Daryl Effing Dixon

Death was something I never really thought of much. Sure, it's as much of a part of life as breathing, but the concept of eternal loss of a soul never truly clicked in my head. I was in a typical broken family, a mother who worked full time, two siblings, both younger Sarah who was 4 and Kyle who was 5. I was the oldest, my father left the picture when I was about 15, but not until after he'd inflicted the damage, after he disappeared, no one ever really talked about him ever again. However it's not like we were barely scraping by, my mom worked at a local computer company and made good money; I had begun working in a fast food joint to keep myself busy, So we had lived in a pretty decent house on a decent street, so I couldn't complain much when I'd lived at home.
Oh, my name is Farah by the way. I guess you could say I'm your average 22 year old, I work, I play, repeat along with a serious lack of friends and next to no communication with my family after I'd moved out. So when the Apocalypse rolled around, I was just as clueless as everyone else. It was the shadow that haunted my dreams, craft fully turning them into nightmares. Night after horrific night they wracked my mind with nearly unbearable horrors. The living dead, dormant human beings trudging around eating the living. The Walking Dead.

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I awoke in an exasperated gasp, quickly darting my crystal eyes around the small excuse of a room. I saw nothing but the machete, back pack, and other belongings of mine to my left, placed neatly on the floor. I stifled back a sob and sat up, wiping away the raven hair plastered to my face in a cold sweat. I reached out beside myself and grabbed a small gold watch, one that had been given to me years ago as a late Birthday present. I leaned towards the window beside me to use the moonlight to read the small hands of the watch.
3:22 AM. I sighed and leaned back against a wall and flipped the watch over in my palms, I smiled at the engraved message on the back,
'Happy Birthday Farah.' Tracing it with my fingers helped remind me that the world used to be full of caring, living people. A noise reached my ears and I froze, the guttural groaning of a Walker. I swallowed hard and silently cursed every God I could thing of and slowly rolled onto my knees, they burned as I proceeded to peek out the window.
I saw nothing at first, but as my eyes adjusted to the moon lit darkness I could see several figures stumbling around in the field not too far from here.

Had I been crying out in my sleep?

Damnit.

Time to go. I quickly rolled up my sleeping bag and other supplies, shoving them into my back pack and picked up my machete. I slid on my shoes and yanked the bedroom door open, peering down the halls and quickly and silently as I could descended down the old Farm House's stairs, which by the way was basically nearly impossible without light, my heart was pounding out of my chest as I ran to the barricaded front door and peeked out the door-side window. I saw nothing near the door or portch, I gulped as I gripped the door knob and kicked the la-z-boy away from the old door with my foot. I slid the door lock out and steadied myself for a moment, before ripping the door open and launching out into the night. The damp humid night air hit me like a wall. I figured I would have been used to it by now as I darted off down the dirt road, careful to stay in the middle. My knuckles turning white as I gripped the machete, at the ready. Once again, chased off from yet another 'safe' hide out.
The sun was back in its place, growing higher into the sky. I shook my wrist, aiding the slightly-too-big- watch down my tanned arm, and glanced at it. Nearly noon. The machete had long since been placed back in my belt loop. I stopped walking and looked around, heaving a large sigh. If I didn't find shelter or a car soon it would be a long, hellishly hot day. Something caught my eye in a ditch to my left, I hesitated as I clicked my tongue in my mouth, debating the energy it would take to go explore. I was running out of water and had maybe 2 granola bars left. I put down the backpack and removed a small elastic band from my wrist and used my fingers to comb through my dirty black hair and tie it into a half-assed pony tail/ bun, I had done this for years but had never quite decided what it was called. It worked and that was all that seemed to matter.

Feeling the light breeze hit the back of my drenched neck gave me a little energy renewed. I approached the ditch slowly, my dry lips parted slightly, my mouth dropping open with horror at the sight. Sheets covering several bloody masses, I had one guess at what they could be.

Bodies. Are you kidding me? Just, chilling out here in a ditch on the side of the freaking road?

I counted them, at least 5..and one, a little smaller then my own backpack. A baby, a dead fucking baby. I felt my stomach cramp and bile rise into my throat, I ran to the other side of the road and upchucked in the dry grass. There wasn't much left in my stomach so for the most part it was stomach acid; every muscle in my body shook as tears rolled down my cheeks. Even pre-zombie apocalypse I couldn't handle throwing up, I would cry every time I hurled, it was just a reaction that came with it for me. I sniffled and spit several times and steadied myself, still bent over with my hands planted on my knees.

How could any higher power let that happen to an innocent child? I was thankful however that someone had the courtesy and respect enough to cover the bodies. It must have been done awhile ago though, there was a putrid smell that kicked up when the wind stirred in my direction. The sheets helped with the smell though, someone had cared enough to "tuck them in" one last time, strange, for the most part any survivors left at this point were more of a hazard then the dead ones walking around. People who had survived were now running off of primal instincts, fend for yourself before all others.

I had my fair share of run-in's with other survivors, some of them were genuine people, they cared about others and tried their hardest to help. They were quickly overtaken and killed by the stronger, self-conserving basic instinct survivors. I looked down at my tattered blue jeans, my own crusted blood stained the knees, the skin below shredded. The most recent run in was back in Atlanta City, I had been stranded in a large convenient store with 4 others, a mother, father, their one child and an employee of the station...the Only employee who had stayed, a meek blond haired girl. The small family had been living in the city and were stopping to get gas when an out break hit that area, so they just stayed. Uncertain of what to do or tell their 4 year old child. We had been hulled up for 2 weeks? maybe 3? Until a large truck carrying several savage looking red necks had showed up to raid the place of any left over supplies. The savages had killed or maimed any and everyone fighting back, The father was first to go, he was a gentle man, but fear did him in, in the end. The wife had run out of the store with the child attempting to flee, I heard screams and then nothing. I had tried to help the poor employee, defend against the smaller hick, he trashed me up then went for her. His excuse was she "screamed too much" so he silenced her with a wrench.

She was 17. It had been her first job. And he killed her because she was screaming for her life.

One of the hicks had even beaten me half-senseless trying to take my clothes off. My only savior was a hoard of dead overtaking the man when his back was turned.

How pathetic is that?

I started shaking, the remembrance of the familiar stinging fear set back in. I inhaled sharply and exhaled loudly shaking my hands and straightening up as I trudged over to my back pack laying in the middle of the road and dug in the outside pocket for my last remaining bottle of water, I uncapped the bottle and held it above my lips, allowing only a little to drop in my mouth. I swished it for a moment then spat that out too. I stuffed it back into the bag then heaved it up onto my back again. I needed to get away from those bodies. Away from that City.

Several long hours and heat delusions later I found myself wandering into the woods to escape the rays of the evil bright ball in the sky they referred to as the sun. I had been wandering around for what had seemed like an eternity, I figured my brain probably resembled something close to scrambles-eggs about now. I didn't know where I was going, nor did I particularly care. I had been somewhere between dreaming and another delusion when I heard a few twigs snap behind me. I whipped my head around, my eyes wildly scanning the brush and trees, seeing nothing. Regardless of the heat fear stung through my muscles and sent a shiver up my spine. The machete was instantly out of its resting place in my belt loop, I wiped forming sweat off my brow with the back of my free hand. Waiting, listening....nothing. I felt that my heart would beat out of my chest as I slowly backed away from the sound, another snap.

I was gone.

My feet carrying me as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Twigs, leaves and low-hanging briers caught my clothes and sun burnt skin as I tore through them. I felt my foot hit something and I was sent flying to the ground, my ankle burned and I growled as I grasped it and looked back to see the culprit, an exposed tree root.

Great, I was going to die now because of a fucking tree root. My ankle burned in anger at my carelessness.

I swear if I turn into one of those dead things I will come back and eat this fucking tree!
Another snap, foot steps... I tried to rise to my feet only to feel my ankle crumple again, I fell forward and hit my head. Everything went black.