Zakaria: The Walking Dead

Chapter One: A Gift & Awkwardness

Zakaria POV:

So, Atlanta was a crap storm. So many fucking walkers everywhere. Ran into a group though. Most of them seemed okay. Except for Merle. Was actually kinda glad when the cop, Rick, handcuffed him. The ass kept staring at me like a piece of meat or a puzzle he needed to figure out.

I managed to fuck up my left leg at one point. I don't think it got broken but I am pretty sure I fucked up a muscle or something. I can barely bend it or put a lot of weight on it without it aching or collapsing under me. Glenn found me a cane not too long after he found me laid up in a supermarket eating aspirins.

Brownie point for Merle, the ass shared some oxi with me. Along with calling me a pussy.

Their camp was decent. A ways away from the city and they had an older man with goggles sitting on top of an RV to keep watch for any walkers.

The Shane guy gave me bad vibes but he hasn't really done anything to piss me off. Rick was reunited with his wife and son though. But his old friend Shane didn't seem too happy. Whatever, not my drama.

The blond girls, Andrea and Amy, seemed okay. Maybe a bit soft, but Andrea seems to be getting thicker skin as the days go by.

Carol reminds me a lot of my mother. Being controlled and threatened into submission. And I've noticed the bruises she has on her arms and sides sometimes when she moves a certain way and the sleeves and/or shirt tail ride up. If I catch Ed doing anything like that to Carol or their daughter Sophia, he won't need to worry about walkers anymore.

There were a couple more handfuls of people, but Daryl drew my attention the most.

The arrogant and violent attitude he showed towards Rick and everyone else was obviously a protective habit he had built up over the years. And considering his southern voice and the way he hunted, he was either from the south or raised in the sticks.

He probably doesn't know he does this, but whenever someone approaches him too fast, Daryl flinches. Not in a dramatic or obvious way. But his jaw clenches and his fingers dig into the palms of his hands when there is a conflict he can't resolve with a fist or a bolt.

I haven't spoken to him much. Aside from running into each other while hunting in the woods, we don't interact much. We usually make brief eye contact and nod when we see each other in the woods or elsewhere in camp, but he doesn't typically talk much. And I haven't had the guts to approach him myself to talk.

Despite offers made by a few folks in camp to let me sleep in their tent or the RV floor, I climbed a tree every night. It was maybe twenty trees from Daryl's tent and about five trees from camp. Climbing is fun with a fucked up leg, but hey, I can work on my arm muscles.

I kept my supplies tied to a big branch near the one I slept on. I had a rope that I tied myself to the limb with and a green fuzzy throw blanket to cover up with when the nights got cool. I slept with my hatchet in my lap. My bow and quiver hanging on another branch, my knives still in their hiding places or sheaths on my body. My cane was tied to my backpack, hanging with my duffle of supplies.

☆Time Skip☆

Daylight was approaching. I had been up for at least two hours. I'd figured out everyone's routines within the last few days after the failed attempt at retrieving Merle.

I was swimming in the quarry, my clothes resting on the rocks a foot from the water. I often come out here when I wake up. Bad dreams kept me up most of the time anyway so I've learned to make use of my lack of ability to rest. And I like to think this will help strengthen my bad leg.