The Walking Dead Fanfiction
I own nothing
This is Rose Chapter 4
My eyes squinted open, my mouth felt like cotton, my tongue so swollen in the search of water that it was stuck to the roof of my mouth, the texture of sandpaper. The stench of rotten corpses reached my nose, reminding me of where I was. It's strange how just a year ago I would have retched at the mere smell, yet now I barely bat an eyelid at the decomposing bodies which share the room I sleep in.
I peeled myself from the bare mattress, wincing as my bones creaked in protest and my skin pulled tight at my wounds. While some of my blood had soaked through onto the mattress it appeared that the wounds had coagulated and scabbed for the most part. Still, unless I wanted the wounds to fester and develop infections I would still need to find medicine and stitch up the worst of it.
I had other houses to search today. Gathering my bearings, I marched from the bed over to the window. Determination keeping me steady and strong. It was quiet outside, only a few undead walking about further down the road, I could avoid them completely if I was lucky.
I stripped off what was left of my top, ripping the scraps at places where the top had stuck to my skin. I removed my underwear. The thought that I had not been wearing trousers this whole time didn't even register in my brain, I had lost my dignity long ago.
Going to the supplies gathered at the end of the bed, I slipped on a long sleeved shirt, then a pair of slacks, rolling up the bottom so that my feet were visible.
I picked the thickest socks I could find, wincing as I put them on over my flayed feet. I took a pair of sturdy boots next, while they were much too big for my feet and clearly made for a male, any protection was better than nothing. If I carried on travelling on my bare feet I may cause myself permanent damage and if I am unable to run away I am as good as dead.
I stood up, almost gagging from the sheer pain of having my cut feet enclosed. Taking deep breathes I calmed my mind, trying to sink deeper into the thinking and mentality of a survivor. Survivors ignore pain, they focus and do not get distracted, they do everything they can to survive and I will not survive if I am not able to move. I raged at myself in my mind, I would not let something pathetic like this take me down, I have survived much worse.
It felt strange to feel socks on my feet again, the rough cotton rubbing against what little skin I had left on my feet. The thick sole of the boots softening every step, my feet felt heavy but protected.
I was in survivor mode, focussed on nothing but getting through the day, living to see the next. Ignoring the pains of my still hungry stomach, the matted hair stuck to my face with grease and other bodily fluids, blood caked on my skin, the aching pain from my broken body.
My mind set, I made my way to the door, grabbing the first body by the feet and dragging it across the floor, repeating the process for the second body. Everything was quiet in the house, no sign of other undead within the building. It was safe to leave, I would have to come back for the supplies of course, but first I needed something study to carry them in.
I took strong steps from the room, the pain in my feet just a gentle hum in the back of my mind now. Going to the Kitchen I looked for some sort of defence, only finding pans and plates which I had ransacked from the cupboards yesterday. I decided a large frying pan would have to do, while I wouldn't be taking down herds I'm sure I could bash in the occasional head if needs be. The thought almost made me laugh, who knew I would be surviving the apocalypse with a frying pan as my weapon.
With frying pan in hand, I made my way to the front door, pausing just before it to steady my nerves. It was almost a comfort to be able to sleep in this house, to be surrounded by walls again. Maybe I would make this town my home for a while before moving on. I liked that thought. It calmed my nerves thinking of this place as my new home, made me feel safe in a way. I was ready to go out there again now, knowing that I could come back here.
Bracing myself, I walked the few metres it took to be fully outside, raising the hand which held my frying pan ready. They couldn't see me yet, if I was quick I could run across to the house just across the road. Crouching my body, I made my way as quickly as possible, almost hopping at parts when when my feet became too painful to run. I could only spot three shuffling further down the road; I wonder why this town is so empty. I was finally approaching the front door of the house, it appeared to be completely shut. Reaching for the door handle I found that it wouldn't open, the door was locked.
I could smash a window, although no doubt the sound would draw the undead to me like flies to a carcass. Climbing through the window may seem problematic too, with my body in this condition and the time it would take me to physically get myself through the window, I could be signing my own death by getting myself caught in a position where I couldn't make a quick getaway if necessary.
On the other hand, if the door was locked it could mean many things. The previous owners could have locked themselves in in an effort to preserve their lives. Although the fact that there were no boarded up windows went against this idea. The owner may not have even made it back home; that would be the most fruitful for me.
Thankfully the house still looked intact, if the house hadn't been broken into by other scavengers it meant there would still be supplies left untouched and hopefully no undead within the building. There could potentially be a goldmine of supplies within this house. My mind made up, I crept around the side of the house until I got to the first window a few feet away. Removing my shirt, I wrapped my frying pan with the fabric until it was cushioned. While I could not prevent the glass from making noise when it hits the floor, I could at least prevent making noise when actually smashing it.
I braced myself for the noise, brought my arm behind me and swung with everything I had. The sound was almost deafening compared with the silence which surrounded me before. Already I could hear the shuffling of feet coming to investigate. Hastened by the quickly approaching groans and shuffles I quickly used the frying pan and shirt to smash what was left of the window, ensuring that the glass at all the edges were destroyed. With that done I launched my body through the now open window. Frying pan and shirt still in hand.
My body slammed onto the ground, the broken glass digging into my arms, embedding itself into my skin. Scuffling across the floor on all fours, I tried to get away from the window. If they didn't see me they hopefully wouldn't figure out I was inside. By now the groans sounded just behind me, as if they were just approaching the front door.
Getting up into a crouch, trying to make my body as small and less visible as possible, I made my way to the stairs. I would start my forage up there, while I would have preferred to search for food first, I couldn't risk the undead seeing me in the house. No doubt they would investigate the noise for a while, but they'd soon get bored and wonder off. They were dumb things, easily distracted and slow and lumbering, if they couldn't see, hear or smell me right in front of their noses they weren't interested.
They weren't smart enough to hunt like humans do, to track down their victims.
I got to the landing, brushing off the glass from my arms and whipping my shirt back on. Going into the first room I came across, a large bedroom greeted me, the bed fully made, everything neatly in place.
I closed the door behind me, a habit I had picked up in my efforts to stay alive, a way to put another obstacle between me and them. A beautiful wardrobe stood in the corner of the room, ornate in its nature with a dark wood with curves etched into its surface. Approaching the wardrobe I ran my hand across its surface, closing my eyes so that I could fully appreciate the smoothness of the wood. I had a wardrobe just like this, my mum had a classic taste, appreciating vintage and homely pieces and would take delight in decorating the house, eventually getting to my room and taking it over with her dark woods and quilted blankets. I used to hate her old fashioned taste, but she could certainly make any house a home. I guess that's just how mums are though.
It hurt to think of them, but it was a bittersweet hurt. Like falling on your face but laughing along with your friends at your clumsiness. The pain of their memories made me sad, made me more aware of the deep loneliness that had crept into my heart, of the surrounding silence and complete isolation I felt, but I still couldn't help to think back with fond memories. I felt like crying and laughing at the same time, an oxymoron if I ever heard one.
Chuckling, I brought my hand to my face. Wiping my palm across my eye, as if to bat away the thoughts. I felt like I was going crazy. I needed to focus.
Wrenching the wardrobe door open I found what I had been looking for, among the top shelf lay an assortment of bags. Yanking the bags down I let them fall to the floor, bags of different sizes surrounded my feet, from purses, clutch bags, shoulder bags to backpacks. I took the biggest bag I could find, a sturdy looking backpack which looked to be used for sports judging by the sleeves for water bottles at the sides of the bag.
Rummaging through the rest of the wardrobe I took a pair of sneakers, a couple of socks and underwear which looked to fit me, stuffing them into the bag as I went.
After searching through the rest of the room and finding nothing of use, I slipped my arms through the straps. I had no more need for clothes, with the supplies I had scavenged here and the ones in the previous house I would be set for a while.
I could still hear distant moans from outside, seemed they were still investigating the noise. Looks like I wouldn't be able to go in search of food anytime soon. I opened doors as I walked through the hallway, in search of the bathroom. Finally finding it, I went straight to the cabinet above the sink, finding it full with the normal feminine products, which I stocked away in my bag.
Hiding behind bottles of various sleeping pills I found myself a first aid kit. It seemed I had hit the jackpot. Ripping the kit from the cabinet I promptly emptied my find over the bathroom floor, rooting through the supplies to until I finally found what I had been searching for all this time. Sterile cleansing wipes, Steristrips, Dressings, it was all here. Once I'd put on some nitrile gloves found in the kit I ripped open the cleaning wipes, now for the hard part. Taking the wipes I vigorously rubbed my cuts and abrasions, taking away any visible dirt and grime. Chucking away the wipe which was now a dusky pink colour I swiped another from the pack, carrying on the ritual of cleansing my flesh from bacteria. I made full use of the first aid kit, pushing my wounded flesh together and sealing it with the Steristrips, slowly mending my body piece by piece.
I looked like a rag doll, Steristrips visible on every limb holding a piece of me together. While they were no substitute for professional stitches, they were good enough for an apocalypse. Stuffing the remains of the kit into my bag I left the bathroom.
By now the moans were quite far away, not as far as I would have hoped, but far enough for me to make my way back to my substitute home to dump my new items onto my stockpile.
It had been a busy day and I have a whole town to scavenge.
Wow that was a boring chapter, I meant to have her meet the cast in this chapter but instead I somehow managed to waffle for 2,000+ words. I am the queen of waffling!
