I do not own the walking dead or its characters. Please leave some feedback. I recently got back into writing, and this is the first time I have taken it more seriously. I have revised the first to chapters(prelude and chapter one), and combined them.

I am also open to story line suggestions, PM with ideas and credit will be given if I use them.

I want this to be a long story with lots of interesting things happening. I really don't want to use much of TWD story line since it is heavily used in fanfic. All characters are open for write ins, even dead ones. Who cares, this is a fantasy lol.

Running Up That Hill

Prelude

Aspen Mayors

"You're scared of a game of strip poker?" I chided him, "we're adults, there is booze and I love to gamble." I lie, "plus, we should be grateful we aren't in that storm right now and managed to get a 'bountiful harvest' at that food distribution place." Crossing my arms like a child with confidence in my ability to make it another day.

"I ain't scared." Daryl retorted, "it's just not my thing." Turning around he started to stoke the wood burning stove in the storm shelter below my house.

I never thought I would be using the storm shelter in my home. Coming from Arizona, you don't see storms like this unless you're up north, like Flagstaff or Show Low, even then, this storm puts them to shame. We managed to just make it back before the blizzard ate us at the gate, I was nearly breaking a sweat walking to my house and by that time it was whiteout conditions in the small community. Abandoning the box van after closing the gate behind us, we had to tether our arms to not lose one another. Since I was closest to the gate we went there, but I left my keys inside the box van in a rush, so we ended up in the storm cellar, or storm shelter? Whichever we are here now.

Speaking of which, you're probably wondering how I got here. Locked up in the storm cellar of my 'mini mansion,' at home in Alexandria, it's funny now that I think of it. See, I was out scavenging with one of the group members, Daryl. We had been out further than usual on a lead from someone we had taken in last week, a person from Roanoke. There was a small distribution center for local grocers with canned goods, meds, although probably expired, and sorely needed items back in Roanoke. They sent me with him since it was supposed to be a day and a half trip, half day out and load up overnight and head out early afternoon, that way we got some semblance of sleep in the early morning hours. The less people out the better, we needed everyone at home and since this wasn't meant to be a big trip it made sense to get out of the daily mundane around here, for me at least. I haven't been out of the gate in two months.

He was up ahead on his bike most of the trip, and I drove the box van. It was a nice ride out, although I missed being a passenger and watching the scenery roll out the window. Then the storm, Mary, appeared in the distance, about a half hour after we arrived. We were over 200 miles from home, with many back roads and two highways to get to Roanoke. We usually never go this far, but since we hadn't had trouble in a long while at home, the reward outweighed the risk. Plus, having music to sing along to was good. I managed to keep my old phone with all my music on it this whole time, it has a cracked screen but who really cares now?

After arriving and taking a long look at the impeding storm, Daryl calculated we had just enough time to load up the box truck and head out before nightfall, meaning there wouldn't be any sleep. It turned into a rushed mess. Luckily, there weren't any walkers in sight today, just a few out in the fields as we drove here. They are dwindling down these days. It's been 12 years since the infection started.

After clearing out a small hoard of walkers inside and making sure the door was secure to the main building we got to work. "Grab those boxes of Tylenol, Motrin and the rest of what is over there," he directed at me, "anything medication wise grab. I'll get this old pallet jack to work with the battery from the van and then start on loading these pallets of shit." Grunting as he hoisted the spare battery from below the driver side door.

He managed to jump the long sitting electric pallet jack and maneuvered two pallets to the edge of the dock. "We need the metal ramp, this is too wide of a gap, everything will fall off the edge." Searching for the metal ramp that usually gets placed between the truck and the dock he sighs. "Fuck it. Aspen, go back the truck up against the wall, I do not care if it gets a dent. Stupid truck anyways, bring the battery back with you. We need to get out of here before it gets any windier and the storm comes."

I jumped down and Daryl handed me the battery. Putting it in its place below the driver's side, I climbed up into the truck and turned it over, put it in reverse and backed up to the dock, hitting the taillights and smashing them, after hearing Daryl yell a 'that'll do' I put it in park and turn it off.

Two hours had passed, and it was a blustery late afternoon, the clock on my old phone read 5pm, it was dark during the winter months. We managed to knock out most of the supplies into the truck. Diapers, meds, even some luxury items like candles, "these will be gifts for Christmas," I said giddy adding them to the front of the truck, for safe keeping of course.

"We've got one last thing to fit, my bike. Ain't no way in Hell I am riding in this shit." He pulled the truck from the dock to an even surface and pulled out the smaller metal ramp within the truck bed. It was a U-Haul truck that they had before I ever arrived at Alexandria, a sturdy work horse of a truck or van? Whichever. Hoisting his bike up he kicks starts it and revved the engine, "shit, she's cold."

"I thought you weren't riding?" I asked, amused at his reaction to the brisk air, small flakes beginning to fall. I closed the loading dock door, to hide the remaining supplies, "we can make a trip later on when the snow clears, seems this is the start of our snow season here." I added to my prior question.

"I'm not, but it's too steep to push her up, I'm gonna have to ride her in and hope I don't crash into the shit we packed." He responded, yelling over the bike he revved it up once more and ascended the ramp in one swift movement. "Just enough room in here too, we should be good to go," putting the kick stand down and strapping the bike through one of the ceiling rods for stability. He jumped out and closed the door, locking it with the lock and moving the ramp back in place. "We will be back for the rest, lots of canned goods. Hopefully, they do well in freezing temperatures. We ain't ever had a cold front like this."

From the side there were a few walkers coming around the building as we grabbed the rest of our stuff to load up in the truck, "leave 'em." He said firmly, "We need to get the hell outta dodge. I'll drive."

Climbing into the passenger seat I felt giddy, I get to enjoy the scenery outside once again.

Chapter One

Aspen Mayors

Daryl kept a safe but fast speed to outrun the storm, it almost seemed like we had beat it in the first hour home. Slowly it came around from either side of us. If there had been news on tv still, I bet this would be one of those in a lifetime storms. The sky grew dark and gray with each passing mile and I almost felt worried about whether we would make it or be boxed in. The roads had iced over a bit, and I made a mental note for snow chains on the next run, whenever that would be. I looked over at Daryl who was in his own train of thought. Wondering what was on his mind, and to save me from boredom I asked, "a penny for your thoughts?"

He looked at me and gave a small chuckle, "if pennies even exist anymore." Hand on the wheel, guiding through the forest back road to the next highway, "I don't think I've seen a penny for five or six years now." He gave a drier laugh this time.

"Ok, watch this." Digging into my bag I grabbed an old coin purse, filled with pennies from long before, when they were made with more copper than the later years. "How about two pennies for your thoughts." I handed him two pennies, one from 1945 and another from 1963.

Keeping one hand on the wheel he grabbed the pennies with his other hand, turning them over to look at each side while resting his wrist on the top of the steering wheel he asked, "so you just go around collecting these or what? How many do you have?" He handed them back to me, focusing on the road, there was a small blanket of snow forming before us now. The storm, which I named Mary like in the old times, had made her way in front of us.

"Thank the Gods we have heat up in this bitch," I said turning it up full blast, "I used to collect pennies. Not just any penny though. They are years of importance and I guess now they serve a purpose to remember those years in history. I was going to become a historian in college, but I hardly even graduated high school before all this shit happened." Raising my arms up in a flailing motion to the area around us. "I kept them all this time since now it's really the only footprint we have of the way we were before the infection. 1945 is when World War Two ended, and 1963 is the year John F Kennedy was assassinated, which the government 100% was behind..." trailing off I looked back to Daryl who was staring off to the road. I kept quiet after that, he thought it childish of me, or he was just focused on the road. "It's looking bad," I said as a last resort to keep conversation going.

"We'll be ok." He said gripping the wheel tighter, "It's getting hard to keep on the road, the wheels are slipping, and we have a hill to get up." He responded. Looking at me in brief seconds between watching the road he continued, "I think the coin idea is smart. They are time stamps and easy to remember dates. Too bad there won't be any future ones made." Returning his focus to the road, I remembered my idea earlier when a semi came into view as we turned onto highway number

"Stop the van." I blurted out, "that semi we passed will most likely have snow chains, they will also fit the dual tires on the back of the van." He stopped, making us skid a bit, and throwing the van in reverse, we felt a thud when he stopped in placed the van in park, not turning it off for fear of it getting too cold to start.

"There goes my bike, damn straps didn't hold" he said unbuckling his seatbelt, "stay here, I will check the truck out and see what I can find." He said jumping out and closing the door behind him with effort as the storm blew by.

I can make him out in the, now falling, snow by the red glow from the cigarette he lit as he neared the semi-truck side. Opening my window, I look out, just to track the surrounding area, one can never be too sure. The snow is really falling, hitting my face, and melting. I grabbed my coat and jumped out of the van to help. I see he has grabbed the chains and is lining them up, "I'm glad I thought of this earlier. Now we will always have a set for emergencies like this." I say, wiping my face free of snow and now smoke from the van. I look around and see the coast is clear, visibility becoming less and less as the minutes pass. I look at Daryl as he goes around the side of the van to lay on the next set of chains. "Need any help?" I offer.

"Get in the driver seat and be ready to crawl forward, the chains need to be latched on. I'll yell when to go and stop." He said, taking the last drag of his cigarette and snuffing it out.

I climbed into the still running truck, once again thankful for the heat, I rolled the window down and looked out for his direction. I get the go signal and gently place the truck into drive and release my foot from the break. Rolling ever so slowly, he yells to stop and connects the first set of chains to the wheel. Excitement fills me, I love it when I am on the ball with shit like this, it feels good. I place the truck in park, roll up the window and climb over to my spot, this too makes me even more happy. I look out the window and see he's just finished the other snow chain and makes his way back around to the driver's side; I roll my window up and we head off once he's back in his seat and buckled. I see a small heard of walkers from a distance in a field, but they don't seem to be moving fast, or at all.

Daryl must've seen my interest in the walkers and says, "they freeze. It's the only good thing about winter. The walkers freeze out here and when spring comes, they thaw and rot faster. Making them fall apart into a mess." I look at him and he continues, "the snow chains are making a big difference in traction, which was a good call." He smiles, and it sparks my insides a little.

You don't normally see him smile, but when you do it's contagious. I smile back leaning the chair back to recline, "yea I watched a lot of this show once, Ice Road Truckers. Thought I wanted to be one once. I learned a lot from that show," breaking sentence to yawn, then continuing "but the most important thing was the snow chains. All truck drivers have them or did." I said, landing back to present time. I often forget those times are the past, but my eyelids grow heavy, and I know I am going to be out.

"Aspen," hearing my name and being woken up from what felt like a dead slumber, "Aspen, wake up. We're home, but it's bad. The snow kicked up the last 12 miles or so here and I need you to pull the truck through as I open the gate. Once you get far enough in, stop the van just and kill it. Wait for me to come to you. Don't get out."

"Ok," I say behind blurry eyes, "how long was I out?" I asked with a yawn.

"I'm not sure, over an hour, two? We can go through that later, we need to move fast, like now, so get up." He unbuckles me and I rise, looking out the window I can barely make out the front gate. It's a whiteout now, I can't even believe I slept like that through the wind, making the van thrash around. It's top heavy so the wind moves it violently as I get up to switch my seat, I look at the clock, 11:15pm, it took longer to get home. I had to be asleep for 3 or four hours.

Getting behind the wheel I watch as Daryl opens the gate, with a lot of effort on his end. Nobody was in sight so they must be hunkered down in their houses to stay safe. I don't think anyone would be trying to break down the walls here during a storm like this. Once he opens the gate enough to squeeze through, he motions me to move and I make it, but I clip the mirror on the driver's side busting it off into a shattered mess. I pull up just past the gate, unable to see in front or behind me at this point, but do as he said, wait for him. I gather my things from the truck and get ready to jump out when he gets here, I turn the truck off. What felt like 10 minutes was more like 4, and he opens the truck door.

"Let's move," he says in more of a raspy grunt than words. "Hold on to my arm, don't let go." He grabs me helping me down so the wind doesn't knock me over. The storm has started raging. Hanging on to me, he leans in and grabs his pack from under the seat and closes the door.

We link arms and push through the storm. You would think it was the movies, how ungodly this windy and snow was, I could feel it piling around me as I said, "My place is first, we go there and stay put." I said taking lead but keeping our linked arms together. It should only take a few strides to make it, but it takes 10 minutes, just a guess, but a long while to get there. Out of breath I reach for my key to my door, "shit, they most've fallen out in the truck while I was readying my bag. See if the storm cellar is open, I don't remember it having a lock." I say as Daryl turns around and we push our way to the cellar.

"No lock," he says, opening the door, but the wind pushes him down using the door as a sail, standing up he continues, "get closer, I'm gonna lift the door up and you get in, I'll make it after you." He yells through the wind and snow. Lifting the door up again for me, I jump in the storm cellar landing on my knees, scuffing them for certain. Daryl barrels his way down the same as me landing on his back, the door closing and bouncing against the frame.

Getting up I look in the cellar, it's lightly furnished and even has a small wood burning stove that's properly ventilated to the outside. "We can use this to keep warm for the night, I have some food on me we will be alright I think." I say, sitting on the twin bed against the freezing wall, clasping my cold hands together. Daryl gets his baring's in order and stands up, goes to the stove, and starts prodding it, studying the sturdiness and safety checks the piping to make sure we won't die if it's in use. He goes to the storm doors and uses the chains to latch it shut and keep it from knocking in the wind.

I start taking my big winter coat off and setting it aside, watching as Daryl broods over our new survival pit for the night, he seems weary from the drive back and having gone through the blizzard on foot. I feel tired also.

He walks back to the wood stove and contemplates a short minute, "this will work, but it won't keep the room too warm. We can move the bed and chair closer to it for warmth, but it won't keep us for longer than the night. In the morning we will see how it looks and go for the keys in the truck and be able to get into your house. I have no idea how long this storm will last but it could be a few days. We will need adequate warmth to survive."

Daryl continues gathering the dried wood from the corner and talking to himself as he starts a small fire in the stove. I lay face down over the dust covered bed and scoot up to the pillow, looking down I see underneath the bed, a rack that's been hidden and 3 bottles on it next to a box. Getting up I crouch below the bed and dig out 3 bottles of wine, all vintage reds and a box that has a folded checkerboard, poker cards and pre infection chewing gum. I open the wine and chug part of it. Its old and fruity, I can't make out what the bottle says but I see 1992 on the label. I snort, that's when I was born, perfect. 30-year-old wine, someone must've been saving these for a special occasion. These houses are too new to be built that long ago. I guzzle more wine, this time the flavor goes unnoticed by my taste buds. I'm riding on a buzz when I get a crazy idea.

"Let's play a game!" I shout enthusiastically, the liquor pulsing course through my blood stream has me almost giddy, and carefree, "Let's play, poker! Ooo, strip poker!" I said cheerfully. Why would I play a game like that? I don't even know how to play poker. I can play blackjack all day long, but I've played poker once. I am clearly drunk; I chug down to half of the bottle, quenching my thirst.

"Nah, we need to rest. It's late, like 12 am now or so. We must get up and figure out shelter in the morning." Daryl scolded me, unamused and was laying out his rolled up sleeping bag on the chair. I stuck my tongue out at him and he ignored it, continuing in his chair, flattening out the sleeping bag.

"You're scared of a game of strip poker?" I chided him, standing up and wobbling around catching my footing, "we're adults, there is booze and I love to gamble. Plus, we should be grateful we aren't in that storm right now and managed to get a bountiful harvest at that food distribution place." Crossing my arms like a child with confidence in my ability to make it another day. Feeling the extra weight of the liquor I sit down on the bed, room spinning.

"I ain't scared." Daryl retorted, "it's just not my thing, don't you dare throw up down here neither." Turning around he started to stoke the wood burning stove. "You shouldn't drink anymore tonight; we need to move the bed over closer to this side still." Getting up he walks over to me, grabs the bottle, and gulps a decent part of the remaining half and sets it down by his chair.

I sit on the bed pouting, "not even a game of go fish?" I ask, making fake puppy eyes. Daryl reaches down and starts pulling the bedframe, with me on it, towards the center of the room. He moves the chair he has claimed over to the side, as well as MY wine bottle and comes back, pulling the bed the rest of the way to the wood burning stove, creating a triangle. I lay back and let the room spin, "we should have something to eat."

"Shoulda thought of that first before you opened bar, you'll get sick if you eat too much now." He says gruffly, handing me my pack. I rummage through for some crackers, a can of beans and my opener, he continues, taking a longer swig of the wine, "shits not even good anyways, tastes like tart squirrel guts." he says as he places the bottle on a shelf, and then also reaches for his pack grabbing corn and a spoon.

"Just like the good old days." I say, laughing hysterically now. The wine is really taking a toll on me, "I never had a drink before" I blurted out. I can feel my cheeks getting hotter, and at this moment I realize the liquor is making me warm. I removed my extra sweater and set it over the pillow. Daryl, unaffected by my statement, cuts open his can of corn with his knife. "Such a brute," I say laughing at him.

He looks up from a spoonful and says, "man's gotta eat." Chewing the rest of his corn he goes on, "why would you drink now if you haven't before?" Licking the juice from the corn off the spoon before going in for another bite, "Seems kinda stupid to me, especially after all these years." He finishes his sentence with food in his mouth.

I gulp down some beans on a cracker, the food is slowly making the incoming tummy sickness fade, "I'm not sure. I guess I was just in a good mood, the bottle also had my birth date on it. So, I figure it was meant for future me." I ate another cracker with some beans, and pushed the rest to Daryl, "I can't finish this. Please take this as a token of my gratitude for putting up with my shenanigans tonight." I sheepishly reach over the end of the bed, and he grabs the can and crackers from me, no questions asked, I make a joke, "aren't you gonna ask me if its poisoned?" I chuckled a nervous laugh.

"Nah, but I was going to take you up on that game of go fish. I don't like poker. We got time for one round so come sit in the middle over here." He points to the spot in between the bed and wood stove.

It's almost like the Bermuda Triangle in the room, the spot he points to. Stove in the top corner, chair to the right and the bed kitty corner to the chair. "Grab the wine, I want to finish it," I say, he responds with a grunt and sits down with the can of, not poisoned, beans I gave him.

"You're gonna regret it." He takes a swig, and hands the bottle off to me, sitting down across from where I sit. I take an even bigger swig, as if it was a pissing contest and hand him the rest, he downs it. "Get the cards dealt out then, you're the worst card dealer and bartender I know." he says, sort of smiling, licking beans from his spoon before setting it down in the empty can.

I laugh and deal the cards, and he breaks smile, grabbing his 7 cards I've dealt him and looks at me with serious eyes. I feel that heat from earlier in the van, but I push it aside, I'm drunk as fuck, no time for inquisitive internal thoughts, but I can't help to wonder, how does he handle his liquor so well? Maybe because he has more experience? Or maybe because he doesn't weigh only 135 pounds like I do.

We start our game, it's almost 1:30 am, but I don't care. The storm is blustering outside still and it's nice to have a comradery with a veteran of the group. It's quite warm in here, or maybe that is the liquor making the capillaries in my body expand which in turn makes you feel hot since the blood rushes to them. Or I'm feeling hot because Daryl is growing on me, in more than a friendly way? Yes. It happens when you spend time with someone for an extended amount of time, I shake my head and focus. I said no internal monologue, Jesus, Aspen.

We played our game, neither of us winning because I started to yawn again, and thus we called it a tie. The liquor having had its way with my nervous system has now made me tired. I crawl into bed and cover up with my sweater, and the musty blanket from the bed. Daryl slips into his sleeping bag and reclines the chair.

I start to drift off into a sleep when he starts to speak, "two pennies for my thoughts earlier." he said through a sleepy yawn.

"Hmmh?" I managed through closed eyes.

"Earlier on the way home you gave me two pennies for my thoughts, I never gave you those thoughts. I was too focused on the trip home." He pulls his sleeping bag up over his shoulders and I turn to face him eyes murky from sleep, he continues, "I think we make a great scavenging team. You stay on task, do as told, and don't cause trouble." He yawned, pushing the recliner to fully expand out.

"It was a good day, I enjoy when I get out of the gates," I say as another yawn takes over and distorts the rest of my sentence, "I will follow you anywhere that needs scavenging." I finish before dosing off into a deep sleep.

My dreams are always before the infection but, tonight, I don't dream. The liquor has lulled me to sleep, and I don't rouse in the night for the first time since it all happened. I sleep peacefully. Being in a big house to myself is nice but having a friend over is better. Storms are nice too; I think as I drift off to sleep.