Hi everyone, thanks so much for checking this story out!
This is set from the beginning of season 2 and will follow a storyline that I've created in order to include my OC. I don't own anything except for my OC.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter One
The woods welcomed me home.
I had spent the last few days in the town, monitoring the parameters of streets that were once thriving with the hustle and bustle of busy lives. I found the mere notion of that almost ridiculous now, the grasp of any memory of that life furthering itself away from me with each day. The nights were drawing in now and the town was too dangerous to linger in for longer than necessary. What should've been a quick in and out trip had already lasted three days, and I was ready to return to the cabin.
The trees, losing its leaves with every gust of wind, signalled fall was coming. The once luscious green leaves were now turning orange and brown, a sign that the nights would seem endless and the days incredibly short. Like a blink of daylight before the inevitable and often lonely darkness engulfed the world instead of just my heart. But the heat was still relentless in every sense, a thin layer of sweat constantly lingering on my skin.
I couldn't grasp what made me stay longer in the town, but the hope of finding something—anything—had been overwhelming. As if I had to find something substantial enough to warrant the journey into town in the first place as the thought of returning empty handed again was simply humiliating. Hunger was the thing that brought me home. The risk of travelling into the nearest towns were tangible and almost unavoidable, but the lack of anything had been when the alarm bells had truly begun to ring violently in my mind. The towns and cities all around were inundated with stragglers, and to have nothing but my own heartbeat in my ears and the wind whistling in the distance signalled a danger that I didn't want to stick around to witness.
The world being quiet was often what people sought after. But as the world laid dormant, I knew that it often spelled a warning. Whilst most of the world was uninhabited with the living and the undead walking amongst each other, there were monsters that lingered in the shadows.
I check my surroundings once in the woods. The birds are high in the trees and singing songs that warm my heart. The towns are stark of any life, but the crows that caw send shivers down my spine. They're on every street corner patrolling and are aware of those around them. It's only when they stop, that's when you know you must leave.
The woods, unlike the towns, are full of life which had been a strange realisation to comprehend. In the months since the world fell, it seems nature has reclaimed the world as quickly as it fell. A deer walks alongside me through the thick brush, my presence among it no longer startling and dangerous. The dead haven't been through the woods in a long while, and it makes me wonder where they've gone. The stragglers however aren't as smart as the wildlife, and the latter can get away from them quickly, as if they've adapted to this world quicker than we have. The cabin comes into view and relief washes over me; a nostalgia for the home I once had scolding me in an instant.
Life was so different. It's often surreal to think about it now, with not much time passing since how it used to be. Three months and yet… there's often moments where I forget when I first wake, believing to be back in my bed in my apartment with the city that welcomed me with open arms after college and of which had been my home for several years. I would stretch and wake slowly, feeling the crispness of the air seep through the material of my clothes. Still warm from sleep, I wouldn't notice that my bed was now on a crate covered with the thick curtains from the cabin windows nor that the cabin was decaying around me, or even that the man I loved was no longer beside me, ready to pull me close and hold me for just that little bit longer. All the things that I once took for granted stripped away as soon as the dead started walking.
Now, all I had was the fleeting hope in my heart of finding something worth fighting for. And like a flame in the harsh winds, it was beginning to flicker violently, ominously and unpredictably. Only time would tell when it would diminish for good.
/
Loneliness was the hardest part of this new world. Whilst the urge for survival became a reality and a permanent fixture to our daily lives, it became easier to know when something wasn't right and when it was. It was like a sixth sense that would wash over me, a flutter in the pit of my stomach or goosebumps on my skin. And it would signal when I needed to leave or if it was ok to stay. But the loneliness of watching the world die around you; with friends and family perishing from either infection, or from getting bitten and then having the reality of turning into the very monsters we fought and protected each other against was paralysing.
Witnessing the person, you loved to be taken from you from the horrors that laid ahead for us was devastating, and rocked me to my very core. The loss of the world was one thing, but losing the one person who grounded me, who gave me hope in this new world ever changing around me, and who had promised they would always be by my side was something I hadn't truly comprehended to ever happen.
The cabin stands quiet without any sign of life having passed through. There are always tell-tale signs that I've learned along the way of whether someone had been nearby. People are usually desperate in these times, wanting to find shelter for the night to protect them from the danger that awaited them once it became night or even to look for any supplies they might need. Whatever I had wasn't much and whatever I left behind as I headed into the towns, if they needed it and found it useful in continuing their path of survival then they were more than welcome to take it. The dusty windows were always a big sign as to whether someone had been nearby: the windows once laden with dust would be wiped clean with half or full moons of clear glass.
I search the perimeter to ensure that nothing was lingering around it. Once I'm sure that there isn't a straggler hiding away somewhere, I pull open the door. The creaking causes me to falter, and I wait to see whether the noise has attracted any unwanted attention. My breathing hitches and my chest is tight with anticipation; my entire body exhausted from my journey. A fight—one of survival from either the living or undead—would most likely leave me vulnerable in my current state, and as I listen with bated breath for any sound that would warrant an attack, I'm aware of the heaviness of my limbs. My mind is fuzzy with tiredness. Danger.
Heading inside, I leave the door ajar. If there's anything or anyone hiding inside, the open door will allow me the opportunity to make it out. It'll give me the best chance of running away without having a barrier, albeit small, to prevent me from escaping. Like I said, people can be desperate in these times, and they have no clue that this was my place first.
But the cabin is quiet, and still. And peaceful.
Everything looks the same as I had left it which offers me the comfort I need, although I still do a quick look around to ensure I'm not caught off-guard. I close and lock the door quickly, moving the curtains that are hung on a hook adjacent to the door so that they cover the panes of glass. The cabin that was once filled with golden light from the beginning of fall plunges into darkness and sleep immediately beckons me. Pushing the tiredness away for just a moment, I search the contents of my backpack and look over what I had found on my travels.
A couple cans of peaches, beans and tuna. A knife that looks as though it had been dropped by mistake in the streets, my mind immediately wondering whether that mere action cost someone their life. I shake the thought away and continue looking through. A book, some chewing gum that would keep the hunger away just for a little while, and a walkie talkie.
It wasn't much and some weren't necessary finds, but this new world didn't offer much anymore. Anything worth having was already gone. In the short time since the first outbreak months ago, stores had been looted of every necessity possible and it was beginning to become harder to find supplies. With the winter months approaching, the worry of going hungry was paramount. It was tough already, and I was still able to hunt and search for supplies until the late evenings before the sun reluctantly bid goodbye for a short while.
My stomach growls furiously with hunger. I quickly open a can with my trusted can opener and eat the tuna slowly. It isn't much but it'll do for now. The urge to consume the other cans is overwhelming but the regret and guilt in the morning when the trip into town would all be for nothing prevents me from reaching for another one. My future self will no doubt thank me later. Sleep beckons me and I swill a mouthful of bottled water in my mouth to wash the taste away and to ease the pain in my kidneys.
As I settle on the makeshift cot, my body eases immediately and all stress and tension ebbs away with every breath. My eyes grow heavy, and my mind clears of the memories from the previous days, the toughness of the journey weighing heavily in my mind. As sleep claims me from the harsh reality of the world, I hate admitting it, feeling as though I'm betraying myself and all those that I'd lost along the way, but I wasn't sure how long I could carry on living—trying to survive—this way for.
/
The walkie-talkie wakes me. The stillness of the room is assaulted by static voices on the other end, from an unknown place, their words jumbled and broken. It's a harsh noise and I'm not sure what to do. My eyes are fixed on the object, its noise like thunder rattling in my ears. It's threatening the peace of the world that I'd grown used to; I dare to move but the voice continues.
'He was shot last night. My boy. He was looking at a deer in the woods when… it happened. If he dies, he wouldn't know that a man accidentally shot him. He took us to a man who he told us would save his life. If he dies, all he'd remember is the deer. That deer—if it hadn't been there—saved him from an imminent death. I don't want this to be the end. I've just found them, Morgan. This cannot be the last time I see my son.'
A lump forms in my throat as the voice goes quiet. I wait with bated breath in case the person speaks again but they don't, leaving me to stare at the object with concerned eyes. The woods at night offered noises unlike those that I was ever used to before the outbreak. Camping trips were only a glimpse into life in the woods, but I'd been able to head home afterwards and wash my experience away with a hot shower. I'd heard it: the gunshot. I'd woken up alert and waited, the silence growing loud in my ears and taunting me with sounds that I knew weren't real. The sun was still beating down, the warmth sticky against my skin. It was a distance away, I would be safe, but it had been a shot, nonetheless. When another one hadn't come, I resigned myself back down to sleep: one shot usually signalled the need for survival. One shot to either save their life or to end it. I'd been in that place more times than I'd ever wish to admit. It had always been the former, though.
But this man—his son had been shot. An innocent act of watching a deer in the wild had turned deadly and the young boy was now fighting for his life. Without medical care or assistance, life was fleeting. His chances of making a full recovery were minimal, without me knowing where the bullet had entered his body and if there was an exit wound. That would give him a chance, albeit a small one. It was a chance, nonetheless.
The sound of another person's voice had been overwhelming. I hadn't heard someone else speak for almost two months now, not in a close proximity to me anyway. The groups scattered here and there, I would often encounter, but I was able to hide and get away before they even realised or noticed I was there. It was startling, uncomfortable.
Curiosity was getting the better of me and I felt the urge to venture outside. It wasn't an action that I was going to fulfil, the dangers outweighing that initial curiosity. The need to help was high but I'd learned the hard way that it wasn't always the best idea to rush into situations. Not now. My old life used to depend on quick thinking in tense situations, and not much had truly changed in that sense.
Pushing the urge away, I pulled my boots back on with a grunt. My shoulders were aching, and my limbs were tight. My stomach rumbling broke through the silence, and I knew I had to eat soon, the hunger setting in quickly.
Then I heard it.
The rustling outside the cabin wasn't an unusual sound that I would hear. A wild animal would often pass through, and I'd watch in awe at the innocence, the pureness of what the world still was, but there was always an urgency of the others that she would be reminded of the brutality of the new world. Amongst the innocence was the reminder of the harsh reality that I was now living in.
It was footsteps that was disturbing the peace. Slow, dragging footsteps. I grab my blade that I keep beside my pillow every night and move towards the window. The early morning sunshine is peeking through the gaps in the curtains, and it offers me a limited view of outside. Nothing but trees welcome me, blowing gently in the breeze, the crispness of the morning causing dew to shine from them like diamonds embedded in the delicateness of the leaves.
But then I saw it. A flash of blue, of beige, of brown. It was quick but there was a hesitation in their movement, an unwavering caution. Straining my eyes against the bright sun, I catch a glimpse of them as they turn towards the cabin, whatever the sound was having startled them, too.
The groaning fills the air and I wince. Cursing under my breath, I rush out of the cabin with quick reflexes, pulling a muscle. It's only one which is manageable now, and before it can even acknowledge my presence, I plunge the blade into the back of its head causing it to still and become a dead weight. Sliding the knife out of its head, the slickness filling my ears, the straggler hit the ground with a thud. It was once a man who probably had a career, a mortgage, a wife or a husband and possibly children. He probably gave money to charity, helped to make the world a better place, and yet here he was. A straggler whose only goal now was to maim and kill. The world was cruel.
Once I was sure no other stragglers were around, the woods falling silent around me, I turn to what had caught my attention. Her eyes spoke only of fear, dehydration and hunger. Her skin was grimy with dirt, her chin-length hair lank against her face. But there was a hint of relief that washed over her, and she stumbled backwards, her legs giving way, her world growing dark, but I was able to catch her before she hit the ground.