Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

Anything to do with The Walking Dead does not belong to me. This is mostly for my entertainment.

∆

"Over there!"

A body drops in the trees. A boy, young and weary, concealing himself quickly behind shrubbery and under the shade of the leaves. Footfall follows the voices that don't belong to him, moving down a path he aborted just seconds prior to hiding.

Lucas remains as still as possible.

The rushed footsteps slow, then stop altogether.

If he could breathe through the panic, he would've sighed in relief.

Instead, he strains his ears past the sudden silence and creeps closer, shoes nudging past dry leaves and broken branches to rest upon vacant ground.

It's a group of several that settle in the clearing past the bushes, circling two bodies ominously. Only one of them moves. A mangled corpse chowing down on a dead deer like it was the last meal it'd ever get. Lucas supposes it would be, now, after watching the axe slice through the air, tearing its head off in one simple move. Their attempt isn't as successful as the group would have liked to believe, and while the corpse's severed head rolls uselessly across the dirt, its jaw remains free to snap at open air.

Lucas ducks behind the cover of a large oak tree, using it to study the individuals he's considering revealing himself to.

The two men at the front ooze an air of authority, even with the garden tools being the only weapons at their disposal - or maybe that's just the similar way they dress. Small-town cops on a mission. 

Keeping up a few steps beside them is an older man with a bright shirt and a slanted bucket hat atop his head. Lucas's eyes pass over him without stopping and fasten on the two girls hiding behind the group instead, relieved to see them comfortable in the excess of male company.

He flips the pocket knife in his hand, warring between two decidedly diverse options. One could profit his stability and the other, his survival odds.

To leave without a glance back, or risk intruding into the dynamic that was this group, despite the pit sitting in his stomach at the thought. 

The former appeals to Lucas the most. Could he really promise safety when he'd failed to offer the same before?

He doesn't get a chance to think more about it.

A foot slams into Lucas's spine, knocking him out of cover and into the open.

It takes the air out of him in one fell swoop when he drops, limbs knocking into jagged rocks and hands scraping uselessly against the ground for purchase. He comes to an end with his back against the ground and his weapon strewn across the dirt.

As soon as the shock dies out, he lunges to the side in a desperate attempt to find his knife-

His arm freezes mid-reach, fingers trembling, eyes coming to focus on the crossbow loaded and aimed above his nose. The hands threatening him are steady and strong around the trigger.

"Jesus." Lucas huffs, dropping his arm. He presses his back to the ground.

"Kid was hidin' in the bushes," the man says, unwavering, voice heavy with an accent.