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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[ xii. abode for the evening ]
june 25th, 2012
➸➸➸
ASTRID LANCASTER LAY ON the bed in petrified silence.
From below, shouts, laughter, and the low murmur of men's voices echoed. A dull throb in Astrid's ears obscured their words, and she cast another furtive glance toward Rick, whose wide eyes mirrored her fear. Then, like an abrupt thunderclap shattering the ominous state of the bedroom, heavy footsteps on the creaking stairs electrified the air. Astrid's heart surged with adrenaline, and in an instant, she catapulted into action.
With a grace borne of necessity, she propelled herself upright, her body protesting each movement as she winced from the agonizing discomfort biting into her leg and hip. Rick had already sprung from the bed, silently crossing the room to the door. His keen eyes swept over their precarious surroundings before he turned to her, his words scarcely more than a whisper, "Under the bed."
Astrid nodded, and her teeth clenched against the cries her body yearned to release as she lowered herself cautiously onto the hardwood floor. Inch by inch, she dragged her body underneath the bed. Pain clawed at her, stealing her breath, and a moment later, Rick appeared beside her, squeezing through the narrow gap.
The indistinct voices and ceaseless movement throughout the house continued unabated, a disorienting danger that pressed in from all sides. Astrid looked toward Rick, who clutched his book tightly in the confined space. The sudden confusion and shock etched on his face spoke volumes; something vital of his had been left behind on the bed, and leaving it there was a risk they could not afford to take.
Rick began extricating himself from beneath the bed when Astrid's gasp suddenly hitched, her gaze fixed on the door. Footsteps materialized just beyond the threshold. Panic seized her as she gripped the back of Rick's shirt, and hurriedly pulled him back into the concealed shelter beneath the bed. Rick glanced back, following the line of her frantic stare.
Together, they watched in breathless silence as an intruder, their identity obscured by the limited view granted by their hideaway, peered into a room across the hall. The trespasser lingered for a long moment, his intentions unknown, before retreating, disappearing from view as he descended back down the creaking staircase.
Astrid exhaled a pent-up breath and released her grip on Rick, granting him the freedom to crawl back out, gather his belongings, and return to her side. It was only a moment later when another unexpected figure appeared in the bedroom doorway.
Their view, once again, was blocked by the cramped quarters beneath the bed. All Astrid could discern from the intruder were his legs and the assault rifle casually dangling from his grip. Frozen in place, she dared not breathe. The man's boots hovered perilously close to her face. Astrid's gut twisted into a nauseating knot when she realized that the dark stains marring the leather were not mud, but blood.
