Chapter 11

Ryan stopped and bent at the knees to catch her breath. Her lungs burned. Sweat coated her skin. There hadn't been any kind of road sign for anything for miles. The beach was long behind her as was Kenny, and she was now surrounded by trees on both sides of the road. After finally breathing steadily again, she wiped her forehead with her shirt continued on.

It was dead silent all around her. No birds or wind. At every branch snap or leaf rustle she did hear she stopped and looked around, searching. For what? She wasn't sure.

When nothing arose out of it, she kept on. Her journey went on like that, and she came across a walker here, a walker there. Disposed of them. At one point, there had been a handful, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. One had been carrying camping gear, which was lucky for her. She found a moth-eaten sleeping bag and a bag of trail mix and jerky and a knife. The knife was good and sharp. Better than the steak knife she had. She tucked it in her boot. The handle stopped halfway up.

There'd been a few stray cars on the road; one still had its driver still seatbelted in. Its teeth chomping and arms reaching out for any kind of freedom it thought she'd give. She gave it freedom. Well, the only freedom you could have anymore. The sound of sticking a walker in the head was always sickening. Before leaving any car behind, she checked them out. In the trunk of this one was a tire iron, a jack, and a handgun. She tossed a glance at the license plate and then smirked. Texas, of course, she thought. The silver chrome, marble handled gun was large in her hand. And it had some weight. She didn't question what the hell it was doing in the trunk. She checked the mag, hammer and slide lock before turning the safety on and slipping it into the side pocket of her lucky pack.

She didn't sleep out in the open. She didn't really sleep at all anymore. When she was so tired that she couldn't walk anymore, she huddled up next to a tree. It was stupid to sleep without any kind of alarm system. She'd managed herself up the tree though, so she was safe from getting chomped on like a plaything.

Having a branch up your ass was better than a walker in your everything else. There were no walkers on the ground when she woke up.

More trekking. Her stomach growling on and off was the only thing to keep conversation with her. Otherwise, it was just her and her thoughts. Along the way she left crumpled up pages that she'd left black-out poetry on. It was mostly out of boredom. She had to keep her sanity about her in some way, so why not? There was a comfort in it also. It made her think about Reed and she missed him so much. She missed everyone. This kept her focused, kept them with her, kept her emotions from leaking out. It just did.

"Well," Ryan huffed, stopping at a dirt-pebble turn-off that had brick columns on either side. Willows swayed in the soft breeze. The entryway looked like one for a campground. "What's this way, I wonder."

She didn't wonder. She was possibly delirious, but she didn't wonder because she didn't care. She was just quite alone, and what else was she going to do? There'd been nothing but mile markers and the extremely rare sign for a campground or a park. Nothing to tell her where she really was. No towns. Just the asphalt road and trees.

Rocks skittered about as she walked down the dusty road to the campground. Rays of sun spotted the ground through the branches that arched overhead.

The campgrounds were barren. Almost. Up ahead, a camper attached to an old rust bucket red truck rested underneath a massive willow whose branches touched the ground in places. The camper was very retro nineties with its shutter sides. A small, uneven stone circle containing blackened wood was just outside it with a pot and a plastic lawn chair next to it. There was no smoke. It was cold, so there hadn't been a fire burning lately. Ryan turned her head this way and that. There was nothing else around.

Ryan leaned against a nearby tree, pursing her lips. Not creepy at all, she thought. She inched closer to the camper. The sound of clanging and rummaging from inside made her halt mid-step. She pulled her gun, turning the safety off, and cocked it. There were two possibilities inside of that trailer. She hoped that whoever was in there was dead. She didn't like to kill live ones. Not if she didn't have to.

At the count of three, she grabbed the handle of the door and flung it open. It flew, unexpectedly lighter than she imagined, and bounced against the wall. There was no shouting of a normal person, just the raspy hiss of a walker. She was relieved. Its skin was weathered grey and it was missing half of its face and an arm. Currently, it was walking into the counter with the sink. Plastic dishes littered the plastic linoleum floor. Its neck cricked as it turned its head to look at her. It didn't blink, but mostly because it lacked eyelids, which was too bad. Its cloudy eyes were gross.

Ryan didn't step foot into the camper. The space was too small. She backed up slowly, quickly putting the gun away and pulling her knife out. The walker stumbled and fell off the single metal step down to the ground, clumsier than a puppy on brand new legs. Ryan stifled a giggle. Shouldn't have been funny, but it was. She thought about tying him up and keeping him around as a ward against other walkers. She couldn't recall the last walker she'd seen before this one. In the end, she decided it had to go.

"Go home, ugly. You're drunk." And she laughed at her own dumb joke. It stumbled to its feet and she planted her blade, with almost perfection, into its skull. It snapped its teeth at her one more time before it went down in a gross heap.

Ryan wobbled over to the metal step and sat down on it. For a good ten minutes, she just sat there. Nobody was around. She leaned back and peaked into the cabin. How the hell did this person turn? She looked around and then discovered the tipped over pill bottle. It was empty. The guy came out here to die.

This place was redneck hell. The smell alone made Ryan gag. There were small antlers hanging above the sink. The curtain in the 1 ½ by 1 ½ bathroom was camo, making her cringe. There were two cases of beer in the fridge, which was broken. So, she could get drunk on warm beer…how puke worthy. However, she had a great appreciation for the shotgun that was in the rack in the truck. There were two shells loaded and a box a little over half full in the glove box.

Grabbing the chording in the bed of the truck and some of the aluminum dishes, the sturdy kind meant for camping, and empty beer cans on the floor, she created her alarm system around the site. Then she went inside, not caring that it was humid enough she could drown and lay down on the twin sized bed that was nearly flat. The pillow was flatter and there was no blanket. She was surprised by how comfortable it was though. Her body just let go and that was it. It was no Hilton King sized, but it was better than a tree or a pile of leaves. She was out within minutes.


The road had opened up. They'd come across a gas station. It was nearly empty, but good enough to stay in for the night. All of them were exhausted, but Reed was the worst. Distraught had made him quiet.

Troy leaned over the engine of a car. The horses had died. One from walkers. The other…well…they had run out of food a week ago. Grub clucked about ten feet off. His fingers were blackened. Luck had it that people didn't much bother with the auto section of the store. He'd found a battery, oil, and even spark plugs and a fan belt. He thought about his brother, imagined what he'd be saying right about now.

"Hey, brother."

Troy froze and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply. The air was stagnant and dry.

"You're not here," Troy said in a sullen tone.

"You did good. Taking care of this." Jake's hands rest on the side of the car as he looked at the engine, too. He smiled at Troy like he was proud of him. Why the hell did he look so proud? "You're taking care of them, too."

Jake nodded to the side at the store. Through the grimy windows, Troy could see Lindsey and Sophie. They were searching around and he could swear he saw them smile briefly. Reed and Trick were at the front counter hovering over a road map. Reed's forehead creased with intense concentration.

"They're alive because of you. You helped them," Jake said.

Troy shook his head. No, he didn't. He just wanted the hell out before he went up in flames. Bright flashes like lightning came to the back of his head, blinding him. It was the memory of what had happened to him. It had been his fault. Troy swallowed hard.

"I didn't help everybody," he replied sharply. He should've helped her. He should've kept an eye on her. Ryan. He should've tried harder to find her. He released a heavy, guilt ridden sigh.

"You did what you could. That matters," Jake said. He smiled softly, causing his eyes to crinkle at the edges.

"Right," Troy mumbled. But he knew he didn't and it made him angry.

"Who are you talking to?"

Troy turned his head. Reed was making his way over. Troy looked over to where Jake stood on the other side. He was gone. Troy's jaw tightened. Just his mind playing with him again.

"Uh, nothing. No one," Troy replied before Reed could get suspicious. He didn't need to give him any reason to think he was unstable, because he wasn't. Not anymore. He refused to be.

"So, does it work?"

Troy stood up and gesturing at the driver's side.

"Give it a try."

Reed went around to the other side slid into the car and turned the ignition, which still had the key in. The dusty white machine purred to life. Troy smiled to himself. He could imagine what she'd say. Ryan. Some quip about not being entirely useless. And damn right he wasn't. He was indispensable.

"Well, you're not entirely useless," Reed joked. "Now we don't have to walk."

Troy smirked.

"It is both interesting and disturbing how alike you and your sister are," Troy commented as he closed the hood.

"My dad used to say that a lot, which is funny because for the longest time I always thought we were too different," Reed said. He leaned against the car and stared off at the fields swaying in the breeze across the street. "He was right, though."

When there was only silence he went on,

"It's not your fault." Brief pause. "That she's—"

He couldn't say she was dead, but he knew that she might be. Same with Grant, Strand, Shay, and Alicia.

"She's not dead," Troy said. He'd lost what emotion he had left with that. It just drained out of him, because he could barely say those words that were a deadly lie.

"And you know that how?" Reed's eyebrows pinched inward.

"I don't," Troy said with a mild shrug. "We should get moving."

Reed nodded and headed back in.

Troy got in on the passenger's side because he sure as hell wasn't taking the first shift behind the wheel and laid his head back. He flinched when he closed his eyes and opened them quickly. That violent flashback came at him quickly. He was sitting in the middle of that horde with Nick, again, held up in that cockpit. God, an apology could never fix that. Nothing short of his killing himself could. Troy reached up and touched his temple. The soft spot there was tender still, and probably always would be. Good. It was a reminder of what he deserved. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist to try and rid himself of the shakiness it wrought in him.

The car doors opened and people filed in. Sophie with Basil and Trick with Grub. Damn if that chicken wasn't still alive. Even in the last few weeks when they were all ready to eat their own body parts, Trick refused to cook the thing. It had gotten mighty used to being carried by him, too. The trunk slammed shut and Lindsey crawled in the back on the other side of Sophie who sat in the middle. Reed was driving.

As they pulled out, Troy watched the road in his rearview mirror.

"So, where are we?" Troy asked.

"Mississippi right now," Reed said as he checked his rearview.


Ryan woke with a start, flinging her legs over the edge of the bed, her arm shooting up with her gun in hand, automatically ready to shoot. Her internal clock screamed. She blinked a few times before realizing that she was alone. Nobody had broken in. There were no walkers leaning over her like she was a piece of chocolate. Man, she would've loved to have chocolate. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had any or what it tasted like. She smacked her lips together.

Outside, the rope moved and the beer cans clanged together. Something tripped the alarm. Ryan's body tensed hard. So hard that her shoulders ached with tight knots.

After a few more minutes, Ryan lowered her gun and went outside. Two walkers got caught up. Ryan clicked the safety on and went back into the camper. Coming back out with her knife, she was careful, thrusting up under their chins with her blade. She grimaced as the second oozed all over her hand and up her forearm. The stench pushed her over the edge, twisting her stomach. She turned and vomited. There was nothing coming up except for the trail mix she'd eaten. She wiped her mouth with her clean hand.

The sun was setting in the trees on her seventh day in this billowing vacation land. She'd walked the parameter. There wasn't much around. There was a lake. It reminded her of the one back at the Canopy. It sparkled but was gloomier. She stayed at the edges after seeing a moccasin swimming around in it. Last thing she needed was to be taken down by a damn snake bite in the ass. Not only humiliating but ow.

She went back into the camper, keeping the rechargeable flashlight on low. In her book, she made her own stories or poetry by blacking out the page and leaving only the words she chose, imagining that she was sending them to Reed, Grant, Sophia, even Troy. What the hell else was she going to do with her time? She'd already read the book four times.

As the night came, so did the crickets and toads, chirping loudly. Ryan didn't sleep at night. Anymore she waited until the brink of dawn to get in a few hours. It went on like that for weeks.

Tonight, the sound of roaring jolted her from her dreamless reverie. She switched the flashlight off and moved to the window. It wasn't roaring, but barking, she quickly figured out. A dark shape darted through the open on the far side of the grounds fast. Two black dogs were hot on its heels. Ryan watched wide-eyed as they disappeared from sight. She didn't think dogs had gone wild. Subconsciously, she reached for her gun.

At the horrifying sound of shouting, she grabbed it, slung the shotgun over her shoulder and tucked her knife in a matter of seconds and was out the door, running after in the direction they'd gone. Her legs ached and burned as she blazed past trees. The screaming went on and grew more agonizing as she drew nearer.

She pulled the shotgun free and cocked it. Then the screaming died away into gurgling and then stopped. She stopped, but her grip on the gun didn't loosen. She aimed it up. Darkness surrounded her and that was dangerous. Backtrack and lock yourself in, she thought to herself. She regretted coming out here.

Turning to do just that, she froze and went paler than the moon. She gasped.

A black and white dog, tense on its feet in its low crouch, drool dripping past sharp, seemingly red, teeth, growled at her. Its muzzle was glistening wet, too. Another growl came from behind her. She turned and the other one was there. Where was the person they were chasing? She chilled. Cujo had not been her favorite Stephen King novel. She more enjoyed Firestarter.

Her finger twitched on the trigger. One of these fuckers was going to bite her when got a shot off, but which one. And when it happened, they'd probably snap a bone like it was a fucking twig and she'd bleed badly. Would she survive the infection? She shook as these thoughts played out.

"CONAN! ATLAS! HEEL!"

The dogs cowered and whimpered, their ears tucking back, and they backed away. A flashlight spotlight blinded her as clops of hooves came toward her. Ryan blinked rapidly and saw two horses coming right toward her. They stopped ten feet away. The dogs went to stand next to the horses, perfectly obedient.

Up on the horse sat a man in a dress shirt, tailored vest, and dress pants. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He held a shotgun of his own and it rested on his shoulder. He looked at her, first surprised, and then he smiled and moved his flashlight.

"Miss, it's dangerous to be out here in the dark."

Ryan shifted uneasily.

"I'm not afraid of the dark. People, on the other hand, is a different matter." She hadn't lowered her gun.

The man, though handsome, smiled even wider. That didn't make her feel any better about this. She didn't release her tense position on the trigger. It wasn't unnerving because it was a creepy smile. It was the opposite. His smile, even in the dark, was bright and shining and kind.

"And the person that was being chased by those things?" She nodded at the dogs. Big Danes. Atlas was the black and white one. Conan was dark brown.

"Oh, these are just my dogs. They're harmless enough," he said. His voice drawled with a southern accent. "They protect me."

"From what?"

"Well," he chuckled, "the world isn't as safe as it once was. If it's not the dead it's the living who are deceiving. Honestly, ma'am, I'm a good man, but I do protect what's mine. Don't you?"

Ryan flashed back to New Orleans for a brief second with Troy and then to when she lashed out at Kenny with her pathetic steak knife. She understood just fine, but she wasn't taking her finger off of the trigger. He let his dogs rip someone apart. She wasn't going to be next.

"I see I've alarmed you. That's not my intention. I do apologize for my poor manners. My name is Arnold Mayfair. My family and I own an estate just up that way."

Ryan let her eyes slip past to look at the direction he came from just for a second. He kept smiling. She forced herself to get past how charming it was. He just sent his dogs to kill somebody. She was glad she didn't see it because the sound would never leave her. That kind of thing was vicious.

"Why don't you come back with me? It can't be good, you being out here by yourself. We have beds and fresh food," Arnold said.

The offer was tempting just because of the bed part.

"I've been taking care of myself just fine," Ryan replied. She pulled the shotgun back. "You can be on your way."

"Well, I don't feel comfortable leaving you out in the woods all alone. Bad things happen out here," Arnold said.

"I don't feel comfortable walking into stranger danger," she replied. "And I'll have no qualms dropping you, your dogs and taking your horse."

Arnold's eyes softened and he chuckled. Any woman would be swept away by this man. He oozed power and, strangely, confidence. She wanted to believe you could trust people, but that wasn't a luxury anymore. Without Tuck or Reed, she couldn't trust anyone.

"You're quite a woman if you're willing to do that, not that I can blame you," he said.

Arnold swung a leg over and hopped off of his horse. The black mare nickered. He took a few steps until they were a few feet apart.

"What are you doing?"

"As I said, I'm not very comfortable with leaving you out here in the dark. So, where is your camp?" Arnold waited on her.

For many seconds, she just blinked at him. He was serious.

She walked back to the camper. If he tried anything she was filling him with buckshot.


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