like real people do | c.g [#wattys2019]

D E M I S E

SOMETIMES YOU JUST FEEL IT. That inexplainable punch to the gut. Almost like the stars align and the world decides to issue you a warning. The notion that something's about to go very, very wrong. Most of the time, it comes too late. Moments before shit hits the fan and your life gets turned upside down. Seconds before you lose everything you've worked for, you sense it coming in the air. Your demise, whatever it may be.

This time, it's not so late. It strikes the moment he leaves. The moment I close the gate after Carl, watching him get further covered by the trees as he delves deeper into the woods to save a man he barely knows. Something makes my insides twist as he goes. The innate gut feeling I learned long ago to not ignore.

It makes me frown at first, as I try to shrug it off, pulling the metal gate shut. But it doesn't fade. I try to find Rosita and see she's gone, I can't find Michonne anywhere, either, and the feeling failed to cease. So, when my body started panicking before my brain did- when my hands started shaking, and my heart started hammering, and every damn fiber of my being told me to go, I listened.

Making a quick stop by the armory to reload a gun and feeling the pressure of the knife strapped to my belt, the one tucked into the back of my jeans, and the pocketed one riding up against my ankle inside my boot, I move.

No one questions me when I sneak out the gate, following the trail my boyfriend left behind. He's easy to find, something that used to concern me when we were out on the road. I tried to teach him how to lighten his footsteps and cover his tracks, something Daryl taught me when I was twelve. He never quite managed to learn, though, which I'm now glad for, finding his footsteps in the dirt easily.

I keep hearing my own blood pulsing through my limbs as I rush more and more into the woods, the urgency never decreasing. I don't know why I'm this anxious, this panicked, but my fingers inch toward my neck for a string of metal that is no longer there and I know that whatever it is, it's justified. It's right and it feels like intuition, so I allow myself to pick up my pace.

My boots begin to make a bit more noise against the fallen leaves and branches on the ground, and it begins to attract attention. Walkers seem to stray my away, creeping out of wherever it was they were previously hiding. I stab the couple that get close enough easily, seeing the backs of a few distracted by something else. The closer I get, the clearer the picture painted in front of me becomes.

A man fights these walkers rapidly, trying to bring them down as less than ten still surround him. He stands 100 feet or so away from me, so I find it safe enough to start shooting some down. He's startled when the dead figure he was wrestling falls down, the one behind him following suit. I pocket my gun, not needing the extra attention as already enough of the dead seem to make their way to me after my shots.

I let my knife glide through the air instead, bringing down the roamers that the man doesn't quite catch as I run toward him. But the sight that awaits me when I find him is what makes everything click into place.