Goodbye to a World | shane walsh

01 | the fire lookout

Traitor. 

Rick Grimes was nothing but a traitor and a damn coward.

Couldn't even finish the job. 

The blood curdling sounds of groans and shuffles from the uncountable number of walkers chasing behind Shane Walsh as he hobbled through the dark and dry forest was getting too much to bear. He had absolutely nothing. No guns, no knives, no flashlight, no food, water... nothing. And, on top of having absolutely nothing, everybody who might've given a damn about him thought he was as good as dead. 

All thanks to good ol' fucking Rick. 

He stumbled forwards as the hands of walkers tried to claw at him, barely getting away by the hairs on his neck. His large firm hand was pressed up against his side as blood pooled out between his fingers, coming out almost rhythmically with the pulse of his rapid beating heart. It was pitch black as he ran through the tall and skinny trees of the surrounding forest, further and further away from Herschel's farm. Further away from everything he knew... everyone he knew. 

Good riddance. 

As he just barely scraped by the walkers, his mind raced. His skin was growing visibly more clammy and pale, his body refusing to rest as he pushed himself past his limits to try and escape the death trap that followed closely behind. He just couldn't help but chuckle. 

"Wasn't 'sposed to go down like this," he muttered to himself as he staggered along, the dry leaves and twigs crunching loudly beneath his boots, only a mere echo of the sounds all the walkers were making. 

Rick was supposed to kill him in cold blood. That's why Shane's gun was empty. He had no intent to kill Rick out in that empty field back at the farm. He needed to make him stronger—he needed to show that Rick had to be able to make hard decisions. Shane glanced down at his open stab wound. He didn't think Rick would just stab him and leave him lying on the ground. He figured it was because Carl had come over after shooting a walker right by them and didn't want Carl to watch his own father kill his best friend... and then the herd came. Rick and Carl ran, leaving Shane on the grassy field to die as the herd came in hot. 

"Couldn't even put me out of my damn misery." He grumbled out of breath as he ran.

He wondered if Rick would go back and check if Shane's gun was empty... like it mattered now anyway. But, once Shane got out of this mess, he was determined to go back out and find Rick and the rest. He wasn't done with them just yet. 

He wasn't sure how much longer he could take running through the forest. He grew more and more lightheaded by the second with the amount of blood he was losing... and the walkers weren't any further away. His feet felt like cement with every step he took, his body began to feel heavy and sag as fatigue took ahold him. 

Shane's vision blurred as he stumbled forward, barely managing to stay on his feet. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhalation burning his lungs, while the pain from his wound was a constant, searing agony that threatened to bring him down with every step. But he couldn't stop. Not with the dead so close, their groans growing louder, their cold, decaying fingers almost within reach.

"Keep movin'," he whispered to himself, forcing his legs to keep going, one step after another. The world around him was a dark, shapeless mass, the trees blending into a tangled blur. There was no path, no direction—just the desperate instinct to survive, to keep going even when every part of him screamed to give up. Even when he moments ago had wished his best friend would've just shot him dead.

The ground beneath him was uneven, the roots of the trees catching his feet, causing him to trip and stagger, barely staying upright. The pain in his side flared with each jolt, the blood warm and sticky between his fingers. Shane could feel the strength draining from his body, the cold creeping in as his blood loss worsened. The walkers were relentless, their hunger driving them forward, closing the distance with every faltering step he took.