Unbreakable threads

Chapter Nine: Into the City

The journey into Atlanta felt surreal. Alyssa held tightly to Rick's waist, her hands gripping the rough fabric of his shirt as they rode together on horseback, the city skyline looming on the horizon like a distant promise and a threat. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves against the pavement was the only sound, echoing off the silent, crumbling buildings. The weapons bag was strapped securely over Rick's shoulder, and Alyssa's backpack, loaded with their scant supplies, bounced lightly against her back with every step.

As they approached the outskirts of Atlanta, the quiet of the countryside gave way to the oppressive stillness of the abandoned city streets. Cars were scattered along the roads, some overturned or crashed, others left with doors hanging open, their owners likely having fled in panic. A few scattered belongings lay on the sidewalks—a stuffed animal here, a broken suitcase there—haunting reminders of lives that had once thrived in these streets.

Rick's posture was tense, his gaze sharp as he scanned the deserted roads, every shadow a potential threat. Alyssa could feel the unease radiating off him, a silent acknowledgment that they were entering dangerous territory. Her heart beat faster as they passed beneath towering, empty buildings, their windows dark and hollow, like the eyes of giants watching them approach.

"Stay alert," Rick murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're not alone here."

Alyssa nodded, her grip on his waist tightening as she cast a wary glance around. She was bracing herself, expecting to see walkers stumbling out from behind every corner, every abandoned car. The city felt wrong—haunted in a way that was different from the desolate fields and forests they'd passed through. It was too quiet, a silence that weighed heavy, filling the spaces where life and noise had once thrived.

They continued through the city's outskirts, navigating around wreckage and debris, moving steadily toward the heart of Atlanta. As they crossed an intersection, Alyssa caught sight of movement in the distance. She squinted, her breath catching as she saw figures shuffling in the shadows, their movements jerky and slow.

"Walkers," she whispered, her voice tense.

Rick nodded, guiding the horse in a wide arc, keeping a safe distance from the group of walkers. "We stay quiet, keep moving," he said, his voice calm but edged with caution. "We don't engage unless we have to."

They made their way down another street, skirting the edges of the city center, the buildings growing taller, casting long shadows over them. The horse's ears flicked nervously, sensing the tension in the air, but it obeyed Rick's steady guidance.

As they approached a large, open square, they were met with a sight that made Alyssa's stomach twist. Dozens of walkers were clustered in the center of the square, their bodies swaying like reeds in the wind, heads jerking and turning at every small sound. Their flesh was decayed, skin hanging in loose, rotting patches, eyes empty and devoid of life yet filled with a relentless hunger.

Rick halted the horse, holding up a hand to signal silence. Alyssa held her breath, watching as the walkers milled around, unaware of their presence. The smell of decay hung thick in the air, and Alyssa fought the urge to gag, covering her mouth with her hand as they waited, perfectly still.

After what felt like an eternity, Rick nudged the horse forward, steering it down a narrow side street that would take them around the square. Alyssa could feel every muscle in her body tensed, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. She kept a hand on her knife, her heart pounding as they moved slowly through the tight alleyway.

When they emerged on the other side, the square behind them, Rick let out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He glanced over his shoulder at Alyssa, giving her a quick nod of reassurance.