Protector || Shane Walsh

Chapter 20

The Hunted by Snow Ghosts

I run, flitting through the forest as fast as my legs can carry me.

Memories of Willow bleeding in my arms resurface and contend with the fresh thoughts of Carl bleeding in my arms.

I couldn't help Willow, but I can help Carl.

So I race on alone, having left the others behind.

We had started together, Rick running beside me, Carl's seemingly lifeless body in his arms, while Shane followed behind, dragging the shooter with him.

"Hey! You move, shithead! Come on, get us there!" Shane shouted at the man responsible for shooting Carl, yanking him forward.

He was a big man, tall and a little overweight and he struggled to keep up with us.

And I struggled to slow down.

We were relying on this man to lead the way and we weren't moving fast enough.

Every second counted.

Rick turned to face them. "How far?! HOW FAR?!" he screamed desperately at the man.

"Half a mile- that way!" the man managed between heavy pants, "Hershel- Talk to Hershel! He'll help your boy." He was bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Rick turned and charged on and I jogged with him, leaving Shane and the man behind.

We just needed more time.

"I'll find him." I said to Rick, before taking off, leaving him behind as well.

Pre-virus, I would go for a run almost every day.

It had been a little while, but muscle memory and adrenaline back me up.

I exit the tree line, flying out into an open grass field and spot a big white house in the distance.

This has to be the farm.

Oh, please be the farm.

I race across the field but feel as if I'm running on the spot, not making any progress.

The big home doesn't seem to be getting any closer. It's despairing.

I was too late to help Willow. Too late to help Amy. Too late to help Sophia. Now, I'm going to be too late to help Carl.

Anger gives me the extra boost I need.

As I finally begin to close in, I make out someone standing on the porch. I try to wave to them but they retreat inside.

When I reach their fence line, I start screaming out.

"HELP!"

I slip through a gap in the fence and head for the house as four people file out through the door.

They all stand at the top of the porch steps, one of them with a baseball bat in hand.

I hadn't even considered they might see me as a threat or that they could be a threat to me.

I have no idea what I've run in to, but there was no time for conversation and making everyone feel comfortable.

"There's been an accident!" I yell as I approach the steps. "He said to find Hershel! Please help!"

"Who said?" asks an older woman, with blonde hair.

I never asked the man's name. Shit.

"I don't know, big guy. It's a little boy, please!" I manage between breathes.