Please picture me in the trees, I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek, I was too scared to jump in

But I was high in the sky with Pennsylvania under me

Are there still beautiful things?

– Seven, T.S.

Mila

The sun is nestled high in the sky over the Georgia landscape, bright and blazing against my cheeks and shoulders. The tell-tale tingle of a sunburn prickles over my skin, but it's pointless to do anything other than continue putting one foot in front of the other down the worn dirt trail. A low hum absentmindedly plays in my throat, a bad habit from the before days– quiet enough to avoid attracting walkers but loud enough that I'm probably not doing a great job of listening out for them coming anyway. I can't bring myself to care.

Scanning the trees before heading off to walk between the brush, I decide that I should probably do a better job of camouflaging myself. My skin sighs in relief to be free from the sizzling UV rays, now protected in the shade. There is no destination to head to, no one waiting for me to arrive. I'm truly just walking for something to do, other than waiting for death to come. Out here, it's just me, the scattered bird song above me, and my spiraling thoughts. If I walk fast enough, maybe I can shake them off. Just for another hour. Or day. This is life now. Always outrunning whatever new threat presents itself until you're confronted with the next one. Not even silence and rest bring peace.

Pulling my backpack from my shoulders, I numbly recheck the contents even though I'm already sure what I'll find. Half a bottle of water, barely two handfuls of stale trailmix, a box of half full matches, a light jacket, beat up picture, and a pocketknife with a too-small blade that means I have to get very close to my target to use it. All in all, I have maybe another day to find shelter, water, and food– in that order. No big deal. I sigh and try to ignore the impending claustrophobia closing in. As incongruent as it seems, the walls of society crumbling and making way for a borderless, nightmarish landscape actually makes the world feel smaller. I can't think about it too hard or it tightens around my lungs, making it hard to breathe around the tension.

I promised Aly that I would try to survive and that's exactly what I am doing– surviving. But no one can make me live. I don't even know what that word means anymore. My only goal is to keep my heart beating by dodging the dead on my back, finding another drink of water, and patiently waiting for this flesh of a prison to let this hell end. I'd keep my promise to my sister, as long as there is still a chance that she's alive. When that chance goes away, so does my commitment to it. She won't be around to care anyway. God knows I don't.

My calves burn from exertion and my mouth is cotton, but it's too soon to risk using up the last of the water before finding the next source to refill. There are wants and there are needs, and I probably don't need water for another 6 hours… as long as the sun lets up and I conserve my energy. When did I last pee? Was it this morning? The question alone seems like a bad sign, but I push thoughts of kidney failure and UTIs aside. One problem at a time. Under my feet, scarlet ribbons slash through the dirt and catch my attention. It sure looks like blood, dripped chaotically every few feet. I don't mean to follow it, it must be morbid fascination and a lack of critical thinking that guides my trail, but my feet listen to my eyes while my brain is too tired to intervene.

Crack.

I freeze and instinctively hold my breath, ears perked up by a snapped twig, to try and get a sense of direction or proximity to the unexpected sound. Quietly stepping toward a tree trunk, I place it behind my back and uselessly guess which angle will give me the most cover from the unseen threat. My hands trail down to my pockets only to find them empty, cursing to myself as I remember too late that the pocketknife had been thoughtlessly replaced in the bottom of my pack. To draw it now would mean risking that whatever was out here with me would also hear the zipper or swish of my windbreaker. Too big of a chance to take. Fighting takes strength I don't have and a weapon I can't access. Hiding it is.

Craning my head, I try to listen for any other noise over the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Not even the birds are singing anymore. Too frustrated to be scared, I lean my head back on the rough bark and close my eyes to imagine Aly and I laying by our favorite lake– me with a book, her with a sketchpad. The water glitters as a breeze ripples over it, shifting reflections of light like a giant kaleidoscope. The scent of pine. The mellow sweetness of watermelon. The sun-warmed dock under my back. A hint of a smile tugs at my lips as I can almost hear her laugh, before my heart plummets down into my stomach. I didn't know to be grateful for a moment that I thought we'd get many more of. I didn't know how much everything would change and that wide open spaces would never feel any amount of safe again. Disappointed in my inability to even daydream myself out of this reality, I open my eyes and jump as they are met by another pair. Steely blue and suspicious, tucked behind a crossbow.

"What are ya doin'?"

A husky southern drawl confirms that this is a human and not the remnants of what used to be one, if the loaded weapon wasn't enough of an indication. My brain searches for an answer, but none arrives. What am I doing? I have no plan, not enough provisions to last, and no one watching my back. It's only a matter of time until something or someone takes me out. At least I tried. I'm sorry, Aly. If you're even still out there. The stranger continues to stare, shifting to more concerned than anything else, but keeps his crossbow raised.

"Are ya alone?" he asks, attempting a different line of questioning.

My heart races as I involuntarily gulp. Being a woman in society has always presented certain disadvantages and risks, but never more so than now. Nothing good ever comes from saying yes to this question. I shrink back into the tree behind me, desperate for space and drowning with the knowledge that no one is coming to save me. Just us– with my one tiny, buried knife and this man with both an intimidating weapon and muscular arms that could easily overpower me. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I look to the sky and beg for a quick death, over any of the other horrific possibilities that are laid out in front of me. Kill me first.

"Whoa, hey." He puts his trigger hand up in a silent surrender while using his other to lower the crossbow, away from me. The gesture relaxes me a little. "I didn't mean to scare ya. I have a group near here. With women and children, if ya need somewhere safe to go. It'll be dark in just a few hours."

I chew the inside of my chapped bottom lip, a nervous habit when I'm deep in thought, and heavily weigh my options. Continue walking alone and hope I somehow find everything I need before night falls or follow a stranger to an unknown group and hope they don't chop me into little pieces– or worse. Which one is less dangerous? Survive or die trying, my end of the world mantra dutifully reminds me. If what he said is true, this is my best shot.

"Okay." Surprise registers on his face from hearing me speak. He must've thought I was mute, deaf, or dying from how long I took to answer. "I'll go with you. But I'd feel better if you'd just let me follow you and stopped pointing the crossbow at me. You try any sketchy shit and I'll stab you. I mean it." I try to fix him with an intimidating glare, but the shadow of a smirk on his lips informs me I failed.

"Understood. Back at ya."

"Understood."

We slowly began walking, muscles coiled like tightened springs and respective guards up to anticipate any sudden movements. No one can blindly trust anyone anymore. The goddamn apocalypse has brought out the worst in people. Trust gets you killed.

"What are you looking at? You lost or something?" I ask after a few quiet steps, noticing the way he's examining the earth. Careful and intentional, but also confident. My eyes gravitate to his lithe movements and the way he obviously sees something that I can't.

"Nah, trackin'. I shot a deer before I found ya. Thought it was time for somethin' other than squirrel."

Aly and I lived a nomadic life since the world went to shit, which meant we floated from group to group. Hitchhiked with whoever seemed to have a semblance of a plan, running from groups that turned out to be less safe than they pretended to be. All of them had relied on finding pantry items in hidden kitchen cabinets, which was extremely limiting. None had ever managed to be self-sufficient in hunting for food.

"Wow… that's impressive."

The words slip out before my mental filter can catch it, but I'm too tired to care. His head snaps over to look at me, once again suspicious, and I lift a questioning eyebrow in response. Whatever he sees on my face must answer something for him, because his expression neutralizes before dropping his eyes back down to the ground.

"Nah, just had to eat. Doin' what I've done all my life." Despite the downplaying statement, a new hint of pink tinges his ears and cheeks. His statement rattles around my brain and makes me consider that I've been running to survive all my life, yet I still don't seem to be any good at it. "You got a name?"

"Mila."

"I'm Daryl."

—-

Daryl

I try to keep a wide berth from the girl I'm pretty sure I just scared the shit out of, stumbling into her in the woods with a loaded arrow pointed at her face. It took me a moment to realize how it could look, especially as I registered the fear in her eyes and the tremble of her hands, but she seems to have calmed down now. My eyes are trained down, carefully following the hoof path of the doe I'd shot, but I shoot the occasional glance her way to check that she's still following me. She's quieter than anyone else who has been tracking with me, which I appreciate. Means this doe isn't going to see us coming so I can finish the job quickly. I'm getting damn tired of squirrels and with the way I'm catching them, soon this area won't have any left.

I didn't even know she was there, until I heard humming– which isn't a sound you hear much of these days. Groaning, sure. Screaming, occasionally. But humming has been firmly left behind in the pre-walker days. It's a pretty stupid thing to do. Not only can it attract the dead, but you also can't hear them coming. Just like she couldn't hear me coming. Although, I'm stealthy enough that most people don't hear me coming until it's too late. I got distracted by seeing her though and stepped on a twig, but she obviously hasn't spent much time in the forest because she didn't even know which direction I was in. I watched her back into a tree trunk, as if she was hiding, despite her remaining in my eyeline the entire time. No backup, no weapon, no chance. She's lucky I found her and not some other asshole. Thank whatever is holy that Merle isn't with me neither, or she definitely would've ran for the hills.

Muscle memory allows me to track without much thinking, but my brain plays the way she had called my hunting abilities impressive on a loop. I initially thought she was fucking with me, the way Merle does, but when I looked at her, her face was the picture of sincerity. The fire in my chest burned out as quickly as it had engulfed me. The whole thing caught me off guard. No one has ever used the word impressive in my direction before. It felt good, momentarily, which made me feel bad for much longer. She doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. Probably has never met a hunter in her life and thinks anyone who can survive without a TV dinner is impressive.

She is pretty though. All hazel eyes and wild, dark curly hair with golden streaks around her face like a goddamn halo. Big, feline eyes and a nice smile. I scowl at my own assessment. She's pretty enough to remind me of the girls who could be real ugly to me at school, always thinking they were better than me because of how I grew up. I'm sure she's no different once we get back to camp and she sees what everyone else thinks of the Dixon family. Just two simple-minded, redneck nobodies to avoid. Get what you need from them and get out. Well, good riddance.

Chapter 1 of my first fanfic ever :) Thanks for reading the first thing I've ever been brave enough to share with the world. Always open to critiques and suggestions for how to make it better.