𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 | Daryl Dixon

2 | GUTS

"My God, it's like Time Square down there," Andrea exhaled as she and Jacqui looked over the wall of the roof, staring down at the masses of the dead roaming the streets below.

They looked like insects from this height, a colony of tiny termites sticking together in the hunt for food. Termites hunt down rotting plant materials, devouring dead and decaying leaf litter and soil until there is nothing left. The walkers worked differently, searching for anything fresh. Alive. Chomping away at living matter with an animalistic hunger, leaving bones and guts behind.

Tori had never seen so many gathered up like this. When the epidemic first hit, she was right in the middle of this city, soldiers all over the place, warning people to go back to their homes, assuring that everything would be handled soon.

Tori was not convinced. She was fast in getting her truck and driving out of there before things got really bad. If she hadn't of done that, she'd probably be down there with the dead, roaming around, looking for a living person to sink her teeth into. Everything about her would be gone, and a shell of herself would be left as a monster.

The moans and groans could be heard, even from all the way up where the group were still gathered, the stench of death and rotting flesh travelling up with the breeze. The winds caused a chill to grace the unclean air, but the sun beaming down through the gaps in the thin greying clouds made up for it.

Still, Tori kept her sleeves rolled down to hide her arms, being the only one on that rooftop with a jacket on. Still her little tattoo was slightly visible, as was her bracelet. Her headphones were around her neck, and she fiddled with the black wire that trailed down to the device on her hip, twirling the thin cable around her index finger until it was pulled taut, then letting it go.

She turned her head when a ray of sun hit her eyes, and she cast a glance at T-Dog whilst he sat with his back against the wall, the walkie talkie in his hand whilst he twisted the knobs and buttons on the top.

"How's the signal?" Tori asked.

"Like Dixon's brain," T-Dog muttered bitterly. "Weak."

Still cuffed to the metal pipe, Merle rested his free arm on his knee as he lifted his hand, flipping T-Dog off.

"Keep trying," Morales said hopefully.

"Why? There's nothing they can do," Andrea muttered. "Not a damn thing." She walked away from the wall, pacing around worriedly.

Rick was looking between the group in confusion, and Morales explained. "We have some people outside the city is all. There's no refugee centre; that's just a pipe dream."

"Then she's right," Rick decided, referring to Andrea's earlier comment. "We're on our own. Up to us to find a way out."

"Good luck wi' that," Merle scoffed. "These streets ain't safe in this part of town from what I hear." He looked over to Tori with a threatening grin. "Ain't that right, sugartits?"

"Eat a dick, redneck," Tori shot back flatly, pulling out her pocketknife and flipping it around in her hand.

"Spoil sport," Merle tutted with an eye roll.

His gaze landed on Andrea whilst she back up the rucksack on the ground, and his smirk returned.

"Hey, honeybun," he waved his one free hand. "What do you say you get me out of these here cuffs, huh? We can go off somewhere and bump ugglies. Gonna die anyways."

"I'd rather," the blonde uttered boredly, heading back over to the others.

     "Rug-muncher," Merle grumbled. "Figured as much."