These Things: The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) The Walking Dead, but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

Rating: This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.


"I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge, These Things

These Things

~Chapter Two~

Time dragged by agonizingly slowly as I laid there on that hot roof, sweating profusely and struggling to remain perfectly still. The world rumbled with horrible sounds. Teeth gnashing, feet dragging, the constant slow shuffle of the stiffs roaming and searching only for their next meal, their next victim.

Beside me, Libby shifted her weight and I tensed when I realized that she was sitting up slightly to peer over the side of the truck. When she laid back down and turned her head to face me, she smiled and mouthed Almost. Almost. The horde had almost gone completely through.

With the sun blazing down, I felt almost delirious by the time the sounds of the shuffling horde finally faded from existence. Wearily, I sat up and peered around, grateful to be able to use my t-shirt to clear away some of the sweat on my forehead. Libby followed my lead, swinging around so that she could slide down the front of the box truck.

Then the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and time slowed to a crawl. I watched a small girl slide out from underneath a vehicle two car lengths away and spied the stiff that shifted directions to shuffle towards her. Before I could call out in alarm, Libby had vaulted off of the front of the moving truck and raced over, knife drawn and ready to protect the small girl.

I jumped down off of the box truck, going loose so that I tumbled when I hit the grassy shoulder. My knees ached from the impact, but I was on my feet and racing towards Libby as she drove the blade of her knife into the eye socket of the stiff, using the heel of her boot to drive him back away from the girl.

"Libs!" I croaked, fingers blindly tugging my hatchet free when another stiff appeared from around the front of the vehicle next to her. Libby spun on her heel slowly, knife-arm swinging, and I saw her mouth fall open in terror when the decrepit stiff latched its teeth into the tender flesh of her forearm and tore away a large hunk of meat. I saw the arterial spray, saw a man roll out from under another vehicle and grab the small girl's arm and drag her away. Then my vision became clouded with red.

I suppressed the howl of rage as I ran forward and kicked the stiff's right knee, sending it to the ground instantly. Before it could gnash its teeth one more time, I brought the hatchet down and cracked open its cranium and rendered it inert instantly.

"Libs." The red didn't fade as she slumped back against an old SUV, her skin pale and her big hazel eyes wide in terror. With a clinical aloofness that wouldn't last long, I surveyed the injury and knew that it would be difficult to stop the bleeding. Once – or if – I was able to manage that, she'd still die from the bite, the infection. Then she would come back. "Oh, God."

People swarmed around us, two men storming forward and helping me to guide Libs to an open area of asphalt. Once she was on her back, I shrugged off my pack, hatchet on the ground next to me, and began to tear open the slim medical kit I'd found.

"It's bad, innit?"

"Nope." Red faded from my vision and I found myself fighting back tears as she clasped my knee with her other hand. "I've got an idea, but you're not gonna like it."

I used alcohol wipes and ignored the people around me for a moment as I cleaned the blade of the hatchet as thoroughly as possible.

"We gotta stop the bleeding," Dale, the man with the floppy hat exclaimed. "But, with a bite like that…"

I looked up briefly, took in the sight of the ragtag group, and shifted so that I had one booted foot planted on Libby's bad shoulder. She gasped and tried to wriggle away, but I put all my weight against her and she stilled.

"Help me hold her down!" I ordered gruffly, surprised when a blonde-haired woman knelt down on the other side of Libby and followed my lead. Her eyes met mine briefly before I focused on Libby's sweaty profile. "There's a chance I can stop the spread, but I'm gonna have to take it off."

"No," she whispered, delirious from blood loss. "It ain't worth it, Iva. Just leave me be."

"I ain't leaving you here, dammit." I eyed the blade of the hatchet and found myself praying that it would be sharp enough. It would take several swings to get through her thin arm, and I wasn't sure that I had the strength necessary to complete the task. "I can't lose you. You're all I got left."

Her lips trembled and I found myself looking up in surprise at a dark-haired man with a three or four day beard crouched on the ground beside me. He held out his hand and I hesitated for a moment before I handed him the hatchet and used a sharpie I'd found in my pack to dry a shaky line across her arm, just below her elbow.

"What if it don't work?"

"It will."

She licked her lips and giggled. "If it don't, I want you to know something."

"Save it." I eyed the man and the hatchet he held with familiarity and slowly nodded my head. "As fast as you can."

"Iva, I-"

It took three hard swings, but she passed out after the first one. The blood splattered everywhere, flecks on my face and my bare arms and my clothes, but I ignored the haunting sensation and watched my best friend's eyes flicker before they rolled into the back of her head at the end of an agonizing wail.

I worked with precise movements, ignoring the ache in my chest as I tightened a tourniquet around her upper arm to cut off the blood flow. Education, experience, and gut instinct guided me, and I pulled the excess skin down over the wound with the intention of suturing it.

"She's not breathing," the blonde across from me whispered hoarsely. I focused on my bloodstained hands and continued my job, mentally calculating how many sutures it would take. Cauterization would be better, but I didn't have the time nor the tools. A tanned hand grasped my wrist and I blinked in confusion at the woman across from me. "She isn't breathing."

"No." Dumbfounded, I pressed a bloodied hand to Libby's chest to find that it didn't rise and fall. Desperate, I sought a pulse and found one, but in the next instant it was gone. "I can do CPR. She's lost a lot of blood."

"Too much blood," the man that had used the hatched explained softly. "I'm real sorry, but she's gone."

Libby's face, serene and normal save for a few flecks of blood, stared back at me as I collapsed onto my knees next to her. I willed those hazel eyes to stare back at me and tell me that it had all been some sort of horrible dream, but she didn't stir.

Rage bubbled inside of me and I balled my hands into fists, eyes blurring with unshed tears as I stared down at my best friend's body. The world around me slowed to a stop and I remembered watching her walk down the aisle – twice – and the first time she'd knocked a boy down in grade school when he'd called me a mean name. It was Libby that had been my protector when we were younger, Libby who had the confidence to stand up and face the world at large.

"She's gone," I whispered, grieved and defeated. "I'm so sorry, Libs. I couldn't save you." If we'd had modern tools available at any hospital or clinic, I knew I could have saved her life. The amputation would have been risky, but she could have had a blood transfusion, pain meds. She wouldn't have suffered such agonizing pain at the very end of it all. "Shit. Shit. Shit!"

The blonde pulled me to my feet and I followed her lead limply, baffled when a gray-haired woman tugged along the little girl that Libby had protected from one of the stiffs. I found myself deciding that the woman was probably one of those unlucky ones who'd gone gray early in life, and stared at her in confusion when tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, shaking her head. "Your friend – she saved my girl. She saved Sophia."

Dark hair, curious eyes, the little girl stared up at me with her head tilted. Too young, I thought. She's too young for this world. There was no way the little girl understood what the world had come to since it had ended, but the genuine look of terror on her face made my heart ache.

"Thank you," she whispered softly, eyes searching my face.

I knew deep down that Libby if Libby could have gone back in time to change what had happened, she wouldn't. No, every child was precious, innocent. She would have died over and over again to give Sophia a chance at life. Shoulders slumped, I spun around and stared down at my dead friend.

The man that had wielded the hatchet met my gaze and held up a knife. There was a silent conversation between us before I slowly nodded my head and spun back around, allowing the blonde to guide me. I heard the sickening sound of his knife slicing through skin and bone and – and I just couldn't stand it.

Limp, I collapsed on the ground near the RV, drew my knees up and wrapped my bloodied arms around my legs. Then I laid my head down on my knees and refused to cry.