DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD.

I have no idea where else this group has been. All I know of is the farm. Other than that, I have no idea where else they have been hauled up. Probably horrible places, only places that people would dare go out of desperation. This to them, might be the ideal place for sanctuary. I, on the other hand, have been lots of different places. The city, smaller towns, so many places that I can't even remember the name of. I know the difference between safe places, unsafe places, and…well, insanely creepy places.

Large, rusted iron gates are built highly over the entrance, a large chain binding them together. The first few houses I can see are huge, with large front lawns and a garage built for three cars minimum. Back in the day, it would've been paradise. Now, it seems less than so. The bricks are dusty and old, and the lawns have turned into a dark brown colour. The roads into the estate are bare. Deathly empty. There's no sign of life at all. Maybe it's a good thing, but it certainly doesn't seem comforting. Not in the least.

As the car pulls behind the others and the engine cuts, Daryl glances over and gives me a small warning look. Something that says if something happens, I'm going to be the one to blame entirely. I try not to think about it too much, and cast my eyes out the window. Outside, the others are stepping out. For the most part, they look happy. Rick's looking at the sight with a relieved smile on his face, his arm slinking around Lori. He says something and she smiles. Sure, all they see it gates and boundaries.

But then again, maybe I'm just thinking like this for no reason. The whole thing just seems a little too Amityville for me.

I step out of the car and make my way slowly to the others, fully aware of the gun tucked away at my waist. Before I can reach the adults, Carl finds his way to me.

He marches up to my side and can hardly contain his excitement. "Hey Lyla! Isn't this great?" He asks, his cheeks beaming.

"Yeah, great," I say, sounding less than convincing. I cast my eyes over to the haunting image ahead of us. "A little Scooby-Doo, though. Right?"

He looks confused, and his head tilts to the side slightly. "Scooby-Doo?"

Kids these days. It's all video games and pop music. I withhold the temptation to rant about the importance of classics to the kid. "Never mind."

I hear Rick talking from the front. "Tonight we stay together. Tomorrow we'll go in a little more and search the houses."

We grab our stuff and get ready to enter our new suburban home. Shane lifts his legs and harshly kicks the high iron gates, breaking the old metal lock easily. As the gates swing open, the group edges inwards. Rick's at the front, his gun swung up in front of him, Shane also. I find that my hand is inching towards my own in preparation. We choose the first house, and the door doesn't need to be kicked open. It's already swung open, the latches rusty from being unused for a long time.

Somebody left in a hurry.

Once inside, we all stand in the front hall, aimless and wondering. Like lost children. Everyone's still for a moment, waiting. For a noise or a walker or something, anything. But after several moments, nothing happens. It's satisfactory for now. The sound of bags dropping to the ground echo the hall.

Rick turns around and gestures to the others. "Wait here. We'll do a check of the house."

Carl steps forward, his face etched into one of confidence. "I'll come too."

Rick gives him a small smile, patting his shoulder lightly. "No, you stay with your Mom." He looks up and nods his head towards Daryl. "Let's go."

We watch the backs of Rick, Shane and Daryl disappear down the hair, their guns raised. The rest of the group returns to their statue stances, listening for the sound of gunshots. Nothing.

It's Lori who speaks first, her hands still tightly clutching Carl's shoulders. "We should check for food."

She and the others move down the hallway and through a pair of double doors, which I assume to be the kitchen. The only people who remain are Glenn and I. He gives me a nod and begins edging towards the door, peaking out the window to the ghostly front yard.

I decide to have a small check around myself. There seems to be a lot of ground to cover. So I move to the first door I see and press gingerly on the wood with my foot.

The smell of rotting flesh hits me as soon as I open the door. It's the stench of a rotting corpse that has been in decay for months at least. It's enough to make me stumble back, though I should be used to it by now. My eyes fall to the plush couch in the centre of the room, where a body is lying, being worn down to nothing but yellow skin and bones. In it's hand, a gun. In it's head, a hole. I suppose that's one less problem we have to worry about. Although, the stained blood on the furniture is going to be harder to clean off.

There's no other sound other than the distant humming of hungry flies until I hear feet behind me. I pray to god that it's not Carl.

"Euh." I hear Glenn say behind me. I turn around and see his hand up against his nose, his mouth twisted in grimace. He gives me a disgusted look.

We both step in cautiously, treading around the pool of dark blood that has gathered. With the end of his rifle, Glenn pokes the body curiously.

"Poor guy must have worked out what was coming long before anyone else did," he says.

We both look at each other with understanding. Nobody needs to see this.

I let out a heavy sigh, and begin rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. "Help me move this thing."

Stepping forward, I reach out and grasp the moulding fabric of the corpse, and pull it slowly off the couch. I nod towards the back door.

"Get the door, Glenn."

Glenn runs over and unlocks the back, before jogging back and grimly lifting the legs of the decayed body. Treading slowly over to the door, we both cast the body outside and take a breath. It'll take a little longer for the stench to go away. I wipe the dirt and dried blood from my hands onto my jeans and wait for Glenn to lock the door again.

He turns to me, his face still twisted into disgust. "I'll never get used to this."

It's a split second later that the sound of a scream echoes through the walls.