Category Archives: Fiction

NaNoWriMo Teaser: Tracks

Week Three’s NaNoWriMo snippet from ‘Beneath the Stormy Sky’…and I said I’d save Jasmine’s crazy for this week!
She’s angry, and hurt, and playing with fire…will her twelve-year-old cousin get caught up in her games?

Photo by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

Jasmine crawled through the hole and stood on the other side. She grinned at Thomas, who leaned against the wire. His face was pale. “We shouldn’t be here,” he said.

Jasmine scowled.

“It’s dangerous.”

“That’s the point!” she told him. “You can stay there, you don’t have to come through, but what’s the point in living if you don’t beat anything?” She bent towards him, and waved her hands. “Especially death!”

He recoiled and squatted to slide through the gap. “I’m here, okay.”

“Cool.” Jasmine moved towards the track, stared up and down the railway line, and glanced at her watch. A big grin filled her face. “We’re on time.”

“What time is it?” asked Thomas.

“Five past four.”

“So what are you doing? Will you get back behind the fence before Four fifteen?” he asked.

“Gosh, you’re a scaredy cat!” Her eyes glistened with adrenalin. “Yes, we’ll be safe before the train comes!”

“And before?”

“It’s our play ground before! We’ve got twelve minutes, or maybe eleven before the train comes!” Jasmine put her foot on the closest track and grinned at Thomas.

“What about the electric line, the live one?” cried Thomas.

“There isn’t one, we’re not electrified out here,” she told him. “Look, I can stand on the track!” She stood inside the lines and giggled at her cousin’s terrified expression. “It’s fine,” she said glancing at her watch again, “ten more minutes!”

“What if it’s early?”

“It won’t be that early!” Jasmine felt her heart pound within her chest and her legs felt slightly wobbly. She stared down the rails then hopped from one sleeper to the next. “Whoop whoop!” she cried.

She twirled on a sleeper slipping off onto the gravel between and giggled.

“Jasmine,” called Thomas.

“What?”

“I don’t like you on there…”

“I don’t suppose you do, my mum would have a heart attack!”

“How soon do you want to meet Freya?” Thomas quipped, with more seriousness than he meant.

Jasmine’s eyes glowered. “I don’t want to meet her, that’s the point!” Her voice rose. “I’ll beat death, she couldn’t manage it, but I can!”

Thomas shrugged and leaned back against the wire fence, gripping it with both his hands.

Jasmine danced along the track again then rushed over to Thomas. “It’s fun!” she said right into his face then waltzed back towards the rails, jumping right into the middle of the track.

“What time is it?” asked Thomas.

“Eight minutes past, we’ve got ages, the train doesn’t come until seventeen minutes…” Jasmine’s heart suddenly leapt into her mouth as the rails beside her began to whine. “What’s that noise?” she asked, spinning round.

“Jazz!” Thomas screamed. “It’s a train!”

Jasmine whirled round and the smile fell from her face. “That’s not the train I expected!” she yelled, “It’s the wrong direction!”

“It’s still coming!”

Jasmine didn’t move. Her heart pounded, and she stared straight at the train racing down the track towards her, but still she didn’t move.

“JASMINE!” Thomas’ scream filled her ears as much as the horn that hooted. The tracks vibrated and Jasmine’s legs turned to jelly.

“MOVE, JASMINE, MOVE!” Thomas leapt forward towards the track.

She stared blankly at the figure waving fiercely in the advancing train window and suddenly Jasmine came to her senses. Her legs reacted and bounded off the railway as the train squealed past, its horn screaming in her ears. She landed and skidded on all fours in the gravel by the side of the track. She rolled across the stones, unaware of the tear in her jeans and the blood on her hands. Her head spun and her mouth was as dry as the summer earth. She felt violently sick as she rolled onto her knees and stood up, and she shook as she grabbed hold of the wire fence. The train sped on, rushing by in a haze, clattering down the track. Her hands trembled terribly as she hung on and tears slipped unconsciously down her cheeks.

“Seventeen, seventeen…” she repeated, and tried to read her watch on her wrist. “seventeen…it’s not seventeen…”

Her eyes could make no sense of the numbers on her watch and she heaved a huge tremulous sigh. She looked up and the train had gone, vanished into the distance, leaving only the hint of a hum behind it. Barely able to stand Jasmine let her tears fall freely. She gazed about her then up and down her body, she smoothed down her jacket and stamped her feet, trying to stop shaking. Then the giggles came, surfacing uncontrollably. She laughed, letting tears stream down her face. She stared up at the sky and let the sun blind her. Then she began to calm down. “Thomas!” She licked her lips and shuddered. “Wow, Thomas, did you see that? Of course you did! WOW…I’ve never been so scared, in all my life!” She glanced about her. “Thomas? Thomas? Where are you?” Panic hit her brutally. “Thomas! THOMAS?”

NaNoWriMo Teaser: Empathy

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Week two and my second unedited, first draft NaNoWriMo teaser for ‘Beneath the Stormy Sky’:
The anniversary of Freya’s death arrives and Jasmine’s mum fears the bluebells won’t flower in time…

Bluebells by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use)

The bluebells did blossom in time.
Jasmine woke early and watched her mother trudge down the garden. It was raining, an early morning shower, and Mum walked to the apple tree. A pink blush appeared over the horizon as the garden still sat in gloom. Jasmine peered around her curtain, not wanting to interrupt her mother’s private ritual.
At the tree, her mother sank down to the dewy grass and began gently plucking fresh bluebells. She touched each stem, carefully moving it away from the cluster, examining the delicate bells and choosing the best flowered stems to pull. There wasn’t a strong showing this year and Jasmine watched as she left flowers still tightly in bud only picking the open blossoms. She had a paltry handful, when Jasmine’s attention was diverted.
Out of the corner of her eye, in the semi darkness, someone moved in next door’s garden. Not worrying about concealment, she lifted the curtain and squinted. Their elderly neighbour, Daisy, wandered down her garden, in fluffy slippers. Jasmine’s eyebrow rose. Daisy shuffled quietly towards a crop of bluebells beneath her hedge and bent down. She moved slowly and definitely, choosing the best flowers as Jasmine’s mother did in her own garden. Daisy’s bluebells filled her frail hands as she painfully straightened her back and stood.
Jasmine glanced back at her mum and saw her brush tears away with her sleeve. Her mum held the small bunch of flowers against her chest as she sat beneath the tree.
In the still of the burgeoning morning Daisy’s soft murmur could be heard even by Jasmine through her window. Her mum looked up, turning to the fence. She saw the flowers in Daisy’s hands and more tears fell. She got to her feet and moved to the fence. The two women grasped hands and Daisy offered her flowers to enhance the grieving woman’s own bouquet.
Jasmine suddenly felt hot tears course down her face as memories flooded back. She remembered standing at that very fence handing bunches of flowers to her elderly neighbour. She recalled posies of daffodils, huge yellow trumpets and thick stems; bunches of freesias, purple, red, yellow and white, with long and broken stems; clusters of sweet peas, filling the air with scent and colour; late bouquets of bright blue cornflowers, bright red montbretia and heady purple lavender; and as today, limp bunches of bluebells…
Memories swamped her and emotions rose like a tidal wave. Warm and choking moments of pride, memories of a small girl gifting her neighbour battered bunches of flowers to continue a tradition set by her lost sister, threatened to undo her and a sob welled up with her tears.

NaNoWriMo Teaser: Stand

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So we’re back to NaNoWriMo and last year a few of us posted weekly snippets from our unedited, very rough first drafts…and I thought I’d do the same this year.
For the uninitiated NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month (November) where us rather mad writerly types attempt to write 50,000 words in one month. I’m on track…
Here’s my first teaser:

This gives you an insight into Jasmine’s character in ‘Beneath the Stormy Sky’.
A teeny bit of background is necessary…in lunch break Jasmine got carried away applying eye liner, and pencilled blue waves from one eye and a shark fin, and a mermaid beneath her fringe across her other eye. Their teacher is losing her patience with the class, having already had altercations with other pupils…

Photograph by Bekah Shambrook (Please do not use)

The class opened their books and began getting pens and pencils. Jasmine grinned, casting a smug sideways glance at Tayla and Amber.
“Will you be joining us Jasmine? Got your maths book with you?” Mrs Rhodes fixed her eyes on the back of the room. Jasmine started and unconsciously flicked her fringe away from her eyes as she opened her bag. She hunted for her book and pencil case. Her maths book appeared to be hiding and Jasmine’s skin prickled beneath the teacher’s stare. The book was nowhere in her bag. She searched again, flicking through books and junk.
“Miss Scott, we’re waiting.”
“The book probably fell through her fingers Miss, that’s what happened in netball…repeatedly!” Tayla scowled.
Jasmine buried her face in her bag, frantically rummaging. She heard Mrs Rhodes’ footsteps tapping on the classroom floor and…there it was, squashed down underneath her lunch box. She retrieved it with relief and dropped it on her desk. She looked up, right up into the teacher’s face.
As Jasmine met her eyes, Mrs Rhodes squinted.
“And who are you today Jasmine?”
Jasmine shook her head, not understanding the question.
“Are you in the right place or were you expecting a field trip to the beach?” Mrs Rhodes fixed her with piercing eyes.
Again Jasmine shook her head. “No, Miss…”
“Then why the face paint? I can see the shark…is that me?” Her lip curled in what Jasmine could only perceive as a sneer. “And you’re the…” she reached down and with barely a touch, gently lifted Jasmine’s fringe. “And you’re the mermaid.”
Jasmine recoiled and shook her hair back across her face. She reddened and licked her lips, her fingernails pinching her palms beneath the desk.
“So sweet, but, this isn’t an art class, we’re a maths class and art doesn’t belong in a maths class.”
Jasmine began to burn as students stared and Tayla grinned.
“So, please take a moment to remove your work of art and return back to us when you’re as plain as an equation.”
Denis snorted, and snickers spread across the class.
Jasmine sat, simmering, her heart pounding and her head throbbing. “No,” she said quietly, “I’m not taking it off, it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“Pardon me?” Mrs Rhodes raised her eyebrows so high Jasmine thought they’d fly off her forehead.
“No.” Jasmine bit her lip and glowered. Daggers prickled her body and she burned.
“I think you’ll find I’m the teacher here, and what I say goes.” Mrs Rhodes pursed her lips. “Now please go and remove the make-up. It’s against the rules for one thing.”
Tears stung Jasmine’s eyelids.
“If you won’t remove it then you can stand outside.”
Jasmine slammed her maths book back into her bag and slung the bag over her shoulder. She kicked the chair backwards and let it fall, clattering to the floor as she stood. She held the desk with one hand, gripping it for all she was worth, and smoothed her hair out of her face, tucking her fringe behind her ear and exposing her make-up, with the other. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted!” she spat out the words, spittle landing on her teacher’s face.
Mrs Rhodes watched as her pupil marched out of the class. “Stand outside!” she called as Jasmine slammed the door. The door bounced against its frame.
“Yeah, right!” cried Jasmine and her feet thudded down the corridor.
The classroom door flew open. “I said, wait outside!” called Mrs Rhodes.
“You never said wait…you said stand…and I’m taking one!” shouted back Jasmine.
“Taking what?” yelled Mrs Rhodes.
“A stand, I’m taking one!” and Jasmine was gone.

AMMC: The Little Mouse

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My third and final tale for AMMC, a Christmas Anthology.

A Screenshot from ‘The Nativity Story’

Genre: Traditional/Religious

Author: Lisa Shambrook

eBook: Yes

Dedication: To all who dream and believe…

The Little Mouse

Food was scarce, and the little mouse scampered hurriedly across the straw avoiding hooves and scavenging poultry. A chicken screeched in his ear and he skidded aside, ducking quickly beneath the manger’s wooden leg. He dragged a fresh piece of barley caught between his teeth and a couple of lost grains filled his swollen cheeks.

He peered out from behind the manger, chaos had broken out over the last few weeks and finding food had become a chore. His home was overrun with creatures of all kinds and his daily route for food was constantly obstructed.

His bright, black eyes stared with disbelief as yet more shouting rang out as another crude shelter was erected outside the livestock caves. A rough-hewn branch crashed down, its hollow thud resounding through the bedlam as it bounced and rolled. More yells and hasty footsteps followed before the makeshift roof was assembled, roped together above the temporary pens. He watched as more sheep and goats were crammed into the pens, and chickens flapped their irritated wings throwing dust into his eyes. He retreated into the pungent, dank straw, longing for peace and quiet.

The little mouse awoke from his nap as light began to fade and streaks of red filled the sky. He noted with relief that the busy footfall had diminished moving into the streets rather than the livestock stalls. Music and chat poured from the buildings and the sounds and the spices of evening meals curled up into the sky, along with spirals of smoke and fire, but it was quiet in his little neighbourhood. The chickens slept, roosting upon beams and clustered in corners, the sheep cried out every now and then, and the goats had fallen silent. The donkeys in the stalls brayed softly, but these were familiar noises and the little mouse was calm.

As darkness fell, the little mouse scurried to and fro collecting food and grains, and preparing for night.

His tranquillity was rudely interrupted by footsteps, tired voices and the weary drag of hooves on the dusty ground outside, and he scuttled back to his hole.

He squinted in annoyance as a donkey clumsily stepped into the cave and a woman slipped off, steadied by the man at her side. Another man dropped the donkey’s rope, spoke quickly, and handed them an oil lamp before disappearing, leaving the couple alone in the dark stable. The lamp flickered, throwing dancing beams across the shadows and the man helped his wife settle into the straw. He dropped down beside her and wiped away the dust-stained tear that rolled down her cheek. A sheep bleated as a chill breeze wafted in and the man took his weeping wife with her swollen belly into his arms. Her soft moans echoed and the mouse withdrew.

It was very dark when the mouse woke again and moonlight tried to gain entry through the front of the cave. The little mouse ventured out, scampering across the floor, but was stopped by the sudden cry that echoed in the gloom. He lifted his head and rose onto his hind legs, and stared into the shadows. The cry wasn’t a lamb’s mewling call, or the soft bray of a donkey, or even a goat’s bleat, and the chickens were quiet…it was an unfamiliar cry and he stared harder.

Lit only by glimmering lamp light, the corner threw oddly shaped shadows as the couple quickly wrapped a parcel in their arms. The mouse crept closer, every fibre of his tiny being both fascinated and fearful of the soft cries that emanated through the night. At the foot of the couple, the mouse stopped and gazed, and as he beheld, so did every other animal in the cave.

The young mother wiped tears from her face with her threadbare sleeve and kissed her newborn, and the little mouse climbed up onto the man’s scruffy, leather sandal. The little mouse could not take his eyes off the tiny babe and leaned closer. The man felt the scratch of tiny claws on his raw, weary feet and glanced down. He moved his hand and the mouse flinched, but the man took the mouse in his large, rough hand and brought him up, cradling the tiny creature against his chest. His heart thudded and he whispered softly, “And his name shall be Jesus, and you, little mouse, shall be the first to see him…”

The little mouse relaxed and peeped over the man’s fingers, gazing in fascination and curiosity.

The noise from the late night streets had subsided, and from the fields round about came an altogether different refrain. His large ears heard music vibrating in the air, strains of glory and joy, and shivers reverberated through the little mouse.

A glinting moonbeam sought out the child in its mother’s arms and cast a halo around the babe, and the little mouse remained serene as the new dawn arrived…

(819 Words)

Blues Buster: Into the West

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A haunting, lilting song accompanies this piece…‘I am Going to the West’ by Connie Drover for this week’s Blues Buster at The Tsuruoka Files.

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

Into the West

Cobwebs undulated in the chilled breeze in the dark corner of the kitchen. She hugged her knees to her chest and squinted at the luminescence from the fridge. The glow disappeared abruptly as he slammed the refrigerator door and opened a can with a malicious hiss. His boots clomped across the linoleum and he callously stepped over her feet. The lounge door clicked shut releasing only a thin strip of yellow light to invade her gloom.

The television blared, her heart pounded and thunder growled throughout her head. Her ears buzzed a high-pitched, tinny sound that threatened to drive her mad. Her body hurt, pain seared through every muscle, every sinew, and her fingers clasped tight around her knees, holding herself together.

She slowly unfurled her fingers, intensely aware of pain. She looked down and bent her index finger, crunching the bones as she righted its angle. Anguish and agony clutched, sinking its ready talons into her fading heart. She stared vacantly at the grease-spattered kitchen tiles, the overflowing crockery in the sink, the broken plate on the floor and her shattered dreams, crushed and ground into the bloody lino at her feet.

A sliver of white light glanced through the grimy window and she cast her gaze towards the beam. She rose, slowly, nervously, and stepped lightly towards the window, her bare feet treading numbly across the splintered china. At the window she pressed her cheek against the cool glass and stared up at the shimmering moon.

Clouds drifted across the night sky and she stared into their depths, imagining mountains and valleys, and sparkling streams. Starlight sprinkled oceans that swam across the sky and she dived into the glittering deep. She swam, embraced in velvety water, warmth seeping into her cold bones, releasing seized muscles and soothing tension. The moon moved west, casting rays of hope across the navy night, and she burst out of the ocean, wandering on soft pillows of cotton-wool. She danced across waves of green, rolling between the clouds, burying her feet in meadows of everlasting flora and rivers of swaying grass.

She gazed across the firmament, dipping into her dreams, renewing hope. Her bower waited, a copse wreathed within mists and emerald green. She stepped lightly across the night, and settled, resting beneath heaven’s verdant canopy and wind’s gentle blanket, her mind at ease and pain long gone.

Cobwebs undulated in the chilled breeze in the dark corner of the kitchen. A draught blew through the grimy window and ruffled the hair of her broken shadow that lay cold and still.

(428 Words)

AMMC: The Star Shone Brightly

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My second Christmas tale for AMMC:

Photograph and painting by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use)

Genre: Traditional/Religious

Author: Lisa Shambrook

eBook: Yes

Dedication: With love to all who learn they can and should shine brightly…

The Star Shone Brightly

Orion stretched languidly across the sky, winking at Danica or anyone else who might be admiring him, as he adjusted his sword and hitched his belt. Danica’s eyes darted away as her luminosity flared in sudden embarrassment. She curled her lip and her shimmer dulled as she slouched in melancholy.

Far below, the earth all green and blue, slowly spun, swathed in cotton-wool clouds, and Danica sighed. She was surrounded by twinkling stars, huge constellations of them, but she felt invisible.

She didn’t stretch across the night like Orion, was nobody’s first point of reference like the North Star, and didn’t hang glittering like the Southern Cross. She had no vast reach like the Great Bear and failed to shine like Sirius.

Danica’s gleam dulled and her sparkle was lost. The only thing that glistened was the tear that rolled down her cheek.

She didn’t notice the kerfuffle that arose with the entrance of Virgo. She just moped behind Little Bear, until Little Bear whispered excitedly. “Virgo’s looking for a new star…Spica and her sisters are exploring the Galaxy!”

“What for?” asked Danica, peering forward as glitter erupted in showers across the sky.

Little Bear shrugged. “They’re not saying…”

Danica eased slowly out of her hiding place and strained her ears to listen.

“I’ll go,” boomed Orion, “I’m courageous and I’ll mark your place for you!”

“We’re good!” chorused Castor and Pollux, “Two for the price of one!”

Below them Draco roared. “If you want a real star…”

Spica twirled, shimmering in her sapphire robes, and shook her head. “It won’t work, you’re all too recognisable. No Hercules, it’s just not going to happen! We don’t need arrogance; we need humility, something new…”

Spica and her sisters sparkled and dazzled Danica as they swept across the blanket of indigo, dancing in and out of constellations, leaving a trail of glitter and restlessness in their wake. Danica stared after them, watching their effervescent cascade with eyes of envy.

The heavens stretched far and wide and the little star gazed as Virgo searched, hunting out the lesser known stars. She had no grand ideas and tucked herself back behind Little Bear, out of the way.

“I wonder what they’re looking for then?” wondered Little Bear, “Something new, something new’s happening. Look Danica, they’re coming back this way…you should show yourself…”

“I can’t,” protested the little star, “I’m nothing.”

Virgo swooped past Cassiopeia and as Spica swung by she noticed Little Bear kick a little star from behind him. Spica turned her head, sprinkling sparks as she came to a stop, and the little star tumbled down towards her. Danica sprawled before the beauty and her cheeks flushed again with hot, white light. She crawled backwards whilst offering apologies, until Spica leaned down and smiled. “And who are you?” she asked.

Danica gulped, her iridescence dancing in an aura of pure light. “I’m no one,” she whispered.

“No one?” Spica smiled softly, “You’re not no one, you’re the one we’re looking for.”

Little Bear grinned as his shy friend straightened her sparkling skirts and stared in wonder at the majestic constellation surrounding her. The sisters gathered Danica in their celestial arms and swept her off her feet. “You’re the one,” Spica whispered in her ear, “the one who can change the world. Now hurry away with us.”

Several days later, a new star hung in the sky dressed in lustrous shimmering robes, only she wasn’t a new star and she didn’t have any new clothes. Danica sparkled and scintillated lighting a dark, inky sky, and three wise travellers used instruments to plot and follow her glowing trail. Whilst they journeyed, she shone with effulgence and guided both angels and shepherds, and glistened with everything she’d got, as a newborn cry rose from the stable heralding change in the world below.

And all around stars twinkled and gleamed, but none shone as brightly and as joyfully as she.

(654 Words)

AMMC: Winter Hope

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This is for AMMC a Christmas Anthology set up by Laura, Missy and Nick.

Winter Hope

Gossamer threads hung, decorated with frozen diamonds, and beneath the lacy webs Winter rested her head on the stony floor. Swirls of vapour rose from her nostrils and tiny blue flames licked across her tongue. She sighed.

An amber glow suffused the sky with light, banishing the indigo skyline over the horizon, and the vista smouldered beneath an ethereal haze. Snow clothed the valleys, and ice clung to every rock and ridge. Icing-sugared trees blended the woods together, evergreens bathed in a blanket of white and leafless trees stood dipped in sherbet. A cotton-wool carpet covered the grass before the cave and red berries shone like rubies peeping through earth’s crystal mantle. Lakes shone like glass, and early-rising village folk danced across the sheets of ice.

Winter yawned…

This is a preview to the story that can be found within A Symphony of Dragons. It has become one part of my symphony, a composition, of A Symphony of Seasons… You can find this enchanting book of short stories in many outlets in both paperback and eBook or at my publisher BHC Press.

Read previews to Spring’s and Autumn’s tales: Spring Symphony and Autumn Flame.

Blues Buster: Missing

A Cherokee Rose Blog Hop: Rose

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In the lead up to the US getting Season 4 of The Walking Dead, Ruth at Bullishink has joined with cohorts and massive Daryl Dixon fans, Lisa McCourt Hollar and Sarah Aisling to give us a Zombie/Daryl themed Blog Hop. The criteria: up to 1000 words, zombies and Daryl Dixon…not my comfort zone…but I’ve managed to create a piece with Daryl and zombies and cuteness…he he…

Photo Source: thewalkingdeadfanclub.wordpress.com

Rose

“Shhhhh…” Carol whispered.
“Like hell!” Merle scowled, “Let ‘em come!”
Carol ran her fingers through her short hair and glared. Daryl glanced back from the clearing and motioned lifting his crossbow into the air.
“See, nuthin’ there, just your imagination lady!” Merle quipped striding to his brother.
Carol sighed and followed, stepping lightly through the long grass, casting watchful looks over her shoulder despite the all clear.
She cautiously backed up to the brothers, squinting at the trees, until she reached Daryl’s shoulder.
Merle swung his knife. “So, what we doin’ out here? Can’t see nuthin’.”
“Something in the far trees. Maggie said something glinted,” Carol whispered.
Merle’s voice raised a pitch. “And she saw that glinting somethin’ from the lookout did she? Wild goose chase, if you ask me!”
“No one asked you…” muttered Carol.
“Still gotta look, even if it’s nuthin’.” Daryl kept to the line of trees. Carol followed, grasping the knife at her hip. Only Merle, wandered out into the sunlight, ignoring his brother’s warnings. “It’s quicker to go across, quicker there and quicker back again!”
“He’s gonna get us killed one of these days,” hissed Carol.
Daryl paused, glancing back. “Get hi’ self killed, not us.”
Merle continued across the grass. Daryl bent forward hurrying along the edge, muscles taut, ready, ears listening and eyes darting. Carol followed close.
The breeze sang through the canopy and Merle’s boots thumped across the dry field. “Wait!” Carol hissed, “Listen…”
Daryl and Carol stopped. “You hear that?” she whispered.
A mewling whine rose over the wind and Carol grabbed Daryl’s arm. “Something’s hurt.”
“It’ll attract attention…” murmured Daryl.
“Coming from over there…” Carol pointed. They moved towards the whimper.
“Oh, joining me now are you?” Merle chuckled and ducked as Daryl swatted at him. “Shut it Merle!”
They ran guardedly into the shadowy trees. “Fan out…” said Daryl, clutching his bow to his chest.
They moved slowly apart, stopping as the whine began again. “This way…”
They trod carefully, until Carol released a cry of surprise. “Down here!”
She crouched in the long grass.
“Dinner!” cried Merle ignoring Carol’s glare.
“So tiny!” cooed Carol, “No…” Tears welled as she parted the grass revealing a forgotten hunter’s trap. The puppy whined and Daryl sank to the grass. “Keep watch,” he muttered, “blood will attract walkers…” He pulled out his knife and worked on the trap, until the metal jaws snapped open and Carol moved the pup’s hind leg. Fresh blood spurted and Carol tore a strip of her shirt to bind around the pup’s wound.
“Too small for dinner anyways…” said Merle.
“We’re not leaving it.” Carol tucked the tiny creature into the crook of her arm. “Maggie must’ve seen the trap glinting…” She backed away from the twisted metal.
“All this for a dog!” Merle waved his arms. “Thought we’d get a real fight out here!”
“Let’s just get back,” said Daryl.
Midday sun glared through the dappled shade, and they began to run through the undergrowth. Carol stayed close to Daryl, until he pulled up suddenly and wrenched up his bow. An arrow flew, swift and straight, hitting a walker between the eyes.
Rattling moans rode on the wind and the putrid stench of rotting flesh filled the air. Zombies emerged from the trees, stimulated by the metallic aroma of fresh blood…and wild, dark eyes fixed on the living.
Merle swung, lifting his newly equipped right arm, thrusting his blade up through a walker’s chin. Satisfaction blazed in his eyes and he whirled towards another zombie, driving the knife cleanly into its skull. Daryl fixed another arrow taking out a decrepit creature and immediately moved to a third walker lumbering close, slamming his knife through its throat and up into its brain.
Carol held the puppy close, brandishing her hunting blade, her eyes wild and alert. No one spoke. Merle’s brow furrowed in determination as walkers leached from the woods, and Daryl grabbed his spent arrows, tearing them out of the finished walkers’ brains.
The three moved close together, dodging walkers, bolting through trees and out into the clearing. They ran, pounding across the dry earth, until a cry lodged in Daryl’s brain.
His breath caught in his throat as he turned. Carol was down on the ground, a zombie clawing at her. She held it off, kicking and thrusting with her knife, but more lumbered out of the trees, and the puppy lay at her side. “Leave her, it’s the dog they want, we’re good!” cried Merle.
Daryl cast Merle a withering look and raced towards Carol.
Merle threw up his arms and launched back into the fray. Arrows whizzed past Carol’s ear and the walker fell at her side, blood and ichor splattering down upon her and the pup. She twisted and was felled by another unwieldy walker. She screamed and seized the pup, tucking it down inside her shirt. The walker grabbed her leg and hungry moans assaulted her.
Daryl strode forward, arrows flying from his bow, until the walkers lay totally dead and finished. Merle let out a whoop and thrust his blood spattered fake arm in the air. Daryl moved to Carol.
His eyes roamed up and down her body. “It’s alright, I’m not bitten,” she assured him as he dropped beside her.
A wry smile played on his lips as he caught her eye and his hand lingered, brushing against her thigh. She stared into his eyes, and as his brother whooped, he relaxed. He dropped his crossbow and Carol rose on her elbows. Daryl lifted his hand and gently touched her face, wiping a splash of black ichor from her chin. He glanced away, his eyes trailing down her neck, across her torn shirt and down to her breast. She giggled, an usual sound in the eerie silence, and he rested his hand on her wriggling stomach.
“So what you gonna call him?” he asked stroking the puppy through the thin cloth.
“Rose,” she answered, “I’m gonna call her Rose.”