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☠ ((fuckin' do it))

The pale sunlight was just crowning over the tops of the trees lining the riverside when he reached the water, and a slight chill had attached itself to the intermittent breeze as it crept silently through the air, on his cheeks, through his fingers and hair. The leaves crunched beneath his feet as he kept a casual yet wary pace along the bank, his eyes closely scanning every direction they touched upon.

It was just a small scouting run—checking the proximity of the larger packs of lurkers they knew to be roaming about out here, it was crucial. Even so, the ‘larger packs’ never usually consisted of much more than one, two, three if their attention hadn’t been drawn to a specific spot. These desolate woodlands had been almost a perfect safe haven—or at least, as close as one could get to safety—for that reason alone. Had been. Lately, there had been far more than usual. It was dangerous now to go out alone, but today? Today everybody else had been busy with various other chores; gathering, hunting, more gathering, the like. Luke had taken it upon himself this time; a reckless move, but one he couldn’t take back now. At least if he came back with something to report, it might just make the risk of his own demise worth it.But as it happened, the forest had been surprisingly quiet. Literally, every slight click of the rifle slung over his shoulder spliced the frigid air in competition with his footsteps—all in the absence of birdsong or even the low, guttural moans that had become commonplace in every location around the world.

He heaved a sigh. Probably should head back. Far be it from him to wish for danger, but he wished for something, at least. Not a pointless trope through the forest resulting in a lonesome trudge all the way back again, only to say the same two words to sum up his trouble: “Nothing new.” Luke kicked out at a rock and watched it splash into the water and merrily roll on its way with the tug of the current.

Of course, it hadn’t just been any old something he’d been hoping for. Christa had been missing for a while, now. Far too long. He’d bourn the others’ looks of sympathy, a ‘talking to’ from both Nick, Alvin and Carlos with much gritting of his teeth as he stubbornly insisted that she wasn’t gone. That she was a fighter. But even now, to his disgust, he’d begun to doubt. And it felt like a betrayal. But—nothing. Not a hide nor a hair. Not even a footprint, a spot of blood, nothing. Her absence weighed heavily on him every second he had to bear it, along with the crushing anxiety that the others might just have been right. But he couldn’t believe them. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d be lost, no question about it. With one last, lingering gaze out on the other side of the river, he turned to leave—and was met with a piercing snarl ripping through the air right next to his ear.

"Fuck!" Luke reacted instantly, hand flying up to grip the handle of his machete, and drawing it in one swift movement and bringing it down hard until he was met with the rewarding squish of flesh beneath. In fact, he’d slammed the blade straight down on the head of the perpetrator so damn hard in his fear that it had jammed right down halfway into the skull—it stuck there limply, held up only by his armAnd it damn near knocked the breath out of him to see what was on the end of it. "No." he choked out almost inaudibly in nothing more than a short, sputtering breath. His fingers loosened, and the lurker fell to the ground like a ragdoll, its skin still split open and weeping dark blood courtesy of the blade still embedded in its skull. It lay there, sprawled awkwardly along the ground as Luke fell heavily to his knees besides it.

"No. No-no, oh god. Oh god, please." Luke begged in a broken mumble, one hand pressed against his mouth and the other hovering near her pale, rotting face, as though the act of touching it might just make it more horribly real than it already was. A moment later, it curled into a first and hit the forest floor. Hard."Fuck, come on! Come fuckin’ on! That ain’t fuckin’ fair.” He bit down on his lip to try and stop it trembling, and his finger went to her ear to brush back a strand of matted hair, then down the edge of her jawline, before they halted beneath her bloody chin. Her mouth was open, fixed in a permanent snarl revealing the stained and muddy teeth inside. Her eyes were milky white, glaring at him accusingly from between the folds of greying skin, divided from each other by his machete. Rivulets of blood flowed down the lines of her nose, down past her cheeks and onto the ground, though the streams were then interrupted by his hand as he moulded it to her cheek.

"I told ‘em all, goddamit. I told ‘em you weren’t— " His voice broke, and he let out a shaky breath, pressing his other hand across his mouth and then across his cheeks to wipe away the moisture there.

"You—" His breathing hitched and he shuddered out another sigh, addressing the sky when he spoke again. A humourless laugh escaped him. "You can’t hear me. You’re gone. You were gone way before I knew it." He shook his head, sniffing and screwing his eyes shut, bringing up an image of her happy, living face in front of his eyes, laughing once breathlessly when he managed to conjour it. Her dark eyes gleamed at him, a small smile tugged at her lips while she tucked a lock of her thick, dark hair behind her ear, every movement speaking volumes of a playfulness, a vulnerability she unleashed only around him. The light caught the edge of her sharp cheekbones, sculpting her face into a sharp, defined shape that only she could pull off without looking stern. His brow tightened."You’re so beautiful." he choked out, opening his eyes to stare back at the body on the ground. "You’re so goddamn beautiful. I’m sorry. I—fuck, I’m so sorry, Christa."He wouldn’t move from that spot for a long time.