“It’s alright, I know it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”
This wasn’t the first time a supply run had last longer than expected and Maggie
knew it wouldn’t be the last. However, on those runs they were almost always
together. Any insistence from the brunette normally wearing down on her husband
until the man gave up his protests. Except the times when they were afraid of what
they were risking and Maggie was more willing to stay behind. Brows creased in
worry, green eyes searching for a sign of something wrong to quickly locate the
dark stain on his shirt.
No time was spent waiting for his answer, the distance between them was closed with
a single step. Fear clenched its cold fingers around her belly, sending an icy chill through
her veins and immediately drying out her mouth. Every wound was a risk. Infection was
no longer easy to stop. And until the Greene saw her husband’s injury a lingering horror
that it had been caused by one of the undead would remain. She should have been there.
Not all things were avoidable, but this could be something that her presence would have
prevented. Gentle hands carefully tugged at damaged fabric in an attempt to get a better
look at what was hidden underneath. Not a bite, one look made that clear enough in an
instant, but possibly still a danger to Glenn. Logic would have told her the spread out
marks could possibly have been left by the nails of a walker and yet she couldn’t stop
herself from asking.
“These aren’t—they weren’t left by nails were they?”
Fatigued gaze locked upon her elegant features as if every shift in expression
proved essential factors for the continuation of his very existence, structured jaw
flexing in an outward indication of his guilt in regards to causing her such notable
concern, the skilled runner nodded mutely in acceptance of her apology; mocha
infused hues rife with affection regardless of the circumstances they found themselves
within, deep set brow furrowed with an air of indisputable DISCOMFORT. It wasn’t entirely
uncommon for a supply run to take longer than planned, however the recent influx in
losses they’d suffered at the hands of both the living and the dead had succeeded in
setting everyone on edge. The urge to prevent further heartache, to protect what it was
they had left, that which had rapidly INFECTED the remnants of a once sizable community.
He’d pleaded with her to stay behind, to sit this one out, his own unrelenting fear of losing
her having propelled him into action. However, standing before her and playing witness to
the flurry of emotions that emanated from her form in merciless waves presented itself as
almost adequate in inducing regret within the ruffled haired male; if she’d been there, she
wouldn’t have been feeling so helpless. If she’d been there, maybe his injury could’ve been
evaded.
Pain coursed through a system on its last legs with every passing moment, slender palms
unsteady where they remained at his sides as thick crimson oozed from his side to imprint
itself within the fabric of his tattered shirt, a jolt of second-hand emotion searing through the
center of his chest as his wife caught a GLIMPSE of the stain forming upon his piece of attire;
words failing him, although she hardly gave him chance to respond to her inquiry.
Be it the way of the world they now found themselves a part of, or a testament to how attuned
they’d become as a couple, the Rhee male knew the thoughts that were swirling through the
brunette’s consciousness long before her voice was caressing his senses once more; the ever
present threat of infection, of becoming one of them, becoming irreparably lost, a devil upon
each of their backs. Even in the absence of a bite, it was unlikely he’d find himself out of the
woods. The lack of sterilization within their environment leaving him susceptible to other forms
of bacteria, every second that ticked by in which he was a victim of an exposed wound,
increasing the probability of him getting sick; or a simple ‘graze’ transforming into something
fatal. Nostrils flared beneath the weight of a SHARP inhale as her careful motion of peeling back
some of the blood soaked cotton sent pinpricks of agony through his veins, handsome attributes
contorted with displeasure and although he was hardly squeamish when it came to gore given
all he’d lived through, Glenn found himself turning his head away from severed flesh; toned abs
convulsing as his stomach churned.
“It wasn’t a Walker. I cut through a hole in some chain-link fencing to
get away from a group of them and got caught on the edge of it… It
was this or- It could’ve been worse okay? Don’t worry yourself over this.”
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