MEMORIES

001

                              
                                Disclaimer
                  Not everything is accurate

                                         ~

The stench of rotting flesh clung to the humid Atlanta air, suffocating and relentless. The faint groans of walkers echoed through the city's empty streets, a constant reminder that danger was always lurking. I crouched behind the rusted car, gripping the knife so tightly my knuckles ached. The moans of the dead echoed through the streets, low and guttural, as they dragged themselves through the alleys. Atlanta felt like a graveyard, and I was just another ghost trying to survive.

The sound of gunfire ripped through the air, loud enough to make me flinch. My first instinct was to run, but I froze instead, my heart hammering in my chest. Gunfire meant people. Living, breathing people. That wasn't something I'd seen in weeks.

I edged closer to the noise, keeping low and out of sight. My sneakers barely made a sound against the cracked pavement as I darted from one shadow to another.

Then I saw them.

Three people—two men and a woman—cornered near a department store. Walkers were closing in fast. One of the men, wearing a sheriff's uniform, swung a baseball bat like his life depended on it. The other man fired a pistol, taking down walkers with every shot. The woman swung a crowbar with brutal precision, her face set in determination.

I should've left. It wasn't my fight. But when the sheriff stumbled, losing his grip on the bat, something inside me snapped.

"Hey!" I yelled, picking up a chunk of concrete and throwing it as hard as I could. The rock slammed into the head of the nearest walker, its grotesque face snapping toward me.

"Get inside!" the woman screamed, motioning toward the department store entrance.

I didn't think twice. My legs carried me forward, dodging the outstretched arms of the dead. My chest heaved as I sprinted through the door, and the guy with the pistol slammed it shut behind me.

Inside, I turned to face the group, trying to catch my breath. They all stared at me like I was some kind of alien.

"Who the hell are you?" the sheriff asked, his voice deep and rough but not completely unfriendly.

I straightened up, gripping my knife like a lifeline. "Audrey," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I heard the noise. Thought you could use a hand."

The guy with the pistol—Glenn, as he introduced himself—gave me an impressed look. "You're brave for a kid."

I bristled. "I'm not a kid. I'm fifteen."

Andrea, the woman, gave me a once-over. "Where are your parents?" she asked.

"Out of town," I replied curtly. "Been gone since... before."

Rick—at least, that's what the sheriff said his name was—nodded slowly, his gaze softening a little. "You've been surviving on your own?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my stomach churned at the memory of those first few weeks. "You'd be surprised what you can do when you don't have a choice."

Rick exchanged a glance with Andrea and Glenn before looking back at me. "Alright," he said. "Stick with us for now. It's safer that way."

I nodded, adjusting the straps of my backpack. "Fine by me."

Glenn gave me a crooked smile as we started moving. "So, Audrey, what's your story?"

I smirked faintly, keeping my eyes on the path ahead. "It's a long one," I said. "Maybe I'll tell you someday—if we live that long."