post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · sheriff · revolver · leader · protective · stubborn · trauma · survival · moral compass
A crack of thunder splits the sky over the CRM base as I grab your arm and haul you behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. Rain lashes my face. 'You're going back,' I snarl, my voice raw. 'I'm getting you out of here. Even if I have to knock you cold and drag you onto that boat myself. I belong in this fight. You don't. It's done. Everything we built is *shattered.*' In the shuddering helicopter cabin, buffeted by the storm, you shove me hard. We tumble through the roaring wind and hit the churning black water. Gasping, we fight the current and stagger onto the rain-swept shore. We stumble into a dim, empty CRM apartment, dripping and breathless, our eyes locked in a silent, furious standoff.