𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 '𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 - The Walking Dead Fanfic

𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

The best way out is always through. - Robert Frost

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𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟏

It felt like a lifetime since I last heard the sound of a car engine or a laugh echoing through the streets. We'd made our home in abandoned stores along the road, tucked away from the eyes of whatever dangers lurked outside. As I watched Paige cough softly beside me, her small body shivering under the thin blanket I had found, a wave of guilt washed over me. I could only blame myself; if I had packed better for the weather, maybe she wouldn't have caught this cold.

We were getting by, but "okay" didn't quite capture the reality of our existence. Eight months had passed since the world turned upside down, and while we hadn't faced much immediate danger, the emptiness around us felt suffocating. Days bled into one another, and with each sunrise, I felt the weight of survival pressing down harder. We foraged for meals in whatever old stores we could find—canned goods that had somehow escaped the chaos, stale snacks that were left behind, and the occasional fruit that had survived on the trees.

Paige and I had become experts at rummaging through the remnants of the past, but the taste of our meals had grown bland, and I often longed for the warmth of a real home-cooked dinner. Drinking from rivers became our only source of hydration, and I prayed every day that the water was clean enough to keep us healthy. Each sip felt like a gamble, and as I watched Paige's condition worsen, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were on borrowed time.

I spent countless nights worrying about her, the quiet of the world amplifying my fears. I often lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night, straining for any hint of life. The absence of other survivors was unsettling; we had encountered no one since the outbreak began. Was the world truly so empty, or were we just fortunate—or unfortunate—enough to be alone? It was a strange existence, living in the shadows of a world that once bustled with life, yet here we were.

I might sound like a baby, but I missed my mom more than anyone. Even if she let my dad belittle me, I still couldn't shake off the fact that she was missing—or worse, dead. Would she be mad at me for how I'd handled things? Would she blame me for leaving her behind? The questions haunted me, and I found myself longing for her comforting presence, for her laughter that used to fill the house.

My ear still didn't pick up sounds correctly, a constant reminder of that day when everything fell apart. The ringing had become a familiar companion, dulling the world around me. I couldn't explain why it hadn't improved; it just... was. My palm, however, had healed somewhat from the cut the glass had inflicted, though the scar remained—a pale line etched into my skin.

I kept the pocketknife I'd found, even if it was a bit dirty and rusted from the elements. It felt like a lifeline, a small piece of security in a world that had become so uncertain. My shoes were worn down from all the walking we'd done, the soles barely clinging to the fabric. Each step reminded me of the journey we were on, and though the discomfort was a nuisance, it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

The scar on my face, running from my cheekbone to my jawline, was another reminder of the chaos that had become my life. It had healed a bit, but it would never go away entirely. I caught glimpses of it in reflections and dirty mirrors, and each time, it grossed me out.

As we continued walking, I spotted an abandoned warehouse up the road. It stood there, rusted and dilapidated, looking like it could collapse at any moment, but it was better than nothing. We needed somewhere to sleep for the night. A small smile crept onto my face as I gazed at the structure, and I looked down at Paige, who was trudging alongside me.