Floating lazily on the lake, fishing rod in hand and my father humming across from me, one could almost forget it was the end of the world. Almost. The comfortable silence feels like a blanket of peace, gentle and unshaken by the harsh reality 20 feet away.

"I think we got enough, sweetie," Dad said, placing his latest catch in our basket. "We outta get these clean and ready for dinner!"

"Five more minutes, please." I bask in the hot sun beating down on me. Letting it warm my aching body. Everything ached nowadays, I thought my back ached when I was slaving over my university finals, but that was nothing now. 7 years since the dead started rising, 5 since my dad and I travelled to our current home, New Hope. Our community was small but strong. We had fortified the small trailer park we settled in, starting with scrapes until we made our big find. The construction site had everything we needed to build a real wall. A stroke of sheer luck, uncommon in these times.

Between the older tradesmen's knowledge and the strength of the younger folks, we made it work. We would make it, or so I thought. In less than a year I'd know better.

{--------------------------------------------------------}

I stay hidden. Silent. Ready. Watching from a distance as the woman cleans her catch. A small fish, but food all the same. Better than I had found in weeks. My stomach growls in tandem with the dead one I can see stumbling its way towards her.

She doesn't seem to notice. Too preoccupied to sense her own doom coming towards her. I raise my bow, an arrow at the ready. Don't bother. A voice in my head hisses. What do you care if she dies?  The dead one reaches out a hand to grab her, and I can't let it happen. I let the arrow fly just as I heard a gruff voice shout.

"Carol!" The woman's white hair glints in the sun as she turns quickly, just in time to see my arrow fly into the grunting deadies eye. Dropping low to the ground, I hurry away. "What the hell?" I hear the man say, a wet squelch telling me he's pulled my arrow from the body.

"Who's there?" The woman, Carol, shouts in my direction. I keep moving, careful of the footfall to avoid making more noise than necessary. A sudden bark startles me. A dog? I think. How long has it been since I've met a dog? I shake the thought and focus on finding a spot to hide.

"Go home, Carol." Home. The word sounded unfamiliar. Foreign. It'd been four years since I had a place to call home. Homes don't survive this world. "I'll find 'er. Come on, boy."

Shit. I had to get out of sight. I take in my surroundings quickly, finding a tree that had sturdy branches I knew I could climb, and enough leaves that I could hide myself from sight. Without a second thought, I run six paces north, then carefully follow my footprints back to the trunk, and scramble as high as I can. I find a perch, slow my breathing, and ready my bow.

I see him appear suddenly, less than 10 feet from the base of my hiding spot. He's good. I didn't hear him until he was in my direct line of sight. I could see him tracking. Checking each footprint and following my path with precision. It's working. Ha, not so great after all. I smirk as he starts to follow my false path to the north. Then I hear another bark and instantly know I messed up.

"Dog. Stop it. It's a tree." The man grumbles to the dog, whistling to him to follow. The dog doesn't let down, jumping and whining under my tree. "What is it? A squirrel?" I see his head tilting up towards me. Shoot him, before he sees you. The voice growls. I draw back, preparing to release my arrow. Then his eyes meet mine.

I freeze. Unable to shoot, I slowly relax the string of my bow, but keep the arrow lined up.

"Who are you?" He says. "I'm Daryl. That was my friend you saved back there. Thanks." His voice is gruff, yet somehow smooth. His vest hugs his clearly defined body as his hand reaches towards the crossbow strapped to his back. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." He says, slowly placing the bow on the grass beside him" His dog whines at me beside him, tag wagging and tongue hanging out.

"Go away, Daryl," I say. "I don't want any-" I grunt as my stomach twists, reminding me how long it's been since my meal. "Trouble." I managed to finish.

"You okay?" He asks, eyes scanning me for injury. "You aren't bit are you?" I shake my head rapidly.

"I'm fine." I snap. "No external injuries." A wave of dizziness washes over me. A mixture of sleep deprivation and hunger joins in a less-than-ideal partnership.

"You don't look fine. I can help, wha's your name?" His southern accent drawling slowly. I'm too weak to fight. Too tired to keep my balance.

"It's... It's Rosemary," I manage. Suddenly, I feel myself slipping. The ground is coming at me faster than I can register. Really? I think. This is how I go?  Weak. I close my eyes and brace for the impact but am shocked to feel strong, warm arms catch me. A musky smell fills my nose, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

"Shit," He says, "I gotcha. Don't try anything and I can help ya." I almost laugh at the thought of myself fighting out of this one. My eyes flutter open, and the last thing I see before the world goes dark are his piercing blue eyes staring back at me.

{--------------------------------------------------------}

Shooting awake, I frantically look around. Where the fuck am I? My heart races as I realize I'm in some sort of infirmary, handcuffed to the bed.  I'm in a small room, on a bed placed in the center. There's a small table covered in medical supplies. A small chair in one corner, and a bedside table with a glass of water, and a simple sandwich.

Without thinking, I lunge for it. Barely believing it's real. The juicy, fresh tomato between two pieces of bread was the best thing I could remember eating in years. I greedily took bite after bite.

"Slow down, we don't want you choking." Someone chuckled lightly at me. My eyes snapped to the door as a brown-haired man with a white coat strolled into the room. "You're much too pretty to lose that way." His eyes sparkled, but my entire body tensed. I swallowed my bite and slowly took a sip of water.

"Who are you?" I tried to sound intimidating, but even I could tell I'd failed. He smiled brightly at me. Too brightly

"I'm Dante. I'm a doctor here in Alexandria, and you?"

"Rosemary." No point in hiding my name. "I'm nobody," I said. It was true. There was no one to protect, no one to go back to, why pretend like my name mattered?

"Good to meet you, Rose. How're you feeling?"

"I'm... okay. Um, thank you." My stomach still ached and I yearned to continue eating, but not yet, not till he goes.

"Dante? Dante, I told you to wake me the second she woke up." Another man entered the room, his long hair tied back, he ran one hand through his scruffy beard, the other gripping a steaming mug. "I'm Siddiq. The head medic here. You were in pretty rough shape when you got here. Dante, go check on the others please." Dante sighed, gave me a quick wink and exited my room.

The newcomer set the mug on the table beside my bed and sat down. "I'm sorry for him. He means well. How are you feeling, Rosemary?"

"How do you know my name? How did I get here?" I glared at him and took another gulp of water.

"Daryl told me, he brought you here." He gestured around, "Alexandria. We're a community of survivors. Where are you from?" His gentle nature felt pure to me. More than Dante. He felt good, trustworthy.  Fool. The voice growled. I ignored it.

"Before all this? I was in Toronto, Canada. My dad and I moved there from a small town in Alberta when I was 16." Stop telling him things. My mother's voice snapped. We ran away really. To get away from her.

"I see, and where have you been since?"

"Everywhere. Nowhere. I stayed in one community for a long time, but that died as everything does about four years ago. It's been just me since." I eyed the mug and the rest of the sandwich.

"Not everything dies. You'll see. I can already feel you'll fit in here." He smiled at me. "I have to go. I have a baby to care for, and Daryl will want to know you're awake. Please, enjoy the food, you need it." He gestures to the  mug, "The tea will help with the pain." With that, he left me, handcuffed but feeling safe.

  {--------------------------------------------------------}

My food gone, and the warm tea soothing my aching body, I allowed myself to relax on the bed. Glancing out the window, I could see people walking around, talking, working, laughing. Tears sprung to my eyes, memories of my first, and last community overtaking my thoughts. I sobbed, seeing my dad smile, then his horror-filled eyes as the dead one took a chunk out of his cheek.

I shook the memory away. Squeezing my eyes shut tight. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. I repeated the breathing routine until my heart slowed and let the warmth of the blankets comfort me. Pulling one to my nose, I breathed it in deeply. It smelt clean, fresh, soft. What used to be expected felt like luxury. A first-class flight to your death, maybe.

"Shut up." I hissed, hiding my face under the blankets.

"I ain't even said nothin' yet." Jumping at the sudden gravelly voice, I ripped the blanket down. My eyes met his, clearly showing more fear than I intended. He raised his hands in a show of peace. "Didn't mean to scare ya." Daryl was leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms over his chest, peering at me.

"It's okay, um, thank you." The two words still sounded strange to me. His mouth quirked a bit.

"Don't worry bout thankin' me. Just get better and make yourself useful here. This community has good people, be good with them." He turned on his heel and disappeared out the door before I could reply.