"-one entrance. The Vatos, they go out, scavenge what they can to keep us going. We watch the perimeter night and day and we wait. The people here, they all look to me now. I don't even know why." I hear a voice. As I listen, I struggle to make sense of anything. I feel almost detached from my own body, as if my limbs aren't my own. There's a sharp pain in the back of my head and a buzzing in my ears.
The second sense I get back is smell. It smells like... Prunes and denture cream? My mouth feels dry and body leaden. However, I cannot feel my stomach. There's a heat there, but that's about it.
"Because they can." Rick? In an attempt to open my eyes, the small slits that I can muster are invaded by light, harsh and blinding. I groan inaudibly and shut them again. What happened anyway? The sound rustling fabric and metallic clunking fills my ears.
-Rick-
I begin to divide the guns and ammo between ourselves and Guillermo's group. The entire situation with Glenn and Miguel was a total misunderstanding. Although Daryl still wants to beat Miguel's ass for drawing attention to us whilst in the alley and causing Tessa to be knocked unconscious,
The 'custodian's' dark eyes linger over to the still sleeping girl. We share a look, one that clearly tells me he is confused. Tessa, the girl, is barely any taller than my boy with curly blonde hair, bruised and chapped skin, thin limbs and a sad look on her face. There is a large, enflamed scar on her upper arm and numerous scratches all over her body.
"What's the deal with the kid?" He asks in a concerned tone, staring at me intensely. I shake my head gently. I'm not to sure myself. Is she Daryl's kid? I can't be sure. Does she have a family? Maybe. Are they dead? Probably.
I sigh under my breath. "I don't really know myself." Guillermo gives me a strange look. "Daryl brought her along. She's been in the city before and wanted to help out."
"Tess c'n handle 'erself." Daryl growls to both his and Tessa's defense. I hand over a shotgun to Guillermo, noting as the redneck's eyes follow it the entire way. Either he doesn't trust Guillermo or is reluctant to give up the guns so easily. Regardless, he isn't impressed.
The other man shifts the weight on his feet and twists his hips to face Daryl. "That's weird, man. You don't let a child do such dangerous things, especially now that... Now that..." He trails off, allowing us to finish his sentence. "What are you anyway? Some dirty redneck. She your kid, or some stray you found out on the street?"
"She ai' no stray." Daryl snarls while approaching Guillermo. He speaks with a quiet rage, getting dangerously close to the custodian's face. Lip curling in slight disgust, he tilts his head and jabs Guillermo roughly, right above his heart. "Why don' yeh say 'at again, yeh faggot?"
"Now just calm down." I say, trying to pry the two apart. Squabbling will get us no where, and we really need to head back to camp. It looks to be getting late. "Now I don't totally agree with bringin' the girl, but she knows what she's doing. She's valuable."
He waves us off tiredly, glaring at Daryl hotly. "Argh, she's yours to look after. It don't concern me."
"Damn righ' it don'." He mutters under his breath. I shoot him a look and glance at Tessa. She stares back at me with huge indigo eyes.
"You're awake?"
"Don' 'ppreciate bein' called a kid." She says as a sort of reply. The girl then hisses in pain as she tries to sit up. Whether from her head or belly, I can't tell, though I suspect both. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow." Lifting up her grimy shirt, she reveals a network of bruises. They range from pluming purple clouds to streaks of an orcish yellow and stretch almost the entire breadth of her belly.
I wince slightly, Daryl straightens and helps her sit up. For a crude redneck, he can be alright sometimes. "Yeh a'right?"
"'M fine, Daryl." She grumbles. It seems difficult for her to sit upright, so she merely hunches over. Poor girl seems nervous and pained, so I take the initiative to explain. I clear my throat. Indigo eyes stare at my almost dully, a bit hazy and unfocused. She licks her dry lips and listens.
I gesture to Guillermo and say, "This is Guillermo. There was just this big misunderstanding, nothing to worry about at all."
"Wha' sorta misund'rstandin'?"
"Just a few issues." I reply in a slightly clipped tone. She frowns, obviously not believing my watered down version. "We helped them out and now we'll be leaving." My eyes flicker to Guillermo who nods in reply. It's best that we not linger too long. They'll surely need us back at camp and it's far more dangerous to be here at night than during the day.
I pick up the gun bag and sling it over my shoulder. Glenn and T-dog follow after me as I walk out of the small infirmary and Daryl lifts Tessa onto his back. I can hear her soft whimpering. She must be in a lot of pain because, as far as I can tell, it takes quite a bit to warrant that sort of reaction.
We are led out of the retirement home in which the men were held up in, along with many of their grandparents, and through some narrow alleys. Like the rest of the city, they are shadowed by tall buildings, covered in grime that could either by dirt or dried blood and harbour secret dangers around every corner. Guns in the bag occasionally clank together, and less often I hear Tessa yelp in pain. She is always quick to hush herself, however.
Our guide, a man in his mid-twenties points us in the right direction and heads back swiftly. It only takes a few turns and a couple of minutes of hiding behind buildings until we finally make it back to the bus station.
"Admit it, you only came back to Atlanta for the hat." Glenn says sarcastically, trying to keep pace with me. The guns start to make an annoying rattling sound, but I glance around and ignore it.
I smile wryly. "Don't tell anybody."
"Yeh've given away half our guns 'n' ammo." Daryl hisses, breaking the mood. I sober and look at him. Tessa, whose head is resting limply on his shoulder, gives me the same incredulous look. I might have forgotten to mention that, and if Daryl objects to it, then so will she.
"Half?" She wines, eyes going slightly wide.
"Not nearly half." I press. While it's true we may have lost a good few of our guns, that los wasn't for nothing. Now a group of people who had no hope have a chance to survive just a little bit longer, or not be slaughtered at least.
"F'r wha'?" Of course he wouldn't understand. "Bunch o' ol' farts at are gonna die off momentarily 'nyhow? Seriously, how long yeh think they got?"
"How long do any of us have?"
"Us 'r them." Tessa adds. I falter slightly. A little early in the apocalypse for these two to be thinking like this. Hopefully they haven't lost all their humanity.
That's it though. I stare. And stare. And stare, and stare, and stare. It's gone. Our truck. Our ride home. In it's spot lay the tracks where it should be. Fine dust picks up and blows about the area like a whispy fog.
"Oh my god." Glenn mutters in disbelief.
"Where da hell's our van?"
"We left it right here! Who the hell would take it?"
Tessa stirs slightly on Daryl's back. She tightens her arms slightly around his neck and lifts her head/. "Merle."
"He's gonna be takin' s'me vengeance back t'camp."
"What are we waiting for? Ain't got time to be hanging 'round." T-dog grumbles, jerking his head in the direction of the camp ridge. It's a long way, but the more we loiter worrying about our lost truck, the more distance Merle gets on us.
"As much as this sucks, we better run." With a long sigh Glenn starts to lead the way. Luckily we don't come across any Walkers that we cannot outrun, most of which seem to have been infected a while ago. Unfortunately, this almost means that our fast pace wasn't agreeing with Tessa's serious injury. She yelps and whimpers the entire journey.
When we finally near the base of the ridge, at which point the sun has completely set, three loud gunshots crackle through the air.The cool air makes them especially loud.
"Oh my god." I whisper.
"Go! GO!" Glenn growls, as out of breath as the rest of us. I glance at T-dog. Though he remains silent, I can tell he is just as, if not more, panicked than the rest of us. Blood is gushing through my veins at a million miles an hour, sweat trickles down my forehead and the coolness of the air burns of my throat. I can feel a stitch coming on.
As we ascend the ridge, I hurriedly distribute guns while attempting to still move. Tiny rocks and pebbles slip under my feet. Daryl slides Tessa off his back gently as I pass a shotgun to Glenn. Next is T-dog, then Daryl. Tessa isn't strong enough to hold a large gun, but she takes out a Colt revolver from the makeshift holster at her hip. The four of us sprint the rest of the way, leaving Tessa to catch up when she can.
What we find is an absolutely massacre. A sheen of blood coats most of the ground, reflected by the dying fire and bright moonlight. The faint shadows of Walkers and corpses seem barely legible through the gloom. Human screams and vile moans mingle together, both distinct but similar. I spot a group of people, including my wife and son, huddled together in the yellow light and protection of the RV. I jerk the shotgun towards a Walker's head and fire. One down, far too many to go. I just hope I can save everyone.
-Tessa-
Rick's out with his damn walkie talkie again by dawn. The sky is a beautiful hue of pink, people and orange. It's not often that something so beautiful survives this long. That's nature, I guess. I ignore it and go back to trying to light the fire. The matches are a little damp, as is the wood. We need to burn the bodies and bury our dead.
Daryl wants to burn them all, but I'm not sure. It's cruel to burn the bodies of those we loved, or in this case those others loved. Though we also don't have the time or energy to waste with old world things.
Among the dead is Amy. She was nice, didn't speak to me often, though often enough. I don't feel anything, however. If she's dead, then she's dead. I suppose it's dark and heartless to think that way. Imagine what Andrea must be going through. She won't move from the carcass. I mean body. Dammit.
I flick the match across the matchstick box again. Stupid thing. I glance around. People are hauling away bodies and putting holes through their heads. It seems quite natural now, like a rythm. People die, people get a hole in their head, people remain dead. Either that or they turn.
There's not much I can do at the moment. I'm squatting by the huge mound of wood since my stomach's hurting so much. There's a web of ugly bruises on it, most of which seem to have gotten worse over night.
Daryl and Andrea have a small scuffle of Amy's body. Andrea's a fool. Her sister's dead. Deal with it. Everyone has lost someone. Hell, many have lost everyone. What a victim. Amy will turn, then Andrea will cry about how it wasn't fair and that the world was only screwing her over.
Today is hot, or is going to be. That much I can tell. I don't mind it so much, better than it being freezing. I think I'm going crazy. It was a little foggy this morning so it should be clear for the rest of the day, except it smells like blood and rain. There are mutilated corpses littered around the campsite, many of which are people I knew and were alive not a few hours ago, and yet it doesn't bother me. Ants are crawling over my boots. They look kind of cute when they walk in a line.
Stop it. This is sad. This is a sad time for everyone. Just... Not me. The knife. I play with it for a little bit, not realising all the small cuts it has made over my fingers. My left hand is now covered in tiny incisions. Fucking hell. What's wrong with me?
-- I don't know if I want to continue with this story... Maybe I'll put it on hold, or just shorter chapters. Anyway, did you like it? --