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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[ lxiv. consider yourself lucky ]
october 16th, 2012
➸➸➸
ASTRID DIXON FOUND HERSELF plunged into a space of darkness so profound it seemed to swallow her whole.
Bound, gagged, and disoriented, she struggled against the grip of her captor. Each step Astrid dared to take was a precarious stumble upon the unknown terrain beneath her feet. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out all other sounds save for the ragged rhythm of her breath. Layers of duct tape bound her hands, rendering them useless, while a crude gag stifled any attempt at outcry against the tightening hold on her bicep. Fingertips dug into her, and if not for the leather on her arms, Astrid was confident there would have been slices from fingernails left behind. Either way, there would still surely be bruises.
No matter, despite her pain, with every jerk forward, Astrid fought to reserve her strength. Images of Daryl, Rick, Michonne, and the others flashed through her mind. They would come for her, she was certain of it. Even if the supposed "deal" of the prisoner exchange faltered.
From the moment her relocation began, Astrid had left a breadcrumb trail for Daryl to follow. She knew her hunter's unparalleled tracking skills would lead him straight to her, and so she continued to stumble forward, digging her heels in, leaving behind subtle markers of her struggle.
Suddenly, her march came to an abrupt halt. Astrid strained against the thick, scratchy fabric that obscured her vision, searching for any glimmer of light. The darkness simply stared back.
"Get inside," commanded one of her captors. Astrid recognized the scraggly voice—the heaviest of the three women, the one who had claimed her jacket as a trophy to pull from her own dead body. With a clammy hand still pressed against Astrid's upper back, the overweight woman shoved her forward.
Still stripped of sight, Astrid relied on the heightened awareness of her other senses to navigate. With each new step forward, she discerned the subtle shift in sound, from the crunch of dry leaves underfoot to the hollow echo of flat pavement beneath her shoes. The clang of a closing door reverberated behind her, signaling the abrupt transition from the open earth into the confines of an unknown structure.
The snarl of a walker was the next immediate sound Astrid recognized. She instinctively recoiled, her body poised for the attack that never came.
"Nothing to be afraid of, darlin'." With a chilling chuckle, the woman behind Astrid ripped away the blindfold. Before her lay a now-lifeless walker, dropping with a single hit of a knife. "We'll protect you," The woman added with a snicker, as she harshly brushed past the stilled Dixon woman.
Astrid watched, blinking away the onslaught of sudden, gray brightness, as the Saviors proceeded to busy themselves within the chamber where she now found herself. It appeared she was in a slaughterhouse of sorts. It reminded her of Terminus—another place where she had nearly lost her life to execution. Decay festered within the wet, dripping walls, and rust gnawed at the very foundations of the decrepit building. Two imposing steel doors lined either side of the square-shaped room. One she had entered, and one she had yet to approach. Each was an entrance to an uncertain fate—to an uncertain escape. Astrid knew, that when the time came, she would have to pick wisely.
