I woke to the sound of Rick moving around the room.
The morning light filtered through the window, dim and grayish. Rick was standing by the glass, already dressed, looking out toward Atlanta. He seemed stronger than yesterday, though still a bit unsteady. Sleep and food had worked wonders.
"Morning," I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.
Rick turned to me.
"Morning. Did you sleep well?"
"Enough," I lied. The truth was I'd had nightmares. Walkers chasing me, the face of that woman I'd killed yesterday, Shane looking at me with disappointment. "Ready to head out?"
"As ready as I can be," Rick said. "Though I'd feel better with more firepower. One pistol isn't enough for two people."
He was right. We needed more than a Glock if we were going to survive out there.
"There's a police armory in the basement," I said, remembering signs I'd seen during my explorations. "Shane and the other officers probably cleared out most of it, but maybe something's left."
Rick nodded.
"Worth a shot. We'll grab breakfast, then move."
We headed down to the basement cautiously. The stairs were dark, barely lit by flickering emergency lights. Every shadow seemed to hide a walker; every sound set my nerves on edge.
Rick led the way with the pistol ready, moving with the fluidity of someone trained for danger. I followed behind, trying to stay silent, clutching the shovel from yesterday. It wasn't much, but it beat bare hands.
The basement smelled of dampness and something else. Something rotten. Bloodstains on the floor formed a trail toward a door at the end of the hall.
"Careful," Rick whispered, pointing at the stains.
We followed the trail to a door marked "Security." It was ajar. Rick nudged it open slowly with the barrel of his gun.
Inside were three bodies. Two police officers and what looked like a hospital security guard. All three had horrific bite wounds. All three were motionless.
"Dead for real," Rick muttered, stepping in warily. "Not reanimated."
"How can you tell?"
"Headshots," he pointed out. He was right. Each had a bullet hole in the skull. "Someone made sure they wouldn't come back."
The room was small, but there was a gun locker on the far wall. Rick approached and tried the door. Locked.
"We need the key," he said, looking at the bodies.
"I'll do it," I volunteered. It was the least I could do while Rick was still recovering.
Searching the bodies was... unpleasant. They were cold and stiff. But I found a keyring on one of the officers' belts and tossed it to Rick.
He tried several keys until one clicked. The locker swung open.
Inside: two shotguns, an extra pistol (another Glock), three boxes of ammunition, a police baton, handcuffs, and what looked like a bulletproof vest.
"Jackpot," I said, smiling for the first time in days.
Rick took one of the shotguns, checking it with expert hands.
"Remington 870. Good gun." He handed me the second pistol. "Take this. I'll teach you how to use it, but for now, just keep it stowed. Keep the safety on."
I took the gun carefully, feeling it heavy and cold in my hand. I started to tuck it into the back of my jeans like I'd seen in movies. Rick corrected me immediately.
"Not there. You'll shoot your own backside. Use this." He handed me a holster from the locker. "It goes on your belt, at the hip."
I put it on, feeling strangely professional. Like I was playing cop. Except this wasn't a game.
We took everything we could carry: the ammo, the baton, and the vest, which Rick insisted I wear ("You're younger, you have more to lose," he said when I protested). We left the second shotgun behind; it was too much to lug around.
We headed back to the first floor and into the interior garden. Rick looked at me curiously as I led him there.
"What are we doing here?"
"Food," I said simply.
Rick stepped into the garden and froze. The plants I had cultivated were lush, bursting with red tomatoes, beans, and even some potatoes I had unearthed.
"How...?" Rick started, looking at me in shock. "You did all this in a week?"
"Found seeds in the cafeteria," I said, technically true. "And I had a lot of free time."
It wasn't a total lie. I just omitted the part about my powers.
Rick shook his head in amazement.
"You're a smart kid, Jon. This... this will keep us fed for days."
We harvested as much as we could carry. I stuffed my backpack until I thought the seams would pop. Rick did the same with a bag he found in the security locker.
As we packed, I heard a sound. Shuffling footsteps. Groans.
"Walkers," I whispered.
Rick raised the shotgun. Three were entering the garden slowly, likely drawn by our voices.
"Don't fire," I said quickly. "The noise will bring more."
Rick hesitated but nodded. He lowered the shotgun and drew the police baton.
"Stay back," he ordered.
But I had a better idea. I reached out toward the vines I'd grown. I felt the connection, the energy surging. The plants responded instantly, lashing out at the walkers, coiling around their legs.
All three hit the ground, pinned.
Rick whipped around to face me, eyes wide.
"What the hell...?"
"Explain later," I said fast. "For now, finish them. They can't move."
Rick stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. He stepped toward the downed walkers and dispatched them one by one with the baton. It was quick and efficient. When he finished, he wiped the baton on one of their uniforms and turned back to me.
"Explanation. Now."
I sighed. I knew this moment was coming.
"It's... complicated. Can we get out of the hospital first? I don't want to have this conversation surrounded by the walking dead."
Rick frowned but nodded.
"Fine. But you're telling me everything, Jon. Whatever this is."
"I will," I promised. "It's just... not something I can explain in two minutes."
We left the garden and headed for the main exit. Rick took point, shotgun ready. I followed, alert for any movement.
The main lobby was a disaster. Overturned chairs, shattered glass, bloodstains everywhere. Several bodies were strewn about—some clearly dead-dead, others that might reanimate at any second.
"Stay close," Rick murmured as we crossed the floor.
The main doors were smashed. We stepped out into the daylight, and the sun blinded me for a second. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the parking lot.
It was a graveyard of abandoned cars. Doors hung open; some were crashed into pillars or each other. Blood stained the asphalt, and bodies were scattered here and there.
And walkers. At least a dozen I could see, wandering aimlessly.
"Shit," Rick whispered. "We can't cross that without being seen."
"We need a car," I said. "Something that runs."
Rick nodded, eyes scanning the lot.
"There. That police cruiser."
I followed his gaze. A cruiser sat near the entrance about thirty yards away. Only two walkers stood between us and the car.
"Think the keys are in it?"
"Only one way to find out."
We moved slowly, crouching between cars. The walkers were slow but persistent. One, a man in a business suit, turned toward us as we passed. Rick took him down with the baton before he could even groan.
We reached the cruiser without further incident. Rick tried the driver's door. Open. And miraculously, the keys were in the ignition.
"Get in," Rick ordered.
I hopped into the passenger seat while Rick got behind the wheel. He turned the key; the engine coughed, then died.
"Come on, come on," Rick muttered, trying again.
This time, the engine roared to life. The sound immediately snapped the attention of every walker in the vicinity. They turned as one and began shuffling toward us.
"Time to go," Rick said, throwing the car into reverse.
We peeled out of the lot with walkers thudding against the windows. Rick swerved around them skillfully, then floored it once we hit the street.
Atlanta stretched out before us. The city was silent. No traffic, no people. Just empty buildings and deserted streets. Here and there, I saw pillars of smoke. Crashed cars. Bodies on the sidewalks.
It was the end of the world. Real and tangible.
Rick drove in silence for a while, his knuckles white on the wheel. I stared out the window, trying to process it all. I'd seen this on a screen, but being here, seeing it in person... it was entirely different.
"It's dead," Rick finally whispered. "Everything's dead."
"Not everything," I said softly. "There are survivors. There have to be. Your family, Shane, others. We just have to find them."
Rick nodded, holding onto that hope.
We drove toward the outskirts of Atlanta, toward King County. The trip that normally took thirty minutes took nearly two hours. We had to detour constantly around blocked streets, avoid herds of walkers, and find alternate routes.
But finally, we reached King County. The town looked as dead as Atlanta. Empty streets, shuttered businesses. A few walkers roamed, but not as many as in the city.
Rick drove straight to his house. I knew what we'd find. I knew it would be empty. But I had to let him discover it for himself.
He pulled up in front of a nice two-story house with a well-kept front yard. Or it had been well-kept. Now the grass was overgrown, and newspapers were piled on the porch.
"Wait here," Rick said, stepping out with the shotgun.
"No way," I said, getting out too. "We go together."
Rick looked like he was going to argue, then nodded. I think he didn't want to be alone for this.
We walked to the door. Rick pulled out his keys and unlocked it. The door creaked open.
"Lori?" Rick called, his voice breaking the silence. "Carl?"
No answer.
We went inside. The house was a mess. Drawers were open, clothes strewn on the floor. Someone had packed fast, taking only the essentials.
Rick ran upstairs. I followed. He checked every room: his bedroom, Carl's room, the bathroom. All empty.
In the master bedroom, Rick found a photo on the nightstand. Him, Lori, and Carl. Smiling. Happy. From before.
Rick took the photo with trembling hands.
"They're gone," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "They're alive. They have to be. They took things. If they were dead..."
"They're alive, Rick," I said with conviction. Because I knew it was true. "Shane got them out. He took them somewhere safe."
Rick nodded, tucking the photo into his pocket.
"You're right. Shane would protect them. He... he's my best friend. He wouldn't let them die."
The irony of that statement hit me hard. Shane, who would try to kill Rick. Shane, who would become obsessed with Lori. Shane, my uncle, who needed to be saved from himself.
We headed back down and were just leaving when I heard voices outside.
"Don't move!"
Rick and I froze. We stepped out onto the porch with our hands up. There was a black man pointing a baseball bat at us. Behind him was a boy, maybe ten years old, also holding a smaller bat.
Morgan and Duane. Just like the show.
"We're people," Rick said quickly. "We aren't infected. I'm Rick Grimes. Police officer. This is my house."
Morgan studied us carefully, then slowly lowered the bat.
"Grimes? Rick Grimes?"
"Yeah. You know me?"
"Shane talked about you," Morgan said. "Said you were dead. Said you'd been shot before all this started."
"I was in a coma," Rick explained. "Woke up two days ago in the hospital."
Morgan looked at us both, then nodded.
"Better get inside. This isn't a conversation for the street."
We went back into the house. Morgan drew the curtains and checked that all the doors were locked. His son Duane watched us with curiosity and a bit of fear.
"I'm Morgan Jones," he introduced himself. "This is my son, Duane. We got to town a few days ago. Looking for somewhere safe."
"What happened?" Rick asked. "How did this start?"
Morgan sat down and began to explain. The sickness, the dead rising, the collapse of society. I already knew all of this, but hearing Morgan tell it—seeing the pain in his eyes when he mentioned his wife...
His wife. The woman who had become a walker. The one Morgan couldn't kill because he still loved her.
"Your family?" Morgan finally asked, looking at Rick.
"Gone," Rick said. "But they took things. I think Shane evacuated them."
"Shane mentioned something about a camp," Morgan said. "Said they were headed toward Atlanta—that there was a camp on the outskirts. A quarry, I think."
My heart raced. This was the information we needed.
"A quarry?" Rick asked, leaning forward. "Did he say where?"
Morgan shook his head.
"Not specifically. But he mentioned it was northeast of Atlanta. Said there was a big group there, that they were safe."
Rick stood up immediately.
"I have to go. I have to find them."
"Rick," I said. "It's almost dark. Traveling at night is suicide."
Morgan nodded.
"The kid's right. The dead are more active at dusk. Stay here tonight. I'll give you more info in the morning. And there's a police station in town. Guns, ammo. You can stock up before you head out."
Rick wanted to argue—I could see it in his face. But he knew we were right.
"Fine," he finally said. "One night. But we leave at dawn."
We spent the rest of the day at Rick's house. Morgan shared his food with us—not much, but appreciated. I pulled some tomatoes from my pack, and we all ate together.
Duane looked at me curiously.
"How'd you get fresh tomatoes?" he asked.
"Found 'em," I said simply. It wasn't technically a lie.
As we ate, Morgan told us more about what he'd seen. The herds of walkers that passed through town every night. How you could avoid them if you were quiet. The mistakes people made that got them killed.
"Don't be heroes," he warned. "Heroes die fast in this world."
Rick listened intently, soaking up every piece of advice. So did I, even though I knew most of it. But Morgan had survived in the real world, not a TV show. His experience was gold.
When it got dark, Morgan showed us the second floor.
"You can stay here," he said. "But stay away from the windows. There's one out there."
"One?" Rick asked.
Morgan didn't answer, but the pain in his eyes said it all.
Later, when we were alone in one of the guest rooms, Rick finally confronted me.
"Alright, Jon. Time for you to tell me everything. What was that business with the plants at the hospital?"
I sighed. I couldn't put it off any longer.
"It's... you're going to think I'm crazy."
"I've seen dead men walking. At this point, nothing's going to surprise me."
I sat on the bed and told him. Well, I told him a version of the truth. I told him that since I woke up in the hospital, I could make plants grow. That it was like I could feel them, connect with them, control them. I told him I thought the virus had changed me somehow, given me this ability.
I didn't tell him about the reincarnation. I didn't tell him I knew the future. That was too much, too soon.
Rick listened in silence, his face unreadable. When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
"Show me," he finally said.
There was a half-dead houseplant in the room. I reached my hand out and made it grow. The withered leaves turned green; new buds emerged. In seconds, the plant was lush and healthy.
Rick let out a low whistle.
"That's... incredible. And useful. Very useful."
"You don't think I'm a monster?" I asked, surprised by his calm reaction.
"A monster? Jon, you just grew food out of nowhere. In a world where food is going to become the most valuable resource, you're probably the most important person I could meet." He leaned forward. "But you need to be careful who you tell this to. Some people... they might try to use you. Or hurt you because you're different."
I nodded. Rick understood. Of course he understood.
"Will you tell the others? Shane?"
Rick considered this.
"Shane's your uncle. He'd protect you. But you're right to be cautious. For now, this stays between us. When we find the group—when I know they can be trusted—then we can decide what to do."
"Thanks, Rick."
"Don't thank me. You saved my life at the hospital. You waited for me. You helped me when you could have run off alone. This... this is the least I can do."
We sat in silence for a while. Outside, I could hear distant moans. The walkers Morgan had mentioned, roaming the streets.
"Rick," I finally said. "About Shane..."
"What about him?"
"Just... when you see him, when you see your family... it's going to be complicated. Shane thought you were dead. He probably told Lori and Carl you were dead. They've been mourning you."
Rick nodded slowly.
"I know. It's going to be hard for everyone. But we're family, Jon. Shane, Lori, Carl, and me. We'll get through it together."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't tell him that Shane would fall in love with Lori. That he would try to kill him. That he would become the first major threat Rick would face.
But I could try to prevent it. Shane was my uncle. And despite what he did in the show, in this world—in this timeline—maybe I could save him. Maybe I could stop him from making the choices that would turn him into a villain.
I had to try.
"We should sleep," I said. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Rick nodded.
"Yeah. We'll hit the police station, stock up, and then head straight for that quarry. With any luck, by tomorrow night, I'll be with my family again."
He lay down on one of the beds. I took the other. Through the window, I could see the moon, nearly full, lighting up the empty streets of the town.
Somewhere out there was Shane. My uncle. The man I needed to save from himself.
Somewhere out there was the camp. The farm. Alexandria. All the places I would come to know.
And somewhere in the future were all the threats. The Saviors. Negan. The Whisperers. Alpha and Beta.
But there were also the opportunities. The people I could save. Andrea. Dale. Hershel. Glenn. Tara. Everyone who died in the original timeline.
I turned over in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
"I'm going to change everything," I whispered to the silence. "I'm going to make it worth it."
There was no answer, only the wind blowing outside and the distant moans of the dead.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Tomorrow, the real journey would begin.