Mᴜᴛᴀɴᴛ Aᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘsᴇ: Dᴏɴᴀᴛᴇʟʟᴏ's 200 Dᴀʏs ❪✘❫ 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐶𝑂𝑀𝑃𝐿𝐸𝑇𝐸𝐷

05 || 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

Warning: Hanging

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𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝗼𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟶

It's already been ten days since Donnie had been separated from the group and as each day went on, his memories of them began disintegrating inside his head because all he focuses on is his survival.

As he sluggishly walked down a road, parched from the lack of water, he limped like one of the infected beings. His breathing was raspy, his lips are dry, and he is losing his strength. He gazed up at the sun, seeing that it is reaching its highest and it didn't have any plans to lower the temperatures.

Then, without Donnie realizing it, he began to laugh out loud in the street and stopped in his tracks. He chuckled, rubbing the sweat from his forehead and eyes and dropping his stuff on the ground. He's been away from people for ten days and he was already going crazy. Don inhaled sharply before talking to nothing but himself in this abandoned town. "I'm alllll alone..." He grinned widely, looking down at the ground as he fell to his knees. "Alone, alone, alone...."

As soon as he was about to unzip his bag to see if there were any portions of food left, he heard something on his left; items were moving inside this little thrift shop. When he listened in a little more, he heard glass shattering inside.

Don got to his feet and picked up his bo staff, stumbling like a drunk as he walked to the thrift store. He clears his throat, shaking his mind out of a child's conscience, and carefully pushed the door open. When his body entered the shade of the building, he saw clothing on racks, merchandise on shelves, and a cash register counter on the far right of him. "Hey!" He called out, gripping his staff, while he was disoriented from no water being in his system.

His voice attracted something coming from the back of the store. All it was is a Walker, roaring and bumping into shelves. The Walker came toward Donnie, causing him to prepare for another kill this week. Donatello gulped, backs away from the store, and let the Walker follow him outside.

Donatello's head was not on completely straight and nearly forgot what was going on the more the Walker got closer. He narrowed his eyes at the infected man before aiming the tip of the staff under the monster's nasty chin. Once the staff impaled the Walker, Donnie yanks his weapon away and watched the dead man fall at his feet.

The single survivor stared at the Walker's face, examining its rotting flesh and darkened fingers and clothing. Don felt shivers go through his shell, disgusted by the dead man before he walked back into the thrift store to have a better look at the things inside.

He found nothing but a bunch of clothes, old toys, and pictures of people in unused photo frames. Donnie says nothing, he just stares at the happy people and moves on from the store, and picks his things back up from outside.

As he continued his long walk, he figured he just needed to find water and he will be fine... and all of these silly moments he has will go away.

For now, he needed to find a place to rest, or else he'll be passing out in the middle of the open and the infected will find him. Donatello treated himself like a pack mule, carrying things he shouldn't even have on his shell, torturing himself to carry another seventy pounds.

Then, by the time the sun was about to go down, Donnie had found a place that he thought was suitable to sleep in for the night or even the next few days. He came to a small house with a tricycle in front, indicating that a family with children must have lived here before. He adjusted the straps of the backpack on his shell and made his way onto the front yard and walked toward the steps that lead to the front door.