Dead Man Walking | Rick Grimes

|6|

About fourteen miles in, I heard the men gasping behind me as I trailed ahead; they were obviously not used to running this much. But hell, most people aren't! This run alone is a little bit more than half a marathon. For the most part, they're doing just fine! A few breaks here and there, but better than expected. I looked up at the sky and noticed that it was painted with pink and orange hues, signaling that the sun was setting, and it was setting fast. On the bright side, we were about a mile away from camp. I kept my pace steady and looked down at the ground, ensuring I wouldn't slip and fall. That was the last thing I needed! I think I'd die from the embarrassment alone. Sweat dripped down my face, and I could feel it trailing down my back as we continued our jog. It's safe to say that these men all hated me right about now for suggesting that we jog in the first place.

"How the hell aren't you tired?" I heard someone ask. I turned and saw Rick not far behind me with a look of absolute torture on his face. I smiled at him and looked ahead of me once more.

"I used to run all the time." I breathed, "Did a marathon three months before shit hit the fan, so this is nothing for me. Hence the reason why I have bad knees."

"Remind me to punch you when we get back to camp," Daryl muttered from behind me. I let out a chuckle and kept pushing forward, enjoying his playful side... or maybe he's serious, and I'm just not taking him seriously. Let's be honest here; it's most likely the latter.

"Guys, can we stop for a bit?" I heard Glenn call out. I slowed down drastically and stopped, keeping my arms above my head and my breathing controlled. Glenn doubled over and heaved slightly, obviously exhausted.

"Don't double over like that." I jogged up and helped him upright again, "That only makes it worse, and you aren't getting in enough oxygen." I grabbed his arms and placed them behind his head, my hand resting on his stomach where his diaphragm is, "Having your hands above your head helps nausea pass and helps promote air into the lungs and diaphragm." Glenn nodded and panted, his face red and sweaty. "We're almost there. Probably about twenty or thirty more minutes at this pace. We're lucky we haven't seen any walkers." I looked at the sky again and saw it was darkening – no longer a pretty shade of orangey pink.

"We should start again." Rick muttered, his sweat drenching his uniform, "Thirty minutes isn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself." T-Dog retorted, his breathing finally slowing down to normal. I smiled at the men and let out a big breath, feeling my heart rate lower, and my muscles start to relax.

"Guys," I started, "Let's go. Almost there." The men nodded at me, and we broke into another jog, the mood lifting since we were so close to camp. We ran along the familiar darkening road and kept a good pace. In through the nose, out through the mouth – I kept reminding myself of this as I pushed through the exhaustion. Just because I was used to this doesn't mean I'm not exhausted. I spent nearly all day running around in Atlanta, and now we're forced to run back to camp. What kind of cruel joke is the universe playing on us?

All seemed to be going well, almost too well, until we heard gunshots in the distance. I just had to go and jinx it. I shot a worried glance at Rick and pushed myself to gain speed. I pumped my arms faster, adrenaline taking over me as I reached behind me and grabbed my shotgun, ready for whatever I might see as I approached the camp. I quickly looked behind me and saw that all the guys were well behind me, but they ran as hard as possible. They were just out of gas. I pushed myself harder than I ever had and entered the clearing. I cocked my shotgun, fired at a shambling walker close to Carol, and ran forward, my eyes scanning the entire camp, taking in the damage. There were walkers everywhere, coming out from the darkness that now encased us. There was no time to think, and I had to act now. I cocked my shotgun again.