Thread: In Blackest Night

Was she fucking serious? Locke looked down at himself, his slender, muscular body barely hidden by the black jean jacket he left unbuttoned in the front to expose his slimming dark blue T-shirt, his long legs covered in army-issue dark green pants and black hiking boots. Not only was he the epitome of apocalyptic world efficiency in what someone would need for protection and survival but he wasn't bad to look at either. If his slim waistline and broad shoulders didn't get her heart pumping, then surely his angular jawline, straight-edged nose, dark eyebrows and dreamy eyes should have done the trick. Maybe that was thinking a bit much of himself but she was still a woman, pregnant or not. Tauntingly, with a smirk on his thin lips, he stepped forward a foot, putting her gun right against his chest and he stared into her eyes coolly. Do it, his voice was low and raspy as he challenged her. What have ya got to lose? I mean, God forbid I screw up what you're calling a life but what will most likely turn out to be a death sentence. When she hesitated he broke out in a grin, flashing his crooked, yet clean teeth at her. Stepping back a little bit, he rubbed his hands over his shaved head and rested them there with a sigh. Glancing at the doors, he was once again tempted to just forget about her and leave but he was reluctant to give in that easy. She might not have wanted to admit it, but she needed him. She would need him. There was no way she could aim that rifle with a baby cradled in one arm screaming it's head off and drawing every Walker in a 5 mile radius straight to her. If she thought she could, then she was more arrogant than he was. He didn't want her to die but he didn't want to get shot either. Letting his hands fall loosely by his sides with a sigh, he looked back at her, once more giving her an up and down before shaking his head in acquiescence. Alright, Annie Oakley, he said with an amused shrug. Have it your way. I'm gonna head over to the highschool right now and see what I can scrounge up from the FEMA trailers but I'm staying at the post office near the old Price Chopper. If ya ever need anything--oh! Sorry! He suddenly gave her a mocking grin and held his hands up as he backed lazily towards the doors. My bad. I forgot. You got this totally under control. But if you ever do need help, for some really bizarre reason that I can't imagine being possible because you're Rambo in a skirt and shit, that's where I'll be. He was halfway out the door and gave her a small wink as he said, My name is Locke and you're always welcome to come knockin' on my door, sweetheart. Closing the door behind himself, he turned into bright daylight coming face to face with a group of 5 or 6 Walkers scattered on the sidewalk and stairs in front of the church. He paused for a moment, as all of them froze, turning their heads towards the movement of the door shutting and the sound of the heavy wood sliding home. When he walked away from the door, several of them came lurching towards the church. Locke started to walk away, tried to tell himself that it wasn't that big of a deal. It was just a door closing and not enough to get them riled up they'd eventually leave her alone if she just stayed in there, he thought. But as several Walkers passed him, gurgling and growling in their wounded throats and started to feebly bat at the doors, he sighed and rolled his eyes. None of them even payed attention to him and he could start screaming as he walked away and still not be bothered. She said she wanted to deal with this on her own but he found that every time he turned around to start walking away, he couldn't force himself down those stairs. With a soft growl in his throat he made his decision, and in one smooth motion, he turned around and pulled his machete from the sheath on his hip, bearing down on the undead crowding around the church doors. A few solid chops got the ones in the back but he took his time and chuckled to himself as he let the blade slide into the skulls of the ones right up against the doors, blackish blood splattering the molded wood paneling. As he wrenched his knife free from the head it was wedged in, he stepped back and made sure the area was clear before shouting at the door, DON'T THINK OF THAT AS HELPING YOU OUT! I WAS JUST MAKING SURE MY MACHETE STILL WORKS! Wiping the blade on the pants of one of the corpses, he finally turned around and made his way down the steps, chuckling to himself again as he slid it back into it's sheath.