No one knows how we ended up here.

We went to sleep in our world, our Earth, only to wake up in an industrial copycat that lay in ruin. We did not find out the cause of the neglect until exploring further.

There are these creatures called Walkers. They're similar to our own Reapers but the difference, according to the locals here, is that these are undead humans. They are no longer alive and their body wants to feed. There's no soul left to reach.

"Watch where yer goin', girl," one of the less friendly inhabitants, growls at me. I must've missed his boot in the almost dark scenery, only illuminated by his campfire. Immediately, I put distance between us. Even his own group gives him space, not that I can blame them when he's always eating greasy squirrels.

"It's Clarke. Clarke Griffin. I'm pretty sure we've been over this." Sighing, I cross my arms in an attempt to block whatever insult he's cooking up in his redneck head.

He licks his fingers, having just finished his favorite protein, before sticking out his hand, daring me to take it. "I'm Daryl."

Not backing down, I shake the outstretched limb, staring at him intensely. This is our second time "making nice" with the natives of the land. We are survivors and there's a bigger threat out there than us.

"Do ya want to go hunting?" he asks, catching me off-guard.

"Hunting as in Walkers?"

He pauses, staring at me in disbelief. "No, that's target practice. I'm talking about real huntin'. Ye can still find decent animals around here for supper. I'll let you keep anything you can catch and skin."

I look back at my group in the distance, knowing they have been living on expired peaches and beans. Soon, the men will be too weak to carry on. Despite Daryl possibly luring me into the woods to kill me, I have to take the chance on better food.

"Let's go," I announce after grabbing my gun.

He rolls his eyes, taking it out of my hands. "Ye ain't very good this whole huntin' concept, huh? We have to be quiet. If you let off shots, we'll have a whole horde of biters after us."

He's right and I feel stupid for my slip up. How will I get anyone here to respect my group and me if I fail the most basic common sense tests they're throwing me.

The night is eerily quiet. I know they're out there, unseen due to the visibility, but waiting to grab me.

"How do you know where you're going?" Or not going, I want to add.

"I'm tracking movements. Be quiet."

I listen to him, trying to calm my nervousness at being out here after sundown. Nothing good ever happens in the dark. I've learned that now.

"Shit!" I hear him cry out from my right. I'm alert immediately, as he's the one that told me to be quiet.

"Daryl?" No response. I attempt again. "Squirrel fingers?" This time, I hear a groan. My breath leaves my body at the thought of it being the undead.

"Grab a nearby tree and feel your way down. I...I think I impaled myself on a bolt."

Following his instructions, I feel around, using the bit of light to find a sturdy trunk. Once I do, I tiptoe forward, unsure of what caused my companion to fall.

My feet lose traction in what seems like slow motion, and I bite my teeth down onto my bottom lip to stop a squeal from leaving my mouth. My body is free-falling into the darkness below. If I don't end up near Daryl, we are both in trouble, especially if the undead is at the bottom of my pit.

Thankfully, the bag on my back has cushioned most of my fall, but I can feel scratches up my exposed arms and face, and bruises will definitely be there tomorrow. If there is a tomorrow. In both of our worlds, nothing is ever guaranteed.

"Daryl?"

I hear a grunt of pain and start crawling towards it. My fingers brush over unwashed hair and I know I've found him. Despite his protests, I pull out my flashlight.

"This looks pretty bad," I tell him, lightly touching the bolt embedded into his side. This could be serious, especially if it wasn't properly cleaned beforehand. Knowing this world and just his daily habits, it probably hadn't even been wiped since the last squirrel he killed.

In my bag, I pull out what I'll need to help him: gauze, tape, a needle and thread, as well as isopropyl alcohol to disinfect the wound and needle. Next, I take off my belt, pushing it against his mouth.

"What are ya doin', woman?"

"Bite down on this. It's going to hurt like a bitch." The same stubborn and combative look plastered on his face, but in his eyes I can see that he's scared. He takes the leather, closing his eyes in anticipation.

With a deep breath, I grab a hold of the bolt, knowing I'll only have one shot at getting it out clean if that's even possible. The sound is almost unbearable as it slides out, almost similar to what it sounds like when a throat is slit. Daryl's hand closest to me grabs onto my thigh. Luckily, nothing audible is heard.

I give him an apologetic look he can't see due to his eyes still being closed, I move onto the next painful step. As soon as the liquid makes contact with his open wound, he's grabbing onto my wrist, groaning in pain. I use my other hand, doing my best to ignore him. His grasp loosens and I'm thankful he's passed out.

The rest is relatively easy and I sit in silence. I'm in a foreign place and with new enemies, but I am still Wanheda, the Commander of Death. We will get back to our groups.

"Is it over?" Daryl mutters, trying to sit up.

I give a sad smile, trying to push the homesickness away. "Yes, it's over."

"This is the second time I've gotten a bolt to the side," he groans, finally upright. "Last time, a horse threw me off after it spooked."

I can't help but let a small laugh escape. "I bet you deserved it."

He pauses until I turn to look at him. "I was lookin' for a lil girl that had gone missing from our group."

"Did you ever find her?" By the one and somber look in his eyes, it's a negative.

"Yes, as one of those creatures. It was probably for the best. All the horrors I've seen out here, in the apocalypse, I couldn't imagine her going through all that." He chuckles humorlessly to himself, looking down. "You know what the most fucked up about this whole thing is? The people are the biggest threat. Instead of bandin' together and fighting against a common enemy, we all turn on one another."

I bring my knees up under my chin, letting out a breath. "Humanity repeatedly shows us how evil we can be and that we shouldn't be here, but then someone will change your whole perspective by their kindness. It's what we keep fighting for, isn't it?"

Daryl shakes his head. "We survive. That ain't livin'. I've done terrible things."

"To help your group? To protect them?" I clarify. When he doesn't meet my inquiring gaze, I know I'm right. "Me too. Everything I've done, has been for them."

"And what 'bout me? Why are you helping me? I've heard what they say about you. You're more than capable of getting back to your group and just leaving me here."

"All it takes is one person to change your whole perspective by their kindness," I repeat, sending a half-grin. "Why did you ask me to go hunting anyway?"

He smiles to himself while looking down, almost embarrassed, before meeting my gaze. "I wanted to see what ye could do. I guess I got more than I bargained for, didn't I?"

The night goes smoothly. A few Walkers managed to stumble down to where we are, the fall breaking most of their already brittle limbs. Only the Crawlers I bothered with.

"Let's go," I say, supporting most of Daryl's weight onto me. He grabs onto branches nearby and together we get out of the ravine and on our way back.

"Daryl!" a skinny woman with silver hair runs towards us. I'm unsure, but I think her name is Carol. Said woman turns onto me, anger rolling off of her in waves. "What did you do to him?"

Bellamy goes to rush to my defense, but I push him away. They'll never trust us if we continue this hostility. We are on the same side. They just need to realize it.

"We both fell down a steep hill, but he landed on a bolt. I didn't cause it."

"Daryl knows those woods better than anyone—"

"She's telling the truth," his gravelly voice chimes in finally. "She even patched me up so we could get back safely, and kept watch the whole night."

"Then we owe you a great deal of gratitude," Rick, their group's leader, says, coming up to shake my hand. I cringe when I realize it's covered in Daryl's blood. Nonetheless, he takes it anyway. "We could always use medics." His eyes go to my group behind me. "And Engineers, cooks, soldiers. We need you all."

I look at my group for approval, my eyes going over to Daryl without meaning to, a small smirk on his face. I return the expression, looking back to Rick.

"We can stay for a while."

Word count per Google Docs: 1619

Submitted on 3/31/2020 at 11:45 PM EST. Hoorah!