I Walk Alone

OK, just a quick note, this is going to be like the video game The Walking Dead: Season Two. Here's the plot twist. It's not going to be in Clementine's point of view. I'm entering in my character. You'll meet her in a second. Teehee. :3

Whelp, I hope you like the story!

Jussy cx

I looked back, shivering and panting, running for my life. Moans of hunger rang around me for miles, and the walkers were encasing me in a circle. I bumped into something behind me. It was Clem and Sarah. My eyes went wide and I hugged the little girls I've lost so long ago. Sarah was bawling her eyes out, and I didn't have to tell her to shush this time. We were trapped.

How did we get here? Oh, let me tell you about that...

It was about a good week ago. I was walking along the woods, my dark pixie cut ruffled. My scuffed combat boots clumping across the dirt, kicking up dust on my worn skinny jeans. My black tank top was poking out just under my white graphic tee that read Cool Kids Don't Dance.

My blue jacket was zipped halfway, and my hood was flipped up. I looked like your typical teenager trying to survive the damn apocalypse. I had one hand swinging at my right side, my left was my sword arm. And by sword, I meant machete.

I was swinging it around, doing tricks that left countless scars on my arm and knuckles when I was learning how to do them. It was stained dark red, rusted to a black since the river couldn't wash off the blood that had dried before I found it.

I sighed, remembering the days before I was pushed to the north. When I thought we were going to survive this. I remember the day we all had met, the day that the apocalypse had started. The weeks it took us to get to Savannah.

The day Jordan Kalypso had looked at me like a hero before he plunged to his death in Savannah.

| Flashback |

I stumbled around like the undead until I had found a train. There was two people there, discussing a baby. They looked at me like I was crazy. Hell, maybe I was. I looked at them with pain in my eyes.

"Omid, should we trust her? I mean, she looks like she's lost." the woman with a white and purple jacket asked.

"Well, I don't know. Hey! What's your name little miss?" the short man asked, his brown jacket tattered.

I only broke down in tears. The woman gave me a look of sympathy as she knelt down next to me.

"Don't worry, sweetie. We'll take care of you..."

"Christa. We need to find Clem now..."

Her and Omid had shared a look of doubt, but they had both seemed to trust me. Apparently, Christa knew how to tell of tears were real or if they were a facade.

We traveled for a day, then Omid stopped us.

"Christa, do you see what I see?"

He pointed out to a small figure in red by a tree. It seemed to be startled by our acknowledgement, and it disappeared behind the tree.

"I-I'll go check it out. It looks like a survivor." I volunteered, and I ran down the hill and halfway across the field before Omid could protest.

I walked the rest of the way, for about thirty minutes. When I reached the tree and the log, I could hear sobbing. I looked behind the tree, and stepped back just in time.

A bullet whizzed by, a small girl behind the gun.

"DON'T HURT ME!" she managed to say before she collapsed in tears. I copied what Christa had done for me yesterday, and stroked her hair silently.