My Hunter || D. Dixon (On Hold)

Thirty-Seven - Shit Happens

The inmates eventually got the hang of killing the walkers. They forcefully began slamming their weapons down into the skulls of the undead. One by one the walkers poured in, and they each died at the hands of the felons in front of us.

We watched as they worked to kill off the walkers that came around the corner. There was so much killing going on, that we didn't notice that one of the inmates had managed to slip away from us.

It was the biggest inmate of all of them. He slowly backed up behind us in the hallway, trying to get away from all the commotion. But instead, he managed to get himself surrounded by walkers that came up behind us.

The inmates got the idea of killing the walkers by targeting the brain but still did not keep their mouths shut when they were attacking. They let out loud cries and grunts as they swung their weapons at the heads of the walkers. It must have attracted others, and they came up behind us.

I hear the large man cry out for help as the walkers surrounded him. Rick and I ran to help him as Daryl and T-dog kept an eye on the other inmates that were taking care of the hoard in front of us. Rick raised my machete with the red handle to crack open the minds of the walkers that were closest to him.

I drew my katana from its sheath and cut the head of one, but bullets flew by me faster than I could swing. The gunshots were not only lethal for a walker but loud and deafening for me. I looked at Rick as I put my sword back and moved my hand to my left ear.

We turned around to see the leader of the group of inmates, holding his small gun up in the air, pointed in our direction. I pulled my Python from its holster before he could react. The end of my gun is level with his eyes. "Drop it," I demanded.

"Do what she says," Daryl says, as he walked up behind him and place his crossbow against the back of the man's head.

Not only was shooting a gun in these dark hallways completely stupid because it could have hit one of us, but the noise could be hundreds of them our way. there was a reason for coming down here with melee weapons. The guns were only here for extreme emergencies only. But somehow, this asshole couldn't grasp that.

The large inmate that has been surrounded was bleeding from his shoulder blade. At first, I thought that one of the bullets had grazed him, but then I realized that he had been scratched by one of the walkers. I backed away from him, keeping my gun locked and loaded by my side. "Rick, he's been scratched."

He shakes his head furiously. "I'm tellin' you, I don't feel anything. It's just a scratch."

"I'm sorry man," Rick told him as he carefully examined the large gashed on the man's shoulder blade.

"I can still fight!" The man insisted.

"You cut that old guys leg off to save his life!" One of the other inmates suggested.

"Guys! I'm fine!" The scratched one yelled.

"There's got to be something we ca-" he started to beg, but only before the leader stepped in and slammed his weapon down forcefully into the man's skull.

We all stood around, shocked. The leader continued to smash in the man's brains with his blunt weapon. Over and over again, just like he did before with the walkers. It was overkill. He had just killed one of his own without even thinking about it. Heartlessly. He didn't even look for an alternate way of dealing with this situation.

The other inmates watched the dark haired man violently and brutally demolished their friends head. His blood was scattered on the walls and on his face. He dripped with his friend's blood, and pieces of brain matter clung to his hair. I shut my eyes because I couldn't stand to watch anymore.