Thwarted and Captured
"It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world."
Chaos Theory
-The Butterfly Effect (2004)
Shane quickly looked over his shoulder.
Nobody was around. Perfect. It would take less than five minutes to execute his plan and at the end of the day, everyone would be safe from Randall.
Rick wanted to give the kid a second chance at life, but Shane wanted a second chance to murder him. After Randall tried to manipulate Carl into freeing him, and after Daryl shared that his group had raped two teenagers in front of their father, Shane was more than convinced that the prisoner was a threat that had to be eliminated. In Shane's eyes, Randall's life was not worth risking the lives of the entire group. Since Rick was taking forever to arrive at that conclusion and Shane figured he would never get there in time, he decided he'd jump ahead of him. He would make the decision that Rick couldn't and wouldn't make—kill Randall once and for all.
A dead and decomposing Randall was safer than a living and breathing Randall.
Shane snuck into the barn after making sure that no one had seen him. He slid between the doors and made sure they were closed. The last thing he needed was to be interrupted by Rick or anyone else. Glancing around the interior of the barn, Shane spotted what he was looking for. He snatched a stool situated at the end of the wall and purposely set it down loud enough for Randall to know that someone was in the barn with him. Randall flinched and sat up, aware that he wasn't alone. Shane smirked and stifled his amusement when he saw Randall trembling. The kid tried curling into a protective ball, although it was impossible to do so because of the restraints. Good. You should be afraid, you piece of shit, Shane thought. Randall's head turned from side to side as he tried to figure out who was with him. He couldn't do anything to defend himself. Gagged, blindfolded, and cuffed—he had been kept that way ever since he and Rick had failed to drop him off at the abandoned workstation.
Shane sat on the stool and thought about what he planned to do. Kill Randall. Dispose of his body away from the farm. Drive off somewhere and dump it on the side of the road. His heart jumped a mile a minute when he pictured carrying out his plan. Out of long-standing habit born from frayed nerves and constant anxiety, Shane rubbed his head, his face, and then his hands. The anxiety wasn't new. It had been present ever since the outbreak started and had worsened over time until it consumed him in his every waking moment. He feared he would lose control, although he tried very hard to remain steadfast. As much as he wanted relief from the dark thoughts that wrapped around his psyche, he knew they wouldn't go away. He stared at Randall intensely; his hatred for the kid increased with each passing second. Randall had no idea who was in the barn with him or that his murder was being planned down to the last detail.
I can do this…kill this stupid kid…and then kill Rick…
Kill Randall…
Kill Rick…
Rick…
Shane smacked himself as a mixture of emotions crept up on him and made their way to the forefront of his mind. Now was not the time to feel sympathy or fear. He had to stifle the emotions. Block them out. Turn off the switch, as he tried to teach Andrea. He had to pretend guilt was dead and rotting. It needed to be six feet under Shane's conscious. Bury the guilt under layers of justifications and rationalizations so that it would never be exhumed.
If I kill Rick, it'll be better for the group. He's not fit to lead. Lori will understand. Carl will get over it… The terrifying thoughts swarmed in his mind, a perfect storm brewing.
He stood up and pulled out his Glock 17 and aimed it at Randall. It would take less than a minute for him to pull the trigger and plant a bullet in Randall's head. He would eliminate the threat that Randall posed to the group. Everyone would be safe. Shane thought about the other part of his plan…lure Rick to find Randall, pretend the prisoner escaped, corner and kill my best friend—
He tucked the Glock 17 in his pants and pulled Randall forward. The younger man twisted and fidgeted. Shane ignored it. Randall was uncomfortable, but Shane didn't care. He was lucky he was given accommodations on the Greene farm after he had shot at Rick, Glenn, and Hershel. Shane noticed the blood around Randall's wrists where the handcuffs had chewed his skin. It was obvious that he was trying to escape. You're not goin' anywhere. Only your filthy corpse will leave here, Shane thought, feeling a wave of black hatred engulf him. This was the motivation he needed to press forward.
Shane made up his mind and pulled out his Glock 17 a second time. This time his finger curled around the trigger and it felt completely natural. He pointed the gun at Randall's head, anticipating the thunder of the gunshot and expecting to see blood, bone, and brain matter spray against the wall when he completed the execution. He grinned when he imagined Randall laying dead at his feet. Adios, dirtbag. Rot in hell. Shane was so caught up in the moment that he didn't see or hear the doors to the barn get flung open by T-Dog and Daryl.
"OH HELL NO!" T-Dog shouted. He couldn't keep the shock from his voice.
Shane whipped around in T-Dog's direction and at that exact moment Daryl fired a bolt at his free arm to disable him.
"Shit!" Shane's voice was an animalistic growl, a mix of pain and fury.
His eyes flew to the bolt embedded in his skin just as he saw Daryl and T-Dog run into the barn. Now completely distracted, Shane tried to yank the bolt out of his arm when T-Dog rushed behind him and grabbed the stool he had just sat on. Wasting no time, T-Dog crashed the stool across Shane's back. Shane collapsed to the floor and T-Dog tossed the stool aside. The Glock 17 lay on the floor, abandoned and forgotten.
Shane rolled over on his back and kicked T-Dog's legs, attempting to knock him down or make him lose his balance. T-Dog tried to maintain the upper-hand as he pinned Shane to the floor and punched him in the face several times, bloodying his nose. He heard Daryl rushing back and forth behind him as he tried to get a shot in to end the fight. Nothing happened and T-Dog knew Daryl kept hesitating—he didn't want to shoot the wrong man.
"Just shoot!" T-Dog called out. He trusted Daryl's aim and needed the back-up.
He hoped that Shane would tire out, especially with one of Daryl's bolts sticking out of his arm, but Shane was stronger—and angrier from being surprise attacked. It seemed the more T-Dog tried to overpower him, the more it energized Shane. T-Dog made the mistake of looking over his shoulder at Daryl for a split-second, when Shane took advantage and reversed their positions. Now T-Dog was pinned down as Shane kneed him in the groin and slammed his head against the ground. Deciding that wasn't enough, Shane punched T-Dog across the face with all the force he could muster. He didn't care if T-Dog lost a few teeth. In Shane's mind, T-Dog and Daryl both deserved whatever they got for trying to stop him. T-Dog lay on his back on the ground, heaving and panting, exhausted from the fight with Shane.
"This man's got nine lives," Daryl muttered as he came up behind Shane and aimed his crossbow at him. "Hands on your head. Leave the Glock 17 where it is."
Shane swiftly pulled the bolt out of his arm and grabbed the Glock 17 from the ground. Aiming it at Daryl, he slowly rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He glanced at the blood on his hand and then at Daryl who still had his crossbow trained on him.
"You think your lil crossbow is faster than a speedin' bullet?" Shane asked, keeping his sights on Daryl.
"One way to find out," Daryl said, never losing track of his target.
Both men circled each other, their gun and crossbow drawn and ready to be fired at a second's notice.
"You an' T-Dog jumped me to save that piece of garbage...fuckin' pathetic."
"Rick don't want him dead."
Shane sneered. "I don't give a shit 'bout what Rick wants or doesn't want. You wanna be his lil lap-puppy? Go right on ahead."
Daryl gripped his crossbow tighter. He was close to firing another bolt at Shane, but decided distraction would be the best thing. "Let's keep it real. Man to man."
"'Man to man'?" Shane scoffed. "That's a tall order for a guy like you—hillbilly scum."
Daryl let Shane's insult roll off his back. He had heard much worse about himself in his life and Shane's comments were drivel to him.
"This ain't 'bout whose weapon is faster—it's really 'bout who's better at bein' Rick's right-hand man"
"I'll ask Glenn to pick up pom-poms next time he's on a supply run, so you can be Rick's cheerleader."
"What does that make you? Rick's ass-wiper? Nah, you were Lori's bitch."
Daryl's tone never wavered, but a grin quickly lit his face and disappeared when he saw Shane's face flush red with anger. He knew exactly where to hit Shane where it hurt. As far as he was concerned, this was Shane's doing and no one else's.
"The way she had you spinnin' your wheels. I'd never let a woman come between me an' my best friend."
"Hush up 'bout things you don't know 'bout. You ain't nothin' but trailer trash."
Shane cocked back the hammer of his gun. So he wouldn't get to shoot Randall yet. That's okay...he would shoot Daryl first, T-Dog next, and save Randall for last. A wave of panic swept over Shane, but just as quickly, he squashed it under the rationalization that he was doing what needed to be done. If anyone got in his way, then it was their own fault if they landed in an early grave. He didn't want to kill anyone except Randall, but then Daryl and T-Dog had to ruin his plans. What made him furious was that he was killing Randall to protect them—and they couldn't see or understand that he was doing what was necessary to keep them alive and safe. Shane was focused on Daryl and didn't hear T-Dog quietly get to his feet.
"Soon, you'll be dead trailer trash. Take your pick."
"'Daryl Dixon' works for me jus' fine."
"That ain't an option."
Daryl shrugged and looked past Shane. Shane noticed Daryl's eyes flicker to a point behind him and turned around—in time as T-Dog slammed the stool across his face. Shane crumpled to the ground in front of Randall who was squirming in his restraints. He had heard all the commotion, but had no idea what was going on.
"Thanks, man. I was wonderin' when he'd shut up," Daryl said as he approached Shane's fallen form, while still keeping his crossbow trained on him. He would fire a second bolt if necessary. Shane lay face down with his arms stretched out in front of him and legs slightly bent. Daryl watched him to make sure he didn't regain consciousness. He finally lowered his crossbow when he was certain that Shane was knocked out cold. "Take this." He snatched Shane's Glock 17 from the ground and passed it to T-Dog. "She's yours now. If he gets his hands on her again, he'll use it on you an' me."
T-Dog tossed the stool aside and glanced at the gun that had almost been used to kill Randall. Trembling and badly shaken from the physical altercation against Shane, his breathing came out in uneven gasps. Daryl placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"I got one already, Daryl."
"Alright, jus' hold onto it until Rick comes. He ain't gettin' up. Take it easy, man."
T-Dog nodded, appreciative of Daryl's support. At that moment, Rick walked into the barn and stopped short when he saw T-Dog and Daryl standing on either side of the unconscious Shane. Somehow, he was shocked, and yet not all that surprised.
"What was he doin'?" Rick asked, as he started towards them.
"We stopped him in time, Rick," T-Dog said as he felt himself slowly calm down. "He was aiming his gun at Randall—almost shot him through the head. If me and Daryl got here a minute too late, we'd be burying Randall right now." He handed Shane's Glock 17 to Rick.
Rick stared at Shane's gun and then glanced at Randall. Unable to voice his fear, Randall made whimpering noises behind his duct tape gag. He thought about removing Randall's blindfold and gag, and reassuring him that he was safe, but then decided against it. Randall didn't need to be treated with kid gloves. And neither did Shane for that matter…
"You and Daryl did the right thing."
"I used target tips on the bolts," Daryl said. "Penetrates the skin, but leaves no serious injury."
"Enough to debilitate him or slow him down," Rick said.
"Exactly."
Rick was quiet for a moment as he thought about what to do. He realized he would have to focus his energy on solving the problem that had a new name: Shane Walsh. Dropping off Randall could wait. He had an idea of what he planned to do and he'd run it by the rest of the group. First, Rick needed to ensure his new prisoner didn't get away and that he would no longer be a danger to anyone on Hershel's farm. Now he approached Shane, who lay still between T-Dog and Daryl.
"Tie him up," Rick ordered as he kicked Shane over so that he was laying on his back. "From there, we'll figure out what to do 'bout him."
