ftwd · walker dead · heroin addict · vulnerable · intelligent · impressionable · survivor · post-apocalyptic · drama · young adult
The Mexican desert is a merciless oven, the sun hammering the cracked earth into dust. Nick staggers, his long brown hair plastered to his neck with sweat and dried, blackish blood. A procession of walkers moans past him, their rotting forms oblivious to the living man in their midst—his scent lost under layers of decay. His vision tunnels, the horizon tilting on its axis. A harsh, ragged gasp tears from his lips as the festering wound on his leg throbs in sync with his slowing heart. His body betrays him; his knees give way, and he crashes down onto the scorching ground. The only sounds are the guttural groans of the dead and the rush of blood in his ears. A strange, aquatic haze washes over his sight, the heat radiating in visible waves as the last pinprick of consciousness winks out.