The sound of an arrow whooshing through the air was the only thing that gave the walker any inclination that the hunter was around but by that time the arrow had already made it to it's destination deep inside the monster's head. With swiftness and ease the hunter ran up to the fallen corpse and yanked his arrow out of it's face and then quickly buried it and retracted it out of the temple of another walker that thought he could sneak up on him. Then he reloaded his crossbow with the same arrow, lifted it and pulled the trigger and sent the arrow screaming towards the third and final walker. This one hit it in the middle of it's chest, not killing it but slowing it down. "Dammit." The hunter mumbled as he reached for his hunting knife and casually walked towards the living dead creature and shoved the pointed end of his knife down into the top of the walker's head. It fell to the ground with a loud thump. The hunter glanced around in all directions, checking to see if he had missed any and when he was sure he wasn't he pulled his arrow out of the dead body and loaded it back into his crossbow. Then he took out a red handkerchief and began to clean his blade.
When he felt that his weapon was clean enough he sheathed it and the re-adjusted the crossbow that hung from his back. He reached up and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of one of his dirty, calloused hands. It was exceptionally hot that afternoon and he soon realized he was low on fresh water. He knew he would have to find more soon, or risk dehydration. The hunter had been wandering around the Georgia woods for days. He'd lost count of how many it had been after 10. He knew it had been a lot longer than that since he'd seen his last breathing person.
He wasn't lonely, in fact he preferred to be alone, he had always been that way since he was young. He did miss the last group he was with though. They had been holed up in a prison and it got over-run with walkers. The group split up and he never found anyone else. He assumed everyone he was with was dead. That realization had hurt him because those people were the only ones who didn't treat him like a criminal. He didn't know why, physically he fit the description and he had been very private about his past. No one in the group knew what he had done or was before the turn and no one really tried to force him to disclose that information. All they had to do was ask and he would have told them, they just never did.
Next to losing his older brother, who had practically raised him, losing the people in his last group was one of the hardest pills he's ever had to swallow. Even though he was used to be alone, he had also gotten used to having people to talk to when needed and having people rely on him. He had never seen himself as the hero type, but with his rough exterior and mysterious interior everyone saw him as that. He didn't mind that all either.
The hunter took out his canteen and swallowed what little water he had left. Now he knew he would need more water. The sun was relentlessly beating down on him from above and it seemed to be getting hotter and hotter. His body ached as he started walking again, making sure he didn't make too much noise in the process. "Gotta find water." He thought to himself, "top priority."
An hour or so later thankfully he came across a creek. The water was clear and fast moving, which he was thankful for. He bent down and filled his canteen and started drinking. The cold water was like Heaven on his dry scratchy throat and he had to remind himself that he needed to drink slowly to avoid being sick. When he was done he filled the canteen once more, placed the lid back on and shoved it into his bag.
He contemplated resting a while beside the creek. The dull pain in his back had become more noticeable but he was afraid that if he rested he wouldn't want to get back up. He ultimately decided to just continue walking along the creek bed and would set up camp later in the day. He continued his journey, carefully placing one foot in front of the other and making sure his senses were alert and in tune to his surroundings. If something scurried across the forest floor, the hunter knew it and could identify the creature just from sound alone. He shot and killed a few squirrels which he shoved into his bag for later. It was easy hunting for just himself. He never really ate much and hunting was one of the few things that came naturally to him.
Occasionally his mind would wander, and he would think about the group he had just lost. He wondered if any of them were still alive, and if so would they be looking for him as he was looking for them. He doubted it. He had made sure not to hike too far from the prison on the off-chance that maybe he would run into a fellow survivor. But after days and days of waiting he had reluctantly given up and started heading north. Why north? That direction seemed okay to him. So here he was, blindly wandering north not knowing where he was going or what he would find.
His mind was so full of questions and thoughts that he almost didn't see the little stone cottage tucked behind a grove of trees until it was too late. He paused and stared at it. The stone was gray, with dark green moss covering most of it. The door was wooden and the windows had been boarded shut. There didn't appear to be anything or anyone living in it. "Supplies?" He thought to himself as he took a mental inventory of his own stash. He was low on canned goods and other necessities. "Taking a look wouldn't hurt," he thought, "could probably crash there tonight as well." He took a tight grip on his cross bow and headed for the front door.
He placed his hand on the door and knocked loudly and stood back. If there was anything alive or dead they would let themselves be known. The hunter made sure to keep his breathing very still so he could hear anything that needed to be heard. All he heard were the sounds of birds chirping and the faint sound of water running from the creek. Taking a deep breath he pushed on the front door.
Surprisingly the door opened with ease. Pushing it open further he peered inside the small cottage into what appeared to be a living room. With his cross bow aimed and readied he cautiously took a step inside. The room was musty, like it had been shut up for a while. Dust covered everything he could see. The wood floor, which was bare, creaked quietly under his feet. The room wasn't much to look at. A couch, an arm chair and an old t.v. were the main inhabitants. Just off from the living room was the kitchen, the cabinets open and practically bare themselves. There was no power, obviously, and he doubted there would be running water.
Off to the left of the living room was the bathroom. The door stood wide open and the room was empty. He decided he would raid the medicine cabinet after making sure the small cottage was completely inhabited. To the right was a closed door, in which he assumed was the one and only bedroom. The hunter carefully placed a hand on the door knob and turned it slowly freeing the latch. The door swung open easily and revealed itself to be empty as well. Only a bed stood in the middle of the small room. "Guess nobody's home." He thought to himself as he lowered his weapon and swung it back over his shoulder.
Feeling a bit more relaxed under the assumption that he was alone he turned to walk to the kitchen, but as he did so he was immediately struck on the head by something hard and large. The hunter started seeing spots in front of his eyes and lost his balance, falling hard on the wooden floor. Before losing consciousness he caught glimpse of a woman who seemed to have come out of nowhere. She was small in stature and had long brown hair. In her hand was a cast iron skillet. "What the f-?!" was all he could get out before a swift kick to the head caused his whole world to turn black.