Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

Hey guys!

Just a few things I think you should know before reading... I've only ever seen the show, so anything related to the comics will not apply in this fanfic. Also, I'm just playing with the universe for now, I don't know if my characters are going to meet with Rick's crew, so I'll leave that to your suggestions :-) And finally (and that's my most important point) English is not my native language. At all. I'm a French writer who's crazy enough to try and submit something in a foreign language. Please excuse the mistakes, misspellings and other absurdities you may find here ^^'

I hope you'll find this story interesting anyway, so on with the show!

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"Lane, get your ass over there!"

More than once I wished I had a gun. Now that I do, I just wish I could go back in time. I remember my 3rd grade teacher – a young woman whose parents' had cursed with a scrunched up nose and a sorry face. She would always tell us that there's good in everyone. _Seriously, kiddo, you just have to open your eyes and look for it._ I used to scoff in the back of the classroom and get scolded for it. Back then, she had power over me. She was the authority. And now? Now look at me: 26, dirty, banged up and _alive_. Mrs Mills? Dead. And moving.

No kidding.

One of her eyes is missing and the other barely hangs from her eye-socket. Her skin is rotting on her bones. Her hair is scarce on her head and hangs limply from her sunken temples. Her jaw is raw, skinned to the bone and snaps every so often, whenever she smells fresh meat around. That is, if she can smell anything with the freaking _hole_ that stands in place of her nose. I much preferred the scrunched up thing she had when she was alive.

Yeah, that's the thing. She shouldn't be moving, being dead 'n' all, but the fact is that _she does_, and more than when she was actually breathing.

Yeah, that sucks.

For me that is.

'Cause there's no way I'm letting her take a bite of little ol'me. Not if I can help it. And judging by the gun in my hand and the blade at my side, chances are that she's gonna be dead in a few seconds. Deader than she already is, I mean.

"Lane! 'the hell are ya doin'?"

Scowling, I dived to safety when more gunshots erupted. One caught Mills in the right arm. She swayed, staggered, grunted in a kind of surprised way – I made it my personal project to give meaning to the grunts of the walkers – and reached for me once again.

Stubborn, aren't ya?

Turning, I poked Sean with my gun. He shot me a glare.

"Cover me, would ya?"

I didn't wait for his answer. I knew he would do as I said, even if he wouldn't be happy about it. As I thought, I heard him fire as I sprinted for the bag of supplies that lied under a tree, right in the middle of a very nasty, very hungry horde of walkers. I dashed through the mob, slashing at everything I could and trying not to panic because, _fuck_, that must be the dumbest thing I ever did! I vaguely heard Sean swear like a sailor, no doubt cursing me for my absolute lack of rational thinking and for one second – just one second – I agreed with him. I dodged a clawed hand, slashed a dead man across the face and gouged another's eye out. Couldn't risk firing in this mob. Too loud, too many of them. Let the noise of the others draw them away from me. Stumbling, I took a page from Sean's book and swore between my teeth. Yeah right, let's count on noise to save my ass when I'm bleeding like a fucking _pig_ in the middle of a fucking _horde_.

Bloody hell, I'm an idiot.

The wound on my thigh isn't deep, but I'm bleeding all over the place. I must be reeking of blood. Well, for the walkers, I guess I just smell like dinner.

A big guy came from my right, grunting and bleeding from a shoulder wound. Who the hell aims that off target? I mean, come _on_, the guy is twice the size of any of his dead pals. Surely his head shouldn't be that difficult to shoot? As if hearing my thoughts, Sean fired and the walker's skull exploded like an overripe fruit. Ew. Now I'm drenched in brains and stale blood. For a moment I thought I would heave, but the sight of another walker reaching for me made me reach for my gun instead. I fired once, twice, ducked, ran, jumped and punched, and then the tree was there and I reached for the bag, grabbed it and swung it, catching a walker in the head. A loud snap followed and I didn't stay to see what had become of the head. Instead I ran back, as fast as I could, all the while dodging dead people and bullets. Sean can shoot as hell, but the others aren't as good with a gun as he is. Neals almost killed me once. Said that he'd aimed right and that I had no business walking in his line of fire. His line of fire my ass!

I dodged two more walkers and there she was, Mrs Mills and her hanging eyeball. Jumping over the ledge of the window, I quickly handed the bag to Mary-Ann and checked my gun. Three bullets left. More than enough for what I had in mind. Sean retreated from his post at the window and ran to us.

"C'mon, let's get outta here!"

Mary-Ann nodded, always the obedient kid, and Neals called for retreat. Gareth, Jay, Liz and Coal all left their hiding places, all the while firing at the approaching walkers. They barreled through the back door and climbed into the car, piling up in the backseats. I hung back. Liz noticed – of course she did, the woman has a freakin' sixth sense or something, she always knows where we are and what we're up to, the snitch.

"Lane, you comin'?"

I felt Sean's eyes drilling into the side of my head.

"Yeah, gimme a sec'."

Turning on my heels, I came back to the window, spotted my 3rd grade teacher, and lodged a bullet in her skull. She reeled back and fell, then stopped moving. Other walkers soon trampled over her in their haste to get to me.

Smirking slightly at a job well done, I raced back into the car and the old Buick roared to life. And then we were speeding away from my elementary school, away from our camp and dead comrades.

"What the hell was that? You could've been killed you idiot!"

Gareth punched me over the head, his shaggy beard quivering as he raved at me for my _suicidal ignorance_ and _deliberate stupidity_. He was a scholar like that, our Gareth. Tough old man with a serious hunch for sour whiskey and bad poetry. I like him, in spite of his violent tendencies. He keeps Mary-Ann safe when I'm away on my many "suicidal missions", as he likes to call them. I prefer the term "survival necessities", but I guess that's just a technicality. Soothing my injured scalp with a hand, I had the gall to smile and shove him to the side. He fell onto Liz who squeaked, but didn't add anything. He rearranged himself into the seat and _glared_. Having been on the receiving end of many of his glares, I merely rolled my eyes and stretched my legs.

"That, my friend, was the illustration of one of my favorite sayings."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Which is?"

I smirked.

"Revenge is best served cold."


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Lane, gimme the map would ya?"

Snorting, I took the map and unfolded it on my lap. No way I was givin' it to Sean. The guy couldn't read a plan to save his life and I intended to get somewhere safe within the next century, thank you very much. On my right, Jay smirked and looked at the red lines and city names spread out in front of me.

"Here is Atlanta", he said.

"And here – he traced a blue line with his finger and stopped at a green spot on the map – is the old camping area."

"Camping area?"

He nodded.

"Yep. My ol'man went there when Mum tossed him out. Grabbed a couple of drinks, a load of cash and got the hell out. Ne'er came back. Mind ya, she would've killed him."

Yeah, sounds like Jay's Mum alright. The woman is a sweetheart but give her a reason and she'd turn into a red-eyed monster. Bashed a walker's head in with a pipe once, just before she got bit and turned into one of them. Jay shot her himself.

Gareth took the map from us and handed it over to Sean, who stopped the car and spread it over the wheel.

"We can't go there. It's out in the open, must be crawling with walkers as we speak."

Liz bit her lip at this. Walkers aren't her thing, one of them almost got her to the throat when it all began. She's been struggling with her fear ever since. Not that we're not scared, the rest of us. But we cope better.

"We need shelter. And a bath. God I'd _kill_ for a bath."

Coal shot me a look.

"I agree with ya on that one. You reek."

I scowled.

"Well, if _someone_ had not sprayed me with walker's guts I'd smell much better."

"Not that much, actually."

Hitting Sean over the head for his off-handed comment, I got the map back and threw it at Coal who barked in laughter.

"Go fuck a donkey, Mason."

Coal wriggled his eyebrows but shut up.

"Why don't we go to the next town?" my sister's sweet voice calmed me down a notch.

Mary-Ann had snatched up the map and was peering at it with the utmost concentration, an adorable frown between her blond eyebrows. Blushing at the attention she was getting, she pointed.

"Here, you see? We're running out of food, we need to restock. And Lane _could_ use a bath."

Liz burst into laughter as I scowled harder, glaring at my little sister who was smiling up at me sheepishly.

Traitor.

Neals nodded and ruffled her hair.

"Sounds like a plan t'me."

"Then let's go", Sean said, playing with the brakes.

The old Buick coughed big time – I swear this thing is gonna die before we do – and we were gone.

I should've slept, now that I think about it. But I was still high with adrenaline, the thrill of the fight still thrumming in my body. I was the most reckless of the group, I knew, but I'd never bothered to care. We needed someone reckless, someone not afraid to dive right into the fray and get bloody for the greater good.

I snorted.

_The greater good._ Right.

I didn't care about that, really. Never did, never will. But Mary-Ann did, and that did it for me. Outta the two of us, she was the sweet one. She got the conscience and I got the muscles. She thought, I acted. She was nice and sweet, I was harsh and mean. She cared about them, yearned for human company and so I kept them safe. Well, as safe as one could be in this madness.

Jay and Sean were alright, I guess, Gareth too, when he was sober, but Coal was a douchebag. Mary-Ann liked him, though, so I let him drag his ass along with our rag-tag group. Liz couldn't shoot, couldn't fight and was scarred witless most of the time, but she knew how to patch us up and she could cook, when given the chance, so we kept her with us. As for Neals, the guy was freakin' _strong_. I once saw him grab two walkers and smash their heads together, then punch one so hard that it literally _flew_ into its friends. We could use someone like him, even if he was as good as useless with a gun. And he adored Mary-Ann, which was definitely a plus in my book.

Reclining in my seat, I got as confortable as I could while sharing the backseat with four other people – well, three and a half since my sister didn't take much place – and dozed off, hand on the handle of the blade strapped to my belt. I heard Coal mutter under his breath – "dude, she reeks more than a fuckin' pile of _shit_" – and gave him the finger, eyes still closed.

Asshole.


	3. Chapter 3

"Lane! Fuck! Lane, get _up_!"

Something slammed on my side of the car, waking me up with a fright. Jumping, I had my blade half out of its sheath in a blink, looking for the threat. I swore. The car was at a stop – why the hell wasn't it moving? – and walkers were surrounding us. They were everywhere, wherever we turned, and more were coming from the woods on the far side of the road.

"Hell Sean, what's happening?! Why aren't we moving?"

"No gas, that's what's happening! There's some in the trunk but there's too many of'em, we can't just go outside and take it!"

See, I told ya we needed someone crazy enough to get beaten up every time shit happens.

Liz hollered. Cradling her head between her thighs, she looked like a fucking babe crying for its mother. She was shaking and I'd bet my finest blade that she'll be sobbing in about two seconds. Neals had Mary-Ann in a protective embrace, his eyes darting from one walker to the other. When they finally landed on me, I saw dread and fright reflected in them. If we were to lose, what would happen to sweet Mary-Ann? She'd be torn limb by limb, that's what.

No way in _hell_ I'd let that happen.

Swearing, I reached for the handle and _pushed_.

Half a dozen hands immediately rushed through the sudden opening. From the other side of the half opened door, the moans and grunts of the walkers grew deep and frantic. I quaked with fear, almost certain that they would cram on me and _bite_, everywhere, and tear me to tiny bloody pieces, but then Mary-Ann screamed and the hazy fog of sheer fright which was blinding me suddenly tore and left me bare. My senses exploded with awareness and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline crashing through my bloodstream. My vision cleared, my hearing had never been so sharp and my hand found its way to my hip. My blade hissed and tore through rotten meat and hollowed bones. One walker fell, then another, and another, until I lost count and just _moved_. I was a killing machine, something unfeeling but very much alive. My hands were swift and deft, I could feel the deep burning of my straining muscles and knew that there would be hell to pay the day after, if I survived long enough to see it. Sometimes along the fray, Sean and Jay had joined me. I could hear them swearing and grunting, battling with the same fervor as I did. Liz had stopped screaming, and I briefly wondered if she'd fainted on the backseat. The woman was bloody _useless_ in a close fight. Gareth wasn't in the car anymore, I knew, for I heard him shouting at us to make way to the back of the car. In the confusion, it took me a while to register his order – why were we fighting again? – but then I remembered the car, the gas and _Mary-Ann_, and clung to the threads of consciousness that had emerged among the madness in my mind. Sean and Jay were already fighting their way toward me when what I had to do finally registered in my mind. Falling into step with them, I hacked at the crowd and did my best to ignore the newly torn stitches on my thigh. Liz would have to get over herself pretty quickly to patch _that_ up again. Keys in hand, Gareth stayed behind us and sidestepped along the car, his eyes stuck on the walkers. And then we were there and he opened the trunk, went straight for the can of gas and shouted at us to keep them at bay for a while – just a little while longer.

_Take my place, man, would ya? Then we'll see how well you __**keep'em at bay**__._

Grunting, sweating, huffing and most of all _swearing_, I did my best to comply, to give him time to fill the tank – but _hell_, couldn't he go _faster_?

From the corner of my eye I could see him fumble with the can, almost drop it, catch it, try again. His hands were shaking and his eyes were constantly darting to us. I swallowed the need to shout- _don't bother with us, ya idiot! Focus on the fuckin' gas so we can get the hell outta here!_ A sudden cry on my left tore me from my angry musings and I barely had time to spin on my heels before a walker – must've been a woman, this one, judging by the frilly pink dress she wore – crashed against the blunt of my blade and pushed me to the side, right into the arms of a dead cop. Sean shouted for me. I saw him try to get to me but waves after waves of corpses crashed into him.

"He won't make it", I thought. "_I_ won't make it."

The woman pushed against my blade. No way I could take it back without having her at my throat. Behind me the cop's broken teeth were bared, ready to sink into my neck and I thought I was a goner when someone fired. The cop fell against my back. His grip on me slackened and I kicked him backward, freeing myself. The woman went next with a clear shot to the head. Three other walkers followed shortly after.

_Neals_, I thought, but when I looked at the car it was Coal who returned my gaze with a smirk, then aimed again. Other walkers were already taking the fallen one's place, I had to get back to the car and _quick_.

Again, my blade danced. And again, I found myself at Gareth's side, fighting like the devil. I lost track of time there. I can barely remember Gareth shouting something and Sean pulling me to the door, the last slashes I delivered to a snarling cadaver, Coal grabbing me and firing a last shot over my shoulder and then the sound of the engine roaring and the sudden pressure of Mary-Ann's body all over mine. She'd stopped doing that, grabbing me I mean, after the fifth month we spent outside. But here she was, hugging me and clutching at my clothes, my hair, my arms, as if I would disappear if she were to let go for even a second. I didn't respond. Not at first. I was still in survival mode, still a machine plugged on blood and murder. Neals was the one who soothed her and disentangled her from me so I could breath and get my bearings. Get down from my high. And I did – in time. My breathing slowed and my grip on my blade relaxed inch by inch. My body gradually sagged in the backseat. The rational part of my brain came back.

"Bitch, ya okay back there?"

"Dude don' talk t'her, 'tis not that often she shuts the hell up."

Jay barked in laugher at Coal's comment. Sean huffed a breathless laugh and Gareth shook his head but soon returned his eyes to the road – and the wheel. Scowling, I scrunched up my nose and sat straight, taking in the state of our crew. As I thought, Liz was passed out against the door. Mary-Ann was frightened, but unharmed, as were Neals and Gareth – even if the old man could certainly use a cup of gin. Sean and Jay both sported a nice collection of bruises, but no bites. As for Coal, he could go and die for all I cared. Sadly, I knew he was alright by the way his big mouth just wouldn't stop running.

"Ya know", I said, "one day I'm gonna shove your gun so far up your ass you're gonna cough bullets."

Jay cackled loudly, Sean sighed and Neals snorted.

"Oh yeah, she's more than alright."

You bet, man. You bet.


End file.

Walking Dead, Adventure, Humor