The Apocalypse

35

Three days had passed since Maeve began training with the herd, and Maurits had truly seen a bond forming between her and the walkers. Remarkably, they no longer growled at him, their hostility reserved only for Sophie, Derek, and Dylan. The transformation was extraordinary and filled Maurits with a mixture of pride and caution.
Each morning, Maeve would practice commanding the herd, refining her control over them. She'd shoot animals with her bow and arrows for food, her aim improving daily. Every successful shot brought a smile to her face, a small victory in their challenging world.
In the afternoons, while the boys trained, Sophie and Maeve would play games. They'd sit on the porch, playing card games or simple hand games, their laughter echoing through the clearing. The lighthearted moments felt like a small holiday, a rare reprieve from their usual tension and danger.
Maurits watched over them, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. He knew better than to let his guard down completely, even in these peaceful moments. The trust Maeve had built with the walkers was impressive, but it didn't erase the threats that lurked beyond their immediate surroundings.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the treetops and cast long shadows across the ground, a figure emerged from the darkness. Hidden among the trees, the figure watched them with menacing eyes. Unseen by the group, the stranger observed their routines, noting the bond between Maeve and the herd, the camaraderie among the group, and the apparent ease they had settled into.
Maurits sensed something was off. His instincts had been honed by years of survival, and he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He looked around, his gaze sweeping the tree line, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the uneasy feeling lingered.
Inside the cabin, Derek and Dylan were discussing their training session, oblivious to the potential danger outside. Sophie and Maeve were finishing up a game of cards, their laughter blending with the sounds of the evening.
Maeve glanced up and noticed Maurits' tense posture. "what's wrong?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
He shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the unease. "Probably nothing," he replied, but his eyes continued to scan the darkness. "Just stay alert, all of you."
They nodded while Maeve stood up walking to Maurits who stood before the window hugging him.
"I love you." She murmured.
"I love you more." He replied kissing her temple.
"I want to go behind the fence to train, I think I can do it!" Maeve said looking up at him.
"We will discuss it tomorrow." He said grabbing her by her hips.
"Tonight I want to fuck you." He growled softly for only her to hear.
.
Maeve's eyes fluttered open as the sunlight hit her face. She felt Maurits' hand on her bare back, gently caressing it. He was sitting up, watching intently through the window.
"What is it, Maurits? You've been acting weird," Maeve called him out, her voice still groggy from sleep.
"Someone is watching us from outside, and I can't figure out who it is or where they're hiding," he replied truthfully, his voice tense.
Maeve sat up, her concern growing. "Someone from the village?" She asked fear in her voice.
"Yes, darling. I will speak with the others. We will have him by the end of our trip hanging by its neck." He said his jaw tight.
.

The others were gathered around the table, discussing the shadow they had noticed but couldn't see. The tension was palpable as they tried to piece together the mystery of their unseen observer. Maeve, meanwhile, sat on the ground, her attention fixed on the picture from the café. Her fingers traced the edges of the frame, her mind elsewhere.

As she idly turned the picture over, her fingers brushed against something behind the photo. It was a label, sticking out just enough to catch her attention. Annoyed, she tried to rip it off, but the picture frame fell apart in her hands. A second photograph slipped out from behind the original, fluttering to the ground.
Maeve picked it up, her breath catching in her throat as she saw who and what was depicted in the picture. It was an image of her in the hospital, surrounded by the same bad people she had spoken of before. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories, each more chilling than the last.
Her heart pounding, she stood up and ran towards Maurits, the picture clutched tightly in her hand. "Maurits," she called out, her voice tinged with urgency.
Maurits looked up from the group's discussion, his expression shifting from concern to curiosity. "What is it, Maeve?"
She handed him the picture, her hands trembling. "This is me in the hospital, with the bad people," she said, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Maurits took the photograph, studying it closely. The image was grainy, but the details were unmistakable. Maeve, younger and more vulnerable, was surrounded by stern-faced adults in white coats. The scene was clinical, almost sterile, but the menace in the air was palpable.
"This..." Maurits began, his voice trailing off as he processed the significance of what he was seeing. He looked back at Maeve, his expression darkening with concern. "This changes things."
"Fuck, is that Catherine?" Dylan asked, taking the picture from Maurits' hand.
"It is," Maeve replied, her voice trembling. "She sometimes came to keep me calm. She is a bad person."
Maurits immediately pulled her into his chest, his arms encircling her waist to comfort her. His hand moved in soothing circles on her back. "You are fine, sweet girl," he told her softly as her breathing grew heavy with panic.
"Breathe with me, darling," he urged, leading her into another room for privacy. Once inside, she clung tightly to him, her anxiety spiking.
"Breathe with me, Maeve!" Maurits ordered more harshly now, his voice firm but loving. The command made her hiccup but also look up at him, her eyes wide and tear-filled. He helped her sit down, then went on his knees to look up at her, making sure she focused on him.
"In and out," he instructed, his hand cupping her cheek softly. Gradually, her breathing steadied, and she began to calm down.
"Good girl," he praised her, kissing her lips softly. "You are my good girl, yes?"
She nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. Maurits smiled back, kissing her again before standing up and picking her up, making her sit on his lap.
"She will be punished, Maeve. Do not worry. She won't hurt you again," he promised, his voice filled with determination.
Maeve nodded, taking comfort in his words. "Okay," she whispered, her head resting against his chest. The warmth and strength of his embrace made her feel safe despite the haunting memories that the photograph had stirred up.
Maurits held her close, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her and bring justice to those who had hurt her. He was gonna destroy the fucked up world even more if anyone touched what was his. Maeve was his and no one was ever gonna harm or take her.