Chapter One
Have you ever ran so far, so long that your lungs burn? Your skin prickles with heat and sweat, and you only hope that you collapse to forget everything that's ever happened?
I have.
It had been a few days since our brilliant jail break. The Georgia heat had beaten down Grace; she got dehydrated and we had to stop for a day. I spent my time running between our small, hidden camp and the small, rocky creek. I remember listening on Discovery Channel about boiling water from natural resources to get rid of any bacteria; however, when heating up the metal pot I stole, my hands were shaking. And for the first time in a long while, I buried my face into my hands and cried.
Lillian comforted me, making me feel smaller than I actually was.
"It's okay big sister." She stated, comforting me in a big hug before holding my hand in her own, rubbing at the dirt and muck from my knuckle. In that exact moment, I felt so guilty, so petrified that Lillian saw me like this, and without thinking I withdrew my hand as if she was poison. She looked hurt, as I drew back and wiped the tears from my eyes before dipping a cup into the smooth boiling water, and soothed it into Grace's mouth. She sputtered for a few moments, but slowly eased it down her throat.
At the encampment I wasn't allowed to clean myself up, after my little "rebellion," as Dean called it. His word was law, and I was kept away from the other women as they bathed. The dirt from my hands, even under my fingernails, were evidence from this, as it easily rubbed off on Grace's smooth skin as I soothed her into sleep that night. I don't think either Lillian or Grace could see my anxiety, or horror when it finally went dark.
While Grace and Lillian slept, I stayed outside the make-shift tent with an old rusty frying pan, which was probably no use anyway.
For the next few days it was like this, the same thing after the same thing. We'd eat, scout around, eat some more, and then they'd sleep while I kept watch. My movements were weaker, and my vision was hazier by the fifth day of the same schedule.
Of course, that had to be the one day that there was a rustling in the brush we were clearing.
"Lillian, take Grace back to the tent and stay there. If I'm not back within the hour, pack up and run."
"But-"
"No buts Lillian," I whispered back harshly, the dark circles under my eyes giving away at my anxiousness, "do as I say. And no matter what you hear, don't come running to save the day."
We were both thinking the same thing.
Sacrifice.
Lillian nodded and took Grace by the hand back to camp, where I knew they'd be at least safe for a few hours. I lifted my frying pan, which was even more rusted from the rain on day two, and ground my teeth from the knowing building inside of me. As my stomach twisted in knots, and my hands started shaking, I carefully walked towards the brush.
I swallowed the lump inside my throat before I pushed the brush apart, and there was only a rabbit. It was moving it's little nose, before scurrying off. I let out a breath I had been holding before stepping back.
"Stupid rabbit."
Feeling hands on me, I screamed obnoxiously loud before spinning around, and landing on my backside. One of the Dead stood in front of me, dropping down to my level before opening it's already detached jaw and giving me a gurgling noise of blood. Screaming again, I kicked its head back. Jarring back, I attempted to get up, but only managed to get my ankle grabbed by the damned thing. Pulling back, I raised my pan and smashed it over the head, making blood and muck fly off and onto me.
I had killed Dead before, using melee weapons, but never guns; however, this was the first time that it stopped moving after the first hit. Taking the chance, I kicked it again in the face, forcefully pushing the nose into it's skull before scrambling to get to my feet.
The blackish blood dripped from it's face as it started to make a God awful moaning noise, something that chilled me to the bones. Raising the pan above my head, I brought it smashing down into it's head. At first, it seemed like it had no effect; it simply stunned it. The second time, the edge of the pan wedged itself into it's soft cranium, like it was mush. The third time, I took off it's ear.
My aim was an almost once in a life time thing. I could never, even as a small child, hit the same spot more than twice.
By the sixth time, the plagued blood had splattered over my body, and on my long-sleeved plaid shirt. Dirt and dried blood had settled on my dark washed jeans, and my shoes were just as bad, if not worse.
Letting out a disgruntled scream, I continued to pound in the dead man's head until I clear chopped off his head.
Wanna know my secret? I pictured Dean's head on the guy's body.
To say I was exhausted by the eighth day of the same, continuous schedule was an understatement. I wanted nothing more than to nestled down into the blanket we used as a bed, and sleep the days away.
Lillian caught me on the ninth day, dozing off during my watch of the perimeter. She literally had to shake me awake, and gave me the third degree about adequate sleep and nourishment. She looked so much like our Mother when she tried to scold me, before I told her that I had been sleeping, and eating my share of the rations I stole.
Of course, that was a lie.
Grace nor Lillian would be eating right now if I was eating my share of the food. We had another three days, give or take, before the food ran our and we'd have to go out on a run in the nearest town, which was Atlanta. Too risky.
Lillian nor I had any experience in hunting, so that was out of the question, and we weren't by a big enough pond for fish to be in to spear them.
At the moment, I was sorting through firewood; the damp versus the dry. Lillian was braiding Grace's hair, who was picking at the dewy grass and leaning on her elbow, obviously bored.
Although, it was the first day she had been up and walking around; it was an approvement from her dehydrated state that she held for the last few days. She even cleaned up the creek near by, her hair had more shimmer to it than it did before, and her skin had more life to it.
"Lily!" Grace whined obnoxiously before pulling away from her, "You're horrible at braiding hair! And you kept pulling it! You can't do it as well as sissy or Momma!" Lillian froze, as I tried to shake it off as another whiny comment. Grace was only eight, she deserved some complaining and whining; I bet she didn't know what was going on half the time. Before Lillian could counter with a snark remark, I snapped: "I'll braid your hair after I'm finished sorting the firewood I collected okay?"
I could tell Lillian was a bit hurt by the comment that Grace made, but she'd have to suck it up and get over it. Grace was the youngest of us all, and didn't deserve to live in this chaotic world.
It was twelve minutes, approximately, before I was finished. I dusted off the lingering wood splinters that wove themselves into my jeans, and sat crossed legged behind Grace, pulling different sections of her hair into a tight braid.
Before I finished however, there was more rustling in the brush, and the trees. It was louder than before, and I could distinctly hear the tromping footsteps in the mud that was smoothed over the grass. We all froze, listening for the tin cans to be kicked.
And they were.
Tin cans on a line had been set up between two bushes, hidden in the long grass, about five days in. Security measures for the paranoid and harmless.
I ushered Lillian and Grace into the make-shift tent, as quietly as possible, and handed them each a make-shift weapon that Lillian had procured over the endless week we had been out here. Needless to say, I grabbed my frying pan and took a tiny step towards the moving bushes.
If it was the Dead, it had to be at least six of them to move than much brush and to make that much noise in the mud. Usually, they got stuck in the mud or were silent, especially in the deep woods.
What came through the brush was not what I expected. Hell, I half expected it to be two bears going at it; not three non-dead people.
Two males, and a female.
And they had guns.
And I had a frying pan. What was I going to do, cook them up with a side of bacon? I was royally fucked.
