Nothing but Dead (The Walking Dead Fanfic)

The Turned

Only four remain inside the cabin. They awaited the reanimation of Joe, if it happens. Lucas, Garrett, Dylan and Oscar await quietly. Why Oscar? Garrett was concerned with his safety if he went back to the warehouse with the others. The others that were here were time bombs. After hearing the Joe was killed, and multiple others injured during the fight (Davie, Mitchel and Tom). They were quickly against any other plans to hunt down the remaining people of Leagues's group, including Leagues himself. 

Every once in awhile a scream would be heard from outside the cabin, then the sound of a door breaking down and occasionally gunshots. Then there would be quiet. They have shut the blinds, and locked the doors of the cabin to hopefully prevent any Walkers from seeing them. Sometimes there would be a bump on the outside, a Walker running against the wall of the cabin and then it would continue on its deadly path.

Dylan weighed the knife in his hand. It was no heavier than a kitchen blade but would cut on first contact, even with minimum pressure. It's serrations were like waves, but not randomly so like on the cheaper knives. They would slide in smoothly and do maximum damage on the way out, like the barbs of a fishing hook. At seven inches he could keep it easily under his jacket, not his only weapon of course, but a useful back-up in close combat. For some reason when he saw his reflection in the blood-stained steel his mind flicked to Joe. 

It was like it was a flash back, Dylan was watching in his own mind.  He could see Joe bleeding already and the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he gasped for breath and then it was over. 

Not far away, Garrett stared at the body of the man that he killed. The dead man lay on his back, in a pool of blood that was almost dried and gave the room a sickly-sweet butcher-shop odor. He couldn't go back, even if he wanted too.

"Your not a killer." Lucas quietly mentioned to him as he continued to stare at the body.

Garrett spoke with a coldness and a rawness she'd never heard before. “I didn't have to kill him, but I had my gun between his eyes. I....I just didn't care. I wanted to put him in a pit and add the shovels of dirt slowly until his God damn mouth was full of muck. I want to hear his cries as the rocks rain down on him thicker than a hail storm." He grinned showing white teeth, his eyes wider than any sane person's should be. Then he put a hand on his colt, which was in it's holster. "But at the end of it all, I think I wanted to kill him."

She watched Oscar move about the room, it's hard to believe they were even the same species, humans. Lucas ran her fingers down the Browning 9mm, that she found in the basement, with the same expression most women reserve for chocolate. 

Her face mirrored the grim expressions she saw, but her insides were on fire. In the beginning she'd denied her own blood-lust but had been curious as to why her friends suffered after killing so many Walkers and she didn't. Now she knew. She was a psychopath, self diagnosed, and a perfect mimic.

"I'm just surprised that you all didn't know this happens." Oscar talked in the corner. "It's gonna happen to all of us eventually."

"Quiet." Dylan's deep voice interrupted him.

Garrett ignored the conversation, pain throbs in his guts, it's deep and warm, but not in a nice way. It feels like someone has their hand in there and are squeezing his organs first gently and then as hard as they can. When it wanes he can move, when it returns he can only hold still and breathe, breathe slow and deep until it has passed. 

There is no blood anywhere but when he checked in the bathroom mirror his abdomen is purple and lumpy where it should be smooth. Every step feels like a nail bomb exploding in my innards. His face has looked better. The left side all beaten up, with his left eye swollen a little. The right side of his face was weirdly untouched.