Summary: Following the story of Aurora, a 25 year old teacher, and Erin, a fifteen year old girl just trying to survive. After a journey over ninety miles, the two make an unforgettable friendship, and their path intertwines with none other's than Rick's group. Set a bit before Rick joins the group. Rated M for language. Might be romance- but that wil be much later! ( planning to take this all the way to season four here )
Aurora's Point of View.
I licked my dry, cracked lips, looking around at the burning school. A heinous sight meets me, but I don't hesitate to grab the gun from where I kept it simply through my belt and aim. I look into it's eyes, the iris and pupils nebulous, as if they melt into the whites of the eyes, which are in actually fact, tainted red- blood shot. Lips missing, teeth gnashing at me, and skin sunken in, I stop breathing for a moment. The smell of burning corpses is something no one could ever get used to. It was distinct and seemed to infect the saliva in your throat and mouth. But it was a stench I could see in the future awaiting me, for many months at least. My stomach let out a groan of complaint, but there was in fact nothing to through up, only the bile that licked up my throat briefly as I inhaled the almost poisonous fumes. I didn't understand how breathing through your mouth would make it better when you would go past a disgusting smell like the garbage tip or a desalination plant, but it was advice that I remember I was given. My tongue is dry and rough like sandpaper in my mouth, and feels like it is the weight of a brick and a few sizes too big, but I really know that all I need it a gulp of clean water.
But I can't just stop staring at the thing approaching me, and as I move my finger to the trigger finger, gun aimed between it's forehead, a wooden pillar lit ablaze fell. I take a step back, to avoid the flames from licking at my legs, covered with tight but worn blue denim. I shield my stinging eyes from the flames that seem to tease me, ready to embrace me when I chose to accept this fate. I was surrounded by the sea of flames, which roared and crackled, sending embers that landed on the bare skin on my left, boney hand. I didn't even flinch, feeling the skin scorch slightly at the ember and instead focused on something much more important. I was facing the inevitable, I would have to make a run from it, or I would face being burnt alive.
My insides twist again thinking about my skin melting off my bones, which would remain, black with the rest of my ashes. Hollow eye sockets would remain where warm amber eyes used to observe the once beautiful world around me. I think the roof collapsing would be a much preferred choice of death, but of course, I couldn't be picky. I could almost feel my hair burning, and looked around me, spinning in a full circle, looking for an escape. I cursed the ridiculous structure of the building and bit my lip, skin scorching from the heat. Perspiration uncomfortably made my clothes cling to my body more so and I fought the urge to try pick at them, knowing that it wouldn't help in any way. I shrug my shoulders, trying to make the backpack sit more comfortably on my sore back.
Evergreen trees swayed in the cold gentle breeze, and a hand rested on my shoulder, "Don't think of the cost, think of the value," a voice whispered as softly at the leaves that rustled, and by the time I opened my eyes, he was already gone.
I grit of my teeth. Don't think of the cost, think of the value, certainly could apply to the situation I was in. I could risk it all and try to dance around the flames, and make my way to the back entrance. Maybe I would get burned, but it was worth it, if it meant that I would be alive. I glanced at the newly fallen beam, at the angry white hot core of the flames, surrounded by a glow that changes from yellow to angry red. I take in a sharp breath, which almost makes me cough my lungs up and reconsider, and try to jump over it. A better description of what actually happened, would by that I jumped through it. My life did not flash before my eyes, I didn't see an angle or feel god's hand in me, pulling me away from the world I was in now as I jumped. I instead felt my foot pulse when a sudden searing pain hit me when I landed on it awkwardly, but I knew I had to push forward, so painfully my shoes kept on hitting the ground as I ran fast. I almost felt like a dear, as I leaped over more obstacles, and rushed towards safety. The only sound I could hear my heart beating like a drum next to my ears, and the rough drags of oxygen that I tried to breathe in from the room filling up quickly with black smoke.
But I knew I couldn't crawl on the ground, I would cut or burn my hands open, and while it was harder to see, I knew where I was going and were the fires were, once I neared them enough. I wasn't brought up in religious house hold, I wouldn't feel safer wondering if there was a god watching over me, but maybe that was just because I was maybe afraid to think that there could be one. No, there isn't one. Pull your head out of your ass and get the hell out of here, adrenaline pumped through my veins and my nostrils flared as I picked up my pace. I slammed into the door, my hand copping most of the damage, my body slamming into it soon after. The breathe was knocked out of me, and I gasped out loud, trying to force air through my lungs again. I tried not to panic, but I was in a room that was about to collapse, and might I mention, fire lighting up everything flammable, covering the floor dangerously with ashes, that almost made me slip as my shoes pushed them against the once clean, smooth tile floors. I grasped the metal handle, which made my hand sizzle, tears burning my eyes, I threw it open. I ripped my hand from it as quickly as I could, pushing it further open with my runners, the shoes laces messily tied up in not a double knot, but a triple one.
As if my leg haven't been through enough, my muscles complained as the pushed the heavy, wood and metal door open, and I threw myself down the steps, landing on one foot. I found myself falling too fast to stop, and tumble down the stairs. Like tying your shoe laces tightly would make your gift of clumsiness leave, my burned hands shielded my right cheek, which smacked onto the not cool like I had wanted, but warm concrete steps. My side continued to tumble down the steep, skinny steps and I rolled all seventeen steps down. I was just thankful that it was going to be my ribs bruised black and purple, and not my head.
Think of the value, not the cost. My life was worth more than a few bruises, a stinging left hand, a sprained ankle and burned right palm. I looked up at the sky, my eyes blurred. My back arcs around the heavy backpack which no doubt contributed to making me lose my balance, and my vision swims for a moment. Once the colours stop spinning so much, I look up. I could tell that it would have been cloudless though, but a cloud of almost black smoke clouds the way. The air. I cough and I splutter as clean air rushes into my lungs. I wipe my eyes with my wrists and I get up, as fast as I can. Which is not fast at all. There is no paramedic to help me, no fireman to put out the fire. Only the sound of moans and groans, which are coming form the building I had left.
Munchers, the name that flitters through my mind makes me snap back to reality, and as if I have no injuries at all, I am off running again. I think of the Muncher that I almost shot to the ground, but instead it was crushed. I think about the blood that reflects like liquid obsidian, how it seemed to evaporate fast. Its flesh added to my clothes, already colorful from cuts, blood and grass stains.
Feet hit the tar road, that was newly put in by the owners of the building, and I weave in between cars that have been abandoned. I had grabbed what I needed, and I was ready to get out of this burning place. My hair clings to my neck and face, the locks tickling my skin. I would usually bother to brush my copper hair out of my face, and scratch my skin, but I don't care now. Heart racing, I dodge a munch, face buried in what must be a dog, which once might have been white. The sound of teeth crushing it's intestines seem louder than what they should be, and I come up behind it, and kick it's head. It didn't hurt, not yet at least, and it was knocked off its balance and fell on the ground. I snarled and stomped on its skull. It didn't matter than it was wearing a red and brown streaked dress, and that it used to be a girl with beautiful blonde hair, less than thirty years old, as I push my eight forward on my left foot, and stomp its head in.
A think I have noticed about these creatures, was that they didn't think. That they were just shells of what we used to be, it seemed, and that the only thing it knew what to do was track anything living. It could smell me, I knew it, there was no way that they were sniffing the air for fun when I was first here. They didn't have sensitive hearing, but you had to be careful what noise you made when you walked. Their eyes seemed to stare at you, like a hungry lion licking his chaps while stalking its prey. The first time I saw one, I tried to help it, foolishly. I knew better now. It was hard to learn that on my own, that the only way you could kill them, was to destroy the brain. It was like little children's fears had come to life; zombies were roaming about. But I refused to call them that. Maybe it was just fear that if I actually uttered the word zombie, it would strike fear deeper into my heart, and it would all of a sudden become more real.
The word Muncher suited them much more, in my eyes. I had lured as many as I could, which was about thirty to forty Munchers into the complex, but there were still many outside, about six near by, a group of over five approximately fifty meters away from them. One down, five to go, I looked around. Their hungry glazed eyes and the moans through that made their way out of their throats made me feel chilled, cold to the bone, despite how hot the humid air was around me. But pushed those in my way down onto the ground, not bothering with killing them, and soon found myself starting the car I had brought with me.
It wasn't anything new of fancy, but it did its job. I slammed the door shut and locked the doors. Grey pale hands slapped the windows, and their face pressed against the glass, and I turned the keys and let the relief radiate through me for now, as the engine purred to life. I didn't think I had much chance of making it out of there, but I needed what I grabbed desperately. Bandages, creams, medicine, rope, a box of matches, a torch, food, batteries, clothes and most importantly, water. I didn't bother adjust the rear view mirror as I pushed my foot down on the accelerator. The Munchers slid off and tried to hold onto the car, but they couldn't compete with the machine. There were dead bodies everywhere in this town, but most of the dead were walking. The windshield wipers removed the blood and chunks of flesh left behind, and I found myself on a high way, driving on the wrong side of the road, as it wasn't banked up with cars stained with blood. Most of the people here had made it, but at least a third remained behind. I was ten miles away from where I had started days ago, when this all started, and now only eighty miles away from Atlanta, a declared safe zone.
Finally, my heart stopped pounding. A lazy smirk settled on my face, as I thought about the Munchers. Fuckers didn't stand a chance against me. It was okay to be cocky now, I suppose. It was okay to do anything now, maybe.
Except eat, sleep, drink, relax, read, cry, love and die when you want.
The smirk slid from my face. Do not dwell on it until it is safe enough to, it was like another voice whispered in my head again; it was foreign and clear. My eyes that stung were granted my eyelids protecting them for nearly two full seconds, before I opened them again. I pursed my lips before beginning to whistle. Wipe your shoes, wipe your…face! The annoying tune that was from Shrek, a kids movie, echoed in my head and I nearly smashed my nose against the stealing wheel. As if I needed that song stuck in my head, spinning around for hours again.
I allowed myself the peace of whistling that song, and I searched for a radio station that was working. I looked at the numbers that changed, as it went through the circuit of numbers. I didn't look at my hands, not yet. I couldn't look, not until the car ran out of gas, and I had to walk again. I drummed my raw fingers against the leather steering wheel though, and looked at the fallen truck on the other side of the road. Eye lids half closed, lazily, I gazed at the road ahead. I was right, it was still a clear, cloudless day of June. The sky that stretched on seemingly forever seemed clearer than ever before. Maybe a few days without cars running left and right did make a different. I continued singing, lyrics in my head.
"Duloc is, Duloc is, Duloc is a perfect, pl-" something from behind me said in a bright, cheerful, tone. I slammed on the breaks before what ever what singing could finish, and I was almost lifted out of my seat. I snapped my head around and pulled out my gun, and saw a pair of white, boney hands help up, fingers out stretched in defense and shock.
"Please don't shoot me," it was a girl, maybe only fifteen. Her brown hair was cut choppy, also like mine, as if done roughly with a knife. Resting on the brown leather seat next to her was the exact knife that I had left behind and used to cut my hair with. Her eyes tightly shut, her mouth agape, she looked at the dirty floor. I glared at her.
"Girl, how did you get in here," I spat at her. She opened her eyes and stared at the gun, and licked her lips. What was going on? I never took anyone with me. How was she here without the Munchers noticing her either? Her eyes were big, green and innocent, and shone with unshed tears that threatened to spill. I almost felt bad for her. Don't tell me that this is going to be another person who can't understand what I am saying. Jesus, you'd think that some Americans have never heard an Australian accent.
"My name is Erin, and I got here when you were outside, in the building. I was going to drive away," she admitted honestly, "But then walkers filled the area, must have heard me, but didn't spot or see me. I was hiding under this blanket, you see. And-and, I have been hiding in the trees, sleeping in them. Please don't make me go on my own, I am hungry and I am lost and I know my family is dead," she squealed. Her voice was filed with emotion, but no tears trickled down her cheeks. "Please," she stressed out the word. I stared at her. She was thin, too thin. She must have been on her own for a while, staying away from everywhere, not grabbing much food, if any in the past few days. Her collar bones jut out from her skin in an unnatural way, and I could see the top of her ribs. She shook like an leaf, and seemed like she was scared of her own shadow. But I already knew, she was far from it.
She had survived this long, and I noticed that she had a gun in her lap. She was wearing a dark green tank top and leggings, I couldn't tell what shoes she was wearing, not that it mattered. She bit her lip and looked up into my own eyes. I felt guilt wrench in my heart, and I brushed away bad memories that were about to sound in my head like a cobweb, and leaned back into my chair more comfortably, and put the gun back down. I weigh my options. I could kick her out, but that would probably mean certain death, of starvation or worse. I could let her stay. Maybe she would be a burden, and take up my resources. Or she might have my back, when fleeing against Munchers. She might be able to drive, while I tend to my wounds. But most of all, I might have someone to help stop me form going insane.
Travelling on my own might fuck up with my mind. Travelling on her own would probably stuff up hers too. I could take her to Atlanta with me, then I don't have to continue to deal with her. Or she might steal my car, shoot me, and leave me for dead. But what would she gain from it. This car will run out of gas soon enough, and then she will be on her own again. I want to keep my humanity as much as possible. I don't want to be ruined by this thing. I bet others will be, but I refuse to be. I can't force a smile, but I don't glare or grimace either at her.
"The name is Aurora. Climb into the front seat and finish that song for me, will you?" I ask her, and look at the seat next to me. She stares blankly at me, and I wonder it is my accent, which is thick and Australian. But then I see the corners of her mouth tug up, and she moves herself quickly.
"That's a pretty name," her tone could almost be defined as bubbly, and I know I have made the right decision. I didn't want to fall into a pit of depression, swallowed by the waves of feeling hopeless, worthless and useless. Company might be able to stop that. I grab my bag and move it away from the seat, and she plops herself down on the chair, scratching her greasy brown hair. I stare blankly at the road ahead, now noticing the blood stains and the Munchers a mile away from the car. Uncertainty wells in my pit now, and I feel indecisive.
My moods change faster than a pregnant women revved up with hormones, and I have to look at her again. Pale face, almost grey lips, but no signs of blood anywhere.
"You haven't been scratched or bit, have you?" my voice almost wavers. She shakes her head. "I saved one last bullet for a reason, you know? I'd rather die than become a walking, rotting corpse. Now we should continue to drive, you know, before she run out of day light," she points up to the sun through the sun roof. It was just past midday by the position of it, and I nod blankly. She would kill herself before becoming one of those things? So I wasn't the only one. I clutch the steering wheel tightly, and begin to drive again.
I look down at the numbers that rush across the screen, going past the same numbers for what may be a fourth time, I sigh, and hit a circular button. The antenna slides back into the car, and I hear her singing the song again.
"Welcome to Duloc such a perfect town. Here we have some rules, let us lay them down..." she continued to sing, and I continued to drive. It was like someone stabbed me with a knife, as she continued to sing. My vision clouded briefly.
"Roary!" A little girl squealed, making her nickname sound more like a lion's roar than 'Rory'. Golden hair that fell in waves over her shoulders bounced, and her eyes like emerald's in the sun were unearthly beautiful.
I wince, flinch, but continue driving, not making comment of how my new partner stopped singing. Sometimes memories were too painful and would never be forgotten. I had accepted that many years ago, but that didn't mean that I wouldn't try my hardest to block out painful memories. My childhood seemled like a swirl of darkness, a black abyss that when I thought about, was close to be dragged down into it. Stop it, Aurora, it doesn't matter who you were, only who you are and are going to be.
That would be my conscious, again putting me back on track, keeping me focused on my goal.
"Shadows settle on the place, that you left," I find myself singing a song, my acquaintance stopping the humming that I only just released she was doing. "Our minds our troubled by the emptiness," I continued. I knew I was an average singer, and at the moment, it was pointless on being shy. There was no guarantee that Atlanta would be safe, but I had to go, otherwise I would spend the rest of possibly my life wondering. She looked up at me, her eyes seemingly less innocent. She seemed older than her fragile body, and opened her mouth to join in the song. We weren't far apart in age, really. I couldn't be sure, but I would have to bet that I was more mature than her at her age, in different ways that she was.
"Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time," our voices almost echoed in the car, it seemed. A smile graced her lips, despite this song being a bitter sad song. She looked at my hands, which were aching strongly. There was like a silent moment of communication, and we both knew that we would pull over to fix me up after this song. For the next few minutes, bitter words filled the car, and half of my water was given to Erin, which she drained quickly. I felt bad for not giving her any earlier, but she didn't seem to mind all too much. She tended to my hand, with a cream that I had grabbed for skin care. There wasn't much there, but I was glad that the soothing cream was.
"You know how to drive kid?" I asked her, ready to move seats if necessary. She shook her head.
"But it can't be too hard, right? I mean, no one else is on the road, and it is straight for miles," she pointed out. I bit my lip, but nodded. Trust had to start somewhere, right? Maybe it wasn't a smart decision, but I felt a little better at her next words. "Don't worry, I was best at Dodge 'em cars," she flashed me a smile. She didn't have white teeth, rather a yellow, as was expected. I felt a pulling at the corner of my lips, and moved over for her.
It was going to be a long journey, but you had to start somewhere, right?
AN : Call this story what you want: Bad good, stupid, silly... This is my story, and I am writing it whether I get no reviews or not. But some reviews WOULD be nice, and I have plenty more chapters where that came from ;)