The Walking Dead: Three Knives (a fanfiction, based off of Season 3 & 4)

Chapter 9- The Officer's Calling

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                 Night time has fallen, and as usual, I am high up in a tree, though the sound of walkers is starting to become very irritant. They hadn’t shut up since this morning when all the shots were fired. Now it’s like they won’t stop coming. I suppose I was used to it at one point in time, but this past month I haven’t come across a great number of them until today.

                The prison had a lot to handle, I’ll give them that. It’s still a mystery to me how they cleared out half the prison with only, what? ten, twelve people? Unless there were more people inside the prison while the attack was going on, but I doubt it considering they probably would have had more help if their group was bigger.

                Not only were they small in numbers, but those small numbers included an old man with half a leg, and a younger boy. This group was weak…

                Too weak for me to leave and ignore.

                I sigh, trying to get comfortable, but I can’t. Everything about today is bothering me: Phillip, the attack, Carl’s ignorant stupidity, and all these droning walkers hovering around. It was driving me insane. I look up at the sky- the moon is full. Since I can’t sleep, I feel it’d be better to do something worthwhile. I climb the tree a little bit higher to reach a branch clumped full of leaves. I start taking them and chewing them into a pulp inside my mouth. I spit it out onto my hand and start rubbing it all over my body. I found this useful to mask my scent from the walkers for the most part. It wasn’t as efficient as just pouring walker remains and guts all over me, but I really, really hated doing that.

                I crawl down the tree and jump. I start killing walkers immediately, trying to go by unnoticed. The leaves masked my scent but not to the greatest. When within three to five feet of me half of them are usually able to make me out.

                I throw and stab and slash until I’ve killed about twenty. I am out of breath when I reach the edge of the field by the prison. For the hell of it I start walking towards the fence when I realize that somebody is inside one of the watchtowers.

                I squint my eyes; it is the police officer. He does not see me as he looks out across the field, troubled. He is very stressed, I can tell. I approach a little closer, and I hear him talking to himself.

                “Please. If you are real, show me any kind of sign; help me. Help me get through this, please. Lori, if you can hear me, please. Help us.”

                His voice is so full of pain and guilt that I pity him. From the sound of it, this Lori must have been his wife.

                He shakes his head, disbelieving, “I don’t even believe you. I need something to put my faith into. Send me something, someone. An angel.”

                Goosebumps appear on my arms, but not because of the cool night air, it is because I feel as if I am being called. As if this message was for me to hear.

                I shut my eyes, trying to convince myself that it’s just my imagination, but when I look up at the sky for some sort of guidance, all I see is three stars.

                Three.

                My lucky number.