HEART OF GLASS
CHAPTER ELEVEN !
[ season two, episode three & four ]
They waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The clock was still perched on the wall, inanimate and soundless, but Marley spared it a glance every now and then — seeking comfort from something other than biting her nails and wiping her clammy palms on the thighs of her jeans.
More waiting meant the development of more nervous habits, and soon enough she was pacing the length of the dining room.
Her heart was lodged in her mouth with the knowledge that Carl was currently being operated on, under anaesthesia and carved into as if he were a pumpkin with scalpels and other sharp, shiny objects . . . everything that posed a risk to his life, carried out by someone who had only ever performed serious procedures on animals. It was a frightening prospect. She couldn't even begin to imagine how Rick and Lori felt.
On edge didn't quite cover it.
The night had fully dawned upon the travellers by the time Hershel told them the good news: Carl had stabilised.
They were so incredibly grateful for Mr Greene's precision and skill to bring Carl back to a state where his life wasn't on the line. They were thankful the elder man knew exactly what he was doing in the medical department, and relieved that their luck hadn't ran out at a time like this.
It was almost a miracle.
Marley almost toppled to the ground in relief when she heard the news, but she remained stoic and held herself up against a post on the front decking to maintain her respect toward Lori and Rick. Even when the trembling mother yanked Marley and her sister into a warm, motherly embrace, the eldest Whitman didn't shed a tear. She didn't want to give Lori another reason to cry.
That same night, she dreamt about her Mom. In the dream she was able to hug Monica Whitman again, but woke up with the daunting realisation that it hadn't been real.
For a while after she awoke, Marley sniffled and cried into her hands.
By noon the following day the remainder of the group had arrived. Marley was helping the Greene family and the other half of her group collect large rocks from a small ditch near the house when the rumble of a motorcycle echoed along the winding dirt-road. The sole purpose of gathering the rocks was so that they could create a monument that was to be dedicated to Otis — a man who died to save the life of another.
Marley had never met Otis, but she already came to the conclusion that he had been a good man.
She wiped sweat from her brow with the base of her wrist, watching the string of familiar cars draw closer. If Sage hadn't been inside — sitting by Carl's bed with a colouring book sprawled out across her lap — then she would have already broke into a sprint to reach the gate so she could be the first to greet Dale. He would be vaguely disappointed by her immediate lack of enthusiasm to see him, Marley was sure.
They would have the time to reunite later.
Emerging from the RV first was Andrea — unscathed and moderately happy. She shoved her hands into her back-pockets, gazing around the enormous farm and never-ending fields in awe. Andrea's eyes then roved along to linger on Shane, of whom had made the bizarre, and frankly brave, choice to shave his head; only a faint dusting of dark stubble covered the surface of his cranium. The clothes he wore were far too large and disproportionate on his body.
Marley smiled at Dale. She folded her arms across her chest and watched the man approach Lori cautiously. The relaxed look upon the woman's face was relieving, and he didn't hold back to implore about Carl's current state.
"How is he?"
"He'll pull through." Lori said, her voice slightly hoarse. She pressed her lips together to form a small smile, nodding gratefully over at the huddled Greene family, "Thanks to Hershel and his people."
"And Shane." Rick added. He glanced back at the Walsh. Bald-man was looking at the ground, wringing his fingers together. "We'd have lost Carl if not for him."
The group exchanged pleasantries after that. Dale wrapped his arms around Rick's shoulders, patting the top of his back in a fatherly-fashion. Carol embraced Lori, murmuring her words of relief. Marley and Andrea shared a warm hug, and then the Whitman moved onto Dale. He was quick to enquire about Sage's whereabouts, and Marley informed the elder man that her sister was inside with Carl, watching over him like his own personal guardian angel.
Out the corner of her eye, Marley could see the Greenes glancing between one another. They made it obvious that the insurmountable number of strangers on their land was something that needed careful consideration.
"How'd it happen?" Dale asked Rick bluntly, curious to know.
"Hunting accident," Rick said wistfully, raising his hand before letting it drop back down beside his waist. "That's all . . . Just a stupid accident."
Unfortunately, the accidents Rick spoke of were becoming a scary, common reoccurrence these days.
✧.｡. *.
The apocalypse's inception had led to Marley Whitman's development of an unadulterated hatred for a fair few things.
Washboards — those were certainly at the very top of her list; the callouses littering her fingers were no joke. Darkness, ( the stars, however, were mesmerising ) flickering torches, the smell of decay, and tents. For the love of God, Marley despised tents. She never thought she would have to erect the speckled blue nylon again, but that had been an incorrect assumption.
The shadowed segment of tree groves close to the Greene farmhouse was their new camp — much to Marley's dismay.
She yanked the tent to the side furiously, cursing to herself as she kicked at the ball of fabric forming by her feet. Pegs were strewn across the ground, a hammer was . . . somewhere, and the poles she was supposed to be plunging through the narrow nylon holes would not stop breaking apart in the middle.
"Jesus Christ," she spat, using her foot to prop up the pole so she could slide the blue nylon over the bottom of it.
It broke. Again.
The thin white string poured out of the end, spilling across the trampled grass beneath her feet. Marley gritted her teeth and inhaled steadily — trying not to act on the anger brewing inside of her stomach like the calm before the storm. It would only be a matter of time before a crack of lighting whipped through the irritation, leading to a potential outburst of fury — the rain pouring from darkened clouds.
She tried again, taking it slower this time.
For the third time, it didn't work. The snap of the poles breaking apart resembled the snap of Marley's temperamental temper.
"Ugh!"
Overcome with fury, she threw the pole on the ground. It bounced and clanged and drew the attention of Glenn, who was over in the corner beneath a large tree — inspecting his fabricated red tent.
When the Rhee glanced over his shoulder in oblivious wonder, Marley shot him the dirtiest look she could muster.
He immediately raised his hands in surrender, "Woah. What did I do?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Marley grabbed the pole from the ground and pressed the broken tips back together. With a click, the straight pole was intact and tall once more — towering over Marley who stood at only 5'4.
She picked the blue fabric up again, curling her fists around the fluttering sheet, before sticking the pole back through the nylon with her left hand. This time — which she was extremely pleased about — it worked. The centre rose into the air like a pair of lungs suddenly flooded with oxygen.
One down, two to go.
"Do you . . . want me to help?" Glenn asked hesitantly.
He stepped back, ducking slightly to avoid the pole that Marley just picked up from soaring around and smacking him in the nose. She barely noticed the close proximity the pole had with Glenn's face though, rolling her lips together irritably.
Sighing, Glenn began collecting the pegs from the ground.
Within minutes, one half of the tent was completed. The other half that Marley had been focusing on wasn't even nearly done; the nylon was flapping around in the gentle breeze, curling around and thwacking against the exposed flesh on her ankles. In her fit of childish anger, she kicked the fabric and zoned her attention in on Glenn.
His eyes flared with fear.
"How did you manage to do it that quickly?" she demanded bitterly.
Glenn glanced between his tent in the corner and Marley's, scratching the back of his hatless-head. "Uh, patience. Lots of it."
She rolled her eyes, grumbling crossly, "Shame I don't have much of that, then."
Glenn refrained from laughing. He didn't want to anger her more — or give her a reason to hold a bitter grudge against him and his superior-tent making skills anymore than necessary. He cleared his throat, nailing a peg into the ground. There was only one more peg left to sort, and then it would be complete.
"Almost done, right?" Glenn asked, squinting through the sun's dazzling rays.
Marley hummed in acknowledgment. Her brows pinched together — a clear indication she wasn't happy.
Her facial-expressions made it easy to discern the variety of emotions she was feeling at the time. The group often discussed it. Dale said her face was like a pane of glass; easy to see through. It was a hard feat for Marley to lie, because her face and her expressions always bore the truth. Her emotions seemed to just melt through to her facial features.
Marley rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Sweat dribbled down the side of her face.
"Throw me the peg." she said to Glenn.
He obliged, tossing her the small silver peg. She pushed it into the ground, looping a thin thread of fabric around it, and stomped on it until it was fairly submerged beneath the sodden earth, only a small speck of silver that protruded out from between thin shards of grass.
Finally, the tent was up.
Glenn stuck a thumb up. "Nice."
"Just know if it falls down, I'm taking your tent," Marley swiftly retorted, perching her hands on her hips. "Then you can have this crappy thing."
She refrained from kicking the fabric, afraid it would simply collapse in on itself.
"It's not that . . . crappy." Glenn said. "It's old-fashioned. Has too many parts." With those words, he looked at a spare peg in his hand, concerned. Marley rolled her eyes. "Where did you get this from, anyway?"
"Morales. He had a spare one in the back of his car. Gave it to me on the very first day we met everyone."
Glenn jutted his lower lip out over the top, nodding. "I wonder how he's doing."
That was something Marley had been wondering too. The Morales family pretty much disappeared off the face of the earth — driving off into the sunset with nothing but each other and some minor survival skills. Nobody knew what happened to them. Nobody would find out. Did they live or die? Marley could only hope and pray that they managed to find the rest of their family in Birmingham like Morales wanted.
She hoped they were safe.
"I'm going on a run into town later — with Maggie. We're going to the pharmacy." Glenn said, pushing his faded baseball cap back onto his head. "Is there anything you need? Or Sage?"
Marley considered this. She tipped her head to the side, curving a hand over her forehead to block out the dazzling sun. "Uh . . . sometimes pharmacies have a little shelf stacked with chocolate bars in the corner. If you can find a Big Cat, I'll adore you forever."
Glenn nodded. "Okay, sure. Nice and easy."
Marley was quick to pick up on the sarcastic twang brimming in his voice. In response, she hurled a peg across the clearing. The silver object bounced off the protruding root of a nearby oak-tree and hit Glenn's ankle. He sucked in a sharp breath, cursing the girl for causing him unnecessary pain.
Marley merely snickered in amusement.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
marley is a menace. hehe.
she would defo send memes
in response to arguments in
a group chat, i just know
she would.
( i don't like this chapter
but it's necessary for
Marley and Glenn's
#friendship! )