Hey guys! I'm really excited about the response so far, I feel like for the first chapter of an OC story, I got a very lovely amount of feedback! Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites. It means so much. I hope you all like this chapter as well! Once again, please don't forget to review! (:

Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead.


I try to fight the bridge of consciousness and unconsciousness. I can feel the swaying of my body, but I'm not the one moving. Is somebody caring me?

My eye's fight their way open, and sunlight burns straight into my cornea, forcing me to clamp them shut. The light feel's like a hammer smashing into my head. I try to move my hand to cover them, but my limbs are still numb, only wiggling to my command. A flash of fear that I have had them amputated assaults me.

"Ya awake, girl?" someone asks, startling me. I pry my eyes back open, trying to squint to avoid the sun. The world is still a haze, making it hard to focus on anything that isn't flashing or swirling by. But, I can see him. I thought he was figment of my imagination, an angel swooped down to console me as I died. But, here he is, looking down at me with a scowl. His hair is a halo of dirty brown, or maybe blonde, covered in enough grime it appears brown. He fades out, even though I want to keep taking the stranger in. Is this even real? Or am I still crawling through the woods? I feel the darkness sweeping in again, trying to lure me into it's emptiness.

"Hey! I asked you a question, you deaf or somethin'?" he snaps, shaking me temporarily out of unconsciousness.

It takes all that I have to try and speak. And even though my vocal cords tremble and my mouth opens and closes with unspoken words, I can't form a sentence or even a syllable. My brain feels like it's coated in fog, jumbling everything together and leaving me mute. I want to talk. I want to tell him I can hear everything he's saying. Instead, I pass back out in his arms.


Choppy sentences that make no sense to me start to trickle in.

"Who is that?!"

The voices penetrate the darkness around me. I'm not sure if my mind is talking to itself or if I really hear snippets of people's conversations.

"Sophia?!" A woman's voice, and even in this state I can hear her hope.

It's like I'm in a bubble of black, everything inside it separate from the world outside, and drifting around me are words, sentences, and letters that have managed to pierce the veil. Some sound muffled as if I'm under water, and others clear as day.

"What do we do with her?"

"We have to get going to the farm with the others. Can we risk bringing her with?"

"Well we ain't gonna leave her on the side of the road, I'll tell ya that much."

I recognize his voice, the only one to stick out amongst all the unfamiliar. In a way it alleviates my fears.

I have no idea of time that passes. I hear rumbling and the steady hum of something under me. I recede back into my bubble.

"Daryl found her...checked to see...not bit..."

I think I've been moved again, there's warmth radiating around me and I feel snug against something. I can smell the woods, mixed with musk, the tang of blood, and an underlining of sweat.

"How's Carl?"

"..name was Otis...sacrificed his life...Shane made it back.."

Frustration builds inside me, all I want is to break out of this shell and see what's going on and what people are talking about. I can barely tune in enough to catch some of the conversation before my mind slips back into oblivion.

"Somethin' wrong with her...screamin' like a banshee...look right past me...ain't talkin' and got a fever as hot as hell..."

"Bring her into the house..."

Movement all around me, rushing by and uncoordinated. The weight of people picking up my limbs and placing their hands against my forehead. What was happening to me?

"Get fluids, and an IV started."

"Laceration on her back...nasty infection..."

"Low blood pressure...tachycardia..."

"Surprised she's made it this long..."
I think they're talking about me. Am I dying? I still have no idea where I am or what is happening, or who these people are that talk about things I can't understand. Fear drapes over me like a cold night, sending chills down my back and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"She's shaking violently.."

All I can see is inky black. There are no fireflies swimming around, just darkness. The noise around me is fading fast, becoming a silent hum in the back of my mind. Dread surrounds me. I'm scared.

"She's fading..."


I spring forward, sights and smells rushing at me as I wake up. I gasp and sputter in air, looking around hastily. The room is unfamiliar, white walls and old furniture sparsely decorating the small space. I vaguely remember whats happened, a flash of woods, the man bathed in sunlight. And now I am sitting in a small bed, cream bedsheets draped over me. I try to make out what is truth and what is false. Did I make up all the images slowly flooding my memory? The last I know of that really happened was me running down the highway, dripping crimson from the gash on my leg as I went. Absentmindedly, I go to trace the wound, but instead of finger-tips meeting skin, there is a layer of gauze wrapped tight around my thin thigh. Somebody has patched me up. I'm only in my black underwear, I remember clawing my way out of my clothes in the woods, which apparently have been left behind. I wrap the sheet around myself, feeling exposed.

I lower my feet to the ground, the floorboards chilly on the naked skin, and on shaky limbs I clamber up, dragging the sheet behind me. I don't know if I'm in danger, these people, yes they cared for me, but their intentions remain unknown. I have to get out of this room. The walls seem to get smaller, suffocating me.

I make my way out the door, peaking out to make sure the coast is clear. There are no noises as I fumble through the hallway, no sound of life. My breathing is heavy and seems tenfold in the quiet space. I'm quickly wearing myself out, and I stop in the middle of the stairs to grasp the railing and collect myself.

I pass a living room that looks well lived in, and a quaint old fashion sitting room. I stop and admire it, I can almost feel all the family love in it, where a daughter had sat on the sofa, and a proper Southern mother sipped her ice tea in the armchair by the cheery windows. It makes my heart ache with loss, so I stumble forward and try to block out the memories of my family trying to make their way in. There was no point in reminiscing. It wasn't the time. Nostalgia was just as dangerous as the dead in this world. Right now I have to get to the bottom of where I am, and what to do next.

After a few minutes of slowly making my way through the house, I think I have found the entrance, a heavy large door. At this point I'm drained, and I curse to myself for being foolish enough to waste my small amount of energy. I can't be comfortable until I know what's going on though, and with that thought I pull open the door and am instantly blinded with sun. I feel like I haven't been touched by the sun for years by the way it burns, but I go outside anyway, one hand trying to shield my eye's from the glaring rays.

The world begins to unfold as my eyes adjust. People are doing daily activities, men and women alike. Its been a while since I've seen so many people in one place, alive. They act as if we aren't in constant danger of being eaten. Women cook eggs in a small circle, the site of food makes my mouth salivate, talking quietly. Some men are gathered near a rusty pick up, pointing at something laid out on the hood, looking intent and determination is written in their features. One who speaks aggressively, I can't make out his words from here, sticks out. He has the air of being a leader, and wears a police officers attire. The beginnings of a beard mark his chin, and I can make out the worry lines in his face.

An abrupt wave of tiredness comes over me, and my knees buckle as my ankles shake, ready to give out. I reach my hand out to steady myself on the rail, but miss and stumble back into the door. I close my eyes and breathe slowly, trying to regain myself. These people can't see me so weak. I have to appear stronger than I really am, so they can't think they can dispose of me quickly. If there's one thing I've learned in this new world so far, it's survival of the fittest, so I better get my shit together.

Apparently, I'm not doing a good job of keeping my wits about me, because a voice sounds to my left, "You got a lot of questions ta answer, sister." I recognize the harsh tone, and my gaze snaps up to those baby blues that found me in the woods. I guess he wasn't a figment of my imagination, after all.