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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[ xxviii. i'm still waiting ]
june 30th, 2012
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BEFORE ASTRID AND DARYL made the decision to take shelter in the Lancaster-owned apartment, they took a moment to scavenge for any supplies that might be of use from the hallway. Unfortunately, the area had been clearly picked clean in the early days of societal collapse. Still, Astrid was thankful that her own escape from the apartment complex had been timely, sparing her from the same execution that had befallen countless others still strewn about the building.
With her flashlight in hand, Astrid cast a forlorn glance downward. There, beside her worn-out boots, lay the cold body of an elderly woman. A crimson-stained green tunic clung to her frail, sunken form. Multiple gunshot wounds tore her white chest open, but it was the single bullet lodged between her vacant eyes that had truly killed her. An old teardrop of blood trickled down the bridge of her nose.
"I knew this woman," Astrid murmured.
Daryl, who had been rifling through a nearby drawer down the hall, abruptly halted. His quizzical stare locked onto Astrid's haunted expression. "What?" He questioned.
"Her name was Ruth," She informed. "She worked in the lobby of this complex. In the weeks before the world crumbled, I spoke to her every day. She honestly believed the outbreak was nothing but a rumor. Now, she's paying the price, I guess." The faint shuffling of footsteps sounded behind her. Astrid merely shrugged at the hesitant sound. "You don't have to say anything," She consoled her hunter. "I just thought she deserved some form of remembrance."
Further shuffling followed. Daryl eventually found his voice, suggesting, "We should get inside. More of 'em are comin'." The ensuing silence between them was accompanied only by the same, distant echoes of the wandering undead.
Turning away from the decomposed woman at her feet, Astrid stepped into her brother's apartment and illuminated the compact space with her flashlight's beam. Tears welled as she beheld the life she once knew. The apartment was small, comprised of only one bedroom and bathroom, with an interconnected living room and corner kitchen. Her eyes drifted over the scattered boxes and trash strewn across the kitchen floor, remnants of her and her brother's frantic search for any last bits of food before their hasty departure. The couch, still unfolded for her, was covered with blankets—a physical mark of her decision to try to weather the apocalypse with her sibling.
The clinking of objects being disturbed pulled her attention away, and she turned to find Daryl engrossed in the framed photographs that adorned the TV stand. More specifically, he was studying the ones featuring Astrid. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she averted her stare and went to ensure her brother's apartment door was carefully sealed. A skinny bookshelf was then shifted to barricade it further.
