“Just wait here Elinda. I’m gonna go see if we can move these cars ahead to get through.” My father climbed out of the jeep we’d been traveling in to get out of Atlanta. My little sister and mother got separated from us when the whole plague hit, I hoped they’d made it somewhere safe.
As my dad exited the jeep, he looked at me with an expression that stopped my heart.
“Lindibug, if I don’t make it back, just protect yourself. I’ve taught you how to use guns well enough.”
“Dad…” I started but he had left the jeep to avoid whatever I had to say. “I… I love you.”
I waited in the car, tuning the radio to see if there was anyone out there. As always there was only one sound: static. As I was cursing to myself that we hadn’t heard from any survivors, I heard a scream that turned my insides to stone.
“Elinda!!!” I heard my name being called; he was the only one that used my full name.
“Hide!!!” I looked in between the cars, but couldn’t see any sign of my father.
My heart was beating so fast I felt as if I was going to pass out. When I finally saw my dad in between a truck and a hatchback with a rotter biting into his neck, I did.
I woke up in the jeep, thinking I had just dozed off. I turned to tell my dad I had a weird dream, but saw that the driver’s seat was empty.
“D-dad…?” I whimpered.
The air was still, the highway deserted. I sat in the jeep with my mouth half open, listening to the silence around me. It hadn’t been a dream.
I unhooked my seatbelt and got out of the car to trace the steps of where I’d seen my dad being attacked. The truck and hatchback were both stained with blood. I stared at the scene with tear-filled eyes. It had all happened in a mere second; I had witnessed his death and hadn’t even tried to save him. I hoisted myself onto the hood of the truck, feeling the hot sun heat up my back.
I hiccupped back a sob, trying not to make noise. Yet, to the right of me, I heard a long deep moan. I immediately jumped off the hood and tried to run straight for the jeep, but my jeans had caught on a piece of metal from the trucks front bumper. I fell to the ground, hitting my head on the concrete. I blinked a couple of times trying to get my focus back. I turned to unhook my pant leg in a frenzy, hearing the moaning draw closer then… THWAMP! The moaning stopped and someone walked up to me.
“Need some help there?” A rich southern accent drew my attention upwards.
There stood a man with a crossbow in his left hand; his shirt looked like there should’ve been sleeves on them but they were frayed as if he’d ripped them off. I didn’t blame him; it was too hot for sleeves. He had short light brown hair and an expression of slight concern stuck on his face.
“Uh…sure.” I muttered, following him with my eyes as he knelt down beside me.
“Let’s see…It might be best if we just—” RIIIIIP
The guy tore my jeans a good four inches.
“Gee, thanks.” I scoffed and stood up.
“Better rippin’ it and livin’ than bein’ dolled up and dyin’.” He stood up next to me. “Name’s Daryl Dixon.”
“Lin Woodley.” I said and tried to smile at him.
“You’re bleedin’.” The guy named Daryl pointed at the part of my forehead that had slammed into the ground.
I touched it and winced. Looking at the blood that had come off on my hand, I wiped it on my jeans. I walked over to the rotter he’d shot and gasped.
“What? You knew this one?” Daryl asked from behind me.
“Uhhh, n-no. Thanks for gettin’ it.”
“Welcome. Walkers ‘round here got a way of sneakin’ up on yah.”
“Walkers?”
“Yeah. Whataya you call ‘em?”
“Nevermind.” I cut the question short.
“Well, I gotta go. Got a group to get back to. Wanna meet ‘em? You could get cleaned up, too.”
“Sure…” I took another glance at the walker Daryl killed and took a deep breath. Maybe I could stay with these people now...
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