Falling into the Undead

How to Save a Life

Falling into the Undead

Chapter Fourteen

How to Save a Life

Hi guys!

I have to say the beginning part of this chapter was one of my more favorite things to write. Getting inside of Merle's head was fun.

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming?

Please don't leave me

-Hold on by Chord Overstreet

Merle Dixon was not a man of religion.

He didn't believe in any higher deity looking down on him and judging him for his sins. Nor did he believe in a man who sat back and watched as his creations fucked one another over. He couldn't take any man up in the clouds seriously that would sit back and allow bad things to happen to kids, or anyone innocent. It just didn't make sense, so he didn't bother wasting his breath.

When he was left behind, and fear and anxiety began to creep in, Merle didn't turn to the man. He didn't utter a word of forgiveness, or salvation, to beg to be saved.

He did none of that.

Instead, the words of Remington began to play back over, and over in his mind.

'If you find yourself handcuffed to a roof don't try to escape.'

Fuck if he hadn't found himself in such a situation.

'Don't do anything you think you need to do at that moment to save yourself.'

Those were strong words for someone that wasn't connected to a pole. He could feel the instinct rise inside of himself. Had let off a few bellows of curse words, as he kicked, and pulled at the pipe, trying to damage it to the point it would fall down. Except none of that happened. It was sturdy, strong, and wouldn't be giving in to the likes of him. Merle could feel the desperate need to escape. Instincts told him to do whatever he needed in order to survive.

He had tried breaking his thumb, to slip out that way, but it hadn't mattered because the asshole had squeezed until it fit snug around his wrist, metal biting into the skin. His flesh was already raw, irritated, and bleeding from all the moving around he had done. All that he was left with was humming under the skin of his thumb, as pain pulsed, and still with nowhere to go.

He had shifted until he was hidden under the pipe, but it barely gave any relief from the sun. The slim shadow barely covered his face, and as the day wore on it shifted further away from where he could reach.

He could feel insanity slip back in as the moments ticked by. The heat bore down on him. Driving him crazy as he slipped in and out of deliriousness.

He could hear the Walkers on the other side of the door, banging, and scratching, while they moaned and desperately tried to reach the meal strung up for easy taking.

Merle felt desperation creeping back in. He began to yank against the metal again. His foot came up, pushing against the pipe, as he yanked and pulled his hand, trying to squeeze it through the metal. It didn't matter. Nothing changed. His hand was too big, and the hole was too small. His thumb, even broken, was still in the way.

Metal glinted out of the corner of his eye. It shined in the sunlight, beckoning him forward, in the form of some kind of salvation. He reached, grunting, as he stretched, pulling the muscles in his back, and arm as he desperately reached for the saw that had been carelessly kicked across the roof.