The Walking Dead : Lee Everett

A little farther from Hershel's farm, the tranquil countryside was shattered by the rhythmic crack of gunfire echoing through the trees. In a small clearing hidden by the surrounding woods, the sharp reports of bullets slicing through the air marked a scene of focused determination.

Lee stood at the forefront, his posture commanding and steady, as he surveyed the group before him. Beside him was Natasha, her expression a mix of calm confidence and intense focus. Together, they led the training, guiding their growing team through the basics of Shooting.

The group was larger now, bolstered by the additions from the previous night. New faces mingled with familiar ones, each person gripping a weapon with varying degrees of proficiency. The clearing itself bore evidence of hasty preparation—makeshift targets crafted from scavenged scraps and rusted cans lined up against a backdrop of tall grass and rough bark.

Lee's voice carried over the din of gunfire, firm and instructional. 

"Aim for the center! Breathe slowly—don't rush your shots!" 

Natasha added her own pointers, her tone sharp but encouraging. 

"Adjust your grip. Keep your wrist steady, or you'll lose control."

The newcomers responded with a mix of determination and frustration. Shots rang out unevenly, some hitting their marks, others going wide. Sweat glistened on furrowed brows as they reloaded and tried again, the weight of their weapons a constant reminder of the lives they now lived.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, golden rays through the trees and illuminating the tension in the air. The faint smell of gunpowder mingled with the earthy aroma of grass and soil. For this group, the noise of shooting was not just practice—it was preparation, a grim rehearsal for the battles they knew awaited them.

Lee had brought guns, but he didn't need to distribute any to the group. Otis, for reasons unknown, had an impressive stash of pistols tucked away—an unexpected boon in a world where firepower often meant survival. No one questioned him about how he came by them. The weapons were a welcome addition, and in this situation, practicality outweighed curiosity.

After a while, Lee stepped back from overseeing the training. He left Natasha in charge, her sharp eye and no-nonsense attitude making her a natural leader for the group. She took to the role seamlessly, guiding the others with precise instructions as they worked to improve their aim.

Lee, however, had another task in mind. At the edge of the clearing, three little kids sat huddled together, their small faces serious as they watched the others practice. They were ready to begin learning, their resolve clear. Natasha and Lee had already discussed this together and with the children. There was no room for hesitation or delay in this world; danger didn't wait for anyone to grow up. Walkers could come at any time, and everyone—no matter their age—needed to know how to defend themselves.

Lee knelt in front of them, his expression calm but firm. He had spent time convincing the others of this grim necessity. It wasn't easy for everyone to accept, but survival demanded hard choices. In the end, the group agreed to let two of the kids train. Kenny, however, refused to allow Duck to participate. He couldn't bear the thought of his son holding a weapon, and while Lee respected his decision, he also knew it might be a costly mistake.

Lee placed a hand on the shoulder of Clementine, one of the two chosen to train. 

"Alright" 

He said gently. 

"Let's take it slow. I'll show you how to hold it first, okay?"

Beside her, the other child, Carl, nodded, his small hands trembling slightly as Lee placed an unloaded pistol in his grip. The kids were quiet, their wide eyes reflecting a mix of fear and determination.

As Natasha's voice carried across the clearing, guiding the adults, Lee focused on the children, his heart heavy with the weight of what he was teaching them. He knew it wasn't fair, but fairness no longer mattered. Survival did.

After a few seconds, Clementine and Carl adjusted to the weight of the pistols in their small hands. Lee knelt beside them, demonstrating the proper stance and grip. Carefully, he guided their arms forward, letting them aim down the sights. Once they seemed comfortable, he handed each of them a gun, their fingers curling hesitantly around the grips.

"Remember" 

Lee said calmly, his voice steady and encouraging. 

"Focus on your target. Don't rush. Only shoot when you feel ready."

Ahead of them, a line of cans rested atop an old wooden log, waiting to be struck. Carl and Clementine stared at the makeshift targets, their faces a mix of determination and apprehension. Minutes passed in silence as they adjusted their aim, their concentration unwavering.

Carl was the first to act, squeezing the trigger. However, the gun didn't fire—the safety was still on. Confused, Carl lowered the pistol slightly, frowning as he examined it. He glanced up at Lee. 

"I think something's wrong with it" 

He muttered.

Clementine, unfazed by Carl's distraction, maintained her focus. She followed through and squeezed the trigger as well, only to find that her gun, like Carl's, didn't fire.

Lee couldn't hide a faint smile. This was deliberate. He'd left the safety on both pistols, a quiet test to gauge their reactions. He wanted to see if they would panic, fumble, or remain composed. And now, he had his answer.

"Good" 

Lee said, his tone approving. 

"You both stayed calm. That's important." 

He gently took the guns from their hands, flicked the safeties off, and handed them back. 

"Now, it's time to shoot for real."

Both kids adjusted their stance, their small frames tense with anticipation. Carl went first, pulling the trigger. The sharp crack of the pistol echoed through the clearing, and the recoil jolted his arms back. His shot missed, the can remaining untouched. Clementine followed, her shot ringing out just as loud. Her aim veered off as well.

The recoil was manageable for adults, but for children, it was a startling force. Their hands shook slightly from the kickback, and the harsh sound of the gunshots made them flinch. Even so, they didn't let it stop them. Both kids adjusted their grips, steadied their arms, and fired again.

Bullet after bullet left the chamber, and although their shots went wide more often than not, their determination didn't waver. By the time they had emptied their magazines, both stood a little straighter, their initial hesitation replaced by a quiet resolve.

Lee watched them closely, a mix of pride and concern flickering across his face. The world they lived in demanded this kind of preparation, no matter how much it weighed on his conscience. Still, he couldn't deny their resilience. They were ready to keep trying, no matter how many bullets it took.

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As the moon hung high in the dark sky, the group gathered inside Hershel's cozy dining hall. The large wooden table, now brimming with life, held bowls of steaming vegetable stew and plates of freshly baked bread. Hershel's bountiful harvest of vegetables had been a saving grace, and the women in the group had worked wonders in the kitchen, transforming the simple ingredients into a comforting meal. The scent of cooked herbs and roasted vegetables filled the air, momentarily pushing back the harsh realities of the world outside.

Laughter and soft murmurs weaved through the room as everyone ate, the tension of the day easing just a little. For a short while, it felt almost normal—a fleeting illusion of the life they'd all lost.

Tomorrow would be their last day at Hershel's farm. The day after, they would leave, stepping into the unknown with only their wits and whatever supplies they could carry. Lee had made this clear when they returned from the shooting practice, his calm but resolute words cutting through the evening's silence. 

For many, the news came as a shock. Most of the group had been hopeful that they would remain at the farm longer, that the small bubble of safety they'd found in the midst of the apocalypse could hold. But Lee, with his pragmatism and hard-earned wisdom, had made the decision to leave. And Hershel—despite his attachment to the land and the life he'd worked so hard to preserve—had agreed. Hershel's main concern now was getting his family to safety, even if it meant leaving his beloved farm behind. 

Maggie and Beth, who had clung to the idea of staying, found themselves torn. This place was home, and the thought of leaving it behind was almost unbearable. Yet, as the evening wore on, it became clear they would have no choice. Lee had made the decision, and while it caused them discomfort, they knew it was for the best. They exchanged looks, trying to find comfort in one another. 

"Pa" 

Beth began, her voice filled with worry. 

"This is our home. How can we just leave it?" 

Maggie shared her sister's concern, her brow furrowed. 

"We've been safe here. Why risk everything?" 

Hershel sighed, his voice heavy with the burden of his own decision. 

"I know this is hard, but we've already seen how dangerous things are out there. The walkers won't stop. And if we wait too long, we'll be trapped. We have to move before it's too late." 

At that, the attention shifted to Shawn. He had been quiet during the conversation, but now he spoke up, his voice clear and steady. 

"Pa's right. We can't stay. It's not safe anymore." 

He glanced at his sisters, his expression unwavering. 

"We have to trust them, even if it's hard. If we want to stay alive, we have to leave." 

Maggie and Beth shared a long look. They were reluctant, but they understood. They trusted their father and brother, knowing that this decision came from a place of love and a desire to keep them safe. They didn't want to face the dangers of the outside world, but they had no choice. They, too, nodded slowly, accepting the reality of the situation. 

It was then that everyone who hadn't fully understood the purpose of the shooting practice began to realize the true meaning behind it. The target wasn't just the cans or targets they had practiced with. The real target was survival in an unforgiving world. Lee had prepared them for what was coming, for the dangerous ride they would have to endure. The practice had been his way of ensuring they would be ready to face the threats that lay ahead. 

As the group processed this, they realized the full scope of Lee's actions. His decision to leave, to move the group on from the farm, was not just an impulse—it was a carefully thought-out plan. He had manipulated the situation, yes, but all for their safety. The farm wasn't a sustainable haven in the long run. They needed to move, and Lee had orchestrated it with the precision of someone who knew just how fragile their position was. 

The group looked at Lee with a mix of admiration and disbelief. He had steered them towards this decision, not by force but by guiding them to understand the bigger picture. He had done it for their safety, even if it meant taking away the security they'd briefly found. It wasn't an easy choice for anyone, but in the end, they all understood that it was the only choice. 

Lee's gaze swept over them all, his heart heavy but resolute. He had done what needed to be done, even if it meant pushing them out of their comfort zones. This wasn't about comfort anymore. It was about survival. And tomorrow, they would have to prepare for the dangerous journey ahead.

When the meal was finished, Lee stood, stretching his tired limbs, and excused himself. He headed toward the adjacent hall, his mind already focused on ensuring the group had a safe place to rest for the night. After much effort, he'd managed to convince Hershel to let them sleep in the hall. It was a delicate balance—maintaining the group's safety without entirely compromising Hershel's privacy.

In the hall, people began claiming corners to settle into. The men and women divided the space instinctively, arranging whatever they could find—blankets, cushions, even old rugs—into makeshift bedding. The hall quickly turned into a patchwork of improvised sleeping arrangements, but no one complained. Safety and shelter were far more important than comfort now.

Lee surveyed the room quietly. It had been a long, grueling day, but he couldn't help feeling a sense of accomplishment. In a single day, he'd done so much:

*He'd convinced Hershel to trust them, an uneasy but crucial step.

*He'd saved Shawn, ensuring no life was lost when it could be prevented.

*He'd begun preparing the group for the dangers ahead, teaching them how to shoot and defend themselves.

*He'd even taken the difficult step of teaching the kids—except Duck, whose father Kenny had made his refusal clear.

*He'd convinced everybody to leave the farm as well.

Lee leaned against the wall, letting out a weary sigh as he watched the group settle in for the night. Despite the challenges, they were together, alive, and a little stronger than they had been that morning. It wasn't much, but in a world as broken as theirs, it was enough to give him hope.

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The morning was still cool, the air crisp and full of unspoken anticipation. The group had already begun their chores, the sound of quiet footsteps and murmured conversations blending into the natural symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. Each person was absorbed in their task, mentally preparing for the long road ahead. Tomorrow, they would finally leave the relative safety of the farm—a place that had been both a sanctuary and a reminder of the precariousness of their existence.

Bags were being packed with deliberate care, every item weighed for its usefulness and necessity. Weapons were checked and rechecked, the cold metal gleaming faintly in the morning light. Every small detail mattered now; there was no room for error in this world where a single misstep could mean the difference between life and death.

Kenny, Otis, and Lee's brother had already set out, their mission clear: to scavenge for fuel. Even a few more gallons could be the deciding factor in how far they could travel, and how many nights they could evade the dangers that stalked them. Meanwhile, Lee had chosen to stay behind. His role was equally important. Today was the final session of shooting practice with Natasha, a crucial preparation for the journey ahead.

Natasha stood beside him, her posture steady, her expression focused. Lee had asked her earlier if she was comfortable with rifles, a question born out of both curiosity and necessity. As a detective, he assumed she would have some experience, and she confirmed it with a small nod and a quiet confidence that set him at ease. She handled the weapon with familiarity, her movements fluid as she checked the chamber and adjusted her grip.

While the kids practiced with smaller, easier-to-manage firearms, Lee took the opportunity to learn something new. He was a master of handguns and melee weapons—quick, precise, and deadly in close quarters. But rifles and shotguns had eluded him, their size and mechanics feeling alien in his hands. He knew this was a gap he needed to bridge. Out on the road, versatility could be the difference between survival and disaster.

Natasha guided him patiently, her voice steady as she explained the nuances of handling a rifle. 

"It's all about control" 

She said, demonstrating how to align the sights. 

"Take your time. It's not like a handgun where you're aiming quick and close. This is about precision at a distance."

Lee mimicked her movements, adjusting his stance and tightening his grip. The weight of the rifle felt strange but not unmanageable. With Natasha's guidance, he began to understand the rhythm of the weapon—the slow inhale before squeezing the trigger, the sharp crack of the shot, the satisfying click of the bolt being reset.

Nearby, the kids were practicing under Lee's watchful eye, their young faces a mixture of determination and fear. They were too young to be doing this, he thought bitterly, but the world had forced their hand. Every lesson, every hour spent here, could mean the difference between their lives and the merciless jaws of the undead.

As the morning wore on, Lee found himself growing more comfortable with the rifle. He hit his target with increasing accuracy, Natasha's encouraging words pushing him forward. By the time they paused for a break, he felt a small sense of accomplishment, though he knew there was still much to learn.

Tomorrow, the road would demand everything from them—courage, skill, and resilience. But today, on this misty morning, they prepared as best they could, steeling themselves for whatever awaited them beyond the farm's borders.

After an hour of drills and careful guidance, Lee decided to take a break. His mind weighed heavy with the reality of leaving the farm. As he walked toward the barn, a figure suddenly appeared before him on horseback. Lee halted, raising an eyebrow as he recognized the rider.

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