Re: clem rescue - graham/shane/jack
[There was a strange sort of comfort in having Shane at his back, a near extension of himself for which communication occurred without words. And, when words were spoken, one or two proved enough. Graham had learned to listen, since sound illuminated just as much as the flashlight's beam as they moved west, and those early days when the walking corpses had still held horror were long gone now. His stomach no longer roiled, and he no longer saw nightmares when he looked upon the undead. No, these weren't insurmountable odds. He would cut down a thousand damned corpses if it meant getting to Clem. Failure was not an option.
The blade served it's purpose well, though it wasn't sharp enough to sever limbs or necks in one hack. Two or three, maybe, spraying blood and gristle everywhere, but he didn't care. His appearance was of no consequence and he was covered in coppery red and bits of rotted flesh more often than not these days anyway. The smell had stopped bothering him, too.
He itched to shoot, but he kept his fun holstered. From the corner of his eye he watched Shane break briefly to retrieve his arrow, at the same time sinking the machete deep into the skull of an approaching walker and yanking it free with a wet sucking sound; the corpse fell heavily. They kept coming, though, undeterred by their fellow fallen, and he met Shane's glance with a quick nod. They were wasting time. Run, don't get bitten, get to Clem before the monsters broke the door down and got to her first.
But then, then that angry, bloody figure from hell came, and Graham had seen brutality but he'd never seen anything like this. He knew some Jack fellow was coming; he didn't know how he knew Clem, but he did, and the rest could wait. It wasn't trust so much as a grudging alliance born out of having a common goal, and even through the mass of blood and corpses he could tell the way this man--if he was a man at all--moved wasn't natural. And how was he killing them so fast?]
Christ. [He'd never been much for religion, but the word fell from his lips like a revered whisper. Awe and a little bit of horror, and he had the sudden urge to shoot him, like he was some rabid dog, but he refrained. Violent as he might be he was, at least, a distraction, and Graham inclined his head before breaking into a run. Might as well take advantage of the situation.]