RILEY WAS A troubling boy. He didn’t consider himself to be one, of course, but it was still the truth. He was too quick to trust, too hasty to attempt to help others without thinking about the consequences. People these days were dangerous, and he knew that better than anyone, but he always seemed to forget in times of crisis.
TAKE NOW, FOR example. He’d heard shouts- human shouts- and he’d investigated. It was a person, evidently stuck in the underbrush of the woods with about twelve walkers converging on them at once. A hasty setup on a tree branch resulted in the walker closest to the unidentified person having its head blown off its shoulders (still as dead of an aim as before) but also resulted in his shoulder jerking back from the recoil, popping sharply and eliciting a yip from the shooter. He should’ve known better than that, goddamnit- and now he had a little more than half of the remaining walkers shuffling in his direction, attracted by the noise.
“RUN- GET UP and run!” He called as he began to retreat, flicking the safety on and shifting the gun around so he could use the butt to beat off any walkers that got too close for comfort. “Go!”