GirlxGirl A collection of fluff, smut, and everything in between (Lesbian Stories)

Mr. Brightside

I haven't slept in three days. Seventy-two plus hours with no rest and barely any food. I look over at the dark shadow on the sleeping bag where Mary is lying. I silently move over to her side and gently lay the back of my hand on her forehead. She's practically burning up with fever. I wish I could go on a run and find some medication to help her, but I can't leave her here alone. She barely has the strength to stay awake. If the dead were to attack, she wouldn't be able to do anything. I shudder and push the thought from my mind; I'm not leaving her.

She was shot ten days ago, straight through her shin. I was at our camp and she was on a run when I heard a gunshot go off. By the time I got there, the assholes who jumped her were gone. It was a clean entry and a clean exit, no bones were hit. We both though that she'd be okay, so we continued on north. Three days later I watched her change the bandage and saw that it was infected. I begged her to stop and that we had time to let her heal, but she refused to. The next two days were brutal. We walked right into a city, completely infested with the dead. There were nine hundred at the least.

Neither of us slept or rested those two days. We were on edge the entire time, had a couple of close calls. Once we had gotten through, I'd completely forgotten about Mary's leg. That is, until a day later when she collapsed in the street.

I carried her up ten flights of stairs to the empty apartment we're in now. The entire building is abandoned, so I feel decently safe staying here. The only thing I've seen in the streets below was a pack of about seven dogs and then maybe four of the dead wandering aimlessly about. I'm still not going to leave Mary though, because you never know.

I lean over and place a kiss on her cheek. She shifts in her sleep and weakly reaches a hand towards me. I take it and give her a reassuring squeeze. Her hands are burning up.

My heart breaks, there's only so much I can do. I keep her hand help close in mine and lean my head back against the wall. Her rhythmic breathing mixed with the crickets outside keep me somewhat calm, but the anxiety is still sitting and festering in the back of my mind. I wish there was more I could do.

•••••

I'm awoken by a scream. I jump to my feet and look around wildly, adrenaline rushing through my body. Mary is still lying on the sleeping bag, but now she's awake. The scream didn't come from her. We lock eyes.

"Window," she weakly whispers.

I rush over to the window and see, ten floors below, a group of five people surrounded by thirteen of the dead. Two of the five are clearly children.

I walk over to Mary and crouch down, whispering, "Five people, two children. Surrounded by thirteen dead."

"Go," Mary replies, her voice still hoarse.

"But what about-"

"Leave me a gun and go." Her tone of voice changes, I can't stay or she won't forgive me.

I grab the shotgun off the table and place it in her lap before sliding our two other pistols into my belt.

"I'll be right back," I whisper to her, gently kissing her lips. She nods.

I go out the door and lock it behind me before running down the stairs, jumping them five at a time.

I don't know what to expect on the other side of the door so as soon as I reach the bottom, I pull out one of the pistols, turn the safety off, and throw open the front door.

The two children are cowering behind a woman, who I imagine is their mother. She has a large metal pipe and is trying to fend off two dead by hitting them in the face. I line up and fire. Direct head-shot through the first and second, plus fifty points.