who's a heretic now?

i'm getting tired of crawling all the way

[leahthomas-blog1]

aaronmontgomerys:

Aaron held the blade in his hand, watching as she took out one of the walkers. He would’ve been impressed, had she actually been able to kill it quietly. Its head toppled over, practically clearing the entire shelf of flasks. He stared at her, his eyes speaking for him. Are you fuckin’ kidding me? He could hear several more of them, and he stood. He felt a little woozy already, from the blood loss, but if he just pushed through this, he could just take the kit and leave. Aaron kicked one of the walkers in the chest, giving himself time to charge towards it with his blade. He planted it in his eye, before removing it and moving onto the next one. 

Yeah. That one was on her. She shrugs in response, almost comically, but there’s a grimace stretched tight across her face. Fucking rookie mistake. The stranger is already moving, knife in hand, finishing the nearest walkers off with his knife. They’re not the problem anymore- but the newest wave of biters crowding towards them is. A practical wall of them. Fuck. Fuck shit. Fighting over the med-kit has lost it’s importance. What matters now is simply escaping alive. Never one for delicacy, Leah kicks a whole rack down on the walkers with an angry grunt, snow-globes shattering to the ground around them like tiny bombs. “-Well.” Leah begins, eyes roaming around the store. “I never did like the black friday crowds. I’m out.” Bad joke. The exits are limited here, so she needs to decide fast. 

[leahthomas-blog1]

aaronmontgomerys:

Aaron couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he followed suit and crouched down. This isn’t what he fucking needed. He snatched the gauze from off the ground. Almost spitefully. He didn’t have time for this shit. Still, he pressed the fabric against the wound, grimacing as he listened for the walkers. Something told him that they weren’t leaving anytime soon. So he stared at her one last time, pointing at the kit. “Toss it,” he mouthed, hoping he’d stressed how fucking necessary the kit was to him. Before he could even wait for a response, he heard one of the dead knock down a shelf of cans. “Goddamn it,” he mouthed, reaching for the knife tucked next to his holster. He thought about leaving- honest to god, he did. But when was the next time he’d be this close to a first aid kit? And in time, before his wound was infected? Or worse- before he bled out. 

Leah doesn’t want to toss it. He’s bleeding, yeah, at risk for infection, but every attempt she’s made to help others? It’s only screwed her over in the end. Maybe, though, it won’t get ugly. She can fix him up properly, sew the wound, in exchange for keeping the rest. But there’s no time to offer that now. Leah’s hand creeps to her belt, fingers curling around the hilt of her machete. Fuck. They’re closer now, she can hear the dull, raspy drag of their footsteps, smell their putrid rot. Gangrene. She can’t tell how many there are, sitting blind behind her shelf. But it doesn’t matter, because one’s rounding the corner, making interested, gurgling sounds- it’s smelt them, or heard them, or something. Leah can’t have it alerting the others, causing a swarm, so she leaps up, machete in hand. Leah - one. Zombie head - zero. Everything was okay. Until the head rolled onto a shelf of tin flasks, bright and flimsy, all falling to the floor with a spectacular rattle. Perfect. 

[leahthomas-blog1]

aaronmontgomerys:

So she’d be a tough one to convince. Actually, given by her attitude, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to convince her at all. But he needed the kit- the disinfectants inside, the bandages. All of it. There was no alternative. Not for him. Not patching his wound up meant more blood, which meant less strength and more walkers, which equaled a pretty shitty death. “Could probably just patch it up with the stuff inside here,” he mumbled. His hands were slow, steady, as he reached for the kit. “Gonna grab what I need and head out. Sound good?” He said, doubting that it would fly over so well with her. He could hear the unforgiving growl of the dead nearby, banging aimlessly on the walls. 

Doesn’t sound good. Sounds shitty, actually, and Leah’s eyes narrow into angry slits at the question, tracking the strangers movements. What was that stupid rule? Finders keepers. Very juvenile, but she doesn’t have time to debate the finer points of apocalyptic fairness. The kit is hers. Leah considers giving him another head wound, but the choked gurgling of walkers informs her of a more important problem. They’re in the store. Stupid. Fuckin’ stupid, letting her guard down, averting all of her awareness on another human. Her hand snakes out to snatch the first aid kit, because fuck him, but she immediately crouches tight against the shelf of packaged tuna. They can’t be seen. Or smelled. Leah unclasps the kit, rolls a thick band of gauze across the floor. “Stop the bleeding.” She mouths, listening to discordant shuffles. 

[leahthomas-blog1]

aaronmontgomerys:

Moving East seemed like the most logical thing to do. Every single refugee camp that Aaron had passed through had been abandoned with large signs that pointed to other temporary settlements. Aaron wasn’t about to risk his survival for the sake of a comfortable bed to sleep in. He relied on himself- only. It was easiest this way. About a mile outside of the nearest town, Aaron had gotten himself in… a bit of a predicament. A misunderstanding with another survivor had left the top side of his face grazed with a bullet. The blood was trickling down his face, oftentimes clouding his vision. He needed to patch it up, someway, somehow. Which is why, at that particular moment, he wasn’t even concerned with the other survivor in the store. She might’ve seen it first, but it was his. “Need it more than you do,” he simply said. “You understand, right?” But no one ever did. Not these days.

That damn thing was Leah’s. She’s already set her heart on it, already added it to her neat, albeit short list scratched out in her brain. Scavenger number two? He can fuck right off, and take that open wound with him. “Yeah. I understand that you look pretty stupid with all that blood on your face. Especially in a town crawlin’ with biters.” Honestly. He could have wiped it off, ditched the shirt, found water to wash it off, something. Maybe it just happened, maybe Leah’s being ungenerous, but it’s generally understood that idiots don’t make it this far in this new shit-hole of a world. Still. There’s that small flicker of a conscious beating inside her chest, the first instinct of a nurse. “-Hey. Put pressure on that- with your hand.” She directs, all snappy business. “It’s not just the biters. You’re gonna, ya’ know. Get light-headed.” Leah hefts the rucksuck in her hand, no intent of standing down. 

[leahthomas-blog1]

Leah is careful to avoid the slivers of glass carpeting the floor. One misstep means a loud crunch, an unnecessary noise, a giveaway of her position. She can’t afford to be stupid, or loud, or any combination of the above on days like this. (Or any day, really). Her stomach is empty. And so is her supply bag. It’s real satisfying to nestle the canned food into her rucksack inside the abandoned space of the store, to sweep something as sweet as a candy bar as dessert. Snickers. What a fuckin’ luxury. Leah bypasses the wilting, rotted vegetables, and instead has her mind on something far more valuable. Ding ding ding. There it is- first aid kit. And it’s a big one. In her hands, the hands of a nurse- it’s practically invaluable. But there’s a shadow across the way, signaling the presence of someone else who likely has their eyes on the same thing. She freezes. “I saw it first.” She’s not letting this one go. No fucking chance.