A teenage girl by the name of Ayla Meadows is held against her will and experimented on by a crazed scientist. Although she manages to escape the horrors with the help of a sheriff and his group, she is forever haunted by the memories of her torture...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
———
"There are two kinds of guilt: The kind that drowns you until you are useless, and the kind that fires your soul to purpose." - Sabaa Tahir
———
Ayla is running. She is running as fast as she possibly can - as fast as she's ever ran before. There is sweat dripping from her forehead and trickling all the way down to the tips of her toes but she doesn't let it distract her. Not even an earthquake or a hurricane or a flash flood could stop her from running like her like her life depends on it, because someone's does.
Carl is in the arms of his father who is running just behind Ayla. Rick clutches his son to his chest as he sobs uncontrollably; blood all over his shirt.
It's my fault. It's all my fault.
She repeats the mantra in her head over and over again which pushes her legs to move faster and faster. Because it's true. She knows it, Rick knows it, everybody knows it.
She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't realise she's travelled so much farther from the others until she is a good twenty metres away from Rick, Shane, and the gunman; Otis.
In the distance she can see a large white farmhouse where a young woman with short brown hair stands on the porch. "HELP!" Ayla screams at the top of her lungs. The woman looks at her worriedly and then at Rick holding Carl behind her. Ayla can see the confusion on her face. "GUNSHOT!" She adds and sees the woman understand the situation before she quickly goes inside to get more help.
Ayla approaches the porch steps as an older man steps out the front door, his family following behind him. "Was he bit?" The man questions.
"No." Ayla spits. "Shot. Abdomen. The gunman told us to come here and that Hershel would help him, I'm assuming that's you?" The man, Hershel, nods.
It's at this point Rick reaches the porch. "My son! Help him, please!" He begs.
"Bring him inside!" Hershel shouts as he leads the way into the house, barking orders of equipment for his family to bring to him. He takes Carl to a bedroom and tells Rick to place him on the bed. "Pillowcase." He orders Rick but it's almost like Rick can't hear him. He refuses to take his eyes off his son and just repeatedly asks if he's alive - it's obvious he's in some state of shock.
When Hershel repeats his order and Rick still makes no move, Ayla reaches past him and grabs the pillowcase herself. Hershel looks up momentarily confused but quickly understands that Ayla will now be the one helping him out and he nods at her gratefully. "Fold it. Make a pad." She does as instructed and then before he can tell her what to do with it, she's already applying pressure to the wound.
He looks at her questioningly, slightly impressed.
"My Mama was a nurse." She answers his questioning gaze, her cheeks coated in a slight blush due to the attentive gazes of everyone in the room. "Taught me the basics. I can help." She offers, needing to be of some assistance after what Carl did.
