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<br/>
<i>"If you can hear me, come find me."</i><br/>
<br/>
The words repeated like a mantra in Maggie's mind, over and over. <i>Find me, find me, find me.</i> Something other than just <i>wander</i> and <i>survive</i>. She clung to it like a lifeline, that broadcast and her horse the only thing keeping her alive now.<br/>
<br/>
Areion, that doggone horse. She'd begged him to leave, tried to chase him away and drive him off but he always turned right back around and came back. He wouldn't leave her alone long enough for her to work up the nerve to starve to death or find the nearest Walker and throw her weapons away. No, he always came trotting right back, stamping his legs like he was ashamed of her for wanting to give up.<br/>
<br/>
She was ashamed of herself, sometimes. But God, she'd never felt like that before. Every other time she'd been down there was always something to climb up to -- her family, a job she wanted, something. Now? Now what was there? Survival. And the only thing she was surviving for at that point was Areion. She'd tried to give herself a purpose, tried to do some good out there in all that hell, but in the end how many people had she helped or saved? A few, but who knew if they'd survive afterwards? And the others -- the others... In 22 years of life she'd never seen someone die, but in the past two years and and ten months, give or take, she'd had to watch the life leave someone's eyes more times than she could count. Some by her own hand.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, she tried to tell herself she'd had no choice. Sometimes were easier than others, maybe -- when someone else was going to get hurt if she didn't do something, when it was for the greater good, it was a little easier then. But when it was just her or them, their life or hers... Who determined which was the greater good? Whoever shot first, stabbed first, hit first. In the beginning she was determined to be that one in the scenario, but lately she didn't see the point.<br/>
<br/>
<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com%2Ff%2Fca936369-ed86-43f3-ad10-8804804a5174%2Fd69mlt9-cb6414a8-f7de-4a1e-88a3-926fd8b229b1.jpg%2Fv1%2Ffill%2Fw_900%2Ch_740%2Cq_75%2Cstrp%2Fblack_overo_stallion_7_by_venomxbaby_d69mlt9-fullview.jpg%3Ftoken%3DeyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NzQwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvY2E5MzYzNjktZWQ4Ni00M2YzLWFkMTAtODgwNDgwNGE1MTc0XC9kNjltbHQ5LWNiNjQxNGE4LWY3ZGUtNGExZS04OGEzLTkyNmZkOGIyMjliMS5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9OTAwIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmltYWdlLm9wZXJhdGlvbnMiXX0.LyMeGqbxghgj2qnYkLy_JK3FfWb5pmVpHtZBKnDjqV4&amp;hash=bb89412fc6a58bd6d0a533b10dad517f" href="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/ca936369-ed86-43f3-ad10-8804804a5174/d69mlt9-cb6414a8-f7de-4a1e-88a3-926fd8b229b1.jpg/v1/fill/w_900,h_740,q_75,strp/black_overo_stallion_7_by_venomxbaby_d69mlt9-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NzQwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvY2E5MzYzNjktZWQ4Ni00M2YzLWFkMTAtODgwNDgwNGE1MTc0XC9kNjltbHQ5LWNiNjQxNGE4LWY3ZGUtNGExZS04OGEzLTkyNmZkOGIyMjliMS5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9OTAwIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmltYWdlLm9wZXJhdGlvbnMiXX0.LyMeGqbxghgj2qnYkLy_JK3FfWb5pmVpHtZBKnDjqV4" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Areion</a> snorted, tossing his dark mane and snapping Maggie out of her thoughts. She shook herself slightly, lifting her head and sitting straight in the saddle again as she inhaled and exhaled deeply.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, bud," she mused, patting the white spot on the gelding's neck. Lifting her free hand she pushed her hat up on her head, letting the breeze hit her face and forehead as she looked up and around, scouring the landscape.<br/>
<br/>
"...Pretty day," she observed aloud as Ari's ears flicked backwards, listening to her voice as they rode. "...Real nice day." <br/>
<br/>
She had to count the good things. She'd gotten herself into the habit, and it really did help most days. "Caught a fish for breakfast, and we had a chance to wash up in the river. I've still got soap, I've still got bullets, still got my health." A vaguely-amused huff broke her train of thought. "Y'know, give or take. And hey, I've got you! I've got my boy. I'll always have my boy."<br/>
<br/>
Maggie leaned forward in the saddle, wrapping both arms around her horse's neck as he whickered softly and shook his head once more. With a grin and a more genuinely-amused huff, she continued to list, "What else...? Compass, I've got a compass, and a destination."<br/>
<br/>
A destination. Good God, she had a destination! The thought gave her a little boost and she sat straight again, looking around as if she might catch a glimpse of it on the horizon. "We're close, bud. Should be, anyway... Real close. Just think, maybe they'll have some oats for you, or apples... or, y'know, fruit in general... That'd be nice, yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
Maggie adjusted the red bandana around her neck. "Boy, I'd kill for an apple."<br/>
<br/>
She wouldn't <i>actually</i> kill for an apple, of course. She wanted one powerful bad right about then, but it'd have to be more than a couple apples if she was going to kill for it.<br/>
<br/>
Her left hand wandered to the pocket of her jeans, under the hem of the <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F80%2Fac%2Ff1%2F80acf18942ac051d144c422cc36dd067.jpg&amp;hash=fb7fd1f802e13d89fc542adcd3208368" href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/80/ac/f1/80acf18942ac051d144c422cc36dd067.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">black and red flannel</a> she wore. She had her sleeves rolled up, arms clean for the first time in a week thanks to that river they'd found earlier. All the various little white scars littering her skin were more visible now -- mostly just scrapes and cuts from being in the woods, or from cats back in the day. A few were from recent fights, but they were the minority. She pulled <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fschoonerbayco.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2021%2F05%2F6774_3__HISTORIC_FACE_ANTIQUED_COMPASS_HINGED_LID_BRASS_SchoonerBayCo_Com-0-1.jpg&amp;hash=edc55459736c45f370ceb8d5650d5eae" href="https://schoonerbayco.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/6774_3__HISTORIC_FACE_ANTIQUED_COMPASS_HINGED_LID_BRASS_SchoonerBayCo_Com-0-1.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">the compass</a> free of her pocket; it was the last Christmas present her little sister Candice had ever given her, though they hadn't known it at the time. The little brass instrument sat just right in her left palm, hiding the ugly scar on the skin underneath it. <br/>
<br/>
"Mh-hm. We're on track." Maggie snapped the compass' lid shut, slipping it back into her pocket before taking the reins and slowing Ari to a halt. Once he was still she hopped out of the saddle, old boots hitting the ground with a light thud. She adjusted the leather strap over her chest that held her sword on her back; she had another blade, a short sword, under the side flap of the saddle, and one of a pair of Colt pistols in a saddlebag with all her ammo, along with a shotgun currently strapped onto the back of the saddle with her supplies. The other pistol was on her hip, and she had a survival knife in her boot and a pocket knife -- in her pocket, naturally. For someone who didn't want to hurt anybody, she definitely had plenty of weapons on hand.<br/>
<br/>
All but the sword on her back and the pocket knife had been lucky finds; she'd known where to go when things started really getting bad, and she'd been fortunate enough to happen across some tucked-away, rural homes in her wanderings that had kept her decently stocked up for the majority of her time wandering. As for the sword... well, she'd been a medieval fantasy nerd before she'd been a survivor, and she'd bought herself the blade about a year before the Resurrection started. In the days since she'd come to call it Caliburn -- the name of the legendary sword that King Arthur drew from the stone, which was, in fact, not Excalibur. No no no, <i>Excalibur</i> was the sword of magical properties given to Arthur by the Lady of the Lake <i>after</i> Caliburn, the sword in the stone, broke during a battle... all of which Maggie would gladly ramble about for hours, had anyone ever bothered to give her the opportunity.<br/>
<br/>
In truth, all her little obsessions and rants had kept her sane those three years -- though, if someone were to see her lecturing her horse on various Lord of the Rings knowledge, they might disagree. People didn't always expect someone who looked and acted so much like a cowgirl to suddenly start talking about dragons and King Arthur.<br/>
<br/>
Areion snorted and stamped one hoof, again breaking Maggie out of her thoughts as she gazed absently around at the forest they'd been traveling through for the past hour or so. <br/>
<br/>
"Ah, sorry," she mumbled, patting the horse's flank before continuing to walk, Ari in tow. She gauged her course with occasional glances up at the sky, simultaneously keeping an eye on her surroundings. Walkers one could normally hear coming, but other survivors could be tricky. Maggie had learned her lesson the hard way about trusting anyone in this new world of theirs, and she'd almost rather run into a herd of zombified creatures than a gang of survivors. <br/>
<br/>
The words she'd heard on that broadcast about a week ago played through her mind. <i>"I cannot be the only one left with a decent heart. Someone, somewhere has to be looking for safe harbor and I'm willing to give it, so long as you pull your weight." </i>Maybe it was all some elaborate trap, but the sound of that voice over the radio had sparked some hope in Maggie's weary chest, and she was willing to risk it for that.<br/>
<br/>
Besides -- if the woman on the emergency channel had been lying, well. Maybe she'd finally be given the death she was too cowardly to give herself. <br/>
<br/>
The young woman and the horse walked on for an hour longer, occasionally checking to make sure they were still on the right course. Maggie had followed the directions on the radio for a bit, but she'd seen a band of rough-looking men on I-20 and decided she'd be better off following the interstate from a distance. She knew she ought to be close to Exit 78 by now and her eyes were peeled for the signs the woman on the radio had spoken of, whatever they might be.<br/>
<br/>
The forest was pretty, for the time being. There were birds singing, she even caught sight of a few squirrels and rabbits out and about. It was always nice to find some bit of nature still the same, despite everything else. Maggie eventually felt herself begin to ease a little, comforted by the feeling of relative safety. Ari's hoofbeats and her own steps made an easy, steady rhythm, and before long she was <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DNxlEl2-Mc5Y&amp;hash=b8ee71bf81e75f6d8f961114ff1f99d4" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxlEl2-Mc5Y" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">humming gently</a> to the sound, still trying to keep her head from wandering down darker trails of thought.<br/>
<br/>
The first "sign" she stumbled upon nearly gave her a heart attack. A Walker, pinned to a tree. Well, part of a Walker. It was long dead, really dead, and one of its arms seemed to have taken leave of its torso. It also seemed to be missing its feet -- curtesy of some desperate woodland scavengers, probably. Ari snorted and stamped and nearly charged to remove the corpse's remaining limbs; but Maggie caught his reins, holding him steady as she gave the odd display a second look.<br/>
<br/>
The arm still attached was propped somewhat awkwardly at its side, and it took her a second before she realized it was pointing somewhere. <br/>
<br/>
"Looks like this one's actually being useful," she mused to her equine companion, who only flicked his dark tail in agitation at the deceased Walker. Maggie grinned, leading the horse on past the grim marker. <br/>
<br/>
They'd been walking for maybe another hour or half-hour when a distinctive sound reached her ears. <i>Gunfire</i>. It crackled in the distance like a pop of thunder, and any ease she might've felt in the solitude of the trees swiftly vanished. Ari's head lifted, ears perked at the noise as Maggie turned and swung up into the saddle in one fluid motion. <br/>
<br/>
Wordlessly she urged the horse on in a quick trot, sitting light in the saddle with one hand on the reins, the other hanging at her side almost expectantly. It'd be a split-second decision whether she reached for the sword or the pistol, and she'd learned to be ready.<br/>
<br/>
The nearer she came the more she could hear; with that waiting hand she pulled her black hat down so the brim sat low on her forehead, similarly pulling her bandana up to rest snugly on the bridge of her nose, effectively hiding all but her blue eyes. Her left hand still gripping the reins, scarred palm well hidden as her right went back to hovering at her side.<br/>
<br/>
For the moment her mind was back in a proper headspace, and if this was the wrong place she didn't intend to fall in with bad folk again -- if only for Areion's sake. <br/>
<br/>
Whatever was going on up ahead, she'd hang behind and make sure this was Havenshire before she made any other moves.<br/>
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