❝ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 '𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 ❞
frannie is willing to do anything to get back to her family, but can she put her trust in strangers to do it?
[slow updates]
[book 2/4]
[glenn rhee x fem!oc]
[through...
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The sound of music is what brings me back to the land of the living. Or rather the shitty excuse of music.
Pains shoot through my temples as the bass vibrates the entire van. I gently sit up, slowly realizing that I've been shoved in the back with Tara, who's still bleeding and unconscious. I also notice that my bandage has been changed.
A loud bang sounds from the side of the van, and one after the other more things are thrown at it. I shift around so I can see out the front windows, my eyes widening at all the walkers hurling themselves at the car. Glenn was right, the music does draw them away.
I shrug off my jacket, balling it up under Tara's head like a makeshift pillow. I then use my sore muscles to haul myself closer to the front seats so I can get a better look of the outside world.
"What the hell happened?" I groggily ask Eugene, who's gripping the steering wheel so tight that he might just break it.
"You lost consciousness. I'd say I did a rather fine job of redressing your wounds and comfortably situating you in the back." He responds in a way only he would.
"Thanks, I think." I murmur, my eyes squinting at the natural light beaming through the windows. "Where are you driving to?"
"The point of me driving is not to find a destination. It is, in fact, a solution to save your significant other's life." Eugene deadpans. I just stare at him. "Glenn, Noah, and Nicholas were cornered inside. I distracted the undead that were making their escape difficult. Simple as that."
I flinch when a rotten hand slaps against the side window, "The way you speak is so weird." I tell Eugene, scowling at the walker.
"Weird or effective communication?" He inquires. The words themselves are formed a humorous question, but his face is nothing short of serious.
"Weird is what I meant." I dispute with a heavy sigh. "I still hate this mix."
"Don't we all." Eugene remarks, straight-faced.
Silence enraptures us, which I don't mind the slightest. After a few minutes of aimlessly roaming about, Eugene shuts off the music. He keeps driving until the walkers lose interest, one by one and then all at once.
A shiver runs down my spine as Eugene pulls the car into the back, driving between abandoned semi-trucks and vans. My skin feels cold and clammy, the lightheadedness has never left, and I don't need to look in a mirror to know I've paled— precursor symptoms of hypovolemic shock.
