Alexander Wyatt (![]() ![]() @ 2014-08-25 22:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | kendall, wyatt |
WHO: Kendall and Wyatt
WHEN: August 26th, 2014; midday
WHERE: Just outside the hotel
WHAT: clearing out some of the zombies
It was probably a stupid idea. Actually, scratch the probably out of that, it was a stupid idea. At least for Wyatt. It’d been awhile since he could have been considered on his A game, but either no one noticed, or they just weren’t saying anything, because the intervention he kept expecting just hadn’t come yet.
Maybe there had been enough lately that his issues weren’t that big in the scheme of things. Hell, he knew that Ken knew there was something going on, but even she hadn’t talked him out of the trek outside the hotel to clear out some of the number of zombies that had shown up in the last couple of weeks. And he knew he wasn’t that good at bullshitting the people in his life, so that just left him wondering what was up.
It didn’t say anything good about the state he was in that the guys hoarding all the drugs could recognize him on sight -usually knew what he was looking for too-, and he knew he was being stupid, but he kept going back whenever everything felt like it was getting too big. World goes to hell, and he fell right back into the things he thought he’d left behind.
But, just because he was a mess it wasn’t going to stop him from pulling his own weight, because maybe then he could continue to eek by without someone pointing out the state he was in. Or taking it upon themselves to make him a pet project.
The thing was, his reflexes weren’t right, and he knew it from the minute they came up against the small herd loitering closest to the hotel entrance. He had left his handgun back in his room in favor of a knife, because he couldn’t trust his own aim, and there was no way in hell he was going to risk shooting Kendall. A better person probably wouldn’t have risked her as much as he was.
“Damnit,” Wyatt growled as he tripped, at the last minute ducking away from the zombie that was almost on top of him and thrusting his knife up into the base of the skull. “We got some kind of a damn beacon on the top of the hotel?” It was rhetorical, but no one he knew had a good explanation for the numbers of zombies that had shown up.
He wondered if it was Bass fucking with them, and purposefully unleashing the hoards on the resort. But the thought was almost too messed up to take seriously. Probably just paranoia.