Re: TWD: graham + clem
Graham was glad for the map, because even in the dimming light he could figure out where the pharmacy was in relation to where he was without having to guess much. Even if he managed to get to it, then get inside, they'd have to get out without being torn apart. Too much movement and every single dead thing would be coming their way, yeah? And he figured Clem wasn't going to be much help with fighting, and that just left him and Shane. Two weren't enough. If they could clear a path... maybe. Or lure the bulk of them away, somehow. Thin the herd some.
First thing's first; he had to get to the damn building. He slid the rifle off his shoulder and aimed, but it wasn't to shoot. No, he was trying to get a look through the scope. Not as good as binoculars but it'd do. And that was how he managed to catch the window opening, somebody sitting out in the ledge. Dead folk didn't do that. Had to be them, he figured, but there was a lot of shuffling zombies between him and the building. Could he get onto the roof, climb into the window from there?
Maybe.
He slung the rifle back over his shoulder, exhaled, and went round the nearest building. He kept to the side, quiet as could be, listening to the moaning and the shuffling to determine whether or not he'd meet a dead thing right around the corner. Most of them seemed to be out in the street, but some wandered out onto the grass and into the greenery beyond. He killed them quick, no guns, and after each one he crouched real low and waited. Breath held, eyes wide, half expecting the horde to come his way and then he'd have to lead them off before finding a way to circle back. But they kept on shuffling, up and down the street, least for now. But he had something like an idea; maybe it was nothing, but it was a worth a shot. Not like he cared a lick anyway.
Not knowing Shane had done something similar, Graham cut open one of the dead folk with his machete and reached inside. He smeared blood all over his jacket, jeans too, on his hands and face, thinking maybe if he smelled a little like the rest of them it lessened the risk some. He didn't coat himself in guts and gristle, no, even though he wouldn't have minded that. Getting dirty didn't bother him none.
Long as he moved slow, none of the dead seemed much interested in him. Course he was still slinking around the back, between buildings; it might not work so well out on the street. But he got to the pharmacy, pressed up alongside the building, and he thought some. Either he went in and took his chances with however many dead folk were inside, or he tried scaling the building. If he fell, he was done for.
Hell with it. He set the rifle down, because the backpack was enough and he had two weapons on him already; extra weight would just screw him over. Once that was done he steeled himself, wiped his hands clean as best he could, and hauled himself up onto the first window ledge. That got some attention, but Graham didn't look back. He didn't look down. He didn't put much faith in God these days, but he prayed anyway.
Once he got a little closer to the roof, he whistled. Just once; to let Clem know he was coming, if she could hear. Dead folk didn't whistle, he thought.