The Walking Dead: Three Knives (a fanfiction, based off of Season 3 & 4)

Chapter 1- Three Knives

Knives.

Three knives was the reason why I had survived the impending apocalypse, which led to three lives: One, who I was before everything happened. Two, the short time period I spent with the group. Three, who I am now.

Three seemed to be the number that led to everything, the number that's existence let me survive this long. I have never been one for conspiracies and hocus pocus, but there was just something about that number. I think having this blind thought is what keeps me sane. When one has something to think about in the end of the world, it keeps your mind healthy. Well. As healthy as it can get anyway.

I don't have a name, and I have no desire to label myself now. I suppose I did have a name once- but the meaning is long gone. What's the point in keeping a name when the people who once called you by it are dead? What's the point when there's nobody left?

I suppose I shouldn't say there's nobody left. After all, I've been keeping my eyes on a camp off the highway for about a month now. They don't know me- they barely know I exist. I just watch them. One father, an uncle, a mother, two adult brothers, and an eleven year old girl. I never care to keep tabs on passing travelers, but I had a divine part for children. Maybe it's that natural maternal instinct that female's get around the young, but it didn't make much sense cos I reckon I'm barely old enough to be a mother myself.

I'm only fifteen.

The girl did sense my presence though. In fact, she had tried telling the group once about me, but they brushed it off as young adolescent nonsense. After all, all the young'un saw was my shadow cast across a tree. A living shadow. Not one that had a mindless walk and eager instinct to savagely kill. And after many times of an intuitive sixth sense, the girl could sense any time I'd come. One day, hidden in the pines of a fifty foot pine tree, I heard her call me. Her tiny voice had rung out, "Angel? Please keep my group safe. I've seen your shadow 'nd I want you to know that I'm thankful for you keepin our group safe. The others don't know about you, but I do. 'Nd I wantcha to know I'm real greatful fer you killin the walkers. Thank ya for always watchin over me 'nd bein my guardian angel."

I know this was directed at me, because who else would kill off the, as they would call them, walkers, when they neared camp? Countless times one of the men shouted from the deer stand, "I see a group o' walkers comin in!" but just as they entered the scene they found the walker's dead, or no walkers at all if I had time to hide the bodies. But only the girl caught on. The men all thought they died from natural causes, simply because that's what I'd always made it seem like. One got pushed over a cliff- one tripped and a stick punctured through its brain. It'd always be something that looked incidental.

I watch the group now about sixty feet up directly above their camp. It's the closest I've ever been to it, and the more I see the more I pity them. There's all of one tent, a small manmade fire pit, and three backpack's worth of petty supplies. Though I had none of this myself, I still pitied them. I knew how to survive this. They didn't. They haven't had the experience I've had surveying the world up high with my knives to protect me. Given, they had one cross bow, three kitchen knives, and a few fish spears, I was actually skilled with what I had. The only good crossbow shooter was the uncle, and he was even off most of the time. Me and my knives were one person. It was another limb I had learnt to use. If I didn't know how to throw knives, I'd have been dead the first day of the apocalypse.

But I'm not, so in the meantime, I'll stay alone or watch over children. To me, children were the only hope in the world, before and after the outbreak. I think they always will be with their different outlooks. A child's outlook was everything compared to an adult's blind arrogance and false convictions. Adults sometimes needed to see the world through a child's eyes.

"Hank I ain't seen nothing to eat within miles. Ain't rabbits, turkey, mice. Nothin. I seen one, but walker got to it 'fore I did," said one of the brothers.

"I reckon we try and scoop the river, Addy. There should be some trout worth shootin up."

Though I'm originally from New Hampshire, I have adapted to the Southern talk. The thick accents were hard for me to understand at first, but even my mind has started talking like a southerner. I catch myself mumbling in different accents sometimes from the people I've observed in the trees.

"There ain't trout in the river. Just dead fish. Somethin is affectin the water. Dill! Sho think we shouldn't be drinkin from the spring anymore... Everythin's turnin to poison."

At the mention of his name, Dill, the uncle, turns around, "Boy, nonsense! Where else we gun get our water from?"

I furrow my eyebrows. For a bunch of country hicks they sure didn't know much about hunting. Even from here I can spot several different birds to hunt. Decent sized ones at that. I can also see a nest full of eggs in a bush near their camp that they haven't come across yet.

The little girl emerges from the tent.

"Uncle Dill? I'm hungry," she groans, holding her stomach.

My heart droops at the sound of her hungered voice.

"I know, Isabelle. We'll find somethin soon."

Dill flashes Hank and Addy a worried glance. She needed food in her system. So did the mother, who was five months pregnant sitting outside the tent. I could barely stand to look at her. How could she bring another child into this world? Call me blunt, but how can one even have sex cross their mind when in this situation? She made me irritable and curse profane words under my breath.

Quietly I step into the next tree three feet away. I could be silent if I was slow. Luckily for me, these pines were tall, well covered, and close together, but one branch rustled. I gaze down to see Isabelle stare intently at the tree. She cannot see me, but I see a smile peak the corners of her lips as she grasped her teddy bear. She knew her guardian was here, and by the look on her face she has hope.

I return the friendly smile, though she cannot see. I retreat through the trees until I am well out of earshot, then climb down. I'd gather food for the girl, but only the girl. But I couldn't make it obvious. I couldn't hunt something and drop it in the camp. They wouldn't eat in in case of infection, but perhaps if I found some berries? There is a berry bush nearby. I know they aren't poisonous cos I have eaten them numerous times. Perhaps I could break off a branch and place it near the camp? They wouldn't really question it.

I find the patch of berries and break of a decent sized branch, enough to feed the girl for a good three days if she didn't gobble them right away. I start to head on back when I hear Isabelle's voice. She hasn't wandered this far out on her own before, and I start to become frantic. Couldn't that damn pregnant woman watch her kid? I set the berries down and with a stick carve in small letters "Angel."

I skimper up the nearest pine before she comes into sight. She examines the trees and picks at flowers on the bushes. I know she's found the berries when I hear a squeal of delight. I climb further up the tree when I finally look back down. There's a smile planted on her face and I hear her gasp, "Thank you, Angel." She looks up at the sky and smiles, then erases my word. She skips back to her camp with the berries.

I smile.

I can't remember the last time I'd truly smiled, but it felt good. I settle in my homemade canopy I made high above the trees that allowed me to gaze up at the stars at night. It was starting to get dark out, and sighed. Today was a routine.

And tomorrow would just be another day.

Or so I'd thought.