Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

Lucas slides down the wide slope of dirt, bursting into the trees.

Shane's furious call of his name has him stuttering in his chase like a scolded child, but only for a moment until he pushes past the sudden doubt instilled in him.

The forest wind whips against his face, nudging loose the curls from under the beanie to obstruct his view and claw at his cheeks. Though, he supposes it could be the tree branches he's trying to avoid, ducking under and jumping over fallen logs.

He grows troubled the further he moves into the woods. The trace he believed to be following is gone. The sound he thought footsteps, twisting into something most disturbing. His imagination.

Lucas slows to a stop, straining his ears.

This was the way Carol pointed, was it not?

He realizes, almost horrified, that they could have veered off at some point and he - believed to be doing the right thing - has run after nothing.

Okay. That was stupid.

Lucas' feet move on, a dash of hope controlling his limbs and clutching onto his heart like an irritating tumour. It's a dwindling flame, on the verge of being put out.

His legs steer him to the right, down a slope towards the sound of rushing water, the dirt dipping into a creek so clear it makes him thirsty. This is it, he supposes, the water to douse his hope.

Fortunately, that tiny, struggling fire in his heart abruptly bursts into a roaring flame.

A crescent moon shape in the dirt has caught his eyes. The heel of a shoe. Footprints, as clear as day in the mud. Two sets of them, one larger - someone older than Lucas - and one much, much smaller.

He blows out a puff of air, "So I was going in the right direction."

Lucas follows the prints into the water, coldness beginning to seep into his shoes and up his calf.

He can only think of two reasons for them heading into the creek. Either they slipped, or they found out the tree roots were a spectacular area to hide.

Ducking his head underneath one of the crevices, Lucas doesn't find anything and swings his eyes across the creek for floating bodies above the water.

Lucas looks up -

- and stops breathing.

A walker, towering dangerously on the dirt overlooking the creek, so very close to hearing his erratic, suddenly-too-loud heartbeat.

With one of its eyes gone, he thinks, maybe, it'll look less threatening.

He's very wrong.

When it twists its mutilated head, the single, veiny eye locking onto him like a cat to a laser, he lets out a ragged breath. Fear shooting through him like a blinding hot poker to the stomach.

Lucas stumbles back, reaching quickly for his only viable weapon and holding it out like it's a gun. The corpse doesn't know the difference so why does it matter?

"Come at me!"

It growls, a ferocious, watery sound, immediately darting over the dirt and with a big splash, into the creek.

Lucas prepares himself, taking several steps back to adjust his knife and take a deep breath. He half expects to trip over the log lying in the middle of the creek. But he doesn't.

No.

Somehow it's much, much worse.

A cold hand snaps around his ankle under the water, slimy fingers gripping on tight when he jerks to a stop, standing deathly still.