Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Walking Dead is by Robert Kirkmen. I repeat, I own nothing.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.
He has noticed a hyperawareness in himself. A jumpiness really, he supposes.
But, he feels
them moments before he hears them.
Hears them before he sees them too, of course, but that hardly seems like a statement (even in his head) with the way they scream.
But he does feel them, his whole body tensing and he looks up at ceiling as if something was going to happen. Bad weather or something, he supposes although this really isn’t the season for twisters and he really doesn’t want to think about what having a tornado on top of all of this would mean anyway.
Then the noise started.
First one war-cry followed by a multitude. Then there was simply a roar of noise – many feet charging, fighting, the occasional gunshots.
For a prolonged moment he simply stared at his carefully covered window across the room. Afraid to even look.
Finally the curiosity, the simple fact that this was different
from his monotonous day-to-day life of surviving alone in this fucking house made him walk over and rip the sheets from the nails, so that he could see out.
It was all women that he could see. Hundreds of them. They would branch off as they ran by taking out Walkers all down his street. One girl split off from the group wielding only a knife and pounced, much farther than any human should be able to, upon the zombie on his porch, only a few feet away from where he was looking dazedly out the window.
As soon as she landed upon its back (and he heard something snap within the rotting creature breaking her fall), her dark, direct gaze shot up to meet his. Somehow having sensed instantly that he was there.
And a feeling went through him, totally animal – rabbit-like: eyes wide, stock still. Hoping, just hoping, if it doesn’t twitch, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe
that the wolf somehow won’t be able to see it.
She kept eye contact as she very deliberately pulled her weapon out of the things shoulder, and then proceeded to saw off the head of the moaning zombie she just downed with only a stiletto knife - something in her gaze sharp and pleased. The head dropped away from the rest of the body and she stood slowly.
“Dana!” someone yelled from up the street and her head whipped around, her expression instantly becoming joyful as she loped after the others.
He has been instantly forgotten.
Something for which he was grateful. Now he can breathe again.
The zombies are horrible (that seems to be able to go without saying) but he had grown to understand them as much as he felt he could. He had no
idea what those were - those things that looked like little girls but ran through like locust, leaving death in their wake.
And frankly, that