Daisy | The Walking Dead

19. Treasure Trove Ⅱ

~Day 19~

Glenn's attention snapped back to the present as a thunderous boom reverberated through the air, accompanied by a brilliant flash of lightning that illuminated the shop. Time was slipping away. Glenn's sense of urgency heightened, knowing he needed to fortify their fragile sanctuary, to secure the perimeter before the full force of the storm descended upon them.

Moreover, he was keenly aware that the number of the undead, the relentless geeks, always seemed to multiply after nightfall. Though the streets, for now, lay sparsely populated, a deceptive calm before the storm, he understood the inevitable swell of their grotesque ranks. Dozens of twisted figures, bent on sating their insatiable hunger, would soon infest the streets. The window of opportunity was closing, and Glenn would not let it slip through his grasp.

In an unusual moment of self-centered relief, Glenn found himself grateful for Daisy's atypical coping mechanisms. Unlike other children her age who might cry out or scream in distress, Daisy had developed a unique defense mechanism—one that both of them referred to as "clocking out."

Within the depths of these harrowing dissociative episodes, her mind retreated from the horrors that besieged their reality, offering Glenn a precious gift—an invaluable window to survey their surroundings without the added fear of her unwittingly drawing attention with her cries or distress.

It also meant, that on the rare occasion she did cry out, he knew something was very, very wrong

With silent determination, Glenn retraced his steps, his movements shrouded in stealth as he approached the cracked yet not completely shattered display windows at the store's entrance. Brushing away a layer of dust, he peered through the narrow gaps, gazing out at the desolate street beyond—a haunting graveyard of abandoned vehicles and scattered debris. Rain trickled down, seemingly aggravating the relentless geeks that roamed the vicinity.

He moved to the door and attempted to lock it, but it proved futile—no wonder the thing had yielded so easily earlier. It was busted.

Resolute in his efforts to secure their sanctuary, he seized a nearby chair and wedged it firmly under the handle, ensuring that the entrance remained fortified against unwanted, shambling intruders.

Then, with a calculated whistle, his breath carrying a melody that resonated through the shop, Glenn sought to draw the attention of any lurking undead foes within the shadows. His intention was clear—to clear out the premises, utilizing the one thing that had an uncanny attraction for the dead: noise.

He didn't see any of them with his first scope of the shop, but he could never be too careful.

Moments passed, each second stretching into an eternity as Glenn strained his ears for any sign of movement or groans of approaching doom. Finally, relief washed over him as the shop remained enveloped in an eerie silence.

Yet, he was all too aware of the dangers of complacency, knowing that safety in this apocalyptic world was a fragile illusion. His instinct urged him to conduct another round of the store, leaving no stone unturned, no hiding place unchecked.

With a renewed swiftness, Glenn weaved through the labyrinthine aisles of the thrift shop, his flashlight beam slicing through the oppressive darkness, casting unsettling shadows upon the walls. He meticulously inspected every nook and cranny, every corner and crevice, ensuring that no hidden danger lay in wait, ready to pounce upon them with unyielding ferocity.

Amidst the labyrinthine arrangement of items, his flashlight beam fell upon a sight he had previously overlooked—an unassuming metal fire exit door nestled discreetly in the depths of the shop. Its presence hinted at a potential escape, an avenue to flee if the need arose.