Dark Meat [Walking Dead]

-- So this is my first 'The Walking Dead' fan fiction, so it probably will have a few holes in it. Hope you enjoy it anyway --

All I can think is run!

I hear their voices outside, grim but not regretful. Their footsteps are slow and heavy, the leather of their army boots squeaking ever so slightly, yet in my fearful state I hear it. Through the door of my tiny closet, the sound of radio chatter can be heard, static and straight forward.

Clutching the only thing I can find, which happens to be a screwdriver, my hands begin to shake. They're in my house. There is one in my room with only the closet door separating us. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead and drip from the end of my nose.

That's when I recognise Uncle Frank's voice yelling, "What do yeh think yeh doin'?" He asks in a raised voice, louder than I had ever heard from him before.

I wonder if he is just as afraid as me? I'm not only frightened of those things that came to my house not an hour ago, but also the army -if that's what you can call them. I bury my face into the emergency pack on my knees and try to muffle my cries. They come freely, tears streaming down my face and ribcage heaving, yet I manage to stay near silent.

I don't want to become hysterical, so Uncle Frank will deal with the soldiers and then I'll come out. I can't face them after what they did to those people. With their huge,semi-automatic and automatics, those uniformed men had put down over a dozen people. It was obvious they were sick, but these men were ruthless.

By the time Uncle Frank had stuffed me in my own closet with an emergency pack, just in case, they had entered the house. It was like in an action movie, where the S.W.A.T. team rushes in and clears the room through their scopes, armed to the tooth and ready to kill if necessary.

Screaming into the rough fabric of the pack, I cry even more when I hear the soldier leave my room. The door shuts behind him with a soft thud, and although the door is shut, Uncle Frank's elevated voice carries through, so I open one of the closet doors a smidgen to listen.

"Da fuck is wrong with y'all!?" He screams, and the sound of guns being loaded fills the house. "Yeh just shot-"

"Do you have any bites, sir?" A voice interrupts. It is sharp and authoritative, but nothing Uncle Frank will submit to. I mentally beg him not to do anything stupid, lest they take it as a threat and accidentally shoot him. I can't lose my uncle as well.

I want to go out there. I want to help him, maybe try to calm him down. Except I'm to scared. My body refuses to move from its upright fetal position, and so I hunker down and continue listening, hoping and praying that everything is just a misunderstanding

He growls loudly and says, "Don' interrupt me, boy! I ain't no-" Bang! Bang-bang-bang! There's a heavy noise, similar to a pile of sand dropping to the floor.

I scream into the pack again, bringing my knees even closer to my chest in doing so. They shot Uncle Frank! Who the fuck are these people!? I begin to shake again, thinking that if they find me, they will kill me.

Dad has been dead for nearly three hours, torn to shreds in his own bedroom by some... thing. Now Uncle Frank is gone and I'm next. The army doesn't just shoot people, so perhaps they're some kind of rogue militia. I hug my knees tightly and simply cry as the sharp voices fade into muffled whispers, far from the house.

Once silences befalls the tiny house for long over an hour, I crawl pitifully from the closet. On my hands and knees I shuffle out, completely forgetting my pack. The plain concrete foundation feels cool beneath my palms as dread chills me to the bone. I don't know if I can face what I might see out there.