Dear Diary,

I almost died today. Well, I almost die every day, but today was a really close call.

The gas station was practically empty, and according to the map, the next loot station was in five miles.

She kicks at a soggy cardboard box, huffing in frustration. Waste of time.

The air around her is stale and sunlight comes in through the tiny windows above, highlighting all the flying dust. The bare shelving units only seem to add to her depressing mood. She looks away and heads to the exit.

Madison has been out here for months. She has never fit into groups very well. And when she did, they all died out within weeks. It was like a curse.

Holding onto the straps of her worn out rucksack, she makes her way out of the building, squinting against the sunlight. A walker washes into the starting sunset in the distance, swaying with the breeze.

She sighs, glancing down at her state map. Life will never get better. Why bother?

There is a clatter behind her. Strange. It was empty when she scouted the place. Perhaps a rat? Or maybe a squirrel? Her eyes glance down at the string of mammals attached to her belt for supper. No, this is enough. She has managed to catch at least four today.

Something wraps around her neck from behind. Faster than lightning. When her back slams into a hard, warm body she understands that it is a person. A living person. The arm digs into her throat, cutting off her air supply.

"Well, would you look at that," a harsh hiss in her ear, "Rob, take the squirrels. Angela, take a quick look around the place."

Madison chokes, unable to hide her desperation. It is a man. He is strong. He is with a group. He is going to do it. Her bones are about to break.

The sunlight seems so far away.

Suddenly she gets pushed forward and her backpack is ripped away from her. She gasps for air, slamming into the nearby shelf. It falls on top of her, but thankfully it isn't too heavy.

"What do we have here?" she can see the man. He is wearing a creepy smile and his greasy hair falls over his eyes. It's difficult to tell the age, but why should that matter? She's going to die.

Two bodies are moving behind him, equipped with machetes. It is a group. One of the lethal ones some people are unlucky enough to cross. People like Madison.

She puts a hand around her neck, feeling a lump as she swallows. The man rummages through her backpack and the anger on his face shows that he did not find what he was looking for. Madison stays under the shelves, hoping and praying they will leave her here.

A taller man (probably the Rob the leader was referring to) walks up to her, yanking the game off her belt. That's her dinner gone. Her mind flashes to the knife tucked snuggly in her back pocket. Her hand twitches.

"Useless shit," the leader growls, "A fucking notepad and a couple of pots. Put her down."

Madison's eyes flicker up to Rob, who in a split second manages to grab her by the hair and hoist her up like a piglet ready for slaughter. A strangled moan escapes her mouth, making the lump grow bigger.

He raises his machete.

"We got a problem," the woman in the group, Angela, appears in Madison's peripheral vision, "It's a herd."

"Let's hurry this along then," the leader nods, securing the girl's backpack over his shoulder. Asshole.

Rob looks back down at Madison, and she sees contemplation in his eyes. Is she worth it?

He pushes her back, sending a firm kick into her ribcage before disappearing with the group. Apparently not.

Madison lays there for a second, wondering how she got out of this alive. If she is still alive. She swallows, feeling a burning sensation in her throat. Her side is twisting in pain as she moves her leg. She is definitely alive.

A gunshot makes her dart up from her position. Shit, they have guns? She looks around the area, finding nothing that could be used as a better weapon than her knife.

She stands up and catches her breath, noticing evident growling outside the gas station. It's a herd. The bitch was right. The mucky windows lose their brightness as hands start hammering on the glass. She backs away, wasting no time in following her enemies out of possibly the only free exit.

To her surprise, the leader is lying in the grass, surrounded by his own blood. She takes a closer look. He has been shot in the head.

Shit. There is somebody else out here.

The moaning walkers start surrounding the building, noticing Madison by the door. She tugs her backpack off the dead man's back, throwing it over her shoulder. Her items are clanging inside. Good.

There is another gunshot which could mean that another asshole is dead. Or some other group's asshole is dead. Or somebody is shooting at the walkers… but that would be a stupid idea considering the situation.

The shots attract their attention and some of the dead ones are speed-walking towards the girl. She makes a run for it, not caring if she is currently in the line of sight of an enemy.

The sun is setting. This is bad. She needs to find somewhere to hide, not only from the walkers but also the people around.

Madison sprints across the littered parking lot, dodging a twitching corpse on the cracked pavement. Another dead body flings in her direction, almost knocking her to the ground. She pushes at it, reluctant to get eaten on a day when near-death experiences are indeed near-death.

The last thing she needs is to be caught up in the herd and from the looks of it, she is halfway there.

She sees Rob, the asshole responsible for bruising her ribcage, wrestling with a new man in leather among the chaos. To her relief, the leather-clad man wins, shoving what looks like a screwdriver into Rob's eye socket.

Was he the one who fired the shots? Where is his gun?

The screwdriver killer raises his head and amid the chaos they lock gazes. She freezes momentarily, not realizing that this is costing her precious time.

It must have been a miscount of the number of bodies or the mistake of estimating the amount of time it would take for the dead ones to get from Point A to Point B, but somehow one of the dead lands onto Madison's body and it takes her by such surprise that she ends up on the floor with it, desperately pushing at its chest and tilting away from its snapping jaw.

"Goddamit!" she hears a deep voice before the weight is lifted off her, "Get the fuck up, honey!"

The man grabs her by the shirt, half-dragging her away from the bodies. She manages to stand straight and when they both gain their footing, they run.

The growling behind them is loud and when Madison takes a peek behind her shoulder she sees the size of the herd. It's enormous. How did she survive being among it? He saved her.

"Keep going!" the man growls, taking a risk himself and yanking her shirt collar. Madison moans, not appreciating his man-handling. Gradually, her anger sizzles away as they run when she starts to realize that he is probably on her side. And if he isn't, she can use him to get out of this mess. Whatever happens next can be decided later.

The metal pots used for cooking meals and boiling water knock against each other in her backpack. The man sends her a quick look, probably wondering where the noise is coming from. She sees his dark brown eyes which are surrounded by blackened skin that could have appeared from a fire or days without a wash. Madison has not seen a mirror for weeks, but she knows that her face probably looks the same.

They find themselves going further and further into a forest. When her legs start to burn, she slows down, and thankfully the man shows the same stamina.

She jogs through the trees, fingers skimming the bark as she passes. Inch by inch, metre by metre, her legs carry her away from the man. It's a possibility that when the running stops, he will turn on her. And if that happens, she wants to stand a chance.

The growling behind them gets quieter and quieter, replaced with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the twigs snapping beneath their boots. She has never been the type of girl to be saved. Usually, she saves herself. Her last group survived because of her. After they died, she named herself 'The Group Hopper'. It's probably the only thing that makes her giggle from time to time.

Abruptly, the man crouches down, one hand on his stomach as if to stop his guts from falling out. Madison stops ten metres in front, casting a curious glance at her savior. He raises his head, displaying his salt and pepper beard. From this angle, he looks sort of handsome.

She nods subtly, hoping this gesture would show him her gratitude for before. He is not the silent kind.

"You with that fucking group?"

Her tone comes off as harsh, "No, they were trying to kill me."

The man laughs as he straightens up, flashing his amazingly perfect teeth, "Doll, with the fucking way the world is now, I couldn't fucking tell."

She stays silent, placing a hand on the knife in her pocket.

"I'm Negan," his smile fades. Madison realizes that he may be drunk. It's the way he leans. The way his manners change. The way his eyes are clouded over.

She skips her introduction, deeming it as unimportant, "Were you the one who fired the shots?"

He reaches behind to take out a nice-looking pistol, waves it in the air and tosses it towards her. She catches it, feeling a muscle stretching in her abdomen from the kick she received minutes ago.

"Go fuckin' nuts," Negan sighs, wiping the bottom of his jaw, "No bullets."

Without further words, he starts walking again, tugging at the leather jacket around his shoulders. Her eyes watch him, wondering if he is planning on leaving. As if reading her mind, he stops a few metres away from her.

Remembering the match box of bullets that she found weeks ago, Madison shrugs the bag off her shoulders. Negan squints his eyes, oblivious to the stupid choice he made a couple of seconds ago. Her fingers dig into a small pocket and she pulls out the object, tipping it in her hand and making six bullets fall into her palm. She tries them with the gun and they fit.

There is a satisfying click as she points it at a tree.

"Fucking dickhead," Negan mumbles, aiming the insult at himself. Madison watches as he composes himself, an argument forming in his eyes. Slowly, she trails the aim towards Negan's leg. Just in case, "How the fuck was I supposed to know you had bullets, darlin'?"

"I'm a hoarder," Madison explains, recalling herself having trouble hauling her backpack to places. Crazily, her bad habit came in handy at the most unlikely of times. She is lucky she saved those bullets.

Negan nods, gesturing to the bag on his back. It is smaller than hers, "I think we should start moving again."

She glances in the direction of the herd, palms sweating, "We?"

Negan's mouth curls into a smile, "Well, you got my gun."

"The bullets are mine," she answers, noticing a spark of irritation in his eye. She knows nothing about this man. He could be cold blooded. He could be worse than the group she encountered. The fact that he always smiles puts her off talking to him, in case he suddenly lashes out and cuts her throat.

But he did save her. And by saving her, he risked his own life.

"Look," he starts, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking as bored as ever, "We leave this fucking place. We haul up for the fucking night. In the morning, you give me back my motherfucking gun and half of the fucking bullets and we go off on our separate fucking adventures. Sound like a fair deal, sweetheart?"

Madison has every right to shoot him right now. It would be easier. However, something about his tone and the certainty in his stature forces her to nod.

"That's what I fucking thought," he grins, glancing at the gun, "Now do me a fucking favour and point that thing at something other than me. I believe I can trust you not to fucking shoot me, alright?"

Again, she nods.

Negan's eyes trail up and down her body when she lowers the gun. His tongue darts out to lick his dry lips, "What's your name?"

"Madison."

"I'm gonna call you Daisy."

She quirks an eyebrow. Is she missing something? Or was she right about him being intoxicated?

Negan glances away at where they came from, looking eager to continue moving.

"My name is Madison," she talks slowly, raising her eyebrows. The bastard furrows his brows, sizing her up.

Silently, he points to her hair. Her hand darts up to her locks, feeling a few bumps and sticks wrapped in her strands. Gradually, her fingers trail over the smoother parts of the debris and she pulls, revealing a flower. Daisy.

Again, she quirks a brow. Negan nods, as if proving his point.

Still makes no sense. She decides to drop it. He is insane.

The darkness comes faster than anticipated, and it seems to wake Madison up. It's screwed up, but that is how the world is now, and has been for the last couple of years. Everything is worse when it is dark.

Her eyes are alert as she senses his figure stumbling through the forest. A couple of times she saw him pulling out a flask from his bag and taking generous swings. Great. A binge drinker. Out of all the people left in the world, she is left with him.

Right now, he seems harmless.

They walk a dozen feet apart, mostly due to Madison being the smart survivor she is. Every time Negan whistles and calls her over, she averts her eyes. He laughs in response.

"I think I've fucking proven myself, have I not, Daisy?"

She ignores his loud tone, hoping he would learn to shut up. When he starts bellowing out a song, she jumps a foot in the air.

"Shut up!" her eyes widen, her whisper acting as a yell, "How the hell did you survive this long?!"

Negan stomps his foot as he walks, creating an echo in the forest. Madison clutches her gun, heartbeat in her ears. There seems to be no bodies walking around nearby, but there could be people. In addition to that, the real threat could be him. Negan seems to be aware of his actions but his drunk state is making him stupid. Stupid is not a good trait to have. Not good at all.

They come into a clearing and the only places visible are the parts highlighted by the bright moon above. From this distance, she can see a few corpses waddling around the field, mindlessly reaching out at falling leaves. Negan comes up behind her, the sound of his knife cutting the air.

She puts her arm out, "Stop. There's no point."

As if to justify her actions, she nods towards a battered building that looks more like a shed in the tree line.

When they reach the shelter, Madison crosses the small space to sit on the other side of the room. Negan chuckles darkly, taking the hint and settling down as far away from the girl as possible.

The floor is freezing to sit on, so she tucks her legs underneath her bottom. She tilts her chin upwards. It's not even a shed. It is just a box. There is an overturned table near the door, and a broken window adjacent to it. It blows the cold night air inside, clarifying that tonight is going to be impossible for sleep.

She turns to look at Negan who has emptied the contents of his bag onto the floor in front of him. A flask (not surprising), a knife, a lighter, and a dirty rag. She squints her eyes, wondering if something useful is wrapped up in it.

"Better get comfortable, doll. It's gonna be a long night," he glances at her backpack. She makes no move to take it off. He laughs softly, "Suit yourself."

Madison rests the pistol beside her thighs, thinking back to the squirrels she killed today. If only she did not encounter that group, she would be having a meal right now.

But it's okay. It wouldn't be the first day she survived without food.

Negan makes the box his home as he appears to lounge the same way a man would on a sofa with a TV in front of him. He holds the flask in one hand and leans forward to light his rag on fire. Madison watches, knowing that as there is no wood, the fire would be out within minutes.

The flame lights the room, momentarily setting a cosy feeling into the atmosphere. Madison sighs, her white breath flowing past her lips. She might as well take advantage of the light while it is here.

Reaching into her backpack, she takes out the small notebook in a zipped-up compartment. It is tattered and yellowing, but it manages to hold her words on the pages nevertheless. She grabs her tiny pencil and begins to write about her day, making sure to record anything and everything that could help her in the future. Predominantly, the map information and her whereabouts.

She writes about the killer group and a man called Negan. She writes about the herd and estimates the number of walkers and which directions and routes not to take.

"Is that a diary?" his smooth voice makes her raise her head. Negan smirks widely, his wrists resting on his bent knees.

"Yes," Madison answers, holding his gaze.

"Writing about me?"

"Obviously," she wants him to realize that diaries are for recording the thought process, but somehow he interprets her answer as an invitation to come over. She holds onto her stuff, shuffling into a corner as he leans over. The warmth of another body feels good, but considering their relationship, she wants him as far away from her as possible.

"God, you're sassy," he hums, taking a sip from his flask, "You remind me of a kid I used to know. Even with one fucking eye, he'd be the sassiest motherfucker there was."

Madison watches as the flames start to disappear, sensing a hint of sadness behind his words. The next time she glances over at him, his eyes are closed.

"Go to sleep. I'll take the first watch," he grumbles.

"Yeah, right," she feigns a laugh, hoping he would understand that he is not the easiest person to trust.

To her relief, he finds the humour in her replies, "Well, if you're not sleeping, then I am."

Two minutes later, the man is snoring quietly by her side. She sighs, picking the pistol off the floor. For the rest of the night, her tired eyes are focused on the entrance.