OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ vii. i tried ]
june 22nd, 2012
➸➸➸
HERSHEL GREENE WAS DEAD.
The man of hope, faith, and life was gone. The good man who had bestowed upon Astrid and the others of her group a sanctuary—a home—in those early days, sparing them from the road, was gone. The man who was a father, a husband, a son, and so much more . . . and now, he too had been claimed by the unforgiving hand of the living.
In the agonizing moments that followed his execution, chaos erupted like a malevolent storm. The sky was filled with horrified cries, and tears flowed as though an unquenchable river. In that groundbreaking moment, where every conceivable misfortune seemed to converge as one, a mere ten seconds proved enough to shatter the world all over again.
With a haunting bellowing, Rick Grimes was the first to fire into the ranks of the Governor's forces. Their foes wasted no time retaliating back, attacking with a hail of bullets that whizzed perilously close to their targets. Carl, undaunted, followed suit, leading the charge, and Astrid and Daryl joined the fray without hesitation.
"No!" The Lancaster woman wailed. "Hershel!"
Maggie and Beth's heartrending screams reverberated through the courtyard. Yet even their devastation was soon eclipsed by gunfire. Astrid scanned the outskirts of the prison's perimeter, where she discerned the Governor's disappearance. However, her wonderings were replaced by a horrifying sight—the advance of the colossal green tank that had easily obliterated the once-protective fences. The convoy of military vehicles, teeming with dozens of soldiers, trailed behind, ravaging the yard as they went.
Astrid clung resolutely to her trigger as their enemies dared breach their home, her weapon's fiery recoil sending tremors coursing through her arms—a sensation trivial in comparison to the surging adrenaline coursing through her veins. Tears still streamed down her cheeks as Hershel's cold-blooded murder set in. He had been a good man, undeserving of such a malicious fate. Mere hours ago, he had selflessly tended to those who had been sick, and now, he was gone. How could such a tragedy unfold for him?
"Hey!" Carl yelled from over the gunfire. "Where did my dad go?"
In the mayhem of it all, Astrid had momentarily forgotten about her group members who still remained below in the yard. Her frantic gaze swept the grassy area, searching desperately for any sign of Rick or Michonne. They could not both be dead—not if she had any say in the matter.
Nevertheless, her search yielded no trace of their survival. "I don't know," She finally replied.
The boy cursed under his breath, and before Astrid could protest, he was already on his feet and making his escape toward the gate that would lead down to the yard. Astrid attempted to follow suit, but before she could take a single step after him, another commanding grip yanked her back down to the ground.
