Hi there! Welcome to the 2nd chappie of Epiphany.
I'd like to thank EVERYONE who favorites and alerted, not to mention SHENE CRYER, my first reviewer. Thanks and I hope you all enjoy this new chapter.
More light is shed and more WD characters are introduced. I liked writing this one... I'm going to enjoy writing future chapters as well!
Enough of my babbling, please enjoy.
Rated T for language, violence and racial slurs!
Happy Reads!
Chapter 2: End of The Line
Dry.
That's what my mouth felt like. I let out a heavy sigh, snapping my eyes shut when I felt my throat clench. I was thirsty. Mad thirsty. I slowly sat up, opening my eyes again.
The blurriness concealing my eyesight slowly faded and it was clear that I wasn't at the trap anymore. I felt a shiver go up my spine, as I leaned back, falling onto a mountain of limp, white pillows.
My eyes darted to the needle stuck in my arm and to the clear liquids being ejected through the tubes, connecting to the needle. I let out a heavy sigh, heaving myself up and yanking it out of my arm; I didn't need any flashbacks coming to me now.
I needed to figure out just where the hell I was.
The dimly lit light shined on me, as I panned my eyes around, taking in natural surroundings.
A hospital room.
That's where I was.
Swinging my legs over the cold and metal railing of the bed, I jumped out of bed but stumbled forward in a drunken stagger, crashing into the nightstand table next to the cot and wincing in pain at the burning sensation coming from the right side of my stomach and under my breast.
What the hell? I ripped parts of the hospital gown off and scowled in disdain at the heavy smell of ointments and the dingy bandages taped and covering my right breast and right side of my stomach.
Warily raising my index finger, I poke the two, red spots where it stung and burned the most.
"Shit!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice strained from being overly-dehydrated.
I slowly stood up, waiting a couple of seconds before taking my first step.
I was limping, rather than walking normally but made my way to a closed door, on the other side of the room from where the bed faced.
Slowly opening in, my eyes watered at the sight of a mirror and faucet.
A faucet meant water.
And water meant...
I rushed over to the sink, turning the faucet's nob and burying my face under the lukewarm, running water. I opened my mouth, enjoying it even if it was from the tap and not necessarily cold; water is water and when you're as thirsty as me, it sure as hell didn't matter.
After taking an ample amount until my throat was hydrated and I felt content, I wiped away dirt from large bathroom mirror with the back of my hand, gazing at my reflection.
Just what the hell happened to you, Zenora Brown?
That thought rung over and over in my head.
I let out a sigh, combing my fingers through my long, light brown hair. It was a tangled mess; if it wasn't any worse, I had course African American hair, which was definitely harder to manage than all of them white girls silky, smooth locks.
I had nothing to hold the frizzy locks out of my face, so I divided my hair into three sections, creating a big braid in the back of it. I pulled a loose lock behind my ear and gazed at my body.
The hospital gown, drenched in my sweat, clung loosely to my body; I had nothing under it.
Slowly lifting up the hem of it, my eyes roam across the bandages covering my body.
I took a moment to think back at why I was here.
What happened?
It hurt to think.
I shrugged the feeling off before letting the gown fall right back down and cover my exposed body.
After splashing my face with water, I sigh. Limping out of the bathroom, I make my way to the other door that I hoped led out of this room. Maybe then I could get some help and answers.
I reached for the doorknob but shook when it fell right out of the socket, hitting the floor with a loud clink!
I looked down at it for a second, before shrugging my shoulders.
I didn't do it...
I poked a finger through the sole of the socket, slowly and carefully pulling the door open. I limped out, looking around at the destroyed hallway surrounding me in shock. The hall was dimly lit and I could hear screams, shouts and the shuffling of something. I turned to the side, eyeing what looked like the silhouette of a person one door down.
Taking a step, closer, I discovered it in fact was a person. A cop at that!
"H-Hey!" I whispered to the police officer, frantically moving a hospital cot to block the door leading to another hospital room. I watched with furrowed eyebrows as his eyes widened at the sight of me.
He wore a dingy, light brown button-up shirt with short sleeves, tucked halfway into his dark brown slacks. I eyed the belt he wore, which was sported with a holster and pistol, a taser gun clipped to the other side, not to mention different clips that held reloadable bullets for his handgun. As if I was scum of the earth, he rose his head, that aristocrat pointed nose of his held upwards in the air.
I determined that I knew him from somewhere... He looked familiar but I ain't ever encounter no cop that looked like him... it sure was apparent that he knew me some how, though. I watched, leaning against the now closed door and he pulled his gun out his holster aiming it directly at my heaving chest.
The name tag attached to his shirt's pocket read:
Officer Shane Walsh
"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" He yelled at me, anger laced on his southern tone. "You're awake and Rick ain't?!" His dark brown eyes glared daggers into mine and I looked at the spinning, tiled floors, grabbing a large shard of broken glass. The way he glared at me and bit his bottom lip... I felt like he might just shoot me dead.
"I don't know no Rick." I started to say, but I noticed the way that name echoed in my head. I heard it somewhere before... "Y-You best'a get that gun away from me..." I trailed off, trying to sound threatening with my light, soprano voice drawling out the southern Georgia tone in me.
Who the hell I was kidding? I just woke up from the hospital. I was weak; I had been shot twice and my foggy mind had no intention of reminding me how I ended up here in the first place. Half of me wondered why this hospital was so out of shape.
Wires and shit hanging from the wall, broken glass littered the tiled floors, it was so hot I felt like I was burning up and I could feel the sweat trickling down carious parts of my body only dressed in the white hospital gown.
Zenora, girl... you gave no strength to even keep yourself up; hence me using the broken frames that this brown door leading to my room, as a type of support.
The white man, with short and curly dark brown hair gritted his teeth at me. He looked like he was about to take a step closer, but what sounded like... gunshots?! Gunshots of what seemed to be an automatic weapon rang out coming from down the destroyed hall behind us.
"I don't got time for this." He simply said, taking the aim of his pistol off of me. A sigh of relief escaped my lips but I painfully clutched my bandaged body, gritting my teeth as I collapsed to the tiled hospital floors in agony.
I looked up at the officer named Shane. "Well don't just stand there! Aren't you gonna' help me?!"
He let out a dark chuckle. "Help you?!" Shane kicked my reaching hand away from himself with the back of his shoe, causing me to hiss as it felt numb from his heavy boot slapping it away. "Them people will get your black ass. Serves you right from shooting my buddy."
"Sh-Shoot your buddy?!" I called out to him, as he turned his back on me. I clutched the right side of my stinging body. What the hell did he mean by that? I ain't shoot nobody!
He started to slowly walk away, as if he was looking around for any possible dangers.
I glared at the back of this "police officer." Boy I tell you; they were all the damn same! Pretending to be saviors of the world... It made me angry.
He was about a foot away from me and I could hear the gunshots getting closer to me. It turned my anger into fear and I bit my chapped bottom lip, contemplating on what I should have done.
Using unknown strength that I had, I held onto the grim, white walls covered with streaks of red. I stopped for a half second, using one of my fingers to graze over the red, freshly painting my hand.
It was cold but looked like... My eyes darted to the two faint handprints shown on the wall and I immediately grimaced.
"Hey!" I screamed to the officer around me, quickly using my feet to step over broken glass. I was right behind him now and gasped at the dead body leaned against the wooden reception desk of the hospital.
He or she looked so badly tore up. A hole directly at the person's forehead caught my attention.
I was beyond scared, now. "You're not leaving me here." I sternly whispered to the police officer named Shane Walsh. My protection. This asshole was my only hope at getting out of here alive. He had the gun; I had never been to a hospital before. If I got hurt back in the day, I would be healed to my former self by anyone I associated myself with.
Pain meds, Robitussin, bandages and cold water.
That was what my body was used to. Not no fancy hospital I-V.
Times was scarce for me and so was money.
"Get the hell off of me, woman!" Shane shouted, using his arms to shove me from leaning against his side. I flew back, my head bumping the reception desk. I was face to face with that dead person. I don't know why... but as if it was second-hand nature, I screamed at the top of my lungs, closing my eyes.
"If you don't shut up," the man seethed to me, grasping the sleeves of my hospital gown with his calloused hands. He shook me a good bit and clamped a hand over my mouth, cutting off my terrified shrieks.
"Keep your damn mouth shut." He whispered to he, his beer and peppermint smelling breath blowing against my cheek as I turned my head away from him, stubbornly.
I wasn't about to let no damn cop tell me what to do or threaten me. "Don't you push me, cracker." I found myself defiantly murmuring to him, as he leaned his body against mines. I glared up at him with my chocolate brown eyes seething into his own dark ones.
Shane slowly inched closer to me, that same look of disgust plastered on his face when he first saw me awoken and not his friend, Rick. "Shut up if you know what's good for you, nigger." He retorts, gawking at me with them dark eyes.
Shoving his face away from mine, I gasped sharply as he pinched where my bandages were, digging his nails into the healed bullet wounds I had. I lashed my head back and forth at him, wanting to scream out even more than I did before as the pain over took me. Shane Walsh moved his hand from my side and the look on his face made me narrow my eyes into slits; if I narrowed them any further, they may have ripped my eyelids in two. This cocky asshole's face read: That's right. I have all the power.
It made me beyond pissed at this asshole, racist police officer but... more than 75% of me knew he was right and was my only chance at survival.
"Let's clear this floor." A muffled voice said.
The dark haired man pressed a finger to his lips, looking down at me. I slowly nodded, understand that if I didn't keep quiet, we were done for.
The two of us watched as two men, wearing gas masks and U.S army attire strutted past us, not noticing the lean but toned police officer pressing himself against my body.
The smell of cheap beer and baby powder flooded my nose and I held my breath, as he covered me entirely. I peeked out of the crook of his neck, watching as the U.S. army men clutched their big weapons from their sides.
What looked to be a drugged out person, moaning and slowly walking with outstretched arms from afar, came at them and they immediately burst out in fire.
I wasn't fond of loud noises... I started to panic, shaking my head at the loud amount of gunshots ringing in my ears; I found myself hiding my face with a hand, letting the police officer pick me up and carry me to wherever.
.
.
.
"Holy shit..." I whispered to myself at the sight of the world surrounding us. Both of our eyes scanned across the streets of what used to be lil', ol' peaceful Georgia tainted in various spots with red liquid; blood. The grey skies slowly drizzled with light droplets of rain, washing away part of the residue. U.S army trucks crowded the streets and loud bangs and gunshot were heard.
I felt a tear fall down my face and I cried to myself, grasping the officer holding me, closer to my petite body.
I ignored the looks of annoyance engraved in his features, hiding my face in the crook of his neck and I clutched chucks of his light brown button-up, police attire.
I could feel us slowly moving forward; he took cautious steps and his head always turned from the left and the right; his stubbled face would occasionally hit mine.
I opened my eyes that were tightly closed shut for a second, glancing around for anything but damn...
"Sweet Jesus..." I whispered to myself at the sight of a old man running towards us. This old man was dressed in nothing but a tattered and blood covered hospital gown. One of his legs was bleeding madly and his arms, outstretched in front of him had hands formed into claws.
Those milky, blue eyes of his stared into my soul... His mouth slowly opened and black liquid oozed from in between his lips. Those lips twitched as if he was trying to smile hungrily; or did I imagine that?
Imminent moans drowned through this young man's ears and he dropped me on the pavements of the ground, pulling his gun out his holster. He closed an eye, pointing his handgun directly at the running old man. I watched as he cocked his pistol and bullets fired from the barrel.
All of his shots missed and the groaning old man got close enough to tackle himself on top of the Shane, attempting to claw at him with his dirty hands. He nipped his teeth, bucking his head. Was he trying to... bite him?
The pistol flew out of his grasp and he hit the floor with a thud; the old man was perched on top of the struggling white male. Shane brought his knee up, giving a low blow to the crazy, attacking man. There was no painful reaction as he did that. Just more groans.
What the hell was I witnessing?
I dumbfoundedly stared at what seemed to be a drunken or drugged out old man. His limp body was decorated with different types of botches and scratches. He moaned and groaned as if that was the only thing he knew how to do. I watched the police officer kick him off of himself, scrambling to his feet. He frantically looked around for something, cussing under his breath as the man slowly rose up like a vampire, awaking from a coffin.
He looked at me with those strange, blurred eyes. His mouth opened to show yellow teeth, stained with red and I gulped as he slowly was now limping towards me.
My breath hitched and I tucked a loose strand of light brown hair behind my ear, licking my chapped lips in the process.
I slowly backed up, my scrambling legs kicking something in the process a few inches from my body; Shane Walsh's pistol.
As the man stood right in front of me, towering over me, I noticed a protruding bite mark, pulsing at his thigh. The skin surrounding it was different colors of botched green and purple. Blood oozed and trickled down from it.
He clawed a hand at me, hitting me on the cheek and making me flip over on my side; the hospital gown not secured properly eneed up exposing my light skinned ass and back. I winced as I landed directly on my side which was recently shot up and freshly healed.
I could hear his groaning at me. As tears flooded my eyes, an unknown mechanism clicked in my head and I took a long reach at the firearm, turning around and pulling the trigger.
Blood splatter on me as the one bullet fired and the old man's gunshot to the head leaked blood. He flew to the ground, his knees buckling and one last hiss of pain escaping his lips.
I threw the gun, shaking madly and looked down wide-eyed at my trembling hands, now covered in non-noticeable gun powder from firing the weapon.
Zenora Brown had just killed a man.
Sure... it may have been considered self defense but... damn it! I shot him in cold blood!
I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of a horn beeping.
I slowly looked up, tears caking my eyes as Shane ducked his head out of a police-cruiser truck. He grimaced at me but quickly waved his hand for me to come.
.
.
.
"Where is we going?" I questioned as the man named Shane scratched his head full of short, dark curls. His eyes stayed on the empty roads, driving to wherever he was taking us.
Shane rolled his eyes and his jaw tightened. "I ain't with you. You're lucky I chose to save your ass back there." - "It... It wasn't supposed to be you who woke up... It was supposed to be Rick!"
Here we go with this nigga named Rick! Who the hell was he and why was the damn cracker blaming me for him not waking up?! I scowled, slapping his arm stubbornly. "You sure are an asshole, Shane Walsh!"
Me even so much as touching him, caused the man to slam his foot on the breaks, making the truck come to a screeching halt. I was slightly yanked forward but used my hands to stop myself from going any further, by placing them on the black and leather dashboard in front of us.
"Don't touch me and don't fucking call my name. Got that?" He seethed, pushing the gas and continued to drive.
Releasing a heavy sighed filled with anger and annoyance, I yanked the seat belt, pulling it over my body and clicking it in place.
As the asshole maneuvered the car into a turn, I kept my eyes forward, not giving him the time of day with side glances.
...
"Zenora."
"What?" He inquired, eyes glued to the road we were driving down.
"Zenora Brown." I reprimanded, in a hard voice.
"... Well you already know my name, Zenora."
There was a silence ensuing over us as we turned down another short road and he parked the car in front of a small, white house.
"Get out." He shortly said, making his way out the car and walking up the stone steps leading onto the front porch.
I followed him, limping behind him, cautiously glancing around and holding the flaps to my gown tightly.
Regular POV
Zenora watched with lingering eyes as he tapped lightly on the glass, front door of the house they stopped at.
A skinny woman, with long and brunette tresses quickly opened the door, engulfing Shane with a hug. She dropped the aluminum baseball bat on the wooden floors of her home, tears falling from her eyes. "Is he-"
"I'm sorry, Lori..." Zenora watched as Shane interrupted the woman named Lori. "Rick is dead." He quietly retorted, holding his arms out for her to embrace herself in.
He let her sob for a while, before she pulled away, sniffling up the last of her tears.
The woman named Lori glanced over his shoulder and gasped, taking a long stride back. "Wh-What is that... why is she... Shane, what the hell!" Her southern accented voice stammered.
Zenora's thin yet bushy eyebrows knit together in slight confusion.
"Do... do I know... you?" Zenora questioned with a hand on her slightly curvy hip.
Shane whipped his face around and his lips spread into a thin, tight line.
Just great. What the hell is going on up in here? Now some white woman named Lori hates me, too? She thought to herself, a scowl forming the the features of her light-skinned face.
Shane narrowed his eyes at Zenora and then turned back to Lori, his facial features displaying concern. He grasped her by the forearm, pulling her close to him. "Nevermind the nigger, Lori." Zenora glared. "We need to get outta' here. Things were bad back up at the hospital."
He let himself in and looked around in shock at the once peaceful home of his best friend, now in disarray. Furniture flipped over, glass broken, clothes and boxes thrown everywhere.
"Mom!" They could hear a little boy shout from the other side of the house. Lori gave a glare to the light-skinned woman leaned against the frame-columns of her porch and let herself out of Shane's tight grasp.
"Carl!" She called out, running to where his voice came from.
Shane soon followed and got in front of the woman, protectively holding her son with widened, wary eyes. "Stay back..." He trailed off in a whisper to them, reaching for one of the fireplace pokers, perched above it. He slowly grabbed one, tip-toeing over to the backdoor, letting it creek open.
Another seemingly human-being was standing up and faced the house with the same blurred and milky eyes as the old man back at the hospital.
This time... he only had one leg.
It also happened to be Rick and Lori's next door neighbor. Skinny yet fit; the middle aged man's lustrous black hair was matted against him face. Scratches and scrapes decorated all over his body and the three pulsing bite marks danced across Shane's brown eyes.
He cussed under his breath as the once-man, now something deadly, fell with a soft thud! to the grasses of ground, growling as he rolled off of his back. It's hands grasped blades of the green grass, desperately pulling it's self to get closer to Shane. Mr. Finnie's mouth wide open; the groaning coming from him was loud and sounded pleading.
Shane's thin, pink lips curved downward into a small frown and he walked over, not taking a second thought before driving the sharp end of the fire-poker into his head.
He pulled it out, not even giving a damn at the decomposed, foul-smelling flesh stuck to it, driving it back into the head of the used-to-be-human.
After a third time, when he decided it was dead enough to him, he tossed the stick to some random part of the backyard, going back into the house, just to see Lori cradling a crying Carl.
He tussled the boy's black hair, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Did you get your things packed like I tol' you to do before I left?" He questioned to the brunette woman.
Her response was a short nod and he faintly smiled. "Lori, I'm taking you and Carl out of here, okay?"
He watched quietly as she stood up, nodding and walked closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, to pull him into a tight hug. "Thank you, Shane." Lori turned to her son. "We have to go Carl, okay?"
The boy rubbed his eyes but nodded, running to one of the rooms, and coming out with a big knapsack full of clothes and other necessities. He tossed it to Shane, who caught it with one hand.
After grabbing their need materials and bags loaded up with all they could carry, they headed for the front door, ready to leave behind the chaos ensuing upon their little town in Georgia.
Lori abruptly halted at the door, glaring daggers at the African American girl, perched on the porch's railing. She let out a hmph! walking over to the police cruiser truck, tugging the wary and frowning Carl along with her.
"Shane... where we going, now?" She stood up, a glum expression plastered onto her face.
He stepped down the steps, turning to face her while shifting the big backpack on his shoulder to the other.
He gave a short nod to Lori, who was currently helping Carl climb into the backseat of the truck.
"Zenora or whatever your name is..." He started to say, ignoring the way her full lips settled into a frown and the way her eyes narrowed into slits. "It's the end of the line for you. Like I said before, there ain't no me and you. There ain't no us. And you were really lucky I saved your ass back at the hospital."
He made his way towards the truck, opening the front door and climbing in.
The light skinned girl gasped sharply as the engine cranked up, and she rushed down the three stone steps ignoring the sharp pains hitting her right side."You can't just leave me here!" She shouted, tripping over her own two legs as the truck backed up.
"Shane!" She yelled, through gritted teeth as she struggled to stand.
"Shane!" She yelled again, letting tears flood her eyes as he drove off, leaving her alone and stranded.
Damn it, all. She thought to herself, grasping chucks of her light brown, frizzy hair.
A/N:
Ouch. Shane. Ouch.
He was so mean bruh... like in the show I hated him since episode one and when Rick made it to the camp and Shane was looking like 'wtf'
Hit em' with the bruh button! Haha, omg. His face was priceless and same for Lori.
Did you all like this chapter? I think I did decent with descriptions and all of that... I love Zenora already. I wish she was actually apart of the show; there needs to be another black female character. Not like Michonne who is perf but too serious, but slick-mouthed, southern and ghetto.
That's my dream, y'all!
Okay, let me stop. Please review and give me constructive criticism if you can. Let me know what you think!
Liked it? Loved it? Hated it? Thought it was stupid? Hate Shane? Want Rick? Went too slow? Let me know!
Stay toomed for the next chapter, everyone.
Kumi-Chan/Tobi-Is-Fluffy-Chan