Walker Killing, Man Stealing Teen

0.1

I feel completely unsafe.

As soon as the man ran out the door clutching his shirt and pulling up his jeans I slammed it shut behind him.

The bed was small and was easily pushed against the door. It was a feeble attempt at safety but what else could I do?

I ripped the sheet off the bed and draped the linen around my naked body. It didn't help much but made me feel the tiniest bit less exposed.

I helplessly looked around for a gun, a knife, anything. Although I knew I wouldn't find a weapon. Of course the men would have taken all those.

Wrapped in the thin sheet, I sink to the floor. Tears quietly creep from my eyes and other then the sound of my uneven breathing, all is quiet.

The lack of sound creates an eerie atmosphere and makes me shiver. The men, maybe they are dead? Are they being torn apart right now, their organs being ripped from their bodies and being chomped by black bloody teeth? Will the dead fill this place? Will they fill the hallway and push into this room?

The tears fall faster. Regret churns thick in my stomach. If I had run after the man then he could have shot me. Or the other men, they could have shot me and I would be gone. But, I doubt they would have wasted a bullet.

So this is how I will die.

I scoff. Typical. I wasn't shot, bit or eaten. The great Abby, the confident, funny Abby will die of thirst, hunger, or the cold.

I sniff and wipe my hand across my eyes. I want to laugh out of hysteria, I want to laugh again. I used to laugh all the time but I can't remember anything relatively funny anymore.

I force myself to stand shakily. When I die, I want to die on the unstable bed, not on the hard floor. I lean foreword really to collapse onto the thin padding but, just as my fingers touch the mattress I hear a voice.
"Glenn and Tara check ahead."

The voice startles me. I take a step back from the bed. My heart begins to pound faster. Followed by the voice are footsteps.

Immediately I begin to hope. Voices meant people, people meant a group, a group meant safety, food and water maybe even shelter.

"Michonne, Carl. Come with me".
The voices are so close. I grip the thin bed sheet around me tighter and lean foreword, listening. Should I call out to them?

I hear a rattling sound and look down to see its coming from the doorknob. Should I push the bed out of the way?

But, there was no need for that because in one bang the bed slides across the room and the door is pushed wide open. Three figures step through it.

A black woman quickly holds a sword up towards me and a man and boy point guns in my direction.

My first instinct is to lift my hands above my head, but I know doing that will cause the sheet to slip from my body. Instead I hastily stumble back.

"Oh my god," the black woman speaks, noticing I am naked underneath the dirty bed sheet. From the disgust on her face I knew she had guessed what had been done to me.

I open my mouth to speak but only a croak comes out. I try again.
"Did you kill all the men?" I ask weakly.
"Yes," the man answers. "We killed them all."

My mind puts the pieces together. The man ran out of the room because we had heard gunshots, the gunshots must have been this people.

"Do you know if anyone else is here?" The man asks.
"No".
"Are you lying?"
"No."

He makes eye contact with the black woman before looking back at me.

"How many walkers have you killed?"
"Rick," the black woman interrupts.
"How many walkers have you killed?" He asks again.

"Walkers?" I think out loud.
"The dead," the boy says. I glance at him, he has a bandage over his eye.

"A lot, but not for awhile, not since I was here." I say, looking at the man. He doesn't break eye contact.

"How many people have you killed?" He asks.
"None," I reply quickly.
"Why?"

His question catches me off guard.
"I'm not lying I haven't killed any-"
"Why," the man interrupts and asks again.

"I just haven't and I will not," I say.

The man looks at the black woman again.
"Follow us," he says.