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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[ xxii. no sanctuary ]
june 29th, 2012
➸➸➸
ASTRID LANCASTER TRUDGED ON through the trees, her steps following in the wake of Rick's. The forest around them now masked the horrors their group had escaped from—the hellish inferno that had engulfed Terminus. Yet the scent of charred wood and burning flesh still lingered in the air.
As they pushed deeper into the wilderness, Rick finally halted and knelt down, his blood-stained hands retrieving a concealed mini shovel from a bed of fallen leaves. The dull thud of the shovel's blade hitting the earth broke the silence, and with hurried movements, he unearthed the familiar, heavy blue bag that contained their weaponry.
As Rick began to examine the contents of the bag, Abraham let out a discontented huff. "What the hell are we still around here for?" He grumbled.
Rick's cold eyes were devoid of mercy. "Guns," He explained. "We'll move along the fences, using the rifles. We'll take out the rest of them."
Astrid's brow furrowed. "What?" She questioned sharply. "We're going back?"
"They don't get to live," Rick snapped. Unsettled and bloodthirsty, the man was still fueled by fury from Joe and his sadistic crew. Astrid had never seen her leader like this before. Perhaps she had not quite yet realized how drastically he had changed since that night. And perhaps she still had yet to realize just how drastic her own turn would be.
"Rick, they got out," Glenn argued, attempting to extinguish the fiery rage. "It's over."
Rick ignored him. Instead, he drew his revolver and holstered it. "It's not over until they're all dead."
"The hell it isn't." Rosita gritted, her hands on her hips, "That place is on fire. It's full of walkers!"
Abraham, too, lent his opinion to the growing doubt. "I'm not dicking around with this crap," He retorted. "We barely made it out."
Astrid knew these protesting comments would do little to affect Rick's state of mind. Instead, she tried a different approach. Her voice was soft as she attempted to sway her friend. "Rick, they're right," She said. "The fences are down. Those people will either run or die. And even if they run, where can they possibly go? They won't survive. We won't ever cross paths with them again. We don't need to concern ourselves with this anymore. We have to keep moving."
A heavy silence hung in the air as Rick remained deep in contemplation. Subsequently, Astrid cast her vision downward, her hands glistening with sticky crimson. Her fingernails were now jagged and encrusted with a gunky mixture of blood and dirt.
Her thoughts involuntarily retraced their steps to the moment when she had decapitated that man deep within the battlefield of Terminus, an act that now sent shivers down her spine. Astrid had never imagined herself capable of such brutality until thrust into the very crucible of her own survival. In those dire moments, her singular focus was a primal instinct—to be the one who walked away alive.
