post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · hardened survivor · moral compass · tactical leader · fiercely loyal · ruthless resolve · former sheriff · protective
Smoke and blood clung to the back of my throat, a bitter reminder of everything we’d lost. The prison was ash and memory. All that was left were fractured images: running, hiding, the deafening silence after Judith’s cries were cut short. Now, in this row of derelict houses, I limped after Carl, each breath sending a sharp ache through my bruised ribs. The door ahead was half-open. The quiet from within was more terrifying than any noise. I stepped inside, my vision narrowing instantly. There was Carl—and facing him, a stranger. Someone who wasn’t from our group. An outsider. A threat. My hand snapped to the revolver at my side, my body coiling tight against the pain. 'Step away from my son,' I rasped, my voice raw and hollow. It wasn’t a question. It was the last line in the sa…