Monster/Give Up
It's been approximately six days since Shane left the group.
Though, no one has the luxury of keeping track of time nowadays.
Shane doesn't mind; he knows daytime is the place to scan the surroundings and find safe stomping grounds while nighttime is to snuff out any threats for easy sleep. Anything is a threat; he had no problem dispatching of a man and his family for their food and shelter. He considered sparing the children, but decided against it; they were too much of a hassle alive than they would be dead. He made sure they died quickly, quietly, and efficiently; he left their bodies laid out as an easy meal for any walker to come feed. He then got into their little caravan and drove off before any walkers could notice.
He didn't want to think about that family, no matter how hard he tried; the sickening crunch of walkers feeding on their corpses are too much for the seasoned ex-cop's ears. He didn't want to think about how happy and trusting they looked when he approached them. He didn't want to think about the small remains of their life before everything went to shit scattered all over the caravan: the photos, the mix CD's, the children's toys, the dog collar of the family dog that probably died in lieu of survival. He didn't want to think about the terrified faces of those three kids he had to kill, how gut-wrenching the sound of knife sinking into skull...
He snapped the little girl's neck, drowned the infant and stabbed the oldest son in the head; the most merciful thing he'd done was make sure each of them never got a chance to turn. He can still see their soulless eyes as they stare up at him in horror.
That image will stay with him for as long as he lived.
He kept driving, not knowing exactly what his destination should be. He knows he has to find one soon, lest he runs out of gas and he's stranded in nowhere. He still sees those children, still sees their soulless eyes stare back at him through the rearview mirror.
Carl is one of them.
The vehicle screeches to a halt.
It's been approximately six days since Shane left the group.
Since Carl has looked at him like a monster and hurt Shane in the worst way possible.
Monster, Carol spat with hatred.
I trusted you, Carl cried.
Why, Shane? Why?
Those words slosh into his mind like white noise, making him pound his head to get the voices to stop.
Monster is the predominant word that screams at him.
Monster, Monster, Monster…
The horrific massacre of an innocent family staring up at him as he looks over his handiwork...
Carl pointing the gun at him, ready to shoot for his lies and betrayal…
The rejection of Lori when he was slowly going off the deep end…
Otis's body being torn to shreds as the walkers ate him, his eyes and face shocked at his treachery…
Perhaps Shane is a monster after all.
The thought makes him laugh.
A monster they call him, a monster he shall be.
At least this monster has what it takes to survive.
A harsh banging jolts Shane out of his thoughts. A walker has spotted him and is trying to get in. He starts up the car and drives down the road, the walker stumbling to catch up with him.
Night fell very quickly; the harsh moon and deathly silence is what keeps Shane alert.
He takes refuge in the caravan that night, keeping his ear open for any possible intruders. It doesn't grant him very much sleep.
When he does sleep, his dreams are plagued with the isolation of the group, the hurt look in Carl's eyes as his sins have finally come to light, and even the murders he have committed for his own survival. They taunt him with their eyes, how they look at him in judgment.
"Murderer…" Otis's mutilated corpse whispers.
"Adulterer…" Rick spits.
"Sinner…" Carol glares coldly.
"Liar…" Dale accuses.
"Traitor…" Daryl points his crossbow at him.
"Monster…" They all chorus. They chant monster in unison, the apparitions of the people he's killed joining them. Their chants get louder to the point of it deafening his ears.
"Shut up, please stop talking…"
Monster, Monster, Monster…
"Get out of my head, I'm begging you…"
Monster, Monster, Monster…
"Shut up, shut up, shut up…"
Monster, Monster, Monster…
Their chants become taunting, their laughter makes Shane sick. He pounds his head, trying to make his ears numb to the voices, but no avail. He's crying now, his head feeling like it is going to split open. He sees Lori come to him at his weakest hour, her face calm. She puts a hand to his cheek.
"Shane," She says, "What you've done was horrible and unspeakable. I can never forgive you, you are worse than the creatures that are trying to kill us."
"I'm not like that, Lori," Shane argues, "I'm only doing what it takes to survive. I'm not a monster, Lori, you have to believe me." He's crying even harder, burying his face in her chest to hide his shame. She pushes him away and holds up a mirror.
In his reflection, he sees himself infected, a walker showing blood and flesh dripping from his lips.
"Look in the mirror," Lori says, before vanishing into thin air. The mirror shatters, the shards attracting walkers everywhere to come. They seem to walk towards him, as if trying to eat him. Instead, they ignore him; they settle on the family he's killed instead.
"I'm nothing like you," He screams, but it's strangled in his throat. Instead, it's a death rattle. He tries to talk, but only rasping comes out. He tries to calm his fiery throat, only to feel nothing but cold, hard, skin. He tries to run, but finds he can only stumble. The strong stench of death fills his nostrils, and he knows.
He's one of them.
The rasping gets close to him, and he wakes to a walker stumbling towards him, desperate to reach him through the booby traps he's set up. Shane jumps to his feet and looks over his surroundings. It seems this one is the only one, but he knows if there's one, six will follow. He kills it quietly and leaves it, transfixed at how it desecrated the children's toys.
He can't breathe; this once roomy space feels tight and suffocating.
He needs to leave.
He bolts out the caravan, gun slapping against his hip in rhythm.
He's not like them.
He's nothing like them.
He'll never be like them.
That's all he tells himself as he runs.
The forest cuts through his skin but he doesn't care.
Get out, that voice screams.
Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout…
A walker seems to be on his heels, eager to feed. It's when he trips on a root and catapults the walker over him that he curses his luck.
The walker gains his footing and battles Shane, trying to nip at any visible flesh he has to offer. It gets on top of him and tries to eat. Shane fights all he could, but he feels there's no point. He's tired of fighting, of the voices in his head, of the sins that have haunted his mind.
He's alone, he's tired, and he's ready for death.
He closes his eyes and lets him.
SHULK.
Something rolls in the grass.
"Get up."
He opens his eyes.
A headless corpse falls over to his left, joining its head. A hooded figure stands over him, a glint of a bright metal reflecting the moonlight.
"I said, get up," it barks. Shane rolls to his right and stands. The figure takes the metal and slides it somewhere, the identity shown in a flash by the light.
"Wh…" he tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat.
"Move," the figure barks, "I don't have all night."
Why did you save me, Shane wants to ask, but nothing comes out.
He quietly follows.