The Walking Dead : Lee Everett

Lee and his group approached the rear entrance of the Save-Lots camp, their footsteps silent against the soft ground. This entrance, hidden from plain sight and accessible only by a rickety ladder, was carelessly left unsecured. The bandits had likely dismissed it as an impractical threat—Walkers couldn't climb, after all. But people could. And today, Lee was ready to make them regret their oversight.

Lee climbed first, his movements deliberate but tense. His pistol was gripped firmly in one hand while the rifle slung around his neck bounced lightly against his chest with each step. Reaching the top, he carefully pushed the door open. Knife in hand, he slipped inside like a shadow.

The first bandit didn't even see him coming. The man was supposed to be keeping watch but had dozed off, and slumped awkwardly against the wall. Lee didn't hesitate—he drove the knife deep into the man's neck, silencing him instantly. The body slumped over with a faint thud, blood pooling beneath it. Lee barely spared it a glance. He couldn't afford to.

This was why he'd dealt with the St. Johns first. This mission required a colder, harder mindset. The Save-Lots crew were hardened criminals—more dangerous, more ruthless. Hesitation here could mean death for Lee and his group.

Satisfied the coast was clear, Lee turned back to the entrance and motioned for the others to follow. One by one, they climbed the ladder and slipped inside, their weapons drawn and eyes scanning for movement.

The group crept through the dimly lit interior, each step careful to avoid loose floorboards or debris. Ahead of them, a spacious area opened up. A few mattresses were spread across the floor, and the bandits sprawled across them were fast asleep. Their weapons lay carelessly nearby—easy targets, yet dangerous if woken.

Lee raised his hand sharply, signaling for silence. The group froze mid-step, their breathing shallow and deliberate as the air thickened with tension. Shadows flickered across their faces in the dim light, and Lee's eyes narrowed as he gestured for them to draw their knives. A gunshot could risk too much—sound carried too easily in the night, drawing dangers from far and wide.

With a shared nod of understanding, the group moved in practiced silence. Each step was measured, and each breath was quiet as they approached their targets. Lee crept toward the front entrance, where two men slouched in chairs, rifles loosely held in their laps. The dim light revealed their unkempt forms, heads tilted in restless sleep. One of the rifles—a bolt-action, simple but deadly—rested precariously on the edge of the armrest.

Lee tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife. Swift and precise, he closed the distance. With a quick motion, he plunged the blade deep into the first man's skull, silencing him instantly. Before the second could stir, Lee turned and delivered the same fate. The muffled thuds of their bodies hitting the floor were the only sound in the still night.

He signaled the group forward, his face grim. Glenn moved ahead, his knife clutched tightly in one hand, the weight of a revolver in the other. His movements, though careful, weren't quiet enough. A faint rustle sounded from the corner of the room, and Lee's sharp gaze caught the flicker of movement just as a voice rang out.

"Intruders!"

The yell pierced the silence like a gunshot. A man lunged at Glenn from the shadows, knocking him off balance. In his panic, Glenn fired instinctively. The gun's crack shattered the fragile quiet, and the bullet hit its mark, silencing the attacker but waking the entire camp.

The Save-Lots bandits erupted into chaos, shouts echoing through the building. Lee didn't hesitate. He pulled his pistol, the familiar weight steadying him, and fired into the mass of bodies scrambling to react. Beside him, Natasha moved with deadly efficiency, her own gun barking sharply as she took down anyone who dared rise against them.

The echo of gunfire drew the group into action. A bandit lunged at Lee, but he sidestepped with practiced precision, slamming the man into the wall. With a swift motion, Lee drove his knife into the bandit's skull, the blade sinking deep with a sickening crunch.

The others, momentarily frozen by the sudden eruption of violence, snapped into action. Kenny fired his shotgun, its roar deafening in the confined space. The battle was brutal and swift. Within minutes, the Save-Lots bandits lay lifeless, their once-rowdy camp now eerily quiet except for the group's heavy breathing.

As the gunfire faded, Natasha moved among them, her voice low and steady as she spoke to the others, trying to soothe their nerves. For Kenny, this was his first taste of such violence, but he handled it surprisingly well. Natasha, a former detective with combat experience, found herself in familiar but no less harrowing territory. This wasn't law enforcement—this was survival.

Lee stood at the front entrance, surveying the chaos they had left behind. Beyond the building, walkers shuffled closer, drawn by the noise. Fortunately, the Save-Lots group had thinned their numbers in the area, sparing the group from immediate danger.

Lee turned back to the others, his voice calm but commanding. 

"Alright. Everyone did a good job. We'll take everything they have back to the farm and sort through it there. If we can, we'll secure this place and use it as a secondary base someday. For now, we've got walkers outside. Not too many—we can handle it."

His steady tone cut through the lingering fear. Natasha, who had been trying to calm Glenn, straightened at Lee's words. Something about him inspired trust, an unshakable confidence that grounded them all. Even when doubt crept in, his presence made it hard to argue.

"Let's move" 

Lee said, and the group followed without hesitation.

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The group trudged back to the farm under the pale light of the moon, their footsteps heavy but purposeful. Each carried as much as they could, their bags bulging with supplies scavenged from Save-Lots. They had stripped the place bare, using every container they could find to haul the much-needed provisions back to safety. The faint sounds of the night surrounded them—the occasional groan of a distant walker, the chirp of crickets, and the steady crunch of dirt beneath their boots.

As they approached the farmhouse, the warmth of familiarity washed over them. The distant glow of lantern light spilled from the windows, a beacon guiding them home. The creak of the front gate and the shuffle of their return stirred the household, and one by one, the occupants of the farmhouse emerged onto the porch.

Hershel stepped forward, his eyes scanning the group quickly before settling on Maggie and Shawn. Relief softened his weathered features, and he pulled them into a firm embrace. 

"Thank God you're alright" 

He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Beside him, Beth clung to Maggie, her eyes glistening as she whispered words of gratitude.

Sandra bolted from the porch, her small frame colliding with Natasha in a fierce hug. 

"Mom!" 

She cried, burying her face against her mother's side. Natasha knelt down, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter. Sandra had always been brave, accustomed to Natasha's dangerous work as a detective, but this was different. This was survival. The weight of that reality hadn't escaped her, and Natasha stroked her hair gently, offering silent reassurance.

Katjaa met Kenny with a relieved smile, pulling him into her arms. Though he was visibly shaken, his wife's embrace seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders.

Amidst the flurry of reunions, the group slowly gravitated toward Lee. He stood near the wagon of supplies, his presence commanding attention even in his exhaustion. One by one, the others gathered around him, waiting for his words.

"The mission's done" 

Lee said, his voice steady despite the weariness that tugged at him. 

"We've got the supplies, and we're all back safe. That's what matters."

A ripple of gratitude and relief passed through the group. They had faced death together, and they had won—at least for now.

The sense of accomplishment carried them inside, where the warmth of the farmhouse welcomed them. The large hall became a makeshift dormitory, with blankets and pillows spread out for those too tired to do more than collapse where they stood. Natasha helped Sandra settle in, offering her a smile before she joined the others. Glenn found a spot near the door, muttering a tired "Goodnight" as he drifted off.

Lee, however, was offered a small room to himself. Hershel insisted, saying, 

"You've earned it, son. Rest up—we'll need you tomorrow."

After a simple dinner shared in subdued silence, Lee made his way to the room. The bed, though modest, felt like a luxury after the day they'd endured. He sank into it, the weight of exhaustion pulling him down like an anchor.

As sleep claimed him, Lee's last thought was of the group outside—their trust in him, their reliance on his decisions. It was a burden, but it was also a purpose. For the first time in a long while, he felt he was doing something that mattered.

And with that, he drifted into the first deep sleep he'd had in days, his body finally allowed to rest, his mind already bracing for the challenges tomorrow would bring.

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The sun had barely risen, its golden light spilling across the farm as the group gathered at the entrance. The air was cool and tinged with the scent of morning dew, but a somber weight hung over everyone. Today, they were here to bid farewell to Glenn who had decided it was time to leave the relative safety of the farm and head back to Atlanta. The pull of his friends still in the city had gnawed at him for days, and despite the risks, Glenn knew he couldn't delay any longer.

He had already postponed his departure by two days, spending the time preparing meticulously for the dangerous journey ahead. The world outside the farm's boundaries was unforgiving, and Glenn wanted to be as ready as possible.

One by one, the group members came forward, offering him words of encouragement, hugs, and solemn promises to pray for his safety. Their voices wavered with worry, but they knew better than to try to talk him out of it again. Glenn's mind was made up.

Lee approached Glenn last, his expression a mix of pride and concern. They clasped hands firmly, their silent understanding saying more than words ever could. Breaking the momentary silence, Lee handed over a few essential items—a lifeline for the perilous road ahead.

"Here" 

Lee said, placing a Walkie-Talkie in Glenn's hands. 

"So we can stay in touch when you get to Atlanta. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

He then handed over a sturdy bag packed with care. 

"Enough food to last you a month" 

Lee said, slinging it over Glenn's shoulder. 

"It's not much, but it'll keep you going."

Next came a rifle and a handgun, both checked and ready for use. Lee's voice softened. 

"Keep these close. And don't hesitate if it comes down to it."

Finally, Lee pointed to the car he'd spent hours repairing, salvaged from a Save-Lots parking lot. It stood ready, engine purring softly, a lifeline to carry Glenn through the ruins of the world.

"Car should hold up" 

Lee said with a small smile. 

"Just be careful out there."

Glenn nodded, his eyes shining with gratitude. 

"I'll be careful" 

He promised. 

"And I'll see you in Atlanta in about a month."

Lee gave a small nod in return, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to mask his worry. 

"We'll be there" 

He said firmly.

With a final round of goodbyes, Glenn climbed into the car. The sound of the engine roaring to life seemed to echo louder than it should have in the quiet morning air. He waved one last time as the car rolled forward, the dirt road kicking up a faint cloud of dust behind him. The group watched in silence until the car disappeared from view, each silently hoping that Glenn's journey would be safe and that they'd see him again soon.

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