𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 || ᵈᵃʳʸˡ ᵈⁱˣᵒⁿ

x

|[part ten]|
-҉

ONE MONTH had slipped by, a period marked more by the absence of sound than its presence. However, today was different. The unmistakable cadence of human laughter and conversation had infiltrated the silence you had become accustomed to within the somber walls of the funeral home. From the snippets of sound that reached your ears, it was evident that a group had descended upon the town—predominantly male voices, if your ears served you right. Fear and caution had anchored you inside, peering through the glass was a risk too great, their presence a shackle that confined you to your shelter for over a week. You might have remained sequestered even longer, had a piercing scream not shattered the uneasy calm.

Instinctively, you sprang into action, muscles tensing, heart racing. With practiced ease, you equipped yourself—two guns secured at your hips and knives in hand, not forgetting to grasp one of the shotguns. The uncertainty of their numbers warranted preparedness for any scenario. The scream had not belonged to an adult; its pitch betrayed the innocence of a child in distress. As you burst through the doors, the street lay eerily silent, devoid of life save for the ominous growl of walkers carried on the wind.

Cursing under your breath, you blamed the careless interlopers for drawing these predators into what had been a quiet ghost town. Your path took you past an empty grocery store, alongside a row of dilapidated cars. Memories flooded in—these were the same cars you and Daryl had once pushed aside, clearing the way for a journey that now seemed a lifetime ago. Your heart squeezed at the thought of him, a pang of nostalgia swiftly suppressed. Better. This solitude, this separation, it was better. Or so you tried to convince yourself, even as his shadow loomed large in your mind's eye.

However, the urgency of the moment snapped your focus back to the present. Ahead, amidst the chaos, a little girl darted between the cars, desperately trying to evade the clutches of about a dozen ghouls. Your heart, momentarily caught in the grip of memories, now raced with a different purpose. The sight of her, so small and frightened, reignited a fire within you—a resolve to protect, to act. The world had taken so much; it would not take her, not if you had anything to say about it.

"Damn it," you murmured under your breath, your pulse racing with urgency. Without a moment's hesitation, a loud shout escaped your lips, cutting through the eerie silence. "Hey!" Your hands clapped together, drawing the ghoulish horde's attention instantly. "Yeah, you hideous abominations!" The creatures, driven by their insatiable hunger, turned and stumbled towards you, their grotesque forms a nightmarish sight. Your focus then snapped to the young girl, who couldn't have been more than ten, her eyes wide with terror. "Kid, climb atop one of the cars now!" There was no room for gentleness in your voice, only the sharp command of survival as you plunged your weapon into the skull of the nearest ghoul that dared to approach too closely.

As you fought, your senses tried to shut out the girl's cries, focusing solely on the task of eliminating the undead threat. One by one, the walkers fell, until the ground was littered with their lifeless forms. Blood streaked across your face, a grim testament to the battle, and exhaustion gnawed at your very soul. Bent over, hands resting on your knees, you gasped for breath, then turned to assess the girl. Wiping your face with a blood-soaked sleeve, you asked, "Are you bit? Scratched?"

Her tiny frame trembled with sobs, making her hesitate before answering. "N-No," she managed to say between cries. Nodding, you extended a hand, an offer of safety, though you understood her hesitation at the sight of a stranger covered in gore. Nevertheless, she placed her small hand in yours, and you gently helped her down from her precarious perch.

"Where are your parents?" The words left your mouth with an edge of frustration, ready to chastise any negligent guardian, but her next cry stopped you cold. "M-My-My dad," she stammered, pointing behind her. At first glance, nothing seemed amiss, but then the horrifying truth caught your eye—a ribcage discarded on the sidewalk as though it was nothing more than refuse, surrounded by the bloodied remnants of what once was.