So, first off, this will be updated very irregularly. But I love the series and I love the stories I've been reading on here and I wanted write a little something. Hopefully you'll all enjoy it and let me know what you think. So, without further ado (I do not own the Walking Dead, nor am I planning on it at any particular point in time), here we go!

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"Chaos results when the world changes faster than the people."

Prologue

The sky was deceptively afternoon, the bugs and birds still flittering around like normal, the cicadas calling from their perches somewhere deep in the forest nearby. The wind gently whipped the treetops back and forth, the leaves rustling in a soothing rhythm. The clouds were white and fluffy, perfect cotton balls in the endless, blue sky.

And here I was, curled on my side on the hard, hot pavement, trying to staunch the bleeding in my bullet-riddled leg. It didn't matter now if I made a noise or not; the gunshots my foe and I had traded did more than enough to draw the walkers' attention Not to mention, the two of us were now giving off the tangy, metallic scent of their favorite thing.

"Bitch! You shot me, you dirty bitch!" he growled, covered head to toe in grime, his matted, once blond hair plastered to his face. His chocolate eyes were wild with hate and pain, his trembling hands cupping the mess I had made of his manhood.

I was an excellent shot.

The walkers were closing in from every direction; slow as they were, I didn't know if I could outrun them with a bullet hole to my calf. There was always a time to try, right?

The cookie cutter houses around us seemed to have walkers simply piling out of them. My head snapped to and fro, trying to decide in what direction I should flee to. There wasn't really an ideal option, but I needed to find some way out. Anywhere. I was not leaving those kids to die in that van…

Said van was behind the walkers now and, unless I wanted to run straight at them, I had to lure them away. If I could just lead them away and double back, then we'd be alright.

Thankfully, though, I didn't have to make much of a choice; an enormous RV was rumbling down the road, followed by a few other cars. Praying that they didn't just continue on their way in hopes of avoiding the horrifying throng of creatures, I took aim and shot one down.

Walkers couldn't use guns.

My firing did the trick; the large, roofless Jeep behind the RV came to an abrupt halt and a man, dark-haired and olive-skinned, hopped out of the driver's seat. Taking aim at a few of the walkers, he took them out easily enough.

A few more men began spilling out of the vehicles, including an older, white-haired fellow wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a freakin' bucket hat wielding a shotgun.

Ignoring my leg and the man bleeding out a few feet from me, I pointed my Smith and Wesson pistol at anything an ungodly shade of gray covered in blood and took them out one by one. The sound was attracting more of them, but there really wasn't anything any of us could do about it, unless one of them had something quieter.

If I could only reach the van, I'd go for my crossbow; I had searched high and low for that thing in all of the sports stores around town just a few days after all of this had started. It wasn't hard to figure out that the walkers were attracted to anything loud and obnoxious. Like the man still cradling his family jewels and cursing my very existence.

The hoard was closing in around him, moaning and shuffling like always, and, even though we had just been fighting each other, I shot two walkers who were near enough to grab him.

He didn't seem to notice, though, and grabbed for his shotgun, an ugly sneer plastered on his dirty face, "I'ma show you, whore…" One handed, he fired in my direction, though, fortunately enough for me, he was too blinded by his pain to actually hit me.

The men from the RV were steadily making progress toward the van and toward myself as the walkers dropped to the ground from their bullets. Momentarily distracted as I was by their approach, I turned just in time to see several walkers fly into my furious opponent. He screamed ferociously, turning his shotgun, finally, onto them, but it was a little too late.

Once they had ripped into him, there was no chance for survival. The walkers coming for me made a mad dash for the feast their comrades had ripped into and I was able to pick off a few that wanted to stick around and snack on my wounded self.

The man from the Jeep crossed the distance between us and dropped to his knees beside me. His oval face was covered in sweat, his nearly black eyes assessing my injury. Breathing heavily, he bit out, "They get you?"

"No, he shot me," I jerked my thumb back toward the disgusting feeding frenzy and the man gave a short nod before gathering me up into his arms. He ran back to the RV, trying no to jostle me around too much, but it was no use; biting my lip, I tried to swallow my cries of pain.

"Anything in that van o' yours?" he queried, reaching the van and shifting me into the arms of an enormous, bald man. The few men around us, including the older one, one that looked like someone straight out of the backwoods, and a thin, young Asian kid, were breathing heavily, guns still trained on the clump of walkers that fought over the bits and pieces of that man.

"Five kids and some supplies," I all but snarled, drawing blood from my lower lip as I tried to block out the pain now spiking through my leg, "you leave them an' I swear…"

"Daryl, take my Jeep; I'll get the van," the one who had carried me over barked at the hillbilly, who nodded shortly, taking one last shot at the filthy, mindless hoard before dashing off toward the Jeep. The leader, so I assumed him to be, turned to the man holding me and stated, "Get her inside; we gotta get out of here…"

In a blur, I suddenly found myself in the back of the RV, under the care of a thin, pretty black woman, who patted my arm gingerly, "You're going to be alright, honey."

The last thing I was aware of was screams and cries asking if I had been bitten, and the fact that I wasn't with my kids. As I was being held down, a sharp, pointed object was jabbed into my open wound. Heads were gonna roll when I woke up.