[ xii. abode for the evening ]

june 25th, 2012

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ASTRID LANCASTER LAY ON the bed in petrified silence.

From below, shouts, laughter, and the low murmur of men's voices echoed. A dull throb in Astrid's ears obscured their words, and she cast another furtive glance toward Rick, whose wide eyes mirrored her fear. Then, like an abrupt thunderclap shattering the ominous state of the bedroom, heavy footsteps on the creaking stairs electrified the air. Astrid's heart surged with adrenaline, and in an instant, she catapulted into action.

With a grace borne of necessity, she propelled herself upright, her body protesting each movement as she winced from the agonizing discomfort biting into her leg and hip. Rick had already sprung from the bed, silently crossing the room to the door. His keen eyes swept over their precarious surroundings before he turned to her, his words scarcely more than a whisper, "Under the bed."

Astrid nodded, and her teeth clenched against the cries her body yearned to release as she lowered herself cautiously onto the hardwood floor. Inch by inch, she dragged her body underneath the bed. Pain clawed at her, stealing her breath, and a moment later, Rick appeared beside her, squeezing through the narrow gap.

The indistinct voices and ceaseless movement throughout the house continued unabated, a disorienting danger that pressed in from all sides. Astrid looked toward Rick, who clutched his book tightly in the confined space. The sudden confusion and shock etched on his face spoke volumes; something vital of his had been left behind on the bed, and leaving it there was a risk they could not afford to take.

Rick began extricating himself from beneath the bed when Astrid's gasp suddenly hitched, her gaze fixed on the door. Footsteps materialized just beyond the threshold. Panic seized her as she gripped the back of Rick's shirt, and hurriedly pulled him back into the concealed shelter beneath the bed. Rick glanced back, following the line of her frantic stare.

Together, they watched in breathless silence as an intruder, their identity obscured by the limited view granted by their hideaway, peered into a room across the hall. The trespasser lingered for a long moment, his intentions unknown, before retreating, disappearing from view as he descended back down the creaking staircase.

Astrid exhaled a pent-up breath and released her grip on Rick, granting him the freedom to crawl back out, gather his belongings, and return to her side. It was only a moment later when another unexpected figure appeared in the bedroom doorway.

Their view, once again, was blocked by the cramped quarters beneath the bed. All Astrid could discern from the intruder were his legs and the assault rifle casually dangling from his grip. Frozen in place, she dared not breathe. The man's boots hovered perilously close to her face. Astrid's gut twisted into a nauseating knot when she realized that the dark stains marring the leather were not mud, but blood.

With agonizing slowness, the unknown man withdrew from her proximity. He appeared to survey the room. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, he collapsed onto the king-sized bed, the frame protesting with a chorus of squeaks and groans that drowned out Astrid and Rick's own sudden gasps of astonishment as the bed sunk beneath his substantial weight, nearly scraping their backs.

In the eerie stillness that followed, Astrid's senses sharpened, and the faint, rhythmic ticking of Rick's watch reverberated through the confined space. She stared down at the golden timepiece, her throat tightening as beads of sweat traced a path down her face. Her hip throbbed, and the renewed pain from her wound became almost merciless.

Struggling to suppress her ragged breathing, Astrid clung to a fragile semblance of composure. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her body coiled like a taut wire.

"This will be our abode for the evening," A voice from downstairs announced.

A chill coursed through Astrid's veins. The promise that these men had no intention of leaving anytime soon was a cold dagger through her ribs. It was only ten in the morning, and Astrid knew, even before Rick had a chance to look at her, that their only option was to escape. They had to get out of there, no matter the cost.

Astrid could not gauge how much time had passed before the sound of snores pierced the quiet. She relaxed her taut muscles just slightly, and her eyes locked back onto Rick's. Was it fear that danced in his irises, or merely a reflection of her own overwhelming dread?

Rick communicated his intentions with a subtle nod. Before she could voice a murmur of protest, Astrid could do no more than watch his stealthy retreat from their concealed sanctuary. However, the escape was abruptly stopped by the thud of more approaching footsteps, heralding the arrival of another intruder. Rick, nimble as a shadow, swiftly slithered back beneath the bed beside Astrid, remaining hidden from the newcomer's probing gaze.

The new arrival approached the edge of the bed with an impudent click of his tongue. "Yo," He rasped. His calling jolted the man on the bed from his slumber, sending another unexpected surge of weight onto Astrid's prone form. "Comfy?"

"You're waking me up to see if I'm comfortable?" The groggy voice from the bed retorted.

The man at the end of the bed shifted his weight from one foot to another. "I want to lie down," He grumbled.

"There's two other bedrooms up here to choose from."

"Them's kids' beds," The intruder grumbled, circling around the foot of the bed and crossing over to Rick's side. "I want this one," He declared.

"It's claimed," The man on the bed growled.

"I didn't hear it," The other huffed. "You're going to have to lay claim somewhere else."

As the weight of the bed lifted from Astrid's back, she realized it was due to the man on the bed rising to his feet, poised for a deadly standoff. The room exploded with the clamor of a brutal scuffle. Curses and grunts, punctuated by the harsh thuds of fists meeting flesh, filled the bedroom. Two pairs of legs moved across the hardwood floor, each step a desperate push for dominance, marked by bitter kicks and fierce shoving.

Suddenly, one of the combatants crashed to the ground mere inches in front of Astrid and Rick. His opponent fell atop him, his grip tightening around the fallen man's thick throat. Astrid's startled gasp escaped unbidden once she remembered that the dying man could see them.

Eyes widened with terror, Astrid remained frozen as the life was choked from him. Eventually, the stricken man's eyelids fluttered closed, and he slumped to the floor. His assailant, victorious but unrepentant, rose to his feet, and Astrid could hear the clapping of his hands as he brushed imaginary filth from them.

A moment later, the weight of the bed came crashing back down upon Rick and herself. The man above let out a malevolent laugh. "My bed now."

Time blurred once more into a fog of uncertainty, its passage soon marked only by the rhythmic snoring of the new man above. Astrid dared not divert her gaze from the man at her feet. She could still hear his unconscious breaths—so he had not been murdered by his so-called "friend." Nonetheless, the relief that he would not rise as a walker offered little solace, for the man could awaken at any moment, shattering what was left of their hideaway space.

A sharp, tentative tap on her arm drew Astrid's attention back to Rick, his icy eyes filled with an urgency that demanded her cooperation. His silent gesture directed her towards the only escape route left, a narrow opening beside the sleeping man's dangling leg. Without uttering a word, she nodded in understanding, her focus shifting to the gap beneath the bed. With bated breath, she extended her arms. Maneuvering around the dangling leg, she inched her way out, her movements a delicate ballet of stealth and precision.

Finally emerging from beneath the bed, Astrid assumed a crouched position, her focus darting frantically between Rick, who struggled to follow her lead, the unconscious man at their feet, and the slumbering figure above. Rick's labored gasps filled the tense silence as he fought to free himself. Holding out a hand, Astrid reached for him and guided him to his feet.

They had scarcely been standing there for more than ten seconds when more voices from below shattered the fragile calm. "Tony, Len, get your asses down here!" Someone bellowed.

Rick grabbed Astrid's hand, and together they slipped out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Her eyes flitted towards the staircase where a man ascended slowly. Before she could react, strong arms enveloped her waist, and Rick whisked her into another room. Surveying her bright surroundings, she noted that they were in a child's bedroom, yet words escaped her lips too late as Rick guided her into a curved alcove space across the room, just large enough to conceal them from prying eyes.

Rick pressed Astrid back against the wall, and hovered over her, chest grazing her own as he caged her body with his arms. The approach of heavy footsteps resonated in the room, and their safety hinged solely on the concealed partition of the additional wall they hid behind. The pair pushed closer together, breaths held, as the presence grew louder. Then the thud of a bouncing ball pierced the air, followed by another beckoning voice from downstairs, and the intruder within the room vanished.

Exhaling a trembling sigh of relief, Astrid leaned her head back against the wall, only for Rick to hurriedly push them into motion once more. This time, she was the one leading the way, her grip on his forearm tight, ensuring they remained inseparable. They neared a set of windows across the small bedroom. Struggling to pry them open, the stubborn panes refused to yield. A groan of frustration escaped Astrid, and her shoulders sagged in resignation as she turned to Rick.

"Claimed!" A sudden voice shouted from somewhere within the lower floor house, halting any suggestion Astrid intended to speak.

"Man, shut the hell up," Snapped another voice. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Hey! There's someone here!" A man announced.

Astrid's blood ran cold, the sensation of potentially being discovered sending a shockwave through her. Yet, she quickly realized that the commotion still sounded from below. "It's a woman. I found her shirt," Another voice clarified.

"You found a damn shirt," Someone muttered. "Girl could be miles away by now."

"The shirt's been washed. It's still wet," Another interjected. "She'll be back."

Astrid's gaze dropped to the dark blue shirt that she wore, and her thoughts immediately went back to her earlier garment, the pale green one stained from her injuries. Had she washed it? Whose shirt was it? Michonne's or hers? A frigidness suddenly—and sharply—gripped her; she had indeed washed a shirt. She was the sole individual who had laundered clothes within this house. The violent, unknown men were undoubtedly conversing about her.

"I call the first claim when she gets here," One voice leered.

"I get her next!" Someone else clamored.

An argument seemed to erupt. However, another stern voice interrupted with measured authority. "Get your heads out of your asses. We'll all get a turn!"

As the unsettling voices from below continued to brashly outline their sinister intentions, the Lancaster woman's worried heart raced in a frenzy, its erratic pounding mirroring the dread coursing through her veins. Imagining herself as the object of their perverse desires was a torment to her very being. It was a grotesque vision that played over and over in her mind, each repetition more terrifying than the last.

Shoulders quivering, Astrid immediately looked to Rick again. His calloused hand caressed her bare arm in silent reassurance, promising to protect her from these men. Then he promptly swiped a kiddie sports trophy from a nearby shelf and, in an instant, hurried from the room, Astrid close on his heels.

More footsteps soon sounded up the stairs. Astrid stood there momentarily paralyzed, but Rick's firm grip on her arm snapped her into action. He pulled her down the hall, and they dove into the only other room upstairs—a bathroom.

As Astrid pushed the door shut behind her, her breaths came fast and shallow. Her green eyes darted across the room, only to be met with a shocking sight that stole the air entirely from her lungs. A man sat on the toilet, engrossed in a magazine, their unexpected intrusion jolting all three of them into stillness.

Before her stunned senses could fully grasp the situation, Rick attacked first. The trophy in his hand descended mercilessly onto the man's skull. The assailant, still partially dressed, leaped up with a groan. Rick shoved the man backward, but when Astrid attempted to add her own punch, the man's superior strength prevailed. He slammed her against the door, and a yelp of pain escaped her lips as she clutched her injured, re-opened side. Fresh blood seeped through her fingers.

Astrid's vision blurred as she watched the two men grappling in a desperate struggle. Rick's eyes flashed to hers, and through clenched teeth, he uttered her name, "Astrid."

His request was clear.

A pair of blue-handled scissors on the bathroom counter glinted darkly. Astrid understood the necessity of the act, the need for this man to not only be killed—but to return as a walker and wreak havoc on his own. She scrambled to her feet, seized the scissors, and without hesitation, plunged them into the man's exposed throat. Warm blood cascaded over her hands and arms as his eyes fell shut, and he sagged in Rick's grip. She withdrew the gory scissors and let them fall to the floor with a disconcerting clatter.

Rick released his stranglehold on the man, and the lifeless body crumpled to the floor. He took a deep, tired breath and murmured, "Thank you."

Astrid stared down at the man, his life essence pooling beneath him. She then turned to Rick, her voice brittle as she replied, "Don't mention it."

Rick slung the man's abandoned firearm over his shoulder, and an eerie silence hung in the air, their audacious struggle seemingly unheard within the house's chaotic depths. Astrid soon followed Rick as he approached a window across the small, tiled room and quietly slid it open. "Let's get out of here," He decided.

Rick tossed his jacket out of the window and then proceeded to clamber out. Astrid, her body aching from pain and blood loss, followed slowly in pursuit. The exhaustion threatened to pull her into the abyss, but she knew this was no time for weakness. With sheer grit, she eventually found herself on the landing of the flattened roof's awning beside Rick. In a seamless motion, he slid over the edge of the roof and began his descent to the porch below. The sound of his weight on the creaking rain gutters—and his eventual drop to the wooden platform—resonated through the tense air, causing Astrid to wince in sympathy.

Now on solid ground, Rick stretched his arms out to her, offering to help her down, but a gnawing doubt crept into Astrid's trust. She knew that Rick, despite his resilience, had been pushed to his own limits in the past few days, and she feared that catching her might be too much for him in his current state. Determination settled over her. She had to rely on her own strength this time. Swallowing her trepidation, Astrid lowered herself over the edge, fingers digging into the muddy gutter.

For a fearful moment, she hung suspended in the air, her muscles straining against her own weight. Then, she let go, her body crashing to the ground below, knees absorbing the shock. A soft whimper escaped her lips as the wound in her calf sent fiery waves up her leg.

Rick reached out to steady her, his expression holding a mixture of concern and suspicion. She brushed off his help and cast a wary glance towards the nearby back door of the house, making sure they had not been discovered. When it became clear that they remained unnoticed, they leaped off the porch and quickly made their way to the front of the house, staying low beneath the wrap-around platform.

A sudden creaking sounded as the front door above their heads opened. A shiver went down Astrid's spine upon hearing more footsteps and the rhythmic, soft thud of a ball bouncing once more on the wooden porch.

Across the vast yard, movement caught Astrid's peripheral vision, and her stomach lurched when she saw Michonne and Carl approaching the house from the road, blissfully unaware of the chaos inside. She noticed Rick had spotted them, too, his gun raised and ready. Astrid nodded in silent agreement, preparing herself for the impending firefight that was sure to unfold now.

But then, out of nowhere, the growls of a walker exploded from inside the house, followed by a man's screams of terror. Relief flooded through Astrid as she listened to the man on the porch scramble back inside. The Lancaster woman then sprang to her feet, tightly gripping Rick's hand and hissing, "Let's go!" This was their only chance, and she was not going to let it slip away.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Astrid sprinted across the yard, her injuries throbbing with each step. The taste of copper filled her mouth, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Rick followed closely behind, his arm around her lower back, as they raced toward Carl and Michonne, who now stood there with wide-eyed alarm.

"What the he—" Michonne began, her voice faltering.

"Go!" Rick urgently cut the woman off, his tone filled with panic.

The group shared a brief, lingering glance at the house that had served as their safe haven for the past few blissful days. Yet just like the prison, their new home had once again slipped from their grasp, torn away by the hands of the living. Astrid turned her gaze back toward the long, uncertain road ahead, her ears deafened by the clamor of shouts and gunfire from behind.

And then, they ran.

~~~~~~~~~~