A/N: Hello again, everyone! I'm really proud of this new one. It's much longer than its preceder. This one actually makes sense!
I couldn't move for hours. I sat there, glued to my little spot on the floor. My eyes went from the lifeless body to my left to the knife that laid discarded on the floor. Its blade was covered in a sticky red. Blood.
I had gone from crying to hiccups. My throat burned from the overuse. My hands, wisps of red covering them, had gone to my face, wiping away the continuous streak of tears.
As I stopped my weeping, I attempted to stand. My hand grasped the edge of the sink to my right as my legs straightened themselves out. Once I had even footing and believed I could stand on my own, I released the porcelain oval from my grasp.
My first thought was, what am I going to do with the body? I couldn't just leave her there. But then again, I couldn't drag her outside to bury. And even if I got that far, I had no shovel or convenient hole in the ground. Nowhere to put her. My eyes looked to her wearily. Her unmoving figure wading in the tub sent a shiver down my spine. She looked so peaceful.
I looked at the bloody knife on the floor. I could leave it here. Not touch it, not use it ever again. So that's what I did. I left the knife in the small drops of blood that peppered the floor. It would stay here, with the dead body that it created.
My legs moved me to the door, through the hall, and into the kitchen. In the kitchen was our dump bucket in the bottom cupboard. Anything went in there. Crayons, markers, scissors, tape. It was all tossed into there. My hand opened the creaky door and yanked out the dump. I searched around for a suitable marker, black. Chiseled. I tested it out on my arm. A black line was swiped onto my forearm.
I capped it and went back to the door. Onto it I wrote:
CHRISTY FIELDS. 38
LOVING MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
BORN JUNE 25, 1977. DIED AUGUST 8, 2010.
I capped the marker and, with my shaking fingers, tossed it down the hall. I wouldn't need it anymore. And I wasn't about to be yelled at for throwing it.
At the hall, I had an internal battle. Was it worth it to still go to Atlanta? Should I even bother? I'd be safe, but alone. I had no one else.
Wait, I thought, I still have Carol and Sophia. They weren't mom, but they were my friends. I'd have people to mourn with. So that's where I was going to go. First, Sophia and Carol, then Atlanta.
I went to the front door, grabbing the suitcase I packed yesterday. I pulled up the handle and kicked the suitcase on its side, letting the wheels move freely.
Wait, I thought to myself. I went back to the door, staring at the crooked black lettering. I grasped the knob once more, twisting it slowly. I didn't want to go in again. I needed to. To see her one last time.
I gently pushed the door open with my shoulder and peered in. She laid in the tub, still full of murky pink water. Still dead. Still peaceful.
Not that I expected anything different. I just had to see her once. To say goodbye. To tell her I loved her.
I whispered the sayings to her, my throat nearly hoarse from the crying earlier. My eyes moved around the room, landing on the knife. Still sticky with red. But I believed it could be useful. I could still use it. It could still protect me.
I bent down to the ground, my hand wavering above the metal.
It killed my mother, my thoughts whispered to me. It killed her and if you take it, it'll do the same to others. It will leave a tale of death wherever it goes.
It saved me, another part of my brain whispered. Without it, she would have gotten you. She would have killed you. It wasn't your mother anymore. I listened to what I thought of as my rational thought.
I picked up the knife. With my hands shaking, I ran the blade through some water from the faucet. It wasn't the nicest cleaning ever, but it took away the scarlet that adorned its prominent features. With the knife tucked into the front patch of my mothers suitcase, I set off for the Peletier's.
Thankfully, the suitcases both had wheels, so I wasn't burdened with the task of carrying them, but the road I walked down was covered in tiny rocks and broken asphalt. The wheels decided it was a great idea to hit every single pebble that was in our path. That made the long trek to Sophia's even longer. And the heat blaring down on my tan skin did not make the road fun. I was dying of thirst after the first ten minutes.
I've visited the Peletiers all the time. As a kid, after school, after they came back from church. All the time. I could point it out from a mile away. So when I saw the pale white roof tiles through the blaring sun, I breathed a sigh of relief. Home crap home, I thought.
The mat at the bottom of the porch shone proudly, "Welcome!" beneath my feet. I gripped the doorknob and twisted it. Nothing.
I groaned. "Are you serious?!" Another twist of my hand showed that, indeed, the door was locked. I knelt to the ground and pulled the mats side up and found the slowly rusting spare key. It fit into the keyhole like a glove, and the audible, "CLICK," of the lock sounded like a chorus of angels to me. I strode into the house, calling out for Sophia.
"Hello?" I called, setting the heavy suitcases next to their stained couch. "Anyone home?"
My feet stomped around the house, checking each room. Empty. They left.
They left...
Without me...
…
I'm alone.
Not only have I lost my mother, my best friend and her mom were missing. Maybe they heard of the Atlanta Safe House, too. I could only hope. I didn't want to think the worst possibility yet.
I began looking through my surroundings. To see if they left anything useful. The fridge was still on, and in it was some milk, jelly, and sliced cheese and ham. Otherwise known as: dinner. They didn't want to pack it out of fear that it would go bad.
The cupboards were a little higher than what I could reach, but I climbed atop the counter and searched through them. Canned peaches, chicken noodle soup, beans, and ravioli. There was also a tub of peanut butter and bread to go with the findings of the fridge.
"Cool," I said. Food was always great. With that thought in mind, I hopped from the counter and locked the front door. Then I pushed the small TV set they had to the door. I knew it wouldn't hold, should someone actually try to get in, but it provided a small comfort for me. Strategy-wise, maybe it could keep them occupied and I'd be able to bail through a window. Anything helps.
My mind subconsciously brought me to Sophia's room. My hand ran lightly over the small knick knacks she kept. Round stones we found in the woods together when we were six; the ruby red tub of lipstick we stole from my moms room and we were too scared to give back; the little erasers shaped like monkeys that we got from a book fair. My hand stopped at the very end, where her one piece of jewelry laid.
It shined easily in the daylight flitting through the window. It was a shade of hot pink, and was shaped in the form of a heart. Her charm necklace. I had only seen it around her neck once in my lifetime. Ed never like it when they had nice things, so he let her wear it in public once, for a Christmas dinner. Then it found a permanent home on her dresser top. My hand clasped around it, holding the chain tightly as my thumb ran along the heart. It was all I had of them.
The one memoir I had of the Peletiers.
Two weeks.
Two weeks since I've seen another person. Two weeks since my mom died. Two weeks since I've gone out of this house. This prison.
The power went out about a week ago. The food in the fridge since then was stale and bad. I was living off of the canned peaches and chicken noodle soup. I had two cans of each left.
That morning, I awoke with the sound of something heavy crashing beneath me. The tv.
Shit.
I pounced out of Sophia's bed, which had been my own for almost a month, and grabbed my knife from the nightstand. I hadn't used it since... The accident. But I knew that the small object could be the difference between life and death.
My legs silently moved through the door and into the hall. I memorized each wooden plank, knew where each tiny bit of pressure would make a squeak. I knew how to strategically place my feet on the stairs so that the only sound was my breathing. I used it to my advantage. From what I could hear below, the squeaks came from the kitchen.
My shaking legs carried me to the middle of the stairs, where I stopped my movement. My whole body was shaking. This person could kill me. They could shoot me and leave me for dead. They could take my supplies and leave me in the dust. I've never been in this situation before. Did I really want to take this risk?
My hand gripping the knife was visibly shaking, but I still held it in front of me. My first line of defense. My feet cautiously trailed down the rest of the staircase. And with a large breath, I hopped from the second step with my body facing the perpetrator.
A woman stood in the kitchen, her hands holding above her head a shining katana. Her skin, a dark chocolaty brown, glistened with sweat. The crazed look in her dark eyes unnerved me. Her pants filled the room.
"Who the hell are you?" She questioned. Her voice croaked through the words.
"Who the hell are YOU?" I countered, my knife slowly moving downwards. Not that I've done this before, but I sensed that she wasn't a big threat. She must've felt the same way about me, because her arms lowered the katana and put it into the sheath that rested on her back.
She spoke first. "I'm Michonne. Do you live here?"
After a moments thought, I replied. "No, but I knew the people who did. Did you know Carol?"
She shook her head. "No. I was just in town to get supplies." The counter behind her had a can of peaches resting atop of it. She must've grabbed it from the counter behind her.
"You were here first, you can keep 'em. I'll leave you." She started towards the door.
"Wait." I said. I don't know why. But I couldn't just let her leave. She didn't seem okay to be left alone.
Her feet stopped and her head turned. "Yes?"
"Do you..." C'mon, Alyssa! Think of something, anything! "Do you have a group?"
She cocked her head to the side, the crazy look leaving her brown orbs. Instead, curiosity filled them. "No. I'm alone."
"Me, too." I said. Then silence filled the air. I looked at her, my eyes wide and wondering. Please, I thought, please take the hint. I can't be in here any longer.
She just nodded in response. "I'll leave you to it, then." Her long legs moved to the front door.
"Wait!" I said again. "Is there... Room for one more?"
"No." She said instantly. "I go it alone."
"But there's strength in numbers!" I countered. I normally wouldn't roll over and show my belly, but I was stuck. I couldn't live in this goddamn house any more. My supplies were dwindling and Michonne was the first person I've met since the worlds' downfall. She looked unstable, but she looked sweet too. Something must've happened to her. I could help her. I wasn't dead weight.
"No. I don't work in a group." Her hand twisted the knob and she was through the doorframe. "Sorry." I couldn't tell if she was sincere. I think she said it for her sake rather than mine.
The door shut behind her with a thud. I was breathing heavily. The encounter went better than I thought.
I can't just leave her, I thought. My mind raced, I need to get out of here. She's my ticket.
So I hopped out of the window as silently as I could. I hid behind the uncut bushes in front of the Peletier house. I didn't grab any gear with me. All I had was the knife in my hand, which probably wasn't a good idea. At the moment, I didn't really care though.
Michonne's figure stood in front of the neighboring house. Her leg kicked the door open and she went inside, holding the katana dangerously in front of her. I watched as she went inside. On an old telephone pole, there were two walkers lounging around. They weren't moving away from it, almost as if they were tethered. They were, I realized. Chains hung from their necks, and wound up on the pole. Freaky. But seeing as how Michonne didn't take care of them, they shouldn't be too much of a threat.
I couldn't tell how long she would be in the house, so when the door shut behind her I booked it across the street, where there were no houses. Just bushes, grass, and an open plain. My feet pounded against the pavement as I ran to the bushes and for a moment I thought she would hear me. I didn't want to be found. Thankfully Michonne kept to the house.
When I reached the bushes I released a sigh. I did it. Alyssa- 1. Michonne- 0. My figure shrunk behind the brush, covering most of me. I wasn't in plain sight, which was all I cared about.
I looked up to the sky above, feeling the familiar heat of the days beat against my skin. From what I could tell, it was just reaching dusk. The sun was beginning to set and the moon would soon take over the sky. Putting my mind into Michonne's, I would want to grab as many supplies as I could before finding a safe shelter for the night. She wouldn't be too long in the house before wanting to move on to the next.
It was just about dark when she finally made her way out of the house. She wasn't as safe as I presumed her to be. Cutting it close. Not a great idea.
Her hands held a measly can of beans. The pets around the pole were being unwound, and the chain was twisted around her hand and she set off, down the street. I slowly and quietly moved behind the bushes, careful not to rustle the branches. The grass underneath me kept my steps silent (mostly.)
Her long strides were a pain to keep up with. A step of hers was three to mine. Somehow I managed the pace, until she turned on another street. No bushes to hide behind there. And there were biters aimlessly walking through the street. Their groans filled the uncomfortable silence. My pulse quickened at the sight of them. I counted about a dozen, each of them wandering on their own. Michonne began her trek through the street with ease, the pets gladly moving through the mini herd.
Do I go back? I thought. Should I keep going?
"Shit." I said, my voice whispering. But I couldn't let this opportunity go. So I took my knife, held it tightly, and jogged to the other side of the buildings. The way through there was clearer, and I could still keep track of Michonne.
There wasn't a single walker in sight on this side. The only ones to worry about were the ones walking in between her street and mine, and even then those numbers were minuscule. So I quietly jogged through the paved road, stopping once to take a breath. Bad choice.
A walker in an alleyway between the roads moaned, his arms outstretched in front of me. A chunk of skin from his right arm was missing, ripped up and bleeding through his beige jacket. The thinking hair atop his head was matted with sweat and a shower of red sprinkles, which was a prominent feature of his decaying body. Red. Everywhere.
I squealed and lost my balance, resulting in me falling flat on my ass. The walker followed suit, landing on top of me.
"NO!" I screeched, my hands pushing against the hunk of rotting flesh that was attempting to make me his evening meal. "Help!"
His jaw clenched and unclenched, the yellow teeth grinding on each other. I was so close that I could see the specks of red stuck in between them. An old meal. I wanted to hurl at the sight.
I pushed with all my might at the undead body. His head moved back as I pushed his shoulder blades back. I was lucky that I did, because not a moment later his head landed on the ground. I saw the shining katana and could hear, "hallelujah," being played in the back of my mind.
Michonne knelt next to me, hissing. "Are you bit?"
"What?" I said disoriented. My clothes stuck to me and the blood mixed with chunks of rotting flesh had kept to the fabric.
"Are. You. Bit?" She hissed again. I shook my head furiously. Her hand grabbed mine and pulled me from the ground. Damn, she was strong.
She ran back to the other street and returned in less than a second with her pets.
"C'mon." She called to me, and we ran back to the beginning of my street side by side. When we were back to the road we met on, we slowed down and stopped walking. Our shoulders heaved as we panted and attempted to regain our breaths.
"What- did I say-" she panted to me, her jaw clenched, "about working- in groups?"
"I said-" I replied heavily, "there was- strength- in numbers. Which you- just proved."
"I'm getting you back to that house, and I'm leaving." She said sternly, giving me a hard glare. She was pissed.
"No, I can't go back there." I shook my head. "I'm going crazy."
"Oh, you know nothing about crazy." She let out in a short breath." Her hand jerked the walkers on the chain back down the street. "C'mon, I'm dropping you off."
"No!" I argued. "There's nothing there for me anymore!"
"You're going back home!"
"THAT'S NOT MY HOME!" I nearly screeched. The walkers in her hand twisted in my direction menacingly. I wasn't worried about them; they couldn't hurt me even if they tried. They're limbs and jaws were no longer in existence on their bodies. "It was never my home! I had nowhere to go, and I still don't! I needed a place to stay. It served its purpose. I need to move on."
She panted heavily in the moons glow. I could see the quick breaths she drew in the dark.
"Is..." She started. "Is there anyone I could take you to?"
"No. I have no one." The statement made through my throat like broken glass. It hurt to speak. But I had to say it.
"No one?"
"No." I shook my head. I looked at anywhere but her. "They're all dead. Or dying. I don't know."
The statement was met with silence. I felt brave enough to look up at her form in the dark. Her back was to me, so I couldn't see any of the struggle that went through her mind. I couldn't see the pain that flashed through her eyes at the mention of, "no one." I didn't know.
After what felt like an eternity, she turned to me. "Do you have a name?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't know whether this meant she would stay with me, but it was something. "Alyssa. Alyssa Fields."
"Well, Alyssa Fields, do you have any food?"
My brain twisted around the words. She was staying. At least for a little bit.
I bobbed my head. "Yeah," I said shakily. "At the house."
"Okay." She whispered. She coughed and jerked her head in the direction of the street. "Then let's go."
Her eyes followed me as I walked to her right, the uninhabited space of the walkers to her left. We walked side by side to the house that held my childhood, the house that had given me shelter for two weeks. The house that led me to her.
That night, we lit up six candles in the living room. Her pets were left outside, tied up to the telephone pole closest to the house. We feasted over canned peaches that night, half the tin to each of us. She said to pack the rest for the trip.
I spoke of the Atlanta Safe House. About my worries of it not standing. I said that we should try to go there. If it stood, there would be more people. More survival. I also said that if it wasn't, we'd book it somewhere else. Somewhere we could go. Where we could live. Michonne said we could try. It gave us a destination. Something neither of us really had before.
She slept in Carols' room that night. I was in Sophia's. For the last time.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of growls. Distorted growls, beneath the wooden structure of the second floor.
I sprung from the bed, grabbed my knife from the dresser, and ran down the stairs. My arms were defensively stretched above my head, the blade pointing outward from my stance.
"Good, you're up already." I heard from behind me. I jumped and swished around, lowering my knife once I realized who it was. Michonne, her pet walkers in one hand and the bags we readied last night on the other shoulder.
"Jesus, Michonne! You scared the crap outta me." I exclaimed. She just shrugged in response.
"Sorry. I was just getting everything packed up." She went to the door with the walkers in hand. "When you're ready, come outside. We'll be waiting." I gave her a quick nod, and she pushed her way out the door. I silently prayed that she wouldn't leave without me. I wasn't sure if she'd actually stay.
I set the knife in the space between my belt and pants and went to the mirror in the bathroom. My hazel/green eyes that usually shined back at me were dim with pain. The long brown hair that used to fall in little waves around my shoulders was limp. The only thing that truly stood out in the reflection was the bright hot pink that was on my neck. Sophia's necklace.
My fingers went to the cool metal, clamping around it. I reminded myself that Sophia might not be dead. She could be alive, safe and sound with her mother. They could be at the Safe House for all I know. I shouldn't leave out all the possibilities.
When I finished with my reflection, I headed out the door, locking the front. Because, well, why not? I found Michonne standing by the bushes of the house, her walkers' chains in her hand. She headed to me and gave me a small backpack. One that I stole from the Peletier house. Sophia's. I learned early on that the suitcase was a hassle and that the backpack that Sophia used to carry during middle school was easier to have around. So I took it.
"Are you ready?" She asked me. I slung the strap onto my shoulder and nodded.
"Are you?" I countered. She looked down at the dirt beneath our feet.
"We'll find out."
A/N: And that's the end of Chapter 2! I feel like this version gives actual character to Michonne, and gives her much more justice. The old version just kinda stuck her there and there was no consequence to it. This one gives her an actual voice and a struggle with Alyssa, which is much better than, "hey, come with me."
So, yeah, feel free to review and send me your thoughts! I want to see if this is to your liking.
