Re: TWD: Jo/Shane/Clem
The gunshot outside cracked like lightning, hard, a sudden reach from the blue of the sky, but noisy all the same, visible for miles, and Shane's head snapped up on the crane of his neck. The shuffling and groaning, the dying hisses, shifted on the porch, he could hear it through the door, and they started moving away, drawn instinctively to the sound that they knew meant food is nearby. Shane rushed back to the staircase, poked his head around the landing corner and yelled up, "Peaches, we gotta go, now!"
This was their chance. If some stupid fuck was out there, taking pot shots at corpses, they were going to take the small window of distraction and get the fuck out of there. Immediately, he went back into action, lifting the table and all but fucking throwing it across the kitchen that split into the living room. He dragged the ugly plaid sofa back, hashtags of brown and green unraveling under his greasy grip. He grunted and swore as he shoved it to the side and pulled the beaten door open, just a sliver. With an eye to the crack, he watched the dead go for the old gray car. He saw a blond head, a woman, and his mind split: did they help her? Could they? She could shoot. She had a car. (Today was the fucking day for dumbass blondes with guns, wasn't it?)
Shane's heart was pumping fast, his nerves lit and jangling under dirty skin as he waited there for Clem and Jo. He tilted the crossbow up as he stood, jackknifed it down the joint of his shoulder, and he aimed it right at that fucking car. Just in case.