Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

This is Not Our Alamo

I was wheezing hard as I raced through the woods. My legs felt like lead blocks, but I was almost back to the last mountain, sorry hill, before reaching the house. They said sweat was just fat crying. If that was the case I was freakin' balling like a baby.

My clothes were drenched and my throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, that is, if I had any spit left to swallow. I'd long since drank the last of my water and the effects of dehydration, exhaustion and heat stroke were quickly becoming an issue. My body felt terrible, like a physical manifestation of all the bad relationships I had throughout my life.

So pretty bad.

Glancing at my watch I noted it had taken me a little over an hour to make my way back. Eyeing the last hill I almost started crying, hands on my knees, trying and failing to catch my breath. Panting, I started the ascent, promptly slipping on the pine needles littering the ground. Summer had long since given way to fall. Then, because I was thinking about falling I promptly fell. Alanis Morissette's voice crooning in my head, isn't it ironic.

No bitch, it wasn't, it hurt.

My hands and knees banged against the ground as sweat dripped down my face and into my eyes. I pressed the heels of my hand to my eyes, grimacing at the feel of the salty liquid.

I was drained, dog-tired, pooped, and every other synonym I could think of for about to pass out. I was so tired, my tired was tired, but I refused to stop, continuing up the foothill on my hands and knees. One hand, then another, slow and steady. I had to keep going. I had to warn them. There was danger lurking just miles away.

There was a huge difference between five miles on a treadmill at 24 Hour Fitness while you eyed the cute guy doing squats in the corner, and five miles on uneven terrain, in the woods while killing walkers, and carrying enough supplies and weapons to invade China singlehandedly. Take into account the small issue of malnourishment and I was quickly getting a real taste of what Pheidippides must have felt like right before he keeled over. Too bad I wasn't delivering good news.

Instead I would mumble something along the lines of, "Move your ass or we're dead". Such a downer.

Bad circumstances surrounded by shitty options. Story of my life. I should be used to it by now. If every day was a gift today was the equivalent of getting socks.

At the crest of the hill I paused, looking down at the house that looked so close and yet so very far away. I fought the urge to hurl my body down the steep slope just to avoid walking, but the last thing I needed was a gunshot wound because they mistook me for a walker, Andrea, or a broken leg because I was stupid.

Unfortunately my body had other ideas as fatigue caused me to stumble despite my efforts to stay upright. My momentum was unstoppable and sent me skidding down the hill in a heap of flailing arms and legs. When I finally stopped tumbling I was at the bottom of the hill gasping for air and staring into the sky, my vision blurry. I took stock of my body and realized quickly almost everything hurt, but I couldn't remember the last time that wasn't the case so everything seemed normal on that front. Thankfully nothing felt broken. My legs had taken the brunt of the abuse and felt like they had the equivalent of a hangover from a long night spent drinking. I attempted to sit up, but only managed to raise my head off the ground for a second before it flopped back down.

"Alex!" Rick screamed.

I heard his rapid footsteps approaching marked by the crunching of leaves.  He crouched next to me, his head popping into my field of vision as he inspected me for injuries.

"I'm not bit," I told him, answering his unspoken question even as his eyes continued to roam my body confirming the statement.

"Did you fall?" Glenn asked, Maggie hovering over his shoulder, concern etched on her face.