Is a city destroyed, still a city at all? (Walking Dead FanFiction)


“I’ve been wondering lately, what is this all for? The world has been like this for far too long to ever be what it was again. Irreversible change at its best.”

It’s been 15 days since I got separated from the group. I’ve been marking my sneaker with a pen I found at the abandoned school with Rusty. I can’t tell if it’s helping me or showing me how hopeless it all is. Someone has been watching me. Of course I’m being followed. It was only a matter of time. Alone, I’m a sitting duck, a target. Sometimes when I listen closely I hear someone’s breathing, or their foot steps. I don’t plan on looking that closely into it. My only plan is to keep moving. I’ll find the rest and then whoever’s following me will see that he (assuming it’s a he) is outnumbered.
In truth, I don’t know how much longer I can stay in the city if I don’t find them. This place is overrun with the dead. I miss having someone to talk to. I will find them. I have to find them.
I’ve been thinking a lot about destiny—is it a real thing? Was this once great city suppose to fall? My parents were ripped from me and my brother by those horrible things…my brother. He had to have made it out of the building. I hope he’s with Rusty. Rusty will look after him. I’ll find them. 

The sound of shattering glass fills the alleyway behind me. Panic rises in my chest. “Don’t look back,” I whisper to myself. A quick scan in the near distance tells me there are two possible hideouts up ahead. The problem with entering a new space is that you never know what’s already found it. Any wrong turn could be my last. 

A woman’s distant scream causes all my muscles to tighten. I look behind me. The dead smell me. There’s six maybe seven. “I gotta make myself scarce.” My steps turn to a run. I tighten my grasp around my bag strap. I run up to the closest door. A bubble of fear swells inside my stomach. I swipe the glass bottle by the door and force myself in the building. The door shuts behind me. Stale, putrid air smacks me in the the face. I throw the bottle away from me. Glass shatters. I wait. “Where the hell is my flashlight?”
A sharp blade presses into my neck. An arm wraps around my waist. “Don’t scream they’ll hear us,” a whispered male voice breathes in my ear.

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