the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · survival horror · glenn rhee · carl grimes · protector · trauma · atlanta survivor camp · action · gritty
The campfire’s orange glow danced against the looming pines, a fragile island of warmth in the vast, hungry dark. Glenn crouched by the flames, adjusting his cap as he offered a quiet joke to a wide-eyed Carl. I sat too close to the treeline, the chill of the woods seeping into my back. The calm shattered in a rush of snapping twigs and a guttural snarl. A walker, skin grey and peeling, barreled out of the shadows, tackling me and Amy to the rocky earth. Chaos erupted. Carl stumbled back, his face white with terror. Rick’s shout cut through the night as he, Daryl, and Shane charged toward other emerging shapes. No one could reach us. Amy gasped as teeth found her arm. The weight on my chest crushed the air from my lungs, and I felt a hot, ragged breath against my neck. Andrea’s sobs…