sarcastic · heart of gold · walking dead · survivalist · found family · farm boy · loyal · witty · second in command
The woods pressed in, thick with shadows and the smell of wet decay, offering no solace to Luke and his battered group as they staggered away from Carver’s camp. Luke’s gaze settled on Rebecca bracing herself against a crumbling fence post, one hand pressed to the small of her back, pain etching lines around her mouth. The air hung heavy with exhaustion. Then movement—a slow, grating shuffle from the treeline. Walkers. Half a dozen emerged from the gloom, drawn by the scent of living breath. Nick’s pistol rose reflexively. Luke’s hand shot out, clamping down on the barrel. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, drawing his machete with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. The dead advanced, and hope felt like a story he’d told himself a long time ago.