Last Resort. A Walking Dead fan fiction

Chapter 5

Glenns point of view

Glenn shifted in his seat and glanced in the rear view mirror. For an hour now, one of the older men had been coughing and spitting blood out the window when no one was looking. He had separated himself from every one else and viciously refused any conversation or company. Glenn knew that the man was going to die. His worry was how long it was going to take the man, and when he would reanimate. The other passengers, mostly children and elderly folks, with a scattering of middle-aged office-type people would react badly if Glenn were to put the sick man out of his misery and dump the body.  None of them had ever been out in the mess. They hadn't fought to survive. They had leached off of other groups or locked them selves in basements and attics until they were found by stronger people who could take care of them. But even as weak and naive as they were, they outnumbered Glenn and their chances of survival would fall dramatically if they didn't follow his direction. His only option was to keep a close eye on the man and try to mercy him before he reanimated. Even then, the group would probably want to bury the man, or have a funeral. Right now, they needed food and shelter, and they needed it soon. Already, the fuel needle was dangerously low and Glenn knew there wasn't a town close enough for them to reach. If they were lucky, he could find an abandoned car and siphon some gas, but most likely, this whole escape mission would go very badly. As he drove on, he wished that Maggie was here. Or anyone else. Rick, Daryl, even Carl would be helpful. Someone who knew what would happen if that man died, and what would happen if they didn't get rid of the body fast enough. Carl would be perfect. Carl had a way of solving problems. He simply did what needed done and didn't give a shit what anyone else thought about how he did it. Some how when Carl did things, he never seemed to get in trouble for them.

The old man started hacking again and Glenn's mind was back in the present. He looked in the mirror and saw the man lunge to his feet, jerking and spewing blood everywhere. The passengers around him screamed and leaped from their seats, trying to get away from him. Glenn slammed on the brakes and threw the bus in park. He worked his way to the back as fast as he could, squeezing through seats packed with panicking people. When he reached the man, he drew his knife from the sheath on his leg. But the man wasn't interested in Glenn. It was clear that he had already turned. The virus had taken over the mans weakened body, not bothering to kill him first. Glenn drew back his arm to drive the knife in to the walkers skull, but as he took a step forward, he tripped over a leg, stuck out in to the aisle. Glenn slammed into a seat and scrambled to get his feet back under him. He grabbed the walker by the shoulder from where it had been sprawled over a seat and spun it around. Holding it in place with his forearm on its chest, Glenn drove the knife through its left eye. It let out a hissing scream as it died, spraying fresh meat over the front of Glenn's shirt. The walker collapsed in a heap. The knife made a sucking sound as it slid out of the head wound. Panting, Glenn turned to the seat where the walker had been sprawled. Laying there was a little elderly woman, probably in her late 80's. Glenn knew her by name and had spent a little time with her back in the prison. They had found her holed up on the roof of her house with several guns and the biggest collection of ammunition Glenn had ever seen. She was a widow, and her husband had fought in World War two. She had held off hoards of walkers with an old Beretta, an M1 Garand, and an M4 carbine. She was a tough old woman, and she likely would have held out a lot longer if they hadn't pulled her off that roof. 

Now she lay on the bus seat, covered in sheets of her own blood, flowing from her side. The walker had taken several large bites from her, leaving her ribs showing, her intestines bulging through the gaps. She looked up at Glenn, her head shaking and jerking, but her eyes were steady and her jaw was set. Through gritted teeth, she growled "You know what you have to do. For God's sake do it."

Glenn nodded shakily. "Yes Ma'am."

He slammed the knife in under her jaw. She never broke eye contact, even as the knife slid out. Then she gave him a firm nod and her head went limp.