—Quarry
A soft breeze whispered across the ridge as dawn broke over the hills. Hues of orange and gray stretched over the skyline. Rick stood alone, the walkie-talkie gripped in one hand, its worn surface slick with morning dew.
He raised it to his mouth, pressing the button. His voice was low and tired, but firm.
"Morgan. I don't know if you're out there. I don't know if you can hear me. Maybe you're listening right now. I hope so."
His eyes didn't blink as he stared into the distant city. The shapes of destroyed buildings hazed in the morning fog.
"I found others… my family, if you can believe it. My wife and son they're alive. I wanted you to know that." A long pause. The wind stirred the trees behind him, gently brushing against his sheriff's uniform like a reminder of a time long gone.
"There's something else you need to know. Atlanta isn't what we thought. It's not what they promised. The city is…" he swallowed. "It belongs to the dead now. Don't go in there."
He looked over his shoulder at the distant smoke rising from the camp.
"We're northwest of the city. Camped a few miles off, up by a big abandoned stone quarry, you can see it on your map. I hope you find us. But you need to be careful. Last night… walkers came out of the woods. We lost people." His voice faltered, just for a moment.
"Watch yourself, Morgan. Take care of your boy. I'll try you again tomorrow at dawn."
He let go of the button and stared at the walkie-talkie, as if expecting it to speak back. But there was only static.
—At the Camp
Smoke curled upward from the center of the camp, black tendrils rising into the morning sky. The fire pit had been turned into a funeral pyre. The acrid stench of burning flesh mixed with the scent of damp earth and blood.
Andrea sat beside the RV, knees drawn to her chest. Her face was hollow, her arms wrapped around herself like a shrinking barrier, her palms red from the constant knocking, but the RV door remained sealed. Amy was still inside. No one had seen her face since the attack.
Rick returned, walking down the hill, the weight of the radio transmission etched into every step.
"She still hasn't opened the door?" he asked, stopping near Lori.
Lori shook her head, scuffing Carl's hair. "She won't even respond to Andrea. She's been in there all night."
Rick frowned, lips pursed.
"We can't just leave Amy like that."
Shane came up from behind, shotgun slung over his shoulder, boots muddy and streaked with blood. He glanced at the RV. His voice dropped to a whisper. "What if she's bitten in there?"
Rick said nothing at first. Then. "I'll tell her how it is."
He started toward the door, but Andrea quickly got up, stepping in his path. Her hand raised, not aggressive, but firm.
She pointed at the bodies. "She can't come out. Not with them lying there." Andrea muttered, she understood her little sister better than anyone, "She thinks it's her fault that they died."
Rick looked past her, T-Dog, Morales, Miranda, the shredded remains of Eliza, and Louis, at a distance from their parents.
Rick nodded slowly. "We'll move them."
***
Daryl swung a pickaxe like a man born to it, the weapon burying deep into a walker's skull with a crack like splintering wood. Brain matter leaked onto the grass as he pulled the tool free.
Beside him, Jim and Glenn hoisted another corpse, arms sagging, skin pale and peeling. They heaved it into the fire. Flames kissed the body and swallowed it whole. The stench made Glenn gag.
Then Jim and Daryl reached for the next one. Miranda.
Glenn's voice cracked, "What are you doing?"
Jim froze, and Daryl just looked up, confused.
"This is for geeks," Glenn said, pointing at the fire. "Our people go over there," he points near the treeline with other dead campers.
"They're all infected," Daryl replied, shrugging, "Makes no difference."
Glenn was persistent, "Our people go over there," his voice trembled, his face flushed. "We don't burn them, we bury them. Understand?"
Daryl opened his mouth to say something, but Glenn interjected, almost crying. "Our people go in that row over there."
Daryl looked at Jim, Jim looked at Glenn, then at Daryl, and neither said anything.
Daryl exhaled. "Fine."
Together, they dragged Miranda toward the other dead campers.
Meanwhile, Dale walked toward his RV and leaned against the vehicle. Andrea sat beside him, fingers plucking at the grass mindlessly.
"Any response?" Dale asked his voice low and gentle voice.
"She's just crying," Andrea said.
Dale puts his ear to the vehicle. "I don't hear anything."
Andrea gave a sad smile. "I know her. She's crying."
She cut another blade of grass in half between her nails.
"We could just break the door," Dale offered jokingly.
Andrea didn't move. "It's your RV."
"Hmm, I don't want to destroy the RV," Dale muttered. "I suppose I'd better give her an eviction notice then."
Andrea chuckled along with Dale.
Daryl's steps crunched through the dried leaves as he moved toward the tents, his pickaxe dragging behind him. The blood had dried on the shaft, sticky and dark, smelling of iron and rot.
As he stepped past a half-collapsed tent, he stopped.
Ed Peletier.
The man's corpse was sprawled beside the smoldering embers of the campfire, his neck already fly-ridden. His face was half torn by a walker, and the other side by Shane.
Daryl raised the pickaxe again, but before it could descend, a hand touched him.
"I'll do it," Carol said.
He turned, and she stood there, eyes wet, face pale, but her voice unwavering.
"He's my husband."
Daryl hesitated. Then wordlessly, he handed the pickaxe to her and took a step back. He knew what Ed had been. He'd seen the bruises, her flinching, her shaking when he approached her or her daughter.
Carol stood over Ed's body, both hands gripping the pickaxe handle. For a long moment, she simply stared. The light from the rising sun licked the sky behind her, casting her in a flickering glow.
Then—she cried, and swung the pickaxe down.
The blade crunched through Ed's skull, cracking it like wet plaster. She pulled it free again.
Crack! Thud! Crack!
Over and over.
Daryle watched in silence, arms folded, saying nothing, he just let her anger out, and waited so he could drag him to the grave.
—Quarry
Shane wiped sweat from his brow, dirt smeared along his face, as he and Rick lowered another body into the grave—Louis, one of the Morales kids. The boy had been torn in half.
Shane kept glancing at the corpses, then at Rick.
Finally, Rick said, "Say it."
Shane exhaled. "Okay. I'm thinking… if you'd stayed here. If you'd looked after your own, just like Lori and I told you to…"
Rick stiffened.
"Instead, you went off. You took half our manpower with you. I'm thinking maybe our losses wouldn't have been so bad."
Rick didn't flinch. He picked up a shovel and began tossing dirt over the body. His voice was even, but hard.
"If we hadn't gone to Atlanta and brought those guns back when we did, there might not be enough of us left to bury the dead."
Shane said nothing, but his jaw tightened.
Then—
Daryl emerged from the trees, dragging Ed, with his face disfigured beyond recognition. He dropped him in one of the graves, wiping blood from his hands on his shirt. "Still think it's a mistake not burning all these bodies," he muttered, looking down at the line of graves. "It's what we said we'd do, right?" he looked at Shane.
"At first," Shane said.
Daryl frowns,"The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what rules there are."
Rick looked up from the dirt, sweat glistening on his forehead.
"There are no rules."
—Camp
Inside the narrow metal shell of the RV, Amy stirred.
Her throat was dry along with her tears. Her ears rang with the echoes of the last night—the screams, the gunshots, the wet tearing sounds. She looked down at the blood. Dried, blackened stains streaked her shoes and jeans. She gagged but held it down.
She moved like a ghost, inching toward the door.
Outside, Andrea's ears perked at the sound of shuffling inside. She jumped to her feet, "Amy," she whispered.
The door creaked open. Amy stepped out slowly, expecting to see carnage.
But what she found was Andrea.
Andrea pulled her, and she collapsed into her, burning her face in Andrea's chest. "Thank God. Thank God," she whispered.
An Hour Later
Rick planted the shovel into the final mound of dirt. The sun beat down on them now, mocking in its warmth. Seven graves in total. Six mounds of earth, as one remained empty.
Lori stood nearby, head bowed, whispering a prayer under her breath. Rick joined her, his voice hoarse.
"Burying other people is bad enough," he said. "But burying our own…" He looked at the last open grave.
He turned to Lori, taking her hand in his.
"Shane blames me for not being here," he said.
She met his eyes.
"Do you? We got guns now. We're stronger."
There was a long pause. Her voice was low, but honest. "And we have fewer people. That makes us weaker." Her grip tightens, "You want me to say I think you were right? I understand that. All I can say is that neither of you is entirely wrong. It's the best I can do right now."
Rick held her gaze for a moment, thinking, before slowly nodding. "I love you," he whispered, "That's all I've got."
"I love you, too," she whispered back, and they embraced, just for a moment.
***
All of them returned from the quarry. Andrea, still holding Amy's hand, walked slowly among them. Amy looked pale but alive. Dale stood nearby, watching.
Lori saw them and rushed forward. "Amy!" She stopped short, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Amy didn't answer.
Rick came up behind Lori, standing beside her, quietly. Amy looked around the camp, her voice barely audible. "Where's Miranda?"
The air went still.
Andrea's hand touched her cheek. "Amy…"
"You don't have to say it," Amy said, her voice cracking.
"It's not your fault," Andrea said, brushing her hair back. "You couldn't have opened that door. If you had… you—" she stopped.
A voice came from behind them. Shane.
"She's right," he said, walking forward, eyes steady. "It's not your fault, Amy. If you'd opened that door, that last open pit would've been yours." Jim flinched at the mention of an empty grave.
Everyone turned to Shane, but he ignored them and walked toward Rick.
"We need to talk about what's next. We can't stay here for long."
A few minutes later
The group gathered in a loose circle by the RV: Rick, Shane, Lori, Carol, Jacqui, Glenn, Andrea, Amy, Dale, and Daryl. The two kids, Carl and Sophia, stayed at a distance as the group talked, and Jim was resting inside the RV, I'll go wherever the group is going he'd told them.
Rick stood at the edge of the group, hands on his hips, eyes moving from face to face.
The weight of the night still hung heavy over them—death, fire, smoke, ash, and blood. The graves are still fresh. The pyre still smoldered.
"I heard the C.D.C. was working on a cure," Rick added, voice steady.
Shane scoffed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I heard that too, Rick. Heard a lot of things before the world went to hell. Doesn't mean any of it's true now."
Rick met his gaze. "If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect a place like the C.D.C. at all costs. Wouldn't they? I mean, it's our best shot. Shelter. Food. Medicine."
Shane's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Okay, Rick, you want those things? So do I. But if they exist, they won't be sitting in the middle of the city full of walkers. They'll be at a base. Fort Benning."
"That's a hundred miles in the opposite direction," Lori said, arms crossed. Her voice wasn't harsh, but it wasn't warm either.
Shane nodded. "That's right. But it's away from the hot zone. And listen to me. If that place is operational, it'll be fortified. Heavily armed. Locked down. We'd be safe there."
There was a pause, and no one jumped to argue or defend either one.
Rick looked around, scanning the hesitation on their face. "The military was on the front lines of this thing. They all got overrun. Helicopters, Tanks, and Barricades torn down."
"I get it," Rick continued. "Fort Benning might be a safe haven. But it's a shot in the dark. A hundred miles of ruined roads and who knows how many walkers in between. The C.D.C. is here, in Atlanta." He paused for a moment, letting the words settle.
"If we are looking for a lifeline, I say swim toward the closest ship, not further out to sea."
"Even if the ship's surrounded by sharks?" Shane shot back. "You gotta think of your family. Everybody's family."
Tension pulsed in the air like a second heartbeat. The smoke rose behind, and the words seemed to hush everything around them.
Then Glenn finally broke the silence.
"We could go to Guillermo—" he stopped too late
All eyes snapped to him
Rick's head tilted slightly, a grimace pulling at the edge of his mouth. Daryl sighed and looked away, as if Glenn had said something deeply stupid.
"Guillermo?" Dale and Jacqui muttered.
"Who's that?" Andrea echoed.
Glenn stayed quiet, his face filled with guilt, looking at Rick. Shane noticed it and turned to him, "Rick, you know this guy?"
Rick exhaled slowly. "Leader of a group. We… we met them in the city."
Daryle let out a soft grunt behind him. "That's one way to put it."
Rick ignored him.
"They've got shelter. Fortified building. A good setup, in the city."
"In the city? How are they surviving?" Dale asked.
"What kind of people are they?" Lori asked.
"They… They are good people, armed."
Shane thought for a moment, "You think they know anything about C.D.C.?" Shane muttered.
"They might," Glenn muttered.
"Rick." Lori turned to Rick, "Do you think they can help us reach C.D.C.?"
Rick paused. "Probably. They know the city. They've lasted this long. If anyone can get us through it, it's them."
Shane rubbed his temples, massaging away the frustration building like a storm behind his eyes. "All right." He finally said. "How about this, if they agree to help us reach C.D.C., which I doubt, we go there. But if they refuse. We'll take Interstate 85 highway toward Fort Benning."
Silence. A single gust of wind pushed through the clearing, stirring the ashes of the campfire.
"Any objections?" Shane looked around the group, and no one objected.
No one spoke. Some nodded, others simply turned to gather their things, the weight of the choice heavy in the slouch of their shoulders.
The decision was made.
They didn't have peace, but they had options.
Each member of the group returned to their tasks, packing up what little they had. The bedding is folded tightly. Canned food was counted and stacked. Ammo checked. The night was long, but no one lingered outside. Grief still hung in the air like a wet trap.
They slept in their cars, huddled together, doors locked, weapons at hands reach. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safer.
Next Day
The horizon bled orange and red, the first light of day rising over the quarry, hope. Rick stood alone at the edge of the hill, like yesterday, with the walkie-talkie in his hand. His voice crackled softly into the device as he stared toward the skyline of Atlanta.
"Morgan… We're moving out, leaving the quarry. If you heard me yesterday, you may be coming here. If you are, we'll be long gone by the time you arrive. I'm leaving a note and map behind for you…"
Rick's eyes lowered, "It's taped to a red car so you can follow our trail. We're heading to the C.D.C. If there's anything left, it's going to be there, don't you think? Morgan…" he sighed, "I hope you were right about that place. I need you to be."
At the Camp'
Inside the RV, Jim stirred violently, jolting with a sudden coughing fit. Jacqui, seated nearby, startled and leaned toward him with concern.
"You okay?" she asked quickly, but Jim only nodded weakly, "I— cough!—I think all of this is taking a toll on me."
Jacqui got up from her seat, moving to his cot, she put her arms over his, "You're burning," she murmured.
He didn't answer; his breath wheezed quietly through parted lips, and his eyes fluttered between her face and the blur behind her.
"Sorry," the focus returned to his eyes as they met hers again.
Without thinking, Jacqui leaned in, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips brushed his cheek first, almost by accident, before tilting toward his mouth. But Jim's eyes snapped open, and he shifted back, just a few inches.
Jacqui stopped, blinked, realization creeping in like cold air. "S-sorry—" she whispered, her voice cracking with embarrassment as she began to pull away.
But his hand caught hers.
Jim's grip wasn't strong, but it was certain.
"D-Don't leave."
Outside
Shane stood in front of the gathered survivors, his voice low but commanding as he gave instructions.
"Everybody listen up," he began.. "Those of you with CB radios—we'll be on channel 40. Keep the chat down. Use it only if necessary."
He looked around, meeting each pair of weary eyes.
"Now, if you've got a problem. If your radio cuts out or you can't get a signal, you hit the horn. One time. That'll stop the caravan. Got it? "
Heads nodded. No one asked questions. It was too early for doubt.
Rick stepped past Shane, walked over to the red sports card there were left behind, and taped a folded map and a handwritten note to the hood. The paper fluttered slightly in the wind but held firm.
Morgan—We're heading to C.D.C. Stay Alive—Rick
Shane comes up to him, standing next to him, "Are you sure about that?"
He looks at the message for a moment, "I don't know,"
Dale and Glenn entered the RV. A soft moan stopped them cold. Their eyes tracked the sound and landed on Jacqui and Jim, wrapped together, Jacqui stradling him, their lips locked, unwilling to part even for a breath.
They stood frozen for a beat.
Then, Dale cleared his throat—loudly.
Jim and Jacqui pulled apart instantly, startled. Jacqui looked away, flustered, while Jim exhaled and ran a hand down his face.
"Get a room, you two," Dale muttered, smirking.
Glenn chuckled beside him, "Pretty sure they already did." Dale and Jim chuckled as Jacqui's cheeks burned even more.
.
.
.
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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