Majesty P.O.V
I squinted against the harsh Georgia sun as it greeted me, the humidity wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. The world was relentless, each day more unforgiving than the last, and the sun seemed to mock me with its brightness, as if it was oblivious to the darkness in my mind. With an aching body and a head pounding from last night's indulgence, I pushed the door open, taking my first heavy steps outside. The liquor had provided a brief escape, the best sleep since I'd last curled up beside Glenn, but now the hangover was a cruel reminder of reality.
The world had crumbled, society's fabric torn to shreds, leaving us all to pick up the pieces or let them slip through our fingers. Surviving each day had become a silent battle with my own demons as much as with the dead. I'd found solace in Merle Dixon's stash, trading and bartering with a man who was both a relic of the old world and a perfect fit for the new one. Each bottle I took felt like a negotiation with my own sanity—ease the pain now, face the consequences later. But now, sober and alone, my mind buzzed uncomfortably loud, haunted by a loneliness that no amount of wandering could cure.
I rummaged through the deserted house one last time, a sense of finality in the act, as if leaving anything behind would mean leaving a part of myself. I found a cloth grocery bag to carry the few cans of food I'd scavenged. Each can was a lifeline, but also a weight—a reminder of how fragile survival had become. With my injured leg protesting each step, I knew I needed to travel light and find hydration soon. My spirits, however fragile, crafted a plan to head toward the nearest town, desperate for a map or any vehicle that might still be functional.
Stepping out, the regret hit me with each wave of nausea, my stomach twisting as the quiet street came into view. The sun beat down, relentless and uncaring, and I felt like a ghost haunting a world that had already moved on. I edged closer to the neighboring houses, using the overgrown foliage for cover, each step a calculated risk to avoid drawing attention from any lurking walkers. The world was quiet—too quiet. It was the kind of silence that made my skin crawl, a silence that hinted at danger just out of sight.
Humming softly to myself, I tried to ward off the creeping shadows of boredom and depression that had haunted me since my teenage years. The tune was something my mother used to sing—a lullaby from a time when the biggest worry was making it through the school day. Growing up as the eldest girl in a house full of boys had toughened me, but nothing had prepared me for this—this endless waiting, this constant fleeing from death. The world was now a place where every sound, every rustle in the bushes, could mean the difference between life and death.
My thoughts drifted to my mother, her disapproval a sharp thorn in my side. She had never liked Glenn, my job, or the choices I made. As the eldest daughter stuck in a dead-end job, her disdain was palpable, and our strained relationship had only worsened with time. Regret gnawed at me, the thought of never reconciling with her before I had dashed into the woods chasing Sophia, a decision that haunted me still. What if I had stayed? Would things be different now? Would I be with Glenn, safe and secure, instead of wandering through this endless nightmare?
The distant echo of gunshots snapped me back to reality, a stark reminder that danger was never far. My heart raced, fear gripping me tighter than the humidity. The farmland around me offered little in terms of refuge, and the idea of stumbling upon a hostile group was terrifying. I had seen what people were capable of when pushed to their limits. The walkers were dangerous, but the living could be far worse.
I moved with increased caution, every sound magnifying my anxiety. Spotting a street sign pointing towards a pharmacy, I clung to the hope of finding painkillers, a working car, perhaps even a map. My leg burned, the pain a constant companion that mocked my every step. It felt like a punishment, a constant reminder of my failure to keep up, to protect those I cared about.
Lost in my struggle, I barely registered the quaint outline of an old southern town appearing like a mirage ahead. Its weathered buildings whispered of a time long gone, but my focus was on survival—on the essentials that might be tucked within a forgotten gas station or tucked behind the counters of a diner. The town seemed frozen in time, untouched by the chaos that had consumed the rest of the world. But I knew better than to trust appearances.
As I quickened my pace, driven by the faint hope of salvation, I noticed two horses tied near a store. Ignoring my throbbing leg, I stumbled toward them, my mind racing. A part of me couldn't believe my luck—two healthy horses, just waiting for someone to take them. But another part of me wondered who they belonged to and what kind of person would leave such valuable assets unattended.
The scream that pierced the air as I approached sent a new wave of panic through me. It was the kind of scream that cuts through the noise of survival, sharp and filled with terror. Dropping the bag, I limped faster toward the horses. Peering into the shop, I saw a commotion—a struggle, perhaps with walkers, perhaps with something worse. The inside was dark, and I could only make out shadows moving violently.
My window of opportunity was narrowing. With a grunt, I untied the horses, my hands shaking with the urgency of the moment. The thought of asking for help after the chaos died down flickered briefly, but survival urged me forward. Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford. Mounting the horse with considerable effort, I soothed it with gentle pats, promising freedom for both of us.
With a light kick, the horse broke into a gallop, carrying me away from the town, away from the pain, and toward the faint glimmer of hope. Pain surged through my body, but the rush of wind against my face brought a wild, fierce joy. The landscape blurred, the trees and fields melding into a green and brown haze. For a moment, I felt untouchable, as if the world couldn't catch me as long as I kept moving.
Glancing back one last time, I saw the town fade into the distance, my thoughts turning to the highway, the group, and the overwhelming desire to be reunited with Glenn. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of hope flicker within, guiding me forward. The hope was fragile, but it was there, a small light in the overwhelming darkness.
As the adrenaline began to fade, reality crept back in. My leg throbbed with each stride of the horse, the pain gnawing at my resolve. I knew I couldn't keep this pace up for long. The horse was strong, but I was weak, and the distance between me and whatever safety I sought felt endless.
I slowed the horse as we reached a dense patch of forest. The trees closed in around me, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. The path narrowed, and I had to focus on guiding the horse through the thick underbrush. The noise of the town was far behind me now, replaced by the eerie quiet of the woods. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves, set my nerves on edge. But the deeper I went, the more I welcomed the isolation. Here, in the quiet heart of the forest, I could almost pretend the world hadn't ended.
As night began to fall, the forest grew darker, the shadows lengthening until they seemed to swallow the light entirely. I found a small clearing and dismounted, my legs trembling as they hit the ground. I tied the horse to a low branch, patting its side in thanks for carrying me this far. I needed to rest, but more than that, I needed to think. I needed a plan.
I sat down on a fallen log, the rough bark pressing into my skin, and stared up at the sky. The stars were beginning to appear, tiny pinpricks of light in the vast blackness. I used to love looking at the stars, back when life was simpler. Glenn and I would sit on the roof of our apartment building, a couple of beers between us, talking about everything and nothing. I could almost hear his voice now, soft and reassuring, telling me that everything would be okay.
But everything wasn't okay. Not by a long shot.
I reached into my bag and pulled out one of the cans I'd scavenged. It was a can of beans, the label worn and faded. I used a knife to pry it open, eating the cold contents with my fingers. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me going. The beans were salty, almost too salty, but I didn't care. I was too hungry to be picky.
As I ate, my mind wandered back to the group, to the farm, and to Glenn. I wondered if they were still looking for me. I wondered if Glenn was okay, or if he had already accepted that I was gone. The thought of him giving up on me hurt more than anything else. But I couldn't blame him. The world had taken so much from us already—why should I be any different?
I finished the beans and tossed the empty can into the bushes. The clang it made as it hit a rock echoed in the quiet of the forest, a stark reminder that I wasn't truly alone out here. The dead could be anywhere, drawn to noise like moths to a flame. I listened intently, every muscle tensed, waiting for the telltale sound of shuffling feet or guttural moans. But the forest remained still, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, leaning back against the log. The quiet was both a comfort and a curse. It gave me time to think, to process everything that had happened, but it also left me alone with my fears, my regrets, and the gnawing uncertainty about what lay ahead.
Memories of the last few weeks played out in my mind like scenes from a nightmare. The panic on the highway, the terror of being separated from the group, the desperation as I searched for any sign of Sophia. And then, the fall into the river, the cold water swallowing me whole as I fought to stay conscious, to stay alive. It all felt so distant now, like it had happened to someone else. But the pain in my leg, the exhaustion in my bones—those were all too real.
I closed my eyes, trying to push the memories away, but they clung to me like shadows. The image of Sophia's frightened face haunted me, a constant reminder of my failure. I had promised Carol I would bring her daughter back, but I hadn't. I had lost her, just like I had lost everything else. And now, here I was, alone in the woods, with no idea where to go or what to do next.
The tears came suddenly, unbidden, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them. I had been holding them back for so long, trying to stay strong, trying to convince myself that I could handle this. But I couldn't. Not anymore. The weight of everything I had been through, everything I had lost, crashed down on me all at once, and I broke under it.
I cried for what felt like hours, my sobs muffled by the darkness around me. I cried for Sophia, for Carol, for the life I had lost, and for the future that seemed so uncertain. But most of all, I cried for Glenn. I missed him so much it hurt, a deep, aching pain that throbbed in my chest. He was my anchor, my reason to keep going, and the thought of never seeing him again was more than I could bear.
Eventually, the tears slowed, and I was left feeling hollow, drained of everything except the faintest spark of determination. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, sniffling as I forced myself to take a deep breath. I couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. Not when there was still a chance, however small, that I could find my way back to him.
I glanced at the horse, which was standing quietly nearby, its dark eyes watching me with a calm, almost understanding gaze. It had been my lifeline today, carrying me away from danger, giving me a chance to regroup. I couldn't stop now. I had to keep moving, keep searching, keep hoping.
Pushing myself to my feet, I winced as pain shot through my injured leg. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, using the sharp sting to ground myself, to push past the agony. I limped over to the horse, running my hand along its neck, whispering a quiet thanks for its strength. It nickered softly in response, its warm breath tickling my arm.
I needed to find a safer place to rest, somewhere I could spend the night without worrying about being ambushed by walkers—or worse, other survivors. The forest was too exposed, too vulnerable. There had to be an abandoned cabin, a shed, something I could use as shelter until morning.
Mounting the horse again, I urged it forward, guiding it through the trees as I searched for any sign of refuge. The darkness made it difficult to see, but the moonlight filtering through the branches provided just enough light to navigate by. I kept my ears tuned for any sounds of movement, my senses heightened by the fear of what could be lurking in the shadows.
After what felt like hours of wandering, I finally spotted a small structure in the distance. It was a rundown shack, barely more than a few planks of wood held together by rusted nails, but it was better than nothing. I approached cautiously, dismounting and tying the horse to a nearby tree before creeping closer to the door.
The shack was silent, no signs of life—or death—inside. I pushed the door open with the barrel of my pistol, holding my breath as it creaked loudly on its hinges. The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and mildew. But it was empty, and that was all that mattered.
I stepped inside, quickly scanning the room for anything useful. There was a small table, a couple of broken chairs, and a pile of old blankets in the corner. A tin cup lay on the floor, dented and covered in dust. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I could make this work for the night.
I dragged one of the blankets over to the door, using it to block the gap at the bottom where the wind whistled through. Then, I spread another blanket on the floor, wincing as I lowered myself onto it. My leg throbbed mercilessly, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the faint hope that tomorrow might bring something better.
As I lay there, staring up at the rotting ceiling, my mind drifted back to Glenn. I wondered where he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him. I wondered if he had given up on me, or if he was still out there, searching, hoping. The thought of him out there, alive, kept me going. It had to. Because if I let go of that hope, if I let myself believe that he was gone, then there would be nothing left for me.
The darkness pressed in around me, but I refused to let it swallow me whole. I clung to the memories of Glenn, of our time together, of the love we shared. It was that love that had carried me this far, that had kept me fighting when everything else seemed lost. And it was that love that would carry me through the night, through the pain, through the uncertainty.
Because no matter what this world threw at me, no matter how broken or lost I felt, I knew one thing for sure: I would find Glenn again. I had to. He was my light in the darkness, my reason to keep going, and I wasn't ready to let go of that light just yet.
With that thought, I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day pull me into a restless sleep. The world outside might be dark and dangerous, but as long as I had Glenn in my heart, I knew I could face whatever came next. And with that, I drifted off, clinging to the hope that tomorrow would bring me one step closer to finding him.