A cabin camouflaged in the trees was my shelter for the first night.

The interior was clean and thankfully void of walkers. I settled there and slept on the cot laid out in the middle of the space, most likely put there by a survivor that hadn't made it. The thought didn't hit me as hard that time. I knew now that survival in a place as cruel as the world was slim. It was only a matter of time before I lost my life, too.

My sleep was riddled with tossing and turning and when I was finally able to shut my eyes for good, my dreams wilted into nightmares. Screams echoed through the cabin when I finally woke up with sweat covered skin. The orange light of the rising sun shined through the single window and on my eyes that felt tired and raw. It took me a while to remember where I was and convince myself that the recent events of the previous night weren't part of a really bad nightmare.

My limbs moved sluggishly as I made my way to the small kitchen. This was the process Mom and Mason used when we were on our own. Check the perimeter, clear the house, search for food, search for other supplies, stay if area is clear, move on to the next place if not. I skim the countertops that are clear then move to the cabinets. The search gives me two small cans of peaches that I shove into my bag. The lonely plastic water bottle that I ran across in my hunt is also stuffed into the netting on the side of the pack in hope that I'd run across a source of good water. After finding nothing else, I retreated back to the front door. I didn't want to stay there. I didn't feel safe.

Just as my fingertips skimmed the doorknob, the entire surface vibrated. A growl sounded from the opposite side as I jumped back.

Oh no.

My stomach churned with an emotion I knew all too well: fear. Breaths started leaving my lips in a faster rhythm as my ears zero in on the bangs against the wooden surface. One growl. No chorus. It was only one. At least I hoped it was only one. I couldn't handle more. I didn't even know if I could handle this one.

I unsheathed the sword from it's holster hanging from my shoulder with inexperienced fingers. It felt unnatural in my grip and the fact that I was shaking wasn't helping one bit. I took a minute for deep breaths and the holding back of tears. One even slipped out and I pathetically wiped it away just as yet another growl slipped through the cracks of the outside.

And, for some reason, when I heard it, I got mad.

Blood boiling, glare-inducingly pissed.

The grasp on the hilt of the sword was suddenly sure and firm with one hand and the other reached out to wrench open the door. Feet took confident steps back on the wooden floors as the purely disgusting creature stumbled into the house.

Hair that I'm sure used to be blonde hung in stringy clumps from a grey skull. A dress, black and adorned with pink roses hung off of the used-to-be-a-her body, torn and revealing a stomach sliced open to display intestines dragging in bloody trails against the ground. Milky and lifeless eyes surrounded by sickly sunken skin stared me down with a hunger that had the remaining fear left in me turning to distaste.

I wanted to throw up.

But I swallowed it down as the bony figure progressed towards the only source of lively skin. I scowled when it bared its ugly teeth. These things killed my Mom and brother. They didn't deserve my fear.

I took another step back when a discolored arm reached for me. Hot and angry streams of water were falling down my cheeks at this point, but I didn't give them a second thought. I was too focused on what it did to my life.

"You killed my family you ugly hag." The shaking in my voice echoes along the walls and the walker only groans louder and increases speed.

I wait with mild surprise at my courage, the blade raised behind me like a baseball bat. "I won't let you kill me too." The thing is stupid enough to parade closer to me, snapping its jaw in excitement at the sight of breakfast, but it doesn't get to finish the last cry of desire before the blood crusted silver of my blade slices right through it's head, cutting those odious eyes perfectly in half. A mixture of brain and blood splatters against my face, against my yellow tank top.

This time I do vomit. It's barely anything, considering the low amount of food supply I've been on for the past two months.

I try to avert my eyes from the heap on the floor as I compose myself. The sudden influx of anger fades, leaving me panting off adrenaline and wiping at the wetness of my cheeks along with my mouth. Crying was starting to get old. How did I still have enough fuel for tears in my system? I hadn't drank anything in God knows how long and at the thought I realize just how dry my throat is. Was there a water source nearby? I could vaguely recall Gus ordering men to 'follow the creek if you get lost. Water's good enough, and our camp is just south of it.'

The memory makes my heart hurt more than it already does. It feels sore. Like it's been slammed against things multiple times to the point where everything hurts so much that if you so much as move you suffer. It was broken, that much I knew, that much I felt. But, where were the stitches? How in the world did I get it to just stop?

I sigh - a sound that sounds painful even to my own ears - and walk outside. The clouds look like cotton candy, pink and fluffy and positively delicious in the light of the rising sun and the sight of them both lightens my mood and pulls me further down my personal pit of misery; A tug of war involving my entire body.

I sniff and swat the tears that refuse to leave me alone away. I try to keep my steps silent against the dying leaves so I can keep a listen for running water. Or a growl from a walker. I hope I never have to hear the latter again. I don't know if my anger will keep me in check next time.

Relief floods my veins when I hear the gentle rush of the creek. I do my best to keep my hurried steps quiet as I snatch the water bottle out of my bag and trudge to the source of water.

It's beautiful, my first thought when I step out and see it from behind the shielding of trees. The reflection of the multicolored sky against the decently clear surface has my artistic side internally gushing at the sight. Then of course the newly developed side of myself has to come back swinging with the thought that it shouldn't be here. Nothing this pretty deserves to be in this world. Not anymore.

I gather my bottle of water nonetheless and continue my trek, staying close to the edge and glancing every few minutes at the rushing body of beauty to remind myself that maybe I will make it through...whatever this is.

Just maybe.

Over the past four days I've learned two things:

Toilet paper is a resource not to be taken for granted.

And peaches taste really, really good.

I've lived off of them for the time that I've been on my own because people apparently liked keeping the canned fruits handy in cabinets. It was a trick to figure out how to open them at first, but then I remembered that I carried a sharp sword so it got easier after that.

Walkers - thank God - for the most part have stayed absent in my planless traveling. I've killed only five and have managed not to puke out my stomach's contents the previous two takedowns.

Crying, it seems, doesn't like taking pity on people. Grief comes in random waves, hitting me so hard that I have to sit down and clutch at Mason's jacket so violently my knuckles turn white. I've managed to construct a wall of concrete that helps me not feel anything, but concrete has cracks and I've discovered that those cracks are very penetrable.

For Christ's sake, I'm only thirteen. Why is this happening to me? What did I do?

I follow the creek during the day, find shelter at night, then repeat the next day. The loneliness and fear I'm feeling is whittling away my sanity and it's only a matter of time before I give up, I know it. I thought I could do this and Mason's words constantly bombarding my brain help my feet keep moving, but there is only so much determination I can manage before reality slaps me upside the head with the truth that survivors are a rare breed. I'm one of them now and every time a walker comes out from the delicate merging of trees with it's mouth unhinging for my flesh a little piece of my pathetic amount of courage breaks away.

My shirt is red with dried blood and dusted with dirt. If I run my fingers over my face I can feel the bumps of walker insides against it and every time I do so I want to throw up. It's getting colder every day and my shorts are beginning to be too little to shield my legs from the cool breezes that get through to me. Mason's jacket is my only refuge, providing me with both warmth and amenity when it's so desperately needed.

I'm especially grateful for the fact that my mother's side of the family has weird skin. We don't burn in the sun, we automatically tan. I knew it was handy before the world flushed itself down the toilet, but now, with the cloudless blue skies and the powerful ball of light the trait is pure gold. Mason wasn't lucky enough to get the gene and ended up whining a lot when it was just the three of us on the road.

My small smile at the memory fades the second one of those reality punches hits me hard. I'm alone. Both of them are gone. Right.

I take a gigantic gulp of water to distract me from the sorrow pouring heavily into my system and crouch down next to the water to get a refill when a small noise greets my ears. I freeze for a millisecond but whip around quickly to scan the greenery around me for movement.

Nothing. No decaying bodies or crunching of leaves.

I dismiss it, filling up my bottle fully and screwing the cap on tight. I slide it into the net on the side of my bag and take one step when I hear it again. That noise. I go still, expecting it to happen again so hopefully this time I can place it.

It does.

The first thing I know for sure is that it is not a growl. I know by now exactly what that sounds like and the fact that I'm pretty sure that this isn't a walker has my rigid posture deflating a bit. I don't move until it reaches me once more and when I still can't place it, my feet begin to travel in that direction without my consent. I'm too focused on scouring the landscape for threats to care about the leaves and branches hitting my face.

I stop in my tracks when I hear the noise again, louder and closer to me. This time, I recognize it.

It's a neigh. As in a living, breathing, horse.

Oh Lord please don't let there be walker horses.

My steps are quicker as I maneuver my way through tree trunks and to the source. If I'm right and this horse is not a flesh eating animal, then it's only a matter of time before the undead find it and rip it limb from limb. This innocent thing does not deserve that. Not one bit.

I'm panting both from slight panic and exertion when I reach a small clearing. Rays of light slip through the canopy above to shine on the brown coat of an animal like a small blanket of diamonds. Dark eyes glitter as they look at me and once again I'm witnessing something way too beautiful to exist. A single white stripe runs down the horse's nose and for the minute I observe it and it observes me I'm awestruck.

I think back to the riding lesson I had...two years ago? I remember snippets of it and attempt to pick at my brain for more.

Show the horse that you pose no threat. That might be hard considering the gun hanging from my thigh and the sword on my back, but I hold my hands out in front of me anyway. "Hey," I mutter, trying to be quiet and project my voice at the same time. It wouldn't be good if walkers found us. "What are you doing out here?" It's more a question for myself than the horse seeing as it can't respond. A saddle sits on it's back, a clear indication that it has a home somewhere. Is it's owner still alive?

I take a step forward and cringe at the large crunch of leaves I create. The horse keeps it's creepily magnificent eyes on me, but doesn't start or run away. I congratulate myself on that and take two more steps, close enough now that I can see the vague reflection of myself in the black orbs. It still doesn't move. I take this as a show of trust and move a hesitant hand forward. The second my fingertips touch the light color of it's nose, it nuzzles my entire palm. I can't help the smile that blooms on my face as it does so. I bring my other hand up to the top of it's head and pet it gently, feeling accomplished at the pleased neigh it releases.

"You know, I could use some company. You wanna join me?" I don't expect it to answer really, but to my utter surprise, it nods it's head.

I gasp at the action. "I knew there was a reason walkers haven't gotten to you yet. You're smart."

The neigh it lets out is small and sounds as if it's trying to say, 'Yes, I know.'

Hmm. Cocky horse.

I run my hand down the stripe one more time before telling it, "We need to get back to the creek, walk a little more. A least I'll have company this time, right?"

I turn and hope it'll follow me but before I even start my journey, I hear it's hoof slam against the ground, scattering leaves and digging down into the dirt. The neigh it releases is loud and I flinch at the volume of it, my head completing a quick search of the trees. I round on the horse, shooting out my arms again. "Woah! What is it?"

It's movements stop immediately and it huffs with a tilt of it's head backwards. I don't understand. My eyebrows pinch together and I question, "What?"

Another huff blows through its nostrils as if it's saying, 'Oh my God you idiot.'

It tilts its head backwards again with more force and I squint at it for a few seconds after it does so, trying to piece together what in the world it's trying to say when it finally clicks in my mind. "You want me to get on your back?" I ask uncertainly.

It gives me an exaggerated nod and makes a noise that communicates, 'Yes you loser.'

I cross my arms and reply, "No need to be rude about it." Another sound that shows it doesn't care meets my ears and I'm stuck between loving and hating this horse. I glance at the side, seeing the stirrup hanging against it's coat. "Okay, I'll try, but please don't kill me." If it will get it to not make as much noise as it just did, then I'll do whatever it wants.

It nods. Yeah, maybe I do love this horse.

I lay my converse clad foot on the pad of the stirrup and take a deep breath. Horses are taller than they look in pictures. I remember thinking the same thing when my parents took me to the stables and they ended up having to lift me onto the horse because I couldn't swing myself on. Now I have no help and I'm still helplessly short. I don't let that stop me though, boosting myself up and attempting to swing my leg over the saddle. I fail miserably, letting out a disappointed sigh when I bring my feet back to the ground.

"Stay right here." I tell the horse. "I'm gonna go look for a log or something to help me get up there."

It doesn't take me that long to find a piece of wood and when I use it in the mounting equation, I finally sit myself on the leather of the saddle. I lost count of the tries it took, but I got on and that's what matters. "Sorry for taking so long," I apologize, trying not to be spooked by how far I am from the ground and how much it could hurt if I fell. "You're kind of tall and I'm really short so...I'm sorry."

The sound it replies with shows it really doesn't care and the smile returns to my lips. I grip at the material I can in front of me so I won't fall to my death. "Okay." I breath out to myself to calm my nerves and increase the volume of my voice to the horse. "Ready to go?"

I would've screamed if the air wasn't taken out of my lungs. The horse starts forward before the last word fully leaves my lips, going so fast the green blurs together. My eyes blow wide as I try in vain to take in everything. Hair blows out all around me, dirty wisps in the wind. The bouncing from the rough gallops lets me know that I'll be sore for sure tomorrow if I survive this.

I can feel my internal organs shifting and it's both disgusting and exhilarating. Alarm and joy flood my blood already full of adrenaline and I have the urge to smile and shriek my head off. I don't do either, instead clenching my eyes shut and trying to pretend that there is not a ginormous probability that I could die right now.

Please don't kill me.

My hope of this horse having telepathy is crushed when it only seems to increase its speed. I take the risk of opening one eye to see where the heck we are. The sight of blurred trees no longer greets me and I realize that we've exited the forest and are currently streaking across a field of tall grasses. The sun starts to harshly shine against my eyes without the coverage of leaves and at the glare I shut them again and continue to hold on for dear life.

When we start to slow down I blurt out, "Oh thank God!", without thinking, taking deep, precious gulps of air and taking the opportunity of clearer vision to examine the surroundings better. The only structures anywhere near us are a rickety looking wooden barn we must've already passed and a building that I assume are the horse stables we're heading towards. This must be the home of the horse. A farm completely devoid of walkers. How is that possible?

The moment the horse stops in the stall that must belong to it I hop off, ignoring the unpleasant twinge in my ankles from the height of the jump. I check to make sure all my weapons are still in place before glaring at the animal. "That could've been fun if you'd warned me." That's a lie. I still would've been scared to death even if I'd gotten a clear warning.

I'm almost positive the horse rolls it's eyes. Are they capable of doing that?

"Um, who are you?"

The sound of another voice makes my heart spasm and my body jump. "Holy crap!" I exclaim, holding a hand to my chest and still seeking the air I lost when the horse started racing across the ground. I whip around as fast as I can with my shock.

A boy no older than I am stands not that far away from me. Baby blue eyes sparkle with amusement as they stare at me, the brown bangs advancing above them almost shrouding them from me. A sheriff hat sits on his mop of hair and the small grin playing on his lips makes him look boyish. The starscape of freckles spattered across his cheeks does nothing to help either.

It takes my brain a few seconds to comprehend what my eyes see.

A person.

Not a walker that wants to devour everything but my bones, a human being.

A human being that is my age. I thought I was the last one left, but no, here stands another kid right in front of me. I'm too stupefied to act brave and aim a weapon at him and it doesn't look like he even has one, so we just stand there, the both of us having an unintentional staring contest.

"You didn't answer my question." He speaks first. I could tell he was trying to sound intimidating, but I already knew he was anything but. The most scary thing about him was the hat and I only wanted to wear the thing.

I blink. "What was the question?" I kind of got scared out of my skin at the sound of his voice. I didn't catch what the sentence held.

The smirk that forms and replaces the boyish grin has another wave of oh-my-gosh-this-is-real hitting me. This boy isn't trying to eat me. He's making conversation and at the realization of how much I've missed two sided talking I know I'll answer anything he asks. I'm desperate, I'm lonely, and I'm hurting beyond belief. Considering the appearance of the boy in front of me, he isn't the only survivor on this property. He has no weapons, which means he either doesn't know how to use any - which would mean death if he was alone, he left them at a camp somewhere because he feels safe enough to do so, or someone else protects him from everything just like Mom and Mason did for me. His face and clothes are clean. But those aren't the things that really tip me off.

It's his eyes.

They're happy and bright. Innocent. Nobody who has lived in this world for this long alone has eyes like that. I'd learned what sadness looked like in my time with my group. Everyone had the same look in their eyes. Like shattered glass. Mason's eyes had that appearance to them when he dragged me into that house and I'd overlooked it, but now I'm paying attention and that pretty shade of blue is unscathed. Whole and untouched. My eyes probably used to look like that. I didn't want to know how broken they appeared now.

I felt bad for him. I didn't know his name and he didn't know mine, but I pitied him. He hadn't been broken yet. And when you break, it's agonizing. Already, just looking at him being totally naive, I wanted to keep him from shattering. Part of me knew there was no way to avoid it but another part of me wasn't at all curious to see what his eyes looked like cracked and damaged.

"Who are you?"

I have to go back in time to remember what we were talking about, too distracted with his wellbeing to pay attention. My name. He wants my name. Right.

I try to keep my voice steady and confident when I reply. "Nevaeh."

He seems pleased that I'm cooperating with him and his infectious smile has my lips twitching. "How'd you get in here?"

I jab my thumb in the direction of the horse I have mixed feelings for. "I found the horse in the woods. When I got on it, it took off and brought me here." My hands find their way into my jacket pockets next, gripping at the material inside of them as I involuntarily tilt my head. "And to be fair, what's your name?" I applaud myself for sounding nonchalant and not like I'm pleading for him to take me in.

"Carl." The name makes me smile.

He scans me after he answers my prod, noticing for what seems like the first time that I'm covered in dirt and blood. I expect disgust to curl his lips, but he surprises me by looking concerned. "Are you...alone?" The emotion he puts into the word makes me want to cry.

I nod.

He blows out a breath and casts his eyes down at the hay covered ground. Confliction is one word to describe his features and I have a feeling he's deciding on whether or not to offer me a spot in whatever group he has here. I wait patiently, chewing on my lip like it's a wad of gum and trying not to let the incredibly annoying tears of anxiety leak out of my eyes.

"Our group lost someone," He finally says. "Her name's Sophia and she's our age. You said you were in the woods. Did you see anyone?" Stress is easily heard in his voice and that's all I need to understand how much she's cared about.

I didn't even know her and I'm still disappointed when I shake my head. "I didn't see anyone."

His face falls. "I'm gonna bring her back one day. She doesn't deserve to be alone."

"No one does." The words slip out of my mouth without my permission. They sound heartbreaking enough to wilt a flower and betray my wall of indifference.

The alluring blue of his eyes lock onto mine, softening the longer we keep contact. I know there isn't any way he can relate to me, but the empathy in the sea of azure has my chest filling with a warmth I haven't had in four days.

"You can join my group." He murmurs, not breaking away from my eyes. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

I want to hug him until he can't breathe even if I just met him and am still getting used to seeing another living human, but a detail nags me in the back of my mind and my rebellious mouth asks it aloud. "Will they let me in just because you want to?" That isn't at all how it went with my group. If you found people, you brought them in and let Gus talk to them. If he approved, you stayed and if he didn't...I never saw what happened if that was the case.

That boyish grin is back. He nods so hard his hat almost falls off. "My Dad's the leader. If I trust you, he will too. He's a good guy."

He trusts me.

Did I trust him? If I were to turn my back could I trust that he wouldn't shoot me in the back of my head?

He gently grips my wrist and I flinch at the contact, but he doesn't seem to realize it. "Come on!" He urges, everything about his features indicating excitement. I begin to get dragged out of the stables and into the grasses before I even comprehend what he said.

I could see myself trusting him.

But did I?