I stumbled through the brush, cutting away as best as I could with my hunting knife. Brambles from surrounding bushes cut at my skin, but I had walked for so long around the thicket, searching for a way out, that I finally realized that the only way I could escape would be to go straight through it. It certainly wasn't ideal, but as I could see sunlight filtering in through on the other side, I knew that a bush-free path was close at hand. At best I was hoping for a road, at worst, more of those things. Those dead things.

At least they couldn't get to me in the brush. I pushed forward, slashing and banging my way through. My backpack caught on a large thorn, and sheathed my knife before tilting my body to the left, pulling my bag free with my weight. The thorn snapped and fell to the ground, freeing my backpack, but I had leaned too far over, and I toppled the other direction into a rotten tree stump. I bounced off of it and tumbled to the ground. I didn't see the branch that had sunk itself into my left thigh until it was too late. I looked down at my leg as I lay there, trying to decide if it was worth getting up at the moment, but a screaming pain started up my leg, and I reluctantly pushed myself gently into a sitting position. I gritted my teeth and straightened out my leg to assess the damage. The branch that I had fallen on had been sticking out of the tree stump, and it had splintered off of the stump and stayed in my leg. And it was thick. A pool of blood had already begun to blossom out on my pant leg, and for just a moment I watched it as it spread. Then I took a deep breath and placed one hand on my thigh, pushing down on the skin. I gripped the branch with my other hand and yanked. A spurt of blood gushed out behind the branch, and I pressed my palm flat into it while I reached behind me to pull a handkerchief out of my pocket. I kept pressure on the wound while I rolled the handkerchief up, thinking to myself as I struggled with one hand that I should have done this before I pulled out the branch. When it was ready, I lifted my leg and slid the handkerchief underneath it. I let go of the wound and pulled the handkerchief tightly around my leg, tying it into a knot. My entire leg ached now, and I glared angrily at the bloody branch lying next to me. A leg injury would slow me down, and that was the last thing that I needed right now.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, tossing it back behind my shoulders again. There was no point getting upset, it wouldn't get me anywhere. It wouldn't get me to Terminus faster.

I took another deep breath and stood up before I could talk myself into staying down. Only when I stood did I notice that I had fallen out of the bramble patch and onto the other side. And on the other side was a road, just like I had hoped. Finally a bit of luck. I propped a hand on a nearby tree and took a step with my good leg, and then I gingerly tested my weight on my bad leg. It hurt like hell, but I could walk, for now. I had no choice. I needed to get somewhere safe before dark, and I had a better chance of finding shelter if I continued down the road. Where there was a road, there was usually civilization, at least in the past.

I took a few gentle steps, making my way slowly down a small slope and then up an incline to reach the paved road. I could feel blood trickling out of my wound into the handkerchief, but there was nothing I could do about it, and it didn't seem too severe. I pulled my knife out again and began my slow but steady trek down the road. I kept my eyes peeled on the surrounding trees, but nothing dead or alive came stumbling out of them. About a mile ahead, the road took a sharp curve, and I kept my eyes on the bend in the road as I got closer to it, unsure what I would see on the other side. At least when the road was flat my visibility was good; here it was not. Trees lined the sides of the road, and I wondered to myself what moron had designed the road, as it must have been ridiculously dangerous to drive on it.

I was lost in these thoughts when I first saw him, sitting in the middle of the road down past the bend, head bent down towards the ground. He was wearing a jacket or vest with angel wings, and he had his legs out in front of him, one hand propped on his upturned knee. His other hand was holding his body up, but he didn't appear to be moving, at all. I stopped still where I was and clutched my knife, watching him carefully. A crossbow lay behind him, but it didn't seem to be within easy reach. A backpack sat farther away. I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.

I scanned the area around him, but I didn't see anyone moving among the trees. People could easily be hidden, though, so I quietly backed up the way that I had come and melted into the trees on the side of the road. I had learned to make myself silent a long time ago, and I drifted up towards him, careful not to make any noise. About fifty yards away from him I stopped and knelt in the grass to keep watch. I took the opportunity to keep pressure on my injured leg, and I felt the blood stop flowing as I kept my eyes on him.

I watched him for a good half hour, but he didn't move. Nothing moved except the wind, lifting a few scattered leaves and blowing them around him. He never reacted. Despite all that I had learned since this had happened, I felt concern rising up inside of me. He didn't look dead, unless you took into consideration that he was on the verge of it. He looked…exhausted. I had never known the undead to just sit there unless one was stuck, and they were certainly never that still. I gnawed on a fingernail as I considered what to do. Keep moving past him, and hope he never noticed me? There was a good chance of that, but keeping my back to him made me nervous, too. And even though I tried to pretend that it wasn't there, a tiny little part of me knew that it had been a very long time since I had had any human contact, and I missed it. I looked down at my knife and tilted it towards my face, looking at my reflection in the blade. The hands that held it were bloody, and I vaguely wished that I could wash up somewhere before going up to him.

Going up to him. I guess it was decided, then. I gathered up my courage and stood up. My leg screamed angrily at me, but I ignored it. I pushed myself away from the cover of the trees and got back onto the road. This time I made my steps louder, so that I wouldn't come up from behind and scare him. He didn't react to my footsteps, so when I got within ten yards of him, I called out a soft greeting.

Nothing.

I moved a little closer. "Hello." I said, still keeping my voice low and clutching my knife in my left hand. "Are you okay?" Nothing again. I inched towards him, close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder. "Hello, do you need-"

Before I knew what had happened, he had scooped up his crossbow and stood, whirling around to point his weapon straight at my head. Pure instinct took over, and I reached into my jacket and pulled my gun out of its holster, releasing the safety and pointing it straight back at him. Everything else around me faded away except for the sight of him and his crossbow. Both of the arms that held our respective weapons were pointed out straight towards each other, inches from each other's faces. His hair was dark and it was in his eyes, but I knew he could see me just fine, and he definitely had the advantage, as he was much bigger than me.

I decided to be the first one to speak; maybe it would swing the advantage back my way. "Put it down." I said. "I won't hesitate." He didn't reply; he held the crossbow steady at me, not even a slight tremble in his hands. His eyes were squeezed nearly shut and he sized me up through the narrowed slits; his lips were pulled back tight. He looked mean, and it scared me, but I refused to show it. You show fear and you die. Yet he hadn't killed me yet, and I hoped that meant that maybe he wouldn't. "Put down your bow and arrow, Robin Hood." I said, adopting a mocking tone. "I was trying to see if you needed some wat-" In the middle of my sentence, he bent down and punched me in the leg, missing the injury itself but landing just to the left of it. A blinding pain burst out over me, and as I reared back from him he reached out and snatched my gun out of my hands, throwing it into the tall grass on the side of the road. I roared both in pain and fury and charged at him before I knew what I was doing. I aimed low and pushed up at his arms. I must have taken him by surprise, because his crossbow went careening out of his hands and we both flew backward to land on the hard cement. I landed on top of him, and it was only when I reached down to hit him that I realized that I was still holding onto my knife. I went to raise it back up high and swing it down, but he caught ahold of my wrist before I could and twisted it. I cried out and released the knife, and he batted it away from both of us. As I watched it arc away from me, he bucked his body up and pushed me off of him. He rolled me over and pinned me to the ground. I opened my mouth to scream, suddenly terrified, but he put a hand under my jaw and over my mouth before I could get anything out, clamping it shut. I couldn't even bite him.

"Shut up!" he barked, glaring down angrily at me. "Do you wanna attract walkers?" My heart thundered away in my chest, and I felt nothing but pure fear. I had been a fool. I twisted furiously beneath his hands, but he held me down effortlessly. I was so scared I barely registered the blood coursing down my leg from my wound; everything seemed like it was happening to another person. "I ain't gonna hurt you! Stop squirmin', I ain't gonna hurt you!" He shook me, hard, but still I kicked out, panicked out of my mind. "Stop it, dammit!" He kept shaking me, but instead of making me stop, it was increasing my fear, and I felt like a trapped animal. This seemed to occur to him after a moment, and finally he stopped rattling me around, loosening the pressure of his fingers on my shoulders. He kept his hands on me, still keeping me pinned down, but he stopped squeezing. The fog of panic cleared from my sight as my body stilled, but still my heartbeat thundered in my ears. He squinted down at me. "You calm?"

I looked up at him looking down at me, and even though he radiated danger, I felt some of the fear inside of me draining away. He still hadn't killed me, even though he very well could have. I waited a long time before I nodded. After a moment of silence, he lifted his hand off of my mouth and climbed off of me. I lay there for a moment before I leaned up and looked down at my leg, which was freely bleeding again. The movement caused a wave of pain to crash down over me, and I grimaced. I reached over and pulled off my handkerchief. It had slipped down my leg during our fight. I shook it out and refolded it, and then tied it tightly back around my thigh again. I pressed both hands against it, trying to re-staunch the bleeding. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I felt weak and bruised. I heard him rustling around in the grass around me, but I was too exhausted to make myself care what he was doing. I hoped he was leaving.

He surprised me instead by thrusting my gun and knife into my face, handles first. I looked up, shocked into silence, and took them from him. He had strapped his crossbow over his back and slung it behind him. He obviously didn't consider me a threat anymore. I took my weapons away from him and tucked them away, my knife sliding back into its sheath and my gun back into its holster. He backed away from me, but he didn't walk away. Regardless, I didn't look up at him. Once my weapons were back in place, I pulled my legs up and braced my hands flat on the road, preparing myself for the next part. I took a deep breath and pushed myself up into a standing position. My leg instantly gave out, and I tumbled hard back to the ground. Instead of moving to help me, he just stood there, watching me silently. It made me angry. I gritted my teeth and made myself stand again, but this time I was expecting the pain, so I put all of my weight on my good leg, and I was able to stand successfully. He continued watching me. I turned away from him and gingerly tested my bad leg to see if I could walk, putting just the slightest amount of pressure on it. It collapsed immediately, and I fell forward. I threw my hands out and caught myself from landing as hard, but this time I stayed down, feeling defeated. If I couldn't walk I couldn't do anything, least of all get to safety before dark.

"You can't walk." His voice was matter-of-fact, with no trace of concern in it. He didn't care; he was just stating a fact.

I didn't turn around to look at him, but I felt helpless anger rising inside of me. I balled my hands into fists. "No shit, Sherlock." I snapped. "But I don't have much of a choice, do I? Seeing as how you punched me right where I'm injured." I lowered my voice, keeping it just above a whisper. "What the hell kind of a guy hits a girl? Coward."

I wasn't very close to him, but I could immediately feel the fury coming off of him in waves, and I knew that he had heard me. I also knew that I had said the wrong thing. I reluctantly turned back around to face him, fighting every instinct to shy away. If he was going to attack, I needed to be ready.

He stalked up to me and pointed a finger down at me, still on the ground, his eyes as dark and furious as night. "I punched you to the side of it. But you asked for it."

I scoffed, his restraint giving me courage. "Asked for it? I believe we were both pointing weapons at each other. What you did was dirty." He shrugged, and it made me even angrier. I stood up again, ignoring the agony in my leg, and I pointed a finger back at him. "You don't get to-" I was sliding back towards the ground before I could finish, and he reached out his arms and caught me. Everything went black.