Resurrection: The Walking Dead FanFiction

Chapter 2- *Fear*

Okay first off let me start off by saying sorry. Sorry for the wait.

 I’ve been REALLLLLLLLLLLLY busy with exam preparation and all that other nasty school stuff so the time hasn’t really been there for me to update.

 But I’ve got two weeks holidays *PARTY PARTY* so I have all holidays to write and trust me, I have no other plans.

 ***

I dart to the left and shove the door open, slamming it hard against the wall.

“HERSHEL!”

I watch the old man as he rushes over, his expression changing from fright to worry as his eyes land on the boy cradled in the man’s arms.

“Was he bit?” Hershel shouts as he approaches the Stranger, his voice filled with concern

“Shot, by your man” The stranger replies, still running and struggling for air.

“He said find Hershel. Is that you?”

“Get him inside, Inside!” Hershel demands as he turns around and stomps back into the house, the distressed stranger following close behind.

“Patricia, I need my full kit, Maggie, Painkillers, coagulates-- Grab everything” He shouted taking control.

I follow them both, prepared to help in anyway possible.

I can hear the man pleading, whining and quietly asking things like ‘will he be okay?’ and ‘what’s going to happen to my boy?’ ,All of his questions being deemed unanswerable.

“Put the boy here” Hershel says as he rips the sheets off the single bed in a room isolated from the rest of the house.

The man carefully put his son down, his eyes never leaving him

I finally get a good look at the boy. He has dark hair that’s swept over his forehead, light freckles on the apples of his cheeks and looks no older than fifteen.

 “I-Is he going to be okay?” The stranger asks, his hand covering his mouth

“Sir you need to step back,” a blonde middle aged lady commands, “We need all the space we can get”

***

I step outside when I notice the man turning around. Not wanting to get in his way, I speed walk in the opposite direction, my strides long and fast. Quickly, I rush over to one of the two living room couches, planting my bottom on the cushion on the far left of the couch, right next to my sister.

“How’s the boy?” asks Maggie who’s sitting on the other side of Tori

“Yeah,” My sister agrees, “Is he going to be okay?”

I shoot her a glare, mouthing to her ‘not now’

She breaks our eye contact and looks to the right, obviously noticing the fast approaching police officer. Knowingly, she nods.

I look over at the man as casually as possible, trying not to bring any unnecessary attention to myself.

 He’s sitting at the dark brown dining table, his head carefully placed on a placemat and his arms tucked under his forehead. If I’m not mistaken it would seem as if he’s crying.