Humans were strange when it came to the end of things. They spun all sorts of tales and predictions, grasped wildly for any means of control, even if it was in the smallest amount. What were any of them to do now–? Now, in the days of their world slipping further into rot and wretchedness; there was nothing a person could do but survive. Weather the darkness and hope–hope with whatever of it was left to be found by anyone–that it would be worth the effort.
The woods was casted into a grayscale, no matter what of the sunlight that succeeded in filtering through the treetops. Petrichor was prominent in the dampened air, throwing the milieu into further phantasmagorical decay, but it made a scarce difference to him. Raylan finds himself walking deep into the woods, with two of his men behind him armed with guns to prepare to shoot anyone who walks into the campgrounds of Chitchaila. A weird name to his camp that was thought up from his conversation with Boyd he had a year ago at Tramble. His camp was set up not only about 5 months ago after he and his own people fled from Miami to make their way out of Florida but only resides on the border between Georgia and Florida. A place he thought could be safe with fewer towns in its surroundings with a river and a road that is not about a 15 minute walk from his camp.
There were sounds of birds chirping above within the treetops while flying across one treetop to another, finding a place to sit and perch, making their presence known. Tipping his head back a little, Raylan’s hues narrowed, glancing up from ahead to the skies as the sunlight rays shone into his face, raising an eyebrow. This position of his head caused the front brim of his stetson to rise, purchasing a small scant shadow across his forehead, although his horseshoe ring on his right hand flashed with silver from the sunlight. His right hand hovered over his gun in his holister clipped onto his right belt while his left hand remained loose at his side. There wrapped around his waist was a strap of shotgun as the weapon rested on his left shoulder with the barrel pointing up to the sky. Raylan reached an accord that the maximum of hours spent would be three at most before he could return back to the campgrounds. But the reason he came out here was he heard a gunshot and some screaming that happened out here not too long ago. Although he did have one of his men stationed out here to be a look out and that same man hasn't returned to the camp, which raises some concern to Raylan. Who could be making their way to his campgrounds? Or more importantly, what–? If it’s one of the zombies, he would be more prepared to shoot a couple of rounds of bullets into them as he can until they drop dead and move their bodies to dump them somewhere else far away from the camp so that the decaying bodies of smell don't reach to the camp itself. When a drier patch of grass crunched at a slight distance from his left, Raylan stilled once, only to turn forthwith from that moment towards the origin point. Immediately, his eyes shifted a glance that he heard it came from. A margin tilt of his head prefaced even a slighter furrowing of his brow. Two of his men who were feet apart from each other while still behind him stopped in their tracks, only to raise their weapons, turning heads to glance around their surroundings.
“For f***’s sake,” He muttered to himself, his right hand now touching the handle of his gun pulling it out of the hoister to raise it in front of him, fingers curling around the handle tighter. There has been nothing but silence after the crunch of leaves was heard. If it was someone or something was around, he’d like to believe it he would’ve been able to hear it. When nothing occurred, Raylan repressed a sigh before continuing on, mindful of his steps along the way. His men followed suit behind him, holding their guns in front of them. The hairs on his arms and back of his neck started to rise after fifteen minutes in.
It felt as if a dozen prying, unseen eyes were compressing him from all sides. He wasn’t unsettled, but it was sufficient in fortifying his caution. To brush anything aside in such a situation without a second thought was careless. Raylan stepped onto a thatch of gnarled and knotted roots, though hesitated to step down after two strides. His mouth pressed into frown as his gaze lowered to spread the leaves. A tap of his heel on the surface solicited an abrupt drop of the leaves downwards into a sizable hole–one that didn’t seem to be incidental. An annoyed scoff was stifled as Raylan hopped across the apterature, landing quietly on the opposite side. With the idle glance over his shoulder, he noticed his men followed his steps in which he did, making sure they’re not making any noise by stepping on any leaves. With an idle glance over his shoulder, he rolled his eyes whilst turning to press onward, although he was exceptionally more careful of where his boots pressed on. Tim had convinced him to sans his hat and usual footwear, much to the older marshal’s initial reluctance. A low hanging branch was ducked underneath, smooth and easy, and Raylan shifted slightly on his heels upon straightening to his full height.
There ahead of them came into their view was a charred and milkweed remains of an old house in short distance. “There you are,” Raylan murmured, gazing at the building ahead of him, then averted his gaze to his men, raising his hand with two fingers to single them to go ahead of him. “If you find anyone alive n’ have been infected, shoot them. But if you find someone who doesn’t belong in our camp, bring em’ to me, you understand?” One of his men, who is a tall brunette and very muscular, nodded his head, holding his gun tighter. “You got it, Mar–Captain Givens,” He spoke before he began to run towards the building only to cross the back. The second man who was red head about average height and a little skinny, nodded his head. He decided to follow suit behind the brunette guy but instead, he took the front of the house. Once Raylan made his way across the front yard of the property and up the steps to the front door, he noticed the front door was pry open. With his gun already pointing a head, he pushed the door open with the tip of his gun as it swung open slowly with a creak sound from its hinges, an inhale of a breath was taken in and exhaled through his nostrils. His attention was largely on the feel of his gun in hand whilst he took a step inside the house.
As he walked in, everything in the main living room was a mess as if a tornado came in and destroyed everything. Books off the shelves and sprawled everywhere, papers from the coffee table skewed about and two recliners were turned over. Then, there was blood splatter all over the wall, on the picture frame hung above the fireplace and up in the ceiling. He kept going straight towards the stairs that lead upstairs with the clicking sound of his boots at each step until he reached the top. Now, he’s in the hallway with three or 4 rooms down one hall and he only took the first one on his left whilst holding his gun merely trained in front of him. The hinge of his jaw became fleetingly taunt as his eyes shifted immediately to that room on his left, chin tipping for his eyes to disappear underneath the familiar shade of his stetson. Slowly, he made his way into the room and it turned out to be the master bedroom. On the floor was lying a body of a woman with a small body of a baby, which had to be at least one month old or two. Maybe they had gotten out in time. Raylan stood in the doorway, staring wordlessly at the gore strewn throughout the master bedroom. The cloying stench of death elicited bile to rise in his throat or it could have been the sheer weight of his failure taking action against him. It didn’t matter much either way, did it–? She’s dead as well as her baby and he wasn’t., and it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children.
Then in a split moment, there was a person across the room in the hall. Raylan’s instinct took over him–turning on his heels as he raised his gun arm flashing upwards inexplicably fast as the walking zombie made its way towards him, arms reaching out with hands in grabbing motion. Forefinger pressed on the trigger as he pulled it with a flash came from his muzzle, gunshot ringing soundly into the macabre, body collapsing onto the floor in mist of its mindless charge. Splashes of blood and grey matter across the far wall hammered a crooked nail of neja vu into the forefront of his mind. Then a sound of screaming came from one of his men downstairs. With that, he turned on his heels to walk briskly down the stairs in a hurry to be greeted by his red head man, who now got overpowered by two zombies that had him surrounded, dropping his gun in advance to fight with his bare hands. Lifting up his gun, Raylan fired one shot as a gunshot echoed through the whole house, a bullet flying towards the head of one of the zombies and its body collapsed onto the floor. But he fore he could fire his second shot, a zombie hand grabbed Raylan by the shoulder almost shoving him to the wall in front of the stairs while another one came into the house, heading in his direction. With his left hand shot out to grab the zombie by the throat, he let out a growl baring his teeth as his brows furrowing, hazel hues wide-wide staring at this unfolding before him. He was attacked by two zombies. A sound of a gunshot was heard. Glancing down, he looked at his chest to see if he had any blood but there wasn’t any. Then he glanced ahead at the zombie that grabbed him, who was completely still with his head tilted back and then the body collapsed down in front of him, revealing who the person shot him. He couldn’t believe it in his eyes a familiar face showed up in this very same place. Boyd.
“Boyd?” Raylan asked under his breath, his eyes still wide-eyed in shock and confusion. How on earth did Boyd know about his camp? And how did he manage to escape from prison during this outbreak that’s been going on for a year? Last he saw him was in prison while visiting him one last time before leaving Kentucky, leaving his life behind to start fresh in Miami.
“Raylan, now I know you have some questions as to why I am here. But now is not the time. More’re comin’. We gotta go.” Boyd responded, nodding his head to the doorway while holding his gun in his hand. Raylan leaned away from the wall and began to run out of the house with Boyd following behind, running back into the woods to return back to his camp.. They were accompanied by his brunette soldier who now has blood across his face, his shotgun swinging back and forth.
After Boyd had explained to Raylan how he found his camp and knew that he would count on Raylan being his only friend he has left in this world, even if they don't see eye to eye on things, especially his long list of crimes. But he can stay on only one condition and that is he will not harm anyone or use any of his people as pigs in a bait or kill them just for fun. That was the deal. However, during late night when Boyd happens to slip into Raylan’s main cabin office to meet him only to find out he wasn’t there, probably out playing with children or perhaps, he’s helping his own people to finish up building up a raft, a raft to go fishing on or taking it for a spin.
While he was looking around, he overheard voices from the radio from Raylan’s desk, mentioning a truck was coming by as if it was coming up from Florida filled with supplies. Supplies that Raylans’ people might need. “Well, well, well, a truck of supplies passin’ by here,” Boyd said to himself, smirking while looking at the radio. With that, he leaned away from Rayaln’s desk and walked around it to walk towards the door, opening it inward before stepping out of his office. Boyd leaned against the oak tree with his back pressing up against it, staring at two other men of Raylan's he “borrowed” in order to involve them in the plan of stopping that truck and taking its supplies, as long as they make it out alive without getting attacked or alerting any zombies if they are nearby. A young male with a tattoo on his neck named Johnny came forward as he held the gun in his hand. “Are you sure this is gonna work, Boyd? I think we should–” Boyd raised his hand tos signal him to shut up. “No, I am not gonna get Raylan Givens involved in this. I promised him I wouldn’t bring any harm to his camp or his people,” He admitted, leaning away from the tree while casually slid one hand into his pocket and the other holding the rocket launcher in his other as the wooden heat shield of it leaned against his right shoulder. They have been waiting over an hour for the truck to come up onto this road, let alone making its way to the border of Georgia, carrying supplies as well as soldiers who could be guarding it to prevent a hijack or something.
Then in a split second, there was the sound of roaring in the distance on the road along until it came into their view. Boyd turned his head as he noticed the truck was approaching quickly and leaned the rocket launcher back down into his hands while stepping away from the tree to crouch down on his knees. His eyes looked through optical sight, zooming in to see close up in front of the army truck and it showed two men were in the front seat and then moved to the back, seeing the boxes that could be filled with supplies.. A shear smile curled displayed on his lips as right hand fingers slowly touched the trigger, preparing to launch. “FIRE IN THE HOLE!!” Boyd shouted, pulling the trigger as the grenade released from the launcher, flying in the air with fire burning behind it, heading towards the front part of the truck. The truck stopped in a halt right as a grenade flew into front of the truck and then there was an explosion, fire easing through the whole truck except the back part.
“Go, go go!” Johnny shouted, holding the gun in his hand as he nodded his head towards the truck when two other men started running towards the burning truck. As they itched closer to the truck, Johnny was quick enough to unlock the latch as he pulled the heavy steel doors open while another male jumped in, strapped his shotgun around his waist and then grabbed one of the boxes, handing it down to the younger male who has red hair. The red head male grabbed the box and put it down and then reached up for another one. One by one each box was carried out of the burning truck and piled up into a stack. Boyd made his way around the burning truck to join with once Raylan’s men, now his henchmen. His eyes glanced from the burning fire to the boxes stacked in front of him and reached in his pocket, pulling out of pocket knife, cutting the top of the box before opening it. There it was inside the box filled with supplies such as water bottles, foods, clothing. Just as Raylan predicted earlier.
A set of headlights were making its visible from distance of the road and Boyd leaned up into standing position as his eyes glanced at another vehicle making its way closer to him. Sh*t, he thought to himself knowingly that there's a company coming to join them. But is it the company of new people? Or is it the ones who owned this truck? “Boyd, What do we do?” Johnny asked, his wide-eyes went from the moving vehicle to him while holding the box as he slowly set it down onto another stack. He slowly reached down for his shotgun that was on the ground beside the boxes.
