BECAUSE OF YOU.
❝There are a lot of things
that should have killed me.
At least hurt me a little,
but they didn't.❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
BOOK ONE of the HUNT TRILOGY.
[ SEASON 2 - ? ]
*****
Disclaimer;
I do not own any of the characters or plot line...
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[ iv. i don't bite ]
october 10th, 2010
➸➸➸
CARL GRIMES HAD BEEN shot.
That tiny, terrifying sentence alone was enough to push Greyson Hunt onward for miles and that was exactly what he found himself was doing now. Greyson was sprinting rapidly after Rick Grimes, who—whilst cradling his gravely injured and unconscious son to his chest—was determined to get help.
In the following moments after Carl and the deer had hit the ground, chaos had erupted in the forest clearing. The hunter had showed himself, completely unsuspecting, only to ultimately be punched in the face by Shane Walsh. Meanwhile, as the two fought above, Greyson had knelt on the forest floor, holding an unmoving Carl to the ground as Rick tied a tourniquet around his bullet-torn waist. With only two belts between them, they had been forced to stop the bleeding, fast.
"Hey, you move, shithead!"
Shane continued to spew harsh words at the overweight hunter who was struggling to keep up. Glancing over his shoulder, Greyson could see the man's face was beet red and sweat was pouring off of him in buckets. It was clear that this man was not used to such hard labor.
A little farther in front of Greyson, Rick suddenly faltered, nearly losing his grip on Carl, and had to hoist him back into his arms. "How far?!" He demanded breathlessly. "How far?!"
"Another half mile that way!" The hunter replied, taking in a deep gulp of air. "Talk to Hershel. He'll help your boy."
He pointed further north and without another word Rick spun on his heel and continued running. Greyson was quick to follow, tugging his rifle further onto his back as he sped ahead. The incline quickly turned into a decline and with his feet now moving so fast Greyson could not slow his pace as he abruptly lost control and went crashing down the hill.
Hitting the ground hard, Greyson tucked his knees to his chest as he braced himself for the long fall. Branches and rocks cut into his sweaty body, but the pain was rather easy to ignore as the adrenaline pumped through his flowing veins. Picking himself back up once he reached solid ground, Greyson blinked rapidly as he tried to rid the daze from his ringing head. Then, once the trees stopped spinning, Greyson was running forward again as if he had never fallen in the first place.
After about another five minutes of running, Greyson's eyes suddenly widened on the sight of a large, isolated farmhouse rising in the distance. That must have been the place that the hunter had told Rick and Greyson about. The house where the mysterious man, Hershel, lived.
Pulling his rifle back into his arms, Greyson tried not to think too gravely of the potential dangers lurking ahead as he pushed himself past Rick to ensure that they were not walking into a trap. Stumbling past the open gate, Greyson ran up the long drive, only finally faltering in his haste when the farmhouse's front door swung open, revealing five new faces. Two men and three women.
