Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
They say that in a moment of panic, your mind leaves you. Something disappears completely. All that planning, function and reason just floats away, leaving nothing but action and fear.
Fear. That's the worst part, really. Fear is what causes you to make bad decisions. Fear is what fucks up something beyond reason. So you learn to live without it. Fear becomes something that cannot be tolerated. Or at least, that's what Shane said. He talked about a switch, inside your brain, which you have to turn off in order to survive. You have to be ruthless and unmerciful.
In this world, a world where the living are few and the dead are rising, fear does naturally come into the equation. But you can only allow that to happen for a moment, a fleeting second, before you have to find that switch and shut it off.
Aim. Breath. Shoot.
Bang.
If there's only one thing that my mind can figure out right now, it's this.
I'm going to die.
The dead are running, sprinting towards the door, weakly held together by a rusty chain. It won't buy me more than a few moments. With my hands gripping around my gun tightly, I spin on my heels and run. I don't know where in that moment, but I know I have to run. There's something undeniably strange about the rush of adrenaline you feel when you know that you're living your last few moments. Like your blood is running hot through your veins, or that your heart feels like it's about to burst from your chest.
I'm running. I run past the aisles, and toward the front door, that seemed to be barricaded possibly weeks before my arrival. Large, heavy planks of wood are blocking that precious escape. Lord knows why I thought this place was safe. A run-down, roadside gas station doesn't exactly scream 'shelter'. But it's at times like this that I have to remind myself, there's no such thing as a safe place. Only safer places.
As I reach the door, I fling myself at the wood barriers. I pull with a strength that I didn't even know existed, until I hear a crack, and am able to pull part of the protection away. I reach for another, feeling the splinters break away underneath my fingertips.
The door behind me cracks, and the chain falls to the ground in a tingling requiem.
I pull at another plank, breaking away enough room for me to squeeze through. I slide to the ground, kick through the glass with my foot, and watch the pieces shatter to the floor. As I crawl under the space, the glass cuts my back. But there's no time to think about that. When I reach the outside, I jump back on my feet, and stumble forwards.
The fresh air hits my face, welcoming and warm. I waver for a moment, standing in the sun, letting my eyes adjust. The air is sweet and hot, but I can't enjoy it yet. The heavy sound of frantic, hungry feet can be heard behind me, mixed with growls and snarls. As I turn, I see that they are crawling under the same gap. I realise that I need to fight back, because they will never stop chasing me unless I stop them.
I swing my gun up in front of me. I have four bullets.
There are five of them.
The first shot's a perfect hit, right in the center of the forehead of a large, ugly fucker. But I can't celebrate yet. I aim and shoot the other in the eye, sending it flying to the ground. I have seconds left. I aim and shoot for the third's brain, but I miss, and it goes through the cheek of the snarling monster.
"Fuck," I mutter to myself.
I try again, sucessful this time. It hits the bastard through the head, and he goes flying backwards. I'm out of shells. There's nothing left to do but run.
I drop the gun, (it's worthless now), and begin sprinting down the road. It's crazy, I think, of how stupid this all seems. I'm running from the dead, and right now, they've got one up on me. My breaths are short and shallow as I run, never looking back. I can still hear them behind me, gasping and growling for their meal.
I'm running for around three minutes before I consider giving up. Zombies don't run out of energy, but I do. I don't think I can run any furthur, and I wish that I had the sense to save at least one of those bullets for myself. But the thought only passes, because I know for damn sure that I'm not going to let those monsters be my end. If I'm going to die today, then I'm doing to do it myself. My choice, my way.
Then it happens. I take a wrong step, and go flying, crashing to the ground beneath me. Not only that, but I skid across the tar, and feel a painful tearing under my arm, and warm liquid spreading across my skin.
This is it, I think. All I can do it bury my face into the ground, and wait.
I'm done.
When you think you're going to die, it's not like most people say. Not for me, anyway. They all say that your life flashes before your eyes. That's crazy, because for me, I can't think of anything beyond what's happening right here, right now. I can't think of anything else other than the fact that the zombies behind me are going to kill me in a matter of seconds.
Bang.
I freeze. I know for certain that what I just heard was not part of my imagination. And the large thump on the ground was definitely real.
Bang.
A second gunshot rung through the air. Another thud. Silence.
I'm still for a moment, before I slowly lift my head from the ground. I carefully roll over, staring at the sight before me.
The two zombies are now on the ground, blood spewing from a hole in one's head, while the other has a rather intimidating arrow sticking through it's own.
Everything is silent. I can't think straight.
"Stay still!" A voice yells from between the trees. "We're coming to you!"
Stay still? I can't even breath, let alone move. I let my head fall back to the ground with a rather harsh hit to the surface. I try and calm myself by watching the wind brush the trees before me. From the other side, I hear feet, running towards me across the road. As they get to me, I hear the sound of a gun click.
"You bit?" Another voice asks. The barrel of the gun is pressed against my back. "Hey! You alive down there?"
Seconds later, a pair of hands grab my shoulders and gently roll me over. I can't see. My eyes are too fuzzy with the pre-sleep daze that fogs my vision. What I can see, are figures. Four, to be exact. Other than the faint outlines of their bodies, I'm blind.
"Answer the question," the one with the gun to my back snaps. It's harsh.
I don't know why, but I feel my lips spread into a small smile. I can tell they're waiting for an answer, but I can only breath out one phrase.
"...Not today," I whisper.
Someone above me says something, but it's gone in moments. The darkness in my mind is pulling me deeper, and before I know it, everything is black.