Bitter Murmur | Abby Anderson x Male Reader

Chapter 8

Abby nodded, her heart racing. The whispers grew louder, the dead closing in on the men who had trapped them. The gunmen's eyes widened in horror as the walkers shuffled closer, drawn by their living scent.

"What the fuck is this?" the second one yelled, his gun shaking in his hand.

Y/N took a step back, whispering so faintly it was almost inaudible, "Now."

Abby didn't question him. She took a deep breath and sprinted, her legs pumping as adrenaline surged through her veins. They turned the corner, leaving the gunmen to face the horror of their own making. The sound of panic and chaos grew behind them, but they didn't look back.

The streets stretched out like a labyrinth, the moon casting long shadows that danced as they ran. The whispering grew fainter, replaced by the rhythmic patter of their feet on the cracked asphalt. Y/N's hand was a vice around hers, pulling her through the twists and turns of the cityscape.

Abby's lungs burned, her heart hammering in her chest. The echoes of their pursuers grew distant, but she didn't dare slow down. They ducked into a narrow alleyway, the walls closing in around them like a snake. The shadows grew darker, the whispers of the dead more pronounced.

Y/N's breath was hot in her ear. "We need to find a safe place," he murmured, his voice strained. "Somewhere they won't expect us."

Abby's mind raced. "My...my group," she panted, her chest heaving with exertion. "The WLF. We can go to the base. They'll protect us."

But Y/N's grip on her hand tightened. "They won't protect people like me," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Whisperers are seen as...different. Dangerous."

Abby's eyes searched his, understanding dawning. "But you're not," she insisted, her voice fierce. "You're just trying to survive."

Y/N's smile was grim. "To them, it won't matter," he said. "But we'll figure something out."

Abby's mind raced as they moved through the shadows. Despite the danger, she knew she couldn't leave him behind. Not now, not after all they'd been through. "We'll go to the base," she insisted, her voice firm. "I'll vouch for you."

Y/N's expression was skeptical, his eyes searching hers in the dim light. "You're sure?" he murmured. "They won't take kindly to an outsider."

But Abby was resolute. "I know my people," she said, her voice steady. "They'll understand."

Y/N searched her face, the doubt clear in his eyes. "They won't," he murmured, his voice low. "But I'll go with you."

Abby nodded, her own resolve unshaken. "They have to," she said, her voice firm. "You're not their enemy."

Y/N didn't argue further, the trust in her eyes a beacon in the dark. They moved swiftly through the streets, sticking to the shadows, their breaths mingling in the cold air. The whispers of the dead grew fainter, the danger behind them hopefully losing their trail.

As they approached the WLF base, the walls loomed tall, a bastion of hope and fear in the moonlit night. The guards' silhouettes patrolled the ramparts, their watchful eyes scanning the horizon. Abby's heart raced as she tugged Y/N closer, whispering reassurances.

"We're almost there," she murmured, trying to ignore the doubt gnawing at her.

Y/N's eyes searched the towering walls, the flickering torches casting an orange glow over the barbed wire that crowned them. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, his voice tight with tension.

Abby nodded, her eyes on the distant figures patrolling the perimeter. "They're my people," she said, her voice steady. "They'll listen to me."

Y/N's gaze searched hers, the doubt etched in his features. "Okay," he murmured, his voice tight with tension. "But be careful."

Abby squeezed his hand, then took a deep breath and stepped into the open. "Stop!" a guard's voice barked from the shadows. She raised her arms, her bow still slung over her shoulder. "It's me, Abby!"

The guards' eyes widened, and they called for the gates to be opened. The heavy metal screeched as it parted, revealing the bustling activity within the base. Y/N followed her, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the fortified camp, a stark contrast to the quiet world of whispers he'd known.

Inside, the smell of cooking fires and the murmur of voices filled the air. People moved with purpose, their eyes flicking to the newcomer with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Abby felt a twinge of pride for the community she'd helped build, but the weight of her decision to bring Y/N here was like a stone in her stomach.

They were met by a stern-faced sergeant. "Abby," he said, his eyes flicking to the unfamiliar figure beside her. "What's the situation?"

"This is Y/N," she said, her voice firm. "He's a whisperer. He's helped me, and I'm bringing him in for asylum."

The sergeant's eyes narrowed, his hand resting on the grip of his gun. "A whisperer?" he spat, his tone thick with distrust. "We don't take in strays."

Abby's jaw set, her eyes flashing. "He's not a stray," she insisted, her voice firm. "He's a survivor, and he's under my protection."

The sergeant's gaze flicked to the soldiers, his expression unreadable. "Bring him to the commander," he said, his voice a low growl. "We'll see what he says."

The soldiers approached Y/N, their rifles aimed at his chest. His eyes remained on Abby, seeking reassurance in her gaze. She stepped forward, her hand on her own weapon, ready to defend him. "He's with me," she said firmly.

But the sergeant's voice was like iron. "Stand down, Abby," he ordered. "We'll take him to the commander. She'll decide his fate."

Abby's eyes never left Y/N's as the soldiers approached, their grips on their rifles firm. She knew the risk she was taking, bringing a whisperer into the fold, but she also knew that Y/N was different. He wasn't a threat, he was a lifeline in a world that was slowly unraveling. She watched as the soldiers took him away, his eyes never leaving hers, a silent promise passing between them.