𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 ⌖ 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴

Wild Horses

Faith has been broken. Tears must be cried. Let's do some living after we die.
— The Rolling Stones
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One man is dead and another has gone missing. This seems to be my reality now: people dropping like flies, one after the other, while others disappear without a trace.

Combing the vast expanse of the forest, there isn't a soul in sight, only the sound of crickets, my laboured breaths, and the rustling of leaves. I never dreamed I'd be back here scouring for another missing person. Least of all Randall, the boy we had rescued not long ago —the boy Dale tried to save again— who is now gone and a potential threat to everyone I love.

My wary eyes survey the dense woods, barely listening to Daryl and Shane's heated quarrel. Absentmindedly, I follow the four men as they venture deeper into the forest to hunt down Randall. However, one man captures my full attention: Shane.

Blood streams across his face, seeping down the bridge of his nose. Whether it was a rock or a fist that caused the injury, I can't imagine someone as pathetic as Randall mustering the boldness to attack Shane. And as satisfying as it is to see him battered and bruised, a darker idea takes shape. Randall isn't alone; he has a group. And from what I gather his group isn't known for their kindness, especially towards women.

The concern for Beth, Maggie, and everyone else at the farm gnaws at my brain relentlessly. So while the men debate their plan to locate Randall, uncertainty mulls down on me, amplifying every trepidation and outlandish suspicion.

"Alright, knock it off," Rick cuts in the argument and my stream thoughts. "You, Glenn, and Dakota start heading up the right flank," he instructs Daryl, who is already on high alert, zeroed in on the pursuit. Rick's intense gaze abruptly locks onto mine. "Me and Shane'll take the left. Remember Randall's not the only threat out there," he adds, voice dropping just a notch. Rick then looks back at Daryl, "Keep an eye out for each other." We briefly trade determined nods before Rick and Shane split off and Glenn and I reluctantly follow Daryl, marching in the opposite direction.

As we walk away, I steal one last squinted glance at Shane's hunched, menacing silhouette, and a chill slithers across my frigid skin.

The trip slowly descends into the night as the trail falls short and utterly insensible. It's another baffling, dead end. "There's two sets of tracks right here," I remark, illuminating some impressions in the soil with my flashlight, revealing the distinct outlines of two pairs of feet. Daryl's beam converges with mine, highlighting the same traces.

"Shane must've followed him a lot longer than he said," Daryl emits with a twinge of distrust. A surge of paranoia grips me, igniting an urgent need to find Rick that burns hotter with each passing second. Something was uncommonly wrong, unsettlingly so.

Daryl's flashlight then shimmers over a nearby tree, spotlighting a fresh streak of crimson that's level with our eye-line. "There's fresh blood on this tree," his voice is hoarse, barely hiding his qualm. My heart races as I mimic his gaze, following the ominous trail that slowly drips down the murky trunk.
"There's more tracks," Daryl continues grimly, "looks like they're walking in tandem." His observation sends a shiver down my spine; foreboding creeps into my veins. The truth, unwelcome and incomprehensible, claws at the borders of my mind.

Otis, Dale—now this. Nothing was going right. And here we were, lost in the heart of the woods, searching haphazardly for a boy who shouldn't be this difficult to find. I grapple against the rising tide of panic as each step into the twilight feels like a pointless progression, further away from those I need to protect.