When The Dead Go Walking [Walking Dead Fanfic]

Chapter 1

"Dad! Daddy, no don't leave me, don't leave me please! I'll get help, I'll get help, just stay with me!" I whimpered into his leather jacket. He had passed out again. "DADDY!"

At least he hadn't been bit, but this was almost as worse. Not only did I have to fend for myself, I had to cover him too. I stood up, sighed, and pulled out a ratty old blanket from the last place we had been out of my bag, and covered him with it. I had no idea if this helped at all, but it made me feel better. I grabbed his revolver out of the gun holster on his hip, and held it shakily in my hands. The closest thing I had ever done to firing a gun was shooting blanks out of a bb gun. My dad was a good shot, hopefully I had his talent, but I prayed I wouldn't need to use it.

With the blazing hot Georgia sun on my back, I inched up his pant leg to reveal a horrid bandaging job, courtesy of me. I peeled back the bandage and grimaced at the gruesome cut on the side of his calf. It wasn't long, but it was deep. I could see the oozing pus coming out of it, and it didn't take a doctor to know that it was infected. I sighed again, and proceeded to change the bandages. I didn't now if it would help much other than preventing it from getting any worse. I cleaned it properly, so the thing he had cut it on must have been pretty dirty to get a result like this. He says he doesn't remember what cut him, but dang it must have been bad.

I froze, and for a moment I thought I heard a car. I looked down the highway and saw nothing there. I let out a maniac laugh. There were no cars, no people, just dead that wants to eat your flesh. By this point everyone was either dead or half way there.  

I guess we were lucky. My mom was in the city visiting with my aunt who had just given birth to twins. Me and my dad were supposed to come up the following week, but we got a call from my mom and aunt saying to stay home, almost four hours away, because there were crazy cannibals running in the streets. That was almost two months ago. Very lucky indeed.

It didn't take long to hit us, but when it did we were ready. Our neighbor, Billy, had a storm cellar and we stayed there for about a month give or take. We had lots of food, lots of water, and lots of ammunition. But, in the end, it didn't do us loads of good. We were over-run, and my dad and I were lucky to make it out with our lives. Billy, not so much. He saved our necks, and I will be forever grateful. *We did so well in the beginning, but I've gotta feeling our luck's about to run out. Soon.*

I heard a car again. I must be going crazy. Dad started to stir and I put my hands on his shoulders, easing him back down into his slumped position against the cement road barrier.

"Easy, tiger," I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't alone anymore.

"Bambi? Hear that?" He mumbled, barley audible.

"Hear what?" I asked him. Was he talking about the distant hum of the car that I heard, or was he having a hallucination?

"Car..." he sputtered out, before fading back into unconsciousness.

"Don't do this," I whispered, but it was too late.

It was defiantly there, though. I could hear it better now, it was a car. And it was positively real. I turned to look down the highway, and there it was. It was a small spec heading out of the city, but it was there, and heading this way. I waved, hopefully they could save us.

It was getting closer and closer. I could tell now that the windows were open just a crack, so I started to yell.

"Help! Help us! My dad is injured! Help! He needs medicine! Help me!" I screamed, and tears were building in my eyes. They were only a few feet away, and they weren't stopping. When they passed I started to bawl. "Help me! Help me! H-help m-me!"