"Put this all behind us," Rick tries to assure Shane as he moves closer to him.
Mentally disarmed, Rick takes the opportunity to overpower Shane, so he punches him in the stomach, which knocks the wind out of his lungs. He head-butts Shane in the face, further injuring his nose, and that causes him to fire his gun as Rick pulls it out of his grip.
Off in the distance, somewhere not too far from the farm, a herd of walkers hears the shot and then one by one, they start to wander to the open field.
Rick aims the gun and he points it at his once-friend, who's lying on the ground with his hand over his nose. His hand shakes as he contemplates on whether or not he should pull the trigger.
"Dad?"
Rick turns to see Carl staring at him with an expression of shock and disbelief on his face.
"Carl," Rick lowers the gun and he tucks it into his belt. "It's not what it looks like."
His son takes a few steps away from him, and Shane, dizzy from the blows, manages to focus his vision on the wobbling figures that are slowly approaching the three of them from the other side.
"Rick," he tries to warn him.
Carl takes another step back and fearing that Shane has regained his strength, Rick turns to fire the gun. The bullet grazes Shane on the side of his thigh and he collapses on his knees.
Given what almost happened and what's happening now, Rick runs to Carl and he grabs him by his shirt, urging him to run back to the farmhouse with him.
"What about Shane?!"
The walkers are coming closer and closer, and realizing this, Shane forces himself to his feet, and he looks at Rick and Carl.
The two men look at each other; the boy that they both love notices this.
"I'm sorry, Rick. I'm…" Shane clenches his jaw and then he quickly limps away before the walkers reach him. Rick waits until he watches Shane vanish into the woods for his own peace of mind and then he runs back to the farmhouse with his son to warn Hershel and the others from the oncoming herd.
Shane limps through the woods with one hand on his thigh and he glances around him, making sure to avoid any and all walkers.
His body aches and he doesn't know how far he'll be able to get before his body gives out on him, but he continues to limp his way through the trees without stopping. He knows that he can't afford to look back.
A few more minutes into the woods, he pauses when he hears gunfire in the distance and he sees what looks like a fire.
"Lori. Carl," he mindlessly gravitates towards the sound and he stumbles over a fallen tree. He lands on his side and his body tenses in pain, "Shit!"
Shane touches his leg and he looks over to see that a group of walkers is heading his way, but he's unsure if they see him. Most of them have fallen away because they were drawn to the fire. Shane grits his teeth and he slowly gets to his feet to stand and face the walkers.
If this is how he dies, then so be it.
There's nowhere to run, nowhere to…
He looks up at the thick branches of the tree and he stands on the trunk to reach the lowest branch. It's too weak to hold all of his weight, so he braces the side of his boot against the jagged trunk to lessen his weight and then he uses his good leg to hoist him to safety.
With much effort, he climbs to the thicker branches and he straddles a bunch of them, assured that they will be able to hold his weight. Through the patches of the woods, he can only watch as the barn continues to burn and the shooting refuses to end. Unable to help the ones he loves and wounded, Shane gives into exhaustion and he falls asleep in the tree.
Morning comes and the sunlight pierces the white smoke that the burning barn is leaving behind. Bits of burnt and broken wood collapse on each other, and charred bodies are scattered around the fallen structure. Shane slowly opens his eyes and he leans up from the branch he was resting his chest against. He touches his thigh, noticing that it has stopped bleeding.
The wound looked much worse several hours ago, but all hell had broken loose. Everything looked worse. He looks around to see that no one and nothing is there that he needs to watch out for, and when he's satisfied, he carefully descends the tree.
He needs to start searching.
Water. Medical supplies. Food. Survivors.
But what the hell would he tell them? That he lured his best friend out into the field to kill him?
He should be dead right now.
But he's not.
Shane slips a knife from his belt and he weakly grips it in his hand as he makes his way to the farmhouse. There are about a dozen walkers staggering around in the front yard and there are probably more behind the farmhouse and some inside of it. He'll have to distract them somehow because he's too weak to fight all of them.
When Shane walks through the gate, he stabs a walker in the head and it collapses on the ground. Felling dizzy, he braces his hands on his knees and he gives himself a moment to breathe. As he stares at the dry grass, he watches the rotting blood from the walker flow towards him.
Then he remembers what he heard Glenn say when they were back at the campsite, how him and Rick smeared guts on themselves to walk through the herd. It worked for them, so it should work for him. Carefully lowering himself down on his knees, he forces the shirt off the walker and he puts it on. The long sleeves expand to accompany his large arms, and he uses his knife to smear some of the blood and guts on his clothes.
He begins to rub some on his pants when he notices a shadow on his left. Shane slightly turns his head to see a walker standing behind him and he remains still. The walker leans a little closer, lingers, and it starts to wander away from him.
Son of a bitch, it does work.
Covered in blood, Shane rises to his feet and he begins to make his way to the farmhouse.
Water. Medical supplies. Food. Survivors.
Shane manages to make it into the farmhouse and he keeps the front door open, hoping that more walkers will leave the home rather than enter it. He opens the fridge to grab a bottle of water, which he tucks under his arm and he opens the top cabinet for a can of kidney beans, a can opener and he finds one of Hershel's medical kits.
He limps into the guest bathroom and he closes the door behind him to keep the walkers out. Finally, he removes his clothes and he sits on the toilet.
Shane drinks almost the entire bottle of water and he pours some over his wounded leg. He clenches his jaw as he reaches into the medical kit. He begins to clean the area with hydrogen peroxide and then he rubs some disinfectant gel around the area where the bullet bit him.
After sterilizing and threading a needle, he starts to stitch himself up.
Once Shane finishes, he leaves the wound exposed to dry. He grabs the can opener and he uses it to open the can of kidney beans.
It reminds him of his early days on the force with Rick. He'd eat about two cans of beans a day to keep his level of protein up and since he was often with Rick, many of their conversations would be interrupted by an unpleasant sound or two.
Shane softly laughs, but his smile quickly fades when he hears a groan on the other side of the door. He looks at the floor to watch a shadow walk down the hallway, pass the door, and he thinks about what happened last night.
He just hopes that Lori and Carl made it out alive.
Shane finishes the can of beans and the ache in his stomach is gone, some of the softness returns to his lips from drinking the water. He sharply inhales and when it's accompanied with pain, he squints his eyes and he slowly stands to look at himself in the mirror.
He looks at his slightly crooked nose, his reflection.
Shane bows his head, trying to clear his mind and remember the details of a story that he once heard in the locker room. He was changing out of his uniform when he heard two officers talk about wrestling. One of them mentioned a broken nose and how the wrestler fixed it. The other officer didn't believe him, so he went into specifics about it.
Still unsure, Shane proceeds to feel his nose with his fingertips to find the area that's crooked. It doesn't hurt to touch, so that means that the bone isn't broken. It's just been knocked the wrong way. He presses his fingertips against the topside of his nose and the bottom side of his nose and then he takes a few deep breaths.
In one, quick motion, Shane presses his fingertips against his nose and he sets his nose straight. He covers his mouth to muffle his sound of pain and then he slowly breaths in and out.
It's fixed.
Shane raises his eyes to look at his reflection again and he turns the faucet on to wash his face. He needs to clear the house before he locks everything up and he can allow himself to take a shower. He needs to clear so many things.
After he washes his face and shoulders, he wipes himself dry with one of the towels. He opens the medicine cabinet and he shakes two pills into his hand for the pain. Swallowing them dry, he picks up his knife and he quietly opens the door.
He whistles, calling walkers to him.
After dispatching some of them through the slit of the door, he wipes his knife off and he wraps a towel around his waist before he steps out. He doesn't really see the need to be modest anymore, but he'd rather the walkers bite his arms and legs first, instead of his…
Shane shakes his head at the thought and he roams through the house to clear all of the rooms. Once he secures the home, he begins the process of dragging the bodies outside onto the lawn and he now has the strength to finish off the remaining walkers that are lingering on the property. Content that the farm has been reclaimed, he makes sure all of the doors and windows are locked and secure before he settles into Hershel's bedroom upstairs.
Lying back on the bed, Shane stares at the dresser that's blocking the door. He bites the tip of his tongue, wondering whether or not he should sleep. He wonders where Carl and Lori are and if they're alive, he wonders what would have happened if he did pull the trigger, he wonders where he'd be if Rick didn't come back.
He'd be keeping Carl and Lori safe, he believes.
Like a wounded animal, Shane rolls on his side and he faces his back towards the door. He watches the curtains billow in the wind and then he closes his eyes before sunset.
It's day two on the farm, and Shane is downstairs in the kitchen, taking inventory of the food he has left. There's a lot, even some meat in the freezer and some fresh vegetables. He almost had a breakdown when he realized this and he punched himself in the chest to man-up, knowing how stupid it is to be happy to have such things. He hates what this world has done to him, done to everyone. Before the world went to shit, he had a best friend, he had a job, he had a secret crush and his hands were as dirty as most people, but no.
Not anymore.
Otis. Randall. A few nameless people he had to kill to keep Carl and Lori safe before Rick returned…
Shane finds himself standing near Otis and Dale's graves and he rubs the back of his head, trying to find the right words to say.
"You were right about me, Dale," he begins.
"You 'member what you said to me? You said that you knew what kind of man I was, and I was pissed at you because you really did."
Shane listens to the birds' chirp in the trees in front of him and a breeze softly blows against his face. It makes his skin tingle, his eyes sting.
"Son of a bitch, you were like my voice of reason and I hated you for that because every time I did something wrong, all you had to do was look at me, and I'd know. You didn't even have to say anything. See, in this world, the world that you said I was built for? You just do or die, and I had to do what I had to do, or I was going to die. And I didn't want to."
Shane lowers his head as he feels his chest tighten.
"You deserve to be dead, Dale, not because I hated you. I don't. It's because you deserve the peace that comes with death."
Shane touches his leg and he winces as he turns his attention to Otis's grave.
"I'm sorry, Otis. I'm sorry that our options were limited, but I didn't want Carl to die."
He shakes his head, unable to get the image of that night out of his head. Shane has a flashback of when he was the only one to return to the farm and how he had to explain to Rick what happened. He lied. He remembers walking into the house to see Patricia collapse after learning that her husband died.
"If… If I had stayed to help you, then all three of us would have died," he pauses and he looks up at the sky, knowing that what he's saying doesn't sound much like an apology, but it's the best that he can do. "Your life wasn't mine to sacrifice and I forced you into it by leaving you there, man. I'm… I'm so sorry."
Feeling overwhelmed, burdened by pain and guilt, Shane looks at the two graves. One of them doesn't even have a body in it.
"You two were better men than I'll ever be."
He turns to walk back to the farmhouse, muttering one last thing.
"Now you can be better angels."
About a week goes by, and Shane has done some much needed repairs to the bottom floor of the house and he's been taking time to rest his leg. On a Tuesday afternoon, he's lying on the couch in the living room and he's playing catch with a baseball that he found in Hershel's drawer upstairs. It's tossed up and it lands in the palm of his callous hand and then it's tossed up again and then it's caught again. After a while, he places the ball on the table and he laces his fingers together on top of his stomach. He watches the sunlight shine through the boards that are covering the window and he tries to relax his mind before he closes his eyes.
Shane falls asleep.
Hours later, he awakes to a cabinet in the kitchen creaking open. He remains still on the couch and he listens for a sound that follows. Slowly, he gets off the couch and he grabs the baseball bat off the table. He found that in Hershel's closet right after he found the baseball in his dresser. Shane makes his way towards the kitchen and then he looks around the corner to see whom it is.
Grabbing his bat, he knew that it wouldn't be a walker. One of those things wouldn't be able to pry two boards off the window and wiggle into the kitchen quietly.
Carefully, Shane inches into the kitchen and he reaches over to place his hand on the light-switch. He focuses his eyes on the shadow crouched in the corner and then he turns the lights on. A young girl with matted hair is staring at him with a can of fruit cocktail in her hand, backpack in the other. When she sees Shane, her green eyes widen and she drops the can on the floor and then she scrambles to the window to escape. He immediately drops the bat and he rushes to her to stop her from getting out.
"Hold on there, miss!"
He wraps his arm around her waist and he clutches her ankle, pulling her away from the counter.
"No! Let me go, asshole! I have to get back and wait for my mom," she beats at his forearm and squirms in his grip, but Shane carries her away with ease.
He takes her into the bathroom, which is a small room with no window for her to jump for, and he closes the door behind him before the female is released.
When Shane does release her, she turns around and she slaps him in the face. That makes him clench his jaw and he forces her to sit down on the closed toilet. She folds her arms, lowering her head to look at the floor.
"Look, you come into my house and you steal my food and then you have the nerve to slap me in the face. What is wrong with you, girl? Huh?"
Shane rubs the back of his head and he leans against the door, waiting for an answer, but she doesn't speak. He sighs, looking her over.
She looks like she's about 16 years old, maybe 17 years old.
"I ain't mad about the food. If you knocked on my door and told me that you were hungry, I would have given you food and brought you back to your momma," he's about to say more, but she finally speaks.
"Yeah, right," the young girl wipes her nose and she looks at the dirt underneath her fingernails, still not meeting his eyes.
Shane stares at her, and he takes a cloth off the shelf and he turns the faucet on to drench it with water. He wrings the cloth semi-dry, leaving it damp enough, and he crouches down in front of the girl. He reaches out for her hand she tries to pull it away.
When she relaxes, Shane starts to wipe her hands and he shakes his head.
"You got some attitude, girl. If I didn't know any better, you escaped from juvie."
"Maybe I did."
Shane chuckles and he smirks, turning her forearm over to clean the other side. When he does, he notices scars on her arm. She immediately pulls her arm away, folding it against her chest again.
"You can't keep me here. I took a can because I was hungry and I was looking for food to bring back to my mom. She told me to stay in the truck, but I hear those things and I got…" she doesn't want to say that she was afraid, so she doesn't. She shakes her head. "I need to get back to her. She's going to think that something happened to me if I'm not back soon! She won't know where to find me!"
She stands up and Shane stands, too. She opens the door and she walks back to the kitchen to leave the way that she came.
"Listen, I can't let you go back out there alone."
"You're not my father."
She climbs on top of the counter and then she sticks her head out to leave the house.
Suddenly, a walker grabs her by her hand and she starts to scream. Shane acts quickly. He grabs a knife out of the block and he leans over, stabbing the walker in the head. It falls on the porch and the girl stumbles back and into his arms.
The knife clatters on the floor and then Shane slides one of the chairs away from the table to let her sit down on it.
"Alright, you need to get back to your momma, I get that. But you don't know how many of those things are out there and it ain't safe to travel during night. It's not safe to travel during the day, either, but at least you got light then. You can actually see those things," Shane looks at her and she's staring at the window with her knees hugged against her chest.
"I'll make you a deal. If you stay here until morning and you let me go with you, I'll give you six cans of food, a medical kit and a few bottles of water for you and your momma. How's that sound?"
Slightly tamed by the close call, the young girl presses her chin against her left knee, still thinking it over. She doesn't know this man. Not too long ago, she was only a thief to him, so why is he offering her help? He just saved her life, too.
"You drive a hard bargain, miss. I'll tell you what, two young girls used to live here and their bedrooms are upstairs. If you stay until morning, you can take a shower and get cleaned up, and you can take whatever clothes you want from them. Pot can't get any sweeter than that, so that's my final offer."
She looks at him with her emerald eyes, and Shane smiles.
"Fine, but I'm taking this knife with me upstairs and I'm keeping it with me when I'm in the shower, too," she quickly reaches down to grab the knife off the floor and Shane raises his hands, backing away from her.
"I'm not a pedophile, little girl. I used to be the Sheriff Deputy in King County, Georgia. I used to lock women and men like that up."
She narrows her eyes at him, still suspicious.
"Quick, what was your partner's name?"
Shane falters when he's asked that question, and he lowers his hands. He looks more than a little uncomfortable and while he knows why, she doesn't.
"Yeah, nice try."
She moves closer to the hallway, still facing him, and Shane squeezes the bridge of his nose.
"His name was Rick Grimes. He wasn't just my partner; he was my best friend. Him and a group of other people, including the family of this farm, left here about a week ago. The place was overrun by walkers and I was away from them, so I couldn't leave," he looks at her, hoping that she believes him.
Shane hasn't been an honest man for a long time, but he's being honest now.
The girl slowly lowers the knife and she sighs.
"Okay, I believe you. And do you have a name, or should I just call you 'guy' or something?"
"Shane. My name is Shane Walsh. What's yours?"
She taps her fingernail against the blade of the knife and it makes a clicking sound.
"I'll tell you when I'm done getting cleaned up, Shane. Thanks for the hospitality."
The girl turns to head upstairs to the bedroom and Shane stares at the empty doorway, still amazed by her attitude. After he shuts and secures the window, he turns the light off in the kitchen and he sits in the dark. He raises his head to look at the ceiling when he hears the girl opening the closet door. He recognizes its squeak.
Shane rubs the back of his head, sighing at what his night had become. A few hours ago, he was alone and now there's a young girl in the farmhouse with him. All he can hope is that when he meets the girl's mother, she'll be the friendly one. Then again, hoping for anything these days is just plain stupid.
