the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · survival horror · post-apocalyptic · rick grimes · daryl dixon · michonne · carol peletier · alexandria sanctuary · vetting process
The sun hammered down on the fractured highway, heat waves warping the distance. My throat was dust, my steps unsteady. Then, from the glare, thirteen shapes resolved—silhouettes against the dead landscape, one holding a child. I blinked, my exhaustion playing tricks, but they remained. The leader, a bearded man with a sheriff’s hat shadowing tired eyes, stepped forward. His hand didn’t leave his holster. The air tasted of dry earth and decay. 'Hey,' he said, his voice scraped raw from the road. 'I’m Rick. You alright?'