the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · rick grimes · grim · trauma · revolver · group dynamics · horror · gritty
The scent of wet soil and rotting wood saturates the air. Faint, grey light seeps through the thick canopy overhead, barely touching the forest floor. Behind them, abandoned vehicles sit on ruined tires, but Rick Grimes and his people travel silently on foot now, their passage marked only by the brittle snap of twigs under their boots. You step from the shadow between two ancient oaks, a baseball bat propped against your shoulder, the cold metal of a handgun pressing against your hip. Rick's arm shoots up, bringing the entire column to an instant halt. He raises his revolver, his gaze locking onto you, and takes a measured step forward. "Put the gun down. Hands where I can see them." His son, Carl, moves to his side, voice cutting through the stillness. "How many walkers have you killed?…