What had started as a quiet evening of coffee on the porch had drastically changed. Raylan had been ignoring the hairs rising on the back of his neck, thinking himself too hyped up, too tired all in the same breath to trust his own instincts. He'd fallen into the lull of security in numbers. It was a terrible mistake.
The crashing sound behind the three men jolted Raylan from his spot, coffee cup dropped to shatter on the porch as he turned around. With what he'd recently suffered, Raylan's first instinct was to get inside and he was right next to Negan and Neal as they shouted and pounded and pushed against the doors of 1306, but it wasn't more than 30 seconds before Raylan realized it would be useless.
"Run," he said to Negan and Neal before breaking for the screen door and out into the cold night, heart beating wildly in his ears. He assumed that Neal and Negan would follow him, but they broke off the other way. Raylan skidded to a halt, looking behind him, already panting with the fear and panic that screamed at him to keep fucking moving. It was the sound of Negan's and Neal's screams that turned the panic into impulse. Raylan felt like throwing up as he scrambled forwards towards the open field, towards the treeline that hoped would hide him. You fuckin' coward.
The fog was there, true, but he knew how far back it normally sat. He could mitigate once he was hidden, weave across the line.
He didn't get that far.
These boots were made for a lot of things; Running was not one of them. They betrayed him, slipping and twisting out from under him to send the lean Marshal face first into the snow with a rough grunt. He could hear the Thing rumbling up onto him with a terrifying speed, a terrifying clop of its weight against the ground and all Raylan could do was try to scramble to his feet.
He managed all of three feet before falling again and rolling onto his back, eyes wild, hat lost somewhere nearby when he fell. All he could do was punch, fight and it did nothing to stop the swings that rent his flesh. He could hear the screaming as he swung as he pushed futilely at the Thing but it wasn't until just before the fatal swing that mutilated his face for him to realize that the sound was coming from his own throat.
Death - Narration
The crashing sound behind the three men jolted Raylan from his spot, coffee cup dropped to shatter on the porch as he turned around. With what he'd recently suffered, Raylan's first instinct was to get inside and he was right next to Negan and Neal as they shouted and pounded and pushed against the doors of 1306, but it wasn't more than 30 seconds before Raylan realized it would be useless.
"Run," he said to Negan and Neal before breaking for the screen door and out into the cold night, heart beating wildly in his ears. He assumed that Neal and Negan would follow him, but they broke off the other way. Raylan skidded to a halt, looking behind him, already panting with the fear and panic that screamed at him to keep fucking moving. It was the sound of Negan's and Neal's screams that turned the panic into impulse. Raylan felt like throwing up as he scrambled forwards towards the open field, towards the treeline that hoped would hide him. You fuckin' coward.
The fog was there, true, but he knew how far back it normally sat. He could mitigate once he was hidden, weave across the line.
He didn't get that far.
These boots were made for a lot of things; Running was not one of them. They betrayed him, slipping and twisting out from under him to send the lean Marshal face first into the snow with a rough grunt. He could hear the Thing rumbling up onto him with a terrifying speed, a terrifying clop of its weight against the ground and all Raylan could do was try to scramble to his feet.
He managed all of three feet before falling again and rolling onto his back, eyes wild, hat lost somewhere nearby when he fell. All he could do was punch, fight and it did nothing to stop the swings that rent his flesh. He could hear the screaming as he swung as he pushed futilely at the Thing but it wasn't until just before the fatal swing that mutilated his face for him to realize that the sound was coming from his own throat.