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Summary
Rick knew he would die when he blew the bridge. He knew it was over for him.
The thought of what was left of his family being safe — that was all that mattered now. The people he’d fought, bled, and sacrificed for. He takes in Daryl’s tearful eyes, hears Michonne’s agonized scream of his name echoing even over the groans of the horde.
He feels the bridge trembling beneath his boots, feels the weight of every step that led him here. He raises his Colt Python, the steel cool and familiar in his hand. The dynamite shudders along with the bridge, the herd closing in.
“I found them,” he whispers, his voice breaking around the words.
Then he pulls the trigger.
The explosion roars like thunder. Fire erupts, swallowing everything — the bridge, the walkers, him. The last thing Rick sees is a wall of orange and gold rushing toward him, heat and light burning through his chest before the world goes black.