AN: Okay, so that was the main flashback! Now on to the main story, which I also added some little things here as well. Again, let me know what you guys think, and thanks for the reviews. They are much appreciated. If you like it, or if you don't, let me know. Any little thing helps.

The rain poured. It poured, and poured, and poured. The kind of rain that you thought would never stop. Because where you went, it went with you. The kind of rain you got in Louisiana. Hot summer rain. And even when the sun was shining, you were still soaked, because it was so humid. But this wasn't Louisiana. This wasn't Maryland. This was nowhere. A small lean-to in the backwoods, somewhere in Georgia. I wasn't even sure anymore.

But I was sure that I wasn't home. Because I no longer had a home.

I had lost count of the days. My pen had run out of ink, and whenever I went scavenging through some store, I never really came around to getting a new one. It had been well over two-hundred. But I refused to believe that it had been a year. It couldn't have been a year. I traced my fingers along all the little black lines I had made on the back of a Walgreens receipt, and sighed. They said the cities were safe, they lied. New Orleans, Mobile, Montgomery, Atlanta… They were nothing but infested dead ends. I couldn't tell you the last time that I actually saw a human face, the last time that I actually had a real conversation. I probably wouldn't be able to tell you what my own voice sounded like anymore. I had been alone for the number of days that these little black tick marks added up to.

My bag became heavier every day. 'Travel light,' they said. 'Take only what you need', they said. I once knew a guy who was an 'apocalypse' enthusiast. His name was Bill, and he lived three doors down the hall from me. One day I had gotten caught in the elevator with him on my way to work, and he told me what I would need if the world ever ended, and he told me that I could always stick with him and he'd keep me safe. He died five days after the 'outbreak'. I tossed my bag up against the wall, and used it as a pillow. There was nothing in there but a few cans of Spaghetti O's that I was saving, and some clothes, and ammunition. And I didn't even have a gun. That was another lesson I had learned from Bill.

While everyone else went around shooting the 'biters' and each other, they couldn't find out why they kept getting surrounded. Bill had told me that the noise attracted them, and he gave me a machete. It wasn't even sharp, and the reach was a bitch, but it got the job done. Before I put the blade through Bill's skull he told me not to bother carrying more than I could handle. He said it'd be rough, but I could find whatever I needed on the road. He said he had faith in me, and that I should have faith in myself.

I found it extremely pathetic that a man I knew for less than a month became the closest thing I had to a father-figure.

The rain was too heavy to keep going. I'd be walker bait for sure in this mess if I kept running. Nothing phased them. Not rain, or lightning, or even fire. They were already dead, they didn't have a care in the world but for their stomachs. And they couldn't die of starvation.

I shrugged my bag off of my shoulders and tried massaging my muscles. They were sore, and they were only going to get worse sleeping on the hard, wet ground. I tried using my bag as a pillow, but it wasn't really working. I punched it a few times, trying to smooth out the clothes that were bunched up inside of it, still uncomfortable. The rain pelted the roof of the shack, and I listened hard, willing it to lull me to sleep. But I was so sick of the sound of rain. I imagined my bed back home, the way my head sunk into the pillows; the cool breeze that drafted through my window, bringing with it the smell of hot gumbo and spicy seafood. All I could smell now through was dirt, sweat, mud, and mildew.

I sat up and pulled my bag into my lap. In the last house that I scavenged through, I had found a bottle of Advil PM. There were only three pills left, and they weren't Oxy's or anything, but they'd do the trick. I lifted the water bottle to my lips and downed the pills, letting out a sigh of relief. Suddenly the floor felt much more comfortable, and my bag felt like a cool goose-feather pillow. My eyelids grew heavy after a while, and I felt myself drifting off. But before I fell asleep, I prayed that after three days, this rain would end somehow.

I jumped out of my sleep, heart pounding, and Machete already in hand. I had no idea how long I had been out, but the sun was blazing through the cracks in the wood, and there was someone coming. Not just someone, someone dead. I could smell the hot, rotting flesh and I could hear it dragging its feet through the leaves; moaning, as if it was trying to communicate with me. It stopped right at the entrance to the wooden lean-to, and just as I went to strike, an arrow flew through the air, and went clean through the biter's skull, into the wall behind me. Before I could even process what had just happened, I hopped to my feet and as soon as I did, I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder. I looked down to see another arrow sticking right out of me.

"I got it!" I heard someone yell. I fell backwards, hitting my head. My vision was blurred, and I saw a man appear before me. "Shit, no… No, I didn't."

"What'ya mean you didn't?" Someone else replied in the distance.

"Well, I did, but—"

I saw another man join the first man in the entrance. I wanted to scream at them to do something. After all, they did shoot me. "God damnit, Daryl. Look before you shoot." The second man rushed to my side and began snapping in my face. "Look at me. HEY! LOOK. AT. ME." I tried focusing as much as I possibly could. "Hey!" My eyes snapped open. "What's your name?" He asked.

I licked my dry lips and pressed them together, trying to make some sort of sound. "M- Megan." I managed to get out right before everything went black.