"Her getting out man, that had nothing to do with me. I left her to die! I may hate that girl of yours, but she is a survivor."
Cassie Grimes never thought she'd see her family again, but when she met a young couple in a pharmacy, her luck changed.
...
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In which our hero makes camp.
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Eight months. The group had been on the road for eight long months - scavenging for scraps, running at the first sign of trouble. Whilst everyone else were completely on edge, Cassie was rather comforted by the impermanence - it kept her alert, alive. Everyone had grown a thicker skin, more weary of their survival than they were back at the farm. The group had gotten much closer during the cold, hard month - and they were now more of a family than just a band of unlikely friends.
The kids were closer still, Rudy and Cassie electing to take Beth under their wing, taking care of her the same way they did Carl, or would've done Minnow or John. After her injuries healed, and she wasn't a liability anymore, Cassie joined in on as many runs or clearings as she could, finding solace in the somewhat repetitive - but still exhilarating - tasks.
Both swords clutched tightly, one sheathed on her back, the other in a ready position in front of her, Cassie readied herself for whatever was in the house. She wasn't in the least worried, her concern for whatever lie ahead similar to watching your favourite movie again - you'd seen it all before, and yet the journey still entices you.
A simple kick from her father brought the door crashing inward, and the group soon began their assault. Deftly, Rick shot two walkers in his path, storming through the house as the others followed his lead.
A quick check to make sure her brother was safe, and staying with their father as he was told, Cassie followed Rudy down to the dingy basement. Their stomps echoed through the stony structure, covering the low groan of the walker at the bottom of the stairs.
Cassie slid her sword into it's skull as if it were instinct, a wet squelch releasing a small splatter onto her shirt. She flinched, turning to face her friend, still at the top of the stairs gaping at the walker with an open mouth.
"Good job." He nodded, shaking his gun slightly in his hands. His discomfort in killing the dead up close was obvious, as was his gratefulness to have his friend there. He could easily shoot a walker from fifty paces, but the strings of his heart wouldn't allow him to do it from two.
The duo moved quickly, checking through the dusted cabinets, eager to leave the damp room. There was an ungodly smell, something that reminded Cassie not of walkers, but human desperation - blood, piss, sick. Something that hadn't died peacefully.
Just by the boiler, there was a small yellow door, faded with wear. She moved closer, noticing the brown flicks of dried blood just by the handle. The smell was worsening, only increasing the young woman's morbid curiosity.
Running her hand along the chipped wood, she sheathed her sword, placing both her hands on the bloody handle. With a few grunts of effort, the door finally gave way, revealing walker snarling in a rocking chair.
