Josie's body shuddered violently, trembling against the gusting winds accompanying the pouring rain. Her clothes were heavy with water and hung from her small frame, impeding her already halting progress.

With one palm sliding against the wall of a building, she slowly navigated her way through the pitch dark night with only the flashes of lightning to illuminate her way. Her thoughts were frantic and every trembling step filled her with dread.

As Josie paused, waiting for the next strike of lightning, she strained her ears, listening for any unnatural sounds, though the thunder broiling above made that nearly impossible. She knew that one of these buildings had to be it. Before embarking on her journey, she had studied her route vigorously, then studied it some more, until it was as familiar to her as breathing. She hadn't accounted for the thunderstorm, for the sky had not given her even a hint of a warning. At least, not one that she could interpret. And now she was stranded, in pitch darkness, traversing through a frigid storm.

The thunder ceased growling for only a moment. The falling drops could have been misconstrued as peaceful without the rattling booms of thunder to accompany their fall.

And then she heard it, the softest caress of a sound that vibrated through the air.

A growl.

Terror paralyzed Josie's body. Her mind raced.

Fighting tooth and nail against the ingrained instinct to freeze, she rocked back on her heel before sprinting forward in a mad dash. Her drenched boots were cumbersome and she knew her sloshing footsteps were loud though she could only hear the pounding of her racing heart. She refused to slow down though, nor to look back at what was surely giving chase.

Another crack of lightning struck, not far from where she was, and the blinding light revealed a narrow alleyway. A sob tore through her throat as she ran, for there at the end was a door with bars welded to it and sporting a red coat of paint. The safe room.

She reached the door in record time and fumbled with the slick metal as she tore it open and dashed inside. Throwing it closed with her shoulder she fumbled in the darkness, searching for the bar that would lock it in place. Her fluttering fingers finally alighted over chilled steel and she threw it closed with a passion.

Her laborious breaths echoed in the still room, the raging storm now muted to a more bearable decibel. She scrambled from the door when a thud rang against it not seconds later. The metal shook under the tremendous force but held strong. Another thud, followed by another continued to fill the room. She fell against the wall on the opposite side of the room, and stared at the door as it continued to rattle under the monotonous assault. Whatever was on the other side continued to ram its body against the door in a steady rhythm. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Her mind raced with the worry that the sound would bring the attention of something that could actually bring the door down, but there was no way she could deter her visitor without getting herself killed in the process. She trembled violently, not only from terror but from the cold. It was March, and though it usually wasn't too unbearably cold this time of year the rain had brought gusting, frigid winds that tore through her.

When the door proved sturdy against the continued assault, the woman raised from her crouched position. She needed to get warm, the incessant shivering was steadily draining her of any energy she might still have- taking away the precious few calories that she'd fought so hard for.

Her knapsack hit the ground, followed by every piece of sopping wet cloth that adorned her. Her emaciated figure was revealed, her ribs showing plainly through paper thin skin and hip bones jutting sharply outwards. Life on the road was unkind to her,and its inhabitants less than forgiving.

Food was scarce, after so many years after the end of the world. Blindly searching though the small room, painfully aware of the steady assault against the door, she let her hands guide her. When cloth greeted her fingertips she nearly sobbed with joy. The fabric turned out to be a stiff towel, the coarse kind that could be found at cheap motels. But it felt like Egyptian cotton to her worn and beaten senses. Such a small comfort, though it made her nearly weep. Too weary to continue her blind search, she swaddled her slight form in the towel and once more hunkered against the wall opposite the door, tucking the coarse towel's folds around her trembling body. She mentally prepared herself for another sleepless night, hoping that if she was quiet enough, the thing would forget she was here and leave her alone.

Morning came with a throbbing headache. Josie imagined this is what a hangover would feel like, though she'd never had the chance to have one. The outbreak had hit before her bravery to take on alcohol had, and to drink now was a death wish.

The sun always seems to shine brightest after a storm, and usually she'd appreciate the aesthetic of the golden rays chasing away the shadows of the night. But she was exhausted. That thing, whatever it was, had beaten at her door through the entire night. The moment the clouds had begun to glow a soft amber, though, the racket had ceased quite suddenly.

The following silence was the sweetest thing she'd heard all week.

For hours she had sat staring at the door in near constant terror as she waited for that one slam that would bring her barrier crashing down. And now she sat, slumped against the wall and staring at the grasping rays of light with a special kind of dislike. For a half hour she sat like that, half in a daze as her mind wandered, so exhausted that her body refused to do much else. But the chattering and singing of a few birds outside brought her out of her reverie and she got to work. She methodically searched the entire room, finding only dust bunnies and walls covered in words meant for loved ones, words that didn't mean anything to her anymore where once they'd brought her sadness.

It was rare she found anything that was of value in these rooms anymore. Josie remembered when she was with her pack of five survivors, they'd go from safe room to safe room, which were loaded to the brim with varieties of ammunition and arsenal, taking all they could carry. Those were better times, only months after the outbreak.

On finding nothing of value, she was forced to put her clothes, still damp and smelling of sweet rain, back on. Within only a few minutes, she was ready to leave her shelter. She had to pry the metal bar off the door, for it was bent at an odd angle from the abuse it'd been through. She thanked lady luck for allowing the barrier to stay strong. Opening the door was scary in itself, and she was mildly impressed that she still had the capability to be scared. The red paint was scratched off in many places, like a cat had had a field day with a fluffy sofa. Dents the size of her head littered the surface and served as yet another reminder of how close to death she had been.

A common occurrence.

Whatever it had been, it was strong, and had a mean set of claws. Perhaps a type of zombie she's yet to encounter? Briefly taking note of her surroundings, she set out once more.

They were less common nowadays, several years after the outbreak of a flu that targeted the brain. It made people mad, raving lunatics programmed only for aggression. At the time, she had been in her senior year of high school. Her only worries were of finals and prom. The flu was simply that, a flu, and was the most distant of her worries. But it had hit, and it had hit hard. Within a week her world was crumpled and thrown away like paper ball, almost laughable how quick the human empire had fallen. But those unaffected hadn't fallen easily, and years later there were those who still fought on. She was one of those few. She should have been graduating college this year. She liked to think she wasn't bitter, but when she thought of all the simplicities of life she was denied, a tangle of anger consumes her.

She had observed that the flu seems to not only make its host aggressive to the point of eating whatever crosses its path, but it changes the affected's physical appearance and structure. Some simply began to rot, the literal walking dead. But others, like some insane case of super heroes, were given abilities beyond reason. She kept a journal in her bag of the different, unique types she had encountered. Some spat up acid, others preferred to aim bile at its victims. She had even encountered one with a tongue that seemed to be forty feet long, with the ability to wrap around its victims. The appearance of that one had resulted in a few sleepless nights for her. Luckily, they were incredibly rare, and she hasn't seen one in months.

Josie had read on the walls of the safe houses she bunked in, more tales of these enhanced humans. One survivor called them special infected, and she found that rather suiting. That had to have been what was outside of the room the entire night. A special infected. The normal, more common walking dead ones, the virus rotted their mind. Their stupidity made them easy to fool and rendered them easily distracted. They would have left her door in the first minute without any stimulation to keep them there. This one is different. Intelligent. Predatory. The special infected could still be lurking, though she felt relatively confident that the appearance of the sun was the reason behind its disappearance. She continued onward, just like she always has.

Josie was balancing on the curb of the street as she walked south, her arms outstretched for balance. She wasn't being silly or stupidly ignorant; just bored. The sun beat down on her, several times stronger after the rain storm. She briefly pondered searching for a ball cap soon, to shade her eyes. Her senses, finely tuned from her many years of survival, picked up on a shuffling to her right.

Pausing she peered into the dimly lit alleyway.

A woman appeared quite suddenly, lurching forward at a dead sprint, gurgling snarls ripping from her throat like she couldn't get the sounds out fast enough. The survivor tensed and pulled a knife the size of her forearm from its sheath strapped to her thigh. She dodged the crazed woman's initial attack, side stepping easily and stomping on the woman's ankle as she moved. With an audible pop the foot rested unnaturally on its side, the sole of its foot facing to the sky. But the dead feel no pain and the woman quickly turned back around, stumbling on the hindrance that was her dragging foot. It reached once more for her, but with one hand holding its struggling body at arm's length, she plunged the knife into its head with the other. It dropped like a sack of potatoes, gravity pulling its head from her knife with a wet schlep. Leaning down, she cleaned the gore off on the woman's clothes and re-sheathed it. She continued walking.

Y'all like Josie? She's a badass, huh? ;)

I don't expect this to be truly popular, seeing as the fandom is rather old. But who knows! If anyone is out there, let me know in the reviews and I'll post another chapter.

What, oh what could have been knocking on her chamber door? I wonder... lol.

-iva