NIGHTMARES OF THE WALKING DEAD

The damp, suffocating darkness of the hydroelectric intake tunnel gives way to the sharp, stinging sting of rain. Negan’s men, their grip like iron vices, drag Seth across the uneven stone of the lower spillway. The world spins, his vision blurring from the rhythmic pulse of agony radiating from his severed wrist. He is tossed into the back of a rain-slicked utility truck, the metal bed rattling against the cold ground.

The engine roars to life, a discordant howl that drowns out the distant sound of the dam’s churning water. As the truck careens away from the intake tunnels, the scenery blurs into a monochromatic nightmare of gray forest and rain-washed asphalt. They are moving fast, hurtling toward the edge of the wilderness, far from the site of his mutilation.

Seth shivers, the cold seep of the metal truck bed numbing his senses. He watches the dim silhouette of the driver through the partition, his remaining hand curled into a tight, trembling fist. He is a broken man, but his eyes remain sharp, tracking every turn and landmark through the mist. The dam fades into the gloom, and he braces himself for whatever hell Negan has planned at the end of this road.

Seth lunges toward the tailgate, his boots scrabbling for purchase against the slick, vibrating metal. He vaults over the edge, but his balance betrays him. He lands hard on the stump of his left arm. The agony is a white-hot spike that drives him to his knees, his momentum dragging him into the mud of the forest road.

The truck tires spray gravel as it screeches to a halt. The Saviour Lead jumps down, his heavy boots crunching onto the road. With a sneer, he reaches back into the truck bed, retrieves the severed hand, and tosses it into the tall grass of the roadside ditch. The sound of rustling branches signals the approach of a nearby roamer, drawn by the scent of fresh blood.

Seth forces his legs to churn, ignoring the rhythmic throb of his shoulder. He stumbles into the dense brush, but the pain creates a sickening vertigo. His boots find only loose scree, and he slams face-first into the damp forest floor. He tries to rise, but his limbs refuse the command, pinning him in the mud.

The Saviour Lead towers over the brush, pointing toward the ditch where the severed hand lies. The low, guttural moans of a roamer grow louder from the shadows of the pines. The creature drags a decaying limb through the gravel, its dead eyes locked onto the fresh movement in the brush.

The roamer lunges, its jaw snapping inches from Seth's boot. The Saviour Lead leans against the truck, his grin widening as he watches the desperate scramble in the filth.

The walker's fingers, skeletal and stained with dried gore, rake across the back of Seth's jacket. The Saviour Lead pulls a rusted blade from his belt, his eyes glinting with amusement as he begins to step closer, ready to watch the finish.

Seth launches himself into the treeline, his boots tearing through the mud. A crimson smear marks his frantic path. Behind him, the Saviour Lead lets out a guttural laugh, his patience snapping. He lunges back to the utility truck, his fingers closing around the severed hand resting in the truck bed.

The Saviour Lead winds up and hurls the severed limb into the road, the hand tumbling end over end through the air toward the path Seth is carving through the brush. The roamer, confused by the sudden movement, turns its rotting head to track the flying appendage as it lands in the dirt directly in Seth’s escape route.

Seth staggers, his boots finding purchase on the slick, rain-soaked earth. He ignores the throbbing void of his arm, leaning into the rhythm of the dash. Behind him, the Saviours idle, the truck engine revving like a taunt. Ahead, the vague silhouette of the Kingdom’s perimeter waits in the distance, a flickering hope against the encroaching gray.