CHAPTER SIX ,
in exchange for faith

⠀A small curve of the hill didn't seem daunting at first, but just when the ground seemed to be reaching its peak, Isiah's leg practically screamed. But, even with that, his lips stayed sealed. He tasted blood spurting from the curve of his mouth. His tongue poked out to gather it, and he brought up his left arm to wipe the contaminated saliva away. And despite the dark shade of his clothes, they turned darker, and a deeper colour under the blood.

⠀Unlike earlier, he wasn't at the rear of the group. Rather, he found himself mixed into the assembly. In the middle, constantly wavering his path, so the other's wouldn't knock shoulders with him. And he had spent the last half hour gawking into the concrete below his feet. Somehow, trying to calculate how much time he loses with every limp. Was it minuscule and nothing to trifle over? Was it devastating?

⠀His head jolted upwards when the sounds of everyone decreased, so he stopped his pace, leaning to the left. Isiah let out a shaky breath, pressing the palm of his hand purposefully to his ribs.

⠀The young man stared at the back of Rick, spotting the sleeping Judith pressing her plump cheek to the side of the backpack. Something about... that innocence made Isiah's palm press just a little lighter to his side.

⠀Even if he couldn't see their faces, he knew that Rick and Carl were wary, but also incredibly dire. They needed supplies. The rivers had dried, and each corner of their current landscape held nothing but the remnants of a time long passed. Isiah hadn't tasted much but blood these past few days. He had cuts on the insides of his cheeks from all the guilty gnawing.

⠀Isiah blinked rapidly, feeling the sun hit his skin like a slap to the face. Sweat dripped from his temple, drenching his facial hair and making it tickle. So he quirked his jaw, clenching it tightly.

⠀"Dad, look," Carl directed to his father, and with that, Isiah's curious and observant nature made him steadily tread forward just a little more so he could see what they were looking at.

⠀Cars all pointing in different directions to each other, like a crappy game of Tetris, they zigzagged like a welcoming gate. Or like an alleyway filled with spiked walls.

⠀Something about not knowing exactly what was in those cars made Isiah feel nauseous. He hated fraudulent faith, but he made a small prayer to God, asking for help. He asked for anything and hopefully, he would receive. Not that he had been given anything before. His constant praying was unshakeable.

⠀"I'm gonna head into the woods," Daryl was the next to speak, and Isiah looked across the Grimes family to him. "Circle back." He knew that he had the opportunity to be alone and to come back safely, and Isiah didn't condemn him for that. If the Greene boy was physically stronger, and if the rest of the group trusted him enough, he would have taken a long walk by now.

⠀But he couldn't have everything he prayed for.

⠀Carol walked closer to Daryl. "May I come with?"

⠀"No," he immediately answered. "Just me."

⠀A sliver of worry worked its way up Isiah's spine. He couldn't help it.

⠀The group started walking forwards again, and even with his impeded step, Isiah stayed towards the head of the crowd where he had placed himself. And he led towards the first car he came into contact with, inclining his body onto the hood at a small angle. His body was starved to find something of use.

⠀Achingly, and slowly turning his head over his shoulder, he watched the flock come closer to him, all finding purchase in their own cars to explore.

⠀He evenly spread his palms over the scorching hood of the car, faintly seeing his reflection amongst the dust.

⠀Manoeuvring himself to the driver side, he yanked open the handle and rather without grace sat onto the seat.

⠀The first thing he saw was trash strewn over the dashboard. The cup holders had nothing but crushed styrofoam takeout cups. Black coated the insides, reaching up to the lip. Isiah reached far over them to the glove compartment, stretching his shoulders to try and undo some noughts in his muscles. When it was open, the sight of a clear plastic bottle made his heart beat rapidly, scrambling to grab it only to shoot it onto the floor of the car. He leaned over further, propping one knee under himself. It spiralled away from him, fighting the touch of him. It started making its way underneath the chair, but just as it seemed to be out of his range, his fingers clamped over the translucent item.

⠀Breathing quickly, he placed his back onto the seat once more. His lungs chilled from the stress, as Isiah held the bottle up to the light. Other than the sticky residue left from the past label it must have had, a sliver of water swilled at the bottom of the bottle. It swayed as it taunted him.

⠀So a cracking, and splitting sound filled the car as Isiah's hand steadily gripped the bottle tighter, and tighter. And as that happened, his teeth tensed. It was either the lack of words for weeks or the lack of clarifying his prayers got. And when he realised that in these moments his anger wasn't at himself, but at the faith, he carried with him, his teeth unclenched and his hand eased around the bottle... just as it was on the brink of destruction.

⠀He unscrewed the lid, tipping what water was there onto his tongue. The rough texture of his mouth was lathered, and he felt some type of relief.

⠀He moved his hand to feel the pocket on the back of the seat, ever so often glancing over his shoulder to see only useless things. He found plastic carrier bags, paper, and the type of dirt he'd rather not try and explore.

⠀The small noise of keys being jangled caught his attention, and he circled himself to it. They shone under what little daytime filtered into the car, and his hands moved towards them on instinct. He clutched them tightly, turning, but not even a splutter echoed. This car was dead.

⠀Isiah huffed in defeat, pulling them out and turning them over with his filthy hands. With the car key was another, one for a lockbox or old door, accompanying a flat keyring that had become discernable over time. Only small scratches of words were left, which only let Isiah wonder if it was some sort of holiday token. Some happy time, preserved in that pendant, and it was left on the side of the road.

⠀Ultimately, after figuring there was nothing more to find in the main part of the car, Isiah found his hand firmly placed against the side of the vehicle, leaning onto it as he made his way to the trunk. But this time, he was ready to find nothing.

⠀Popping it open with the help of the car keys, the young man was met with the stench of rotting food. A small Tupperware box was tucked into the corner of the space, filled with thick, cloudy, inedible juices coming from the fruit that had been poisoned by old age. He flitted his hand out towards it, pushing it quickly like an annoying fly. He wrinkled his nose away in revulsion and frustration.

⠀That was to his right, but on the left, just where the felt of the interior started to give way was a faded, blue and yellow umbrella.

⠀Isiah tilted his head.

⠀Pulling it out, he didn't feel like testing the way it covered him from what was above, but instead, he leaned all his weight on it. The weight that would normally be supported by his injured leg was being held up by old plastic and metal, and it sustained itself.

⠀The young Greene man didn't ask for an umbrella, but at the same time, he wasn't sure what he had prayed and asked for. This small favour seemed like a tiny piece of tranquillity he was not expecting.

━━━━━━━━━━

⠀The crunching of trees made the hairs on the back of Isiah's neck stand on end. On instinct, his hands curled into fists and rose to shadow his neck. But with the site of a clearly troubled Daryl emerging from the trees, he left them to fall to his lap once more.

⠀"So all we found was booze?"

⠀Isiah had been turning the umbrella over in his hand for what seemed like long minutes at a time. There was nothing intriguing about it. There were no secrets hidden beneath the ruffles, it was just the way you find these items. Yet, after becoming sick of ripping the grass beside his legs, he decided to make his hands rip at something else.

⠀Rosita was the next to fill his ear with noise that wasn't nature. "Yeah." Every time someone from the group spoke, even though Isiah has situated himself far from the congregation, the words were like thunder due to his observant nature. Everything around him was something for him to look at ― something for him to intake like he needed it.

⠀"It's not gonna help," Tara resumed, and the young faraway man sharply looked over his shoulder to see Abraham bringing an amber filled flask to his lips.

⠀"He knows that," Rosita replied, bringing her nails to her lips in frustration. Naturally, Isiah mirrored her actions, turning to his own space and biting away at what little nails he had. From the tribulations his body had been through these past weeks, gripping things harshly was mostly his way to move around, that resulted in his hands callousing, and bruising.

⠀"It's gonna make it worse."

⠀"Yes, it is."

⠀Eugene then decided to give his word in. "He's a grown man," he had his arms crossed over each other, looking to the dirt circling his boots. "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."

⠀The Greene boy turned on his spot ever so slightly, furrowing his brows at the sight of everyone lined up like death by firing squad. Isiah almost expected malicious humans to crawl from behind them and choke the life from their lungs. Or to grip them and bring them back into the darkness of the trees.

⠀Isiah's words bounced in his head. He opened his mouth agape, ready to say something that would actually be heard from the outside. "They can." He whispered to himself, to his mind, to his body.

⠀"They can," Rosita replied honestly.

⠀As if the world had heard his thoughts, just as it seemed the woman who just spoke had as well, distant growls and rustling filled everyone's ears. The group's heads whipped towards the woods on the other side of the road.

⠀A treacherous panic accompanied the sight of a collection of dogs, their fur coats riddled with blood and dirt. Lips curled back over their glistening teeth, they stalked close to the ground as they approached the dismembered family. Something about the way they came closer didn't make Isiah a least bit scared. Whereas everyone else started to rise from their seats, holding their knives up ready to defend themselves.

⠀The German shepherd of the pack barked aggressively, which only ensued the rest to create their own hungry roar as they joined. The loud noise made Isiah flinch, but he kept his eyes open, waiting for either a slaughter or a disappointing battle that ended with the dogs simply fleeing ― it may even be the other way around if it were possible to outrun them.

⠀And with that theory, Isiah thought, "death may be on the cards, it may not."

⠀Then a sharp, hollow sound knocked them to the ground. Isiah shifted quickly, to watch Sasha aim with unfaltering precision and take each dog down with one bullet each. Small whimpers sounded, but it wasn't met with anything but thanks.

⠀After all were fallen, no longer moving and no longer barking, Rick Grimes rose from the ground and started to naturally snap twigs, after retrieving them from the trees behind the group, ready to build a fire. Then Isiah knew, this was their food. This was probably what God had sent him. He had given him something to ease the pain, and something eases his hunger ― to ease all their hunger.

⠀Isiah didn't watch as their knives dug themselves into the flesh and bones of the dogs. He only just looked up when his sister and Glenn brought over their share. Maggie handed over a few pieces of meat, and a forked twig to help him cook it for himself. With a fire in his eyes, and lips eagerly craving the warm substance, he wavered it over the heat, patiently waiting for it to glisten with fat.

⠀Isiah found himself wondering if this really was the work of God. Whether his prayers had been answered, and he was finally going to get something in return after his entire lifetime.

⠀He had prayed for peace and gotten this world. He had prayed to be loved and been given wrong feelings. He had prayed for his family and Beth died. His father died. Everyone had died... except for him. Maybe he was finally on his path.

⠀Maybe Beth dying was what was meant to happen.

⠀Then that would mean Isiah's God had no regard for what he cared about.

⠀Gabriel, ever quiet, his eyes downset with disappointment in himself, pulled roughly at the white clerical collar tucked into his black shirt. The thing floated in the air for a moment, before it lit up in flames like a fallen feather.

⠀Both Maggie and Isiah looked up to him, sensing no regret in the father's actions.

⠀And Isiah thought...

⠀If the father had no faith to follow his own God anymore, and Isiah's gave him things he never wanted, then maybe the type of God he needed didn't exist at all.

━━━━━━━━━━

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ note.
sylar, back at it again with dragging things out. i missed my mute baby and i think yall did too.

also i wish i had more big beard dylan gifs bc realistically isiah has the beard dylan had in the beginning of american assassin cry

words : 2353
2017 / 25 / 10
edited ✓