Three days after Duane woke up, life at Harrison Memorial had settled into something resembling routine.
In the mornings, Lucien followed Gale on her rounds. She quizzed him on symptoms, drug interactions, and proper wound care. He had become good enough at the basics that she started trusting him with more complex tasks. These included changing IV bags, monitoring vitals, and even helping with minor procedures when she needed an extra pair of hands.
Afternoons were for magic practice. He'd lock himself in his room, pull the curtains, and work through every spell in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 until his magic ran dry.
Episkey was still hit or miss. He could heal small cuts reliably, but anything deeper required more focus than he could manage consistently. The spell would work, then fizzle out halfway through. It was frustrating, but he was getting there.
Evenings, he'd visit Duane. The kid was pestering his parents to let him get out of bed and walk around. They'd talk about nothing important. Video games Duane used to play. Football matches Lucien remembered watching.
Morgan and Jenny had warmed to him. Not in any dramatic way. Morgan would nod when Lucien passed in the hallway. Jenny would save him portions when they cooked meals on the portable camping stove they'd brought.
It was nice.
Lucien knew it wouldn't last. Morgan's family would leave eventually, looking for a larger group or a safer location. Gale would stay, she'd made that clear. And he would wait for Rick.
He checked on Rick every day. The man was still unconscious. Gale had been maintaining his IV fluids, turning him to prevent bedsores.
"Any change?" Lucien would ask.
"Not yet," Gale would answer.
But he knew it was coming. He could feel it, the way you could feel a storm building on the horizon. Rick would wake up. And the story would start.
He just had to be patient.
---
It happened on a Tuesday.
Lucien was in Duane's room, half-listening to the kid complain about being stuck in bed, when the sound echoed through the corridor.
Crash.
Everyone froze.
Morgan's hand went to the hunting rifle slung across his back. Jenny pulled Duane closer. Gale stood.
"Stay here," she whispered.
"You're not going alone," Morgan said, already moving toward the door. He had the rifle in his hands now.
"I'll come too," Lucien said.
Gale looked like she wanted to argue, but Morgan cut her off. "He's got a good head on his shoulders. And if something's wrong, we might need an extra set of hands."
Lucien didn't mention that he knew exactly what, or rather, who, had made that noise. He just grabbed his wand from his pocket, keeping it concealed in his sleeve, and followed them into the hallway.
The hospital was quiet.
They moved carefully, Morgan in front with the rifle, Gale behind him, Lucien bringing up the rear. The sound had come from Rick's floor.
As they got closer, Lucien heard a voice.
"...hello? Is anyone there?"
Morgan and Gale exchanged a glance. Gale's eyes widened. "That's coming from..."
They rounded the corner and found him.
Rick was on the floor, sitting with his back against the wall. An IV stand lay toppled beside him, the bag split open and leaking saline across the tiles. He was pale and gaunt, his hospital gown hanging loose on a frame that had clearly lost weight during the coma
"You alright?" Morgan lowered the rifle.
Rick stared at them like they were apparitions. His gaze moved from Morgan to Gale to Lucien, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
"Where is everyone? Where'd they go?"
Gale moved forward slowly. "My name's Dr. Gale Macones. This is Morgan Jones, and that's Lucien. Can you tell me your name?"
"Rick." He swallowed. "Rick Grimes. I'm... I'm a sheriff's deputy in King County." His gaze drifted down the corridor. It was empty, scarred by bullet holes, with dark, dried blood smeared across the floor. "What happened here?"
Nobody answered right away.
Morgan set the rifle down and moved to Rick's other side. Together, he and Gale helped Rick to his feet. The man could barely stand.
"Let's get you somewhere you can sit," Gale said. "Then we'll talk."
They half-carried Rick back to his room, settling him on the bed. Gale immediately started checking his vitals. Morgan stood by the door, keeping watch. Lucien hung back.
"How long?" Rick asked. "How long was I out?"
"Few weeks," Gale said, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. "You came in with a gunshot wound. And you've been in a coma ever since."
"Few weeks," Rick repeated. "That's... Lori. My wife. And my son, Carl. Are they... did they come here? Did anyone see them?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Rick's face went pale. "No. No, they have to be... they're fine. They have to be fine."
"I'm sure they are," Gale said gently. It was a lie, and everyone in the room knew it. But it was a kind lie. "Right now, you need to focus on getting your strength back. You've been unconscious for a long time. Your body needs food, water, and rest."
"I need to find my family."
"You will. But right now, you can barely stand. You go out there in your condition, you won't make it a block."
Rick looked like he wanted to argue, but his body betrayed him. Even sitting up was clearly taking effort. His hands trembled slightly, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"What happened?" he asked again. "Why is the hospital empty? Where'd everyone go?"
Gale and Morgan exchanged another glance.
"There was an outbreak," Gale said at last. "Some kind of infection. It started a few weeks ago, around when you arrived. It spread fast, and no one was able to contain it."
"An infection," Rick said slowly.
"The dead came back," Morgan said bluntly. "People who died... they didn't stay dead. They got up, and they started attacking the living."
Rick stared at him. "That's... that's not possible."
"That's what we all thought." Morgan's voice was flat. "But it's happening. We call them walkers. There are thousands of them out there right now."
"So what are they? The dead... walking?"
"Call them whatever you want. But they're real."
Rick's expression cycled through disbelief and denial. Lucien had seen it before, people trying to process information their minds could not quite handle. Rick was a cop. He had been trained to assess threats and deal with facts. The facts he was being presented with did not make sense in the world he had left behind.
But he was trying. You could see it in the way his eyes sharpened despite the exhaustion.
"Lori and Carl... I have to find them."
He swallowed.
"Did they evacuate? Were there shelters? Safe zones?"
"I don't know about safe zones," Gale said. "But if they evacuated, they might've made it out before things got bad."
"You will," Morgan said again. "But not today. Today, you rest. You eat something. You get your strength back. Then we'll figure out the next step."
Rick looked like he wanted to argue. But his body was already giving out. He swayed slightly, and Morgan caught him.
"Come on. Back to bed."
They got Rick settled again. Gale brought him water, which he drank like a man dying of thirst, and some crackers from her emergency supplies. Rick managed a few bites before his stomach rebelled and he had to stop.
"I'm going to get you some antibiotics so the wound doesn't get infected. I'll find some vitamins too. Your body's been through a lot. You need time to recover."
She left, leaving Morgan, Lucien, and Rick in the room.
Morgan checked his rifle, making sure it was still loaded. "I should get back to my family. My kid was sick, and my wife's with him. You good here?"
"Yeah," Rick said. "And... thanks for helping me."
"No problem." Morgan headed for the door, pausing when he got there. "Welcome to the new world, Rick. It's a hell of a lot worse than the old one."
Then he was gone, leaving just Lucien and Rick.