[ xxvii. fight or flight ]

november 4th, 2010

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ASTRID LANCASTER'S EYES REMAINED stuck on the lifeless forms of Tony and Dave, their bodies strewn across the cold ground, lying at her boots. The sight of the pooling blood, as it seeped into the wooden floorboards, sent her stomach twisting in nauseating circles.

One of these men was dead because of her.

Rick, the killer of the other, dared to step into her line of view. One of his hands grazed her shoulder as his eyes locked with hers. "You alright?" He asked softly.

Astrid's response lingered, suspended in the air, as she wrestled with the turmoil within her. Finally, she managed a nod, her body quivering slightly as she replaced her gun in her waistband. "Ask me later," She managed to utter. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

Rick, Hershel, and Glenn nodded their agreement. Moving towards the doors felt like entering a battle zone. Casting her eyes out the window, the inky blackness of the night hung heavy, a veil obscuring the dangers that lurked just beyond Astrid's view. What were the odds that Dave and Tony had been alone?

Suddenly, just as Rick moved to open the door, the blinding blaze of headlights illuminated the road outside the bar. The suddenness of the intrusion forced Astrid into a crouch, her body instinctively seeking cover beneath the window frame.

Gun back in hand, Astrid tensed as multiple voices floated through the wall. "Dave? Tony?" Someone called.

"I heard shots," Another man confessed. "And I saw roamers two streets over."

"Okay," A new, sharper voice decided. "We stick close and search the area. We'll find them."

As the voices receded, the silence wrapped itself around Astrid's chest, constricting her breath in its icy grip. Peering out the window once more, she scanned for signs of the survivors, the unsettling absence of movement sending shivers down her spine.

Beside Astrid, Glenn's deep breath cut through the quiet, his words barely a whisper. "Why won't they leave?" He demanded.

"We can't stay here," She asserted.

"Astrid's right," Rick agreed. "Let's head out the back and make a run for the car." Their collective decision was a swift pivot towards action, but just as their group of four prepared to propel themselves into motion, the air shattered with gunfire.

Gunshots, like malevolent fireworks, punctuated the night with bursts of deadly intent. But the bullets did not seem to be aimed at the bar. Suddenly, footsteps, much closer than comfort, echoed right outside the front door. Like a panther, Glenn's swift movement was a blur of instinct, his crouched form sliding into position before the entryway, slamming the door shut as quickly as the armed strangers tried to open it.

Astrid stared at Glenn, eyes wide in a cocktail of terror and disbelief, while someone beyond their line of sight gasped. "What the hell was that? I swear someone pushed that door shut on me," The voice quivered, revealing a vulnerability beneath the bravado. Then, a demand pierced the night, a plea wrapped in caution. "Yo! Is someone in there? If someone's in there, we don't want any trouble. We're just looking for our friends. If something happened to them, just tell us."

"Dude, there's no one in there," Someone snickered. Astrid guessed there were at least three men standing right outside the door.

Astrid's gaze darted to Rick. The sheriff knelt at the brink of revelation, a whisper away from revealing their presence to an unknown peril. Their eyes locked, a silent exchange that spoke volumes, and in that fleeting connection, Astrid pleaded with all her might. Her head shook furiously as if to physically defy the unraveling of their concealed sanctuary. But Rick only nodded his head in return, seemingly damning them all.

Rick's voice thundered forth, "They drew on us!" His declaration echoed like a battle cry, the weight of the truth carrying through the violent night. The outside voices seemed to falter, their audibility diminished by the force of his words. "Dave and Tony are dead. Your friends drew on us! They gave us no choice! I'm sure we've all lost enough people, done things we wish we didn't have to, but it's like that now, you know that!"

In the wake of his insistence, a resounding silence descended, an eerie pause as reality hung suspended. But chaos quickly found them again. In retaliation for their fallen friends, gunshots pierced the air once more. Shards of glass rained down on Astrid and the others like crystalline rain, but amid the maelstrom, the sheriff rose with unwavering determination and shoved his own gun through the now-broken window, firing back.

Struggling to her feet amidst the tumult, Astrid's voice rang out with fervent urgency, a resurgence against the tide of danger. "Let's go!"

Behind her, Rick held the line, providing cover fire. "We all know this is not going to end well!" He yelled, all the while Astrid, Glenn, and Hershel made for the back of the building. "There's nothing in it for any of us! Just back off and no one else needs to get hurt!" His voice boomed like a warning.

With a vice-like grip on her arm, Glenn pulled Astrid towards the back door, their path a swift descent into the bowels of uncertainty. Down a dimly lit flight of stairs into the depths of the bar's basement, the promise of safety remained tantalizingly distant. Her gun held aloft like a beacon of protection, Astrid's senses were on high alert, prepared for any threat that dared to manifest in the shadows.

A lone door across the basement, leading to the back alley, was a portal to salvation. But the doorknob's sudden ominous turn triggered an instinctual response that transcended conscious thought. Astrid's finger squeezed the trigger, and round after round erupted from her weapon, tearing through the door with raw intensity. The stranger's presence on the other side dissolved amidst the gunfire, a fleeting specter vanquished by the sheer force of Astrid's own will to stay alive.

As the smoke cleared, leaving only the lingering scent of gunpowder and the echoing resonance of her actions, a voice cut through the aftermath from the floor above. "Glenn! Astrid!" Rick called fearfully.

"We're alright!" Astrid responded breathlessly. "It was just one of them!"

With Glenn at her side, Astrid moved towards the door once more. Yet, before they could exit, a new presence materialized behind them. Hershel. As Glenn jumped in surprise, Astrid's own response was marked by a steely calm, a veneer of fearlessness cultivated from the night's events.

Hershel's gaze held a weight of purpose as he addressed Glenn, "Rick wants you to try for the car."

Glenn froze. "Try?" He gulped.

"You'll try and succeed," Hershel encouraged. "Astrid and I will cover you."

Glenn's nervous nod set a chain of events into motion, his movements like a ticking time bomb in the night's relentless warpath. He swung the door open, each creak a baleful note in the dark alley's sinister composition. Glenn slowly ventured out, a lone figure in the inky abyss, his strides calculated. Astrid leaned out of the door to watch Glenn, her weapon an extension of her promise to protect him.

Almost instantly, the world erupted in a storm of violence, bullets biting into the ground like angry hornets. A yelp tore from Glenn's lips, an instinctual cry as he sought shelter behind a dumpster, his refuge from the deadly onslaught. Astrid turned to face the opposite direction of the alley, and her gaze zeroed in on the assailant, the lines of her focus narrowing to a single point. Her finger squeezed the trigger with practiced precision. A single bullet found its mark, burying itself in the intruder's chest, and his body collapsed in a groan of agony.

From the shadows behind Astrid and Hershel, emerged Rick in the doorway. "What the hell happened?" He demanded sharply.

"Someone fired," Hershel's words unraveled slowly, each syllable carrying the weight of an unfolding tragedy. "Astrid shot him . . . but I think he hit Glenn. He's behind the dumpster. But he's not moving."

Rick's entry into the alley was a surge of purpose, a leader at the forefront of a turbulent charge. Hershel and Astrid followed. The man she had wounded lay groaning, a specter of danger that threatened to summon walkers from the surrounding buildings if left unchecked. But they could not go back.

Their advance up the alley was a cautious ballet, each step careful as they moved closer to Glenn's fallen place behind the dumpster. Astrid's voice, barely more than a whisper, called out, "Glenn, are you hit?"

A pregnant pause followed, the very fabric of time held captive by Glenn's response. Then, like a breaking dawn, his words emerged, a fragile confirmation in the darkness. "No," He answered, voice trembling.

Astrid exhaled in relief, and her eyes then shifted to Rick, a silent plea for guidance, for a next course of action to get them the hell out of this town. Rick's touch was a tether as he crouched and gripped the young man's shoulder, appearing to calm Glenn down. "It's alright," He soothed. "The car's right there. We're almost home. You good?"

"Y-Yes," Glenn stammered.

"Good," Rick replied, pulling him back to his feet. "Let's go."

The transition to the street was covered by a blanket of bullets. Astrid's eyes swept upwards, drawn to the rooftop, where a lone figure fired down on them. Astrid hesitated, contemplating her own shot, but she could not get a clear one back unless she remained out in the open. She had to keep moving.

Abruptly, from down the road, a truck suddenly pulled forward beneath the building where the sniper loomed. "Let's get out of here!" Someone in the vehicle shouted up to the man on the roof. "Just jump!"

The rooftop figure nodded his understanding and attempted to lower himself off the edge of the building. Yet a near-fatal descent followed, a fall marked by a large crash and a tragic yelp—a scream of pain that cleaved through Astrid completely. The injured man's shriek resonated in the night. "Help me!"

"I'm sorry!" The driver inside the truck yelled back into the opposing alleyway where his comrade had fallen. "We've got to go! I'm sorry!" The vehicle then vanished into the night, callously abandoning the injured man.

Rick's sigh bore bitter disappointment. "Get Hershel," He commanded, staring directly at Glenn. "Then meet us across the street."

"What the hell are you doing, Rick? Why are we helping him?" Astrid demanded sharply. "He was shooting at us! Let's get out of here while we still have the chance!"

Rick shot her down instantly. "C'mon!" He shouted. Before Astrid could protest again, the sheriff was already dashing across the street and into the alley. Gritting her teeth in anger, Astrid shot forward, leaving her frustrations trailing in his wake.

The alley beckoned, a threshold to a new layer of the night's horrors. As she crossed over, Hershel and Glenn now right behind her, the sight that met her eyes was catastrophic.

The injured man turned out to be barely a man at all. Hardly looking eighteen years of age, he was but a child, his innocence marred by forced brutality. The wound he had suffered in the fall from the rooftop was the epitome of agony. His right leg had been impaled by a metal spike. The kid's yelps and writhing cast shadows on the cement ground, his torment echoing through the alley, as Hershel attempted to examine his bleeding leg.

"Rick, there's nothing we can do," He pronounced. "We have to go now."

"No! Don't leave me! Please!" The kid begged on the edge of tears.

"He's a kid!" Rick argued harshly. "We're not leaving him!"

"The spike went clean through," Hershel explained. "There's no way we can get the leg off in one piece. Not without tearing the muscle to shreds. He can't run. Maybe . . . Maybe we should just ease his suffering." His proposal hung in the air like a whispered mercy.

"Can't we just take the leg off completely?" Astrid asked, impatience laced in her tone, seeking a way out. And in that moment, each man's eyes ignited with sparks of ingenuity, illuminating the darkness with a glimmer of possibility. "Oh, shit," She cursed.

Five minutes later, they were all gathered inside the alley like a council of fate. A recollected hatchet and butcher's blade from the bar gleamed with unfavorable purpose as Hershel's hands moved with the precision of a surgeon. The kid's upper leg was wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, a desperate gambit to stave off the inevitable.

Astrid's stomach churned, and Glenn's discomfort mimicked her own. They stood watchful, guardians of an act they could barely comprehend, as Rick and Hershel took on the grim amputation before them. The kid's agonized screams were a haunting chorus of suffering.

Suddenly, movement stirred across the street, a cruel interruption in a moment already fraught with madness. Glenn's gasp cracked like a gunshot. "Walkers!" He yelled in alarm. "Hurry up!"

Astrid and Glenn rapidly unleashed upon the approaching, growling horde. Soon, gunshots began to echo from behind, revealing that Rick, too, had left to deal with walkers approaching from the other end of the alley, leaving Hershel alone to operate on the squirming and screaming kid.

Moments later, Astrid recognized the daunting click that sounded from her firearm. An empty chamber looked back at her, and her anger and frustration converged into a scream all her own that shattered the night. "I'm out of ammo!" She shouted. "We have to go!"

"If you're taking his leg, do it now, Hershel!" Rick commanded.

Glenn pulled Astrid behind him, acting as a shield against the encroaching wave of undead. With her back covered, she then returned to Rick and Hershel, who remained steadfast in their gruesome work. The air was thick with growls, and gunshots, and screams.

"Now!" Astrid's panicked cry, laced with fury, pierced the chaos like a bolt of lightning. "We're leaving! RIGHT NOW!" Her urgency was a rallying call, a plea for an end to this nightmarish ordeal. And in the midst of her crescendo, Rick's breaking point finally arrived.

In an act of both mercy and brutality, the sheriff seized the kid's leg, and with a gut-wrenching tug, severed him from the metal spike. The splatter of warm blood that sprayed across Astrid's face was a grotesque baptism, a rite of passage into the continuously growing realm of the unspeakable.

Blood-curdling screams were all that the Lancaster woman could hear in the dark moments that followed.

~~~~~~~~~~