Chapter One:
Rosanna smiled as she walked through the trees, the sound of a waterfall leading her to a beautiful pool in a small clearing in the woods. The prospect of a bath and to do some laundry made her smile grow brighter. She hesitated for a moment at the edge of the clearing as she listened, expanding her senses to search for any movement or sounds that shouldn't be there. After a moment she continued on, walking directly to the pool of water underneath a stunning little waterfall. Rosanna shrugged off her pack, dropping it gently onto the grass before stretching her arms above her head and sighing happily. She touched her two matching hot pink Japanese double swords with silver flowers etched onto the hilts, and set them by the water so she could grab them quickly if needed. She did the same with her revolvers. Once more she stood still and listened for a moment or two before quickly stripping off her clothes and opening her pack to remove a fat bar of jasmine scented soap. She dove into the warm water and swam in a circle before floating on her back lazily, looking up at the bright sun.
She had traveled for weeks from her home in California, looking for some kind of civilization. Most of the time she had been able to find a car, but her last vehicle ran out of gas just as she entered Georgia, and she had been unable to find either a new car or gas. For the past few weeks, she had traveled on foot. Rosanna undid her dark brown braid and took up the bar of soap to wash her hair, thinking of her travels. At first, she had thought to go to the CDC in Atlanta, but when she got there, it had been burned down. Frowning at the memory, Rosanna ducked under the water to rinse her hair and began absentmindedly washing her body. All she had wanted were answers. What had happened to the world? What were the walkers, exactly? Was there a cure? And most importantly, what had she turned into? Sighing, Rosanna rinsed her body and climbed out of the water, sitting on the grass and taking a comb from her pack. She combed through her waist length hair and braided it before rummaging through her belongings for her last clean outfit, a sapphire blue tank top that matched her eyes and short cutoff denim shorts.
Why didn't I die? she thought for the thousandth time as she pulled on the clothes.
It had happened in Arizona, just on the outskirts of New Mexico. Rosanna had pulled into a motel in the middle of nowhere, hoping that she could scrounge up some food and water. Driving through the desert hadn't been the smartest idea, with no way of knowing whether or not she'd be able to find gas to make it through. God knew what she would do if the car broke down. She didn't know the first thing about cars. Pulling her swords from their sheaths, Rosanna approached the debilitated office, moving silently through the parking lot. She hesitated at the door, listening carefully before trying the knob. To her surprise, the door opened easily and she walked in, squinting at the setting sun shining brightly through a window. She checked the room quickly, looking for walkers or other signs of inhabitants before noticing an open cabinet containing a case of bottled water, a box half full of granola bars, and a few large plastic cups of instant noodles. Rosanna almost shrieked with happiness as she guzzled down a water, ripped off the wrapper of a bar, and stuffed it into her mouth. She gathered up the supplies and went back out to the car, putting them safely in the trunk before looking back at the motel. I should check the rest of the rooms, she thought, tightening her grip on her swords and striding back to the office.
Rosanna quickly looked through the seven guest rooms, wrinkling her nose when she came upon a couple of corpses in one that looked like they had shot themselves. Flies and maggots were everywhere. The gun they had used was out of ammo so she left it there. Finding nothing else of value in any of the rooms, Rosanna went back to the office and contemplated spending the night. She was standing in a doorway, trying to make up her mind, when she heard a sound right behind her. Turning quickly, drawing her weapons, she knew it was too late before she even felt the bite to her shoulder. The walker ripped through her skin and muscle as Rosanna screamed, shoving him off her, his mouth red with her blood. She quickly decapitated him and rammed one of her swords through his temple before sliding to the ground. The wound hurt horribly, a mixture of burning and pain that resounded through her whole body. Rosanna drew her knees to her chest and started to cry. She knew the drill. The infection would spread, she'd get a fever, then she would die and become a walker. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she hugged herself while the sun set and the moon rose.
She didn't know how long she sat there. The sun was already sinking below the horizon again as the wave of thirst reminded her body that she needed to drink. It was so hot. She was so hot. Sweat dripped from her temples, her forehead. She could smell the rank scent of sweat and fear from her armpits. She had to get water, but as she tried to stand, the room spun and she fell back to the floor. Her shoulder burned, the infection burning its way through her veins like liquid fire. Rosanna tried to roll over but couldn't. Her eyes felt so heavy. She had to sleep. She fought it, but her eyes drifted shut. Everything went black.
Then she woke up.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Everything she saw was sharp, clear in its clarity. She stared ahead, looking at the dust motes in the air, before her gaze fell on a can of ant spray far across the room. As far away as it was, she realized she could read the tiny print of the warning label. Rosanna read the label several times, her cheek pillowed on the smelly carpet . . . God it was smelly! Had it been that smelly before? she thought lazily, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position. The room was noisy, she thought she could hear small bugs crawling around, flies buzzing, and there was a wiggly, slithery noise she couldn't place. For a moment she froze, remembering what had happened. Her fingers reached up to her shoulder and found . . . nothing. Rosanna took in a deep breath, feeling the wound again. It definitely wasn't there. What the hell? Maybe she had dreamed the bite. But no, there was the walker, just where she had left it.
Rosanna stood up. The motion seemed more fluid, much faster than usual. She rubbed her arm, absentmindedly feeling for the scars she had gotten as a teenager when she was in a minor car crash. Nothing was there. Slowly, she turned her ams, looking for them. They were definitely gone. Her skin seemed paler than usual, like she had lost her tan. She twisted her legs, looking for the scar she had gotten as a child climbing a tree. It was gone as well. Suddenly her mind couldn't process what had happened and she grabbed her swords off the ground, racing for the car. Numbly, she realized she was moving faster than she ever had before. She slid in the front seat, shoved the keys into the ignition, and tore out of the motel parking lot like a herd of walkers were right behind her.
It didn't take her long to notice she was a lot stronger than before, in addition to moving faster. Once, while in between cars, she ran into a herd. Instead of trying to fight her way out, she ran away. She was shocked by how quickly she could move. It seemed like she was flying down the road, and she didn't feel winded at all, no matter how far she ran. Her senses were heightened. She could see better, hear better, smell better. It helped tremendously that she could smell the rot coming from a walker before she could hear them. She avoided people, observing them from a distance, not wanting to bring attention to herself as she was learning to control her new abilities. She had broken several mugs by gripping them too hard. The heat of the day and the cool of night no longer bothered her. She could sleep without fear of being attacked, as she could hear things from relatively far away that woke her up immediately. That ability saved her when she ran into a couple groups of rough men, as well as walkers.
Another thing Rosanna was surprised to find out was how quickly she healed. After accidentally cutting herself while skinning a rabbit, she watched in shocked wonder as the cut healed itself in less than a minute. All that remained was the blood. The knowledge terrified her, and she cried often. It was when she hit Louisiana when she thought of going to the Center for Disease Control, both to see if there were any survivors located there, and to get her questions answered. She cried some more when she got there, only to be disappointed.
It didn't make sense, she thought, bringing herself back to the present as she gazed at the waterfall. It still doesn't. Shrugging, Rosanna pulled a few dirty outfits out of her backpack and prepared to wash them. Suddenly she heard a horse neigh, a curse, and she leaped up as someone fell down the cliff above her. She grabbed her things quickly and leaped into a thicket of bushes as a man slid down the waterfall into the pool of water underneath. He stood up slowly, and immediately she knew he was hurt. Blood coated his forehead, and something stuck out of the side of his body. Looking closer, she could see it looked like an arrow. The man climbed painfully out of the water and began ripping off his shirtsleeves, making a makeshift bandage. He paused and looked up at the cliff above him before going to the pool and pulling a crossbow out of the water. She didn't move as he began making his way slowly up the cliff.
Rosanna decided not to interfere. She was already wary of the people in the area, having watched a large man walking through the forest the day before, holding a walker that had obviously once been a child on a stick in front of him. The walker was alive and fighting to eat the man, but he went stolidly on. Anyone stupid enough to capture a live walker instead of killing them wasn't someone she wanted to meet, as desperate as she was to talk to another person. She had her doubts about hillbillies in the woods anyway. She had watched Wrong Turn plenty of times to know that was a bad idea. And this guy with an arrow sticking out of his stomach and a crossbow on his shoulder looked about as hillbilly as they come. She pushed her dirty clothes back in her pack and turned to slip out of the thicket when she heard a crash and yell, turning back just in time to see the man fall down the cliff once more. This time he didn't move when he hit the ground.
Rosanna froze, waiting. He still didn't move. She turned to run, but with a sigh, she moved out of the thicket, drawing one blade and walking slowly towards him. If he was dead, she would put a blade through his brain before he turned. He was good looking under all the dirt, she noticed right away. He was muscular, with messy brown hair, a strong unshaved chin, and a handsome nose. The arrow sticking through his side looked grotesque. Fresh bruises and blood coated his arms and face. But he was breathing. Rosanna knelt beside him, hesitating for only a moment pulling her first aid kit from her pack. She clipped off the arrowhead and lifted the man slightly so she could pull the arrow from his stomach. Working quickly, she padded the bloody wound with gauze and wrapped it before moving on to the cuts on his face. It took a while, but she soon had him bandaged up. Leaning back, she pushed a strand of hair from her face and reviewed her work. Knowing he would be thirsty when he woke up, Rosanna started a small fire and got some creek water boiling to kill any bacteria.
The man mumbled in his unconsciousness, unintelligible words except for a few. Merle. The little girl. Her doll. Rosanna watched him for a moment before she smelled rot, and heard the unmistakable sounds of a walker coming near. She leapt up, drawing both swords, and ran to dispatch the three walkers coming towards them. When she got back, the man was still unconscious.
Sighing, she sat beside him, looking him over. His pack still lay underneath him. She pulled it out and tentatively looked through it. There was a child's doll, a small package of jerky, and a water bottle in addition to extra crossbow bolts, a knife, rope, and a compass. Rosanna turned the doll around in her hands, wondering why he had taken it. He had obviously just found it, it was muddy and wet. She put everything back inside his pack and gently raised his head so she could put it under his head as a pillow. As she adjusted his head, his eyes fluttered, then opened wide.
"Who're you?" he mumbled, squinting up at her in the sunlight.
She tightened her grip on her swords and looked down at him. "I'm Rosanna."
He made to sit up and Rosanna quickly put her swords down, holding him back. "Not just yet," she said. "You fell, badly. You're hurt. Go slowly."
The man feebly tried to swat her hands away and sat up, groaning as he did so. "What happened?"
"You fell," she repeated. "Got an arrow stuck in you. I pulled it out and dressed the wound. I don't think it hit any major organs, but I'm no doctor."
"I've got to get back to the farm," the man said, trying to stand. "I found . . ." He broke off and glared at her. "Haven't seen a kid around, have you? A girl, named Sophia?"
Rosanna shook her head, bemused. She wondered if she should mention the child walker, but decided against it. "No. But I saw a car up on the highway, had the name Sophia written on it."
"That would be where we lost her. Told her to stay there if she found her way back."
"There was food there and stuff. I didn't take any of it. I had a feeling it was for someone who was lost," Rosanna replied. "Your daughter?"
"No," the man said grumpily. "One of our group's."
She nodded, taking the pot of water off the fire. "I boiled water for you. I have tea bags, it's hot enough to make tea if you like. You should drink something."
The man shrugged. Rosanna pulled a mug from her pack, added a tea bag and water, and set it on the ground next to him to cool. "What's your name?" she asked as she made herself a cup of tea.
"Daryl," he answered, slowly reaching for his tea and taking a careful sip.
"You from around here?" she asked, taking a sip from her own cup.
He hesitated, looking her over but good. "Our group came from Atlanta."
"I was just there," Rosanna told him. "It's overrun."
"It was when we were there," he said, looking at her suspiciously. "You were there alone? And survived?"
She shrugged. "I've been alone since the beginning of all this." She looked down at her hands. "Since before that, even."
He was silent, still staring at her with hard eyes. He finished his tea and set down the mug. "Well, thank you, I guess," he said sullenly. "But I gotta get back now."
"You won't make it far, with those wounds," Rosanna informed Daryl as he tried to stand, yelping as he put weight on his left leg. "Looks like you got yourself a sprain, if your leg isn't broken,"
"I'll make it," Daryl almost growled, looking around. "Where's my crossbow? You ain't tryin' to steal it, are you?"
"No," Rosanna huffed. "I have these," she said, pointing at her swords. "I wouldn't know the first thing about how to shoot a crossbow anyway." She got up, stung at his accusation, and walked over to the edge of the cliff where the crossbow lay. "Here." She thrust it at him, harder than she should have.
He grunted as the crossbow hit his chest, and took it from her. "Okay. Thanks."
"Well," Rosanna said, packing her things back into her backpack. "It was nice to meet you, Daryl." She sat on the ground and looked at him expectantly.
"What?" he asked suspiciously.
She smiled at him. "Oh, I just want a good seat for this. I can't wait to see how you think you're going to get out of here without help."
His expression darkened and he glanced up at the cliff. "I'll make it," he grumbled.
"Oh, I'm sure," Rosanna retorted. "It may help you to know there's a path right over there. It leads upwards, so I think it'll take you back up where you want to go." She pointed with the pommel of her sword.
He huffed at her and with a last glare, turned to go. He limped along, obviously in pain, stopping every few feet to catch his breath. "Dammit!" he shouted, and he turned to look at her. "Are you enjoying this?" he snarled.
She shrugged. "Not really. You'd make it if I helped you, you know. What are you going to do if you run into walkers? And I just want to make it clear right now, I'm not trying to infringe upon your group's setup. I'm good on my own. I'll help you get home, then I'll leave."
He considered for a minute. "That's okay then," he said gruffly, "Just so we're clear."
Rosanna nodded and lifted her pack, making sure her swords and guns were properly secured. She stood up and walked over to the bushes, looking for a sturdy stick. "Here," she said, handing Daryl the stick and standing close so he could put an arm around her shoulders. "You're going to be fine," she assured him as they started on their way.