OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ viii. please do what i couldn't ]
june 22nd, 2012
➸➸➸
THE WORLD HAD BEEN ripped out from beneath Astrid Lancaster's feet.
Her home was now a mere memory. Her circle of loved ones all but wiped out. With every struggling step that she took, the pain within her deepened. Each breath was agonizing. The grip of mortality held precariously onto her. Astrid was dying. That much she knew.
"Stay with me, Astrid," Rick Grimes ushered, his voice rattling in the Lancaster woman's ear. His arm, battered and bloodied, wrapped tighter around her torso, a thinning tether to reality.
Astrid barely heard him. Barely felt him. She should have been left to die within that prison courtyard, but, by some miracle—or perhaps a curse—she had been spared. Carl had her damning—and saving grace. Without the young boy's intervention, she would have surely bled out right on the asphalt. Part of her still felt like she might.
But she could not think too deeply about that right now.
Astrid needed to keep moving. She and Rick trudged along a desolate country road, following Carl, who led the way into the unknown. The two adults often struggled to keep up with him, their progress hindered by their injuries. They leaned heavily on each other now, their arms entwined, their hips pressed together for support. Both bore the weight of wounded legs.
Blood continued to trickle from Astrid's side and down her calf. She and Rick had both managed to make do with patching up their injuries as they walked. Their makeshift bandages, fashioned from their torn shirt sleeves, clung stubbornly to their wounds, adhesive with their own dried, sticky blood.
"I'm doing my best," Astrid eventually murmured back. It could have been ten minutes between conversations for all she knew.
Her head rested fully on Rick's shoulder. Each supported step she took sent waves of pain coursing through her, and she clenched her lip, suppressing the urge to cry out. She cast an anxious gaze at Carl, who seemed to drift farther ahead with every stride. A furrow etched itself on her forehead.
"Carl," She called, speaking as loudly as she dared risk. "Slow down, please."
Carl Grimes pressed on, obstinately ignoring her.
Rick's frustration simmered. "Carl, stop," He all but growled at his son.
The boy halted briefly but did not turn back to look at them. Rick pulled Astrid forward as they hurried to catch up. "We need to stay together," Rick reminded. "We need to place a place with food . . . supplies . . ." As he trailed off, Carl's attention remained anchored to the ground. Rick extended a tentative hand, reaching for his shoulder. "Hey," He murmured. "We're going to be . . ."
