Forest dense, thick with trees… broken branches and twigs, dips in the earth… it’s so rustic, natural and gorgeous, but there is a problem. The Dead have risen. Watching the footing matters more, rolling feet heel to toe to reduce the sound of steps, making sure not to step on any twigs, and traps? People set them some time ago, but they’re probably long gone…

One small wrong step and it could become a life or death situation… of course in my case, my hearing is sensitive, and i can hear the distant moans of a familiar sound… the Undead.

Before they pick up my scent, i need to change direction… I’m not good at this survival thing, but things I’d seen from before help… remembering those days caddying for family on a golf course, i carefully pull out blades of grass and throw them through the air… the air doesn’t seem to move them in any direction? They seem to drift and twizzle down, dancing gracefully back to the ground.

Well… that did absolutely nothing to help me work out what to do… i try to pin where the sound might be coming from, and i often consider whether to blindfold myself and train myself to listen better… but I never got round to it, being on the run, would i ever feel safe enough?

Too much thinking, I have to make a decision… pick a direction and silently traipse through the undergrowth… I think they’re on the right, so i decide to head left. I carefully pick up a stick that looks fairly strong, pull out my craft knife, and while walking i try to fashion a point on the end.

As I’m walking, obviously not giving the ground as much thought as I should be… you guessed it, SNAP, a loud crack fills the air ricochetting from the trees! FUCK. Fuckity fuck fuck, shit and all the bad language you can imagine fills my head. Well I have a makeshift weapon… of sorts…

No choice but to speed my pace up, and hope they don’t pick up on my location. I decide to weave around the trees slightly, touching the wood, and make some jagged turns here and there, anything to try and prevent them from directly following…  after i get some distance i slow down a little, and i start to acknowledge a lower moan sound that isn’t that far from where i am. Barely a whisper i say to myself “whats up hunni, ya trapped?”

I walk to the location, and address the undead barely crawling around on the ground, “hey I’m sorry this happened to you, wished I could make this right for you. The only way i can is to help you rest…” i feel bad as she looks at me with desperation, needing to feed, reaching out to me. I hate this shit. Look at her, seriously?! She’s wearing a dress that would have been beautiful, flowers on soft draped material all torn and filthy… I don’t know how she died, how she ended up at this moment. I go to raise the spear i made but i hear a mechanism snap. SPLAT. Straight into the top of her head… a crossbow bolt. My mind starts racing. Shit someones alive, someones alive and if its a guy they usually only see me for “breeding” purposes… fuck fuck fuck…

I hear barely audible footsteps coming towards me and I carefully turn to see who’s walking this direction. A muscular man with a crossbow, looks like he hasn’t interacted with any water for weeks. He’s filthy, his greasy hair flat on his head. He doesn’t acknowledge me, just yanks up his bolt from the Undead, splashing her blood, checks it’s structural integrity and pops it with the others. He mutters “you’re welcome”, in a brash voice. Turns and walks away.

I’m now in awe. He’s not tried to pin me, not tried to do anything guys usually do when I’ve been out here. He’s a stone cold survivor. The child in me suddenly hypes up, “hey, you’re right, thank you!” A little too loud, as i can be sometimes, and I instantly feel a little embarrassed by my sudden outburst.

“Shush! Keep ya voice down!” He says quietly but slightly exasperated. “Sorry” i whisper.

“Come on” he tilts his head for me to follow him. I have no idea where we’re going, I don’t care how bad he smells but the most wonderful smell that instantly attracts me to him is the smell of burning wood and cigarettes… the muscles on his arms, the fact that he hasn’t tried anything. There’s a charm to this guy, so I follow silently like a lost sheep that’s just found her shepherd. I decide not to speak, i get the feeling he’s not a talkative type, and would probably hate it… especially with my habit of being lonely and talking everyone to death.

I have no idea what time it is, where we’re heading, but the sky just starts to hint darker than it was. “Rest up” he mutters, grabbing some sticks. He points to my makeshift spear “make more of em”. I sit down on the  ground near where he drops the sticks, and do as I’ve asked, he bustles around setting things up, and disappears for a short while while I’m carving. I catch a glimpse of him “both sides need points, right?”, “righ’” I just make out his reply over the sound of wood being stripped while i carve. He disappears again.