In the Sound

Kit and I were like rootless spirits.

We’d trudged through the woods, skipping through the odd houses that were scattered in the area. Through empty holes and boneyards. Never going back, never really going forward. Just wandering until our minds were numb and our feet were sore.

The house we were holed up in wasn’t as nice as the Greene farm. I imagined Daryl probably lived in a place like this in the old world. It was a tight shack, sheltered by a storm of large trees. The floorboards were withering and rising up at the edges. It was bled dry.

No food. No water. A flashlight, but no working batteries.
The only thing that the house seemed to be filled with was draws of clothes.

I ripped the white shirt I was wearing up around my elbows. It felt soggy from sweat, and as I wriggled out of it I could feel the dirty stains scratching against my skin. It tickled my ears on the way, ruffling my hair before I threw it to the floor. For a moment, I just glanced at it.

It wasn’t mine. Neither were the holey jeans wrapped around my thighs. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I wore something that actually belonged to me. I took a dark shirt from the top of the clothes pile. Threading it between my fingers, my eyes flickered up.

Set on the top of the clothes draws, were little photo frames. There were smiles brimming in each of them, none of which I recognised.

One vintage frame sat in the centre of the drawers, its edges kissed by rust. A man and a woman eyed me delightfully, their arms entangled around each other. The lady was wearing the same folded black shirt that was perched between my fingers.
I stretched it out in front of me, slipping my arms inside and pacing in the spot. She smelt like linen and old oak.

Where was she now?

Floorboards creaked underneath me, crackling under each one of my steps.

Maybe it was wrong to scavenge from grave yards like this. I guess it was like opening up coffins and nicking anything that glimmered in the moonlight. I was nothing more than a grave robber.

But I couldn’t go back to my old house. Never. Not even to get my old clothes. Too many memories. Ghosts.
“Kit!”

His throaty bark replied from down the hall.

Kit’s paws scraped along the wooden floors as he scampered over. The slightest limp in his leg was barely noticeable, but I knew that was why he ducked his head every hasty step that he took. He hurried to my hip, the peaks of his ears kissing my elbows. His mouth parted, tongue hanging open in a desperate pant.

When he reached me, my palm glided over the top of his head. He blinked slowly as my lips fell into a frown.

“Always in eye sight of each other, remember?” I whispered.
Kit made a soft grunt beside me before he dropped onto his belly. He didn’t need another word.

We both knew it well enough. Splitting up meant death.

I sighed and plopped myself on the bed. It bounced me up and down, like a spring sponge. My legs were draped over the side of the bed, swinging aimlessly.

Kit perked up. He leant up on his arms, showing the thick caramel fur at his chest. His nose pointed into the air, sniffing it curiously. He smelt something. Something that I couldn’t. Something coming our way.

Down the end of the hallway, a loud creak streaked across the floorboards. Both of our eyes were trained at the entry way. Maybe Daryl did come after me. Maybe he changed his mind.
My heart was thudding ravenously against my chest. My dry throat felt croaky and weak. I slipped up onto my feet and stood, gripping the knife at my belt.

My tongue poked out to lick at my lips. “Come on out,” came my hoarse call.

As I stared, I could see the smallest shadow consuming the light on the floorboard. A walker limped into the hallway, dragging his leg behind him pathetically. He groaned, the flesh on his face peeling away. His head rocked around for a moment, like he was figuring out which way to go.

His head snapped to look at me.

Slowly, he made his way down the hall. The floorboards were crackling insanely. Like rain drops tattering a tin roof.

Drawing the knife from my belt, I looked at it for a moment. It was rusty now, and getting pretty damn blunt. My good knife was still wedged in the chest of that lady at the Greene barn. Kit’s soft whine almost made me jump.

My eyes drove back up to the man, he slipped into the bedroom.
And then I saw it.

The breath was caught in my throat. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t even breathe properly. Just stare and hold onto my knife with a shaky hand.

Behind the limping man, were a whole crowd of walkers. They filled up the hallway like rats scurrying for food. Groaning, arms flailing in the air. Mouths drooling.

The limping man lunged for me.