Chapter One – Day 387

Afternoon

I was tired. Fuck, I was dead-beat. I've been staring at the walker, caught up between barbed wires, trying to reach for me, for five minute. I sat down on a big rock across it—can't call 'it' a 'him', because that thing ain't anything closer to a 'him'—and rubbed the sweat dripping off my forehead with a piece of cloth, tossing it aside. I took a deep breath and stared down at my boots.

These fucking boots. So many memories. They were a present from my boyfriend Benny—well, ex-boyfriend—when I got the job at the King County Sherriff's Department. Being a newbie with such a serious police force meant I needed legit gear, which I couldn't afford because I lived off my ex's pay. He worked at the local mall, so you can imagine how low the pay-check was at the end of the month. But he still fucking got them for me. I remember crying with happiness for the first time when I got them. So clean and big and… goddamn expensive.

I shook my head thinking of Benny. He was to be my first after we got married. When everything went apeshit, we'd been engaged for a weekend. Yep, one solid weekend. He was so patient with me with regards to sex, and I was such a prude. I still am a virgin (this apocalypse has done me no justice in that area), but this zombie apocalypse made me more mature. The swearing is a negative bonus that got thrown in with this experience.

I blinked, and came back to my senses. Walker stuck in barbed wires. I sighed, stood up and bashed his head in with my Glock. I grunted as I pulled the gun from its head, and walked to the other side, gun in one hand, and an Italian knife strapped to the other, hidden under the sleeve of my flannel shirt. I had four Swiss knives, two tied to each leg in case of emergencies. In my backpack, I had several other weapons: thin wires, several other knives, and chains. It was fucking heavy, it hurt my back, but I still walked along.

To be honest, I had no idea where I was going. For the past year, nothing mattered except surviving. I wasn't always alone; the week the outburst occurred, I was in such a bad place. While looking for Benny, I stumbled upon a nest of walkers, and a group of men saved me. My memory is fuzzy as fuck, so I forgot their names (except for Lori and Shane, whom I knew before the outburst). But I'd remember their faces if I ever saw them again. Well, they saved me, took me to their group and I spent a week with them. I overheard one of them—the tough one with the accent. God he was such an asshole—saying how useless I was for the group because—this made me chuckle then, and still does now—I looked like a teenager. Heck I knew I looked young for my age (even though I forgot how old I was back then, but I'm not yet 30. That far I know), but that didn't mean anything. I was a police officer! I could hear Shane, a co-worker of mine who was part of the group, defend me. So did Lori, Sherriff Grimes' wife, but Asshole with the Accent insisted, so did the other Asshole with the Accent. They were definitely related, the Assholes… brothers or father-son.

I'd had enough of the bull, so I packed my stuff and snuck out. All week those two had done nothing but taunt me: my size, my accent, my nose… everything. Thank god I knew Shane and Lori because I'd have shot the two of them… except back then I was a scaredy cat. That's why I left. I was scared. But not anymore. I've grown so independent whenever I saw a group of survivors I walked the other way. I couldn't deal with any more groups after that one.

Except this one time, I did. And it ended tits-up. For them, not me. It was a group of men… six or seven of them, if I remember correctly… who took me in. They were squatting in a day care centre for old people, I think. The men were all older than me, ten to fifteen years for sure, so I was a bit wary of how I portrayed myself in front of them. Being cautious didn't help at all and now, I realise, I couldn't fucking blame them. Six or seven men, no women, lots of urges, and then there was me, the only girl, fresh meat. I always sensed they could smell my virgin blood from the other side of the building, where I was to stand guard most days and nights. So after a month or so with them, we decided to move places—you now, extra caution—and we took a shortcut underground, but when they took a left, I went back to where I came from, and ran off. I'd taken half their weapons, as I was on 'weapon-holding duty' because—that's right—I was a girl.

Crack.

I snapped out of my train of thoughts, and spun around, gun at the ready.

Crackle-crack.

The cracking of fallen leaves and twigs was increasing… and approaching. I tried to control my breathing, which resulted impossible. In situations as such, I usually think the same thing quickly, over and over again. It's ridiculous, but it was the only thing that kept me sane. And the only thing I'll have to remember for the rest of my life.

'My name is Erin Cabrera, and I'm screwed.'

This is my first TWD fanfiction I've ever written, so I'm totally new with this. I'm a big nut for TWD, as am for most zombie apocalyptic series/movies/books.

I hope you guys will enjoy this story!