling. She swore up and down that one day, I'd become the woman she always wanted me to. That is, up until she died when I was 13. After that, my mother's dream of me becoming a lady was lost, along with my care for being sweet or innocent. After my mother's death, my father developed the attitude that if I wanted to act like a boy, I'd be treated as one. He's whoop me just as fiercely and painfully as he did my brothers. He'd throw me against the wall and beat me until I was black and blue all over.
After a while, it stopped affecting me. Instead, it drove me to the forest just outside our house. There, with the help of my uncle, I learned to hunt. I poured all my hatred for my father into developing a skill I never thought I would rely so heavily on. It's thanks to that, that I made it this far.
So how does a 26 year old woman survive the end of the world? She runs. And she runs fast.
I was hidden between two bushes with my ever faithful German shepherd, Riley, at my side when I saw him. His alert eyes were the first thing I noticed, next to crossbow that was slung carelessly over his shoulder. I had cleverly parked my old Chevy van deep in the woods, away from where I was hunting. Thankfully too, since this man, this…hunter, seemed to be very good at tracking his game.
We happened to be tracking the same deer. His arrow had embedded itself deep into the creature's side, but the poor animal had a lot of fight still in it. I watched, my stomach growling. This was my game. I'd seen it first.
Riley growled softly, his ears perked as the scent of the deer hit his nose. We'd been hunting together since the start of all this and over the last year or so, he'd become a very good hunting dog. I watched in horror as the man approaching my deer.
My hunger was greater than my care for danger. I leveled my bow and let an arrow loose. It tore through the bushes, embedding itself in the truck of the tree, just above the man's head. He jerked around, his eyes scanning the bushes for the source of his attacker. I smiled to myself. Surely, he wouldn't spot me from where he stood. I knew these woods like the back of my hand. I'd been living in them for the better part of three months.
His stance proved how much skill he had. He circled carefully, the deer now forgotten. Unlike him, however, I took the chance to end the deer's painfully short life, my arrow embedding itself deeply into the animal's skull. I smiled with pride before carefully moving from my spot, still gracefully hidden beneath the dirt and leaves.
"Who's there?" the man called out. His accent was familiar. A Georgia accent, one that I had so long since heard. He had the gruff, redneck drawl about him, the same type my uncle once harbored. I smiled as I finally gave up my hiding spot. I wasn't afraid of this man. There was nothing he could do to me that hadn't already been done.
"Don't even think about shooting that thing," I said quickly, my hands raised, my bow carefully balancing in one hand. Riley growled protectively, his fur standing on end. "You even think about it, and my dog here will tear your throat out."
"That how you greet all people?" the man asked. His blue eyes seemed to show amusement.
"Only the one's wielding a crossbow and a half ass concealed knife," I shrugged. "Mind lowerin' that thing so I can get my arrows back?"
"You killed my deer," he muttered as he lowered his weapon. I would have laughed at his child-like tone, had I not been starving half to death.
"T'was mine long 'fore it was yours," I said sternly as I retrieved my arrows. "Been tracking it for a few nights now."
"Took ya this long to kill it?" he asked skeptically.
"Naw," I shook my head. "Was hoping it'd lead me to the rest of its herd," I shrugged. "Winter's almost here. Gotta stock up 'fore the first snowfall."
"You plannin' on living in the woods all winter?" he asked doubtfully. I saw something change in his eyes as he said it.
"Prolly. Ain't nowhere else to go," I shrugged. I stared at the deer lying at our feet. "You got a group or somethin'?"
"What's it to ya?" he said gruffly.
"If ya do, take the deer with ya. I'll find another," I shrugged. "Besides, I've got my dog. We'll be able to track down rats this winter at least."
I stared back the way I came, ignoring the man's rough calls. I looked at Riley and with a single nod, we broke apart. I took to the trees and he took to the bushes, just as we always did when I was trying not to have anyone follow me. It seemed to work.
I made it back to my van with no disturbances. I was grateful for that, but that silence, that bliss, was soon diminished by the sound of walkers growling and people shouting. Before I could think, Riley and I were running towards the sounds, ready to fight for whatever reason.
What I came face to face with, will disturb me for the rest of my life. Knowing what I know now, I should have trusted the hunter and followed him, rather than run to the rescue of the screaming people. Because that was my biggest mistake. Trying to play hero in a world where heroes always die.
A/n - Another TWD Fic! This one is set prior to Lori dying, spreading to where the series is now, loosely following the storyline. Please let me know what you think! I promise, this one will run far longer than any fic I ever wrote before.
