I'm With You ➝ Daryl Dixon

the days before.

one.

tw: suicide attempt

The running felt like it would never end. Her nimble and wobbly feet dragged her up the forested hillside, her boots were heavy under the crisp fallen branches and leaves of the woodland floors. Her chest heaved deeply as she coughed, her palms sweaty as she clambered up the woodland hills, desperate to create more room between her and the City. Her hair stuck to her head as she continued running. The sounds of the dead no longer ringing in her ears but fear still coursing through her veins wildly.

Sunlight hit her face harshly as she came into a clearing, the rockiness of the hills seeming to flatten out as she dropped to the floor. She was relieved upon escaping the last herd but the daunting realisation she was now all alone in the world hit her immediately after, leaving her shaky and tearful.

Atlanta was supposed to be safe.

When she caught her breath she took off her backpack. It was a big camping rucksack, but it was sparse - she hadn't been able to grab much when the dead took over. She didn't have much to begin with. She searched through her belongings frantically; A couple changes of clothes, a few bottles of water, some canned food and trail mix, a rolled-up sleeping bag, and the all-important medication. That was all she had in this world now.

Pulling out her inhaler she used it a couple of times as she pondered her situation. She knew she couldn't stay there. The dead would eventually find her, breathlessly sat against an old oak tree. She didn't think the idea was all too bad – slipping away. She thought maybe she could find somewhere high nearby, keep climbing up this range until she got to the top and just end it there. It would be better than going out like the rest. It would be on her time. 

White lilies scattered the dark ground around her, covering the rough roots of the tree she sat nestled under. 'How cruel it is to have something so beautiful born into a world so ugly,' she thought.

Eventually, she picked herself back up and slowly hobbled amongst the trees, not knowing which way to go and which way to avoid, only that if she heard a noise to go in the opposite direction. As she walked, images of her father and brothers came into her head. She wondered if they were safe, if they'd survived the outbreak back home in Maryland. 

The sun was setting and she had been walking for hours up and down the mountainy nature reserve off of Interstate 85. Not a person dead or alive in site for miles.

When she finally came to a huge water creek at the clearing of the forest she was delirious and felt more exposed, the lack of shrubbery making her feel vulnerable to any of the dead that could be stalking around, hunting for fresh flesh to chew on. If she wasn't feeling like her world was crashing in around her should would happily have gone for a swim, caught a fish, built a fire. But with the images of her Aunt's dead carcass reanimating to attack her, life lost behind soulless eyes, she didn't feel like enjoying nature. Nature didn't seem all that nice anymore.

There was an old wooden bridge up past the lake. It hung high over the mountainy range of the reserve. She walked to it, taking off her backpack and throwing it just off of the bridge. She took out the crumpled family picture that she had neatly tucked away in the back pocket of her jeans. It was her smiling amongst her mother, father and brothers. She kissed the picture, looking longingly after it as she placed it with her backpack and walked over to the bridge. 

The sides of the bridge were like any others, wooden and easy to climb. And that's what she did. The sun got lower as she swung her legs off the side, letting them dangle as she watched the orange embers of the sky fizzle out into nothingness. The hues of blues grew deeper and deeper as she let out a shaky breath. She was scared, a coward. 'Anything is better than this.' She thought, closing her eyes and shuffling her body forward bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

And just as she was about to let her body fall into the abyss below: she heard it. Him. The sounds of hurried footsteps on the gravel and muffled words that her confused mind wouldn't seem to hear. She looked to where the voice had come from, her vision blared by tears she didn't notice had been falling.

He moved closer to her and spoke again but she still couldn't seem to make out his words. Almost as if any form of communication couldn't register in her mind. Like a ringing in her ears.

"It's a damn cold night," He said, a southern drawl on his deep voice. 

She cried. Hard. She let herself feel it. The exhaustion, the loss, the betrayal, the fear.

And just before everything seemed to go black she felt an arm wrap around her frame, pulling her from the edge of the bridge and into open arms.

"I got you. I'm with you. I got you."