'something in me will save me from utter ruin no matter what comes.' tennessee williams.

season 1, episode 9
triggerfingers

Day 72

"You all right?" echoed in Isaac's mind, ricocheting against his skull until it grew still enough for him to understand what Rick was asking him. Blood splattered on his cheek, diluted with newly-formed sweat drops.

He crouched next to Tony's body,  as he responded, "Yeah." He took the dead man's gun. What use did he have for it now?

His body became an armory as he collected more weapons. Or more truthfully, his body was simply evolving into a weapon. His body always understood before his brain could. By then, it would all be over.

His brain wouldn't remember; his body would never forget.

"Let's head back," Isaac insisted, handing Rick the extra handgun. He put the shotgun strap over his shoulder, letting it hang against his back.

The other men made little movement.

Isaac stepped towards the doors, where golden rays ran through the glass, shining directly on his figure. "Get down."

With his back pressed against the wooden panels that creaked under his weight, Isaac's eyes searched for light in the eternal darkness. He observed back into the bar. Blood trickled across the floorboards, filling the wood with red. Splattered across painting and photo as a memory of what happened here stained.

They deserved to die. If they hadn't, they risked the possibility of those men going after the women on the farm. How they spoke of their bodies as objects only necessary for their pleasure, it reminded the teenager of Atlanta. He and the girls encountered men like Dave and Tony.

And their story ended the same as the fresh bodies in front of him.

"Dave! Tony!"

More men. Enough to pack in a minivan, but there could always be more. There was always more. Why did there have to be more?

Their voices muffled in Isaac's ears. He attempted to focus on their movements as they neared the bar doors. His body stiffened, readying his new firepower.

They continued passed the bar.

A wood panel groaned under Rick's leather-bound feet. He shifted his heel towards his thigh, lifting himself slowly with his other leg. He lifted the curtain to clear the area. He shuffled to them.

"Why won't they leave?" Glenn begged, gripping his firearm like it would save him.

"Would you?" Hershel rebutted.

"We can't sit here any longer. Let's head out the back and make a run for the car."

It was the best plan they could work with. The first step resulted in gunshots.

They returned against the wall. Gunshots echoed throughout the ghost town. Roamers, as they called the dead. There would be more with the noise they were producing.

The men neared the bar, claiming that it was the first place they should've checked. Rick cocked his gun. In an instant, Isaac and Glenn barricaded the doors with their stick bodies.

"Yo, is somebody in there? Yo, if someone's in there, we don't want no trouble. We're just looking for our friends."

They repeated that they 'don't want no trouble' to convince them to respond. But that's what their friends tried to pull, too. Isaac observed Rick, awaiting a signal to fight. There was no way around this; they killed Dave and Tony. If they wanted to live, they would have to kill the rest of them.

Rick fought himself; he grinded his teeth together, sweat bullets formed.

Isaac raised his finger over his mouth to Rick. He didn't hesitate, shake, or waiver. He stared dead at Rick's eyes.

"They drew on us first," Rick explained to the men outside.

Isaac winced, bringing the cold metal of his gun to his warm forehead. He cocked his gun slowly, breathing in as he did so.

"Dave and Tony in there? They alive?"

"No."

The sound of a gun being held tighter was louder than the men speaking. But the more their muffled voices communicated, the more obvious what they were feeling was. One man became antsy. He wanted revenge. Sure, Dave and Tony were their people but they weren't good people.

They wanted to ravage simply because they believed they deserved it. They wanted to take it simply because they wanted to. In a world with no rules or regulations, there was still a need for morality.

Rick attempted to explain the truth once more, but there was no point. Truth or not, Dave and Tony have already begun decaying. They were dead and would not return. Soon enough, only one group would be returning back to their base.

The men outside decided it wasn't going to be them.

Glass danced on top of Rick and Isaac like rain. The two split in different directions: Rick shot up, shooting his gun to buy his people time; Isaac scrambled next to Hershel. The older man feared for his well-lived life, but knew what needed to be done. He shielded his face as Isaac began slamming his elbow into the stained glass. As it rained upon both sides, Isaac stuck the barrel of the shotgun out, shooting without a second thought.

A scream surged, filling the ghost town with songs of agony. The dead would hear them.

Hershel and Glenn managed to progress further into the bar, hiding behind a piano and a pillar. Shots continued to downpour and the men took cover.

Then it ceased.

Isaac reloaded the shotgun with shells he took from Tony, taking in a few deep breaths. He slid the gun to Glenn with a nod to focus. He nodded back, but lacked the determination. Unlike Hershel, Glenn hadn't lived a life yet—one could say the same for Isaac, but the two young men contrasted in emotions. One knew the risks that came with freezing, and the other only knew how to run.

Rick pleaded with the men. Was it to distract them, or an actual plea? Rick motioned for Glenn to check the back exit, and Glenn hesitantly did so. Maybe Rick knew what needed to be done but wanted to hope for a possibility.

Isaac's cousin, Elliot, would say hope and morality went hand-in-hand. One cannot have morals without hope for betterment; one could not hope without having their own morals.

Isaac would say he was confusing morality with ethics. Because ethically, Isaac knew they needed to preserve what little human life was left on the Earth. Morally, however...

The moonlight allowed crimson to twinkle as if it were Christmas on the wooden deck. Through the broken window, Isaac couldn't detect anyone in the harsh shadows. There could be more of them than the four men to handle. But there was also the possibility of them having less men.

Behind him, Rick and Hershel generated a plan. Their muffled voices went silent.

"Isaac!" Rick whispered louder, finally getting his attention.

His face conquered by shadows, Rick almost couldn't make out Isaac's dark eyes. But life glimmered in them. "The plan's the same: go around back, get to the car and get out."

The plan was littered with holes. Countless possibilities of death and despair. What if's circled around his head.

"Go, I'll be right behind you."

Morally, Isaac knew he would do anything for his people—before that meant defending them until the end; now, it means making sure they live, no matter the cost.

He watched the older men maneuver through the back until they were out of his view. And he was out of theirs.

Isaac scanned the town once more. No moving figures. No sound. He slowly pushed the door open and awaited a reaction. The only sounds came from the back: three shots, each other with a gap.

Isaac could fall back, help the men and follow the premature plan that could end in all their deaths. Or he could ensure their safety and the safety of his people back on the farm.

He chose the latter. Always the latter.

Trailing behind the barrel of his gun, Isaac stepped out of the bar. He crossed over a body without batting an eye. He followed the sound of a wailing man around the building.

A second voice neared, calling for his injured friend. His voice sounded sincere, almost mourning for his friend despite him still living.

Peering around the corner, Isaac watched as a tan-skin boy around his age attempted to put press on an older, black man's bullet hole. He cursed, begging for the older man to tell him what to do. He was a kid, just following orders. Just doing what he thought was right.

Isaac inched forward to get a better view. Wood moaned beneath his foot.

The boy whipped around with his gun raised at Isaac. His bloody finger returned to the trigger.

However, Isaac was faster.

A bullet plunged into his throat.

The boy tried to apply pressure, but there was no point. He was dead.

oh my god its been forever since ive made an author's note, I've just wanted to focus on pushing out chapters semi-consistently. But im here! and its a short chapter, but still very action-packed and important for isaac's character. 

i honestly don't have much to say besides I hope yall are doing well and are enjoying the story! please tell me your thoughts, ideas, theories, etc. I love interacting with you guys and hearing your feedback. I mostly do fanfics now just to strengthen my writing skills and for fun so it helps a lot.

<3