(DarylxOCxNegan) A medium prior to the apocalypse, aggressive outsider Eleanor has always had an abnormal connection with the dead. But in this new world, Ellen is forced to rely on her survival skills and nerve to withstand another monster entirely...
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Broken glass crunched into the pavement beneath the woman's boots as she took long, quiet strides.
The hot, Californian summer sun, now high in the sky, beat down harshly on the city below, and the woman stopped to catch her breath, pulling a flask out of her pocket.
The air was hot and dry, a thick cloud of dust blanketing the city. The silence was eerie, and the empty, desolate streets were run down from a decade of misuse. Plants reclaimed formerly neat and manicured lawns, vines crawling from beneath stone and consuming pavement in its path.
The woman's watchful eyes scanned the aged and faded street signs in front of her, before turning left down an alleyway.
She let her feet lead the way, old habits and patterns slowly resurfacing to the forefront of her mind.
The streets were absent of human life and the normal bustle of traffic from a time long since passed. The occasional walkers were few and far between, mainly decayed and hollowed skeletons that littered the sidewalks, starved from a lack of meals or put down long ago.
The woman's feet led her to the clay, adobe-style building on the corner, and up the stairwell rising from the white-washed brick that lined the alley floor.
Her hand stopped before turning the knob, a jittery feeling washing over her.
She stretched her knuckles out before proceeding, whisking the edge away.
She was surprised when she found the door was still locked, the same way she'd left it all those years ago.
Heart-pounding considerably quicker now, the woman pulled a bobby pin from her hair, using it to expertly pick the lock, before entering the home.
The musty scent was the first thing that hit her, before the overwhelming familiarity of it all rushed to greet her.
The decor, the books, the brightly colored pots and pans, the long dead plants on the windowsill.
The woman took in her surroundings, overwhelmed, before she stumbled to her knees, burying her face in her palms and sobbing.
---
The next morning the woman arose and headed deeper into the city, towards the coastline, once vibrant and bustling, teeming with foot traffic and entertainment, now peaceful and calm.
Bright graffiti that once lined the sidewalks and trunks of palm trees had faded, paint now peeling and chipping off the walls of the beachfront properties she passed.
The slight, chilling breeze of the ocean and its wind lapped at the woman's hair. Overhead, gulls cried out. The scent of salt and sea overtook the woman as she walked along the sand covered boardwalk, footsteps leading her to the pier.
The lone woman walked down the mile long pier, the waves beneath the wooden structure gently crashing against the beams.
The woman took in the rolling hills that swept the coastline in the distance, the houses that resided there, and the gentle waves sweeping the beach below, leaving trails of sea foam with the ebb and flow of the tide.
She suddenly looked to her side, like she was about to make a comment, but soon realized what she'd left behind.
The woman pursed her lips instead, and found herself thoughtfully watching the steady climb of the sun along the horizon.
She stayed there, in that moment, relishing in the kiss of the sun and the taste of the sea salt on her tongue.
She didn't notice when a band of thugs approached the end of the pier, until they got out of their vehicles. She heard the doors slam closed behind her and the nearing footsteps along the dock.
She still found herself admiring the cresting of waves and the soothing sights and sounds before her.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
"You lost, chica?"
"Little lady's in the wrong part of town. Heh, didn't you hear? This city belongs to us... Guess that means you belong to us now too."
"Property of the Kings of the Apocalypse, heh."
"She deaf or something?"
"Lady, what are ya, stupid?"
The woman raised a brow, waving a hand nonchalantly at the thugs behind her. "Not now guys, I'm trying to enjoy the view."
One of the men snorted. "You hear this bitch?"
"I'm gonna enjoy the fucking view, when your mouth's around my cock."
"Think you're funny or somethin'?"
"Grab her, Diego."
The woman didn't take her eyes off the waves.
"First, last, and only thing you should know about me: I don't like being touched."
"Fuck you."
The woman finally took her eyes off the horizon line. Her fingers itched, eager for the opportunity to spill blood, reaching slowly for the staff resting against the railing beside her, before she stopped herself.
"Come on, let's go," the man behind her said.
Instead, she opted for her machete.
For the first time in a long time, the woman smiled.
