Push and Pull || Maggie Greene

Triggerfinger

The three of us stood in grim silence, our eyes fixed upon the ghastly scene unfolding before us. My breath caught in my throat as I slowly lowered my firearm, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon me. Never before had I been forced to confront the brutal reality of taking another life, and yet here I stood, grappling with the harrowing truth of our actions. "Holy shit," I murmured, the words escaping me in a hushed whisper, as the enormity of what I had just done washed over me like a tidal wave. 

Rick turned his gaze towards me, his voice a soft murmur in the hushed atmosphere of the bar. "You alright?" he inquired, concern etched in the lines of his face. I offered a reassuring nod, attempting to mask the turmoil brewing within me. "Yeah, I'm good," I replied, though the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between us.

His attention then shifted to Hershel, the elder among us, who surveyed the scene with a somber intensity. "Hershel?" Rick prompted, seeking validation in the older man's steady gaze. For a moment, silence enveloped us, broken only by the faint echoes of our own breaths mingling with the stillness of the room. Finally, Hershel's eyes met Rick's, a silent understanding passing between them as he gave a slow, solemn nod.

"Let's head back," Hershel says to us. As we prepare to depart, Rick acts swiftly, snatching Tony's discarded gun from the floor and he searches the body, finding a few shotgun shells. I follow suit, slipping behind the bar where Dave's lifeless form lies, and seizing his handgun from the ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching car shatters the stillness, prompting Rick's urgent command for us to take cover. Hastily, we scurry toward the nearest door, instinctively crouching beneath the windowsill. The car halts, its engine sputtering to silence as a door creaks open and then shuts with a decisive thud.

"Dave? Tony? They said they're over here?" a man's voice calls out, slicing through the tense atmosphere.

"Yeah," comes the reply from another man, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"I'm telling you I heard shots," insists a third voice, the words laced with concern.

As the trio continues their discussion just beyond the door, I focus intently on regulating my breath, trying to steady the racing of my heart.

I lock eyes with Rick and we give each other a small nod as we tighten the grip on our guns. Soon  the voices drift off and Rick sneaks a look out the window. He then stands up, still hugging the wall, as he tries to get a better look. Eventually, he crouches back down and sneaks over to Hershel and I who were on the other side of the door.

"Damn, I wish they'd just get the hell out of here," I grumble to my brother, frustration evident in my voice.

"We can't sit here any longer," Rick interjects firmly, and I shoot a quick nod to my brother in agreement.

"We need to make a break for it through the back," I suggest to both of them, urgency lacing my words. Before we can take more than a few steps, the sharp crack of gunfire echoes through the air, and we instinctively press ourselves against the nearest wall once again.

The voices of the approaching men send a shiver down my spine, their footsteps drawing nearer with each passing moment. Frustration wells up inside me as they veer closer to the bar, my eyes squeezing shut in exasperation.

"We're looking for Dave and Tony and no one checks the damn bar," one of the men's voices declares, their words slicing through the tense atmosphere like a knife.

Soon enough, they're standing right outside the door, their presence looming ominously. Rick and I exchange a silent glance, both of us instinctively raising our guns in readiness. Gripping the shotgun in my hand tightly, I find a sliver of comfort in its weight, my resolve solidifying in the face of imminent danger.