The forest was alive with death.
Branches cracked beneath rotting feet. Carrion birds circled overhead, black silhouettes against the grey Southern sky. Somewhere deeper in the trees, a low moan echoed—a sound that no longer made my blood run cold, just set my muscles into motion.
I crouched near the edge of a narrow creek, scanning the underbrush. The sun dipped lower, casting gold through the canopy. That's when I heard it. A soft hiccup of a sob. Barely audible. Human.
Sophia.
I moved slow, careful. Every step mattered. I'd had to shake off two walkers earlier and mask my scent with mud scraped from the creek bed. I looked like a ghost—face darkened with clay, shirt torn and splattered, my boots half-sunk in muck.
There. Under a fallen pine.
She was filthy, eyes wide with fear, her tiny hands wrapped around a teddy bear with one missing eye. Her face was tear-streaked but unbitten, untouched.
I lowered to one knee, keeping my voice low. "Hey, you okay?"
She flinched, the fear in her eyes evident. Her tiny hands gripped the ragged bear harder. "They were chasing me," she whispered, barely audible.
"I know," I said gently. "But I'm here now. We're gonna get you out of here, alright?"
She hesitated, and I saw her glance toward the shadows. "Are you... are you with my mom?" she asked, voice trembling.
I smiled reassuringly, though my heart clenched. "I'm gonna get you back to her, okay?"
I extended my hand, the dried blood on my palm from earlier still there. She took it without question, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine.
Navigating back through the woods wasn't easy. The walkers had scattered into the forest, and every step had to be measured, quiet. I guided her through the brush, showing her how to move without a sound, teaching her to listen for the distant groans of the dead.
The first real challenge came when we found ourselves near a dry creek bed. A trio of walkers had blocked our path, their eyes lifeless, slow-moving. I could have taken them out easily, but with a child in tow, that wasn't an option.
"Stay behind me," I whispered to Sophia, pulling her back into the shadows.
I had a small knife at my side, but that wouldn't be enough to take them all down without making noise. I needed something quieter. Something more precise.
The closest walker was a bloated woman in a torn dress. Her legs dragged along the ground as she dragged herself forward. The second one, a man with a bloody face, staggered just behind her, oblivious to our presence. The third was a child—a small boy, his face contorted in a grotesque mask of hunger.
I crouched low, watching their movements. I couldn't let the child see what was coming.
"Move only when I move," I whispered, slowly pulling my knife free, though I kept it low, hidden behind my leg.
I waited until the walker with the bloody face took a half-step closer, then I struck. The jagged branch plunged into the walker's throat with a sickening crack, and I yanked it back, breaking the bones with a single motion.
The woman screamed—well, it was more of a rasping growl—and staggered forward. I turned just as she reached for me, slamming the side of my boot into her chest, knocking her off balance. She fell back with a horrible screech. I was already on top of her, my knife stabbing down into her skull before she could react.
The boy walker was next. He wasn't much of a threat, but I still didn't want to risk him getting close. I pulled the knife free from the woman's skull and moved, silent, like a shadow. One swift motion—his throat slit cleanly.
Sophia watched the whole thing, her eyes wide, but she didn't make a sound.
I stood, wiping the blood off my blade with the ragged fabric of the woman's torn dress.
"We keep moving," I said, voice low. "Stay close."
We kept moving through the trees, the sound of my boots muffled by the damp earth. Every step was careful, calculated.
We were almost there when I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a group of walkers coming through the trees. I could hear them before I saw them—groaning, the dragging of feet, a slight rustling.
Damn it.
I pulled Sophia behind a thick oak, signaling her to stay quiet. There were too many now to deal with quietly. I had no choice.
We'd have to fight.
The first walker broke through the underbrush—a tall, gangly man with sunken eyes, his jaw hanging loosely as he gnashed at the air. I grabbed a nearby rock and hurled it toward him, distracting him for just a moment.
The second was closer—a woman with blackened teeth, her hair matted and tangled. She lunged for me, and I stepped aside, drawing the knife from my belt. I sliced across her arm, a clean hit, causing her to stagger back, giving me enough time to grab a broken branch. With a swift motion, I swung it at her head, knocking her to the ground.
Sophia was huddled behind me, shaking, but staying quiet. She trusted me.
But there were more. More came crashing through the trees—six, maybe seven. The air filled with the stench of rot and decay. I fought, one walker at a time, using everything I had—my fists, the knife, anything within reach.
One of them lunged, catching me off guard, but I was quick, twisting its head back and slamming it into the tree trunk with a sickening crack.
The clearing fell silent. The threat was gone.
I stood, panting, covered in sweat and blood.
"We're almost there," I said, looking back at Sophia. Her eyes were wide, filled with awe and fear, but she nodded.
We kept moving forward, my senses sharp, ready for anything.
When we finally reached the ridge, I had already kept to the shadows, careful not to reveal myself yet. I needed to make sure they were really Sophia's group, and not just another band of survivors with dangerous intentions.
I moved closer, watching carefully. I recognized them—Rick, Daryl, Carol—but I didn't let myself relax. Not yet. I wanted to be sure, to see their reactions, their behavior before I revealed myself.
I wasn't about to make the mistake of trusting anyone blindly. Not again.
But then, someone saw me.
I froze as a voice called out sharply, "Who's there?!"
Rick. I could hear the tension in his voice as he moved toward me, his hand resting on his sidearm. Behind him, Daryl's bow was raised, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Damn it.
I stepped into view slowly, hands raised, empty. "It's me. I—" I glanced down at Sophia, who had darted to Carol's side. "I wanted to make sure you were really her group. Sophia's mom."
There was a tense pause. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for an explanation.
"I... wasn't sure if you were who you said you were," I continued, voice steady. "I didn't want to take any chances."
Rick looked at me, then at Sophia, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Fair enough."
The tension slowly ebbed as the group relaxed a little. They hadn't known me, hadn't trusted me—fair enough. They had every right to be cautious.
"We're good now," Daryl muttered, lowering his bow.
Shane, however, didn't look so convinced. His eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent.
I shifted slightly, looking around at the others. They were still processing, still uncertain, but Sophia was safe now. And that was all that mattered.
I glanced down at Sophia, who was still holding Carol's hand tightly. "Max," I said finally, breaking the silence. "My name's Max."
The group nodded, some more warmly than others, but I knew they'd be watching me carefully from now on.
That was fine with me.
Because the fight for survival didn't end with rescuing Sophia. It had only just begun.