|4. no way out|

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                  ❝IT'S NOT OUR PROBLEM

                                           ❝IT'S NOT OUR PROBLEM ❞

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Somewhere, in a world more favorable than this one, in a world that offered humans safety and love just as it offered its land and water, maybe in a world like that would Inaara bend down to kiss the Earth gently.

She wasn't resentful.

Even after witnessing things no person should have to see, after enduring things no person should have to experience, she didn't blame anyone for anything that had happened.

So as she stood there that day, her breath coming ragged and in short fragments at the sight of  a swarm of heads emerging from out of the steep street behind her, she didn't hate her situation even more or less than before.

From the pet shop across the street appeared three biters. They dragged onto the road; foggy eyes missing Inaara by a string of hair as she dipped below the window of the truck.

She was about to make a dash towards the side of the store but what stopped her were the biters that were trudging from out of the woods, tumbling through the bushes and along the brick wall.

Inaara's nerves were a mangle by the time she yanked open the door of the truck, clambering inside.

She hurriedly locked the double doors by the driver and passenger seats before she moved to the back, shaky fingers locking the doors at her sides.

The best safety she could offer herself in the car would be by flattening her body on the floor between the two front seats and the three back seats, so that's exactly what she did.

Loud, shallow breaths escaped past her mouth at her every movement, even more so with her straining to recline both driver and passenger seats over her body in order to allow herself more coverage.

Moments later the throaty growling sounds returned. The truck began to rock with the sway of bodies that dragged against it, causing Inaara to bury her face into the flesh of her arms. They were so close. So close. Only a couple of doors and mere metal separated her from death.

Her mind traveled to Rick and Glenn and she tried to imagine their situation.

They must've heard the noise from the prison, just like her. What were they doing? Where were they hiding? The window to the storage room was cracked–were they safe?

Glenn.

She couldn't lose Glenn, not after she just found him.

It was around an hour of her being too frightened to breathe too loud or too fast. An hour of her body straining against itself to stay still. An hour of trapping her breath in her chest. A dreadful, silenced hour of nothing but starved growls and shifting colors of light under her eyelids, washing over her figure from the shadows that moved across the window.

PERILOUS TENDENCIES| RICK GRIMES.Where stories live. Discover now