Walker Killing, Man Stealing Teen

1.0

Carl and I didn't speak the whole ride, neither did Rick although, he did stare questionably at Carl's relaxed gun.

His stare made the corner of my mouth twitch.

After more than an hour of silence Rick kills the engine at an old gas station.

"Look for supplies," he says, climbing quickly out of the truck.

I follow his lead and get out. When I turn to the gas station I feel confusion make a crease between my eyebrows.

"There's nothing in there," I half shout to Rick.

"You don't know that, everything's hidden nowadays. We can't take the risk of not checking," he yells back.

"Trust me, I know this place. It's empty," I say again.

But I know, it isn't completely empty.

"I don't trust you," Rick shouts, walking closer to the station, "So come earn my trust."

I leave the trucks side and walk over to Rick. I pass an emotionless Carl as I do so.

The glass door to the station is ajar and we easily push it open. The creaking noise it makes makes me cringe and look around.

Carl hands me two sharp knives and a small hand pistol. I shove the gun uncertainly in my belt but grip the knives tightly.

The room we're in is entirely cleared of anything. The shelves are bare. The cupboards behind the counter are bare. We search but like I said, nothing is here.

"We'll move into the next room," Rick instructs.

"I've been here," I whisper, it's not safe."

"Well go and check it out," Rick says, more frustrated.

"It's full with the dead, I am not going near there," I spit.

Carl glances uncertainly at Rick.

It's silent for a long time.

"Okay, I'll open the door, you stand there," he says pointing about a metre away from the door. Carl goes and stands where he was told.

"And you stand there," he says, pointing further off from the door.

"There's too many of them," I whisper.

"How many?" Carl's asks.

"About thirty," I answer.

"We need supplies," Rick whispers. "We can take them."

He tip toes over to the door and I walk into my position.

I re-adjust the knives in my hand. It's been a few months since I've used any.

Rick counts to three on his fingers and swings the door open quickly. The loud scape it makes forces me to flinch and makes my stomach twist.

Panic cold and thick pushes through my veins.

No noise comes from the other side of the room. Through the door, stocked shelves can be seen on the other side.

I don't relax but watch as Carl and Rick lower their guns. Carl begins to step foreward and that's when the dead begin to pile into the room we're in.

They come suddenly spilling in. Their stench thickens and the noises they make makes me want to cry and sob out of fright. The low throaty moans made from the air in their rotting throats and the snapping of their blackened teeth makes my stomach absolutely turn in disgust and worry.

For a second my eyes blur in fear until the adrenaline kicks in. I'm fighting for my life.

Gun shots can be heard from Carl and Rick but I lunge foreward with the knives.

I stab a corpse in the face and am thankful when the blade slides easily out of the rotting skin.

I don't directly look at anything while I'm fighting, the sight of the dead faces would freeze me in fear so I force my eyes to never focus.

I plunge the knives into dead walker after dead walker. The action makes my arms hurt and I am thankful the others have guns.

Disgusting black blood splatters over me and makes me want to scream. It seems like I have stabbed flesh a thousand times and still have not killed enough.

Grey coloured fingers with split dirty nails grab at my arms and I'm slowing.

With a scream of denial I push my body to lunge at unfocused face after unfocused face.

Moans are the only noises I hear.

I drive a knife into the bone of a walkers skull and try to pull it out. It doesn't budge.

I try to yank harder but the heavy body falls to the floor with the knife still stuck in the bone.

With one knife and a few seconds of my concentration lost I realise I am backed up against a wall, surrounded.

I am going to die.