🕷️ Quinn 🦇

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My face hot, heart pounding violently in my ears I hears heavy footsteps on my tail, close behind. I pumps my legs harder weaving in and out of the trees. Short, shaky, fast breaths escape past my lips as I struggle to fill my lungs with the sharp, cold air. I feel like I'm about to faint.

One glance behind myself and I notice that two men are chasing me. One slightly taller than me - but skinny - and the other shorter but bulky.

"Leave me alone!" I yell in a panicked voice.

As the rain comes down stronger and heavier the harder it becomes to see and my lack of vision accompanied by the groaning of walkers lurking in the forest does not install any confidence in me.

Panting, I feel my chest tightening, my breath shortening, my throat burning. I cant go on for much longer.

Dashing around a thick tree I'm met with an angry, unsettling face. He grabs my neck, iron grip, tight, pulling me close to his person. Hot breath escapes from his mouth settling onto my skin. My lips curl, nose wrinkles, the stench of the man was enough to make me feel ill. His face contorts into a wicked, malicious grin as his boney hands crush my windpipe, strangling me. The pressure builds in the back of my neck and rises to my head, gurgles of slurred speech exits my mouth in a wet, sloppy cough. 

In a desperate attempt to escape I claw at his face, my chewed nails scraping his skin leaving trails of red lines, I grip onto the top of his right ear pulling down as hard as I can. Feeling the flesh give away, coming down with my hand in a rushed, violent motion, I notice the hot, thick blood that drips down the side of his face pooling at his shirt collar. A guttural yelp leaves his throat. Forcefully, I dig my thumb into his eye socket twisting and pushing deeper, deeper, deeper. 

"STOP. IT.", He growls in between breaths,

thrashing his head from side to side whilst backing me into a tree. 

I kick at his thighs, his knees, his shins and stamp on his foot. Bringing my knee up and forward, I send it towards his groin, causing his face to screw up, wincing. 

I work my way free from his grasp taking ahold of his wrist that once held my neck and sliding my hand down to his elbow, firmly, I pull his arm into my chest bringing him down slightly, to my level. I slam my forehead into the bridge of his nose. 

The man releases his grip on my neck, stumbling back,

 "YOU BITCH!" he yells, 

his face painted with fury, veins popping out of his forehead. 

He recoils his fist and thrusts it towards my face, snapping my head back - a cry escapes past my bloody lips as my incisors pierce the skin of the bottom of my mouth, splitting it vertically as slick, crimson leaks from my nostrils, dripping down my chin.

"Get here!" The man yells,

clutching where his ear once sat, blood seeping through his fingers. 

Stumbling back I lift my head looking at the man through my brows. He stood only a inch or two taller than me, about 5'9", his lanky build not providing much threat. Forcefully lungeing towards him, I barge my shoulder into his lower stomach/groin area while pulling his knees towards myself, pushing him onto his ass. Balling my hands into fists I strike his face over and over and over again, the sound of wet thumps and exhausted grunts echoing. 

Two hands grab ahold of one of my messy braids yanking me backwards, off of the first man. Hastily, I turn and throw my fist in a straight line towards his plexus knocking the air from his lungs, winding the male. In his moment of weakness I grab his right wrist twisting it, locking out his arm as I pull his stocky body into myself, delivering a hard knee kick to the ribs I grab his hair and send him towards a hungry walker - stuck between two trees, arms stretched out. The walker takes ahold of the large male, tearing into the flesh of his neck with it's rotting teeth, ripping the skin aside it dives into the insides of his throat.

"NONO NO NO PLEA-  NO STOP!"

A broken string of pleads and "no's" slurred, leave the mans mouth as he begs to be spared.

I turn to sprint away dodging the outstretched hand of a lurker nearby grabbing. Until, I am pulled into a rear neck choke by the first man. My elbow flies back digging deep into his ribcage. Squirming about, leaning forward and bending my knees to lower my centre of gravity, I sharply turn my body side-on taking any pressure off of my already bruised windpipe. Slim hands reach round grabbing a handful of skin from the mans side, peeling it away this causes the man to squeal and losen his grip, immediately, I turn, sinking my teeth into his forearm biting as hard as I can; till I feel myself tearing off a chunk of chewy, thick, flesh. 

Spitting the bloody meat out onto the floor, I am struck across the face by the man's backhand as he jumps ontop of me screaming a string of profanities into my face, spitting and holding me down. He grabs my face with his large hand and smashes my head into the ground over and over and over again. The blunt force of the back of my skull slamming into the gravel sends my eyes rolling back, groaning in pain.

Hand dashing down rifling through my black jeans I desperately search for my pocket knife - only a 3" blade however it's better than nothing - I grip the knife and plunge it into the mans side before pulling out and bringing the blade up to his neck driving it through his flesh. Hot blood sprays all over my features as he grabs his wound. I hear the man cough and splutter while he rolls off of me. A wave of relief washes over, inhaling deeply I kick him, 

"Fucking cunt." I spit with a hoarse voice.

Scrambling to get away I crawl on all fours before standing and attempting to run, stumbling a few times I use my last ounce of energy scampering to somewhere safer - I hope, oblivious to where I am actually heading.

This illusion of 'security' is quickly shattered as the sound of paws rushing across the mud approaches quickly behind. Spinning my head over my shoulder I see the dog bounding towards me, snarling, hackles raised; allowing the already large canine to appear even bigger, no longer on a lead the mutt gets closer and closer. 

The ground, already slippy, supplies no security and as my feet lose its footing the dog pounces. Large, sopping wet paws force me roughly to the ground. The mutt snaps its jaws inches from my face as I twist and turn, hot, reeking saliva splattering onto my cheek, the repulsive stench of the dog's blood coated mouth ripples nausea through my body.

Bringing my arms up to protect my face the dog sinks its yellowing canines into my flesh, breaking the skin of my forearm, jaws clamping down harder, the mutt gave a firm shake, causing hot blood to spray across the wet forest floor. 

A blood curdling scream leaves my throat raspy and dry. Tears brim in my eyes threatening to spill, beads of cold sweat form on my forehead dripping down into my dark eyebrows one after the other like little insects.

Panicking, I curl my right hand into a fist, sending it towards the mutts face, landing with a thump, repeating this again and again and again until the dog finally retreats with a pained whine, barking and growling, strings of saliva and blood hanging from its ragged, mud-caked maw. 

Backing up onto its haunches, the dog prepares to leap again but as its legs leave the floor and it soars through the air it's met with a chunky, black, ribbon laced boot. The canine stumbles over its hind paws, and with these few, precious seconds I stand. Feet planted firm in the ground and I yell,

"Get back. Away!" 

Edging closer towards the snarling canine I stamp, slamming my foot in front of the dogs muzzle, 

"GO!" I shout firmly.

It's then I finally notice the walkers surrounding me. Groaning, arms outstretched they stagger towards us.

The dog turns and flees just as quickly as it came, tail tucked between its hind legs. 

"Fuck." I sigh.

Spinning on my heels, I, exhausted, continue on. Feet heavy they drag through the dirt as I force my body to move. The burn of my wound sending prickly shoots of pain up arm, I clutch it close to my chest. The effects of blood loss finally taking its toll, my eyelids grow heavy as pluses of agony rip through me.

I hadn't realised how slow I'd been walking until the cold, leathery hand of a walker grips my shoulder, its boney fingers dig into my skin through my blood-stained, purple, jumper. Its grip on me tightens as it spins me around to face its decaying, rotten face. Eyes cloudy and lifeless.

The sudden movement causes me to trip over my own feet, yelping as I collapse under the walkers weight. 

Legs kicking, wriggling beneath the lurker, my right hand slides up to its neck holding its snapping jaw a safe distance from my face, 

"ughh no! get off!" I pant.

It's body suddenly falls limp, it's whole weight smothers me. Vision blurry, heart racing I attempt to push it's body off of myself twisting and squirming under it.

But someone drags the corpse off of me.

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"Christa, talk to me."

I plead, begging her to just say something. She hasn't said much since 'it' happened and as each week passes my worry grows.

Standing, Christa sighs and tends to the fire, low flames eat at the damp wood as it's poked and prodded by a thin stick. The soft amber glow reflecting onto her skin, she stares, blankly at the dancing blaze. 

"This'll never work."

Christa grumbles.

"Look at this, it's pathetic. The wood's too wet to burn. There's more smoke than flame. At this rate, we'll be eating this for breakfast"

She complains, referring to the mangled rodent cooking atop of the fire.

The rain patters on the soggy ground bouncing up as it hits the dirt, slowly the water begins to suffocate the fire and as the flames fade so does their hope, their hope of surviving the night, and their hope of making it to Wellington.

"Let me take over for you, sit down I'll sort it"

I suggest rolling up the sleeves of my fitted, purple jumper, crouching before the fire.

Christa steps back taking a seat on the log, smoothing her hair -coffee coloured and dull- out from her eyes, she exhales. 

"We cant stay in one place too long. It's too dangerous. We need to keep moving."

I state, jabbing at the kindling.

"All we do, all we have ever done is move. But we never seem to get anywhere"

Christa retorts. Her eyes - empty, free from any emotion and resembling that of a corpse - were halfway closed. As each day passes I begin to notice Christa's face contorting, becoming more lifeless, more gaunt, more dead. After Omid's death Christa stopped caring about almost everything, she ate less, spoke less. It was as if the day Omid died so did Christa, leaving behind her shell of a body. 

Inhaling a long, slow breath, I speak up.

"We need to find a group. People we can trust. We've been on our own for too long."

"Trust? You think we can trust someone out here?"

Christa questions as if it was an obvious fact. 

"No. Not now. Not anymore."

The quiet whistle of the wind fills the air accompanied by the faint roar of flames. The silence was comforting, a nice change from the heating discussion previously brewing. A chance to reflect. A chance to breathe. A chance to recover from the hardships that have become apart of daily living.

Christa sighs,

"I'm gonna go look for more wood you just keep the fire lit." 

I hear the faint crunches of footsteps as Christa strolls off. Once again the silence returns, nothing but the irregular rustling of leaves to fill the empty. 

Shuffling about our little 'camp' I search for anything to burn, something that wasn't drenched. I find sticks, twigs, leaves, nothing enough to create a proper fire though. Combing through my backpack I push past the spare clothes - darkened blue jeans, a blackish-grey laced vest, a knitted black cardigan and a dark-brown almost black fur-hooded coat, along with various other necessities. Reaching in I pull out a small notebook, ripping out a few pages, chucking them, along with the small branches and dead leaves into the fire, I watched flames jump up, embers leap, spreading out in the air before falling. 

"This'll have to do"

I mumble to myself in a low, hushed voice. 

Reaching into the side pocket of my bag I shuffle my fingers around and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Sliding one from the packaging, the cigarette fits between my thin fingers with ease. Holding the end of the leaf filled cylinder over the fire i watch embers form jumping, popping and crackling as they dance on their tiny circular stage, and as the heat threatens to burn my fingertips. The smoke trailing upwards towards the stars creates a comforting sight. 

I bring my fingers up to my cracked, blood stained lips, before inhaling a long, deep, drag. The breaths grow relaxing, with every inhale follows a soft exhale of wondrous patterns. I close my eyes, breathing in the silence, drinking in the tranquility. The smoke found its way with the wind, following the path out into the melody of the rain, dancing, twirling, swaying with the breeze.

Examining the chipped red polish on my bitten nails I take another drag. 

"Jesus, are you fuckin' kidding me?"

A loud, unfamiliar voice spat.

I cough, the burning sensation of incorrectly inhaled smoke stabbing my throat. Throwing the cigarette onto the floor, crushing it with the heel of my tattered steel toed boot, I sling my backpack over my shoulder along with my bow - multiple arrows already shoved into my backpack peaking out for easy access - before following the males voice with haste. My legs carry me briskly, towards the call as i pat my person feeling my knife in the heart-shaped back pocket of my jeans; other than Hilda, my bow and my knife i have no other weapons, that sort of stuff - especially guns - are becoming almost impossible to aquire.

"Out here? Alone? In the middle of nowhere? But we haven't met anyone yet. How many people are you with?"

Another unrecognisable voice hissed.

"Hate to see someone get hurt"

The seedy male threatens.

"Now, hold on, she's setting you up."

One man cautions.

Christa stutters,

"I'm by myself."

It was then, i see Christa surrounded by a group of hostile, shady looking men, one who held a lead connecting to a large, hairy mutt, spits another threat Christa's way. The canine barking, all shouting over one another, a storm of threatening remarks drown out all other noise, no longer can i hear the deafening pound of raindrops attacking anything and everything in it's path. My heart drops to my gut. Eyes wide, my gaze darts around looking for something, anything to help Christa.

"Don't fucking lie to us!"

A man demands

Muffled voices filled my ears, dancing around my head, spitting at me. I couldn't move, my feet frozen to the ground, my words stuck at the back of my throat. The rain pours down on me, hard and fast, causing my dark locs to curl around to my face.

"You fuckin' with me?"

He demands, shoving Christa's slim frame causing her to stumble back.  

It was as if a switch had flipped, allowing me autonomy again.

I pull a shaft from the improvised 'quiver' inside my backpack, slowly, quietly and smoothly as I had been taught all those years ago. Without taking my eyes from my target, practiced fingers led the nock to the string, while my arm raised the bow to my cheek, the ice cold sting of half-frozen fingers pressing against my face. Slow, deep, even breaths as I pull the bow taut, feeling the fletching tickle my jaw as I sight the arrow.

Then nothing. No sound, no motion. No breath. My fingers simply went limp as the string slipped past them. In an instant, the engine of death twanged and went silent as the faintly whistling point found its target - the man, now stood in front of Christa, his gun raised, pointing between her eyes. 

The crack of the arrowhead penetrating the males skull sent chills, rushing like water down my spine. And as he falls limp i can't help but feel a sense of relief. 

The impact of the arrow forced the man snapping sideways, following the path lead by the foreshaft embedded deep into his brain. His body trailing a second behind, collapses with a thump into the muddy sludge.

"Run Christa!"

I scream, sprinting off hoping, preying that Christa ran in time. 

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chapter 2: