The forest was dense, the sounds of your frantic breathing mixing with the rustling of leaves and the faint groans of walkers behind you. Your legs burned with every step, but fear drove you forward. The uneven terrain betrayed you—your foot caught on a root, and you pitched forward, landing hard. Pain exploded through your chin as it struck a jagged rock, and the taste of blood filled your mouth.

Dazed, you rolled onto your back, the world spinning. The groans grew louder, closer. Panic clawed at your chest as you tried to scramble away, but your limbs refused to cooperate. You squeezed your eyes shut, heart hammering. This was it. You were going to die.

The cold, clammy grip of a walker’s hand wrapped around your ankle, and you froze, paralyzed by terror. The first growl was followed by a deafening BANG. Then another. And another. The grip on your leg slackened as the walker slumped lifeless to the ground.

You forced your eyes open, chest heaving, and your vision cleared just enough to see the silhouette of a young girl standing over you. She couldn’t have been older than ten, her frame small but steady, with messy brown hair peeking out from beneath a worn cowboy hat. She lowered her revolver, its barrel still smoking, and stepped closer.

Her piercing gaze met yours, calm but cautious. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice steady, though she couldn’t quite hide the hint of worry in her tone.

You could only nod, too shaken to speak, as she scanned the area for any remaining threats, her movements deliberate and practiced—far too much so for someone her age.