The relentless pounding of the horse's hooves on the asphalt finally tapered off as the scenery changed from houses and small town life to a bleak stretch of highway. Desolate cars and a long empty road unrolled before me like the world's most depressing red carpet. Months into this apocalypse, and here I was, feeling every bit the rookie again, clueless on a highway with no signposts for guidance. It was a slap in the face, really, going from a self-sufficient survivor to a wandering nomad who couldn't tell north from south without a map. As I peered down the endless highway, a sense of disorientation clouded my thoughts. The familiarity of instinctual survival was slipping away, replaced by a gnawing vulnerability I hadn't felt since the apocalypse began.
I dismounted, patting the horse's neck softly. It was a risk to leave it behind even momentarily, but I knew I needed to scavenge for supplies. Something that didn't used to bother me before, mayb because I felt invincible with Glenn by me side, now felt like a doting task- especially being these people were not just regular city people moving to Atlanta for a new life- but small town families that probably were close knit and kind (hopefully). Being alone out here as I had been, scavenging through people's homes and cars, I couldn't stop feeling like I was prying into the last desperate moments of people's lives and how close I felt to becoming another blood stain and torn up corpse.
I had delevoped a game, trying to tell myself stories of what could have been these people's last moments. It reminded me a little of the first time I saw Rick- now not as funny to think about though, imagining the panic and struggle of what can occur in someone's troubling last stand with walkers, or overwhelming thoughts of pain and loss. I was relating more and more to these ideas as the days went on.
I stumbled upon the stranded cars lining the highway were silent sentinels of the past chaos, imagining a story of a sudden, desperate halt. As I approached the first vehicle, a shiver ran down my spine. The sight of a bloody handprint on the window and a child's abandoned toy in the backseat stirred a deep unease within me. I was fortunate—no walkers seemed to be nearby, yet the eerie silence felt as menacing as any groan of the undead.
Rooting through the glove compartments and under seats, I managed to scrounge up a couple of water bottles and some sealed snacks. Each find was a small victory, but the bloodstains and scattered belongings were enough to sour any triumph. I slammed the trunk of a car shut, a little harder than necessary, my irritation simmering. The town's pharmacy, with its potential treasure trove of maps and meds, had been right there! But no, my paranoia about those shady figures could've ruined my only chance of friendly people and help.
I knew it was smart and probably the right decision. But to see the first sign of live people- for what it was- I couldn't stop thinking about it, Especially because I was riding their horse. Trust just was a luxury I couldn't afford, not in the old world and certainly not now. Growing up as the eldest in a family where you could trade trust for disappointment meant I learned fast to depend on numero uno. At least my mom's chill demeanor and the wild cards that were my brothers had prepared me for the apocalypse more than any survival camp could. Still, the road's loneliness gnawed at me, making the ghosts of those bloody cars seem almost companionable in comparison.
I shook my head at my own thoughts- that was the mindset I had been trying to fight the entire time creeping back up on me. I had to remind myself of the purpose I had. Even though there was a new dreadful thought in my head now. Did I even have a purpose without the need to find Glenn?
Climbing back onto my four-legged companion, I coud not shake the weight of isolation pressing down on me. The loneliness of the road wasn't just about being physically alone—it was the haunting fear that I might never find Glenn. What would I be if I was not a part of his life? We were a duo. And even before the world went to shit I never knew how much I relied on his presence for literally everything. Pretending I was the strong one and the balance in our relationship was easy with him here. But now with the constant reminder everyday that I might never see him again, never hear his voice or see his smile, it makes every mile seem pointless.
Every abandoned car I passed, every shadow that flickered in the periphery, seemed to whisper doubts about my place in this new world. Starting over wasn't just daunting; it was a specter that filled me with dread. Without Glenn, without the hope of finding him, what was I fighting for? The idea of forging a path alone, I just knew it was too much to bear. I did not feel like I could live without mental support- someone to grasp onto to mirror and remind me of who I really was? Who was I really? Without the one person who oversaw all my flaws and put me on the top of the world. Just a girl riding a horse down an empty road, nowhere to go and no idea where to start. That was more scary than any walker to me.
As the relentless sun pummeled me from above, every jolt from the horse's back shot pain up my injured leg. Enough was enough. Spying a small, decrepit town ahead, I decided a change of steed was in order—maybe something with four wheels or, at the very least, something that didn't require a saddle. I wearily dismounted outside a diner that looked like it had seen better days, tying the horse to a post. The animal, like me, seemed grateful for the pause, its sides heaving. I felt bad, and used the water from one of the bottles I had found earlier and attempted to give it to the horse. Needless to say it was not happy with me pouring water into its mouth and onto its face. "Stay put, would you?" I muttered, though it looked about as eager to run as I felt.
Breaking into the diner from the back, I was hit by a wave of relief—no welcoming committee of walkers. It was just me and the shadows, and frankly, the shadows were better company than most these days. I was grateful this day had gone by without the undead on my trail, a small mercy from whatever God was out there.
I'm sure the diner had some type of food but I my brain was really needing something else to dull the edges of my reality, so I stumbled into the dark kitchen, fumbling along the walls for a switch. A futile flick confirmed what I already knew—no power. The place was as dead as the world outside. I don't even know why I try sometimes.
I already knew my brain could not handle sobriety for today, and I just hoped there was some form of liquor in this place. There just had to be. I rummaged through the dark kitchen like a burglar with standards—ignoring generic brand snacks and searching for the good stuff. Finally, when my hand closed around a couple of beers after searching through a smelly fridge, I felt like I'd won the lottery but lost the ticket.
I popped the cap off a bottle and sank down against the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, letting the dark envelope me as I took a long, desperate swig. I hated beer, but even through the bitterness of the drink, I found some peace knowing I could have enough of the bottles to dull some of the thoughts that were swirling through my mind. On an empty stomach, they would hit hard too.
After a bit of liquid courage, I decided to venture towards the front. I wanted to try the bathrooms maybe. Suddenly I was desperate for a mirror again- just wanting to see the effects the last days have had on me again.
I began navigating through the dark, some light from the large front windows casting a shadow from the many booths and tables in the eating area. The air was stale, thick with the scent of decay and old grease, a small difference from the constant smell of death the outside provided.
As I passed the cracked office door, the scant light from outside barely illuminated the interior, casting deep shadows where any nightmare could lurk. My hand brushed against the wall, seeking reassurance from the solid surface. That's when a sudden, guttural groan shattered the silence, freezing me in my tracks. The door creaked ominously, and a figure emerged—a grotesque parody of the diner's manager, his features grotesquely distorted by decay.
The walker's eyes, clouded and unseeing, instantly locked onto me with predatory instinct. Its movements were jerky, but with terrifying determination, it lunged forward, its hands reaching out with a horrifying eagerness. Panic surged through my veins, adrenaline flooding my system as I stumbled backward, my mind racing for options.
I was constantly in these situations, noting how stupid I was beginning to become as more time went on. Again, with nowhere to run, I felt trapped as the walker advanced, its moans growing louder, giving me that usual soundtrack to enhance my nightmares. I was forced back into the darker kitchen, feeling the terrain of appliances and counters, looking for some kind of advantage.
My heart hammered against my ribs, knowing I could not risk running around in this backroom and not finding anything. With desperation, I gripped the neck of the beer bottle and smashed it against the hard counter instead. The glass shattered easily, and I ignored the pain in my head from the ricochet and gripped my new weapon. As the walker rounded the corner after me into the kitchen, its figure was momentarily framed by the weak ambient light from the dirty windows and I braced myself against the counter, my boot sinking into the glass and sending a wave of pain into my leg again.
As it lunged for me again, I swung wildly with the broken bottle, the sharp edges of the glass meeting its flesh with a sickening crunch. The walker stumbled, but its relentless drive didn't fatler. We grappled, its gnarled fingers clawing at me, seeking to sink its rotten teeth into my exposed neck. With all my strength, I pushed forward, driving the jagged glass deeper. The walker's groans turned to a gurgling choke as the makeshift weapon found its mark, piercing through the soft flesh of his eye and finally the brain. His grip on me went lip and I let go as well, his weight shriveling down in front of me.
I was out of breath, panting in the hot air while standing over the creature. It never did get less scary, but it was becoming more tiring to do this constantly. I was more annoyed that he had ruined the slight buzz I had gotten more than that he was in fact trying to kill me.
Shaking off the thought, I returned to the refrigerator and grabbed two more beers, settling back into the gloom and nursing my new drinks. Sitting there, in the dark, with my second beer, I had to laugh. If nothing else, the apocalypse had really simplified my priorities. Here's to the little joys, like cold beer and quiet nights—even if the quiet was just the undead waiting to make their next move.
After downing the next two beers, a fleeting sense of bravado pushed me to continue my exploration of the diner.I stepped over the body I had left on the floor and used the light from the windows again to squint and find the doors labeled 'restroom.' I propped it open with a chair, desperate for a few moments of perceived normalcy, even if it was just washing my face. Those moments were somewhat keeping me stable everytime I found myself in a new place.
The dim light from the diner's front cast long shadows in the bathroom, but it was bright enough for me to catch my reflection in the mirror. The sight that greeted me was a far cry from the person I remembered. My face, once full of life and pride in my appearance, was now gaunt, the edges sharper, more severe. I touched the hollows under my eyes, darkened and sunken in. It made me shudder. Even in the low light I would see the person staring back was a stranger, a ghost of the vibrant woman I used to be. The realization was a gut punch, my appearance so altered that it bordered on grotesque to my own eyes.
With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror, the image of my emaciated reflection burning behind my eyelids. I already knew there was no water in this place, but the sore image of myself made me want to clean up. Already aware of the beer going to dehydrate me, I knew I needed something else to drink if I was to use the remaining water to wipe down my face and arms. Back to the kitchen I went, returning to the pantry I was at before where I thought I felt something that seemed like some kids juice boxes. After finding a sealed package, I tore it open, removing a straw from the plastic and drinking from a few of them greedily.
Once I was hydrated enough, I used the remaining bottled water I had to dampen some paper towels. Cleaning my face as best I could, I tried to wipe away the grime and the grim reflection I had encountered. It was a small act, but it helped lift my spirits slightly. It was scary how much alcohol was providing me with comfort. It was never my fix, but I'd be lying to myself if I tried to ignore the mood change I was constantly feeling after every chance I had to drink it.
With a clean face, I focused on my clothes, stained and reeking from the day's trials. Back in the small staff area, I noticed a white chef's jacket hung up. It was a few sizes too large, but it was clean, and that was enough for me. Slipping into it felt like donning a costume, and with a small sense of playfulness I pranced around the kitchen, pretending to be a chef. I smiled at the thought of making pizzas with Glenn and reminisced shortly before spinning and playing the part of a Gordon Ramsay-esque angry chef, talking to my imaginary staff.
The beer was settling in, a warm buzz that made the shadows less menacing and my situation less dire. I enjoyed the loose feeling I was getting at least, not even caring that there was a dead body right by the door. I danced around the diner, poking through drawers, flipping through old, sticky menus, and imagining the bustling life it might have once held.
Next I unbuttoned some of the buttons on the end of the jacket, pulling it up into a short top and playing the part of the slutty waitress. I even pulled myself onto the counter, playing the part of a diner waitress, offering imaginary patrons the day's specials with a flourish. "Today's special is canned lonliness with a side of existential dread," I announced to the empty chairs, a smirk playing on my lips.
The reality of the situation, and my own laughter echoing off the empty walls sat me down, hanging my legs over the counter as I stopped my charade- being reminded by the empty crowd what was really going on once again. To the left of me I noticed a waitress' pencil and paper and picked it up, playing with the pencil as ideas raced through my mind. Feeling a strange mix of sorrow and resolve, I decided I would use the find to write a letter. Of course to Glenn. Imagining him finding it like some forlorn love story. One day.
'Glenn,
If you're reading this, I might not have made it. I hope this note finds you alive and safe, somehow. I want you to know how deeply thankful I am for every moment we shared. Before the world fell apart, you were my rock, helping me battle demons that often felt too big to face alone. I wasn't always grateful back then—I know that. I took for granted how you saved me, more times than I can count.
You were there during my darkest times, pulling me back from edges you probably didn't even know were there. You loved me through my chaos, a beacon of light in a life that often felt too heavy. Now, every day without you, I realize just how much you held me together. I struggle to find my footing in this new world, haunted by the absence of your support, your love, your understated strength.
I wish I had told you more often how crucial you were to me, how you were my sanctuary in a storm. Out here, every step I take, every breath I breathe—I do it wishing I could have just one more moment to tell you: you were my hero, in ways that heroes seldom understand they are.
Wherever you are, know that I carry you with me. You are woven into the fabric of my being, inseparable from who I am, who I've become. If I don't make it, remember me as someone who loved you fiercely, even when I couldn't show it. And if by some twist of fate, we find each other again, know that I am forever changed, for the better, because of you.
Forever yours,
Majesty'