Gareth woke up abruptly. He lay there, listening for what had woken him so suddenly. There were no moans, no collapsing of burning structures, or screams from the dying. Not even the sound the flames made was there anymore. It was almost a shock to hear that lack of screams, though honestly, those had stopped more than a day ago. It had been getting quieter and quieter, but now it was… silent.
He unscrewed his last water bottle and let the remaining bit of it dribble out. He had conserved and done it well. Practice had made him damn near perfect with that. Three days in here had left him thirsty, but not near dead.
The empty bottles were in the bag with his spare knife and the other half of the altoid tin that had somehow never been found in the desk before. He dug one of those out and popped it in his mouth before moving to stand and listen at the door.
Still no sound out there, no matter how long he listened.
The mint clicked idly against his teeth and he opened the door very slightly in order to peak out.
The bodies he saw were not moving.
He nudged the door open another few inches. Nothing moved; no one shot at him. Either was a strong possibility right now, yet neither manifested. The air outside stunk as badly, if not worse, than it did inside the office. There was rotting meat … people, everywhere out there; all dead.
The door swung open the rest of the way with the barest of pressure created by his fingertips. He waited, the very patience of the grave flowing through him. Nothing moved. Gareth slowly walked across the catwalk and headed down the stairs. They would be somewhere. They were always somewhere. Even with a couple caved in buildings and burnt out fires all around, the dead would be somewhere.
He scanned the base of the stairs. There was a partial walker smashed between a wrecked vehicle and a wall. One arm was free, damaged, but able to scrabble at the top of the vehicles crushed hood. The lower jaw was missing and the most noise this creature could come up with was a wet gurgle.
The parade had moved on.
Keeping in mind the cunningness that had turned his prey into his hunter, Gareth stayed silent and out of open places. The chances of all the dead leaving were slim, Rick coming back for revenge was more likely, but he didn’t want to draw the attention of either faction.
Slowly, he worked his way to a little used, side exit of Terminus. It was too small for vehicles, so it had been rarely used.
His best bet was the slight possibility of them thinking that he was dead. If he read Rick right, the man would never make that kind of assumption. He would ere on the side of caution. Gareth had only two hopes to go on though. The first being most doubtful, that Rick would make that assumption and think Gareth dead. The second and most possible was that if he stayed quiet and got out as fast as was now possible, he wouldn’t be noticed.
Gareth was the one that had made foolish assumptions. The signs had come long before Rick, the warnings that Gareth should have heeded. Little things that he should have noticed, big things that had screamed WRONG, yet he had done them anyway. He had been able to punish himself while he punished those that had hurt them. Then he had punished those that had done nothing to him, out of fear that they may one day do harm.
