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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[ xv. a day of reckoning ]
june 28th, 2012
➸➸➸
ASTRID LANCASTER HUDDLED DEEPER into her jacket, her gaze fixated on the feeble flames of their meager campfire. High in the treetops, the birds sang, and for a rare moment, there was an absence of walkers. Yet, comfort was still a distant memory. Astrid's eyes shifted across the fire to Michonne, who dangled the last can of soup over the flames, hoping to warm it. The mere thought of food sent a thunderous growl through her stomach, momentarily stealing her breath.
Rick, who had been silent on her opposite side for some time now, finally broke the silence with a curious inquiry. "On a scale of one to ten, how hungry are you?" He asked, his eyes on each of them.
Carl lifted his head. His cheeks were speckled with dirt and grime. He offered a wry grin. "Fifteen," He answered.
"Twenty-eight," Michonne chimed in after a brief pause.
Rick chuckled softly, and Astrid believed the conversation had reached its conclusion until she felt three pairs of eyes bearing down on her, awaiting her own playful answer. She met Rick's expectant expression with a heavy sigh. "Fifty-three," She huffed.
Laughter filled the air once more, and though the Lancaster woman tried to join in, a sharp wave of pain forced her to tense up. She placed a hand on her side, struggling to regain control, her closed eyes and clenched teeth betraying her discomfort. Eventually, she finally managed to open her eyes again to find her companions still watching her with deep concern.
Always quick to action, Michonne was the first to voice her worry. "You shouldn't be hurting like this anymore."
"Don't worry about me," Astrid assured, albeit breathlessly. "I just need painkillers."
"We're out of painkillers," Michonne reluctantly disclosed. Her expression then shifted to one of somber realization as she glanced at the can of soup. "After this, we're out of everything."
"Great," Astrid quipped, her voice laced with sarcasm, as she watched Michonne remove the can from the dwindling flames and portion it out amongst the group. The pitiful rations—three mouthfuls each—would hardly ease their hunger, making the Lancaster woman wonder if it was even worth the torment of taste.
Michonne's focus shifted away from the food and returned to Astrid's well-being. "How are your bandages?" She questioned. "Do they need changing?"
Biting her lip, Astrid unzipped her jacket and pulled up the shirt beneath it, exposing her waist, swathed in gauze. A deep red stain marked the spot of her wound, but it did not appear critical. She brushed off Michonne's concern, "It's fine, just a little blood. We shouldn't waste bandages on it when any of us might need them later."
