chapter 5.
The previous night's rainfall had breathed new life into the parched earth and the weary trio. With renewed vigor and optimism, they set out under the soft light of the morning sun, the cool dampness of the earth beneath their feet a welcome sensation after days of relentless heat.
Avery skipped ahead on the path, her laughter dancing on the breeze like a tinkling wind chime. Cassandra and Blake followed closely behind, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other as they navigated the uneven terrain.
Cassie was keenly aware of these fleeting moments of contact. Blake, however, seemed lost in his own thoughts; his gaze focused on the path ahead, oblivious to the silent conversation taking place between them. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his mind was no doubt grappling with the countless challenges they faced in their quest for survival.
Blake's voice broke the comfortable silence that had settled between them, his words laced with a mixture of admiration and concern. "She's tough," he remarked, his gaze fixed on Avery's small form as she skipped along the path ahead of them.
"She is," Cassandra agreed, a hint of pride in her voice. At just seven years old, she had lost her family and everything she had ever known, her young mind forced to grapple with the harsh realities of a world overrun by the undead.
Despite her youth, Avery had an understanding of walkers that went beyond mere survival instinct. She knew the dangers they posed, the insatiable hunger that drove them, and the necessity of remaining ever-vigilant in their presence. This knowledge was etched into her psyche, a constant reminder of the fragility of life in a world where death lurked around every corner.
Yet, despite the weight of her experiences, Avery possessed a resilience that belied her tender years. Her laughter still rang out, bright and clear, a beacon of hope in a world gone dark. She found joy in the simple pleasures of life—a warm meal, a hug from her sister, or the discovery of an unopened can of food.
For a moment, they walked in silence, their footsteps a gentle rhythm on the damp earth. Then Blake spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. "You're tough too."
Cassandra let out a breathy laugh, her emotions swirling in a turbulent mix of surprise and gratitude. "I like to think I am," she confessed, "but I don't know." Her words hung in the air between them, weighted with the unspoken acknowledgment of all they had endured together.
Blake cast a sidelong glance at Cassandra, his eyes lingering on the determined set of her jaw, the subtle lines of weariness etched around her eyes.
Just then, the tranquility of the moment was shattered by the unmistakable sound of walkers emerging from the woods. Avery quickly ran to Cassandra's side, seeking the safety and protection of her older sister.
The four walkers stumbled onto the street, their grotesque forms a stark contrast to the serene backdrop of the morning sun. With swift and precise movements, Cassandra and Blake dispatched the undead, their knives finding their marks with deadly accuracy.
As the last walker fell, silence descended upon the scene once more. Cassandra surveyed the aftermath, her eyes darting from one fallen walker to the next, ensuring that no threats remained. It was then that she noticed something unusual—her breath catching in her throat.
"Blake," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried not to alarm Avery. She pointed to the forehead of one of the fallen walkers. "Look."
Blake followed her gaze, his brow furrowing in confusion as he took in the strange marking etched into the walker's flesh. As they examined the other bodies, a chilling realization dawned upon them, each of the four walkers bore the same 'W' carved into their foreheads.
"What do you think it means?" Blake asked, his voice low and urgent.
Cassandra shook her head, her mind racing with possibilities. "I don't know," she admitted, her eyes scanning the surrounding trees for any sign of danger. "But I think we should be on our guard."
The mystery of the 'W' markings lingered in Cassandra and Blake's minds as they pressed on with their journey. Despite their best efforts to make sense of it, the symbol remained an enigma, taunting them with its elusive meaning.
As they walked side by side, the rhythm of their footsteps in sync, Cassandra turned to Blake, her brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think it's some kind of symbol for a group of survivors?" she asked, her voice low and cautious.
Blake considered the possibility for a moment, his eyes searching the distance as if the answer might materialize before them. "It's possible," he conceded, "but why would they mark the walkers? And why haven't we encountered any of them, just the walkers with the markings?"
Cassandra nodded, her lips pursed in a contemplative frown. "Maybe they're not friendly," she suggested, her tone taking on a note of concern. "If they're marking the walkers, maybe they're trying to send a message or claim some kind of territory."
Blake ran his hand through his hair, considering her words. "That's a possibility," he agreed. "We should be cautious."
