BITE ME ➼ C. G. 〖 #wattys2016 〗

Chapter 5

School has started again. Bleh.
Pic above is kinda how I imagined Keira, but if you already have an idea of what she looks like, that's okay too.

SOTC: OctaHate by Ryn Weaver
• Lost in the cracks of the landslide, you got me slipping on my blind side •

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"A cup with a scoop of chocolate fudge ice cream, please." Marshal smacked a five dollar bill onto the counter.

"And then a cone with two scoops of cookie dough ice cream for me," I piped up. Then I saw Marshal's oh-come-on glare. "Please."

Marshal gave me an approving smile.

The guy behind the cash register had a red apron on, which was splayed over with the Coldstone Creamery logo. He took up the money, slotting it into the register. We watched him fold the ingredients into the ice cream, rolling and stretching it around on the counter.

I rubbed my lips over my new, smooth teeth. The orthodontist was kind enough to take off my braces, because of the impending apocalypse and stuff like that.

Mom and Dad probably wouldn't approve, but they weren't here, were they?

The man handed us our ice creams, and I dug into mine hungrily as we began to walk home. The cookie dough smoothed over my tongue, and it felt as good as nice, warm coffee on a cold day.

And that's when the first zombie came out.

•••

Carl was shaking me awake again. My neck almost did a 180°. I looked through my thick veil of eyelashes, squinting into the dark, but Carl pressed his hand over my mouth. He put a finger on his lips.

Wrinkling my eyebrows, I licked his hand, and he reflexively peeled it off my mouth, wiping it on his pants. He mouthed an ewwww and I smiled in success.

"It's your last chance to tell us right now you're coming out." A flat, male voice echoed through the main room of the church. I heard soft footsteps as the man walked around.

Gareth, Carl mouthed.

Oh fuck.

"Get the hinges," he said, and there were two gunshots, but they weren't the sound of metal on metal. It was the sound of bodies thudding to the ground.

"Put your guns on the floor." This voice was quieter and more measured, deeper. It was Rick. Carl smiled at me.

Then the sound of another bullet hitting somebody. The cries of the victim.

"Put your guns on the floor and kneel," Rick said again, his voice getting closer.

"Do what he says," the shot man said, strained.

I heard whispering as the guns were laid down.

"No point in begging, right?"

Dead silence. "No."

My eyes widened as I realized that Rick was truly going to kill them. Was that good? Yes. I looked at Carl, but his face was blank, listening.

"Still, you could've killed us when you came in. There had to be a reason for that."

"We didn't want to waste the bullets."

Burn.

"We don't have to do this. We can walk away and never cross paths again."

"But you'll cross someone's path. You'd do this to anyone, right?"

There was a pause.

"Besides, I already made you a promise." There was the zing of Rick's machete being unsheathed, and the begging squeals and grunts of the Terminants as I heard them being slaughtered one by one.

Carl unlocked the door, peeking through, but then he shut it again, shaking his head at me. The grunts and squelches intensified, knives meeting flesh over and over again. I gulped. Carl looked down, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his lips parted slightly.

Tyreese walked over, twisting the doorknob and guiding the door so it wouldn't creak. He opened it enough so that Carl and I could look too, but Carl shrank farther away. I peeked out.

Rick, Michonne, Abraham and many of our other group members were bludgeoning the life out of the Terminants, thwacking them again and again with their knives, the butts of their rifles, their fists. Tyreese looked horrified, and I could only sit there, shocked.

Silence again.

"It could've been us," Rick said solemnly, but firmly.

Father Gabriel was hunched over and looking like he was about to cry. Several people filed into our room, and even after I closed the door, I heard Gabriel walk over to the center of the church.

"This is the Lord's house," he said, squeaky and quiet.

"No," said Maggie's deeper, more accented voice. "It's just four walls and a roof."

•••

I almost dropped my ice cream, pointing it at the zombie across the road, which was staring at us with a gaunt expression on his face. His neck was half-slit, a horizontal seam line going from his Adam's apple to the back. Yellow and purple bruises traced his features, defaced with a huge bite on his cheek. Blood soaked his suit, and I don't think there was a square inch of clean fabric on there. His glasses hung off his ear, caked with crimson as well. His eyes were too far away, but they looked bloodshot and blank. He flicked his pupils back and forth before settling on us. Then, staggering forward, he tripped over his foot, which was half-cut off, trailing off the ankle on a fleshy leash.

He groaned, grunting and twisting his neck towards the Chevy that was speeding towards him.

The zombie's bones crackled under the tires of the car. The driver looked up from his phone in time to feel the car bucking upwards. Gripping the steering wheel, he looked around, confused at why there was a new road bump.

I looked at Marshal. His face displayed a look of confused shock, which scared me a little bit. Marshal had never looked this frightened before.

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A/N: I like this chapter. I rewatched this scene so it wouldn't be quite as crappy as past ones.

Anywho, surprise update for all! Thanks again for checking out this cruddy story again! I admire your faith in me :)

QOTD: Fave ice cream?
AOTD: Well, Keira likes cookie dough for a reason. *licks lips*

RQOTD (random quote of the day, which I'll be doing every 5 chappies): "Why not go out on a limb? That's where the fruit is."     -Mark Twain

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Word count:
1064

Edited 12-30-15
Edited 2-24-16
Edited 8-3-16