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b1xi · 2 months ago

Text

𝙄𝙣𝙜𝙮𝙙𝙖𝙧

Glenn rhee x reader

Word count: 6756

Warninig:Violence, racism, xenophobia, deaths, bad language, use of weapons

PT2, Pt1

"Hey, are you alive?" Glenn asked as they both tried to communicate with the man trapped in a tank in the middle of the city. The man seemed unaware of what he was facing and was now surrounded by walkers.

"Is he not responding?" you asked, worried, as only the static from the walkie-talkie filled the air.

Suddenly, a male voice interrupted the static. "Hello? Hello?" The man sounded tense but relieved to hear someone.

"Where are you? Are you out there? Can you see me?" he asked, clearly scared, though trying to stay calm. Meanwhile, the nauseating sound of the walkers devouring the man’s horse echoed in the distance.

"Yes, we can see you," you replied, taking the walkie-talkie from Glenn's hands. "You're surrounded by walkers. That's the bad news."

The man, with a hint of desperation in his voice, asked, "Is there any good news?"

You shook your head, knowing he couldn't see you. "No... and they ate your horse. I'm sorry."

There was an uncomfortable silence before the man spoke again. "Listen, whoever you are... I have to say, this is really worrying me."

You passed the walkie-talkie back to Glenn, adjusting the weapon Shane had given you at your belt, staying alert to the nearby walkers.

"Well, man, you should see it from here. It'd give you a heart attack," Glenn replied bluntly. The scene was a nightmare, with hordes of those creatures devouring everything in their path.

"Do you have any advice for me?" The man sounded resigned but not defeated.

"If I told you to try to escape running..." you started, but everyone knew that idea was suicidal. He could barely move without a walker detecting him.

"Is that it? Just try to escape running?" The incredulity and frustration in his voice were palpable.

"My idea isn't as crazy as it sounds," Glenn shot back, staying firm. "You've got a couple of eyes out here. There's one walker still at the top of the tank, but the others have gone down, distracted by the feast where the horse fell."

The man in the tank listened intently. "Are you following me so far?" Glenn asked.

"Yes, so far."

"Good," Glenn continued, "the street on the other side of the tank is clearer. If you move now, while they're distracted, you’ll have a chance. Do you have ammo?"

"In the bag I dropped outside. It has more weapons. Should I try to go for it?"

"Forget the bag, idiot, that's not an option," you interjected quickly before passing it back to Glenn. "What do you have with you?"

The man paused before answering. "I have a Beretta with a magazine... fifteen shots."

"Then make them count," you said firmly, solidifying the plan.

"Jump to the right side of the tank and keep moving in that direction," Glenn resumed, giving instructions. "There’s an alley about 45 meters from where you are. We’ll meet you there."

There was a brief silence before the man asked, "What’s your name?"

"Have you been listening? We don’t have time for introductions; your time is running out!" Glenn responded, a bit frustrated but keeping calm as they both anxiously awaited the man's decision.

You looked around, anxious. The plan was laid out, but it remained to be seen if the trapped man would have the courage and speed to escape.

You and Glenn ran toward the alley entrance, moving quickly as gunshots rang out in the distance. Soon, the man appeared, rounding the corner with his weapon aimed at Glenn in a pure instinctive gesture.

"I’m not dead!" Glenn shouted, his tone a mix of relief and adrenaline. You instinctively raised your hands, feeling your pulse quicken in your ears.

The man, dressed in a sheriff’s uniform, followed closely behind. He was tall and strong, though fatigue and stress seemed to have drained some color from him. Glenn wasted no time, urging him on: "Let’s go, let’s go!" he shouted, while you led the way, your heart pounding heavily in your chest.

You climbed the metal stairs as quickly as your legs would allow. From below, you could hear the sheriff firing his weapon, trying to hold back the approaching horde of walkers. Once at the top, you reached out your hand to Glenn, who took it without hesitation.

"What are you doing, let’s go?!" Glenn shouted at the man, who had paused below, scanning his surroundings and assessing the danger.

Finally, you helped the sheriff up, and the three of you tried to catch your breath. Below, the walkers began to gather, their growls and clumsy hands reaching up toward you. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you leaned against the wall, trying to control your breathing.

"Nice moves, Clint Eastwood," Glenn commented, clearly sarcastic but with a hint of admiration. "Are you the new sheriff come to clean up the town?"

The man, still recovering, shook his head. "That wasn’t my intention," he apologized, his voice hoarse from the effort.

"Yeah, sure. Yee-haw." Glenn didn’t miss the chance to add a touch of humor to the tension. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the adrenaline and fatigue starting to fade a bit as you leaned against the wall.

"Anyway, you’re a fool," you teased, sharing a knowing glance with Glenn before turning your attention back to the sheriff.

"Rick," he finally said, introducing himself as he extended his hand first to Glenn and then to you. "Thanks."

"Glenn," your friend replied, accepting the handshake with a weary gesture. "No problem."

"And I’m Y/N," you said, shaking Rick’s hand with a soft smile as Glenn helped you to your feet.

"The good thing is that if we fall, it’ll be the fall that kills us," Glenn quipped with his characteristic humor as they began to ascend the stairs to a safer place. "I always see the glass half full."

He let you go first, as always, with that kind gesture and a reassuring smile, though the frantic pulse of danger still throbbed beneath it all. You ran together across the rooftops, jumping from building to building until you reached the meeting point. Fatigue weighed down your legs and chest, the pace of the escape beginning to take its toll. Finally, Glenn lifted the hatch of a roof and they slid inside.

"We’re back, and we brought a guest," Glenn announced over the walkie-talkie. "There are four walkers in the alley."

You descended the stairs with Glenn and Rick, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Upon reaching the alley, you instinctively recoiled at the sight of the four walkers. Your fingers brushed against the weapon at your waist, debating whether it was worth using it now. Just then, T-Dog and Morales appeared from a side door, armed with bats, quickly taking care of the undead. The path was clear.

You breathed deeply, grateful for their quick intervention, but before you could fully relax, things turned tense. Andrea, furious, raised her weapon and aimed it directly at Rick.

"You son of a bitch, i should kill you right now," she yelled, her voice heavy with rage.

Rick, visibly confused, didn’t understand what he had done to provoke such a reaction. "What’s going on?" he asked, a mix of surprise and bewilderment crossing his face as he took a step back.

"Calm down, Andrea, take it easy," Morales intervened, clearly tired of the situation.

You tried to ease the tension by taking off your backpack and dropping it to the ground, feeling the weight lift from your shoulders. "Come on, relax," Jacqui said, attempting to persuade Andrea to lower her weapon.

However, Andrea wouldn't budge. "Are you seriously joking?" she shot back, keeping her gun trained on Rick. "We're dead because of this damn idiot."

Finally, you couldn't stay silent any longer. "Enough!" you said, your tone filled with firmness and exhaustion. This situation couldn’t handle any more chaos, and fighting among yourselves wouldn’t solve anything.

After a few tense seconds, Andrea lowered her weapon, clearly frustrated. Rick, still disoriented, tried to understand why he was being blamed. Morales, with a mix of patience and exasperation, explained that when Rick had fired his weapon outside, he had drawn the walkers to their position, endangering everyone.

You stepped away from the group while they debated, seeking some fresh air. Your eyes landed on a small clothing store nearby, its dusty windows showing cracks under the pressure of the walkers outside. A chill ran down your spine as you watched those creatures pile up, pushing and clawing at the glass that would soon give way.

Deciding to take advantage of the calm moment, you moved into the store while the others continued discussing their next steps. Quickly, you picked out some clothes for yourself, also searching for something for Alice.

T-Dog was trying to adjust the walkie-talkie, but all that came through was static. The electric silence of the device made you anxious; in your mind, you hoped everything was quiet at the camp.

Really? you thought to yourself, surprised that anyone still considered the possibility of a functional support structure amid the chaos.

The tension in front of you was palpable. Merle Dixon, with his reckless attitude and rifle in hand, was a problem that worsened with every second. When Morales approached him, yelling, your own disdain for Dixon was unavoidable.

"Crazy bastard," you muttered aloud, not bothering to hide your disgust. You knew Merle would hear you, and part of you wanted that.

"Hey, show some respect for an armed man!" Merle spat, stumbling down from the rooftop edge, but with a defiant swagger. "That’s common sense."

You looked him in the eye, resolute. You weren’t going to back down. With guys like Merle, showing any weakness only emboldened them. You knew that well, and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you.

"You’re wasting bullets, idiot!" T-Dog shouted, moving closer. "And you’re drawing the walkers right to us!"

"I’m done taking orders from Latinos," Merle replied with blatant contempt. "Now I have to take them from you too? No, brother, that day isn’t coming."

The blatant racism made your blood boil. If you could, you would have shut him up right then. The latent violence in the air intensified with each word. You were about to physically intervene when Merle hurled another insult at Morales, but Glenn stopped you, holding your arm before you could act impulsively. He looked at you with a mix of warning and concern.

Tension erupted when Merle threw a punch at T-Dog, and the whole group was thrown into chaos. Rick tried to intervene but got hit as well, triggering a full-on fight. Merle’s uncontrolled fury drove him to keep punching T-Dog relentlessly while the others struggled in vain to stop him.

You couldn’t watch your friend get hurt like that. With trembling hands, you drew your weapon. You weren’t someone who resorted to violence without thinking, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You had to stop Merle, and the only way to do so was by threatening force.

You aimed carefully, took off the safety, and fired. The bullet grazed Merle, close enough to make him step back, momentarily startled and confused. Everyone froze, unable to process what had just happened.

Merle, furious, started searching for the source of the shot until his eyes finally landed on you, the gun still in your hands.

"Little bitch!" he shouted, advancing toward you with unrestrained fury. You stepped back, but it was too late. He grabbed you by the collar, his fingers tightening around your throat. "You trying to kill me, huh?"

The blow echoed in your head before you could process it, and the burning pain spread across your cheek. The hard rooftop met you with a harsh thud as Merle shoved you, the rage in his eyes still fixated on you. A metallic taste settled in your mouth, but you refused to show weakness. No, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

"No, but I would have liked to," you said without thinking, and though that comment slipped out instinctively, you didn't regret it. You didn’t regret standing up to someone like him, even if the cost was a sharp slap.

Merle turned to the others, still furious, but finally relented to their pleas. However, before he withdrew, he spat in contempt towards T-Dog, who was watching him with eyes burning with restrained anger.

With a trembling hand, you touched your cheek, now hot and throbbing. Glenn quickly approached you, visibly distressed, helping you up carefully.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he examined you from head to toe.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied firmly, though the sting of pain was still fresh. You tried to sound stronger than you felt, but you couldn’t deny that the hit had been brutal.

Glenn nodded, although doubt still clouded his eyes. You gave him a small smile to reassure him, even though it was difficult to maintain.

Merle, with his twisted, arrogant grin, kept his gun raised as he swaggered around the rooftop, each word out of his mouth fueling the latent chaos in the atmosphere. "Alright! Looks like we’re having a little assembly, huh? Let’s discuss who’s in charge here," he shouted, his tone mocking and defiant. "I vote for me. Anyone else?"

The already tense atmosphere became stifling. As Merle continued talking, the others huddled around T-Dog, who was still reeling from the blows he had taken. Amid worried murmurs and hands holding him up, the group tried to help him recover.

"It’s time for democracy, folks," Merle continued, reveling in the moment. "Raise your hands, come on, I want to see them."

Most present exchanged uncomfortable glances. No one wanted to give him that power, but the threat posed by his weapon and volatile temperament forced them to comply. Reluctantly, one by one, they raised their hands, even if begrudgingly.

"That means I’m the boss, alright?" Merle said, satisfied with his false victory, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Anyone else? No one?"

The air seemed to stop for a moment until Rick emerged from the back of the group, determination etched on his face. Without warning, in a swift and precise motion, Rick raised the butt of his weapon and brought it crashing down on Merle’s head. The impact resonated across the rooftop, leaving Merle dazed and falling heavily to the ground, unable to react in time.

Before he could even comprehend what had happened, Rick was already on him, pinning him down with efficiency. Firmly, he pulled out the handcuffs he carried and, without losing a second, cuffed Merle to one of the rusty pipes protruding from the rooftop.

"Who the hell are you, man?" Merle spat the words with venom, struggling futilely under Rick’s firm grip, who held him by the collar of his shirt.

"The friendly cop," Rick replied, his tone icy but filled with contained rage. Patience had run thin. "Listen, Merle, things have changed, you understand? No more place for your shitty racism or your insults. There’s no more ‘black’ or ‘white trash.’ Now there’s just living flesh and dead flesh. Us, and the walkers." Rick spoke with a conviction that resonated with everyone present. As he inspected some weapons, his voice remained steady. "We survive together or we don’t survive at all. Dividing ourselves will just get us killed faster."

"Go to hell, man," was Merle’s only predictable response, his gaze fixed on Rick with utter disdain.

You slowly rose from the ground, feeling the weight of exhaustion and the earlier blow. You brushed the dust off your pants, the pain still pulsing in your cheek, but you had no time to weaken. All eyes were on the tense confrontation between Rick and Merle.

You watched as Rick, maintaining control, tossed Merle’s small bag of drugs into the street, out of reach of the handcuffed man. This seemed to trigger a new wave of rage in Merle, but the power of his fury was reduced to useless shouting.

"Idiot," you murmured in your native tongue as you pulled out a small mirror from your bag.

"My God! Looks like Times Square down there," you commented, moving closer to Andrea and Jacqui, who were looking worriedly at the walker-infested street. An endless mass of decaying bodies moved slowly but relentlessly, blocking any safe exit.

Rick joined the group, his face marked by concern. "How’s the signal?" he asked, directing his attention to Glenn, who was desperately trying to get the walkie-talkie to work.

"Like Dixon’s brain… weak," Morales replied sarcastically. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the comment.

You sat next to Glenn, who still kept glancing at you, worried. When you noticed and turned to him, he quickly averted his gaze, nervous.

"I'm fine," you insisted, giving him a light jab on the arm, trying to lighten the moment. But Glenn didn't smile; instead, he sighed.

"What you did was stupid," he reprimanded, though there was no harshness in his tone, just genuine concern. "You could have made things worse."

"I wasn't going to kill him," you replied, this time with more firmness in your voice. It was true. Despite everything, you wouldn’t have gone that far, not yet.

"Maybe not this time," Glenn murmured, still focused on the walkie-talkie but clearly unconvinced that the situation with Merle wouldn’t escalate.

You leaned closer, lowering your voice. "You know I'm not reckless, Glenn. But someone had to do something before he killed T-Dog."

"I know," he admitted, finally meeting your gaze. "I just… don’t want you to get into more danger than necessary."

There was a moment of silence between you, broken only by the distant murmurs of the others and the occasional groan of walkers on the streets. The white noise of that shattered world was almost unbearable if you thought about it too much.

Rick surveyed the grim horizon and glanced back down, where the walkers wandered aimlessly. "Keep trying," he said firmly as Glenn continued to fiddle with the walkie-talkie, attempting to find any signal.

Andrea, with a mix of frustration and resignation, huffed. "What for? There’s nothing we can do," she said bitterly. "Not a damn thing."

Her pessimism irritated you, but you didn’t say anything. However, Morales interjected, addressing Rick. "There are people outside the city. No shelters, nothing. Just an illusion, a chimera," he pointed out, giving the sheriff a bit more context.

After deliberating for a few minutes, they concluded that the only viable option would be to try to escape the city using the underground tunnels that ran beneath the buildings. It was a risk, but better than facing the horde on the surface.

The group descended into the dark basement of the building. The light from the flashlights barely illuminated the path ahead, revealing a rusty metal staircase leading down into an underground tunnel. The air was heavy and stale, only heightening the feeling of claustrophobia.

"Are you sure about this?" someone whispered, as everyone gazed into the darkness extending beyond the beam of the flashlights.

"I’ve explored this building before, the other times I’ve been here," Glenn explained, his voice somewhat uncertain but trying to sound convinced. "This is the only way down. But I’ve never gone down there. I mean, who would?"

Everyone looked at him, including you. The expectation rested on him, and Glenn couldn't help but grimace in resignation. He knew he had no other choice, not when everyone was counting on him, the most agile and experienced in such incursions.

"Well..." he murmured, staring at the metal stairs descending into the unknown. He knew he couldn’t refuse.

A pang of nostalgia hit you, sharp as a dagger. Were they alive? The question echoed in your mind, incessant and painful. Had Jay and Ellith survived the chaos that erupted after the outbreak? Were they looking for you, wondering if you had escaped the dead as well?

A sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it. The truth was harsh, and while you wanted to cling to hope, you knew the odds were not in your favor. Everyone was fighting to survive, scattered, separated by miles or by the chasm that the walkers created between the living.

"Are you okay?" Rick's voice pulled you from your thoughts. He was watching you from across the room, that severe yet concerned expression that seemed to have become part of him.

"I'm assuming so," you replied, forcing a smile that barely reached your eyes.

"We're going to get through this," Rick said calmly, his gaze steady, as if his words could hold back the chaos surrounding them. Though he couldn't promise anything, the weight of his conviction offered you a brief solace. You desperately hoped he was right.

"Do you have someone waiting for you?" the sheriff asked, trying to ease the tension with conversation.

You nodded slowly, a warm and genuine smile forming on your lips for the first time in days. "Yeah, a baby," you said softly, as if mentioning Alice could conjure her image and make her feel close. And so it was. The image of your baby filled your mind immediately. Her round face, her big brown eyes full of an innocence that seemed impossible in this cruel world. The memory of her laughter, light and sweet, echoed in your ears, and for a moment, the darkness around you faded.

Rick nodded, his expression serious. "You'll be back with her, I promise." There was something in his tone that touched you. You knew the man felt responsible, that guilt had been haunting him ever since Andrea and Morales explained how all this chaos had started with his arrival.

"I hope you find your family too," you said, looking at him with empathy. He returned a small smile.

Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted the precarious calm. The sound of shattering glass reverberated through the store, and the three of you turned in unison toward the source of the noise. The walkers had managed to break through the first glass door. Blood and smudged handprints covered the remains of the shattered glass, but luckily, a second barrier still protected you—at least for now.

"Did you find anything?" you asked urgently as Morales and Glenn returned.

Morales shook his head, and your heart sank. You felt fear creeping back in, crushing the brief hope you had managed to cling to while thinking about Alice.

"Nothing," Glenn confirmed with a sigh, clearly frustrated. "The tunnels don't lead anywhere we can use."

Andrea, visibly shaken, crossed her arms as she watched the entrance with concern. "We need to find another way... and fast," she insisted, her voice tense.

Everyone returned to the rooftop, and the atmosphere was tense. The sense of urgency was palpable, and frustration hung in the air like a thick cloud. While the others moved toward the edge, watching the walkers below, you sat near the door, your thoughts racing a mile a minute.

Rick was looking through binoculars, assessing the situation while Glenn crossed his arms, clearly uneasy.

"You were the one who got me out of that tank," Rick said to the Asian guy.

"Yeah, but only because they were busy eating," Glenn replied, hands on his hips. "They were distracted."

Merle, in his usual mocking tone, interjected, "What, do you have an idea like in Hogan's Heroes?"

You were annoyed by his tone. "Shut up, Merle," you shouted from your spot without even looking at him.

Rick ignored the provocation and continued focusing on what was important. "They’re attracted to sound, right?"

"Yeah," Glenn replied. "They're like dogs. If they hear a noise, they come."

Rick nodded, processing the information. "And what else? How do they find us besides sound?"

"They see you, they smell you... and if they catch you, they devour you," Morales interjected with a grim tone.

Rick paused for a moment, as if that last part had caught him off guard. "Can they smell us?"

Glenn let out an exasperated sigh. "Don’t you?" he retorted with a hint of sarcasm.

"They smell rotten. We don’t. It’s pretty obvious," Andrea added, summarizing the essential difference.

---

"if This is a competition of bad ideas," Glenn murmured as you helped Rick gather plastic gloves and other protective gear. "And this one would take the gold."

"He's right," Morales added, watching skeptically. "We should stop and think a bit more about this."

However, you turned to face him, exhaustion and desperation in your eyes. "Do you have a better idea before the walkers break down the last door?"

The response was silence, and everyone knew there was no time for more discussion.

They followed Rick outside, where two walkers lay on the ground, taken down by T-Dog and Morales upon their arrival. Rick and Morales grabbed one and dragged it inside. The atmosphere was stifling, the smell of decaying flesh permeating the air.

You had been given a lab coat, latex gloves, and a mask covering your face, but the stench was impossible to ignore. With a butcher's knife in hand, you knelt beside the corpse. It had been days since you had practiced your true profession, but what you were about to do was far removed from the surgeries you were used to.

As the others grouped around you, Rick, with an axe in hand, hesitated. Everyone watched with a mix of horror and resignation. The sheriff couldn't deliver the final blow, and you took the initiative, checking the corpse’s wallet while Rick read his personal details.

"Well, Wayne Dunlap," you said in a bitter tone, "you had a good life." With that, you plunged the knife into the decaying flesh of the corpse, beginning to open the abdomen with quick, precise movements. The wet, unpleasant sound of flesh being cut made some recoil, visibly disgusted.

You had done this before, in very different conditions, in clean operating rooms with living patients. This, however, was a grotesque parody of your former life.

Andrea, shocked by your apparent calmness while performing the macabre task, broke the silence. "What were you doing before all this?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

"I'm a doctor," you replied without taking your eyes off the corpse. "A surgeon, actually."

"Wow," was all Glenn could say, impressed by how naturally you handled the situation.

You methodically worked your way through the corpse, your gloves and lab coat soaking in blood. The putrid smell enveloped the area, but you tried to stay focused. You stood up, stepping away from the body as Rick took the axe and, with a determined gesture, began to butcher what was left of the corpse.

"Let's keep cutting," Rick ordered, handing the axe to Morales, who took it with a grimace of disgust.

You noticed Glenn's state; he looked on the verge of collapse, his face pale and his eyes avoiding direct contact with the scene. He wasn't the only one struggling with the consequences of the situation, but he seemed especially affected.

You patted him on the back, trying to offer some comfort amidst the horror. "You're going to be okay," you whispered. But his response was less optimistic.

"I'm going to vomit," he murmured in a choked voice, clearly shaken.

"Later," Rick replied, his tone stern as he tried to keep everyone focused. "Everyone has gloves, right?" he added, casting one last look at the group, ensuring they all understood the gravity of what they were doing. "Don't let it touch your skin or eyes."

The group nodded in silence, and with a mix of resignation and urgency, they began to cover their bodies with the remains of the corpse, spreading viscera and rotten blood over their clothes. The scene was grotesque, an image straight out of a nightmare.

"Watch my hair," you said to Andrea with a slight forced smile as she filled your back with pieces of the decomposing body.

Glenn, however, was visibly more affected. "God, this is terrible," he murmured, closing his eyes as he tried to contain his nausea. "I can't... I can't handle it."

"Think of something else," Rick suggested, his tone calm but firm. "Kittens and puppies," he added, trying to distract Glenn from the horrifying reality.

"Yeah, dead kittens and puppies," T-Dog joked with a nervous laugh, but his comment was not well received. Everyone shot him disapproving looks, and Glenn finally couldn't take it anymore. He leaned to the side and vomited.

The scene was almost surreal, but there was no time to complain. The danger was too close. As you covered yourself with the organs and blood, you looked at T-Dog sternly. "What's wrong with you? Focus!" you reprimanded him, though you knew the situation wasn't easy for anyone.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the macabre task was complete. Everyone was covered in blood and chunks of flesh, an image straight out of a horror scene. Rick wiped a hand across his face, his expression grim,

as he asked the question no one wanted to answer.

"Do we smell like them?"

The answer was obvious. Yes. The stench of death clung to all of you, and for a moment, the air felt heavier, darker.

"Glenn," Andrea said, catching the young man's attention as she passed him her weapon, a precautionary gesture. "Just in case."

Rick took the handcuff keys from Merle and handed them to T-Dog. "If we go back, be prepared," he warned, his tone filled with unyielding determination.

As you exited the alley, the scene was surprisingly less chaotic than you had imagined. There weren't as many walkers as you expected, but that offered no comfort. Any mistake, any wrong move could be fatal. Every step you took was measured, slow, avoiding any sudden movement that might attract the unwanted attention of the undead.

Your hand gripped tightly onto the wooden bat you had been given, your knuckles tense, and every muscle in your body was braced for the worst. You breathed deeply, trying to keep the stench that surrounded you from breaking your concentration. The walkers passed close by, barely a few meters away, but none seemed to notice anything unusual. The disguise worked... for now.

It was then that you noticed a slight tremor in Glenn's free hand, which was right beside you. His other hand remained firmly wrapped around a metal pipe. You knew he was nervous, more than he wanted to admit.

You debated internally, unsure whether to take his hand. You weren't completely sure how you felt about Glenn. Sure, he was nice, and there was something about his kind personality that attracted you, but you also knew Glenn was kind to everyone. Maybe you were confusing his goodness with something more.

Without thinking further, you let your fingers brush against his, offering a brief but meaningful touch. Glenn glanced at you in surprise, but said nothing. Instead of pulling away, his fingers gently intertwined with yours.

The group moved slowly down the main street, and with each step, the tension increased. Unlike the relatively empty alley, the street was significantly more crowded with walkers. There were dozens, perhaps more, of those things wandering aimlessly, emitting guttural groans as their unsteady bodies moved erratically. However, none seemed to notice your presence.

Rick, ever calculating and alert, led the way with careful, measured steps. His posture was tense yet firm, knowing that any noise or misstep could betray your disguise and condemn you all. Every so often, he glanced back to ensure you both were following him.

“It’s going to work… I can’t believe it,” Glenn muttered under his breath, the nervous excitement escaping in his words.

"Don't draw attention," Rick scolded him quietly, his eyes never leaving the road.

Suddenly, one of the walkers got too close, staggering with its glassy eyes fixed on you. Almost instinctively, Glenn began imitating the growls of the undead, his exaggerated expression making his gestures grotesquely comical. You tried to stay serious, fighting the laughter threatening to escape, aware of how dangerous it would be to lose your composure at that moment.

For a moment, everything seemed under control. Until you felt the first drop of rain on your skin.

Small droplets began to fall from the sky, light at first but strong enough to wash away the layer of grime and blood that covered you.

The walkers, apathetic until then, began moving with greater intent. Their erratic stumbling became more focused, their growls louder. They were no longer aimless shadows; now they were alert, aware.

“The smell… it’s going away, isn’t it?” Glenn murmured, his voice laced with fear as you felt him tighten his grip on your hand.

Rick glanced around, quickly assessing the situation. “Maybe,” he replied, though doubt lingered in his tone. “Run!” he suddenly shouted, seeing the walkers beginning to turn toward them with renewed ferocity.

Chaos took over as you managed to climb the fence, and for a brief moment, you felt safe. The barrier that separated you from the horde seemed fragile, but it had bought you enough time to strip off the blood-soaked clothes. Glenn, his hands still trembling, tossed Rick the keys to the truck they had managed to get.

But the feeling of safety vanished in an instant as the walkers, faster than expected, began climbing the fence with terrifying determination. The sound of their rotting hands scratching at the metal echoed in the air as their bodies piled up, forcing the gate.

“Let’s go!” Glenn yelled, pulling your arm to get you into the vehicle. There was no time to hesitate.

The truck roared to life, and Rick maneuvered with the skill of someone who knew failure was not an option. As he sped towards the building where the others waited, the streets filled with walkers everywhere, advancing toward the sound of their escape.

“God, they’re everywhere!” Glenn exclaimed, his voice betraying the panic he was trying to suppress.

Rick, always calm under pressure, responded without taking his eyes off the road. “You have to draw them away. We need those store shutters clear for when we get there. You have to distract them.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Glenn looked frantically between Rick and the walkie-talkie in his hand, the tension evident on his face.

“Noise,” you answered, barely holding back the dizziness you felt from the wild ride.

Before you could process what was happening, Rick abruptly turned the wheel and pulled into another parking lot. Without wasting a second, he smashed the window of a red sports car, making the horn blare loudly. The screeching noise was enough to draw every walker in the vicinity.

You and Glenn quickly got into the car, with him in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger seat. You barely had time to buckle your seatbelt before Glenn started the engine and the car shot off down the streets, the horn still blaring loudly.

“It’s working,” you said, watching as the horde began to follow you. Glenn let out a nervous laugh, sweat beading on his forehead as the adrenaline made everything feel unreal.

Suddenly, Glenn slammed on the brakes, and the walkers began to swarm the front of the car, their deformed hands pounding on the hood. “Glenn! What are you doing?” you yelled, fear gripping you.

“I got this, relax,” he replied, with a confidence that left you baffled. He reversed at high speed, making the tires screech, then expertly drifted away from the horde. The car spun so violently that you felt the adrenaline coursing through your body, every fiber of your being alert to the imminent danger but also euphoric from the thrill of the moment.

Glenn laughed hysterically as he screamed with excitement, the chaos of the situation seeming to give him an adrenaline rush. And for a second, even you smiled, caught up in the intensity of the moment.

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