𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

                                    

                                          
━━━━━━━━━.◦*∘☽
𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐆𝐚𝐠𝐞'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕





I always thought I knew what fear was, living in a world where dead freaks roam free, and out number humans by over a hundred to one, if not more. 
But watching as Amira and Carl fall to the dirt, having been shot which caused the bullet to go straight through a two hundred and fifty pound buck, an 11 year old boy, and then into Amira's body made me realize I don't have a single clue what fear is. 
Before Amira can hit the ground, I'm throwing my cross bow to the ground and running as fast as my legs will go.
I slam to the dirt beside Rick as the man responsible for shooting two people comes forward after hearing mine and Ricks screams, blubbering to Shane about how he never seen the pair before he fired his shot, and trying to rectify the situation. 
"Take them to Lilly and Hershel, they'll know what to do." He sputters, his rifle clutched between his chubby hands so tightly they're white. 
Hell everything about the guy is pale white as reality slaps him in the face of what he'd just done. 
Amira's bleeding profusely from her side so I rip my shirt from my body and apply it to her gushing wound, leaking more and more blood by the second. 
"Head that way, about a few miles, there's a farm house! Lilly and Hershel will be there, ask for them." The guy says, making me note the direction he's pointing before Rick picks up Carl and I pick up Amira. 
Her body is completely limp in my arms as I tuck her as close to my body as I can while applying pressure to the bloodied shirt over her gunshot wound. 
I take off, Rick close behind me as we both run in the direction the man pointed in. 
My hearts pounding in my throat and I'm already sweating but I trek on, determined to get her to these people the unnamed man said could help.
Time feels like it's crawling by, the seconds ticking as I run as fast as I can toward her hopeful salvation, each second feeling like it's inching by as warm liquid drenches my already stained fingers and hand. 
More and more crimson covers my ruined shirt, dripping down her side and onto my bare stomach and chest, the fabric not enough to absorb and sustain against the amount of blood rushing out of her body with each beat of her heart. 
As long as she's bleeding she's still alive. 
I have to remind myself over and over again as I sprint through trees and bushes, not giving a damn about the damage the objects do to my clothes or skin as I carry her. 
Desperation clings to every cell in me, and I can only thank myself for spending years carrying dead weighted deer for dozens of miles back home with no civilization in sight, my only hopes were tracking while carrying deer twice the size of the bleeding girl in my arms. 
I can't tell how long it's been, seconds, minutes, maybe even hours as I pull ahead of Rick who's now struggling to carry his son in his arms, having to repeatedly stop to readjust his hold on Carls unmoving body and reapply his shirt to his sons own wound. 
I don't stop to wait, adrenaline pushing me to keep going, numbing the pain in my calves as I carry myself and Amira closer to this farm house. 
We burst through the woods and into a pasture of sorts. I gently hoist her higher up my body, my fingers buried into her shirt as I sprint further away from Rick, and Shane and the unnamed man.