ATOMS ; GLENN RHEE

ATLANTA

What was a straight shot becomes an awkward zigzag, walkers advancing on all sides. Her vest weighs her down, and Rick easily passes, flinging his axe over the fence and grappling onto it. She tries to mimic him, retracting her baton with enough muscle memory to not lose a second but SWAT boots aren't meant for hopping fences with a flesh-ravenous horde chasing behind. The rain only makes it worse—they're too bulky, and the trek slips right off. Her back clatters to the ground, a forming puddle splashing into her face, blinding. The air is sucked from Beckett's lungs in an instant, and she's left croaking on the street, clawing at her eyes.

Smoke invades her nostrils, the screaming not far behind. Some of the walkers begin to look like rioters.

They're so close—the groaning so loud. The smell.

It should've been Jason.

Beckett wonders if Andrea will look away while she's being torn to shreds by the remaining of Atlanta's population, or if Merle, the bastard, will laugh himself to tears. She wonders if she'll feel the nails digging into her organs; if it'll be quick.

There's not much time to think; a walker's feet are within what sight she has left, and the rattling of the fence fills the soggy cavern of her ear.

"Beckett, come on!" Glenn screams, and he's in her face, yanking the soggy bulletproof vest until she's flush against the gate, scaling it as best she can without sight. Geeks claw at their feet, latching onto anything they can.

A few topple over, not registering where lunch ran off to. A particularly gnarly woman (what's left of a woman) snags a tight grip on one of the uniform straps patterning her leg, but Glenn gives a decent shove on the way up, sending her fully over. Her tailbone splinters with how hard she lands on her ass, but she can't dwell on the pain because by the time her knees are moving, Glenn's ripping open the passenger door in a murky blur. His silhouette leans over to the driver's side, and the truck jolts to life not a moment more.

Hastily, with bloody, cannibalized joints jerking for her neck through the chain links, she sprints towards the sound of a revving engine, a twinge of a limp between each step. One walker musters up enough control to fling itself over the fence, a choked snarl when it stumbles to its knees, besmirching the asphalt with chunks of tissue. Rick fires off a few rounds, fending pressure off the fence, but the dip is irrepressible, and the gate collapses within seconds.

Her disguise falls from her shoulders with it, body all but propelling into the cab.

Beckett lands right in Glenn's lap, his hands grasping her hips immediately, stopping her from tumbling right back out. Steadied, she paws the door closed just in time—a walker recoiling off it so violently the window stains.

Rick tears out of the lot, as fast as the mammoth of a truck can. Glenn is still freaking out when they reach the road, puffing around his frantic words. She feels his hands shaking against her. He hasn't moved away—hasn't loosened his grip. She can't fault him, not when she can't tell if the rain is still wet on her face or if she's started crying.

"—That's what I need cleared," Rick orders, his voice loud and firm, smothering anything Glenn manages to get out. Beckett tries to tune in through her flooded ear drums. "Tell your friends. They need to be ready when I get there. We won't have much time."

"The—The geeks. How am I distracting them?" Glenn releases her hip, tugging out the walkie. He fidgets with a dial until it crackles to life and an image of them being cannibalized after forgetting to mute it creeps into her mind. She focuses on the engine's rumble and eventually her heart slows in tandem and Glenn's fabricated screams quiet down.

"Noise." Rick smirks, swerving into another abandoned lot. "Lots of noise." He rips the gear stick and tears out the door, leaving it swinging haphazardly.