Be Good

It was late afternoon by the time we left the country club, and now we were walking through the woods. It was peaceful, if you could forget the circumstances. The hazy sunlight peered through the branches above, making the leaves near the forest floor glitter bright green and silver. Daryl shot a squirrel as it attempted to scurry up the trunk of an aspen tree.

"Ain't much, but it's better than nothing." he muttered as he wrapped twine around it and hung it from his belt loop.

I looked up into the branches as Daryl scoured the forest for more food sources and water. A few birds flew by, but Daryl didn't mess with them. I suggested it, but he said it'd be a waste of a bolt.

It was getting harder as we ventured further into the woods, Daryl, who was normally a perfect shot with his crossbow, missed most of the time, and once, when he went to retrieve the bolt, it splintered.

"Damn it..." he muttered, tossing the spent bolt aside into the grass, groaning in frustration and pacing the small meadow.

"Daryl..." I said softly, cautiously. "We have plenty of food for now, just take a break, we'll look for more tomorrow."

"No." he replied, walking off. His face was red, and his hair and face were so wet with sweat it looked like he'd dumped a bucket of water over his head.

"Daryl-" I called after him, jogging to keep up. He swayed a little bit as he turned halfway towards me, stumbling to the side, crutching himself against a tree.

"What?" he demanded in a tired, annoyed tone, glaring up at me as hard as he could, but his drooping eyelids made it difficult.

"Daryl, you look like you're about to pass out, sit down for a while." I grabbed for his arm, and he reared back. "I'm fine!" he shouted independently , taking another step, he tripped over an exposed root, the most ungraceful movement I'd ever seen him make.

"Daryl!" I shouted at him as he stumbled backwards and fell into the grass. I ran towards him and dropped by him side, pressing my ear to his chest, I could still hear his heart, but his eyes were closed.

"Damn..." I sighed, looking around myself to be sure we weren't in any immediate danger. Standing up, I grabbed hold of his hands and pulled backwards with all my strength, dragging towards the shade under a willow tree shrouded in kudzu vines.

"Okay..." I whisper to hide my panic, brushing the hair out of his eyes with shaky hands. "Okay... You're gonna be okay."

I look around us once more, sounds coming from deeper in the woods, bird shrills, twig snaps and other noises I can't identify. I remember enough from a few camping trips I took with my dad, Maggie and Otis. We never went too far, but when we did go out there, I learned how to build a fire, look for water sources and foot sources. Otis taught me and Maggie when we were both younger. Even though we never needed the skill on the camping trips, he said we should know it just in case...

And now as I sit here alone, Daryl's quiet breaths breaking my thoughts, I'm glad he did.

"...Water. If I had some water, I could cool you down and keep you hydrated. And maybe if I find enough, I can wake you up..." I murmur in deep thought. Was I really going to leave him? I know what lurked in the woods before... But now, there's hunters, walkers and something far, far worse...

I grab his hunting knife from the leather seath he keeps on his hip. The blade scratched, handle worn, and almost black, dried droplets remain on the cloudy metal.

I consider taking the crossbow, too, but I decide against it. It'd slow me down, I do not know how to use it, and what would I do if something broke? I grab an extra magazine from the leather backpack and reload my handgun before checking his pulse again, hurrying to gather handfuls of fern fronds, layering them, and carefully placing the springy pile underneath Daryl's head.

"I'll be right back." I assure his unconscious form quietly, double checking my weapons before standing up and heading to the south end of the meadow, turning back once more, one last glance before and work my way deeper into the woods.


The sky was starting to darken when I'd stumbled upon a valley. Down below, rocky cracks, places where rain water could have gathered. I tried to remember the last time it had rained at the prison. Storm clouds had hung around a few days, but it hadn't rained. I silently prayed it had here.

I climbed over fallen trees, boulders and through tight fits, looking for signs of water. Normally, thick, green vegetation was a pretty obvious sign, but there was so much green around me it didn't do me any good. Another sign, was looking for mud or small puddles.

The ground under my soles was spongey with moisture, but it had been for the last half a mile or so, and it made the forest floor very humid.

"Not much luck..." I sighed in defeat, brushing aside a branch and ducking underneath it. Above me, the sky was tinting pink, the warm, cloudless blue sky was turning a pale gold near the horizon, which was mostly hidden behind a rocky cliff face.

I began working my way towards that, trying to remember other ways to get water. I could remember how to make a filter from some sand and a water bottle, but it wouldn't do me much good without the water to use it.

Birds sang cheerily, darting across from tree to tree with low, grand swoops, eating up the bugs swarming in the air. I noticed a lone squirrel darting along the branches above, launching itself from tree to tree without a second thought.

Water... There's got to be water here somewhere.

I hadn't noticed much before, but as I continued to exert myself, vaulting over rocks, stumps and fallen branches, that I was tired... I'd been tired for days, ignoring it because I didn't have time to sleep. I didn't want to sleep.

My muscles felt limp and I really just forced myself to keep moving. Dragging on beneath the harsh rays of the sun, the trees began to thin out and less shade was provided. Soon, I stood on the edge of a large, packed flat sand surface. Few weeds grew in the dried cracks, the dampness of the soil thinning until it was bone dry. This was the end of the line.

I felt defeat for not finding water. I tried to think back to Daryl, but my mind rejected the thought each time. There was the small voice in the back of my head that told me Daryl was dead, all my friends and family were dead, and it's just me... Just me, crouching on this patch of salty sand, feeling hopeless, sitting beneath the darkening sky.

I rise quickly. Rather or not I succeeded, I need to get back. I look up at the rock face, and decide I can follow it around to the other side of the valley. I wipe my sweaty palms off on my jeans and turn around, I grab for the knife, and keep it close as I began working my way back, beginning to feel foolish for how far I'd come.

Then I heard it... So faint, I was certain my mind had conjured up the sound so soft and lullaby-like, so much hope instilled in the gentle tinkling of water against rocks, dripping between cracks, splashing on bone dry cavern walls.

I look up, shielding my eyes from the remaining light to look at the rock face, a dark brown streak moves down the rock, spiraling out like tentacles in different directions, and at the bottom, small droplets drip off the dark brown stone, splashing into a small pool, so small it wasn't much more than what you could fill a single water bottle with, but still... I couldn't help the overjoyed yelp that escaped my mouth, as I threw myself to the ground to further investigate.

I retrieve the water bottle from my small, canvas backpack and set it up beneath the drip, I look up, that water has to be coming from somewhere.

I rise and pick up the water bottle, looking around for ways to reach the top of the rock face quickly, there's a trail another twenty yards to my right, a faint line running through the groups of ferns, slanted, but not impossible.

"I can do this..." I whisper in determination, approaching the foot of the steep hill warily, it looked so much farther up when I stood here, ready to climb it.

I begin to walk up it, swaying a little as the ground slants upwards, soon I gripping onto plants around me, pulling myself higher and higher. I hug a flimsy tree trunk with one arm, pushing myself backwards with the other, scooting higher, inches at a time.

My arms are sore, muscles strained, and forced to keep going. I take deep breaths and pause to wipe my hands on my jeans multiple times, trying to calm myself, and avoid looking at the ground below, which now, eighteen feet in the air, seems very far away.

"Almost..." I murmur in concentration, scrubbing away the drops of perspiration from my brow as I strained for a root, stretched out of the ground like a tentacle.

I secure it into my right hand and make the transition, grabbing onto it tightly with both hands as though it's a life line. I hold on, and push back, forcing my muscles to cooperate as I push myself over the last few feet separating me from the top.

I heave a sigh of relief, rolling onto my back, the dying sunlight bright in my eyes, warm on my lids and cheeks, all over my shoulders and arms, the air sweet, thick and humid. The ground cracked and hard beneath my back. I roll over, shielding my eyes from the bright lights, and I gasp in excitement and relief when the sight becomes clear.