Clementine x Male reader : We Are Monsters

Chapter 29

Y/N Pov :

The next morning, at 5:52 am, while Lydia is still sleeping, you get up and dressed up as quietly as possible. You took a last look at Lydia, who was laying down on her stomach, the blankets covering her up to the kidneys. You smiled at how cute she was, and left the bedroom while slowly opening the door to avoid the hinges to squeak. On your way to the kitchen, you loaded a round into the chamber of your SIG, decocked it, then holstered it back. You took a look at the cylinder of your revolver, and removed the six rounds to blow in the chambers. You loaded it back while walking in the kitchen, and closed the cylinder with a sharp movement of your wrist before slipping it in your belt.

You made some coffee, took a few slices of bread that you covered with jam, before eating them in two minutes. You took a look by the window, your mug in hands. The sun isn't up yet, and the town is plunged in a dark and grey atmosphere. You grinned when your lips entered in contact with the coffee, and took a slow sip which burned your throat all the way down. You coughed, clutching your chest in pain. You frowned at your mug, and posed it on the table while taking a glass of water. You wiped your lips, and while your coffee cools off, you walked to the living room and opened a cabinet where an old vaccum cleaner is taking the dust, next to Lydia's and yours rifle, your shotgun, the axe, the machete and your bat. You passed your index on the inscriptions written with a marker, until you found the cartons with ".357 Magnum" and "9x19 mm" written on it.

You grabbed the two cartons, and pulled them out of the cabinet before installing them on the kitchen table. You wiped off the dust covering the top of the cartons, and opened them. You didn't take that much .357 rounds, only enough to fill two speed-loaders that you slipped in your jeans back pocket. When you were done, you pushed the carton on the side of the table and grabbed the one sheltering the 9 mm rounds. In the carton, there was a little rectangular and transparent Tupperware, where you stuffed your mags. You opened the little box and took two of them that were already loaded. You slipped them in your jeans front pocket, and started to load the three others you had. Being already used to it, it didn't take you more than four minutes. 

Being ready, you stored the cartons back into the cabinet, took a pencil, a little piece of paper, and wrote a little message for Lydia, that you posed on the kitchen table. You explained that you were outside to see how things were doing on the barricades, that you were sorry to leave her alone that early without telling anything, and promised to be careful and back soon. With a smile, you drew a heart under your message before grabbing your mug and finishing it.

You opened the front door as quietly as possible, and left the apartment. Your footsteps are resonating in the empty corridor, making you feel like an intruder. You climbed downstairs, and opened the door on the street. A few persons are already outside, either bored to stay inside, unable to sleep, or just out to take their shifts on the barricades. You started to walk towards East Main Street barricade, your holster being shaken up and down against your hip. Everyone you came across either greeted or waved at you, and you politely answered by waving back at them without stopping in your tracks. 

Two men were on the barricade, hunting rifles in hands. The teams worked all the night on the barricades, and it looks great. Way more stronger and resistant than it ever was. You waved at the two men, who saluted you with a "Good morning, boss" before you walked away to check all the others barricades. Each one was even more fortified than when you checked them up before going to sleep yesterday. They were all guarded by at least two armed men, something that you appreciated.

However, you didn't appreciate when a biter jumped on you by surprise, grabbing your ankle with its skeletal hand from under a pile of trash. You tripped over with a shriek, and it emerged from the pile of trash as a horrible hissing leaves its decomposed throat. Packagings, detritus and papers are falling in cascade from its shoulders, where the bones are pointing out like amputated wings. The skin is in a greenish tone, covered of a film of decomposition from staying for that long under that trash. You unsheathed your SIG in a quick and firm movement as the biter is trying to bite your juicy ankle, the skin being so tensed up on its bones that it got ripped off in multiple places. You had to shoot three times, pulverizing its jaw and brains in a bloody mist that sprayed the wall behind, the detonations destroying your eardrums and illuminating the alleyway with orange flashs and sparks. The last detonation seems vague to you, distant, like if you shot underwater. Your ears are pulsing, your eardrums painful and ringing. You growled, frustrated for having damaged your audition a little bit more because someone fucked up and didn't notice that thing. For how long was it there ? What if a kid was the one that got grabbed ?