A Thief with a Machete

Chapter 28- Rain, Rain, go away.

I sat on a log outisde sharpening a stick when Daryl walked up behind me and watched me work.

He watched me for five minutes before I tilted my head back and stared under his hair that covered his face.

"Well hello, Sherlock. Looking for Watson again I see," I said in a British accent.

He smirked and kissed my forehead before sitting next to me. He took out his hunting knife and a stash of squirrels he had hunted earlier this morning and began to slice down their bellies.

"How good is squirrel really?" I asked him. He shrugged and picked up the large intestine with his knife and splat it on the ground.

Most girls my age would've thrown up, but I was used to guts and blood. Nothing really bothered me anymore.

"Do it taste like bacon?" I asked in a lower voice like Gandalf, sticking my jaw out and leaning towards him.

He laughed and looked at me. "I think it does," he said nodding.

I went back to sharpening the stick when I CHOPPED MY FINGER OFF! 

Just kidding, I only got a cut, but I ignored it. A little blood ain't gonna hurt anyone right?

There was a cracking of twigs behind us and I tilted my head back again to see Rick watching us.

"I found Watson," I said smiling. 

Rick looked at me like I said something in Alien then at Daryl.

"I was thinking we could actually make this place safe," Rick said putting his hands on his hips in a cowboyish way.

"How safer could it be?" Daryl asked. "We're in the middle of the woods."

"Exactly," Rick said, "We don't know what's out there. There could be walkers, there could be bandits."

"Or deadly squirrels!" I said clawing in the air with my fingers.

"Maybe," Rick said gesturing his hand out to me for a brief moment.

I continued sharpening sticks while they talked of making it better.

~

I walked along the empty road, nothing insight but more concrete and even more trees.

My feet ached from walking for so long and my stomach growled from not eating all day.

Sweat drenched over me and I couldn't cool down.

A crack of thunder sounded above me and I looked up into the light blue sky that began to darken.

Soft rain came down, then harder, and harder. I took out a silver metal water-bottle and unscrewed the top, making sure the rain filled 

"This'll do for now," I whispered to myself.

It began to pour harder and I got completely drenched, not a single inch of my body still dry.

I scurried away to the woods, not caring where I was going as long as it was dry.

Sharp and harsh winds blew at me, making me shiver and parts of my clothes freeze.

I reached a small, unoccupied cabin in the woods about ten minutes later. I t had dark brown walls, a blackish-brownish roof, and a musty, dirt-covered door.

I tried to open the door but it was stuck.

I stepped back a couple of feet and planted my feet in the mud. I held my upper-arm up and rushed the door.

It opened with a crack and I stumbled in. I slammed the door shut and rubbed my bleeding arm.

I took a nearby dresser and moved it up against the door to make sure no 'intruders' busted through while I was sleeping.

I groaned with every shove of the dresser, my arm bleeding more and more each time.

With a final push it collided with the door knob and I hit my side right on the edge of the dresser.

I yelped and fell to the ground in pain. I shuddered and slowly stood up, makin gmy way towards the small bed in the corner.

I took my soaking clothes off, only leaving on my under-garments, and slid into the fluffy, warm bed.

I rolled into the sheets like a burrito and shivered all through the night, not even bothering to make a fire or anything.

~

Day came and the raining and crashing stopped, making for a peaceful morning.

I slipped out of bed and put on a semi-dry set of clothes from my backpack. I took the belt and machete-holster form my soaked jeans on the ground and slipped it into the new pair.

I put my wet hair in the back of my shirt and grabbed an old, torn up, dirty, hunter's jacket that lied on a chair in the corner of the room. 

I put my backpack on, then my crossbow, then finally my gun in my pocket.

I leaned against the heavy oak dresser and pushed with all my might.

It slid easier than I thought and I slipped in some water that seeped through the cracks of the door.

I grabbed onto the top of the dresser and I pulled down a metal tray. It landed on top of my head and sent dented army / camping cups everywhere.

I sighed, rubbed my head then put my hand on the cold, brass doorknob.

With a slight creek, it opened and let a blast of cold, wet air into the small cabin.

I crinkled my noise at the smell of rotting bodies. 

Everywhere were walker bodies, some whole, some half, some just even limbs. 

Trees were snapped in half and strewn across the small clearing.

I sighed and stepped outside, my foot making a soft squish in the mud.

"Come at me world! I survived last night, I can survive again!" I said putting my arms in the air.

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As always heres a chapter on Wednesday, I had ot cut it a bit short since my dad picked me up from the library early.

Hope you enjoyed!