Chapter Two

A year before all of this had happened; I'd been living a simple life in the small town of Green Mountain Falls, Colorado. My daily responsibilities had consisted of remembering to feed my cat, Ringo, and stopping by the grocery store to pick up something for my grandpa and I, for dinner.

My parents had passed way when I was 16, in a head on car collision with a drunk driver. Both, I was told, had died on impact. In today's harsh reality, it was hard not to be thankful for their quick passing. I'd lived with my grandpa from that day until all of this madness had occurred. He was a gentle man, with the vocabulary of a trucker, and a full head of snow white hair. He'd taught me how to play guitar, drink whiskey, and fillet a fish. I couldn't have asked for a better father figure at suck a tormented time in my life. I was only 21 years old, and that life seemed foreign to me now. A distant memory or faded recollection of a dream I'd just woken from.

After the first reports of the infection reached Green Mountain Falls, he and I had set off for Atlanta in search of his brother. We'd found the city in near ruin and chaos, the infected nearly outnumbered the healthy. When we reached his house, the door was open wide, and we found him in the kitchen swearing and wincing as he prodded at a bite on his arm. I human bite. The knot I'd felt in the pit of my stomach then, had nearly caused me to eject what little was in my growling stomach. There was no false hope in that Kitchen. We all stood in silence, not knowing what to do, or how to react.

Before we could say anything, a man came crashing through the door, informing us that we needed to get out of the city, that he and his family were evacuating to a small town called Woodbury. It hadn't taken long for my grandpa to decide that I was going with the man, and he promised to join me once his brother had "healed". He hugged me tightly, and whispered in my ear,

"I can't loose you, doll." And with a kiss on the forehead he ushered me out the door.

Woodbury was a small mining town full of colonial-style buildings and picturesque beauty. All-in-all, there was about 80 residents, which made plenty of hands to barricade and protect the small town.

Days went by. Weeks. Months. Eventually, hope of ever seeing my beloved grandfather alive again was completely lost.

The town developed quickly, everyone doing their part. The man, Phillip, who had brought me there, became a leader in the small hamlet. People grew to call him "the governor". It was a pretty mighty name for a leader of such a small group, but the city seemed safe, and who was I to judge?

I had been a year since the outbreak and I was wondering the streets of Woodbury late one night. I hadn't been able to sleep; I was never able to sleep. I'd been an insomniac long before the planet had become a living nightmare. I sauntered down the quiet avenue, stooping to pick up a cigarette butt and toss it in the bin. Across the street there's light burning in a main level window. My curiosity got the best of me as I'd realized that it was Phillip's house.

He was pacing back and forth in his living room, sweating profusely. I'd glanced at the antique clock hanging on the wall. 2:30. my stomach jumped into my throat when I saw her. A little girl was sitting there, bound to a dining chair in a worn out pink dress. There was a burlap bag over her face and I stepped into the garden for a better look.

He'd knelt down and rested a hand on the girls shoulder. The blood in my veins turned to ice when I noticed her pale, hand contort strangely at the sudden contact. His eyes were red, full of pain and anguish as he looked down at the tiny figure. He came around to kneel in front of her, and with one fluid motion, lifted the cover from her head.

I'd failed to stifle a gasp as I staggered and fell backwards, out of the carefully plotted flower bed. When I'd glanced back up his gaze seared into me; all rage and pain. He flew from the room and seconds later I heard the back door crash. I scrambled to get on my feet but before I could even get mobile, I felt his arm tighten around my throat. I'd clawed desperately at his arm as he dragged me backwards and into the house, the lack of air making my head start to spin. Once inside, he'd pushed me to the floor,

"What the fuck are you doing?!" His voice faltered, "Sneaking around my house at this hour!" I'd only gasped for air in response, not feeling the need to explain myself.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he fumed. His anger had only fuelled my anger, and I stood.

"Me?! Who do you think you are, governor?" I'd sneered. "You are putting this whole town in danger by bringing that THING in here!"

"That THING is my daughter!" He trembled as he spoke, but I could see the pain in his eyes. My heart had ached for him in that moment.

"Phillip…" I trailed off. "You know that creature is no more your daughter than the ones you put down outside the walls everyday." He stilled for a moment, and I relaxed, taking a step toward him.

"You can't keep her here."

It had happened so fast that it didn't register that he'd hit me. I felt the sting against my skull and the world fell to darkness around me.

When I'd come to, I found myself tied to a massive pipe of some kind. It was dark in the room but I could tell it was daytime from the light creeping in around the door frame. I struggled against my bonds frantically but all I'd managed to accomplish was to make my wrists raw. It was staggeringly hot. I'd felt like a lobster in a pot, as the water was brought to a boil. A million thoughts raced through my head in that moment. Where was I? Was I still in the city? Listening intently, I'd decided that I wasn't. The town would have be alive with activity in the middle of the say, and the only sound I could hear was the tweeting of a far off bird. My heart sank a little. Why was I there? Penitence? I swallowed. Walker bait? With the fresh terror that captured my thoughts, I'd pulled feverishly at the rope begging inwardly for it to give.

My plight was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and…whistling? I hadn't been deceived by my ears. Sure enough, a second later, the door swung open in front of me.

"Well hey there Girly." A broad, stocky man with short grey facial hair and primitive jutting chin sauntered nonchalantly toward me. As he passed through the light I noticed he was carrying a knife. As he came closer to me I realized he wasn't carrying it, it hung where his had should have been. He'd caught me staring,

"You like that?" he chuckled. "Some sheriff and bastard nigger did this to me in Atlanta. Ain't half bad."

I crouched, silent.

"You's a quiet one, huh?" he purred. "One sneaky little bitch, as the governor put it."

"What bother bringing me here?" I finally found my voice.

"Whooo-eee, I done you a favor woman." He whooped, a dark glint in his eye.

"Somehow I doubt that." I presented my bonds to him.

"Nah, really, I did. Boss man wanted yer hide slung over that big ol sofa, of his."

"So you tied me up in a rotting old shed to me eventually torn apart by walkers? Gee…I'm not sure how to express my appreciation. Your kindness is overwhelming." I rolled my eyes.

He lashed out and wrapped his only hand tightly around my neck, slamming my head against the pipe.

"Now listen here you little whore," he snarled, "I coulda chopped you into bits by now." He brandished his knife arm with a smile.

"In fact," he trailed the blade along my jaw, across the collarbone and down between my breasts. I just groaned. My head spun from the blow.

"Mmm," he purred, pressing up against me. My lungs were on fire, as I twisted and turned trying to free myself. "Shh now girly…" he soothed as he loosened his grip on my neck.

"Now yer gonna do exactly as I say, ya hear me?"

I spat at him between heaving breaths. He flinched.

"That weren't very nice." No sooner had he said it than I felt the pressure of his blade against my side. "Step out of them jeans."

"Never." I hissed.

My body burned as the tip of his knife pierced my skin. I cried out and swung at him with my leg. He'd lost his balance and stumbled back, releasing my neck and pulling the blade away with him. I'd launched myself over the pipe and crouched on the other side, pulling at the rope on my wrists. He yelled in rage. Rather than climb over the pipe, he'd just reached over and pulled my back by my hair. My face slammed into the dirt. I tried to lift myself back up but he sat down and straddled my back. I felt the hot blade, still wet, press against my throat.

"Now," he instructed, "yer gonna stay real still, or else I'll slit yer throat and finish on your corpse."

Instinctively, I tried to roll my body be her pulled my head up with the knife, pushing it against my chin.

"I ain't even gonna think twice." He threatened, scooting back and grinding against me. I whimpered involuntarily.

The blade became so tight on my throat that I struggled to swallow, as he pulled down my jeans and undid his belt. Silent tears fell down my cheeks as he forced himself inside of me over and over again, grunting excitedly.

It was the worst pain I'd ever felt, and it took everything I had not to cry out. To do so would only give that bastard satisfaction. When he finished, he exhaled slowly and leant down to kiss my cheek.

"Mmm, yer prime girly." He moaned as he pulled away his knife arm and dismounted me. I scrambled away as fast as my violated limbs could, and curled up against the pope, face hidden in my knees. I heard him zip his pants, turn and walk out of the shed whistling.

I spent three days in that personal hell, bound to the same massive pipe. The nights were cold and it was hard to sleep when I was shivering so violently.

He came back every few hours like clockwork. At first, I'd try to fight back, to keep him off, but it always ended in further injury. Once or twice, he'd brought me water in an old canteen, but never any food. My body ached and my strength faltered more and more with each passing day.

Then, on the third night, he'd flung the door open and staggered in, fly open, bottle in hand.

"Daddy's home!" he announced, slurring. He dropped the bottle and worked at his belt, but in his drunken stupor has forgotten to close the door behind him. Before he could even pry his belt apart, a walker stumbled through the door after him. He spun around when he heard the snarl, and fell back ontop of me in his surprise. As he struggled to get up, he caught his blade on my rope and unconsciously sliced half way through it.

When he'd finally righted himself, he lunged at the walker. I pulled desperately at my leash, and after a couple of seconds it gave and I fell backwards.

I heard the sound of metal on bone and spun around to see the man shoving his blade up through the walker's chin. He cackled.

In an instant I'd picked up the bottle in my still tied hands and brought it down hard on the back of his head. He slumped to the ground, motionless. I grabbed a knife from his belt, and maneuvered it between my wrists. My shoulders ached as my hands fell apart. I slid the knife into my belt, grabbed the canteen that he'd left lying on the ground earlier and some rope hanging near the door.

I looked around for anything else that may have been useful. There didn't appear to be anything else, so I bolted out the door and into the woods.