Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is a piece of fiction. I own none of the characters from either "The Walking Dead" television show or comics. Those lie within the realm of creative genius Robert Kirkman and his skilled team of artists. Mr. Kirkman, I salute you!
Fast on a rough road riding
High through the mountains climbing
Twistin', turnin' further from my home
Young like a new moon rising
Fierce through the rain and lightning
Wandering out into this great unknown
And I don't want no one to cry
But tell 'em if I don't survive
I was born free…
Trish woke for the first time in four days to the sound of Fish's whine. Snapping her eyes open and grabbing for her gear, she noticed that the little dog wasn't panicked, and relaxed a bit. Not the pee-pee dance. Not the oh-fuck-there's-walkers-around crouch. No, this was the I-smell-people strut. Thanking whatever god had blessed her with such a brilliant pooch, Trish took her time to prepare herself for whomever she would be encountering in the store below the apartment she had been squatting in.
There were two men, if the muffled sounds of their voices were any indication. One sounded a little hot-headed, which was confirmed as someone pounded on the rear door that had been padlocked closed. A quick peek out the window showed walkers gathering in the front, which would explain the freak-out, but they didn't know what Trish knew.
With a smirk, she crouched next to the trap door she had used to get into the apartment. Obviously they hadn't seen it since she had also pulled up the rope to prevent anyone else from getting the jump on her. As she turned the latch, a part of her hoped it would smack Grumpy as it swung down, but sadly it didn't descend fast enough to catch him off guard. He was, however, squatting on the floor where he'd had to leap out of the way. A quick analysis pegged him at mid-thirties and used to being in charge.
"Grab what you came here for and then come on up. I know a way out," she said to the quieter man, an Asian who looked a few years younger than herself. This one didn't waste any time heaving a pack over his shoulder and making his way up the ladder. Trish ignored Grumpy and returned to her gear, doing a quick sweep of the apartment to make sure there was nothing she had missed. She saw the younger man at the window, peeking through the curtains at the walkers gathered below.
"Where's your ride?" she asked him.
"About three blocks north," Grumpy said, heaving the trapdoor closed after finally getting off his ass and joining them upstairs. She noticed the way he looked at her, with his gaze resting on the shoulder holster she had equipped for her side-arm. Military or law-enforcement, she decided. Any other man would've been ogling her breasts or her tattoos.
"Easy enough," she said, grabbing her jacket from the couch and swinging it on fluidly. "My bike's out back. I can draw them away so you can get to it."
"Take Glenn with you."
Trish shook her head. "No passengers."
"No, he's right," the Asian boy, Glenn, said. "We've both got supplies that we need to get back to our camp. If something happens to one of us, at least the other has a chance of getting there."
Camp. Which meant a group. Trish hated groups. But she had to admit that the men were right about splitting up. Tactically, it was the best thing to do. "Fine," she said, grabbing her pack and shoving past Grumpy to unlock the door that led to the fire exit. Clucking her tongue for Fish to come along, she didn't wait to see if the men would follow.
**lyric credits** "Born Free" by Kid Rock