I do not own TWD or it's characters.
Judith awoke how she always did. Immediately and without movement. She opened her eyes and stayed still in her hammock, listening to her surroundings. She stayed that way for some time, before finally trusting she was still alone in her forest. Climbing out of the hammock, she ate a quick breakfast of left over squirrel, before grabbing her things and heading for the creek. As she quickly covered herself in the cold muck, she noticed boot prints along the creek. Those men from yesterday were impeding upon her territory. A bad feeling sat heavily in her stomach. She grabbed her bow and quiver, heading out to do her hunting for the day. The bad feeling stuck with her, so she stayed relatively close to camp.
She had a small reserve of food that would last her a few days if she needed. Meat goes bad, so she had to cook a few rabbits until they were completely dried out, making a crude form of rabbit jerky. Uncle Daryl taught her to make the jerky once. Hers didn't taste as good as his but it was sustenance and it wouldn't go bad immediately.
She caught four squirrels. Since it was still early, she cooked those to dryness. She didn't want to come out of her camp again. The bad feeling still sat like a stone in her gut, getting worse as the day wore on. Knowing she should trust her instincts, she smothered her fire, dispersing all evidence of its existence. Walking back to camp, she decided not to wash up. It was only midday as she climbed into her camp. She climbed into her hammock, cringing as dirt filled her once clean bed. It couldn't be helped. Her gut told her not to clean up. So she didn't. The hammock was a bit noisy when she moved, but she didn't like sleeping outside it, terrified she'd move in her sleep and fall to her death. She didn't move much in her sleep. But there were always exceptions.
Since she made camp early, she decided to do the reading she wanted to do. She only had a few books. Favorites of Aunt Carol's, that she had given to Judith. Picking up her favorite, she began to read. Absorbed in the story, the snap of a twig nearby startled her. Slowly setting her book on her stomach, she listened.
Someone kicked at the ground, sending rustling leaves flying. It was nearby. Very nearby. The sound was coming from her right, not directly underneath her. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"Let's make camp," a gruff, male voice called. She heard grumbles of reply and thumps as bags hit the ground. The familiar noises of tents being raised skittered up the tree to her ears. Moving slowly, she peaked over the edge of her hammock. The men from yesterday were setting up tents a few trees over from her. Perilously close.
Slowly easing herself back down into her hammock, she settled in for the wait. Patience, thankfully, was a trait she had. Her dad used to tease her, saying he didn't know where she got it from. He wasn't very patient, and neither had her mother been. But Michonne was patient. That was the only mother she remembered. She liked to think she got it from her, even if they weren't blood related. She wasn't blood related with any of her family. Didn't much matter to her.
She listened with one ear to their conversation, her brain sinking into memory.
"Judith, wake up." My eyes flew up, looking up into my fathers. I sat up immediately. Pulling pants on, I grabbed my bag from beside my bed.
"What's wrong?" I asked, lacing my boots.
"Someone turned. Half the town's been bit." He glanced over his shoulder at mom, who was guarding the door with her sword. Finishing my boots, I grabbed my bow and quiver. Gripping the handle of a knife, I stood up.
"Ready." As a family, we crept down the stairs. The house was eerily quiet, but I could hear screams and shouting outside. Deciding against the front door, we crept out the back. The back yard was still. We let our eyes roam over the scene, making sure there was nothing hiding in the dark shadows of the night. Mom motioned with her sword. Time to go. Leaving the pseudo safety of the house, we trekked across the yard. Mom took point, I was in the middle, dad at the rear. We went through the back yards of 4 houses before we hit trouble. Between the houses, a small herd of 10 walkers pushed between dad and I. I turned, my knife impaling the skull of the first, when dad shouted out orders.
"Michonne! Get her out of here!" Her sword sliced the head off the next closest walker. Our little fight was attracting more from the main street.
"Not leaving you," she whisper shouted back.
"I've been bit! GO!" Mom stopped for half a second, before grabbing my wrist and tugging me away. Tears leaked from my eyes, but I kept moving. He wouldn't want me dead too. We heard his gurgled scream as we gave up the back yards for the madness of the front street. With more bodies running around, we weren't as likely to draw all the walkers to us. Mom and I fought our way to a side gate, intending to escape into the forest. Crowded across the gate were walkers. Obviously, someone else had made use of the gate. The walkers, unable to open it, bounced against it. Pulling me down into a bush, mom looked at me.
"I'm going to draw them away. Get out the gate and into the woods. I'll find you." Nodding once, I watched her slip out and start yelling at the walkers. As one, the small herd turned. I watched her lead them off, before quickly slipping out the gate.
Slipping out of her memory, She concentrated on the men below her. She had waited 3 days in a tree nearby Providence waiting for her mom. She never showed up. That made her worried her mom was dead, too. If she was alive, she would have found her. On the fourth day, she came to this camp spot. She'd been there since. Desperately hoping someone would show back up. So far, no one had. And these guys camping below her made her realize no one would. She needed to pack up and leave. She remembered a fellow community, Hilltop, that her Aunt Maggie lives in. Her parents took her there a few times. She remembered that it's mostly north of Providence. Obviously, she would need to avoid the road they had taken to get there, sticking to the forests instead. Once the men left, she would pack her gear and begin the journey there. It would probably take her a few days to get there.
The men were tell crude jokes while they built up a fire. After the sun dipped below the horizon, she heard a familiar voice.
"Dinner," he mumbled, tossing something onto the ground. "I caught it, y'all can skin it." Uncle Daryl. Her heart beat a mad tempo against her chest, but she didn't move. Uncle Daryl was tough. He could make it with a rough crowd for awhile. She couldn't. Her gut still told her these guys were bad news, even if her uncle was among them. She listened in vain for his voice again.
As the sky turned black above her, and insects began their songs, she listened to the men below. Once they had all turned in for the night, she allowed herself to fall asleep. She woke at every sound, terrified her movements would alert the men below to her presence. She knew Uncle Daryl saw her there. This was his camp. He'd look up. And if you knew what to look for, you'd see her hammock. Her uncle knew what to look for. She also knew that he wouldn't sell her out to these men. If they noticed her, he'd risk his life for her. In the early predawn she woke. She normally awoke before dawn to slip to the creek and begin hunting. Lying there, listening to the rustle of men moving in their sleep, she heard a faint bird call. Slowly sitting up and peaking over the edge of her hammock, she saw Uncle Daryl holding a white slip of paper between his fingers. He glanced up and caught her eye. Showing her the paper, he slipped it under a rock, near the base of her tree. Picking up his crossbow, he slunk out of camp. He must be their hunter. She settled back into her hammock, waiting for the men to wake and move out.
As she waited, her mind reeled, trying to figure out her uncle's reason for being with the group. He had to have a reason. Uncle Daryl was a good person. These men were not. She heard Uncle Daryl come back to the group, having caught breakfast. They took their time, not moving out of camp until mid morning. She waited several hours after their departure before climbing from her hammock.
After gathering her things, she climb down and retrieved the note her uncle had left. In a hurried scrawl, the words "GO TO HILLTOP" stared her in the face. She wanted to speak with her uncle, but knew it would be risky. Carefully, she searched the ground for the direction the men went. Confident they were headed northeast, she ducked southwest for a few miles, before turning to head due north. She didn't want to come upon them again.
She made good time the first day, deciding to eat her store of jerky instead of hunting. She kept a very careful eye out for the men or their tracks. She saw neither. As dusk neared, she found a suitable tree and set up camp.
When she awoke, there was a small herd of walkers passing under her tree. She recognized a few of the faces. The people who turned at Providence had been walking aimlessly through these woods the last 6 months, slowly getting further from the town of their death. She hadn't seen any in the last month, thankful they had moved out of her territory range. Seeing them now confirmed her belief that she had made good travel progress yesterday. By the time the sun broke the horizon, the last of the walkers passed through. Slowly climbing out of her hammock, making as little noise as possible, she remained perched on a limb for another hour, observing her surroundings.
Deciding it was clear, she gathered her things and jumped down, landing almost without sound. She continued her trek north. Hours later, as she was thinking about making camp again, she discovered a boot print. Squatting down beside it, she studied it. It was fresh, made less than an hour ago.