Lonely Soul

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."

High pulse.

Sweaty hands.

Heavy breathing.

My heart thundered, each beat echoing in the charged air. The veins in my body surged with adrenaline, propelling my legs deeper into the forest with an urgency that matched the pounding rhythm in my chest. Every muscle strained as my body performed at its peak, channeling every ounce of energy, and pushing me to the brink of my limits.

The tension in the air mirrored the intensity within, a relentless pursuit pushing me beyond the limits of endurance.

"Fuck," I cursed as soon as I caught a glimpse behind me.

Luck was clearly not on my side. Not that I expected anything else. But the frequency of bad days had seemingly skyrocketed since the world had chosen to end. Panic set in as I scanned my surroundings, desperately seeking an escape from the unfolding debacle. However, the dense cluster of trees offered little visibility, adding to the sense of despair that clung to me.

The sudden sound of a gunshot made me jump, sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins. No chance I'd be easing my pace now. My thighs screamed with the searing pain, a bitter reminder of my disdain for running — something I'd never enjoyed even in the pre-apocalyptic days. The idea of lacing up running shoes and jogging aimlessly for miles had always eluded me.

More shots followed, causing me to pick up my pace once more.

The fact that they were within audible proximity made me even more uncomfortable than the undead at my back. If there was one thing I avoided more than the dead, it was definitely the living.

Without hesitation, I made a sharp turn and changed direction. Branches whipped at my face, leaving unpleasant cuts on my skin, while my legs instinctively propelled me away from the impending danger zone.

I ran.

On and on.

No looking back, only forward. Fear being my greatest motivation.

For minutes I sprinted through the woods like a frightened animal, until an acrid smell crept up my nose. Reflexively, I pulled the bandana, which usually dangled around my neck, over my mouth and nose. Nausea churned within me as my gaze landed on a clearing, revealing a gruesome pile of charred corpses. I stood frozen, fixating on the thick smoke swirling above. It was evident that this fire had not been extinguished for long. The sequence of events — gunshots followed by the macabre display of laid-out bodies — boded ill, casting a shadow of ominous uncertainty.

On high alert, I surveyed my surroundings, treading lightly to muffle the rustle of leaves beneath my boots, while my hand instinctively hovered over the holster of my revolver. Seeking cover behind a bush, I tried to avoid detection, though a sinking feeling in my gut told me that such precaution might be too late.

"Son of a bitch." My words were no more than a low murmur, barely audible and yet I just couldn't help myself.

I had to get out of here, as fast as I could, before my luck ran out for good.

Swiftly, I removed the backpack, extracting the map and compass with practiced ease. The bold, red mark Dad had made around the Center for Disease Control stood out starkly against the otherwise faded map. Studying the path I'd traveled, I couldn't help but be amazed at how far I'd come without getting myself killed. Yet, the question lingered — whether I should feel grateful for still being alive remained uncertain.

On days like this, it seemed more like a curse than a blessing.

Desperately, I began to search the map for a path that would skirt around the area to avoid an encounter at all costs. Throughout those days and weeks, I had managed to avoid run-ins with the living. For good reason.

Because unlike these things, humans were unpredictable. And that made them all the more dangerous. That's why my previous tactic - staying out of potential trouble - had always been my first choice.

With the marker cap clenched between my teeth, I sketched the new route on the map. Grumbling, I eyed the result, which completely screwed up my original plan and would cost me at least another week of walking. Seven long days that I could not afford, considering my meager supplies. Hardly more than a half-empty bottle of water and almost no food was in my possession. Not exactly the best starting point.

My hands reached for the last granola bar I'd found in the supply closet of an old country house. The confrontation with a small group of these things had depleted some of my already scarce ammunition. But much more serious was the loss of the necklace that one of those freaks had snatched from my neck. In short, it hadn't been worth the trouble in the slightest.

I chewed on the mixture of dried fruit and oatmeal, my mind still on the alternative plan, which I absolutely disliked. It was fraught with risks and, considering my physical condition, likely impossible. Yet, with no other viable options, I found myself with no cards left to play. The die had been cast the moment I unknowingly stumbled into an area inhabited by living humans.

I'd lost the right to be picky.

Frustrated by my lack of caution, I rummaged out the water bottle before pulling the cloth from my face and taking a good gulp. It flowed pleasantly down my dry throat, and even if it wasn't nearly enough to quench my thirst, it would keep me from dehydrating for now.

Soon after stowing away the map and supplies, an unsettling sensation crept over me. A peculiar silence enveloped my surroundings. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and all my flight instincts were sharpened to the utmost.

Before I could even sit up, I felt a sharp object pressing against my neck.

"Put ya hands where I can see'em," a male voice ordered.

A few seconds passed in which I remained frozen. Panic crept up my legs, clung to me and left me immobilized in the place. At that moment I remembered why I had avoided people for so long. Freaks might try to eat you, but at least they didn't point guns at you. You knew exactly where you stood with them. Unlike with humans.

"Got it," I tried to soothe him after finally regaining my voice and getting over the initial shock.

I moved my arms slowly, careful to avoid any sudden gestures. Numerous scenarios played out in my mind, but none of them ended well for me. Even though the man behind me had the upper hand, I wasn't willing to give in without a fight. Summoning every ounce of courage, I reached into the shaft of my right boot and pulled out the knife in a flash. My body worked on instinct, an active action on my part almost unnecessary. With the element of surprise in my favor, I pivoted towards the man and pressed the blade against his neck. All this lasted no more than a few seconds.

A few strands of dark blond hair clung to his sweaty forehead as his piercing blue eyes fixated me in astonishment. His crossbow, a direct extension of his focus, aimed directly at my face. The man's form, weathered by survival, exuded an air of silent strength.

My heart pounded in my chest, the surge of adrenaline from my impulsive move suppressing the initial panic and left me as who I was.

A survivor.

My voice seemed shaky as I struggled to find a way out of this predicament. "I don't want any trouble."

My communication skills were without a doubt rusty.

Not for a second did the man take his eyes off me, while he just grumbled dismissively in response. He wasn't buying my "peace offering" for shit. At least not with a four-inch blade dangerously close to his carotid artery. I couldn't blame him for being skeptical, after all, blind trust in a stranger was the equivalent of a one-hundred-percent death sentence.

I studied his striking features, trying to discern something in his serious eyes, but nothing revealed itself. Only a few millimeters separated my sharp knife from his sensitive skin, and yet not a trace of fear was to be seen in him, let alone felt.

No movement, no twitch, nothing. He had the perfect poker face.

"You didn't give me a choice, but...", I began again, making my point, "no one needs to get hurt."

Sweat clung to my forehead as as I maintained my grip on the knife handle. It was a serious offer, one that I fervently hoped he would accept.

Unfortunately, renewed silence followed my diplomatic words.

"I'm sure we can talk about it."

Stupid didn't even begin to describe the feeling as soon as the words left my lips. People stopped talking a long time ago, they always let their actions speak first. This was the world we lived in now.

"Sounds like a shitty idea if ya ask me," he snapped back, his finger dangerously close to the trigger of his crossbow, now aimed squarely at my forehead.

I'm Kat," it suddenly burst out, as if this revelation could improve my current situation.

"A'right, Kat." There was spite in the tone of his voice, mocking me intentionally. "Drop the knife!"

Give up my only leverage? Not a very good idea. Especially since Robin Hood here was not a willing negotiator. "I don't think I should do that."

I tilted my head slightly to get a better look at my opponent. As soon as he noticed the obvious stare, he snorted disdainfully. His lousy attitude was starting to piss me off.

"Listen..." Despite the one-sided nature of this conversation, I ventured another attempt. "We could stand here for hours, waving our weapons at each other. Or...and I sure as hell prefer this option...we can figure out a way for both of us to go our separate ways and just forget about this nonsense."

Questioningly, he raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, his gaze wandered to the knife at his neck. "way I see it, ya chances are worse than mine."

Unfortunately, he was right. I stood no chance against the speed of his crossbow. The arrow would have pierced my frontal lobe before I could even lift a finger. The realization made my palms grow sweatier.

"Where ya from?" he asked suddenly, catching me completely off guard. His eyes examined me very closely and I was sure that I saw a hint of pity flashing in them. My sight had to be worse than I thought. I desperately needed a shower, that was for sure.

"Macon County." Truth.

"Ya alone?"

What was this going to be? An interrogation?

"No." Lie.

"Tsk." He inspected me carefully. My neglected appearance and the fact that I was alone in the woods left no room for interpretation. It didn't take a great judge of character to know that I was lying. Especially since I was pretty shitty at it.

"Ya look like hell."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? If so, he should definitely work on it.

"Been on worse days." Truth. Even though I would have preferred a lie in this case.

Inevitably, I thought back to the cold nights when I had barely slept a wink. Nights when the gasps of the dead had accompanied me like a lullaby. I thought of days plagued by loneliness and the constant search for meaning in life.

And I thought of Dad.

Slowly and painfully, the memories began to flood in. Memories that I would have liked to lock away forever, only to throw away the key afterwards.

⚚

"Kat, don't let me turn into one of those things."

Sobbing, she knelt by her father, his head nestled in her lap as her hand pressed firmly on the gaping wound on his neck.

More pressure. More pressure.

Like a mantra, she repeated the words in her head, but the bleeding just wouldn't stop.

"I can't do it", she murmured in exasperation, to which he gently squeezed her bloodied hand. A smile formed on his lips as he looked up at his daughter. There was an air of tranquility about him, an almost content acceptance that the torment might, at last, come to an end. With each passing second, his physical strength waned, and Kat found herself helplessly standing by, a silent witness to the inevitable.

"Hey, Kitty Kat." He hadn't called her that in ages. Last before her middle school days, after Kat had specifically told him not to. She hadn't been a kid anymore, after all.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized how much she had missed that name. It was the remnant of a time that now seemed like nothing more than a distant dream.

"Look at me," urged her father, his face already drained of all color. Only with effort did the words pass his lips, hovering over them like a dark cloud.

"Promise me you will fight." His request tightened Kat's throat and was asking a lot in a gruesome world like this. Death was a daily companion. Therefore, the question was never if, only when and how it would happen.

"How am I supposed to make it without you," she sobbed softly.

With the very last of his strength, he stroked his daughter's cheek. The expression in his eyes showed remorse and tore Kat's heart into a thousand pieces.

"You're strong, Kat. Stronger than you think."

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how sorry he was for everything, and how proud he was of the young woman she had become. But it was too late for that.

His eyes went rigid, and his breathing quickened before his chest heaved for one last breath. An unbearable silence finally enveloped Kat once her father had fallen silent forever.

"Dad?" Frantically, she shook his lifeless body. "Dad!"

The harsh reality hit Kat like a hard blow straight into the face. She was alone.

"Oh God, please don't..." she whimpered, holding her father's dead body tightly in her arms. For quite a while she had weighed him back and forth, until she was forced to grant him his last wish.

⚚

It had been a few weeks since his death. I could not say exactly how many. Because I no longer possessed any sense of time.

I could feel the questioning looks of the man in front of me, while I was putting the grim memories of my father's last moment behind lock and key. There was no time for humanity in this world. It only made you weak and weakness brought nothing but certain death.

More seconds of silence passed by, with neither of us willing to give in. Both weapons still pointed at each other, we waited for a suitable opportunity. A fleeting moment in which the other would make a mistake. However, nothing like that happened.

"Daryl?" More voices echoed in the distance, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Two heavily armed men emerged from amongst the trees and closed in on the crossbowman, evidently named Daryl. My chances had significantly dwindled in that moment.

This day was awesome.

"What're you doing? We said we'd stick together," one of them reprimanded.

"Who's that?" asked the other, positioned before me in a sheriff's uniform with his revolver drawn. Nervousness spread through me as soon as the hopelessness of my situation reached the last corners of my consciousness. Three out of four guns present were pointed at me. Not a particularly promising ratio and, above all, not a good foundation for negotiations.

"I don't want any trouble," I repeated the words I had addressed to Daryl earlier. "I just want to move on, that's all."

My body was on high alert. The cadence of my heartbeat quickened, muscles tensed, and my breaths came in rapid succession. It was a state of heightened readiness, a reaction entirely justified in my circumstances, and one that had become all too common in times like these.

The apparent cop spoke quietly to his comrade, a silver chain with a .22 pendant dangling around his neck and the barrel of his Glock pistol pointed directly in my direction. Their discussion became more heated before they shifted their attention back to me.

"I'm Rick...and you are?" the sheriff introduced himself, waiting for a response on my part.

"Kat," I returned curtly.

"So Kat. Where're you headed?"

Shoulder shrugging. "I don't have a specific destination." Lie.

"Bullshit!" his friend shouted, "she's lying!"

With his gun raised, he menacingly took a step forward. The murderous look in his eyes caused the blood in my veins to freeze. It didn't take a psychology degree to realize that he was one dangerous guy. He was the kind of man who didn't hesitate to use one bullet too many, rather than one bullet too few. A man perfectly made for this world.

"Shane! Don't!" Rick held his outstretched arm against Shane's chest as he tried to talk some sense into his friend. "There's no point to this!"

Tensed to the tips of my toes, I waited for Rick's next step. Every fiber of my being observed him closely as he meticulously lowered his revolver, sliding it into the holster on his belt, only to raise both hands in a disarming gesture.

"We don't want to hurt you," he reassured me.

I peered at the faces of his allies. Daryl was still difficult to read. But had he really wanted to kill me, he would've done it by now.

After all, I hadn't even heard him coming. There was no questioning his capabilities.

Shane, on the other hand, was like an open book, all his emotions clearly laid out in plain sight. He was definitely ready to kill me right then and there. And if it weren't for Rick, I would've already had a bullet right between my eyes, that much was certain.

"I think your friends disagree," I made it clear to the obvious leader, my gaze fixed alternately on their weapons.

"Put down your weapons," he ordered his people. A gesture, intending to diffuse the tension.

The air was tense to the point of breaking while I waited for the reaction of his comrades. I could've bet my ass that they would not voluntarily let down their guard.

Sometimes I hated being right.

Seeing that his words fell on deaf ears, Rick took a bold step forward, prompting me to respond with a threatening gesture. The tip of my knife grazed Daryl's neck lightly.

"Don't take it personally, Robin Hood," I joked, attempting to mask my underlying insecurity. A stupid habit, rarely met with a positive response. And certainly not with strangers whose lives I threatened.

Intensely I looked at Daryl, whose facial expression had become even more serious during this conversation. Neglecting the dirty clothes and the aspect of lack of hygiene in a world without permanent water supply, he was an extremely attractive man.

"Uh-huh," he snorted in response.

That'd put 'no sense of humor' right after 'bad attitude' on his list of shortcomings.

My entire focus was on Rick and Daryl, resulting in me noticing the missing Shane far too late. It wasn't until I felt the cold barrel of his Glock against the back of my head that I knew this little interrogation game was over now.

"Fuck." My cursing elicited a barely noticeable grin from the spiteful redneck as he took the knife from my hand with a smug expression.

With my hands raised obediently, I watched as Daryl turned into a one-man security check, inspecting every nook and cranny of my cargo pants. He went down my legs, scrutinizing every pocket, and even unclipped my belt buckle, releasing it from the loops along with my holster.

"Easy there, Casanova. Usually, I get a drink invitation before the full-body inspection."

Daryl remained stoic, efficiently collecting my meager belongings and passing them to Rick. An eyebrow arched skeptically as he approached me.

"More?"

My lack of response spoke volumes, given my poor poker face. In a swift move, he lifted the hem of my shirt, exposing yet another knife tucked into my waistband.

I nonchalantly shrugged. "Oops."

Following Daryl's thorough inspection, Officer Rick took over. It felt like a classic 'good cop, bad cop' routine, and with Shane in the mix, they resembled the three musketeers of the apocalypse. Minus the absurd costumes, of course.

"You wanna tell us where you're going?"

I was getting tired of the silly chatter. This wasn't leading anywhere.

"Oh, just on a scenic tour of the freaks-filled countryside. Thought I'd check out the sights, maybe grab a latte from that charming café overrun with undead. You know, the usual Sunday plans." They'd brought this on themselves. Sarcasm was the only weapon they'd left me.

The pressure from Shane's gun intensified and and the icy tone of his voice signaled that my stupid jokes were no longer appreciated. "Enough with the games," he turned to Rick. "I vote we end it right now. We can't take any chances!"

I didn't like the direction in which this situation was moving, one bit. Death was unequivocally not on today's to-do list.

"Whoa, take it easy. I'm not a threat to you." The odds were three to one, after all.

Daryl rubbed the spot on his neck that had been grazed by my knife a few minutes earlier. "Disagreein' on that one."

He wasn't stupid, I had to give the grouchy redneck that much. His sensors seemed highly sensitive to potential danger, but he was certainly just as sensible when it came to his ego.

"Oh no, did I hurt your pride, Princess?"

"Listen," menacingly he made a step towards me, "ya gonna do what we say now, got it?"

Ouch. I guess I'd hit the bull's-eye on that one.

"With that attitude, you must have been a hit with the ladies."

"Enough!" Shane shouted suddenly, making my breath catch. I had pushed it too far. My stupid habit had gotten me into trouble again and would now cost me my life as well. Harder and harder he pressed the barrel of his Glock against my skull until, finally, I closed my eyes and waited for the shot. The last thing I heard was Rick's scream.

Then everything went black.

Here we go. Starting with the first chapter. I'm so excited, cause I really love how this turned out.
I hope you think the same way. Would love to hear your thoughts!