Stumbling upon Alexandria, Reese recounts the events up until now. Meeting Rick's group at the prison, scavenging, sickness, and attacks while creating an attachment to the stoic Bowman.
“I was in hell. I wished for death that never came.” She sighs rubbing her temple at the thought surprised she had revealed that to a complete stranger
“Did you eat? You ate of course.” she says, almost as an unsure question.
“Ventured out for water. Built a fire, boiled it. I mainly ate rats.” She answers. Deanne swallows thickly.
“How long before you met the others?”
“Nine…ten months.” She answers unsure herself.
~.~
She woke up, took a sip of whiskey she had found on one of her runs, and exhaled, absorbing the burn in the back of her throat. Stretching her aching limbs and getting dressed in some riot gear she took off an infected.
It didn’t seem to help him anymore.
Sheathing a hunting knife to her side loading up her handgun that she never had to use, but took with her just in case. She climbed down the guard tower’s ladder, running past the field of infected into the building, and killed as much as she could. Looking over everybody while going over her checklist.
Greasy black hair, cheap tattoos on the arms, 5’10, long face. Not meeting her mental checklist, she marked the forehead with an X.
Rinse, wash, and repeat.
Everyday
For months.
Taking down about ten a day or until she couldn’t feel her arms, it felt like she wasn’t even making a dent. There were always more waiting for her.
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It’s mid-morning. Nibbling on the scarf of collected dandelions with bites of charred rat meat mixed into it. Dandelions were edible, right? She swears she read that in a survival guide somewhere. Peering out of the window, frozen at the sight of people making their way to the outer fence. Exiting the door to the open railing where her rifle was stationed. Looking through the scope. Five men four women she counted. All of them look worse for wear. Preparing to put them out of their miserable existence.
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Ready…aimed…and…
Her finger stops as a young boy catches her eye. He looked to be THEIR age if they were still alive. Sheriff’s hat that was a size too big on his head. Flashes of their small bodies in tiny caskets. Her vision blurs, her grip trembling as she grits her teeth, lowering the weapon and resting her head against the rail. Gasping for breath, she grounded herself. She slung the rifle onto her back, collecting every artifact that she had brought into her bag and slinging it onto her back. Climbing down the ladder and keeping an eye on the group, we made our way over to the fence. Cutting through the links with expertise. She had to give it to them. It was smarter than climbing. Making her way into the building and continuing her raid.
~.~
Yanking her knife out of an infected skull, she staggered back into a closed cell door, panting heavily for breath. She wiped the congealed blood from her face with her arm, knowing that the effort was useless. She seemed to always be dripping with blood. Looking over the dead body, the arms were clean of any tattoos, which was an easy disqualifier. Carving an X into its forehead. Head snapping towards a beam of light coming from around the pitch black corridor. Quickly standing, she slipped into a cell, closing the door with little sound, hearing the thundering footsteps of the group. Stopping right at her hiding place.
“There’s another one.”
“Is someone else here?” a feminine voice asks with uneasiness in her voice.
“It could be old.”
“It’s fresh. Blood’s still wet. This was recent.” Pause. “Very resent.”
“What do we do?” He trembled. He was younger than the rest.
“We don’t know where they are.”
“They’re obviously dangerous.” The woman has reasons.
“Their killing walkers, same as us.” the voice tried to calm obviously the one callin’ the shots.
“No, they’re huntin’ someone,” the gruff voice deduces. “The X’s. They’re markers.”
