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Chapter Three

Instantaneously after Rick had prowled out of the room, Andrea had pried open the weighty door and fumbled for the flashlight. Her hand quivered from bearing his magnificent Colt Python. He was out there. In solitude. With no light source. Unarmed.

Rick.

The one who had left her here.

The feeble light choked to life, sputtering and coughing to full beam. She shone it along the blood-encased walls, the floor. Rick was gone.

Gone.

She tasted the word in her mind, sampling the quality of it. It was brutal, unforgiving. Undesirable. In no way was it feasibly possible that she could grow accustom to it.

The bitter pronunciation of the word reverberated within the vicinity of her mind, screeching and yowling its mocking reproach at her.

Something within her swelled, seethed, twisting and gyrating. Rage. Despondency. Hate.

Andrea rid herself of any rational thought or action. She fled the room, unaware of any sense of direction. The walls thinned and threatened to puncture her sanity; she was a caged rat scrambling within a labyrinth of bewilderment.

An illusion briefly flooded her vision, and she staggered to the left, bracing her body against a wall. Rick. The final memory of him emerged in sudden clarity. The smolder of his glare. The glimmer of sweat along his drawn brows. And the tautness of his jaw as it flicked to subconsciously express his discontent at her earlier pert behavior. Was she that perfidious to his will?

If only she had the intrepidness to verbalize her thoughts.

The sound of rapid footfall smothered her tempest of emotions. She lashed around to confront her pursuer, a mingled look of shock and terror exploding on her face.

She found herself floundering with the Colt python, attempting to right the weapon as the walker tore down the hall toward her. Mouth unhinged and eyes utterly submerged in blood lust, it shambled forth to claim its prize.

Rick's stare was vacant. His hands were limp. His muscles slack. His appendages like weights far too obtrusive to bear.

Andrea.

The one who had deceived him.

She had hoodwinked him.

Rick cursed inwardly, his gait swift and severe. His boots clipped across the cement as he entered Hershel's cell. He stood, halted, as he digested the scene. The cell was barren of life. The remaining group must be in the yard.

He was about to stalk off when he noted the vague gleam of a metallic object, nestled beneath the mattress. Rick ventured toward the cot, trepidation subverting his pace.

He peered alow.

Embedded in the drooping mattress was the tip of a flask.

Within a heartbeat Rick had snatched the container and had the ambrosial content poised at his lips. He faltered, derelict.

A tepid blossom flowered in his veins, immersing his senses at the thought of drink.

His eyes shuddered close and he envisioned Andrea.

Without a moment squandered, he immediately downed the alcohol within a minute.

Andrea fired once, the bullet resounding along the now occupied hallway. A miss. Stiff and frantic, she clawed her way in reverse as the walker flashed in an out of the fallen flashlight's beam.

The walker drew near.

Grasping the Python, she drove the head of it into its maw.

Andrea squeezed the trigger.

Her eyes wandered astray, absorbing the macabre aftermath. The walker lay, strewn about and pregnant with gore.

She was quaking, the revolver clutched in her hand to an exasperating point.

Andrea remained this way for several minutes, engrossing herself in condition of the carnage.

Rick's earlier words bounded around her ears, "This section hasn't been cleared yet!"

Clearly.

Andrea hoisted herself up, a set gleam in her eyes.

Her muscles coiled.

Andrea's eyes narrowed to slits, her normally lush mouth curved in a defiant line.

Two could play his game.

A/N:

Sorry for a short one. Had some free time and decided to whip one up.

Hope you enjoyed.

Please read and review!