Flash Fiction #11
Whoo! Just made it in for today :-)
Title: Flash Fiction #11
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Word Count: 382
Characters: Merle Dixon, Milo
Warnings: None
Author’s Note/Disclaimer: I don’t own The Walking Dead or any of the characters associated with it - I just like to bring them out and play with them every now and then. This is purely my imagination - my Milo was hungry and I promised him he could eat Merle. This is unbeta’d and unedited - all mistakes are my own. If you see anything that needs correction, please let me know! Concrit is always welcome!
***
Merle climbed down the fire escape as best he could; he tried to stay quiet but the pain and loss of blood from having to amputate his own hand was making him clumsy. He muttered obscenities, threats, accusations… everyone was to blame for his current predicament, right on up to God Himself. He was so lost inside his own rant that he didn’t pay close enough attention to what he was doing; his feet slipped out from under him and, unable to catch himself, he fell to the pavement below.
Stunned, the breath knocked out of him, Merle tried to struggle to his feet but his ankle wouldn’t support his weight. He lay on his back, cursing and ranting about his rotten luck. “That damn cop, this is all his fault. He chained me up, left me to die… I’ll get him. I’m gonna make him pay.”
Merle was finally able to struggle to a sitting position. He leaned against the wall, panting from the exertion and the pain, his face red. As he looked up, he saw a horde of walkers coming toward him, drawn to him by the noise he was making. “Aw fuck, just what I need. More goddamn geeks.”
The walkers advanced on him, making a god-awful growling sound. At the head of the pack, a walker in a purple suit shambled steadily toward Merle, looking at him almost thoughtfully. “You think you can get me?! Come on then!” Merle finally managed to struggle to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. He brandished the crowbar he’d found inside the building, swinging it in a wide arc in front of him. “I’ll take you all out,” he screamed.
The walkers swarmed around Merle; some of them were taken down by his crowbar, only to struggle back to their feet. Others took an unlucky shot to the head and didn’t rise again. The walker in the purple suit hung back a little, watching his brothers bear down on their prey.
Merle fought as hard as he could but he was overwhelmed by greater numbers. As the walkers took him down, their teeth gnawing into his flesh and ripping it from his bones, Merle’s last conscious thought was that the walker in the purple suit was smiling at him.