𝙵𝙻𝙴𝚂𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙴 | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 𐂃

- Troy & Cristine

Grains of dust arose from the dirt road as it reached for the atmosphere. The landscape was empty with a faint glow under the burnt sky. In the olden days, such a view would embody a feel of boredom for Cristine. But the occasional dead they passed on the way back to the Ranch was cause of alertness. That, and the chance of the Nation watching them. As the engine of the truck revved, Troy clutched the brake and gave the gas pedal a push. With one hand clasped around the wheel and the other lazily tapping on the edge of his pulled down window, Troy focused on the road, but occasionally glanced Cristine from the corner of his gaze. "A lot of dead roaming around lately. Glad we spotted them." The brunette said out loud and retold the events." Good call." Troy wanted to say more and bring up what occurred just before they left then thinking better of it pursed his lips.

"Yeah," Cristine muttered her answer, fidgeting with her hands and brushed her fingers through the front of her curls and went silent again, disengaging from the conversation. Her pulse thumped just thinking about it and she was relieved didn't bring it up. Cristine frowned and she twisted her head to look out the window. Still, her mind couldn't help but wonder to the moment that just made this initially 30-minute trip back that much longer. "Why now out of all times and why with him?"

-

Cristine's heart thundered when she felt the large hand clamp around her mouth, smothering the sound lest the cat walking dead heard her. He pulled her into his body and Cristine struggled, body responding before her brains and senses caught up that it was Troy. Breathing harshly through her flaring nostrils when that same hand relaxed, but was still firm pressed against her mouth and into his chest with his other arm keeping both her arms locked at the sides of her body.

"We won't make it to the truck from here," Troy whispered near the back of her ear, voice as low and quiet as he could. His glossy eyes, stretched a bit, in awe at the infected, before he asserted control and felt Cristine tense in his hold. "We wait it out." He felt her slightly relax and the up and down movement meant she'd acknowledged his warning. Slowly, but gradually Troy stepped back with thoughtful moves, ignoring the racing of his excited heart and the pulse of Cristine's. Even Troy wasn't that crazy to charge into this much dead and their peripherals darkened bit by bit, squeezing back between the crevices of the path they took the time to squeeze back through. He didn't know this area with rocks and cliffs as best given that they never really came here, but it was best to retreat.

Troy grunted when he felt the woman jab him with the end of her elbow and let go. She whipped her head in his direction, raised her head, frustration with her eyes and Troy shrugged unapologetically for saving her life and by extension his ass. But Cristine let that moment of flustered irritation go as quick as it'd come and she leaned into the jaggy rocks, head raised and chest deflating from the heavy sigh. "So much for a quick run."

Troy's eyes remained trained on the crack of light and the dusky and washed out looking corpses strolling by like a traffic. The air thick, parched, and each breath felt like inhaling a fire's radiating heat. Looking over his shoulder, he watched Cristine survey the infected. "Nothing we can do about it. These seemed to have migrated. They're heading the opposite way of the Ranch, but best to be cautious." The slow dead, like ill-mannered soldiers marched like masters of the environment. Scanning the extension of it that kept going and going, Troy wondered under his breath, "we checked the forcefield before coming here and nothing was compromised. Let's just hope no loud activity back home alarms them." Troy wiped the back of his neck, eyes peering at the army of the dead.

"Let's hope so." Cristine's brows lined with worry. She watched. The distant husks of a hive mind that could be summoned by the most silliest of sounds moved sluggishly. They lacked communication, but moved like one sentient mass. Their groans and snarls were audible. It was always a mystery how, when and where one came from and grew into a horde, but the only signals that went through the walking cadavers was their muscle memories to keep moving without aim. No intelligence or sense of self motivated them forward.