Ch. 54
AN: Heyo Everyone! Here is my Christmas gift to you! It's a pretty long chapter of Dirty Hands! I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you guys for reading and supporting this story! It means a lot to me and I'm just really happy that you guys are my readers! I hope you all stay safe and have fun! Merry Christmas and I'll see you guys next time! Review please! ~Pacco1
Sam felt the weariness of the road weigh down on every inch of his body with every step Cork took. He sighed heavily and patted the horse, urging him onward.
The day was hazy, clouds were covering the sky, yet humidity still clung to his skin like wet mud. He wished he could have a stroke of luck. To just find an oasis in the land of humid forests where he could rest his head for a few weeks and gorge himself on food.
Sam closed his eyes and let himself drift off for a few seconds. He felt the weight of his journey, he felt his desire to go home.
Home.
He felt his throat tighten. His very soul begged him to go back. To return home and scoop Beth and his child in his arms. To apologize for being away. But a shadow in his mind kept him from doing that. The shadow of Maggie and the hunters she had sent after him. He opened his eyes and moved the horse forward.
He ran his fingers along his palms. The scars weren't deep, but they were there. He felt the phantom pain of the bullet that had nearly shattered his femur. He felt every life that he had taken as a result of Maggie's vendetta against him.
He felt the anger that came with it.
But he quickly shoved it down, focusing on where he was. The areas farther north seemed to have drawn people to them. The cold slowing down the Walkers and the snow even freezing them completely. Communities had sprung up rather quickly. Though with the harsher weather, it led to other complications.
Sam approached the gates of Mercy slowly. He smiled to himself as the gates opened and he was met by the bright, warm, orange glow of the central bonfire.
"Sam," one of the guards said. He was covered in boiled leather armor, and a steel helmet sat on his head. A rifle was slung behind his back and a sword on his hip. He reached out and grasped Corks Bridle, petting the horse as it came to a stop.
"Norman," Sam said dismounting and unstrapping his rifle from his back, setting it in Cork's saddle holster. "Your men are shit at killing."
"Oh?" Norman chuckled. "And why's that?"
"Because there's a whole mess of bandits camped out by River Marley." Sam sighed as he rubbed his hands together, his knuckles white from cold. He eyed the bonfire but sighed as he looked at the bags Cork was hauling.
"River Marley?" Norman asked. "You sure, we checked those areas. It's barely ten miles from here."
"I'm sure," Sam said. "I saw them on my way back of the Bellpine settlement."
Norman scoffed. "What'd that asshole want?"
"Trade," Sam grabbed the bags off Cork's saddle. "Finch inside?"
Norman nodded and allowed Sam to pass. The gate closed behind him and Norman ordered someone to tend to Cork.
The settlement was once a small town, the population of two hundred small, and when the outbreak had begun they had erected walls at the beginning, around the perimeter of the town. It had been a mining town at first, iron mining. And those that inhabited the town were quick to adapt and turn iron into steel, and steel into weapons. Even as Sam walked through the town she smiled at the somewhat comfortable weight of the chainmail they had given him.
Sam walked quickly through the settlement, smiling and nodding politely to the populace. Some of the off duty guards gave him a wave or raised a glass of whatever it was they were drinking up.
Sam saw more people out than typical. All of them moving and chatting with each other. Sam moved past a group of young couples all chatting excitedly. Light snows began to fall and cheers of excitement went through the crowd. People began clapping and couples began kissing, all enveloped by the orange glow of the bonfire.
"Sam!" he paused in his steps and saw a young woman approaching him. She smiled brightly and stopped just shy of reaching him. She was about a head shorter than he was, and her red hair was done in two long braids that reached her chest. She seemed to be wearing make-up, in fact, as Sam gave a quick glance over the celebrating population, all the women and men seemed to be dressed as nicely as they could. Hair combed, beards trimmed, makeup done.
"Sam you made it for the festival!" the young woman cried out.
He chuckled and nodded. "I suppose I did Trinny. But uh, well what's the festival even for again?"
She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Come on! Winter Solstice! It's Christmas!"
Sam opened his mouth and paused for a moment as he thought through his mental calendar before nodding.
"I suppose it is Christmas isn't it?"
Trinny laughed and hugged the man tightly. "Almost a year since you first got here."
"Give or take a few months," Sam laughed, taken a bit aback by the hug. "Beautiful celebration you guys got going on here though."
A group of musicians had set up away from the crowd and began to play songs. Their pipes and strings hummed through the air and soon either people in the crowd were dancing or leaving to avoid it. Sam attempted to be the latter, but Trinny stopped him.
"Wait," she held up a clump of leaves with two white berries over the two of their heads. Sam spotted the mistletoe immediately and his stomach dropped. He shot Trinny a worried look and cleared his throat before snatching it and throwing it to the ground.
"Oh, careful Trinny," Sam said quickly as her face fell. "It's bad luck for mistletoe to be over someone's head."
"No, it's not," Trinny said confused.
"In Ireland it is!" He said, talking directly out of his ass. "Yeah, its, it's an old Irish superstition, and I well, I believe it."
Trinny gave him the strangest look and Sam smiled before moving on toward the town hall. A few guards stood watch, their jackets, and hats reminiscent of the old-world police force. He nodded to them and entered the building.
The front desk was lined with candles, though it was barren with the exception of two officers standing around, a bottle between them.
"Gentlemen," Sam called out as he approached them, his two bags in hand.
"Sam, you're back."
"Indeed I am. And I have gifts."
"Real Christmas miracle," one of the officers laughed holding out the bottle.
Sam took it and drank a small swig. "Long ride from Bellpine. You boys might have some work on your hands later. Bandits by Marley."
The two officers scoffed and took the bottle back. "Not the first time we've had to."
Sam nodded, remembering an attack on a bandit camp he had gone on with them. It seemed that camps and settlements were the light that drew in the moths.
"He here?" Sam asked.
"Up on the Balcony."
Sam nodded his thanks and passed the men making his way up the building to the balcony. He entered the frigid air and took a step onto the balcony, small snowflakes landing in his hair. A tall, balding man stood to his left, leaning on the railing of the balcony, a small bottle in his hand and a content smile gracing his lips.
"You made it," the man said, his voice tired and wrought with years of experience. "I thought the snows would come before you were able to make it."
"Corks a fast horse Grant. 'Sides, I know my way around these parts decently enough." Grant offered Sam the bottle which he took.
"You know, Trinity told me that she was gonna try and catch you under the mistletoe."
Sam chuckled and swallowed the drink. "Yeah. She tried to. I told her that the Irish saw it as unlucky."
"She bought that?"
"I don't know," the two men chuckled and together they looked at the grand Christmas celebration below.
People were cheering and clapping as they danced to the songs the musicians played them. The fire rose in size and it stood in the darkness like a beacon.
"That safe?" Sam asked.
"We have a double guard shift up tonight. If anyone wanna fucks with my town tonight they're gonna learn the hard way not to," Grant growled out.
Sam smiled and nodded at the words. Hopefully, they would ring true
Grant seemed to glance over to Sam and cleared his throat as if he was uncomfortable. "Listen, Sam, some people came to us today. Said they were looking for an Irishman."
Sam closed his eyes and gripped the rail tightly. He had been free for a year. He had been free of her hunters for a year, and now he was damned again.
"What'd they say?" Sam asked.
"Lies. They told me you were a criminal. You'd killed a lot of their men." Grant shifted uncomfortably. "That'd you'd done worse."
"Like what?"
"Torture. Execution. Theft. Rape," Grant sighed and slip his hands in his pockets. "Honestly they made it sound like there wasn't a thing you hadn't done. That's why I don't believe them."
Sam nodded and pulled his jacket close to his body. "I told you everything I'd done. The murders, the raiding. All of it. But I never crossed some lines. I refused to cross them."
"I know. But what are we gonna do about these people?"
Sam sighed and watched the people of the town laugh and cheer. A slow song began to play and several people took to an improvised dance floor. He peered through the crowd and spotted Trinny. Her eyes lingered up and she saw Sam. Her face flushed and she waved shyly before ducking her head and flowing into the crowd.
"I'll leave," Sam said quietly.
"No. Sam, you don't—"
"I do. The woman that leads this group. She hates me and won't stop coming after me. I'll leave. Spare your people any heartache. Keep them out of the line of fire." Sam pushed himself from the railing and looked back to Grant. "Tell them when you confronted me I attacked you and ran east."
"And where are you really going?"
Sam smiled and looked up to the sky, observing all the thousands of stars that dotted the sky. "I've been north, south, and I came from the east. Might as well head west. See what I can out there."
"We'll miss you. And if you ever need anything, you come here Sam. There will always be a place for you here at our tables."
Sam felt his throat contract and nodded. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, hoping that he wouldn't actually have to leave. But as he raised his head and looked over the happy people of Mercy, he knew that he couldn't drag then into his business. Those were deaths he would prefer not to have on his conscious.
"When this is all done. I'm coming back, Grant. Me, my girl, and my kid."
Grant nodded, patted Sam on the back, and together they left the balcony.
Sam dug his spur into Corks' side urging the beast onward. He could hear gunfire behind him and ducked his head, getting as close to Cork as he could while bullets whizzed overhead. He could practically feel them grazing his body as the rounds were fired at him.
Sam screamed and looked back, seeing a group of men riding after him. Sam swore and pulled his own gun firing behind him. Cork weaved through the trees and dug his hooves through the dirt, Sam atop of him clutching the reigns for dear life.
"Give it up Sam!" A voice called out. Sam's answer was another two shots from his pistol.
He panted as he reloaded, his hands shaking and threatening to drop his gun and ammo with every jolt of Cork's body.
"Come on buddy, keep going. We gotta beat 'em." More shots rang out and Sam nearly whimpered as the shots landed closer and closer. "Fuck. Come on Cork!"
Sam panted and froze as he felt a blinding pain rippled through his leg. He gasped and looked as he felt warm blood ooze from the graze and leave a small steady stream of blood leak from the wound. Sam bit his lip, drawing blood in his mouth to keep from screaming, from letting his assailants form knowing that they were getting to him.
He slowed Cork down and dismounted quickly, his balance waning a bit as he felt the pain from his grazed leg shoot through his body. He drew his rifle from Corks saddle and slapped the Horses rear sending it off but knowing he would be close by. He heard the hoofbeats of his attackers get closer.
"He got off the horse!" one shouted.
Sam rolled to the ground and into the brush. He steadied his breathing and readied his rifle.
"We lost more?" Maggie screeched.
Daryl stood behind her, his eyes boring a hole into Taras' as the woman reported that the group they had sent North had not checked back in. Just as she had done time after time over the past two years.
"They haven't checked in," Tara said. "What should we tell the families?"
Maggie sighed and leaned back in her chair as she tried to conjure up yet another excuse to tell the Hilltop as to why the men she had sent up North to yet again, "set up trade with northern settlements" had all died.
She had suspected that Rick was getting suspicious of her real reasons, and she couldn't keep refusing protection from what was left of the fragmented Foundry Soldiers. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.
"Tell them that it was Walkers. And tell them that we aren't sending any more missions North."
Tara raised an eyebrow and even Daryl seemed to give pause to the order.
"We aren't sending anyone else?" Tara asked, her voice hopeful and a small smile working its way onto her face. She had been hesitant to have Maggie send men North to find and kill Sam. She thought it wasn't worth it, but with Maggie hounding her and Daryl backing most of her policies and orders, she wasn't in a position to argue much.
But with the amount of manpower Maggie had dedicated sending North under the guise of finding new settlements to establish trade, and with the number of bodies that had never been seen again. Maggie's popularity with the Hilltop was waning. With the three more men that had been most likely killed by Sam, it was more than likely that it would be another nail in the coffin, closing the era of Maggie Rhee.
Sam finished putting his pistol back together rather easily. He had gotten used to disassembling and reassembling it while ridding Cork. It had taken months of practice and a few now useless pistols that were used for spare parts, but he was rather good at it now.
"no don't!" gunshots followed the scream.
Sam stopped. He glanced around him and listened. He could hear grunting, and screaming. A woman's screaming.
"leave her alone!" another gunshot rang out and this time Sam's hand brought his pistol up. He looked down the road, considering walking forward and leaving the people to their fate. He could walk on and never think about them again.
"take her pants off," Sam turned and walked toward the sounds. His throat was constricting and his blood boiling over those four words. He dismounted cork and drew his pistols. The brush wasn't too thick, and as the noise got louder, the girls scream more desperate, her sobs more hopeless, Sam felt more at peace with his decision.
He could see glimpses of men moving through the thicket. He pulled the hammers back on his pistols and emerged through the leaves and branches.
"What the fuck," one of the men said shortly before Sam raised his pistol and shot him through the eye.
"Shit!" another man screamed, moving for his gun, but stopping when a bullet tore through his body.
The last two got to their feet and raised their hands. Sam turned to them and glanced over them. They were both filthy, their hair crusty and most likely riddled with fleas. One had his pants around his ankles and his underwear lopsided around his hips. The other only had his belt unbuckled and had tears in his eyes as he avoided looking at Sam.
Sam turned his eyes from them to the girl that he had just come across. Her clothes were in tatters and she was struggling to cover herself. Her eyes were red and tears still fell freely from her eyes as she looked between the two men and Sam.
Sam looked back to the men and shook his head. He pulled the triggers of his pistols and sent the two men to the ground. He turned to the gril and took off his coat, offering it to her. She looked at him with fearful eyes and slowly reached her hand out, her fingertips brushing the brown coat.
She grasped it tightly and brought the coat to her chest nearly crying in the process. She was quick to wrap it around herself and almost sink into the ground. Her head whipped around and her eyes land on a pair of legs that were sticking out of the brush.
"Papa," she gasped pointing at the body.
Sam looked over and nodded to her motioning for her to stay still. He took a step toward the body, his boots stepping over the would-be rapists. He saw their spent shell casings and assumed the man would be dead. But as he got to the man he saw a bloody face and a man struggling to breathe as he clutched the bullet holes in his arm.
Sam bent down and slung his pack off his shoulder, immediately applying aid to the man's gunshot wounds. The man struggled to breathe but Sam could hear the sounds of thanks from the man's gasps and groans.
Sam looked back and saw the girl looking at him, and while the look was still fearful there was a sense of gratitude.
He lit a fire and moved the bodies. The girl was still clutching the coat around her small body. Her eyes were still focused on the fire. She had barely moved since Sam had found her. Her speech had been more or less the same. She had looked to the tree where her father was resting, his wounds bandaged, and whenever he would make the slightest movement or sound, her head would shoot up and she would call out for "Papa?"
But as the night went on her eyes began to droop and soon she was curled up beside the fire, eyes closed and sleeping.
Sam sighed and walked to Cork. He drew his rifle and set it across his lap when he sat down. The night sky draped the camp in the cover of darkness and Sam prayed that they wouldn't be disturbed through the night.
The man groaned and sat up, he clutched the bandage Sam had fixed on his side and held his hand to his head. He stood up groggily and leaned on a tree for support. He coughed and spat on the ground before finally looking to Sam and moving to sit beside him.
He fell onto the log Sam had sat upon clearing his throat and focusing on the fire. His face was still stained in blood, now black and crusted on his face. His eyes were a bit too far apart, though his jawline was strong and defined. Sam looked to the man's knuckles and saw that several were split and scabbed but he paid no attention to them. Instead, he held out his hand, his face bowed.
"I'd like to shake the hand of the man that saved my daughter," his voice seemed horse and had a heavy southern accent, though it seemed refined.
Sam sat silent for a moment, his eyes on the man's hand and then to his face. His eyes held back tears and displayed a regret he had seen in himself once, after Grady Memorial Hospital.
He reached over and took the man's hand, grasping it lightly, careful to avoid the busted knuckles.
"Thank you," he said, his head shaking as he struggled to hold back his tears. "You saved her from what those—men, would have done to her. And that is not something I could ever repay."
Sam held up his hand to stop the man. "You don't have to repay me."
The man shook his head. "I do. I will."
"You won't."
The man sighed and shook his head. "You helped me. You saved my daughter."
"I did what I had to do."
"You didn't. You didn't have to, but you did. And I will forever be grateful."
"You want to show gratitude then shut up about it."
The man chuckled at that and straightened up. "My name, is John. John Pilgrim. That's my daughter, Dorothy."
"Samuel Conall."
"It's an honor to meet you, Samuel."
"Call me Sam."
John nodded. "Very well then. Sam."
"Where were you headed?" Sam asked. He had only been in the area for a month and had yet to find any settlements or any semblance of human activity. John, Dorothy, and the bandits were the only people that he had seen.
"We heard of a settlement out west. Supposedly supposed to be a safe haven."
"Settlements like that are far and few in-between," Sam told him.
"I know. But I had to try. We were heading there when those men attacked us. I tried to fight them off but…" he looked to his knuckles and bandaged arm. "I tried."
"You did your best. But ambushed by four men, hell anyone would have been hard-pressed. Most would have only been able to try." The man nodded but it seemed to be a hollow validation. "What are you gonna do now?"
The man looked to his sleeping daughter and then to Sam. "I was hoping I could travel with you. For the time. I—well like this I'm not much good at defending Dorothy, but you and I together. Well, I'd imagine there wouldn't be anything that would be able to touch us."
Sam glanced at the man and then back to the fire.
"I'm not sure. I don't do well with company."
"Then just till I'm healed up. I can't fight well like this. A few weeks until I feel comfortable."
Sam hesitated but nodded. "Fine. A few weeks, and then we go our separate ways."
John had been placed onto Cork for the time being. His body was still bruised and recovering. The bandages around his knuckles were wrapped tightly around his hands. He had protested vehemently about being placed on the horse, insisting that his daughter ride instead of walk. But after having walked a few feet, and nearly coughing up half a lung, he had been convinced.
Sam walked at a steady pace behind Cork, his rifle slung across his chest and his eyes glancing over the two people he had helped. He knew that they seemed harmless, having found them in the situation he had, but in the new world, it was always hard to tell. Some could seem harmless but were cutthroats waiting to slide their blades between your ribs at the first opportunity.
"Are you okay papa?" Sam looked over and Dorothy grasping her father's hand gently as he rocked in the saddle.
"Fine pumpkin," he gasped out, his voice strained as if he was in pain. The man groaned softly and adjusted himself in the saddle, his right hand never leaving his daughters grasp.
"Do you need to stop?"
"No, I'm fine."
Sam had decided since the second day he had been traveling with them that they weren't going to kill him. Or at least try.
He watched Dorothy hand her father a canteen, the man gulping down the water desperately. Sam chuckled to himself and shook his head. It was a bit of a miracle they had survived as long as they had from what he observed.
While he had yet to see John fight or do much in the way of essential skills, Dorothy seemed to lack a lot of basic knowledge. After the first day traveling, after she and Sam had helped lift John off the horse and onto the ground, he had asked her to set fire as the sun went down and he went on a quick patrol.
He had returned ten minutes later, finding her on her knees striking a piece of flint against a thin piece of steel on creating sparks. Sam was quick to rush her and snatch it out of her hands. There was never a good excuse to waste perfectly good flint.
Sam shook his head. It wasn't only that however. She couldn't chop wood, hold a knife properly, and when he had asked her to make a fist, her thumb had been left in her palm. As Sam hung back and observed the two, he couldn't help most of his judgment shift to John, the man that was supposed to have taught her the important bits of surviving. Granted it wasn't his place to judge, but he still did.
"I don't trust him, Papa," Sam kept himself from chuckling. His eyes were closed and his body was slumped against a tree. His hands were firmly wrapped around his rifle and he forced himself to listen to the two. "He's dangerous."
"I know pumpkin. But, he's not a bad man."
"How do you know papa?"
"He saved us."
"So? For all, we know he could be a salver. You heard the rumors. They're all over this area. He cou—"
"He isn't one. What good is a salve that was beaten half to death? Having to wait for me to heal before turning me over to whoever wants to buy us, it doesn't make any sense."
"Maybe the Wraiths sent him."
Sam had trouble following. He had known that things had become wilder and savage, hell he was a testament to it, but slavers? That was certainly a new one for him.
"The Wraiths think we're dead," John insisted. "The way things ended before we left, the mess that we escaped, I'm sure they think us and half of the whole damn plantation is gone."
"It doesn't matter papa. We don't know him. I don't want to risk anything."
"And we won't," John insisted. "But this man saved your life. And I am not going to abandon his temporary protection, nor his trust."
"Why?" Dorothy asked, begging to know the answer, and Sam even leaned in a bit, curious as well.
"Like you said, he's dangerous. And Dangerous men are always good traveling companions."
"Papa. What if he tries to hurt us?"
John chuckled, his laugh riddled with wheezing but Sam could hear the amusement on his face. "Then he's doing a rather bad job of it, Dorothy. We've been with him for what, a few days? In that time, he's been kind, and helpful. If he wanted to kill us, we'd be rotting by now."
Dorothy was silent and Sam heard a rustling. His body tensed and his hand grasped the hilt of his knife. He adjusted himself slowly and tried to listen. For all, he knew the conversation was a ploy in case they thought he was awake. He took a deep breath and waited for them to make the first move.
"I still don't trust him," Sam let out a small breath of relief and loosened the grip on the knife.
Sam peeled back the bandages and crinkled his nose at the strange smell emanating from it. The skin that wasn't red and puffy was very warm, and there was a yellow fluid leaking from the wound in small thick clumps. With ever millimeter of bandage that was pulled off the wound, John winced and groaned. His face was red and his hair dripping sweat.
Sam sighed and motioned for Dorothy to hand him a fresh bandage.
"Well," Sam began as he began to dress Johns wound, "want the good news or bad news?"
"Bad," John groaned as the pain from his wound throbbed.
"Your wounds infected," Sam said as he finished dressing the wound. "And I don't have anything to fight it. Best we can do is keep the wound clean and let your body fight it on your own."
"How do you know that?" Dorothy asked.
"I've been wounded enough to know shit like that," Sam said. "I think there was a town a few miles up the road. I could head over, see if I can find anything that'll keep your wound clean."
John nodded and turned to look at his daughter.
"Dorothy. I want you to go with him."
"But papa—"
"No! If the dead roam through here or god forbid a group of raiders, then I can't do much to protect you," John huffed struggling to sit up properly. "Just go with him, he'll keep you safe for now, then you can come back and we'll be together again."
Dorothy clutched John's hand slowly nodded before looking over to Sam.
The town seemed abandoned from where Sam sat. He peered at the abandoned buildings and couldn't see traces of walkers. He pulled the binoculars away from his face, sniffing and rubbing his chin.
"Well," he began, "I don't like the look of it."
"Why?" Dorothy asked taking the binocular and observing the town. "Looks deserted enough."
Sam shook his head. "Nah. Look at it. No walkers, no bodies."
"Maybe it was evacuated." Dorothy pointed out.
"Maybe. But looking at it. It feels like a trap town."
"Trap town?" Dorothy asked.
"Yeah. It's a, think of it as an ambush. Bandits'll set up in a town and wait for anyone to come through. When they do, they kill 'em and take their shite."
"But why do you think it's a trap town?"
"Well considering this town is right off of the main highway," Sam moved his hand and pointed to the main street. "See the cars? The hoods are up and the engines are stripped. Normally not that big of a deal, but look at the shop near that red car. Windows smashed, but they boarded it up."
Dorothy brought the binoculars away from her face but still looked unsure. "So, what? Some people might have just come through here. Papa and I rest in ruined buildings all the time."
"You ever repair them?" Sam asked. "Look back. Near the entrance of the street. Bullet holes. Lots of them."
"And?"
"And no bodies, no bloodstains, no walkers. Someone's cleaning things up around here." Sam drew his pistol and ejected the mag. He counted and slid the magazine back into the gun. He reached into the various pouches and pockets on his person and silently cursed as he could only find one spare magazine, halfway full. "Well luck had to run out. Alright, I only got twelve shots. Eight before I have to reload. We'll slip in and be as quiet as we can, any luck and we won't be running into anyone."
Sam took a cautious step into the house, a gun in one hand and his knife in the other. He glanced around and walked further into the home. He had walked into the kitchen, but the counters were barren, there were no cooking appliances or plates, all the drawers and cabinets were smashed apart.
"Clear," he said motioning for Dorothy to enter the house.
She entered quickly and closed the door behind her. Sam held a finger to his lips, and moved forward.
The rest of the house was dingy and ransacked. Trash littered the ground and the furniture that remained was either overturned or smashed to pieces. The windows were covered in thick blankets, keeping most of the sunlight out, only small beams filtering into the house.
Sam moved to the window and pulled back the shade. He could see the open street before him. Again, no bodies and seemingly deserted. He cursed and let the blanket fall back into place.
"Okay," he said moving away from the window and back to the kitchen. "Seems clear out there, we should be able to sneak around a bit."
He moved to the back of the house and pushed to door open.
"What the?" Sam's stomach dropped. He turned his head right and saw several men. All tall, dirty, and carrying melee weapons.
The man in front screamed and raised his ax charging Sam. But he was too quick, he felt his arm fall into the automatic, almost mechanical, motion of pulling his arm up, his thumb flicking the safety off and his index finger pulling the trigger, all within the span of half a second.
"Shit he has a gun!" One of the men behind screamed as he watched the ax wielder drop to the ground.
The men scattered and Sam grasped Dorothy's hand and pulled her away. They ran through backyards, Sam hoping to find the pharmacy before more men could organize and find them.
The pharmacy. Get to the pharmacy. Sam thought as he pulled Dorothy along with him.
He could hear whooping and stomping feet all around him. He cured and pulled Dorothy's arm harder, ignoring her cries of pain.
Shook! Sam stopped for a split second seeing a projectile landed in front of him. He observed it quickly and felt panic envelop him before taking off again. Shook!Shook!Shook! More arrows were fired, Sam could feel the air that they tore through around him as they passed him.
Clanging and men laughing grew louder.
"Meat!" Sam heard a man laugh followed by cheers.
Sam threw Dorothy in front of him so he could fire more shots towards the men. He turned, seeing a mass of bodies wielding axes and machetes, snarling and barking with laughter's like a massive pack of rabid wolves.
He pulled the trigger, the gun kicked as the round was sent flying, the slide being forced to push back, ejecting the spent casing.
"Gun!" one of the men screamed before the rest of the men scattered. Sam turned and pushed Dorothy sending the girl forward. There was a series of shouts from behind them before the men chasing after laughed as if they were a hungry pack of jackals closing in for the kill.
The tree line to their right shuddered as Sam heard men pass through quickly as they could. All along the roofs of the houses to their right men jumped from roof to roof, hooting and hollering.
He cursed the men as he pulled Dorothy along. They ended up on the street, wide open and vulnerable he swore and looked left and right looking for an opportunity. Grinding his teeth he heard the men closing in on him.
"Come on!" He cried out making a dash for an abandoned building to their left. Vines grew up the side of the building and the windows were all boarded up. The door was open and Sam was quick to slide inside dragging Dorothy by the arm. Pushing toward the back of the shop he ejected his magazine and counted. One, two, three, he had three in the magazine with one bullet in the pipe.
The sounds of boots pounding the pavement alerted him and he motioned for Dorothy to get down. He slip the magazine back into the weapon and readied it, aiming at the door.
"Meat! Meatmeatmeatmeatmeat!" a dozen voices called out as running could be heard. Doors crashed open and men screamed as they searched the town.
"Meat! Get out here!"
"Meat! Meat! Meat!"
"We're hungry!"
"Fuck," Sam said lowering the pistol. He had thought he heard the men clearly when he had been running. But their shouting confirmed it. "Cannibals."
"What?" Dorothy squeaked.
"Okay, here's the plan, there's too many, and I don't have the ammo to take them on. Best we can do—" a group of men entered through the front of the store. They wielded torches, Sam backed away slowly, bringing Dorothy with him. He could spot them men with the dim light of the flames. Their moves were rough and excessive, almost crazed. They breathed heavily and seemed to constantly be twitching as they turned over furniture and old shelving searching for them.
"Meat!" One of the men screamed in the store. Sam's heart jumped and he pulled his pistol out. "Where are you?"
He stopped breathing, his finger resting on the cool heavy trigger of his 1911. He wanted to pull the trigger, he could have ended the men with the twitch of a muscle, but he knew that if he were to shoot, more men would flood into the store, and he, as well as Dorothy, would be killed. Then without proper medicine or anyone to help him, John would die as well.
Keeping his finger on the trigger he motioned for Dorothy to back up. She followed his wordless orders and began to move back slowly. Sam keeping his eyes on the three men thoroughly tearing through the main room of the destroyed shop.
"Meat!" A cry from outside called. The three men whipped their heads toward the sound and growled in delight, abandoning their task and rushing off with the other men.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief and motioned for Dorothy to move to the back. They stood up and walked quietly toward the back door. Once outside Sam saw how the sun had begun to set yet a decent amount of light remained.
"Okay," he panted. "We crawl around for a little. It'll be dark soon enough and we can sneak better. We get any meds the shop has and then we can help your dad."
"How are we gonna get out?" Dorothy asked. Voices of the men could be heard all around them. They were still calling out Meat! Meat! Meat!
"We'll sneak out. Listen, I need you to trust me though," Dorothy began to speak but Sam grabbed the back of her neck and brought her close, "Dorothy, we are in a place surrounded by enemies, and the only way I can get us out of here, is if you trust me. I say stop you stop. I say run you run. I need you to trust me, because if not, then we are fucked. Dorothy, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
Chants and screams filled the air as the men ran rampant through the town. She could hear fighting, it must've been between the savages. Their blood was up, they needed to kill. She looked to Sam, her trembling frightened gaze meeting his focused, harsh eyes. She could see the fire in them, the lack of fear. She felt scared staring into the cold grey eyes. But he was there to protect her. He was to keep her safe. So, she nodded, her breathing evening out and her lips trembling, she nodded.
"I trust you." She affirmed.
"Good," Sam said. "Now move."