Chapter 2: What Defines Us

Wel ome t E st Point Ge rg a!

Pop: 39,595

I stared long and hard at the faded green sign, a feeling of abject disbelief burning through me. Most of the letters were peeling; some were even completely missing, but enough remained on the road sign for me to tell that I was about to enter East Point Georgia, a town once filled with nearly 40,000 people.

Well fuck me.

Seeped in complete denial, I glared down at the map clutched in my fingers, narrowing my eyes to make sure I wasn't going blind. Unfortunately, I wasn't.

"You have got to be shittin me." East Point was fucking south of Atlanta. For me to be here, standing before this god-forsaken sign, it meant that I had bypassed my destination completely. Just totally hop, skipped, and jumped around a major city 8,376 square miles large.

I am the world's largest fucking idiot.

How did this even happen? I don't understand. Maybe this was some big joke. Maybe the survivors in Atlanta put the sign here to…to…

"To do what," my mind supplied sarcastically. "Confuse the walkers? Make them think this was East Point instead of Atlanta to make them go away?"

I growled and gnashed my teeth. Ok so that was a stupid idea. But…fuck! I just can't believe that I had done this. It was literally impossible…and yet I had somehow succeeded in achieving the utterly improbable. Score one for Audrey Bennett. Groaning aloud, I slumped against a flipped over car and glared death at the welcoming sign before me. "Now what," I grumbled, crossing my arms in irritation.

No answer, save one, was forthcoming. Keep going. Which, in turn, translated to…I'm screwed. Completely and royally fucked because, not only had I used all my water in the last two days trying to get to what I thought was Atlanta, I had also ran out of food this morning, my once plentiful stash of snacks and such totally consumed. This, this fucking town filled with approximately 40,000 walkers out to kill me was the cherry on top of the shit fest of my life.

Yup, I am totally fucked.

"Fuck!", I screamed, kicking a piece of concrete before me, the chunk of cement tumbling a few feet away. My day couldn't possibly get any worse.

And because the universe just loves to bend me over, a shuffle and groan suddenly sounded to my left. Already knowing what I was going to see, because what the hell else could it freaking be, I turned to see a lone corpse, half decayed, limping towards me with its teeth bared in a snarl. Estimating quickly I concluded it was still about 30 feet away and there were more than a few cars and other debris between it and I. It would be easy as hell to just turn around and walk, casually, back the way I came. But…that's not what I was going to do. Nope. Not fucking today. With deliberate slowness, I slid my pack off my shoulders, leaning it against the car behind me. Then, I rolled my shoulders and, lifting my head, I began to walk towards the walker.

Now, I know I should be scared but…damn I'm just so freaking angry! I never asked for any of this shit to happen. I never asked for the dead to fucking start walking, I never asked to walk halfway across Georgia with almost no food, little water, and damn dead people trying to eat me! As if my life before wasn't hard enough!

Reaching over my shoulder, I grasped the leather handle of my katana, listening to the rasp as I lifted it about an inch out of its sheath. "Come on you ugly bastard," I yelled, red-hot rage burning through my veins like lava. Within seconds, the thing was three feet from me and closing in, groaning for my flesh, for my blood, for my death. I grinned darkly.

"Gotcha."

In one fluid motion, I ripped my katana out of its sheath, the two-foot blade a metallic blur as it flew in a downward arch. The walker didn't stand a chance. Before it could even touch me, its head was tumbling to the floor, still snapping, still "living". Indescribable fury engulfed me at the still writhing piece of meat. Grasping my katana with two hands, I brought it above my head and slammed it back down.

"Why,", I snarled, the blade slicing through the walker's forehead. "Don't," I yanked out the blade and stabbed down again, going straight through its mouth, blood squirting everywhere. "You," I pulled up and then, with all my weight, dropped to my knees, my katana cutting right into the bridge of the nose. "Die?" I twisted the blade, bone and brain and cartilage turning into organic slurry under the impact of my wrath.

The gurgle of leaking blood was all the answer I received.

A sudden jagged sob tore itself out of my chest as I slumped there, leaning my forehead against the hilt of my sword, covered in blood and gore and carnage. "Why," I sobbed. "Why, why, why, why, why?"

Why did any of this happen? Why did the dead come back to life? Why was I all alone? Why couldn't something ever go my way?

And why, oh why, did these fuckers not die?

I sat there heaving and crying like a baby for I don't know how long, watching through glassy eyes as the walker's blood snaked out in sluggish red tendrils, spreading across the asphalt like gruesome roots. Slowly but surely, my heart rate eased itself back to normal and my breathing evened out. I groaned as I came back to myself, smacking my head lightly on the cross guard of the sword. I hadn't lost control of myself like that in a while. It was stupid but…damn if it didn't feel good. Sighing, I made to sit back on my shins, as my knees were killing me, but all of the sudden I became aware of noises. Noises I knew all to fucking well. I gasped as they reverberated in my ears and snapped my head up, eyes still blurred with hot tears. But there was no mistaking the lurching gait of walkers and there was no mistaking the sounds they made when they sensed one of the living.

It seems my little performance had attracted an audience.

"Shit," I muttered, swiping my eyes against the back of my hand. I had stayed here too long. Scrambling up, I jerked my katana out of the dead walker's head and cleaned the blood on its truncated body.

Knowing that, no matter my anger, I couldn't defeat the amount of walking dead that was coming towards me, I ran back to my pack and slung it over my shoulder, glancing back to see the good size mob of walkers meandering its way over to devour me. An absentminded thought occurred to me at that moment and a trouble frown etched itself onto my lips. How was I going to get to Atlanta now if this town was overrun? I couldn't go around; I had no provisions. Biting my lip, I chanced another glance at the main road of East Point, the asphalt choking with living corpses 20 feet and closing. Perhaps I could out maneuver them?

"Yeah and maybe they just want to be friends," I thought dryly as they reached the 10-foot mark. Cursing, I decided I had no choice but to go back and somehow go around this city. "Aint no rest for the weary," I mumbled sardonically. Turning my back to the pack of creatures, I began to run back into the woods, to figure out what the fuck I was going to do now, no matter how sick and tired I was.

Because, though I may be weary, I had to keep going. There was no time for sitting still or resting. I had to get to Atlanta, or die while trying my hardest. Suddenly, without preamble, a snatch of poetry floated through my head and I couldn't repress a bitter smile. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep," I whispered, jumping a railing and darting into the woods. "But I have many promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep." (1)

I ran and ran and ran for nearly an hour. All I was aware of during that time was the pound of my feet on dirt and the sound of the air rushing in and out of my lungs. However, the next thing I was aware of was that the air I was heaving in and out was thinner than it ought to be. Soon after that realization, I was gasping and heaving and my head was swimming and I could barely put one foot in front of another. "Damn," I thought as I began to stumble to a stop. "I'm going to pass out." Which, given the fact that I hadn't had water since yesterday, and only a bag of peanuts for breakfast, wasn't so surprising.

Feet barely able to shuffle forward at this point, I leaned up against the closest tree I could find, eyes doing a quick, precautionary sweep of the immediate area. When I concluded it was all clear, my knees buckled and I slid to the forest floor, resting my back and head against the trunk behind me.

"Way to go Audrey," I berated myself as I sat there gasping. "Run yourself into the ground and do the walker's job for them. Very smart."

A few minutes later and I was no longer heaving, though the light-headedness had yet to dissipate. I needed water, that much I knew. But I would have to find a near by river or creek and for that I needed my map. Which was in my bag.

Which I really couldn't be bothered to get at the moment.

I lay there for a while, just feeling the sun on my face, the sweat cool on my skin. It was quiet here, deep in the woods. The air smelled fresh, unlike it did near towns and cities where the stench of decaying bodies, both moving and non, was so thick and cloying it made me want to hurl. It was…peaceful. And, ever since the end of the world, I had been looking for a little peace and quiet.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," I muttered to myself, lulling my head to the side as I trailed my fingers through the grass I sat on. That's another thing I had been missing since the end of the world. Some good freaking literature. It was little hard to come by, on the run and shit but hopefully the refugee center had some. They might even have some Robert Frost. Or Emily Dickson! That would be nice; to just curl up somewhere safe and lose myself in a good book. I closed my eyes and smiled; I could just picture it.

"But first I have to get to the camp," I reminded myself. "And I'm not getting any closer just sitting on my ass like a bum." Sighing, I opened my eyes and made to get up, pressing down on the earth to get my body off of it. As I pushed down, however, the earth gave way with a wet squelch and my hand was suddenly covered in sticky, warm, liquid.

My whole body froze at the sensation, my eyes locked dead in front of me, refusing to look. "Of course," I thought. "Cause my day just wasn't bad enough I have to go ahead and put my hand through shit or, better yet, a decaying body." Clenching my eyes shut and pursing my lips in disgust, I brought my right hand up and shook it, feeling flecks of whatever it was flinging off my skin.

However, as I was wiping my hand off in the grass, eyes still clenched shut, a smell wafted up at me, a smell I hadn't experienced in what felt like a life time.

Peaches.

Gasping, I flung open my eyes and brought my hand to my face, gaze wide and disbelieving. I couldn't…couldn't believe it! But, sure enough, my hand was covered in that tell tale orange syrup, the pungent smell of Georgia's state fruit delving into my nose and worming into ever crevice of my brain. Saliva built in my mouth and I nearly sucked every single one of my fingers clean, such was the intensity of my hunger. But, as I turned to look at the peach I had leaned on, I was devastated to find it rotten almost completely through. I stared at the demolished and decomposing fruit in mournful horror. "Ok, now you are just being cruel," I thought to the universe.

…wait! Just one peach couldn't just appear here! If there was one here…that meant nearby had to be…

"A tree!", I exclaimed, having caught sight of the familiar plant moments after picking my head up to look. Clambering to my feet with a grin large enough to make my cheeks hurt, I stumbled towards the tree, anticipation and excitement making my mouth water. As I grew closer, I saw that a lot of the peaches had fallen from the tree, lying in a rotting disarray upon the ground. Most of the ones remaining in the tree had been pecked at my birds or nibbled at my other vermin but…but.

Near the top, like a gift from God, were a handful of seemingly wholesome peaches, just waiting for me to climb up there and get them. I bared my teeth in a challenging green. "You're mine," I told those peaches, reaching down and yanking my tanto out of its sheath. "You are mine."

Ten minutes, and a few bumps and scrapes later, and those suckers were mine. Chomping down on one of the larger peaches, feeling the juice dribble down my chin but not giving a fuck, I beamed in triumph at the six, yes six, big Georgia peaches that were just sitting in my lap. I shouldn't feel so proud, all I did was climb a stupid tree, but damn I felt like I should be getting a reward or something.

Still grinning, I bit into my lunch and held the peach between my teeth, reaching over to pull a bandana out of my bag. When I had the red fabric in my fingers, I spread it over my lap and tenderly placed each peach inside of it before I tied the ends together. "I might not have water but beggars can't be chosers." Having that mentality, I reopened my pack to place my treasure back inside only to have a thick yet compact book fall onto the grass.

I blinked and slowly put my peaches down, eyes riveted to the small black rectangle. Reaching out tentatively, I ran my finger across its leather face, the feel cool and familiar.

"Happy Birthday Audrey. I know you have many books but I thought you could stand to have one more."

The echo of a memory past fluttered across my mind, the words faint as the touch of a butterfly's wings. Swallowing thickly, I took a hold of the cover and flipped it open, the book falling open to the first page.

I looked up at myself from the book, my smile affixed, bright, and perpetual. It was…it was my student ID, my whole life basically summed up on one piece of thin plastic.

Bennett, Audrey

348 Wyrd Ave.

Dalton, GA 30719-2491

Sex: F

Height: 5'4

Weight: 135

And a ton of other miscellaneous shit that didn't matter now. I bit my lip. I had forgotten I had grabbed this that night the world went to hell. Cocking my head, I glanced down at my full and happy face, my green eyes sparkling above flushed cheeks, my thick and wavy brown hair tumbling down my shoulders. Who was this happy girl on this ID? It sure as hell wasn't me. My green eyes, the last time I had checked, were dull and flat, ringed by black shadows that told the story of countless sleepless nights; my cheeks were sharp and gaunt, malnourished and sickly; and my hair…my hair brushed just the underside of my jaw, the ends having met the blade of my tanto two days after I left Dalton.

I didn't know that girl in this picture. I can barely remember her.

Unsettled by that revelation, I moved to tuck the ID back into my journal but the picture that had been lurking behind my ID stopped me short. I was in this picture too but I was younger, my face rounder and more youthful as I beamed at the camera, my, then, bran new katana clutched gleefully in my fingers. But that wasn't what made me stop and stare. No, what made me freeze was the other difference between this image and my ID and that was…I wasn't alone. Behind me stood a man, an older man, with white hair and deep wrinkles and slanted brown eyes that could warm you on the coldest days. No, this man wasn't my father, he wasn't my grandfather…he was so much more than that. He was my confidant, my friend, my source of wisdom and knowledge.

He was my sensei.

I shuttered out a breath and traced the visage of my beloved teacher. His name had been Takeo Nakamura. He had lived down the street from my home and, everyday since the time I was ten, I had spent at least two hours in his presence learning, training, or sometimes just visiting. He had been the one to teach me how to fight with a sword; he had been the one to drill morals and a conscience into me when I had been an unruly and disrespectful wild child. He had been…everything to me, besides my mother.

And now…they both were gone. Tears built in my eyes but before I could let them spill, my sensei's voice once again resonated through my thoughts. "Do not cry Audrey," I remember him telling me as I cried over a nasty bruise training had earned me. "There is a time for tears and a time for mourning. But it is not now. You have things that you have yet to do. Finish the tasks laid out before you; finish them and once you are done, then take the time to let the tears flow. But not before Audrey. Never before."

I closed my eyes with a shuttering sigh. He was right, as always. I needed to keep going, I needed to finish my task. Opening my eyes, I traced his face once more. "Sorry sensei. You spent all those hours trying to teach me and I keep messing up, I keep forgetting," I murmured. But no more.

Steeling myself, I tucked the picture of sensei away, the book following. I zipped up and stood up, checking my weapons before consulting my map and choosing a direction. I was going to reach Atlanta and then I would mourn for sensei. For Mom.

But not before. Never before.

"I remember sensei. I remember."

A few hours later found me standing on the elevated lip of a creek bed, the stream, not six feet across, gurgling below me as the midday sunlight glinted off the dips and curves of the lapping water like living diamonds. Birds sung in the trees above me, their songs warbling and lilting across the air as the leaves fluttered in the wind. The sight was truly beautiful, truly peaceful; it was quaint as could be.

It was also the saddest thing I have ever seen.

I sucked on the pit of a peach, rolling the stone around my mouth. The sun was hot upon my neck, the unforgiving Georgia sun making my grubby t-shirt stick to my back. I should keep moving, I told myself I would…but I couldn't move, I could barely breathe; the sight before me had me locked in place with a sorrow so profound, I was surprised my knees hadn't buckled.

Because, before me lay five crosses, wooden and crude, but obviously the product of someone's painstaking, loving, labor. They lay along the riverbank, silent and mute, a hidden cemetery deep within the forest. Alone, it was a sad picture, this last resting place of five human beings, but what truly made it a testament of the hell our world had fallen into was that all of them, every single last one, was the grave of a child.

Gina Mae Harris was the name carved in the first cross. Age 12.

David John Harris, age 9 declared the second.

Ashley Lynn Harris, age 6 and Marcus Steve Harris, age 6 were the third and fourth ones.

It was the last one, though, that caused my eyes to spill over.

Rose Lauren Harris, age 3.

Three years old and already in the ground; God that wasn't fair. Granted, nothing in this life was fair but…fuck. Wiping at my eyes, I let my gaze travel over the child cemetery, taking in the dolls and toys that lay at the foot of each cross, the flowers tied to the tops…and the piece of paper that was nailed to the grave of Rose Harris. Biting my lip, I took a shaky step forward and brushed my fingers across the paper, squatting to read the letters scrawled across it.

I'm sorry baby. Daddy tried. God forgive me, I tried.

The bottom was smeared with blood.

My throat grew tight as I read the parting words of Rose Harris' father and an overwhelming understanding filled me as I knelt at the grave of his daughter. I knew what it was like to watch the people you love slip right through your fingers only for them to come back and try to bite those same hands. I knew the agonizing pain, the horrible agony, the crippling guilt of why am I alive but they're not. I knew, everyday I lived with these feelings; every night I saw their faces; every second I felt their blood.

"I know the feeling Mr. Harris. Believe me, I know," I thought. Biting my lip, I decided I could spare a few moments, a few mere seconds, to pay homage to these lost lives before I continued on my way. It...was the human thing to do. So, right there, in the middle of the forest, on the graves of five young children, I bowed my head and prayed. I prayed for the lives of the Harris children, I prayed for their father, and I prayed that, wherever they may be, they had found peace. People, if there were any people left alive that is, would probably scorn me for my actions, for in my belief in a God that clearly could not exist. But, just because I did not find myself in his, or her, or their, favor, did not mean some higher power didn't exist. Audrey Bennett was just a name that was of little importance and I had accepted that. Also, after the things I have done, how can I ask a divine power to intervene on my behalf?

I lifted my head and gazed at the cross of Rose Harris. "I'm sorry," I muttered to no one. Sorry this happened to you; sorry you didn't have the chance to live; sorry that you lived to see such horrors. I was just so sorry.

A sudden sharp pain awoke in my mouth and the bitter metallic taste of blood coated my tongue. Damn it. I must have cut myself on the peach pit. Furrowing my brow, I brought my hand up and spat the stone into the palm of my hand. I gazed at that small seed and thought back to how I found its tree as I ran from East Point, at how a few of the peaches had still been edible. They were a godsend, those peaches, and nourishment to keep me going when I was running on empty. They had save me.

And maybe I could, somewhere done the line, save someone else.

Idea blooming in my head, I closed my fist around the pit and stood, walking around the graves of the Harris children. Two feet away from the backs of the crosses, I knelt once more and dug my fingers into the fertile soil. Quietly, I dug a small furrow in the earth, about six inches deep and three inches wide. Satisfied, I dropped the pit into the hole and swept the dirt back over it, the spot on different than when it had been before I disturbed it.

There. Now, in a year or two, a peach tree would stand here, nourished by the stream close by and…by the bodies of the Harris children. A small kernel of guilt unfurled in me but I quickly shook it off. Those kids had died long before I got here; it was not my fault. This way, though, their death, while still sad, would not be completely in vain. This way, they could, possibly, save the life of some woe-begotten traveler, in need of food and rest. I glanced back at the crosses. After all, ashes to ashes, dust to dust right?

A ray of sunshine broke through the canopy of leaves and alighted on the leaves as if to say "Right."

Smiling slightly, I stood and wiped at my eyes again, moving to grab my pack. As I walked towards it, I glanced at the stream below me, mind churning with thoughts. I needed to fill up on some water and then it was time to get moving I decided. It would be dark soon and I needed to make a little more headway if I was going to make it to Atlanta by tomorrow.

However, as I stooped to grab my pack, another thought occurred to me and I found myself once again kneeling behind the Harris' crosses. Canteen suddenly in hand, I upturned it above the place where I had planted the seed, watching the glistening current splatter the dirt and become absorbed. A sense of contentment filled me at the sight. "We all deserve a fighting chance," I whispered to the pit nestled in the dirt. "Especially now."

When I was done, I shuffled back to stand before the grave of Rose Harris. I don't know why, but I felt I had to say something so, awkwardly, I cleared my throat, bowed my head, and began to talk. "I don't know what happened to you or who you were…but I'm sorry your life ended like this," I said. "I just want you to know though that it wasn't all for nothing. You might not know it but your death is going to help someone sometime in the future. Your end will foster someone's new beginning. And…I know they'll be grateful. So thank you."

It was awkward and no one was around to hear it but…I felt better for saying it. Nodding to myself, I turned and was about to bend to grab my pack before I heard a high-pitched whistle and my right temple exploded in pain.

Yelping, I fell on my ass, hand flying up to touch the burning skin. My fingertips came away slick and red. "What the fuck," I gasped, still gaping and holding my head. Suddenly, I heard a sharp rustle and I snapped my head up in time to see the figure of a man slip out of the bushes on the other side of the stream.

"Sumbitch," the man cursed, swinging his black crossbow to lie across his shoulders, wide blue eyes regarding me in varying levels of shock and surprise. "You aint no walker."

1) Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

And there is chapter 2! :D sorry about the cliffie...actually i am not XD i thought it was a good way to bring my sexy man Daryl in ;) What do you think? I am dying to find out! So please review! :D And to all who reviewed chapter 1 THANK YOU SO MUCH! It really meant a lot to here you guys liked it :)

Thanks again and remember to review by pressing the small blue button below :D

~Shadows