Shawn Walsh...
For someone who was the son of a cop, he didn't exactly play by the rules, he was a uncontrollable force like a hurricane, a tornado...a tsunami.
When he was young, it was only a slight tremble in the ground, a small wind, a tiny wave...
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•°TO LIVE IS TO DIE°•
. . . .
SOMETIMES WAKING UP just wasn't worth it.
Sleeping was one of the best things in the the world, you got to dream and live your own fantasy world, when your awake, you had to live the rough reality of things.
When Shawn woke to screaming and the groans of walkers, he was tempted to close his eyes again and act like he never heard anything.
. . . .
The silent night was smoothing, but then the backdrop of distant screaming and the unearthly growling of the undead was heard. Shawn blinked awake, his heart pounding in rhythm with the chaotic noises outside. The dim light filtering through the campground's curtains did little to ease the disorientation that wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.
He winced as a sharp pain shot through his abdomen, a reminder that he had just undergone surgery-a broken rod that had stabbed through his abdomen when he slipped while saving Merle. The scene was still too fresh, too raw, and the thought of moving felt like a punishment. But as another scream pierced the air, the adrenaline began to kick in, electric and undeniable.
Shawn pushed himself upright, gritting his teeth against the pain. He could stay here and let his friends face the nightmare alone, but there was a part of him that refused to succumb to fear or weakness. They needed him. They needed each other.
"What the hell's going on out there?" he muttered under his breath, fumbling with his tattered shirt and making sure the makeshift bandage was still in place.
The RV felt like a coffin, both a protective shell and a prison. As he unlocked the door and pushed it open, the rush of chaos flooded in-the sounds of struggle, of survival, raw and unfiltered. The sight that awaited him was beyond anything he had ever imagined in the throes of nightmares.
The stench of decay and death hung thick in the air, a miasma that mixed with the acrid scent of smoke and blood. Shawn fought through the fatigue that clawed at his limbs, each step a reminder of the pain shooting through his abdomen. He gritted his teeth, the pressure in his gut becoming unbearable, but the sight of Carl, Sophia, and Carol surrounded by walkers spurred him onward. The kids and Carol looked terrified, eyes wide with desperation, and that fear ignited something inside him-a flicker of determination in an otherwise dark world.
"Get to the RV!" Shawn shouted, his voice hoarse but urgent. His heart raced as he pushed forward, his resolve erasing any thoughts of his own suffering. Walkers staggered around him, their grotesque forms lurching with mindless hunger. He swung a wrench that belonged to Dale at them, the impact against their skulls sending them sprawling to the ground, but the numbers were overwhelming. Each swing took more energy than the last, and he could feel the intensity of his pain rising, almost as if the walkers could sense his weakness.
