Freya Quinn was uniquely herself despite the events of the apocalypse she was thrown into. She was a paradox to understand and a combination of heaven and hell thrown together to create such a woman. And the only person in the whole wide world that...
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IT WASN'T A SURPRISE THAT Rick was running ahead, faster than anyone even when he carried his limp son in his arms. Freya was behind him, while Shane and the guy with the shotgun were running behind. Freya arm wasn't bleeding badly. She would live, but Freya wished she could have the same confidence for Carl.
"It's straight ahead! Talk to Hershel! He'll help!" The man yelled as he could not keep up with Freya and Rick.
Freya's lung felt like ice as she tried to keep in toe with Rick, her side felt like it was slowly suffocating her from the inside, but she kept on running. Carl was losing blood, and every drop meant he was closer to losing his life. Sweat dripped down and off Freya in a frenzy state as she ran from point A to point B. But the distance felt like it was getting longer and longer. And the time left for Carl was getting shorter and shorter.
Freya could see a gorgeous white house with a green roof. It was a big house too, and it looked left alone compared to the other houses Freya has seen since the outbreak. It looked clean and untouched, like the world hadn't rid it of it's life yet. Tall dry grass whipped against Freya's legs as she kicked dirt into the air, fighting against her own breath to continue running.
Beside her, Rick had to stop or he would have fallen over. He had to stop twice before, re-adjusting his son in his arms. Freya could see Rick was tired, and above all scared for his son's life. Carl was shot in the stomach, which meant he could fight it, but he needed whatever help he could get.
"Rick, let me take him!" Freya doubled back, opening her arms out for the young boy.
"No, I can-" Rick was puffed, unable to speak properly as he was so out of breath and Freya knew she wasn't too far from where he was.
"Rick!" Freya nearly growled. He had no time and Freya had no practice. She wasn't going to loose someone else, not again and never again. At her guttural call, Rick handed his son into Freya's arm and the girl took off running.
Her dark hair whipping in the wind behind her as she stroke down the earth with each footsteps. Quickly did she make it to the white farm house, and she was meant with a group of people. At the front was an old man who next to him stood two girl. One being older and the younger one in a pink shirt. There was an older teenager with a bat in his hands and a blood haired girl behind him.
Usually, Freya would introduce herself, but she didn't have the time. "Please!"
"Was he bit?" The older man asked as he walked down the steps.
"Your man shot him! It was an accident, but please, you have to help him! He's just a child!" Freya begged as the group of people crowded around her, the front man, the older one, he stepped aside and Freya started to march into the house.
The house was lit up in the space of the setting sun. The walls were gorgeous and it felt like she was on the set of a movie, maybe she would ask about the house and how long it had been here considering the area it was built in and the design, but right now, Freya couldn't give another fuck.
