𝙵𝙻𝙴𝚂𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙴 | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 𐂃

Chapter 42

"The situation is shit, I know. But you said I could come to you and if I wanted to vent or blow of steam." Cristine swallowed thickly, eyes never moving away when the blue darted back at her, his brows scrunched up lightly. The weight of them nearly pinning her to the ground and elaborated, "so let's do that. We go out to clear some dead or hunt if that can help put everything in perspective." Cristine waited until Troy broke the long stare off. The corners of his eyes wrinkled, drawing attention to their glazed over sheen of contemplation. Troy's eyes were almost translucent, glossy, the color too soft to be turquoise and too bright to be baby blue.

The muscles in his body visibly relaxed and his face did as well. But the silent wonder was a question that Troy didn't ask out loud, but was on the tip of his tongue. Why? Troy swallowed, but he was clearly pondering an answer that made sense to him other than her trying to lessen his worries like he had done. She was mindful of it ever since they acknowledged that they finally moved past their spiraling friendship and really trust one another. Troy's mouth relaxed and Cristine even noticed that the color of his eyes darkened, growing into a deeper blue as he continued to peer at her. Flickers of thoughts flew by on his face, his steady gaze expressed a silent and hidden gratitude that fit his personality more than a verbal ' thank you'.

-

Infected shambled aimlessly like ghostly husks of their original selves, their slack jaws emitted rusty groans that echoed well enough between the valleys. One of the teetering dead swayed from his group and gnarled at the approaching shadow that could be its next potential meal. It lunged forward only to freeze as a curved knife plunged through its forehead. Cristine grunted when yanking the blade out and watched the body drop down to the concrete with a splat of moist dead weight. She rolled the weight of her weapon between her palms, senses on sharp when the before recurring croaky snarls brought her back to the nightmarish scenery. Nickle colored eyes, bloated and grey skin. In a fluid motion the blow to the brittle skull, a cracking noise, smashed through membranes of numerous scalps, into layers of dura mater, and pulpy gray gelatin of brain matter. Her blades were slick with blood and grey chunks from stabbing her way through the dead. Looking at the eggplant spatters on the ground, the shapes register. A dozen, maybe more bodies lay akimbo. The genders and ages were obscured by the carnage, the greyish skin tones and broken skulls. Cristine surveyed the fallen soul cases and inhaled deeply when she made eye contact with the lifeless, alien eyes staring right back at her.

She looked away and prowled through the rocks, clutching the solid hilt of the high quality carbon steel in her hand and snuck on her toes to make as little sound as she could. While Troy's game was juvenile, it felt so good for her muscles and bones to be active and out again, even if it was just for a day. A distant sound of growling dead that lessened and lessened with every second made her perk, aware that someone was probably cutting some down. She pressed her body to the side of the high rock wall and slid forward and peeked over the corner to see who it was and if the person needed any help. That ridiculous thought soon fled her mind when she saw Troy hack, swipe and mutilate some dead like a damn kid playing a fun game. She balanced her knife in her palm, waiting for him to finish, but also ready in case should she step in... in the off-chance Troy actually needed any back-up. His skills were as raw, relaxed yet precise as she remembered them to be. Cristine didn't even bother hiding behind the rocks and instead leaned against them, head tilted and face slack.