thirty. judgement day

thirty˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ judgement day ↲

─ ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 an unknown ❞ ─+the homecoming

AFTER THE SUPPLY RUN INCIDENT, things changed in Alexandria. The streets were still, quieter than ever. Not many people ventured far from their homes after hearing what had happened, in fear that if they got close enough to the walls, they too would perish.

The citizens were scared. Not only of the dangers which roamed outside, but by new threat entirely. The people they had brought into their civilization with welcome arms. The citizens hadn't realized how different they were. How much the outside had changed them. Rick, in particular. He'd beaten Pete Anderson to a pulp in public, then shot the man in the head, a night later. Reggie, Deanna's husband, had been stabbed through the neck. It didn't matter much to the people of Alexandria that Pete had been the one bearing the blade. Pete was dead, so they moved the blame onto the owner of the weapon. Michonne, another member of Rick's seemingly vile group.

It frightened them, having others living within such close proximity, who were stripped soulless, from their perspective. They belonged beyond the walls. Not here, with their families.

Of course, when it came down to it, the Alexandrians were weak. Maybe even the weakest breed of them all. They wouldn't ever be able to do anything about it, apart from routinely checking their locks and hanging drapes across their windows, afraid to be seen by the group.

After all, Deanna had declared their stay. All of them would continue to live in this place.

Here the streets lay, barren and empty. A town of ghosts. There was no hope in Alexandria. Not even for the new group. Noah was torn apart by walkers. Left undead. Not even a mercy kill could have been given to him, in his circumstance. Cyn was still in the infirmary. Pete had completed her surgery before his death, but she'd remained comatose since.

With only Denise left to care for her, there was little knowledge on how to continue treatment. Carl, Daryl, and Rick had ventured out for stronger medicine. After only a couple hours following their departure, they had returned with what she needed. It had saved her life for the time being. All she needed to do now, was fight potential infection, and wake.

It was up to her now. Only time would tell. And plenty of it had already passed. People were slowly beginning to doubt that she would recover. Her group feared holding onto too much hope. Hope, thus far, had only been a jinx. Falling stars never granted requests.

Carl Grimes still wished on shooting stars, though. He didn't like the reality of the matter, so he instead chose to ignore it. He visited almost everyday, sitting in that leather chair propped in the corner until nightfall. Sometimes, he just watched her sleep, for a peace of mind. When her breathing would become quiet, he would bring himself off the chair and place his ear near her mouth, staying still in place until he felt her soft breath exhale. Other times, he would talk. He told her about his life before. About school, and his mom. He pretended she would reply, and he would tell her even more. Every little quirk about himself, every detail. He hoped it reached her.

Today he was in his seat again, his fingers patting the leather as his eyes scanned past the window, catching a glimpse of Rick motioning him outside. He stood up, beginning to walk towards the door before hesitantly spinning around, and approaching Cyn's side. He was careful in brushing the back of his hand across her cold head, pushing a few strands of hair from her face, before placing his lips gently against her forehead.

"I'll be back." He told her in a whisper, as if she were actually listening. "Gotta go help Dad with some stuff today."

And with that, he walked through the door, closing it softly behind himself. The group had found a dried up quarry left with jagged rocks, rubble, and thousands of walkers below. It was the only reason Alexandria was still standing. It would've been long gone if it weren't for the drop at the edge of the forest, leading into the pit of death.

However, now, it was becoming a threat. The trucks that were barricading the creatures had slowly started pushing apart as the days continued. The more dead that piled in, the less room. More walkers could make their way to the top, squishing themselves through the small space between the semis, and find their way to the safe-haven.

That was why Rick insisted a plan be put into place. But, for the first time in his life, Carl didn't want to be included in the mission. He told his dad he would stay inside the walls and watch after the girl. The thought of her waking up, all alone in the infirmary, made him sick to his stomach. He didn't like the idea of leaving her at all. He was done with that. No more risks, no more playing pretend. Carl was always going to protect the ones he loved, no matter what. That was a promise. The gun on his hip proved so.

Instead, he decided to spend a couple minutes helping his father load up the trucks before the group of volunteers left for the dry-run towards the quarry. The plan was to simply map out a route away from Alexandria, and check how much longer the blockades could remain stable.

"Dad." He greeted, walking towards the truck Rick stood near.

Rick acknowledged his son while placing a bag into the truck bed. Once he closed the tailgate back up, he turned, slightly squinting the sun away. "You've been at the infirmary all day?"

Carl nodded, glancing to his side. Michonne walked towards them, Judith squirming in her arms.

"Are you sure you would rather stay here?" Rick asked him.

His son nodded again as Judith was handed off to him. He found it rather odd to see Carl this set on staying behind, but he knew why. Rick only feared that if the girl slipped away, the boy wouldn't be able to put her down himself.

Those two kids had been on the road for a long while with one another. Rick understood what it meant to care about ones who weren't truly related. All of them were still family, biological or not. In the end, strands of DNA had nothing to do with it. The bond that formed between all twelve of the members didn't have to be over blood. They would have shed it for each other.

Caring about someone deep enough was dangerous. Stupid, even, but human. It was a pure sacrifice, in this torn mankind. His boy was selfless in that way, and it was what he loved most about him.

"Yeah." Carl replied, situating his sister. "I'm sure."

The boy and girl were tied to one another, an invisible string knotted on their pinkies, their ropes binding together. Carl was fearful that if he left again, the string holding the two would wear into a thin thread, leaving their chords snapping in half.

So, he stayed. He stayed, and he promised not to leave.

Although, when late afternoon finally arrived, chaos would spread throughout the community. Because, within those hours, something sounded from the heights above. It seemed to have been that the angels were playing their trumpets, prevailing judgement day had finally arrived once and for all. The echo was calling them forward, one by one.

Downfall was near.

▬ ▬ ▬

T H E   H O M E C O M I N G   O F   C Y N

At the sound of a shrieking horn, my eyelids broke apart, a vision of darkness being replaced with bright colors which caused me to squint, blinking rapidly. A metallic taste was stuck on the tip of my tongue, traveling through my parched mouth, down my throat. My body was stiff, bones brittle.

I felt wrong. Sore and cold like I'd been lying too long in a place I shouldn't have. My muscles were twitching and fluttering from a distant memory of brutality, unbeknownst to myself.

With the unrelenting echo, I attempted to lift my left arm, the instant pullback causing me to turn my head. A metal cuff was around my wrist. The skin was raw like I'd been secured here a long while. An IV was shoved into the back of my hand, the tubing coiled like a rattlesnake ready to strike. The restraint was connected to the frame of the twin-sized bed, sighing at every small movement I made. A spickle of pain traveled up my neck, branching off into my shoulders like an electrical impulse. It took form predominantly around the site below my ribcage, resulting in me to look down, and use my freed hand to peel up my shirt from my sweaty body.

Underneath the layer of cotton, a tainted bandage was wrapped around my stomach. Even through the gauze, I could see the bruising. My surrounding skin was extremely tender and puffy, shades of purple and black painted against me like I were a canvas.

I winced as I brought a finger along the thick patch of gauze, lifting it up carefully. Within one glance, I looked away, trying to return to my previous state of oblivion. Uneven stitches ran across my stomach, closing a large slit. In the same place, mirrored, I felt the sutures on my back, scratching against the sheets.

Something had gone clean through.

Once again, I picked up on the blaring horns. I'd tuned them out for a couple seconds, but I couldn't ignore them anymore. As much as I wanted to be curious about them, my attention span was lacking, most likely due to the many orange bottles of pills on a bedside side table.

The side table.

I was looking straight at a hook full of different keys. Bronze, silver, gold. Right behind the medicine. I scooted myself as far as the restraints would allow before extending my right arm out. My elbow popped as my fingertips grazed the carabiner holding them all together.

Where was the doctor? He should have been the one releasing me. But, there wasn't a single person occupying what I assumed to be the infirmary, apart from myself.

Before I could grab hold of the array of keys just out of reach, a wave of pain washed over me. It rooted deep in the layers beneath my abdomen, spreading like fire through my nerves. I placed my head into the pillow, letting out a muffled wail. The volume of the horns were only seeming to heighten. A deep pound was beginning to plant itself beneath my skull, rendering me nauseous and dizzy.

Once gaining a small sense of composure, I tried again at grabbing hold of my freedom. And, this time, with the painful stretch of my spine, I was able to wrap my fingers around the metal object. I winced as my back returned to the mattress, then carefully turned to release my wrist from the frame's metal pole.

I was just beginning to try the first key, when a sound came from behind. Not the horns — but, a sort of screeching. This caused me to lean my head over my shoulder, and look for the source. Immediately, I recognized a figure on the opposite side of the window, peering in at me.

A felt a sense of hope, until I squinted a bit harder at the person.

A man tilted his head at me, a letter "W'' scar seemingly carved into the skin above his brow bones. The scar wrinkled up as he made an odd expression. Almost like a smile. No, it was definitely a smile of some sorts. A sick, twisted grin. My eyes traveled downwards to the person he held lower against the window. She was a woman in her later years. I knew her. She lived in Alexandria. Only a few weeks earlier, she was making food for our group as a welcome. A trail of thick mucusy blood dragged down her lips, stringing onto her blouse. Her neck was slashed.

All the man did was stare. His hand was knit into her hair, holding her up, then, releasing and letting her slide against the glass. He then pointed at me, and I immediately turned, fumbling with the keys. My hands shook as I gave it a twist, my control worsening once finding it was the wrong one. I twisted back again, finding him to be in the exact same spot.

He was watching, like there was no rush. He was enjoying this.

Then, I started wondering. Everyone else here, were they dead? Carl, Noah, Tara, Maggie? Glenn, or Rick, even Enid and Mikey? I couldn't even grasp what had happened to me; yet alone the others.

Once I was trying the fourth key, a deafening crackle sent vibrations through the room. I briefly glanced to the window. The blade of the W's axe had found its way through the front layer of glass. It had created divots and cracks, worsening once he pulled the weapon from the window. My hands shook as I rapidly tried the next key, my throat letting out a dry crackle as I realized this one didn't fit, either.

The axe head plummeted into the window once more. This time, the glass did not hold. The material completely split apart, thousands of small glittering shards hitting the ground. I tugged on the cuffs in panic before realizing I had time for one last attempt at a new set of keys. I put the jagged edge into the lock. The man was still using the foot of the weapon to clear sharp shards from the entrance point he'd created.

Click.

The cuffs released. My left hand fell from the restraint, wrist raw. I tugged out the IV, then pushed myself off the bed, unable to ignore the agony that followed my feet meeting the ground. I couldn't even make it a step before I was on my hands and knees. The W was then on me in an instant, flipping me onto my back.

Locking himself between my kicking legs, he placed his knee on my stomach. Right below the site I'd been impaled. I couldn't control the pained scream that forced its way through the infirmary. His hand laced around my neck, fingers curling against my skin.

Lowering his head towards my ear, he whispered softly, "Sacrifice will always gain entry into the gates above."

'I don't believe in heaven', I wanted to say, but nothing except a hiss of air left my compressed vocal cords.

As the oxygen from my lungs began burning profusely, my hands wrapped around his. I didn't have any energy left to kick and struggle. The edges of my eyes were blacking. I could do nothing but dig my nails into his hand, and lock eyes with the man. I tried finding the human inside of them. Something—anything that would show me a shred of humanity.

Instead, they were empty and dull. Lifeless. He must have lost everything.

Suddenly, he was being thrown aside. I heard a hard crack, something that sounded like his skull crunching, before I rolled on my side, wheezing. My breath was struggled and shallow, each intake leaving me wanting more.

Another slam came from behind, resulting in a squelch.

The horns had stopped. A deep cough came from me. I placed my hand against my aching wound, trying to compress the injury I knew was most definitely bleeding again. I could feel the warmth below the gauze.

"You woke up." A grim voice spoke. I felt their presence as they knelt beside me. I fraily lifted my head, met with the face of a friend. Ron. "Thought you wouldn't."

My next breath involuntarily came as a gasp for air. I could only stare at him. He was covered in the W's blood. He earnestly tilted his head at me.

"Is he the only one?" I choked on my words as another cough wracked from my body.

Ron looked to me, then the unconscious—or dead man. "No. There's more—lots more. A group of raiders got through the walls."

What divine timing to rise from the dead.

"How bad is it?" I asked, my voice unable to reach anything higher than a whisper.

He placed his hands on top of his beanie. "At least a fourth of the town is dead."

A cry came from the streets. Ron went to the door to lock it, and I propped myself up on my elbows as he returned to my side. I'd only just now noticed he was panting heavily. He'd been on the run. He didn't look to be hurt, but I still wanted to be sure.

"Are you okay?" I questioned.

The bed provided just enough coverage from the window so that no passerby could notice us on the ground.

"Are you?" He asked back. "Are any of us? I mean, God, you look like shit. Enid's off, again, and I haven't seen Mikey. Or, Carl."

I looked up, scanning the room. It was true, he'd come alone. Maybe he thought his Dad was still in here, treating me, and wanted to warn him. My thoughts suddenly drifted to Carl. I was then putting my hands on the bed-frame to help myself stand. My knees were buckling together like a newborn fawn, an animal so fragile it couldn't yet walk. I was dizzy, spinning slow like the room was just as sick as I was. The smell of stale linens and antiseptic hit me hard.

"Careful," Ron remarked, grabbing my arms and guiding me to sit back on the hardwood. "We can't go anywhere, yet."

"I've got to find Carl." I told him, my eyes losing focus for only a moment.

It was damp and hot in here. My baby hairs were sticking to my forehead. I felt as if I'd accidentally fallen asleep for too long, and woken up all disoriented and even more tired. It was like the old days of getting home from school and feeling so exhausted that I needed a nap, only to wake immersed in dark, still dressed, dinner cold at the table.

"Jesus." He remarked, pulling me back towards him. "You can't go out there. You can barely stand."

"Ron," I pleaded, "Ron, we have to. I need to find him."

I knew there was little chance he would have left me alone by choice. This told me he was likely in trouble. Maybe even stuck in the house with Judith, trying to keep her from wailing. Whatever it was, I felt the drag. We needed each-other.

He only shook his head in response, moving to pick up the bottle of pills on the stand. He studied it before saying, "You're on narcotics. You're not thinking for yourself right now."

I winced as I caught the prescription he carefully tossed at me. I twisted it in my hands to read the label. Oxycodone. One tablet by mouth, three times a day. I could feel the ache in my body that was alerting me it must have been time to take another, but I couldn't risk it. I had no idea how they would affect me, awake.

I twisted the lid and rattled the bottle, letting one land in the palm of my hand. I then slid it into my pocket for safekeeping, knowing I would later thank myself.

A quiet whimper came from behind, and Ron was instantly beside the W, putting his finger to his neck to check for a pulse. He nodded at me, letting me know that the invader wasn't yet dead, somehow. His head looked to be cracked open, leaking out like a rotten yolk. Ron was quick in releasing the other end of the cuff from the bed, and placing the W's hands in them. He then began dragging his limp body towards the medicine closet in the nearby room.

"You were out for a couple weeks." Ron spoke once pushing the man inside, closing the doors.

My heart flipped like a quarter being bet on. "What?"

He was walking back now, careful to avoid the broken glass, and being seen through the open window. He had already drawn the blinds on all the others.

"You missed a lot." He nodded. His hands fumbled into his pockets anxiously. "My dad's dead. Rick, uh. . . Rick killed him."

My jaw twitched. "Pete? Pete's dead?"

So much for having a doctor.

He nodded. "And Reggie. Not to mention the two we lost on the run."

My back straightened. "What do you mean?"

"Aiden died." He responded, slouching beside me against the left-most side of the bed.

His next words came like frozen wind through a ripped tent. It made my fingers numb with frostbite. It drew me in like a breath, unwilling to release.

"So did Noah."

My mouth formed into a straight line. I raised the back of my palm to my lips, covering the beginning of their downturn. I felt I had no right to be sad in front of this boy. His dad was dead. Noah was only my friend. One of my best friends at that—but, still selfish to be noticeably distraught over, considering his loss.

I thought about the first time I saw him, back at Grady. He was in that big supply closet, surrounded by shelves of scrubs. Standing beside an ironing board, carefully pressing another pair free of its wrinkles. He'd given me a smile, one that instantly wiped me clean of any previous fear Gorman had given me.

I would never get the opportunity to see that smile again.

I gulped softly, looking to the ground. "I'm sorry about your Dad, Ron."

"Sorry about Noah." He said.

"Me too."

For a while, we stayed like this, complete silence dragging through the air. When remaining quiet enough, we could hear what was going on out there. The screams. Crying. Then, silence. This cycle repeated for quite some time. There was nothing we could do about it besides listen and hope. Ron had the axe, but it wouldn't be worth much against multiple of them.

Carl wouldn't leave my mind. I had no way of knowing if he was alive, but I hoped on it. I wanted to see him again. I didn't want him to be dead. I needed him to be okay.

I was brought away from my thoughts when a figure clouded the frosted glass on the door. They must not have seen the broken window a few paces to their side, because the knob rattled, metal gears creaking against the rusting lock. Ron and I made eye contact before he brought himself flat against the ground. He slid himself under the bed, then helped me do the same. I reached a hand outwards and gripped the axe he'd forgotten. Instead of handing the weapon to him, I came to the conclusion we'd be safer with it in my possession.

Right then, the door came open. Air rushed in, and I held a hand against my mouth to silence my erratic breathing. Lying on my stomach would cost me later. It hurt terribly. The axe stayed in my hand, my fingers tightening around its handle as a set of scuffed shoes came closer. They looked too tattered and worn to be one of the citizens. They were marked with droplets of blood, the leather pulling from the rubber soles.

This was another raider. I was sure of it.

He stopped in the middle of the room, bending down to pick up the bottle of medicine I'd left laying out. He left out a soft chuckle. A few moments passed before I heard the cap being twisted off, and a few of the pills being shaken out. I then heard him swallow, before tossing the rest of the bottle back on the ground.

I watched intently as he made his way to the cot on the opposite end. For some reason, my boots were sitting in the seat beside it, as if someone had moved them from the chair near the bed I'd been in. Maybe someone had visited me.

The sheets were almost fully draped down the sides of the mattress, meaning he likely wouldn't notice us unless he pulled them back to check underneath. It was dusty and even warmer down here, and I could just barely make him out through a tiny folded corner of the linen.

I looked to Ron, who was seemingly using all of his power to hold back a sneeze. I shook my head profusely at him, my finger going to my mouth to motion him to shush. I knew I couldn't stop it, but I still tried. If he made any noise, we would be dead in an instant.

Just as he bowed his head into his elbow to muffle the action, a loud clang resonated from within the medicine closet, completely covering any possibility at being discovered. The raider walked into the other room. The other W must have been awake. If his accomplice let him out, he'd seek vengeance. There was a possibility he knew we were still in here, and it wouldn't take long for him to uncover us.

Just as Ron pointed at the axe, suggesting that I get ready to use it, a scream erupted. I twisted to get a view of the open area the intruder walked into, ever-so-slightly pulling back the covers to watch as the W man attacked his group member. But, he wasn't alive. The W was reanimated, sinking his teeth into the other man's throat.

Ron shook my shoulder, motioning his head to the door. He was telling me that we needed to make a run for it. I nodded, crawling out after him. I still had the axe in hand while staggering to grab my boots, then passed through the threshold, following him onto the porch. Once realizing there was no way I could walk the steps myself, he scooped me up, only placing me back down after we had taken cover in thick shrubbery.

"We'll run to your house. It's closest." He told me. "There has to be someone there who has a gun—right?"

I pressed my hand into my side to relive the nagging pain. It was only worsening with exertion. "I'm not going to be able to move more than a couple feet, without help."

Ron looked both directions before standing.

"Then let's get you help." He told me, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

Nearly all of my weight was brought onto him. He waited for my nod before we began forward. I could see the house from here. The only thing separating us was a grassy island littered with trees—which was truthfully the only thing keeping us concealed. After about ten seconds, I had to tell him I needed a break. The adrenaline was burning through the last of the Oxy in my system, leaving me to feel every bit of the stabbing along my abdomen.

The pain drug at my eyes, making each blink an impossible task. My body felt heavy, like a sponge full of dirty water. The tree Ron had leaned me against seemed to be twisting its roots around my legs, locking me in place. Claiming me. Our surroundings smelled earthy compared to the iodine-esc scent in the infirmary. Earthy, but bloody, like something dead was settling into the thick air.

"Hang in there," Ron told me, his head swiveling to check our surroundings. "We're almost there—can you make it?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a blade leaving its sheath. Before I could even register what was happening, Ron was yanking me upward with strength rooted from panic, pulling me forward so fast and hard that the trees and surrounding scenery became a solid color.

Somewhere behind us, there were quickened footsteps, and something sharp was cutting through the air. Just as I thought my grip would slip from Ron's, a bullet whizzed past, and I turned back to watch as it planted deep within the figure that had been coming after us.

"Shit!" The stranger cursed out, rolling in pain as he grabbed his bleeding leg.

I took a few faltered steps back, and just like that, I couldn't go on any further. I was hunching over, putting out my hands as the ground greeted me, fast. I could only look at the injured person, and feel as if I were suffering right alongside him. Ron took a step towards me, revealing a boy rushing down the steps — a gun positioned in his arms.

I smiled, then. Despite the pain.

Carl. His finger stayed on the trigger as he approached the W, his attention locked on the man. With the barrel pointed directly at his temple, he breathed out.

"Please, man, please. Please don't kill me man—"

Carl wasted no time in putting a bullet between his eyes, shutting him up. His eyes then immediately found mine, and he was lowering his gun, running towards me. His knees made contact with the ground, hands moving to my face. His eyes briefly studied me like he thought there was a possibility I was only a figment of his imagination.

Once deciding I was real, he was pulling me in, embracing me.

Chaos was the new calm, a string of violence plucking out note after note into the universe like an antiquated violin. The world we inhabited had become such a scary place. It was filled with everlasting death, plagued with the worst of fears. We had been placed in the middle, before truly knowing it had begun.

But, in his arms, I thought maybe—just maybe, there was a chance at finding a silver lining to it all.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 5,053 words • 9pm

raaahhwhs this random girl saw me writing and joked saying i was writing on wattpad but little does she know...😏

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.