Never Close Your Eyes

DTM 🐊 : C. 35

|| Chapter Thirty-Five||

For a minute, she thought the savior of 10K would shoot her until his back faced her before a barrel ever caught her attention.

The blade hit the sun just right, causing a slight glare.

'He saved him.' She thought to herself, confused at the switch of sides.

Despite the throbbing pain her neck was screaming at her, she looked downwards at her best friend. She dropped to her knees the same time Doc reached their struggling forms.

"Come on, come on." Doc practically yanked 10K to his feet as they all raised to a pace that mimicked a drunk run.

Too many Zs were swarming around the platform like bees trying to please their queen with honey. They risked too much if they would let 10K run by himself.

Doc grabbed (Y/N)'s arm as well, not wanting to have anything happen to her either. With one arm wrapped around 10K's waist and one hand grabbing (Y/N)'s wrist, he knew he had his family back.

He found his home.

"I told you, you'd survive anything, you damn cockroach!" Doc had a temporary, wide grin from ear-to-ear, despite not being out of the hive just yet.

Her throat burned too much to respond back, her neck only aching more. The least she could do to assure her savior was grin back at his enthusiasm.

"I knew you'd come back for us." 10K spoke for the two, seeming more relieved than he has since they joined Sketchy and Skeezy.

"Damn straight." Doc promised right then and there, he'd always come back for his kids.

They swerved through a group of turning Zs, heading for the same truck that got the original four in this mess.

Warren had taken over the driver side the same time Doc rushed (Y/N)'s body in first, then 10K's. Finally, he secured himself inside the vehicle. The rest of the group hung around the side of the doors or on the very back platform that held the two model chairs.

Better yet, Sketchy and Skeezy were the only ones to hide in the bucket that once held poor souls.

(Y/N) felt her body finally relax into the stiff cushion of the bench, ignoring the fact she had a piece of her death sentence resting on her collarbone like a sinful reminder that lying was indeed a naughty thing in the—lost but never forgotten—Bible.

"Are you okay?" Warren asked repeatedly when the first time she asked was ignored by both of them.

10K found himself fully emerged in the woman that he worshipped the ground she walked on, instead of the woman he was suppose to look up to.

Quickly, he retracted the small switchblade that was safely stored in the ankle of his boot. He didn't want to make her mind relapse into the past of this thing being placed on her neck.

Gently, his left hand grounded itself on top of her shoulder, careful not to spook her from the thoughts training through her head.

"It's okay." He whispered to both of their souls, knowing the chaos running through their veins at the previous near-death experiences.

He didn't know if she was picking up on his words or even what he was doing, seeing as her hands gripped the edge of the cushion she sat in. He didn't want to move too quickly, startling her and/or causing Warren any more panic.

If he felt so much panic, devastation from being so close but so far from (Y/N) during her lynching, he could only imagine what Warren felt when she saw her.