[Telltale] The Walking Dead [Inactive]

Sam dug into his backpack before producing an aluminum water bottle. The dark blue paint had begun to chip off and the dull silver showed underneath. He gave it a shake to gauge how much water was inside. Half-way.


"Here. Just leave me a little, will ya?" He handed Evan the bottle. Sam was confused with himself. These acts of kindness were natural but unlike him. He turned to Aylaela and said,


"I think so. We should probably relocate somewhere else though. You never know who's watching or listening.." Sam's eyes spotted the stairwell. It would be a difficult climb for Evan, but it was possible. With the proper assistance and the willpower, Evan could be resting in a bed in no time.


As Sam approached Evan, he was asked, "Are you family?" Evan meant him and Aylaela. Sam chuckled and said, "No, but I feel like I've known her for years." He paused before reaching his hand out to Evan. He asked him,


"You wanna go upstairs?"
 
"Well, look, Crawford isn't a bad man. I think. He's just eccentric, and he has a sort of plan for the future. The rule is no weak links. And he might see your leg and think, well. Weak link, I'm guessing. So who's going to hide him?" Matthew looked around at the people in the room, at the people. Who was going to help the boy? He would, but considering he was prefect after all, well, Crawford would be clenching around in his room often.


"Y'now what, I'll go up to my room and look for anybody on the way. I'll come back and tell you if there is any, ok?" With that, Matthew began heading for the stairs. Room 203. Floor two. Three. He began slowly entering up the room, and then looked at the stairs, walking up them. They were pretty crappy, dusty and cracked. One step looked as if it had fallen in. Matthew simply shook it off and continued going up, until he had made it up to the second floor. He walked in, and looked around at the hallway, then stepped in front of Room 203.


Inserting the key and turning it, he heard the lock click, and the door opened. Matthew walked in and closed the door behind him, and flocked on the light.


"Matthew."


"The ****?!"


Terrence was sitting there inside Matthew's room on a chair beside the desk. A shelf with a few books and a twin size bed was sitting inside his room waiting for him.


"The hell are you doing here?" Matthew asked.


"What are you doing with the broken kid?"


"How did you get in?"


"Window. But anyways, would you mind elaborating on what the prefect of Crawford is doing breaking the rules?"


"Wha- how do you know?"


"I listened to your conversation downstairs. You guys talk loud."


"So what are you going to do?"


"Duck."


"W-"


Matthew was suddenly nailed right in the face by Terrence's fist, and he suddenly grabbed his nose and realized it was bleeding. "Mother-"


Wham! Another hit to his stomach, causing Matthew to fall over in pain. Terrence began kicking Matthew in the chest.


"Shoulda reported it in my friend. You know what happens to weak link? Weak links get cut off." With that, Matthew faded into darkness, as he heard the click of Terrence locking the door.
 
Assuming that Sam meant going to bed, he nodded. God, how the world had changed. Any other day before all of this he would've fought for every minute, so he could stay up longer. But now, things were different. A bed, people around him, light, he craved for these things now and he sent a little thank you skyward for having received them.


He took three sips from the water. Oh blessed water, cooly streaming down his throat, washing away the dry, sore lump that had lingered there since yesterday. His lips were moist again, and if Sam hadn't asked him to not take to much, he would've downed the bottle in one go. He shrugged his small shoulders, "but ya'll know each other, right?" He wondered what their story was, but in favor of remaining polite, he didn't bother to ask yet.


You trust them too much. The voice in the back of his head was small and feeble, but it was there. They'll rob you in your sleep and leave you to die here. They'll take your gun, your bag, everything. Then they'll leave you to the walkers.


Shaking him from his thoughts, the blonde man offered to head up and see if there was a room free, at least, that was Evan made of it. He ignored the part about weak links, for he knew it was true. As much as he didn't want to be a burden, he knew that he was. Thinking his chances of staying here for long were slim anyway, he didn't protest but flashed a thankful look at the man. Walking all day had rendered him groggy and drowsy. He heard the man go upstairs, until his feet were barely audible. For a moment there was silence, then a bang followed by a thud. Worried, Evan shot a glance at Sam.


"Walkers?" Not waiting for an answer, his hand shot to his revolver and he drew it from his holster, ready to face whatever threat was hiding upstairs. "Do you think he's alright?" he asked from Sam. Fear shot across his eyes, his breathing quickened and if he had been able to stand on his own, he would've backed away.
 
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Jon took a stand, withdrawing the pistol from the back of his pants. The kid had said walkers, but he didn't know if it was walkers or a person.


He took a look around at his fellow survivors, Sam, Ayleala. Taking the leadership position, he pointed at the new kid whilst holding the pistol at his head and pointing it to the ceiling. "stay here," with that, he turned around and carefully moved to the stairs and started to climb, waiting a moment to ascend.
 
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His heart pounded in his throat. Even with his firearm at the ready, he had only two bullets, and he wasn't sure if he could make them both count. Worse still, if it were walkers, he'd be the first to get overrun. Unable to move quick enough on his own he could only pray that either it wasn't a walker or that Sam and Ayleala would protect him.


Jon, as he'd hear the man being called, wanted to head up. Frightened, he thought staying together was their better option, but he didn't dare to voice his concern in fear of upsetting his protectors. He was in their territory now and he would have to play the game by their rules. He looked up at Sam with pleading eyes, "can you help me up?"


If he was going to die, he would die standing, not laying helplessly on a couch.
 
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Sam opened his mouth to respond to Evan but strange noises from caused him to close his lips. He exchanged looks with the other people in the room. "Matthew." He said, worry behind his words.


"With me." Jon whispered as he motioned for Ryker to join him. Sam's hand hovered around the handle of his knife. Evan caught his attention and asked for help to get up. Sam sat down next to the kid, put Evan's arm around his neck, and guided him upwards.


"Jon, be careful." Sam advised. "If you're not back within 5 minutes, I'm going up there." Sam knew that if bad things began happening, he would be faced with the decision to leave Crawford. He hoped that choice was not in his future. After all, he had only just gotten there.
 
Taking Sam's sentence into his mind, he went up the stairs in a casual pace, if it was a person, they would probably hide, and a walker was no problem when he had a loaded gun.


Matthew would probably have looked in the hallway, but seeing there wasn't a body, a puddle of blood, or a trail of blood, they hadn't moved the body. The question still was, where was he? Had Matthew moved to his room?


Jon stood in the hallway, thinking, his gun pointed to the roof. It had been only a couple of seconds since Matthew had come up, so he couldn't of moved past this long hallway, unless he had been running, but everyone downstairs would of heard that.


Jon remembered that most of the newcomers to Crawford had been placed on the second level, or at least he believed so. Matthew's room was one of the first ones he believed. He took a second, closing his eyes to remember, it was bright as day when he though of it, as Matthew had been in front of him. Two-Oh-Three.





He moved, walking down the hallway until he encountered the door.


Dropping to a crouch, he moved to turn the handle. Locked.


There were still two possibilities, he hadn't went to his room or he had and someone had locked him in. He put an ear to the door and tried to listen.
 
Leaning heavily on Sam, Evan raised his own revolver, pointing it at the staircase. With one arm slung over Sam's shoulders, he was unable to steady his gun. He admired Jon's courage, but feared for the worst. If there were walkers up there, they could easily get at Jon from unexpected angles. Worse still, the narrow staircase and corridor would make it hard to escape the clutches of the undead. If they were up there.


If.


But what else could it be? He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. What if it weren't walkers? What if the camp had been invaded by roaming scavengers and looters? Deep in his heart he wanted to ask Sam if he wouldn't abandon him, but the words that came out were different. "I have only two bullets," he breathed, "but I am decent shot."
 
Terrence began motioning for the three to get ready to grab the target. He began lowering Matthew's unconscious body slowly down to the others below him. They grabbed Matthew lightly and quietly, then began running off with him. Terrence smiled, and turned to the new problem. Someone was trying to get in. "Hey! Get out of here! I'm cleaning up the rooms before you guys get in!" He lied. He was a good liar, he had to be. To get the dirty work done, you couldn't be clean.


***


A door creaking. Locking. Footsteps. Mumbling. Fuzziness. Matthew. Matthew.


"Matthew! I need you awake for this ok?" Matthew suddenly awoke from the sound of loud snapping. He realized that he was sitting in a chair. "Matthew. My absolutely wonderful friend." Crawford. Matthew frowned in the best way he could, until he realized how much his face hurt. And how weak he felt. "Whaat da you went?" Matthew said unintelligibly, but Crawford just smiled again.


"Look Matthew, I have respect for you. You've been unquestioning of my leadership for quite a while. You put up with my creepy act. I was even told over the radio that you said that I was a great leader. That's nice. So, I'm not going to kill you. Normally, breaking the rules would mean death, but you and your friends can go free. You won't die. But, I have to make an example. You see, if I didn't act against this, I would seem weak. A weak link, if you could say. So, I assume you know what we do with weak links, right?"


Oberson Crawford continued smiling, then stood up. Matthew eyes where his hand had fallen at. On the table in front of him, a cleaver lay on the wood. Crawford's hand was now holding the handle, and he began walking towards Matthew.


"Why, we cut it off."


The cleaver fell down, landing onto Matthew's wrist. He gasped, then looked down to the table. The bloody table. He brought up his left arm, looking at the bloody stump and doing double takes from his hand to the stump. Then the pain came.


"Argh!! Argh!! Arghh!!" Matthew screamed out in pain, it almost brought him to tears. "Someone bandage up his hand and take him to the infirmary." Crawford walked out of the room, as Matthew once again began slipping into unconciousness.


Hello darkness, my old friend
 
Ryker's eyes snapped open, something was going on in the hallway. Moving slowly Ryker grabbed his crowbar and revolver. He thought about taking his bow but decided against it seeing as it'd only slow him down. Ryker opened his door a fraction of an inch and peered out. A few rooms down Jon was fiddling with a door handle. Ryker left his room and walked into the hallway. He had been about to make some witty remark about keycards never working when he saw Jon's face. Without thinking Ryker slipped his revolver into his waistband and moved over to Jon. "Cover me and I'll get it open". Without waiting for a response Ryker began to pry at the door where the lock would be. He grunted and pushed a little harder, he was rewarded with a small piece of wood breaking off giving him more room to work. Ryker thought back to the countless hotels he had looted. The doors were always sturdy but the locks left something to be desired. "Two minutes tops".
 
"Hey! Get out of here! I'm cleaning up the rooms before you guys get in!"


And exactly why the hell couldn't he come in.


He had determined the cause of the problem, human. His mind grasped at the possibilities, was it one of Crawford's own, or was it someone who simply walked in. The former would cause problems, if Jon kicked the door down, he might be faced with more than one person with a gun, on the other hand, he would be saving Matthew's life if it was someone else.


Then again, could he actually kick the door itself down. He moved his eyes to the hinges, he could deliver a pistol shot and then kick the whole thing down, but that would alert them to him. He could go get Sam's help immediately but then they might of already of slit Matthew's throat.


So many damn variables were present, he just couldn't decide the best course of action.


He took a slow, deep and careful breath in. He set his last thought of calm to be simple, "I swear to God Matthew, if you get me killed, I will kill you."





Suddenly, Ryker burst out of his room and pushed Jon out of the way.


"Two minutes tops."





That was too long, he had to move now. Quickly, he pushed Ryker out of the way, making sure he wouldn't get hurt.


Setting his right foot behind him, he aimed at the door's hinges, fired a shot in the top one and slammed his foot against the door. The rusty lower hinge took the force of the hit and the door hit the floor. Adrenalin pumping, he stepped in, lifted his pistol to eye level and took aim at the nearest standing target.


Fire or not.





He couldn't decide.


Live or die Jonathan, make a decision!





Jonathan Taylor fired the pistol.
 
Ryker stumbled backwards and watched Jon breakdown the door. If there was someone inside then Jon had shock going for him if it had been a zed well...not so much. Ryker registered the shot a second later. Ryker had slipped out of his hands when he'd been pushed. Ryker fumbled for his own pistol, pulling it out of his waist he moved alongside Jon. The first thing Ryker registered was that the man in the room was most defiantly not a zombie, the second thing he registered was the blood. Ryker felt his arms drop. "Jon what the he** did you do?"
 
What the hell had he done.





Jon dropped the pistol to his side, looking around at the mess he had made. As soon as he realized that he had shot someone, he looked around.


Where was Matthew?


He took a step back slowly putting the pistol into the back of his pants, "I swear to God, Ryker, there was a thud, and we thought Matthew had been hurt and..." Jon took a breath in, "someone's gonna hear this and find the body, you gotta help me man." He shook his head, his brain going to to overdrive, trying to figure out what to do.


Moving swiftly, he moved to the newly created corpse and started dragging it towards the opposite side of the queen sized bed. In moments someone else would rush in and find them, blood and all. Fueled by adrenaline and fear he moved the corpse swiftly and under the bed, before rushing back to the door and past it, scanning the hallway mercilessly.
 
Evan flinched when he heard the shot. Bang. Someone's live, even if it was a walker, had just been extinguished. Gone. Sent back to its maker. Put on the wrong side of the grass. But who had fired and who had been killed?


"Everything okay?" he called upwards, his voice weaker and more panicked than he'd anticipated. With a jolt he realized Ryker was up there too somewhere. Ignoring the lanciating pain that shot through his leg he let go of Sam and stumbled forward on his good leg, gun at the ready. Unable to get up the staircase, he waited below and shot a glance upward. "What happened?" he called, his voice stronger this time.
 
Oh dear god it was the kid.





He moved swiftly towards the stairs, trying to communicate at the same time, "No time, we have to get moving!" As soon as he hit the stairs he saw the kid, with a gun in hand, taking a step back, he shot out a few rushed syllables. "Don't shoot please!"


He briefly wondered if that was how the man, that he had shot, had felt.
 
Distraught, Evan watched Jon rush down. He raised his gun, but never came close to pulling the trigger. "What happened? Where do we go?" These and many more questions besieged his mind. Though part of him knew there was hardly a point in asked, he asked them anyway. One thing was certain, this place hadn't turned out to be the peaceful, prosperous hideout he'd imagined it to be. Worse still, the expression on Jon's face told him they'd have to run. He looked down at his leg, untainted horror coarsing through his veins. He was damn well no 'count wasn't he?


*no 'count, southern slang; good for nothing.
 
Lia sighed looking past the wall, wondering if there would be another group out there, people who accept that she's quiet. A walker walked up to the wall and started scratching aimlessly at it. Another sigh came from her as she took the gun from a holster, that Crawford gave her earlier, attaching the silencer to the barrel then shooting the walker in the head. She quickly put her gun away and hopped off of the wall. As she was walking toward the hotel she heard a gun fire from inside then rushed in, going to where everyone else is (cause y'know, no one gave me details as to where the others are or what's going on so....)
 
He hadn't been shot, as soon he realized this beautiful fact, he tumbled down, figuratively, the stairs. Resting in front of Evan, he looked up at Sam and Aylaela.


He still didn't know where the hell Matthew was.


"I can't find Matthew and I just shot someone that was in Matthew's room," he paused, looking around, trying to figure out what he knew based on what observations he had made in the last few minutes.


"If Matthew's hurt, he's gone and we can't save him. If he's not, everything points to Crawford bring horrendously unsafe. Either way, we just need to get out of here."


Leaving not a second to spare, he knelt down in front of Evan, "I'm going to pick you up and carry you on my shoulders, okay bud?"
 
Lia saw everyone and rushed to them, hearing that Crawford might be bad she stopped in her tracks "w-what happened to you all?" She started to shake and her anxiety started to act up, she started breathing a bit faster and wondering about Dex and where he might be or if he is safe. (I'm on my phone so like 9 lines to me is like 3 lines to you. So don't be mad)


Sent from my LG-E617G using Tapatalk
 
Aylaela flinched, shocked out of her daze from the shot. She had been caught up in her own selfish thoughts, before Matthew had gone upstairs and the downhill spiral had begun.


Standing, she left the frozen bottle in its towel on the footrest, reaching for what little protection she had in the form of a sharpened spade. She had a few knives from her home before she reached Crawford, but one by one they had been lodged in walkers or broken beyond repair. Everyone else in the room had been issued a firearm, but Aylaela had no use for it in her assignment and has never learned to use one either way.


Jon went upstairs in pursuit of Matthew, and soon after a shot sounded, causing the girl's stomach to churn. Had he shot a walker, a person, Matthew? She didn't know, and had no means to find out.


Abandoning the couch, Evan pulled out a pistol to investigate the situation. Aylaela stood near the door, having no other use than to watch for any other Crawford residents or potential threats.


Sighing, she watches as the Lia girl enters, thinking about the bed that was so closely within her grasp before being quickly snatched away.
 
The ball sailed through the air, landing firmly on the ground. "You missed it again?" Matthew called out, looking at Cynthia, and then at the ball resting in the grass. "Here, let's throw it again." He began walking over to his daughter and he picked up the ball, then turned around and walked back. "Here!" The ball landed on the ground again. "Again?" Cynthia put her hands on her hips and looked at him. "It's because I have to catch it with my left hand. I'm not left-handed."


***


Matthew was lying on a bed crying. It was some sort of sick dream. He missed Cynthia so much. So much. Why did she have to die? Why did she have to die? He had been looking at his stump now for the past fifteen minutes. His left hand was gone. Sliced off. His left arm was the only thing left. It felt like a bunch of fire ants were gnawing on it too, like it actually was on fire. Matthew just kept looking at it.


His hand was gone.


Utterly, gone.
 
"I'm going to pick you up and carry you on my shoulders, okay bud?"


He nodded vigorously, slid his gun back in his holster and reached out for Jon to pick him up. Mom had always given him disapproving looks whenever he went to work the fields with his father. "You need to eat more. Senior, tell him he needs to eat more." His dad would shrug, slam him on his back and reply, "he gets the job done." He'd hated it at the time, as if his small frame wasn't good enough, but then he would soon forget about it and move on. Fate hadn't been kind to him either. Day upon day of roaming in the wilderness had thinned him to the point where he could almost count his ribs.


And yet he wondered how long Jon could carry him. A mile? Maybe two? Eighty-five pounds of good for nothing flesh and bone would weigh him down eventually. For a split second, he feared that Jon would put him down after a while, abandon him and leave him to whatever was out there. "You run, I'll shoot," he said as he lifted himself up to Jon's shoulder. He made a mental note to extend his arm away from Jon's ear, or the bangs would deafen him. Better still, he wouldn't need to shoot at all, but that struck him as idle hope.
 
"Urgh. Raghhh. Raghhhhh." Terrence was waking up. He didn't really know why he was under here. All that he knew was that he was hungry. So hungry. And he had an odd taste for... Human. Terrence the walker crawled out from under the bed, and began walking out of the room.


***


"Look Matthew. It's your good friend Logan."


"Don't you dare."


The gunshot rang out in the room, as Logan's brains were spilled out across the floor. "NO! MOTHER****ER!!" Matthew ferociously tried to escape from the handcuffs, bit it was no use. Logan was dead, and Crawford was a dirty liar. Matthew had to watch as he started killing children. Disabled. Logan. Poor, poor Logan. "Please, stop."


"Who's next?! Anymore rulebreakers?!"
 
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