A cold sweat washed over him, some kind of distant screaming filling his ears. The gunfire, the pleading, memories he couldn’t get rid of.

He couldn’t bring it up to Joseph or John, being stuck in the bunker with them had made them wary around him. He certainly couldn’t talk to the Deputy about it.

Cull the weak. Hands over his ears. He didn’t hear the door open, or the footsteps walking over to him.