𝓬𝓾𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓭 | 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓵 𝓭𝓲𝔁𝓸𝓷❌

three

"Why do I need this when we've got a gun?" Tomas scoffs. He tosses the crowbar in his hand, adjusting to its weight.

"You don't fire guns. Not unless your back's up against the wall. Noise attracts them, really riles them up," Crossbow explains.

"Noise attracts anything that ain't deaf," Macon grumbles, swinging the axe at the air.

"We'll go in two by two." Her attention goes to the bearded man. "Daryl will run point with T. I'll bring up the rear with you," he points at Macon who gives a nod in response. "Stay tight and hold formation. Anyone breaks ranks, we could all go down, anyone runs off, they could get mistaken for a walker, end up with an ax to the head."

"Aim at the head?" she asks, Beard giving her a nod. With no other words, the meeting is adjourned and the group is off.

She can hear every step each person takes, each bouncing off the walls and into her skull, creating a throbbing sensation she calls a pain in the ass. However, hearing their footsteps has allowed her to tell who's steps are who's. Big Tiny was the easiest, as his steps are the loudest as he's lead-footed. Oscar's were similar to Big Tiny's steps, only a bit lighter. Axel's were also pretty clear, the man requiring the heel of his foot to hit the floor before the rest of his shoe does. Andrew's steps were tough to hear, the man light on his feet unless spooked. The few times he was spooked he would stomp like a child. Tomas had what Macon called "Bland Steps." His steps were not out of the ordinary or different in some way. They were just there.

"Man, it's too dark in here!" Big Tiny's complaining forces Macon from her thoughts, looking at the large guy.

"You're gonna hear 'em before you see 'em," Crossbow scoffs.

  One small movement around the corner makes Axel exclaim "It's coming!" Beard only shushes him, Macon beginning to slow her pace down. She stands on her tiptoes, her steps barely giving any sound as she watches the group go forward.

She watches a few feet behind as the group of men she had to share the broom closet with let everything the civilians told them go out their ears. They roar as violently as a kitten would, their blunt weapons striking the walkers in every area except the brain.

It takes every fiber in Macon to not slam her head against the wall.

A loud groan behind makes her turn around instantly, finding a pair of decaying hands trying to grab her. Her movements are swift and precise; she grabs the dead skin that hangs on the back of its head with a mighty grip before slamming its head into the concrete wall. She can hear its skull crack, a pulpy mixture of blood and brain on the wall as the walker slides down, body hitting the floor with a quiet thud.

Her eyes stay on the corpse for a few moments, watching as its hand twitches uncontrollably before it stops completely when the heel of her shoe makes contact with what's left of its brain.

"Ew. Ew," she gags. A silent shiver moving up her spine makes her shutter, the blood soaking her sock somehow worse than just a normal wet sock. "Looks like I'm bleeding," she grumbles, dragging her foot as she walks towards the group. Her eyes stay on her shoe, watching as the wine-like fluid and what she believes is part of the frontal lobe create a rough and pulpy trail behind her. As her chin tilts upwards, her eyes meet Tomas, an indescribable expression crossing his features as she moves past him and the rest of the prisoners. A moment passes before she stops, looking back to see all of the men having an unreadable expression. "We getting this shit over with?" she exclaims with a scoff, not waiting for a response as she turns another corner.

Sometime later she can hear how disgusting her shoe sounded. Every time she took a step with her left foot, it sounded soft and discrete. However, every time her right foot hit the concrete, it sounded like a sponge getting the life squeezed out of it before it's brought back to life when it's released. She had to stop, allowing the men to pass her. One trails behind, staying beside her as she takes off her sock and her shoe, sticking the sock in the pocket of her jumper before putting her shoe back on, tying it as fast as she could. "You sure that's the best idea?" She looks up, her eyes meeting Beard. She waves it off, her response a hum before her attention is forced elsewhere, hearing someone yell out in pain.

Macon jumps up and moves forward, killing the walker that was giving Big Tiny a hard time. Silence falls for a few moments, her eyes lingering on the mark she spots on Big's back. Her hand is shaky as she makes contact with his back, her fingertips barely scraping the incised wound on his shoulder. "Can you... Can you get infected from a scratch?" she wonders aloud, her eyes still focused on the fluids oozing from the opening. More seconds filled with silence pass. "Damn," she sighs, taking a step back from Big.

"What are you talking about?! I don't feel it. I'm telling you. I don't feel anything, it's just a scratch!" Big Tiny exclaims.

"You cut that old guy's leg off save his life," Andrew starts, only to be cut off by Macon.

"What're you going to do? Scoop the wound out Andy?!" she snaps at him.

"Look where the scratch is!" Beard adds.

"Can't he still help us?" she questions. "You don't know if-if a scratch can actually kill him. I mean, c'mon man. H-He doesn't want to hurt no-nobody." She bites her tongue, finding herself stumbling over her words. Big looks at her, his expression soft while his voice is quiet.

"I'm al-" Big Tiny's words, breath, and life are cut short with one simple hit to the head by Tomas. She had always joked that if Big had fallen he would make the whole world shake and would need a team to help him get back up. Big did fall. It didn't shake the world, and he wasn't getting back up. Tomas makes sure he isn't getting back up. The only movement from Big's body is when Tomas' weapon pierces his skull and retracts, the hideous scene repeating itself however many times. Macon bites her tongue harder than before, the taste of metallic copper forcing her thoughts away from the scene in front of her.

It takes a minute or so for her to pull herself back together, her sanity held with many layers of tape at that moment. Her breathing has become shallow while her head begins to pound even harder. She still has to lead the group, which she does, but has to place the back of her hand over her mouth every now and then to keep her breakfast from coming up to give her a shitty greeting.