𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍. the thrill of loneliness

WENDY'S NEIGHBORHOOD WAS A SHADOW of its former self.

The once-bustling suburban enclave, where kids laughed and chased each other down the streets, was now silent save for the occasional groans of distant geeks and the sigh of the wind through skeletal trees. The asphalt beneath her shoes was cracked and uneven, weeds sprouting defiantly through the fissures.

Her eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and bloodshot from tears, stared ahead blankly as she approached her childhood home. Each step she took felt heavier, weighted by memories of a world long gone and the relentless grief that had dogged her since leaving the school.

The house stood before her, small and quaint, but stripped of its warmth. Overgrown bushes crowded the walkway, their branches twisting in jagged patterns like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. The grass that Glenn had once mowed into meticulous stripes was now a dense jungle of weeds, swaying in the breeze and encroaching onto the cracked, uneven sidewalk. Dandelions and other wildflowers peppered the yard, their bright blooms incongruously cheerful amid the desolation.

Wendy's gaze lingered on the mailbox — a once-charming white metal box with a red flag her mother had adorned with seasonal magnets. Now, it lay toppled and half-buried in the dirt, its door hanging open as if in defeat.

The house itself was a monument to decay.

The pale blue siding, which had once radiated a cheerful charm, was now faded and streaked with grime. Several panels were missing altogether, exposing the weathered wood beneath, its edges gnawed by time and the elements. The roof sagged ominously in places, the once-sturdy shingles now curled and broken. The windows were dark, their glass cracked or missing entirely, leaving jagged edges that glinted menacingly in the light. Curtains hung in limp, tattered strips, swaying in the breeze like ghostly remnants of the life that had once thrived inside. The front door painted a bright, sunny yellow in another lifetime, now stood ajar, its surface dulled and peeling. It swayed faintly on its hinges, creaking softly, a mournful whisper of the home it once guarded.

Wendy stopped at the edge of the walkway, her bow hanging loosely in her hand. She had no immediate use for it now; the geeks she'd encountered on her way here had been dispatched with the same detached precision she applied to every encounter.

Their faces were already a blur in her mind, replaced by the sickening crunch of bone and the wet squelch of decaying flesh. Her stomach churned faintly at the thought, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the house before her. She tightened her grip on the machete as if its weight could anchor her to the present.

The walkway felt foreign beneath her boots, though she had traversed it countless times in her youth.

She remembered skipping along these very cracks, pretending they were rivers of lava she had to leap over. Her mother's laughter would echo through the yard, calling her in for dinner. Now, the only sounds were the rustle of weeds and the faint creak of the door swaying in the breeze.

Wendy took a deep breath and climbed the three steps to the porch. The concrete slabs, once painted a vibrant red, were now chipped and faded to a dull gray. Weeds poked through the cracks, their stubborn resilience a bitter reflection of the world's refusal to simply give up.

The porch was a graveyard of forgotten objects. Splintered wood, shards of glass, and an overturned chair littered the space. A ceramic flowerpot lay shattered near the door, its soil long-dried and cracked.

Wendy's eyes drifted to the welcome mat — a gift from a neighbor years ago. The word "Home" was barely legible now, obscured by mud and grime. She stepped over it cautiously, her shoes making dull thuds against the weathered boards. Her hand hovered over the door, hesitating. She could almost hear her mother's voice urging her to wipe her feet before coming inside, a faint echo from a time when such small courtesies mattered.

When she finally pushed the door open, it groaned in protest, the sound loud and jarring in the oppressive silence. The smell hit her immediately — a nauseating blend of mildew, rot, and something faintly metallic.

She swallowed hard and stepped inside, bow at the ready. The living room greeted her like a distorted memory. The furniture was still there, but it was draped in a thick layer of dust, the upholstery torn and stained. The coffee table, where her and Glenn had once gathered around bowls of popcorn for movie nights, lay overturned, one leg snapped clean off.

Wendy's gaze fell on a picture frame lying face down on the floor, its glass shattered. She knelt to pick it up, brushing the shards away with trembling fingers.

The photo inside was a snapshot of a happier time. Her parents stood in the center, smiling, their arms wrapped protectively around her and her brother. Wendy barely recognized herself — a bright-eyed child with a toothy grin, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Glenn's face was half-obscured by the hand he was waving at the lens, his expression mischievous.

The kitchen was a disaster. The cabinet doors hung open, and their contents spilled haphazardly across the counters and floor. Broken plates and glasses crunched underfoot as Wendy moved cautiously through the space.

The refrigerator door gaped open, revealing an interior dark with decay and swarming with lazy flies. The smell was almost unbearable. Wendy's eyes landed on a magnet stuck to the fridge door — a cartoon cow holding a sign that read, "Moove over, dinner time!" It felt absurdly out of place in the chaos, a relic of innocence in a world that had none left to offer.

She moved methodically through the house, bow in hand, though there was no immediate threat. Each room was a study of abandonment. Dust coated everything, muting the colors and softening the sharp edges of the furniture.

The staircase creaked ominously under her weight as she climbed to the second floor. The hallway was dark, lit only by the broken windows at either end. Shadows stretched long and narrow across the walls, shifting eerily with the movement of the wind.

Wendy paused outside her old bedroom.

The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open with a trembling hand. The room was a snapshot of her childhood, frozen in time but ravaged by neglect. Her bed was unmade, the sheets tangled and gray with dust. Posters of her favorite bands still clung to the walls, their edges curling. Her desk was a chaotic mess of papers and trinkets, some of which she didn't even recognize anymore.

She picked up a stuffed bear from the floor, its fur matted and one eye missing. It had been her favorite toy, a gift from her grandmother. For a brief moment, she clutched it tightly before setting it back down.

Her brother's room was just as haunting. His collection of action figures lay scattered across the floor, some broken, others still standing as if waiting for him to return. A baseball glove rested on the bed beside a half-folded jersey. Wendy's chest ached at the sight, memories of Glenn's laughter mingling with the silence of the empty room.

She backed out quickly, unable to linger any longer.

The last room she entered was her parents' bedroom. The air was stifling, thick with the smell of mildew and rot. The bed was unmade, the sheets twisted as if they had just stepped out moments before. Her mother's jewelry box sat on the dresser, its lid slightly open to reveal a tangle of necklaces and rings.

Wendy's fingers hovered over the box, but she didn't take anything. Instead, she turned to the closet. The clothes still hung neatly inside — her father's work shirts, her mother's floral dresses — a painful contrast to the chaos elsewhere. It was as if the room was waiting for its occupants to return, frozen in a cruel mockery.

Wendy returned to Glenn's room as though drawn there by an invisible thread, her body moving on instinct rather than conscious decision.

She sat on the edge of his bed, her fingers brushing against the old, slightly rough fabric of the comforter. The colors were muted with age — a faded plaid of deep reds and blues that reminded her of cold winters when Glenn would wrap himself in it, reading comics late into the night.

Her weight caused the mattress to dip slightly, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined him sitting beside her, teasing her about something trivial or sharing one of his outrageous ideas.

But reality had no room for such fantasies.

Wendy's hand slipped into the deep pocket of her white archery team jacket, her fingers finding the folded photograph. It was warm from being close to her body, the paper edges softened by years of wear and tear. She unfolded it with deliberate care, smoothing the creases against her thigh.

Her eyes lingered on Glenn's face, tracing the youthful curve of his cheek and the untamed mess of his hair. His expression was so alive, so full of defiance and energy as if daring the world to try and dim his light. The realization that she might never see him like this again hit her like a fist to the gut, and the tears came unbidden.

At first, they were silent, soft drops that rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the photo, leaving tiny dark spots that dried almost instantly. But as the seconds ticked by, the weight of her loneliness crushed her, and the dam burst.

Wendy pressed the photo to her chest as if it could somehow tether her to the family she'd lost. Painful, stuttering sobs wracked her body, and she hunched over, her elbows digging into her thighs as she cried into the dim silence.

Her mind raced, each thought cutting deeper than the last.

She was so incredibly alone.

Jade's face appeared unbidden behind her closed eyelids, her fierce determination and reckless loyalty so vivid it felt as though she might walk through the door at any moment.

Wendy had failed her.

Jade had trusted her to lead, to protect them, and it was her plan that had led to her death.

Wendy's chest heaved as she let out a sharp, guttural cry, the sound bouncing off the walls of the room. She pressed her fingers to her temples as if she could physically push away the memory of Jade's final moments.

Then came Enzo's face, hard and unforgiving, his voice ringing in her ears. "You're the reason she's dead." The words were like jagged shards lodged in her mind, impossible to dislodge.

She had thought they could rebuild something after everything they had lost, that their shared grief would bring them closer. Instead, it had torn them apart, and now he was gone too.

Wendy clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, the pain a small reprieve from the emotional onslaught.

The anger bubbled up next, hot and uncontrollable. It burned through her grief, a firestorm of resentment directed at everything and everyone, including herself.

She was angry at the world for falling apart, for tearing families and friendships to shreds and leaving nothing but ruin in its wake. She was angry at her brother — angry that he hadn't found her, hadn't searched harder, hadn't been here when she needed him most. Where are you, Glenn? she thought bitterly. Why did you give up on me?

But more than anything, she was angry at herself. She should have been stronger, smarter, better.

A better sister, a better leader, a better friend.

Instead, she had failed — failed to save Jade, failed to keep Enzo's trust, failed to find Glenn before the world became an endless nightmare of loss and survival.

The photo in her hand felt like a cruel reminder of everything she had once had and everything she would never have again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered through gritted teeth, the words directed at no one and everyone. "I'm so sorry."

Her sobs quieted eventually, leaving her drained and hollow. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her jacket, but it did little to disguise the redness around her eyes or the rawness in her throat.

The room was unbearably still, as though even the house was mourning with her.

Wendy stared down at the photograph, her thumb tracing the edges where the paper had begun to fray. Her mother's face seemed to smile at her knowingly, her father's steady presence a silent reassurance. They were gone, but the weight of their expectations lingered.

For a long time, she just sat there, staring at the photo as if it held the answers she so desperately sought. But it didn't. There were no answers, no easy resolutions. Only the endless road ahead and the knowledge that she had to keep moving forward, no matter how much it hurt.

She refolded the photograph carefully, smoothing the creases once more before slipping it back into her pocket. The action felt ritualistic, a small act of preservation in a world determined to erase everything she held dear.

Wendy stood, her movements slow and deliberate. The bed creaked as she shifted her weight, and she paused to look around Glenn's room one last time.

It was as though she were saying goodbye — not just to the room or to Glenn, but to the part of herself that had believed in the possibility of things ever being okay again.

"I'll find you," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears still glistening in her eyes. "No matter what, I'll find you."

It was a promise she didn't know if she could keep, but it was enough to push her forward.

THE SUN BEAT DOWN RELENTLESSLY, a punishing ball of fire in a cloudless sky. Wendy trudged along the cracked asphalt of the backroads, her boots scuffing against the uneven surface. The weight of her pack pulled at her shoulders, and the compound bow slung across her back shifted slightly with every step. Her clothes clung to her skin, damp with sweat that seemed to evaporate the moment it surfaced, leaving her feeling sticky and unclean despite her best efforts.

She had left her house days ago, or maybe it had been weeks. Time was slippery now, blending into a haze of endless walking and fleeting moments of respite.

Before she left, she'd scavenged through the abandoned homes in her neighborhood. Most were empty, ransacked by others before her, but in one of the houses, she'd found a series of scattered notes. Some were hastily scribbled, others more deliberate, but they all carried the same message: Atlanta. Safe camp.

Wendy didn't know if it was true. It could be a lie, a cruel joke, or an outdated hope that had long since crumbled. But she had no better plan, and the thought of safety — of a place where her brother might be waiting — was enough to set her feet in motion.

Even if the camp no longer existed and Glenn wasn't there, Atlanta was a goal. A direction. Something to keep her moving forward in a world that seemed intent on grinding her to a halt.

The heat was unbearable, the kind that pressed down on her chest and made every breath feel heavy. Even after she'd showered back at her house, using the last remnants of water in the tank, and changed into clean clothes, the feeling of filth clung to her.

The road dust stuck to her exposed skin, mixing with the sweat to form a grimy layer she couldn't escape. Her hair, tied back into a messy braid, was plastered to the nape of her neck, and every step seemed to churn up more of the oppressive heat radiating from the asphalt.

The air itself felt alive, buzzing with the hum of cicadas and shimmering with waves of heat that distorted the horizon. Wendy's throat was parched, her water supply dwindling to less than a third of what she'd started with. She'd been rationing it carefully, taking small sips to keep herself going, but the thirst gnawed at her constantly. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and the thought of finding another source of water was beginning to consume her.

She adjusted the straps of her pack, shifting the weight to relieve the ache in her shoulders. Her fingers brushed against the pocket of her jacket, where the photograph of her family was safely tucked away.

The houses she passed now were fewer and farther between, their exteriors weathered by neglect and the encroaching wild. Grass grew tall in the yards, pushing through cracks in the driveways, and ivy climbed the walls like nature reclaiming its territory. Wendy scanned each house as she passed, her eyes sharp for any signs of movement or supplies left behind. Most of the doors hung open, a silent invitation to chaos, and the windows were dark and empty, like hollow eyes staring out at the desolation.

She paused by a mailbox tilted at an awkward angle, its rusted hinge creaking in the breeze. The house it belonged to was small, with peeling paint and a sagging roof, but it looked untouched compared to the others.

Wendy hesitated for a moment, her hand resting on the bow slung over her shoulder, before stepping off the road and onto the overgrown lawn. The grass brushed against her legs, itching at her skin through her pants as she approached the front door.

Inside, the air was stale and thick with the smell of mildew. The living room was cluttered but not ransacked, as if the people who had lived here had left in a hurry but never returned. Wendy moved cautiously, her footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. She opened cabinets and drawers, finding little of use: a few expired cans of food, a half-empty bottle of water that she stuffed into her pack, and a box of matches she pocketed gratefully. Every small victory felt monumental now.

Upstairs, she found a child's bedroom. The walls were painted a faded blue, and a mobile of stars and moons hung crookedly from the ceiling. A collection of stuffed animals sat neatly arranged on the bed, untouched by time.

Wendy's chest tightened at the sight, and she quickly turned away, unwilling to linger in a space so heavy with innocence lost. The other rooms offered little — empty drawers, broken furniture, and a smashed mirror that reflected her tired, sunburned face in jagged fragments.

She had avoided reflecting as much as possible these days.

As she emerged from the house and back onto the road, the sun had shifted slightly, casting longer shadows across her path. The heat was still oppressive, but Wendy forced herself to keep moving, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Atlanta was far, too far to reach on foot anytime soon, but she had no other choice. She didn't know how to hotwire a car, and the few vehicles she'd come across had either been stripped of their batteries or were too dangerous to risk.

Her legs ached, her muscles protesting with every step, but she ignored the discomfort. Pain was a constant companion now, one she had learned to live with. The road stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of cracked pavement winding through the wilderness, and Wendy walked on, driven by the fragile hope that somewhere down the line, safety might be waiting.

She passed an old gas station around midday. The pumps were rusted and dry, the windows shattered. A faded sign creaked in the wind, its letters barely legible: Last Stop Before Atlanta! Wendy paused, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. The gas station seemed abandoned, but she had learned to trust nothing in this new world. She tightened her grip on the bow and stepped inside.

The interior was dim, lit only by the sunlight streaming through the broken windows. Shelves were overturned, their contents scattered across the floor. The smell of rot lingered in the air, faint but unmistakable.

Wendy moved carefully, her boots crunching on broken glass. She checked behind the counter, finding nothing but a register pried open and empty. The aisles were picked clean, save for a single can of peaches that had rolled into a corner. She picked it up and shook it gently, listening to the slosh of liquid inside. It was dented but intact, and she added it to her pack with a small sigh of relief.

In the back, she found a storage room. The door was ajar, and the faint sound of dripping water caught her attention. Wendy stepped inside, her heart pounding. A leaky pipe in the ceiling had formed a small puddle on the floor, and beside it, a stack of plastic water bottles, dusty but sealed.

She stared at them for a moment, hardly daring to believe her luck.

Kneeling, she unscrewed the cap of one and took a cautious sip. The water was warm and slightly metallic, but it was clean. She drank deeply, savoring every drop before filling her pack with as many bottles as it could hold.

By the time she stepped back outside, the sun was lower in the sky, its golden light casting long shadows across the road. The heat had eased slightly, replaced by a sticky humidity that clung to her skin. Wendy adjusted her pack, feeling the added weight of the water and the can of peaches.

THE SKY ABOVE THE INTERSTATE HAD BEGUN to dim, streaked with hues of deepening orange and smudges of steel gray. Wendy's shoes crunched softly against the cracked asphalt as she trudged forward, her bow slung over her shoulder and her quiver rattling faintly with each step. The heat of the day lingered, rising from the road in waves that distorted the horizon.

She hadn't seen another soul for hours, and the oppressive silence felt like a weight pressing against her chest. Only the occasional rustle of leaves and distant bird calls broke the stillness.

Then she saw it — a dark, writhing mass in the distance. Wendy froze, her breath catching in her throat as her mind scrambled to make sense of the shape. It was like a moving shadow, but as she squinted, the details sharpened into something unmistakable: a herd of geeks, a massive one, spread out across the road like a river of death. They shambled in uneven waves, some dragging their feet, others stumbling forward with unsettling bursts of energy. The low, guttural groans reached her even from this distance, carried by the faint evening breeze.

Panic surged through her like wildfire.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and her grip tightened around the strap of her pack. She counted — not consciously, just instinctively — and gave up after twenty.

There were too many, far too many.

This wasn't a group she could pick off one by one or outmaneuver with quick reflexes. It was a tide, unstoppable and consuming, and she was a single, fragile figure on an open stretch of highway.

Her first thought was to hide. She glanced around, her eyes darting to the abandoned cars littering the road. Some had their doors ajar, others were sealed shut, their windows caked with grime. Hiding in a car seemed like the obvious choice, but her mind immediately began cataloging the risks.

The geeks might pass her by if she stayed silent and low, but if they caught even the faintest noise or glimpse of movement, she'd be trapped. No exits. Nowhere to run. She'd seen it happen before — people cornered, banging against the glass as geeks piled on, until the inevitable shatter.

Her breathing quickened as she considered her options.

The woods.

To her right, the trees stood tall and dark, their trunks close together and their canopies dense enough to block out what little light remained. The woods offered concealment, a chance to slip away unseen, but they also brought their own dangers. She couldn't be sure what was lurking in there. Geeks could be wandering between the trees, hidden until she was too close to react. And once she entered, she'd lose the visibility she had on the open road.

Still, it was a risk she had to take.

Her decision made, Wendy took a steadying breath and turned toward the woods. The grass and weeds at the roadside brushed against her legs as she moved, the sound unnaturally loud in her ears. Every step felt monumental, a cacophony in the stillness. She reached the tree line and slipped into the shadows, crouching low as she pushed through the underbrush.

Twigs snapped underfoot, and she winced at each crack, glancing over her shoulder to see if the sound had carried to the herd. They didn't seem to notice, their attention fixed on the road ahead, but Wendy's pulse didn't slow.

The forest was cooler, the air damp and earthy. The canopy above filtered the last rays of sunlight, casting dappled patterns on the ground that shifted with the breeze.

Wendy moved as quietly as she could, weaving between the trees and keeping her head low. Her fingers brushed against the grip of her bow, a familiar weight that offered little comfort in the face of the sheer number of geeks she'd seen.

She counted her arrows in her head, a pointless exercise since she already knew the number by heart. Twenty-three. Twenty-three arrows against a herd that could fill a football field. It was laughable.

The groans of the geeks grew louder as the herd drew closer to her position. Wendy dropped to a crouch behind a thick trunk, pressing her back against the rough bark. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick, controlled movements. She peered around the tree, careful to keep herself hidden. The herd was massive up close, an ocean of decaying bodies moving with grotesque coordination. Some were missing limbs, others had gaping wounds that exposed bone and muscle, but all of them shared the same vacant, hungry expression.

She couldn't help but wonder where they were going.

Geeks didn't have purpose, not really, but sometimes they moved like they did. She wondered if they were following sounds or smells for miles, drawn by some primal instinct that even death couldn't erase. Maybe they'd heard something far off, a noise she couldn't detect, or maybe they were just wandering aimlessly, as lost as she was.

Wendy stayed perfectly still, her muscles taut and trembling from the effort. She'd been in tense situations before — standoffs with geeks, narrow escapes from tight spots — but this was different. This wasn't a fight she could win or even survive if she made one wrong move.

Her survival depended entirely on staying unseen, unheard, and forgotten.

A geek near the edge of the herd suddenly turned its head, its milky eyes scanning the treeline. Wendy's breath hitched, and she pressed herself closer to the trunk, as if she could will herself into invisibility. The geek's head swiveled back toward the road, and it resumed its shuffling gait, but the moment left Wendy's nerves frayed.

She couldn't stay here, not this close. The herd's path was unpredictable, and if they veered even slightly, they'd sweep through the woods and find her without effort.

She began to move again, keeping low and close to the ground. Her hands brushed against the damp earth as she steadied herself, and the scent of moss and decay filled her nose. The underbrush snagged at her clothes and scratched her exposed skin, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

The groans of the herd were a constant backdrop, a reminder of the thin line she was walking between life and death.

When she felt she'd put enough distance between herself and the herd, Wendy allowed herself a brief pause. She knelt in the shadow of a large boulder, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling, and she clenched them into fists, pressing them against the cool surface of the rock to steady herself. The sounds of the herd were fainter now, a distant murmur that still made her skin crawl. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus.

Keep moving, she thought. You can't stop now.

The woods stretched out before her, dark and endless. Wendy stood slowly, her legs shaky but determined. She adjusted the strap of her pack and gripped her bow tightly, the familiar weight grounding her. With one last glance over her shoulder at the distant herd, she turned and disappeared deeper into the forest, her figure swallowed by the shadows.

The forest seemed to close in around her as she walked further, the trees growing denser and the light dimming into a soft twilight. Each step felt heavier than the last, her body aching from tension and exertion. She navigated the uneven terrain with care, her eyes scanning for any signs of danger. The sounds of the herd had faded into silence, but the memory of them lingered, a shadow that refused to leave her mind.

Wendy's thoughts drifted to her brother, Glenn, and the faint hope that she might find him again. It was the only thing keeping her going, the fragile thread that tied her to the idea of a future. She imagined his face, the way it would light up with relief and joy if she ever found him. That image was enough to push her forward, one step at a time.

The underbrush rustled suddenly, and Wendy froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She nocked an arrow and drew her bowstring, her muscles tensed and ready. The sound came again, closer this time, a soft shuffling that sent a chill down her spine. She aimed toward the noise, her breath steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. A shadow moved among the trees, and she held her position, waiting.

A rabbit darted out from the brush, its small form disappearing into the foliage before she could react.

Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived. The forest was alive with hidden threats, and every noise felt like a potential death sentence. Wendy lowered her bow and continued onward, her steps cautious and deliberate. She knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down, not even for a moment.

The geeks might not be close now, but they were always out there, waiting for the slightest mistake.

As the evening deepened into night, Wendy found herself longing for a place to rest. Her legs ached, and her eyes burned from the strain of staying alert. She scanned her surroundings, searching for any shelter that might offer safety.

A fallen tree with a hollowed trunk caught her attention, and she approached it carefully, checking for any signs of movement. The space was small but dry, and she decided it would have to do.

Wendy settled into the hollow, her body curled tightly to conserve warmth. The bark pressed against her back, rough and unyielding, but she welcomed the discomfort as a reminder that she was still alive.

The sounds of the forest wrapped around her, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant calls that blended into a restless lullaby. She clutched her bow to her chest, her fingers tracing the familiar curves of its frame as she stared into the darkness.

The hollowed trunk of the fallen tree offered Wendy the closest semblance of shelter she had seen all day. It wasn't ideal — not even close — but the forest around her was darkening, and the faint rustles made it clear she couldn't afford to be exposed. She curled up inside, tucking her legs close to her chest as she tried to make herself as small as possible. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, wishing it could do more to stave off the chill that settled over her as the night deepened.

Her body ached from the long day of walking, her feet sore and blistered from miles of unforgiving asphalt. The faint hum of pain in her muscles blended with the dull throb of exhaustion behind her eyes.

She laid her head against the rough inner surface of the trunk, her breath coming in shallow puffs. For a moment, she let herself relax, the weight of her bow resting against her side, her quiver pressed awkwardly against her back. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safer than being out in the open.

As her eyes fluttered closed, Wendy's thoughts began to drift, carried by the rhythm of her heartbeat and the faint whispers of the forest.

She didn't want to think about the present, about the geeks or the miles left to Atlanta, or even about the uncertainty of what she might find there.

Instead, her mind carried her somewhere else, back to a time when her world was simpler, when she was just a high school student standing on the precipice of something she loved.

It was her first-ever archery competition of the year. The memory came to her so vividly it felt like she was living it all over again. She could still feel the tautness in her shoulders as she stood on the range, bow in hand, the cool fiberglass resting against her palm. Her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the string, her breathing shallow as she tried to calm the storm of nerves building inside her chest.

She'd practiced for years, perfecting her form, her aim, her stance. And yet, standing there with the weight of expectation pressing down on her, she had never felt so unsteady.

The gymnasium was filled with the murmurs of spectators, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the occasional crackle of the PA system announcing the next contestants.

Wendy's parents weren't there. They had wanted to be, but work had pulled them away, as it so often did. They'd promised to watch the recording later, but it wasn't the same. Still, she wasn't entirely alone. She'd known Glenn would show up — her brother never missed a chance to cheer her on, no matter how small the event. She just hadn't spotted him yet in the crowded bleachers.

The competition was fierce, with contestants lined up in perfect rows, each armed with their bows, their faces a mixture of focus and determination.

Wendy remembered stepping up to the line, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through her ribs. The target seemed impossibly far away, the bright yellow bullseye mocking her from across the range. She swallowed hard, adjusted her stance, and drew back the string. Her arms shook, her fingers quivering as she steadied her aim. The world narrowed to just her and the target, the noise of the gymnasium fading into a muffled hum.

When she released the arrow, time seemed to slow. She watched as it sliced through the air, her breath catching as it struck the target — dead center. Relief flooded her, followed by a surge of exhilaration.

The gymnasium erupted into applause, but one voice cut through the noise, loud and unmistakable.

"That's my sister!" Glenn's voice rang out, a whole second before the rest of the crowd joined in. Wendy's cheeks burned with both embarrassment and pride as she turned toward the sound. There he was, standing near the top of the bleachers, waving his arms like a maniac and grinning from ear to ear.

He'd stood out among the more subdued clapping, his energy unmatched. She could hear him bragging to the people next to him, his voice carrying despite the noise.

"See that? Dead center. None of the others even come close. Told you she'd win." His tone was full of conviction, as though her victory had been a foregone conclusion, a fact he'd known all along. Wendy couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up despite her attempts to stay composed. She'd never seen someone so unabashedly proud, so willing to shout it from the rooftops.

The announcer declared her the winner and called her forward to accept her badge. Her legs felt like jelly as she climbed the small podium, each step feeling surreal. The applause was deafening, but it was Glenn's clapping that she focused on.

He was still standing, his hands moving with such enthusiasm that she wondered if they might fall off. He was beaming, his expression one of pure, unfiltered joy. She scanned the crowd, but it didn't take long to find him.

He was impossible to miss, his energy drawing her gaze like a beacon.

"You're amazing!" he called out, loud enough that she heard him over the din. Wendy smiled wildly, her cheeks aching from how hard she was grinning. She'd won, and Glenn had been there to see it. That was all that mattered. She remembered the way he leaned over to the people next to him, still gushing. "That's my sister — did you see that?"

The memory lingered, rich with detail. She could almost feel the texture of the ribbon in her hand as she accepted her badge, the weight of it both literal and symbolic.

She recalled the smell of the gym, the faint tang of sweat and the waxy scent of the polished floor. Every little detail seemed to bubble to the surface, vivid and clear. It wasn't just about the competition — it was about Glenn, about the way he'd always been there for her, cheering her on no matter what.

The memory faded as Wendy's eyes fluttered open, the present rushing back to meet her. She was still curled up in the hollow of the tree, the dampness seeping into her clothes, the chill of the night wrapping around her like a shroud.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she stared out into the darkness, the weight of her situation settling over her once more.

She was alone, so unbearably alone.

Glenn was out there somewhere — she had to believe that — but the distance between them felt insurmountable. The world had changed so much, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever see his face again.

Wendy wiped at her eyes, sniffling softly as she adjusted her position in the hollow.

The tears came and went in waves, each one leaving her feeling a little lighter, a little less burdened. She closed her eyes again, clutching the memory tightly as though it could keep her warm through the long, cold night.

She was trying to find sleep again, when she heard it. A sound so out of place it made her entire body go rigid — the unmistakable crunch of footsteps on dead leaves.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her muscles tensed, and her heart began to race. Someone, or something, was moving out there. The sound came again, closer this time, a deliberate, cautious step that sent her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Wendy froze in place, ears straining against the quiet of the forest, as if she could somehow determine whether it was a geek or something worse.

She reached slowly for her bow, fingers trembling as they found the familiar grip. Her quiver rested against her back, the fletching of the arrows brushing against her jacket. Quietly, deliberately, she slid one free and nocked it, her movements practiced and soundless. She shifted her weight to her knees, careful not to make a sound as she prepared to spring from the hollow trunk. The damp, earthy scent of the tree seemed to grow heavier, more oppressive, as she braced herself for what was to come.

The footsteps drew nearer, the soft crunching growing louder, sharper.

Whoever it was wasn't trying to be stealthy anymore.

Wendy's grip on the bow tightened, her knuckles white as she steadied her aim. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she was certain whoever was out there could hear it. Her mind raced, calculating her odds.

A single geek she could handle. A person, depending on their intentions, might be harder. But if it was a group...

She gritted her teeth, shaking the thought away. Focus, she told herself. One thing at a time.

When the footsteps stopped just beyond the hollow tree, Wendy held her breath. She could hear movement — a faint rustling, a low, almost inaudible sniffle. Her instincts screamed at her to act, to emerge from her hiding spot and take down the threat before it could find her.

She adjusted her position, bow at the ready, and pushed herself forward to peek out from the hollow trunk.

She emerged swiftly, her body low, her bow drawn and aimed with precision. But instead of the rotting face of a geek or the barrel of a gun pointed back at her, she found herself staring at a little girl.

The child couldn't have been more than ten years old. Her face was streaked with dirt, her blonde hair tangled and matted, as if she'd been wandering through the woods for days. She wore a faded blue shirt with a rainbow on it, now smeared with mud and grime, and her jeans were torn at the knees. In her arms, she clutched a small, worn plushie — a doll with ginger hair.

The girl's wide, tear-filled eyes met Wendy's, and she froze, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Her lips quivered, and she let out a soft, hiccuping sob, clutching the plushie tighter to her chest as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Wendy lowered her bow slightly but kept the arrow nocked, her suspicion outweighing her surprise.

"Who are you?" Wendy asked, her voice low and steady. She didn't move, didn't blink, her mind racing with questions. What was a little girl doing out here? Was she alone?

Or was she bait, meant to lure out anyone gullible enough to let their guard down?

The girl sniffled again, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "I... I'm Sophia," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her wide eyes darted around the forest, as though she expected something or someone to emerge from the shadows at any moment. "Please... don't hurt me."

Wendy's grip on her bow tightened. Her instincts screamed at her to be cautious, to keep her distance. The girl's clothes and face were covered in dirt, and her body language screamed fear and exhaustion. But was it real? Or was this some elaborate trick?

Wendy had seen desperation take on many forms, and trust had become a currency too costly to spare.

"Are you alone?" Wendy demanded, her tone sharper than she intended. The girl flinched at the question, her shoulders hunching as fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

"Y-yes," Sophia stammered, her voice trembling. She hugged the plushie tighter, as if it could shield her from Wendy's scrutiny. "I got lost... I don't know where my mom is. There were walkers, and I... I ran. I don't know where they went."

Her words spilled out in a jumbled rush, each one laced with desperation and fear. Wendy scanned the forest around them, her eyes darting between the trees, searching for any sign of movement.

If the girl was lying, if this was a setup, whoever was behind it could be closing in right now. But there was nothing. Just the whisper of leaves in the breeze and the distant calls of insects.

Wendy's gaze returned to Sophia, and she saw the way the girl's knees were shaking, the way her tiny frame seemed to shrink under the weight of her fear. Her suspicions didn't vanish, but they softened, giving way to a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a long time — sympathy.

Wendy lowered her bow completely, though she kept the arrow nocked, just in case. She straightened up, her expression still guarded but no longer hostile. "Okay," she said, her voice gentler now. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

Sophia sniffled, her eyes still wary but filled with a glimmer of hope. "Really?" she whispered, her voice so small it almost broke Wendy's heart.

Wendy nodded, her eyes softening despite herself. "Really."

Sophia hesitated for a moment, her small frame trembling as she took a cautious step forward. Wendy's heart clenched at the sight of her — so fragile, so scared, yet somehow still standing. As the girl came closer, Wendy realized just how young she was, how out of place she looked in this cruel, unforgiving world.

The plushie dangled from Sophia's arms as she finally reached Wendy, looking up at her with wide, tear-streaked eyes.

For a moment, they just stood there, two strangers brought together by circumstance, each trying to figure out if the other could be trusted.

Wendy didn't have all the answers, but she knew one thing for certain — she couldn't leave the girl out here alone.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

guys this was my plan all along

if only wendy knew just how close she was to glenn oh my godddd

gonna do thomas next !!

also do we like this sign off banner????? it was created by the lovely and incredible duable here!!! they have an amazing graphics shop and would highly recommend to everyone here bc the graphics are AMAZINGGG