HEART OF GLASS
CHAPTER NINETEEN !

[ season two, episode nine ]

They say that when one bad thing happens, another is bound to occur.

Marley Whitman didn't want to believe that sobering statement — or even come to acknowledge its existence — but she knew it was right. Ignoring it was not going to improve the harrowing circumstances the entire population had become subject to over a matter of days. She was kidding herself if she believed that. Pretending that the chilling air encapsulating them, twisting around their destroyed front-room, was a figment of her imagination was not going to make things any different — was not going to bring back what she wished would always stay.

Two hours ago, Marley's mother was bitten by one of the crazed people.

It didn't seem real. Almost. But it was, and the Whitman family were absolutely clueless about what was to come next. How they were going to resolve this. A way for Monica Whitman to heal — despite facing the fatal repercussions of a situation they had continuously been warned to avoid. Monica's fate was sealed. She had only wanted to help someone who looked as though they needed it — lumbering down the street with blood gushing from a wound splattered across their neck — and this was the result.

A punishment like no other. Death.

Marley watched her mother's chest rise and fall, clutching the woman's cold hand so tightly that her knuckles blanched.

She didn't want Mom to die, but she was beginning to realise it was going to happen regardless of what they did. What they do. Who they pleaded to for help. Nothing was going to work — despite Dad's incessant pacing and silent, hissing begs. He just needed to be there for Mom, now. To hold her hand as the life slowly dimmed from her eyes. To grieve someone they had already lost.

But Marley knew her father and she knew he was not going to give up so easily.

"We need to make a move," he said, voice wavering through a mixture of fear and irresolute grief. "The CDC might be able to help. They were working on a cure, last I heard."

Marley watched him continue to pace. He was talking to himself. She only acknowledged her father's dilemma because he didn't try to sign his words as he spoke them. They always made sure to sign; Sage wouldn't understand their conversations if not.

Her sister was lying on the edge of the sofa next to Mom. With a weak hand and little strength, Monica Whitman brushed Sage's springy curls back away from her face, silently willing herself to stay awake.

However, the pressure was beginning to cave in. Her eyes were heavy.

There a brief moment of absolute silence. And then, sudden and immediate, a thunderous crash boomed from outside — the source of noise springing away from the centre of the overrun city.

"Dad, what was that?" Marley demanded tearfully.

He pulled back the curtain, eyes narrowing in morbid wonder, and paled considerably when the sight came into clear view.

"We need to go. Now."

That only panicked Marley more. "Go? Why? What about Mom?"

"Marley, just trust me on this." Dad urged desperately, plunging his hand into the kitchen drawers, a layer of sweat shimmering on the base of his forehead. There was a shrill jangle. Car keys. "Help her walk. I know where we can go."

Despite the bad feeling gnawing away at her gut, Marley nodded. Firm and full of trust.

Dad knew what he was doing, surely.

He opened the front door, but wasn't at all expecting to see a stream of the undead, crazed people gushing mercilessly toward their home like a river of spilt blood. Tearing through the debris of their neighbourhood. Harbouring the place Marley and Sage grew up — a hurricane of destruction and bloodshed.

There was no way out. No path toward a new beginning. This was it.

Dad turned toward his daughters. His wife.

His eyes were welling with tears, and his cheeks were pale. The sight before them had knocked the life he had been clutching desperately from his grasp. He looked cold. As if he were dead already.

Marley opened her mouth to try and say something through the shock worming it's way into her chest, but nothing came.

Dad beat her to it.

"Run."

With that, he pushed himself onto the porch decking outside, closing the door behind him, completely ignoring the screams of despair that slithered out from between the gaps in his family's broken hearts.

That was the last Marley ever saw of her father.

Somewhere in the city, his body still lingered, lifeless and snarling. The empty shell of the bravest man she had ever met.

✧.｡. *.

What came next was unexpected, yet completely inevitable in the long run.

After Rick's understandable outburst, the quartet merely stared down at the limp and lifeless bodies of Dave and Tony — the two grown men who's sole intention had been to take everything the Greene family and the Atlanta crew had built to survive over time for themselves. Through misguided pleas and false narratives, Dave aimed to succeed. That wasn't going to happen on their watch. Rick refused to give in so easily . . . hence the two homicides now hovering within his conscious radar.

Marley brought a hand to her forehead, drawing in a steady breath. Sweat clung to her pallid skin, and her thoughts seemed only to drift toward the tense altercation that occurred moments ago. Dave's smirk and Tony's crude gestures. How easy it had been to commit a . . . well, crime. The way Rick was able to shoot two strangers and face no consequences, only having to provide a reason as to why it was completely necessary.

She wasn't sure if a lack of humanity scared her more than the capabilities of man in modern day society. Well, if you could call their broken environment a society anymore.

"Let's head back," Hershel said at last. His voice was quiet, as if he dared not speak any louder for fear he would awaken the fresh corpses.

Marley merely nodded, pulling her flaring eyes away from Tony's crumpled body.

It was already dark, and the shadows dripping through the muggy windows felt far more pressing than they did when Dave and Tony were still breathing — which happened to be only a few seconds prior. Like hands equipped with deadly claws, a shadow leaking through the bar's double doors inched toward Rick's ankles, shackling him as punishment for the unholy sins he had committed. Pouring a darkness into his life, ensuring the bloodless faces would never leave his memory.

Not only would Rick never forget the smug faces of Dave and Tony, but neither would Marley or Glenn, nor Hershel.

It wasn't meant to happen. But it did, and the consequences were inescapable.

The moment came for the group to make their departure. They approached the door, keeping their heads down to avoid looking into the glassy eyes of the recently deceased any longer than necessary. However, it didn't take long for the shaken quartet to whip their gazes back upward again in complete bewilderment when the rumbling sound of . . . something approaching infiltrated their senses — submerging them beneath a fresh sense of fear. Marley assumed thunder at first, until she heard the indistinct sound of gravel crunching beneath what could only be established as rolling tyres.

A car.

"Get down!" Rick hissed, gesturing to the broken floorboards at the front of the bar.

Marley tightened her grip around her machete and ducked beneath the left window, arching her back upward to ensure minimal body parts were discernible to strangers through the foggy glass. Glenn slid into the empty space beside her — knees pulled up to his chest, back pressed against the wall, shotgun wedged between his hands — and sent Marley a brief, reassuring look that ( in all honestly ) wasn't very reassuring at all. If anything, it only made her all the more anxious.

And to make matters increasingly lamentable, the car outside screeched to a stop.

"Dave?" a muffled voice beyond their perception called out. "Tony?"

"I'm telling you, man, I heard shots." fretted another.

They continued mumbling between themselves. Nothing they said was distinguishable — only four flittering voices murmuring insignificant words, muffled by the thick walls shielding them from danger.

Marley gulped, thankful they were only faced with four other men. Four more Dave and Tony's.

"We gotta get out of here." said a shaky voice. They sounded much younger than the others — possibly a little older than Marley, but not by much. It was a hard feat to detect exact age through voice.

"Dave! Tony!"

"Shut up, you idiot!" hissed a man with a deep, southern accent. "You wanna attract more?"

A low scoff, "Just stay close. We'll find 'em."

The porch creaked. The strangers were close enough that Marley could see their silhouettes draped across the glass. Nervously, her eyes trailed after the closest one, with his gun pointed toward nothing in particular as he retraced the steps his dead comrades likely took earlier that same day.

Perhaps these strangers would wind up meeting the same fate.

Marley turned to Glenn, hands growing clammy around the machete's handle. Her lips quickly formed the words, "What do we do?"

All she got in return was a stiff shrug.

He didn't know either.

The creaking of the floorboards outside grew quieter as the remainder of Dave and Tony's squad moved toward the opposing end of the building, and the quartet were met with suspense. Marley squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply. Her chest felt horribly constricted — almost as if a brick wall had collapsed atop her, pressing against her lungs, hindering her ability to breathe. Every harsh breath she took was perpetrated with painful struggle.

She wanted to be strong, but it was hard. Harder than she thought. Marley had never found herself wormed into a situation as precarious as this one, and suddenly found herself wishing she never volunteered to tag along in the first place.

It was such a stupid idea. Not to mention she had left Sage alone, worrying about her sister's welfare.

And if they never returned . . .

Around two minutes passed. They sat in silence for a while, but once Rick hesitantly approached them — still in a crouched position — Glenn was no longer reluctant to speak.

"Why won't they leave?" he hissed.

Hershel raised a brow, pointing out the fairly obvious, "Would you?"

If it were Marley, she wouldn't. However, if her endangered friends were anything resemblant to Dave and Tony . . . perhaps she wouldn't be so obliged to calling it a day — unlike these people. She wouldn't put her life on the line for someone who wouldn't do the same thing for her, vice versa.

"We can't sit here any longer." Rick whispered warily, glancing over his shoulder. "Let's head out the back and make a run to the car."

Hershel bowed his head in a firm nod.

They simultaneously stretched their limbs out of a crouching position, prepared to make a beeline toward the door. However, a round of bullets from the opposition scared them enough to force them scurrying back toward previous cover. Marley flinched every time a bullet clanged against the night-sky, and found herself unbelievably grateful when silence ensued again.

"What happened?"

Alas, the voices were back — clearer than ever. They were close.

"Roamers. I nailed 'em."

Another voice piped up, "They disappeared but their car's still there. I cleared those buildings. You guys get this one?"

"No."

"Me neither."

One of the men scoffed in vexation. Likely the ring leader, based on the sternness brimming in his voice as he said in a scolding manner, "We're looking for Dave and Tony and no one checks the damn bar?"

The footsteps returned.

Marley's knuckles blanched, as did her face. The sound of shoes padding against the creaking floorboards was incredibly loud, alongside the feeble clatter of weapons being lowered, and she knew — in that moment — this was it for them. Once that door opened, they were exposed.

But before the strangers were given a chance to swing the door open, Glenn slammed his back against it, acting as voluntary defence.

Marley whipped her head to the side, lowering her voice into a deeply distressed hiss, "Glenn —"

"Someone pushed it shut. There's someone in there."

Panicked by the scolding voice, Marley pressed her lips together, keeping the temptation to speak at bay. Every ounce of colour had drained from her face, and her heart was thumping so hard that it felt like her entire chest was going to implode — ribs collapsing violently inward, crushing the organs holed up inside, out of fear.

All hope she had for making it out of the bar unscathed had been extinguished.

"If someone's in there, we don't want no trouble." one of the men called out. "We're just looking for our friends."

Rick appeared only somewhat convinced by the men's words — meanwhile Glenn, Hershel and Marley exchanged a few wary looks that were very obviously unconvinced.

These days, trust was hard to come by. And so was the truth. They had every right to make assumptions.

"We don't want any trouble!"

"We're just looking for our friends. If something happened, tell us."

Involuntarily, Marley's eyes flickered across the dusty bar, landing on the two strewn-out corpses on the opposing side of the structure. Tony was in full view — pale, stiff, and bloody — whilst Dave was half-concealed by the glass-covered countertop, only his legs and bloodied shoes on show. A puddle of crimson had soaked into the floorboards beneath his limp body, with tendrils branching away from the damp pool like snakes of red ivy, barrelling toward the hidden group slowly.

She felt nauseous at the inhuman sights and quickly averted her gaze.

"This place is crawling with corpses. If you can help us not get killed, I'd appreciate it."

The men continued talking amongst themselves, but Marley was so disoriented that she barely caught onto their muffled words. She wiped away a fresh layer of sweat from her forehead, propping the machete upward by her hip, the blade close enough to the door that she would be able to swipe the legs of the first man brave enough to enter.

Apparently, not brave enough.

Their footsteps began to depart. Murmurings grew quieter.

It seemed as though luck was on their side for the time being. Until Rick spoke.

"They drew on us!"

And soon enough, the men came tottering back.

The wooden boards outside of the door creaked loud, and a dark silhouette flashed by the grimy window. "Dave and Tony?" they asked hesitantly. "They alive?"

"No." Rick stated firmly, although he looked extremely reluctant to admit the truth.

With the truth came the possibilities of opposition retribution — the chances of dying increasingly to the highest degree. The main question lay set in stone; who wouldn't fight to kill a couple of nobodies who killed their friends? Why would they leave, truthfully, with the knowledge of Dave and Tony's demise?

Unless the quartet miraculously found a four-leaf clover protruding from the wooden floor then . . . it seemed as though their luck had ran out. Really this time.

But Marley didn't want to die.

"Come on, man, let's just go." pleaded the quiet man.

"No, I'm not leaving." the assumed ring-leader spat. "I'm not gonna go back and tell them that Dave and Tony got shot by some assholes in a bar."

"Your friends drew on us!" Rick rushed to correct, indignant. "They gave us no choice! I'm sure we've all lost enough people, done things we wish we didn't have to, but it's like that now. You know that! So let's just chalk this up to what it was. Wrong place. Wrong —"

An explosion of glass interfered with Rick's desperate speech.

Marley ducked her head, shielding herself from the rainfall of glistening shards. The men were not holding back as they continued firing, shotgun rounds ploughing through the glass doors. Rick flicked off the safety from his Colt Python and began shooting back at the opposition through the jagged hole created in the door.

He turned to the others, still ducking, "Get out of here!"

They were quick to obey.

Glenn grabbed Marley's arm and dragged her along behind him — which did not raise any objections, only relief. They kept their heads bowed low, backs hunched over, to avoid being the prime target of a nearing bullet. Hershel dropped down behind one of the elongated counters, pointing toward the farthest one in the corner as another shot shattered a decorative vase on the table behind him.

"Move!" Glenn whisper-yelled.

Marley gulped, her throat dry and drained of fluid. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her afloat. The fear puncturing her skin was like molten iron, weighing down her weary bones and pumping through her blood until she was too heavy to carry her own weight. Everything was moving past her in a blur, yet every sound and sense had heightened. The floor felt scratchier against her palms, the blasts of gunfire were louder, and the metallic stench of blood lingered in her nostrils.

She wanted to go home. That's all she wanted. To leave, untouched and unscathed.

Sage would be worrying.

"Marley," Glenn sounded concerned, tugging at her wrist. "Quick!"

She followed him behind a counter. There, they crouched, hiding from the spitting avalanche of debris. Glenn wrapped his arm around her shoulder, keeping her as close as possible, but it still wasn't enough to keep the fear at bay. It swallowed her whole, until she was nothing but a quivering mess in the face of a threat, plagued with the inability to process anything happening beyond her own mind.

She was dead weight.

They were going to have to carry her through this fight.

Across the way, Rick had two guns. His Python and a shotgun. Marley had nothing — only a long bladed weapon that wasn't the best bet in a fight like this. The Grimes man took notice of this fairly quickly and slid her the shiny, silver revolver, rattling loudly over the floorboards. The sound was drowned out by the artillery-like blasts from outside, though, so it didn't matter much.

"Flick the safety off, aim, squeeze the trigger," Rick instructed, using his hands to gesticulate the importance of picking the method up as quickly as possible. "Only if it comes to it. Alright?"

Marley nodded numbly.

The narrow gun was heavy in her hands. Cold against her fingers. It didn't feel right to hold it — especially after it was used to kill two real people — but the time had come where it was absolutely necessary for her to protect herself, in whatever means of survival.

"Hey!" Rick yelled hoarsely. The shooting had ceased finally. "We all know this is not gonna end well!"

Glenn clutched his shotgun tightly, arm falling away from Marley's shoulder. The fear was staring to really creep up on him now — chest rising and falling quicker than average.

"You guys just — Just back off," Rick continued. "no one else gets hurt!"

There was radio silence.

And then, very quietly, the sound of bottles rattling on the other side of the building — echoing within the barren alleyway.

Rick motioned for Glenn to check it out, and with heavy reluctance, he pushed himself away from his hiding spot. Marley did not want Glenn to face the impending threat alone — knowing the chances of him making it out were slim — so she shakily followed after the dauntless Korean, quiet as a mouse in his wake.

The door opened slowly.

Beneath their combined weight, the wooden steps creaked. Marley raised Rick's gun high, stepping behind Glenn as they walked deeper into the dark storage room. A slither of moonlight seeped through the murky window beside the alleyway door, providing a singular source of light that the duo seemed to gravitate toward, still sinking into their surroundings on high alert.

Marley grudgingly steered away from Glenn to examine a suspiciously intricate shadow squatted behind a shelf.

Her hands grew sweaty with anxiety — but upon further inspection, she realised the lumpy silhouette was merely the reflection bounding from a vase propped up in the corner. Relief flooded through her veins like ice water, and she lowered the revolver with a shuddering breath.

When Marley opened her mouth to speak, the sound of another bottle rolling over the concrete outside hindered her capability of talking momentarily.

They were here.

A shadow of a man formed behind the obscured glass doors, and the chalky-white doorknob began to rotate with a shrill squeak.

Suddenly, Glenn's shotgun fired from beside Marley. Glass showered the ground. A ringing sound pierced their ears. And then . . . nothing. Only deadly stillness.

"Glenn! Marley!" Rick's yelling could be heard from the opposite room, muffled and teeming with concern.

"W — were all right," Glenn confirmed shakily. "We're all right."

Marley examined the door, head slowly arching over the shattered remains of the glass panes. There was nothing. No body strewn out over the concrete, no sign of life. Nothing. The shadow could have been a figment of imagination for all they knew — a delirium from the shock, horror, and fear radiating through their bodies.

She whirled around to face Glenn, only to see another approaching figure.

However, once she realised it was only Hershel, all tension in her body deflated like a popped balloon. Glenn lowered his shotgun, huffing a sigh of relief.

"Rick wants you to try for the car." the greying man informed, ominous despite trying not to fill the duo with any unnecessary doubts.

"Try?" Marley repeated, aghast.

"You'll try and succeed." Hershel assured, nodding between the two. He gestured to his shotgun rather confidently. "I'll cover you both."

Glenn nodded, unconvinced. "That's a great plan . . ."

They stepped out into the alleyway regardless, a gust of cold wind brushing upon their exposed skin. Marley's heart was racing, blood pumping furiously in her ears, but she gritted her teeth and continued up the centre of the narrow opening. She wasn't far behind Glenn, and she didn't hear the approaching footsteps until a singular explosion of gunfire reverberated through the night.

It splintered a wooden box by Glenn's left leg, and the whistle it emanated as it soared by screamed in Marley's ears.

She dropped to her knees, fumbling to maintain a good grip on Rick's gun, until she finally managed to rove her eyes back up toward the enemy. A man, no older than thirty, charging toward them — clad in a sweat-streaked shirt, torn jeans, and a faded denim jacket.

From the doorway, Hershel raised his pistol and fired three rounds. One. Miss. Two. A near miss. Three. Success.The bullet embedded itself into the man's right shoulder, and he collapsed to the ground, groaning and squirming in pain.

Marley flexed her fist, glancing up at Hershel from behind the large dumpster that was concealing her from view.

Running footsteps soon announced the arrival of Rick.

"What happened?" the ex-Sheriff implored.

Hershel was still staring at the man writhing in pain in the cropped grass, but he managed to enunciate the truth, "He fired."

That was when Marley noticed Glenn's position. He was behind the second dumpster, but she could only see his legs . . . completely inanimate. Unmoving.

She moved into a crouching position, "Glenn?"

Her voice was loud. Too loud. Rick twigged her obvious concern, but still gestured for her to remain quiet despite the low-looming prospect of Glenn bleeding out . . . or being dead.

She scrambled toward the dumpster — ignoring Rick's small hisses for her to stay put — and skidded around the large dumpster. The Rhee had his back pressed against the rippled metal, shotgun encased in his arms, eyes unfocused. All of her worries melted when she realised he was not dead, nor was he bleeding out profusely. He was more shocked than anything — having just nearly been killed by a stray bullet.

"Are you okay?" Marley asked breathlessly. Her eyes scanned over his slumped frame, checking for wounds. "You weren't hit, were you?"

Glenn shook his head. "No."

Rick approached the crouching duo cautiously, peering around the corner of the alleyway. He acknowledged Glenn's state — almost completely numb to his surroundings, breaths escaping his lungs in a rush — and assured him with the words, "It's all right. The car's right there. We're almost home."

"Okay."

Swallowing thickly, Marley dipped her head into a quick nod despite feeling unsure, "We've got this. We're good."

Glenn only squeezed his eyes closed and nodded.

It was time to move.

Rick gestured for them to hurry forward, but their path was soon blocked by another round of gunfire. Bullets clanged off the side of the dumpster, missing Marley's leg by mere centimetres. A shaky breath slithered over her lips, holding Rick's revolver closer; the weight in her chest grew heavier with every passing second.

She looked upon the roof of the building opposite the alleyway, where a boy ( no older than nineteen ) stood, propping a gun up on the crest of the building. A car skidded to a stop on the road below him, and he stopped shooting momentarily.

"Let's get outta here!" a voice yelled over the roaring engine.

"What about Sean?" the boy questioned.

"They shot him. We gotta go."

Marley watched the boy scramble across the roof as quickly as he could, tucking his gun beneath his arm. He squatted low, jumped. And then . . . an audible squelch of flesh, followed up by an agonised scream.

The men in the car left him to rot.

But the quartet — they had other ideas.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

i don't like this chapter :(
i also apologise for the two
month hiatus from this book,
but here i am!

also heads up, i didn't proof
read this so it might not be the
best.