I felt, suddenly,
that the center
of this man's
attention was
a very bad
place to be.


She can hear the guns, the hissing of the walkers and the screams of the children.

Her head is ringing, there is dirt in her mouth when she spits out the blood; her eyes are blurry as she looks around, everything muffled and indistinct, save for the adrenaline making her heart thump in her ears. Her fingers dig into the dirt, getting beneath her nails and staining her palms - she has to get back onto her feet, she has to fight.

But she can't.

She stumbles over her own hands, over her own feet, and she can't move her head without her vision blurring nearly to blindness.

She didn't know what hit her in the head, but she would kill whoever did it.

She would tear their throat out with her teeth, she would bash their skull in with her hands.

She would kill the men that took him from her.