Chapter Three: Wanderer
Shane has been walking with this cloaked stranger three days since his rescue, and so far he knows nothing about his savior other than the general. His savior is an African-American woman who is around his age, possibly younger. Her weapon of choice is a sword and it's clear she knows how to use it efficiently and quickly; she dispatched of seven walkers in a matter of seconds without so much as breaking a sweat. She walks with armless, toothless, emaciated walkers that are chained and submissive, a macabre use as luggage mules and pets. Shane found it strange until he discovered they make a great cover due to their smell and appearance; walkers can't tell man from biter once they blend together. She's useful in many ways, but there are a few things that set Shane on edge about her.
One, she's mute; she hasn't said a word to Shane aside from beckoning him to come with her. That becomes a problem because that makes her unpredictable; Shane can't tell if she's a threat or an easy kill. Shane can't get any decent analysis on this woman, can't get into her head because she's so often in it. Unpredictability agitates Shane; he needs to be in control and be in the know as to what's going to happen.
Two, she never even gave him her name. It tells him that there's no trust in this relationship. She's guarded, unwilling to accept new people who she deems are a threat. Even though Shane gave him his name, she still won't give him hers. She's smart, he'll give her that; trust is a thing that's earned nowadays, not granted. That tidbit is just another thing he'll have to work with. Before things went to shit, he could have just ran her fingerprints and looked her up via file, but those days of ease are gone. Guess he'll have to crack at it the old fashioned way.
Three, she never sleeps. Every night, she sits upright, sword clutched in her hand, eyes flickering back and forth, deep and slow breaths making her lithe frame expand and deflate with very little sound. Her eyes may droop, but the slightest movement makes her eyes open once more, alert and focused. The average human can't survive that long without going mad from exhaustion and an overworked body; the fact she's still standing and sane is baffling to the ex-cop. He offers to take watch and let her sleep, only to get the sword to the neck as a warning to back off and mind his business.
He does, but he watches her as she sits, never taking his eyes off her until sleep claims him. He wakes up alive and well, and knows she won't kill him in his sleep. She's trustworthy.
Four is her eyes. Her eyes are two pools of the blackest hue of brown, calm on the surface but hiding a dangerous storm underneath. They burn through Shane and he feels she knows every sin, every secret, every crime he's committed before he met her and it makes him feel guilty. Her eyes make him feel persecuted every time she stares at him, and yet he can't look away. They draw him in, captivating him until he stares at her like a fool and he catches himself only to start again. They take secrets out of his soul and in return give him a glimpse of hers; he knows there's pain, exhaustion, hopelessness, emptiness deep within her he can't help but identify with. In time she will tell him everything, and in time he will do the same.
If they can make it out alive, that is.
She stops walking, her arm extended as a warning. They have reached a gas station that's surrounded by walkers. They're clawing and biting their way in; perhaps there are a few travelers who've made noise and attracted them.
"We should head back. We don't want those geeks coming over here."
She looks at him, her mouth twisted like she'd eaten rotten fruit.
Without a warning, she saunters over to the walkers with her sword drawn.
Shane hears the loud swishing of metal to flesh and bodies are dropping. He, checking his boundaries, follows suit, his gun drawn.
It's useless; the woman managed to destroy most of them with her sword and various objects lying about. She's good, real good. The blood and guts splattering her frame deters any possible biters from feasting; they instead look to Shane and stumble towards them, only to be gunned down by his pistol.
Seeing that the coast is clear, she scans the perimeter for any more threats while Shane keeps an ear out for any signs of life within the gas station. No groaning or rasping; must be a good sign. He kicks the back door and enters, gun drawn and eyes straining for light in this dimly lit room.
He hears whimpers.
"H…help me. Some one…please…help me."
He follows the source and is shocked at what he sees.
A woman lies on the ground, bleeding out into the filthy limestone. The entry wound around her stomach is turning black and contains obvious indentations of teeth. She was bit, and is slowly turning.
A child sits in the corner, cowering and crying over what he's witnessing. The gun in his hand shows that he knew a bite equals a death sentence.
"Kill me," the woman moans out, "kill me, before I turn and hurt Jacob."
Shane draws his gun, ready to shoot.
"Please don't kill Mama. Please,"
"Sorry, kid," he shoots her right between the eyes, "I'm doing what needs to be done. She would've turned and she would've eaten you. Then both of you would have to be put out to open pastures."
The hooded woman enters the scene, sword drawn. She assesses the environment and demands Shane give answers with her eyes.
"Woman got bit. Probably what attracted the walkers. Put her down." He gruffly answers. "We could drag her body out for the geeks to eat. Make a good distraction while we raid the place for food and transportation. Hey kid,"
The little boy looks up. Shane is leaning on the wall, his gun aimed at the child.
"Are you to be trusted?"
The boy looked ready to piss himself. He's shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"A-A…are you going to kill me too?"
"That's what we're figuring out," Shane answers, "it won't make sense to leave you here by your lonesome if you're weak. And it certainly won't help if you come with us and you won't pull your weight. If anything, shooting you would be the best thing out of this situation."
He cocks the gun and his finger is itching to squeeze the trigger. The boy cries even harder, begging Shane to spare him, to leave him be. Shane hears none of it; dead weight is lethal nowadays. This child is weak and pathetic; the walkers would tear him to shreds the minute he sets foot outside. Killing him quickly would be the most merciful thing he could ever do.
"Time to meet your Mama, kid." He aims the gun, is about to pull the trigger until he's pinned to the floor by a boot with a blade pressed against his chin. His savior is looking down at him, her eyes frightening him.
"That's enough." She spits out. She kicks the gun away and walks over to the boy. She says something, and the boy is nodding his head. Within seconds, the child is on her back and she sheaths her sword.
"Come on, we need to get moving."
Shane watches this spectacle and thinks, loud as day,
Children are her soft spot.