Fic: Take it With Me (Cara/Kahlan) 3/?
Title: Take it With Me (3/?)
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Disclaimer: LotS, the characters, names and places do not belong to me.
A/N: Written as a series to entertain browneyed813, otherwise known as my muse and at the same time my girl. The two things she loves are LotS and Zombies, so I thought I'd combine them, just for her. And here it is for your viewing pleasure.
Chapter Three
It begins at dawn. Forever a cliché. Everything happens then. Or midnight. Or twilight. Maybe it doesn’t always happen at dawn.
But this time it does. Only know its dawn from my watch. Even when the world ends, cannot be late. Time irrelevant. Still keep track. No bus to catch. No film to watch. No meeting to make. But still. My Swiss time piece. Ticks. Forever on.
It starts small. Scrapping. Banging. Seemingly distant. Getting closer. Homing in. They smell it. Us. Fresh meat. Was only a matter of time.
And Richard panics. Scrambles for dog-eared maps. Where to go. What to do. Slap him upside the head. Hard. Remind him. Act. Don’t think. Plans mean nothing anymore.
Escape route guarded. Detailed. Radio the sentry. Make sure it’s still safe. Pack the necessities. Load the guns. Move. They’re coming. And they don’t stop.
Moaning starts. Packs on. Guns cocked. Aimed. Head height at the door. If it breeches, we’ll be ready. Don’t want to be here. Not if it does.
Move. In formation. Out the window. Across the roof of the gym. Hear them below. Moans. Dragging. Muffled foot falls. Echo eerily.
Just jump. One small step. A giant fall. Tuck and roll. Sprint to the finish. Guarded RVs. Stocked. Fueled. Hit the asphalt. Bones jar. Run for it.
Blood. Heart. Feet. Pound. Stop short. Paralysed. Blood curdling scream. Cuts through the background noise. Turn. See her. Dangling. Braid caught on the barbed wire a foot above her head. Blood pours. Down her face. Neck. Dripping on the ground below. Clawing at her hair. Trying to pull herself back up. To lessen the weight. Stop the pain. Skin tears. And she’s screaming.
Raise my gun. Know they’re coming. Moments. Seconds. Know there is no choice. Childhood friend in my gun sight. Head shot. Always a head shot. She falls quiet.
Drops to the floor. Lifeless. Scalped.
Pick her up. Can’t leave her. For them. For that. Take her. Bury her. Later.
But for now. For this moment. Run.
Before they find us. Break down a door. A fence. Swarm us. Overwhelm us. Before they come.
And just like that we’re on the move. On the run. Final destination unknown. Outlook bleak. But at least we’re moving.
I’m coming home Kahlan.
Glance at my lifelong friend’s mutilated body.
Whatever the cost. I’m coming home.
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Disclaimer: LotS, the characters, names and places do not belong to me.
A/N: Written as a series to entertain browneyed813, otherwise known as my muse and at the same time my girl. The two things she loves are LotS and Zombies, so I thought I'd combine them, just for her. And here it is for your viewing pleasure.
Chapter Three
It begins at dawn. Forever a cliché. Everything happens then. Or midnight. Or twilight. Maybe it doesn’t always happen at dawn.
But this time it does. Only know its dawn from my watch. Even when the world ends, cannot be late. Time irrelevant. Still keep track. No bus to catch. No film to watch. No meeting to make. But still. My Swiss time piece. Ticks. Forever on.
It starts small. Scrapping. Banging. Seemingly distant. Getting closer. Homing in. They smell it. Us. Fresh meat. Was only a matter of time.
And Richard panics. Scrambles for dog-eared maps. Where to go. What to do. Slap him upside the head. Hard. Remind him. Act. Don’t think. Plans mean nothing anymore.
Escape route guarded. Detailed. Radio the sentry. Make sure it’s still safe. Pack the necessities. Load the guns. Move. They’re coming. And they don’t stop.
Moaning starts. Packs on. Guns cocked. Aimed. Head height at the door. If it breeches, we’ll be ready. Don’t want to be here. Not if it does.
Move. In formation. Out the window. Across the roof of the gym. Hear them below. Moans. Dragging. Muffled foot falls. Echo eerily.
Just jump. One small step. A giant fall. Tuck and roll. Sprint to the finish. Guarded RVs. Stocked. Fueled. Hit the asphalt. Bones jar. Run for it.
Blood. Heart. Feet. Pound. Stop short. Paralysed. Blood curdling scream. Cuts through the background noise. Turn. See her. Dangling. Braid caught on the barbed wire a foot above her head. Blood pours. Down her face. Neck. Dripping on the ground below. Clawing at her hair. Trying to pull herself back up. To lessen the weight. Stop the pain. Skin tears. And she’s screaming.
Raise my gun. Know they’re coming. Moments. Seconds. Know there is no choice. Childhood friend in my gun sight. Head shot. Always a head shot. She falls quiet.
Drops to the floor. Lifeless. Scalped.
Pick her up. Can’t leave her. For them. For that. Take her. Bury her. Later.
But for now. For this moment. Run.
Before they find us. Break down a door. A fence. Swarm us. Overwhelm us. Before they come.
And just like that we’re on the move. On the run. Final destination unknown. Outlook bleak. But at least we’re moving.
I’m coming home Kahlan.
Glance at my lifelong friend’s mutilated body.
Whatever the cost. I’m coming home.