Just Another Dead Girl | TWD (season 1)

𝐈𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝗼𝐟𝐟
𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒,
𝐓𝐰 - ʰᵘʳᵗᶠᵘˡ ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ, ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ˢᵐᵘᵗ,

𝐼𝑆𝐴𝐵𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐸 𝑃𝑂𝑉: 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑦.. 𝐼𝑓 𝐼 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡.. 𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒..

Just another dead girl or 1

𝑅𝐼𝐶𝐾 & 𝐼𝑆𝐴𝐵𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐸 𝑃𝑂𝑉:
They finally reach the outskirts of Atlanta. One side of the highway stretches empty and lifeless, while the other is a graveyard of wrecked and abandoned cars.

Twisted metal gleams under the harsh sunlight.
Rick keeps the horse steady, guiding it down the empty side of the road, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Isabelle rides behind him, arms looped tight around his waist, her head low as she takes in the devastation.

The city looms closer.

As they enter Atlanta, the streets are a ghost town—trash scattered across sidewalks, cars left at odd angles, windows shattered, distant crows cawing overhead.

Rick leads the horse carefully down the street, past the wreckage of helicopters, mangled buses, and rusted-out tanks.

The world feels dead.

From inside a half-collapsed bus, walkers start to stir. Their heads turn.

Their bodies follow.

Isabelle tenses, instinctively pulling her gun from the holster on her hip.

Rick notices, reaching back with one hand to gently push the barrel down.

"Steady," he murmurs under his breath. "It's just a few. Nothing we can't outrun."

Isabelle grits her teeth but nods. She tucks the gun back against her side.

They ride past, hooves echoing eerily off the empty buildings.

Rick slows the horse to a halt.
"Okay... whoa, whoa, whoa."

He stares up at a tank parked haphazardly in the middle of the street. A dead soldier slumps against the hatch, crows pecking at the remains.

Isabelle wrinkles her nose but stays silent.

Rick nudges the horse onward, glancing up just in time to see a helicopter cutting across the sky in the distance.

Without thinking, Rick urges the horse faster, following the helicopter's path.
"Come on, boy. Come on."

They turn the next corner—and freeze.
A swarm of walkers fills the street ahead, shoulder to shoulder, their rotting faces lifting at the scent of living flesh.

Isabelle tightens her grip on Rick, wide-eyed.
"What about this?" she says, voice sharp with panic. "How in the hell we gonna outrun this, Sheriff?"
Rick doesn't answer right away.

He yanks the reins hard, spinning the horse around.
"Hold on!" he barks, kicking the horse into a gallop as the herd shambles after them.

The walkers shuffle after them, a sea of death moving faster than it should.

Rick yanks the reins hard, the horse whinnying in fear, but when they double back, the road is already blocked by another horde.

"Shit," Rick mutters, eyes scanning for an exit.
The walkers close in—too fast, too many.