A/N: Thank you for all of your continued interest in this story, and thank you to the following for leaving lovely reviews: DarylDixon'sLover, mrsreedus69, rocknrollprincess131, wabi-sabi1090, WishfulThinker66, Straight Edge Queen, cin89, Prettyprincess45, and lollipop2404.
This one-shot takes place about fifteen months after the outbreak. I hope you enjoy it!
Stacy MacKade swept her long, wavy hair aside, getting it off the back of her neck as the blazing sun beat down on her. She sighed and allowed her gaze to travel along the tree line where it paralleled the road they were currently walking on. She flicked her gray eyes to the woman next to her, a blonde with slightly darker hair than her own and a few extra years under her belt, and said, "Favorite fast food."
"Why do we always end up on the subject of food?" Lindsey asked with a lazy smile.
"Because, what else is there to talk about?" retorted the older man to their right. "We've exhausted every other topic."
Frank, Stacy's fifty-something uncle, had a point. Whenever they played their spontaneous game of 'Favorite Things Before the World Went to Shit,' they avoided anything involving people or painful memories. Sometimes they would get personal, but it had a habit of bringing down the mood – which could always use some improvement.
Just that day, they'd used up the last of their food, run out of gas, and had a close call with a large group of biters. The road they were on now was supposed to lead them to a small town. The chances of running across food and fuel were slim. They wouldn't know until they got there, though, so Lindsey ignored the protesting growls of hunger in her belly and proceeded to keep up morale.
"KFC's popcorn chicken. I'm not really sure why they expected your first-born child as payment for, like, ten tiny pieces of boneless chicken, but damn, it was worth it…" Lindsey laughed along with Stacy and Frank. "What about you?" she asked in return.
Stacy grinned and her eyes went unfocused, as if recalling a humorous memory. "My best friend and I used to go there all the time after our morning classes, but if you can remember, it was actually KFC/Taco Bell - we always called it 'The Slash.' Potato wedges and a cheesy beef burrito – the best of both worlds."
"Now that's what I'm talking about," Frank said, surely salivating at the thought.
"What about you, Uncle-?" Stacy began to ask, but was interrupted by the sound of a fast approaching vehicle. The three survivors turned their heads in time to see a white truck topped with a row of floodlights. The barrel of a fully-automatic rifle poked out of the open window and began firing off shots. Frank dropped on the spot. Stacy cried out, and Lindsey made a dive for the tall grass, but not before a sharp sting jolted the outer area of her left thigh. She collapsed into the thick covering in a heap of dead weight. A moment later, blackness swallowed her.
Next thing Lindsey knew, she was opening her eyes to the sight of dried grass, which crunched beneath her groping hands. Pain blindsided her, radiating outward from her thigh and threatening her state of consciousness once more. Something tugged at her boots and she flinched away out of pure instinct. The pain persisted, but was briefly diverted as she peered over her shoulder and saw a dead version of Stacy chomping on the rubber sole of her right boot. Lindsey gasped at the shock of seeing Stacy's milky eyes, which had held a glimmer of amusement only minutes before.
Gritting her teeth, she kicked the younger woman back and reached for her Glock. She removed the weapon from its holster and fired off a single shot, driving a hole through the center of Stacy's forehead. She flopped at Lindsey's feet as blood trickled from the open wound. Lindsey fell back into the grass and grimaced.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling a flicker of remorse. She'd liked Stacy. There had been a great deal of people she hadn't cared for up to that point, but there'd been just as many where she could say the opposite – it was always hard to lose the good ones.
Remembering her other travel companion, she called out "Frank?" and received no answer. She twisted around to a sitting position, letting out a hiss as she sat up, and saw the man's lifeless body a few feet away. The back of his skull was a mess, and she knew he wouldn't recover from it – in any form.
While she tried to ignore the instant panic of being alone – and possibly, in danger – she unzipped her backpack and retrieved a blue bandana. She slipped the material under her tender thigh and tied it tightly around the wound, sobbing at the sudden pain. Biters were showing up, drawn in by the gunfire and fresh food sources. She knew she couldn't stay where she was, so with every bit of strength in her tired body, she pushed up to stand on her right foot. Labored breaths rushed in and out between her chapped lips. One of the dead got too close and she put a round in its head as well. There were more, but Frank's motionless form was all they needed. Lindsey tried to block out the atrocious sound of ripping flesh as she slowly limped away from the grisly scene.
Fear of the unknown kept Lindsey just off the road. She stayed in the tall grass, but it was slow going. Thick weeds and tangled vines would wrap around her foot and bring her to the ground without much effort, but she pushed on. The town was in her sights and she wanted off of this godforsaken road. She'd figure out what to do when she finally felt safe to do so. The worn, wooden sign of a ma-and-pa pharmacy caught her eye and she stumbled toward it. The moment the door shut behind her, she buckled onto the Berber carpet. It felt like hours, but she finally dragged her throbbing body down the aisle and behind the desk. She shoved her backpack to one side and tipped her head against the wall, allowing a few minutes of rest.
Finally, she gathered enough energy to check her wound. She fought off a swell of nausea as she used careful fingers to untie the bandana, now saturated with dark fluid. Blood oozed from the hole in her thigh and she groaned. This was not her expertise. She could take care of basic cuts and scrapes, maybe a nasty sprain – but not a fucking gunshot wound. Logic told her to stop the bleeding, so she moved the bandana upward and tied it again, cutting off the circulation. She grabbed an abandoned box of gauze from the pharmacy floor and pressed a couple of squares against the raw flesh. Blood soaked through, but not as quickly as before.
Resting her head once more, Lindsey Scott thought about her options. She was alone – again – in this hell-on-earth and needed serious medical attention. The situation was about as bad as it could get.
"Options…options," she whispered, breathless. "Fuck…"
There had always been one choice – a last resort – which she'd kept in the back of her mind. It seemed a waste to go there now after all this time, but she had never been this far up shit creek. Her face contorted as grief and hopelessness squeezed her aching heart. She thought about Jared, her parents, her friends…
"God, I miss you guys... Can I come home now?" she whimpered, breaking down. Warm tears cut through the dirt on her grubby cheeks and her lower jaw quivered. "Please…I tried. I really did…"
A car door slammed nearby and she jumped. Ceasing her anguished sobs, she wrapped her shaking hand around the grip on her gun and checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded. Her nostrils flared as she urged the barrel to rest between her trembling lips. All it would take was one quick movement and she'd be reunited with her loved ones. She wouldn't have to fight anymore, or be afraid. It would all be over in a flash.
The pharmacy door clicked open and Lindsey froze with her finger on the trigger. She was ready to go, her mind was made up, but the righteous part of her wanted the bastard to pay for what he'd done to Stacy and Frank. She would do that, and then she would go.
Lifting her weapon, she waited for the stranger to cross her path.
A/N: I'm still open to suggestions for one-shots. Read and review, please! :)