Post by Deleted on Dec 27, 2016 0:10:04 GMT -5
Rook had walked…and walked. He managed to get a car or two running and drove until the fuel was depleted. He didn’t know where the fuck he was going…but it was as far away from Rhode Island as possible. He had to do it…had to distance himself. Or he might go back, might once again break Ava’s heart….might see his son. So he drove…and eventually he ended up in california on the coast. He sunk his toes into the sand and looked out onto the water that was nearly as blue as his own eyes. He couldn’t see the beauty in it…it was just a bunch of fucking water….Why anyone would be so excited to visit the beach he never knew. His old self, his normal self, would have went to see some women in skimpy bikinis. Get a few numbers. But now…now he didn’t even want to think about a woman.
His blue eyes closed and he leaned back until the warm evening sand pressed against his bare back. The soothing granules delving into the deep valleys of his ‘wing scars’. It felt nice…his back always ached…sometimes worse than others. And constant travel had been a bitch on the damaged muscles. He let his guard down….maybe it was some subconscious attempt to let himself just finally be eaten. But it wasn’t a walker that found him…rather it was a bullet that tore through the flesh at the base of his neck. It took a moment for the pain to register. It wasn’t until after the shot sounded that he felt the trickle of blood slipping down his naked chest.
Instinctively he rolled onto his stomach and lowered himself against the slightly sloped land to use it as a shield. His hand searching for his revolver before he pulled back the hammer and waited for the mother fucker to show himself. It was one thing to die…it was another thing to be some punks target practice. It was a younger man whose head popped over the crest of the beach. Rook shot. It was a hard angle but he managed to shave off a good portion of the guys ear. There were screams. Arguing voices. Eventually he heard them decide that a lone guy wasn’t worth the trouble and Nelson wouldn’t be happy they had wasted ammo.
They drove away. And Rook was little the worse for wear…or so he thought.
A week passed. Infection coursed through his veins. Rook sat down against the side of a brick building while breathing heavily. He was sweating despite the cool temperature. The small wound in his neck was angry and red. He coughed and leaned a bottle of water up to tip back the last drink he had. With a frustrated sigh he tossed the bottle to the side and stood…or rather he tried to. His legs wouldn’t comply. His body was weak from fighting off the infection…too weak to keep up with the demands of Rook. He could hear walkers not far away. His glazed eyes blinking as he rolled the cylinder of his revolver to see that he had one shot left. One.
It was pretty fucking pathetic…to die like this after making it so long. He smirked and fished in his pocket for a cigarette before lighting it up with a shaking hand. Leaning his head back against the bricks he steadied the revolver against his temple. Ready to end it all before he was torn to shreds. But the sound of an engine made him pause. His pale blue eyes flicking to the right to see who the hell was interrupting his final moments.
His blue eyes closed and he leaned back until the warm evening sand pressed against his bare back. The soothing granules delving into the deep valleys of his ‘wing scars’. It felt nice…his back always ached…sometimes worse than others. And constant travel had been a bitch on the damaged muscles. He let his guard down….maybe it was some subconscious attempt to let himself just finally be eaten. But it wasn’t a walker that found him…rather it was a bullet that tore through the flesh at the base of his neck. It took a moment for the pain to register. It wasn’t until after the shot sounded that he felt the trickle of blood slipping down his naked chest.
Instinctively he rolled onto his stomach and lowered himself against the slightly sloped land to use it as a shield. His hand searching for his revolver before he pulled back the hammer and waited for the mother fucker to show himself. It was one thing to die…it was another thing to be some punks target practice. It was a younger man whose head popped over the crest of the beach. Rook shot. It was a hard angle but he managed to shave off a good portion of the guys ear. There were screams. Arguing voices. Eventually he heard them decide that a lone guy wasn’t worth the trouble and Nelson wouldn’t be happy they had wasted ammo.
They drove away. And Rook was little the worse for wear…or so he thought.
A week passed. Infection coursed through his veins. Rook sat down against the side of a brick building while breathing heavily. He was sweating despite the cool temperature. The small wound in his neck was angry and red. He coughed and leaned a bottle of water up to tip back the last drink he had. With a frustrated sigh he tossed the bottle to the side and stood…or rather he tried to. His legs wouldn’t comply. His body was weak from fighting off the infection…too weak to keep up with the demands of Rook. He could hear walkers not far away. His glazed eyes blinking as he rolled the cylinder of his revolver to see that he had one shot left. One.
It was pretty fucking pathetic…to die like this after making it so long. He smirked and fished in his pocket for a cigarette before lighting it up with a shaking hand. Leaning his head back against the bricks he steadied the revolver against his temple. Ready to end it all before he was torn to shreds. But the sound of an engine made him pause. His pale blue eyes flicking to the right to see who the hell was interrupting his final moments.