SURVIVE.
❝ Let the end of the world be
inside you, then you don't
need to fear the end
of the world out there. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK ONE of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 1 - 3 ]
******
I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its...
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[ xxvi. i hear nebraska's nice ]
november 4th, 2010
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THE TENSION HUNG HEAVY in the air as Rick Grimes brought the car to a sudden halt outside Hatlin's, the shadowy bar located in downtown Mert County, and the very place where Hershel Greene was supposed to be. The stillness was palpable, as if time itself had suspended in the face of impending confrontation. In the car, a veil of unease enveloped the occupants. Glenn, his voice tinged with caution, finally broke the silence, his gaze shifting over Astrid and to Rick.
"I know about Lori," He stammered awkwardly, his words weak beneath a weighty announcement. "About her being pregnant."
For a millisecond, Astrid paused, realizing that she had not been alone in keeping Lori's secret. How long had Glenn known? Had he known before or after her? She supposed it did not matter now. In fact, Astrid now sensed an opportunity to express herself. "I know, too," She revealed, seizing the moment to share the blame. "I was with her when she found out."
Rick's response was a mixture of exasperation and resignation. He rubbed his temples as if trying to alleviate the mounting pressure within. "I figured at least one of you did," He sighed heavily, his voice laced with a sense of defeat. "I guess it doesn't matter though. C'mon. We came here to get Hershel. Not to discuss my wife."
The driver's side door opened, releasing an air of anticipation. Rick exited without another word. Astrid and Glenn exchanged furtive glances in the rearview mirror, and then, bracing themselves for what lay ahead, they followed the sheriff's lead.
As they approached the seemingly empty bar, Astrid clutched her handgun tighter. The desolate town seemed to echo with the haunting possibility of danger lurking in the shadows. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant whispers of a decaying world.
Rick pushed open the creaking door, its groan heralding their entry. The interior was shrouded in darkness, the dim light from the dying day behind them casting elongated shadows that danced menacingly. He moved forward with a wariness born of experience, his eyes scanning every corner as he ventured deeper into the building.
Astrid trailed after Rick, her steps measured. Glenn, a shadow at her back, mirrored her unease. The atmosphere in the dark bar was suffused with an eerie tremor, like a storm brewing out of sight. The air was thick with the musty scent of aged wood, mingled with the acrid tang of stale alcohol and the faintest whiff of what Astrid was beginning to presume could only be death itself.
Bottles, some half-empty and others shattered, lined the shelves behind the counter that stretched the right side of the room. The mirrors that adorned the walls were cracked and clouded, distorting reflections into fragmented glimpses of reality. Tables, once polished and gleaming, now bore layers of dust. Abandoned chairs leaned precariously against the tables, their former occupants long gone.
