Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Prequel - Seed

The Walking Dead Original Soundtrack - Theme Song

by Bear McCreary

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Nelly

I crouch behind a tree, balancing on the balls of my feet. My breath steady and controlled. My eyes lock onto the small, furry creature, oblivious as it scrounges for breakfast among the fallen leaves. Survival instincts sharpen my senses, honing in on every detail.

My right hand tightens around the knife, the cool metal a familiar comfort. I bend my knee, raising my arm behind my head, squinting my left eye to zero in on my target. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip, the taste of salt grounding me in the moment.

One.

Two.

Three.

My shoulder drives my arm forward, and I release the knife, watching as it slices through the air in a precise, deadly arc.

The blade finds its mark, burying itself deep in the rabbits eyes. It drops instantly, lifeless.

I exhale slowly, only now realizing I'd been holding my breath. My movements are calculated, almost mechanical, as I step out from behind the tree. I approach my prize, crouching down to retrieve the knife. The blood is warm as I wipe it away with a small rag before slipping the rabbit into my backpack, the weight of necessity pressing against my back.

Now that I am no longer focused on my own breakfast, I pull out my map from my back pocket. The suns glare makes me squint as I unfold the paper. My finger traces the lines until it finds the red dot marking my last location. I take the pen from my back pocket and use my teeth to pull the cap off, holding it between my molars as I draw a line across the area I just covered.

It's still early morning, but i've made good progress.

I decide to keep heading west, quickly folding the map before unclipping the nearly empty water bottle hanging from my backpacks zipper. I take a sip, though it's more of a tease to my parched throat than any real relief.

The rifle hanging across my torso shifts as I swing it into a ready position, scanning the treeline as I start walking again, every sense on high alert.  Out here, letting your guard down means death.

...

After what feels like hours of trudging through the dense forest, the trees finally begin to thin, revealing a clearing up ahead. I pause, narrowing my eyes at the sight before me. A small cabin stands in the middle of the open space, its white walls marred by time and neglect. The paint has chipped away, exposing patches of blackened wood beneath. The doors hang wide open, swaying slightly in the breeze as if daring me to step inside.

I circle the cabin, keeping my steps light and my breath steady. My eyes sweep the terrain, picking out the only signs of life - if you can call it that.

Two dead ones, their skin sagging and gray, scratch mindlessly at the back door.

I drop the rifle to the ground, the weight leaving my shoulders as I draw my blades from the sheaths on my back. I move closer, one foot in front of the other, staying in their blind spots until i'm just a breath away.

With a swift motion, I grab the nearest one by its shirt collar, yanking it toward me. My knife plunges into its skull with a sickening crunch, and I let its body collapse at my feet. The other one growls, stumbling forward as I free my blade and bury it in its head. It goes down just as easily.