4 Chapter 4

I shook his hand, noting the strong grip. He didn't seem to trust me yet, but I expected that. People weren't the same as before. They were dangerous.

"Come on in," he said, guiding me into the candlelit living room, his boy following us from behind. Once I sat down, he squared me a look as he raised a small can of what looked like tuna, with a spoon sticking out, and held it towards me.

'It looked like I had interrupted them while they were eating,' I thought, giving Morgan a negative shake of the head. He shrugged at that and continued eating. His watchful eyes as he ate made me feel a little uncomfortable.

"This was Fred and Cindy Drake's place. Do you have any idea where they went?" I asked Morgan. He ignored my question as he vacuumed up the last few bites of tuna and lowered his can beside him. His jacket wiping clean his oily lips before he looked up and responded.

"I don't know about none of these people you talking 'bout. It was empty when we got here. I don't know nuttin about where they went," he said, his eyes wandering yellow walls filled with picture frames.

"Have you seen anybody nearby? Maybe an older woman and a kid around twelve," I continued, the man's eyes softening at my words.

"I ain't seen hide nor hair of anybody in weeks," he sighed, giving me a sympathetic glance. "The only thing we've seen around here is walkers. No people, no woman, no nuttin."

"Just what are those things? Those walkers you're talking about?" I asked, getting a raised eyebrow from both.

"You don't know about the walkers? If you've been out there, they're impossible to miss. What have you been doing the last few weeks, friend?" he asked, both he and his son looking at me like I was some kind of anomaly.

"I… I just came from Grady. I don't remember much, only that I was shot. And next thing I know, I had woken up in Grady memorial, the whole place in ruins," I said, making Morgan's eyes widen.

"That's quite some story," he said, his eyes scrutinising me. "So you don't know about everything that happened then?"

"No. I don't know anything. Everything still feels like a dream," I responded with a bitter laugh.

"So then you don't know," he repeated, nodding his head almost in pity. "Friend, a lot has happened while you've been dreaming in the hospital. A lot has happened."

"You mean the bodies. Like the ones in the loading dock," I said, getting only a sad nod.

"Yeah, like the bodies. But that's just the ones they put down. Not the ones that keep walking. The walkers. They tear a chunk out'u until ya turn into one'a them," he said, his hands trembling as his voice quivered a touch.

"I seen it with my own two eyes," Duane added, his sad eyes meeting mine, making his father put his arm around his shoulder.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, getting only a shake of the head from Morgan, who kept comforting Duane.

"We gotta go on a run soon. We're running out of food," Morgan said, looking at me. "I don't know If I can help you much with finding your family. But we could sure do with some help if you're willing. Maybe we can see If we can find them."

"I'd be happy to help," I said, my words surprisingly sincere, getting a grateful smile from Morgan.

—

"They react to noise the most," said Morgan, little Duane following just behind. "That's why when we do these food runs, I try and never use my gun. They come swarming otherwise. Cause when there's a group of them, you really gotta watch your ass."

"I understand. Where are we going anyway?" I responded, making Morgan slow half a step.

"We keep things simple and take what we can from the nearby houses. But we've had to push further and further out as the days go by. We've already picked clean anywhere with food nearby," he said, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a walker waddling a little down the road from us.

"That's a walker," Morgan said, his eyes sharp. "Duane, you stay close. We're gonna deal with the one ahead, okay."

"Okay, daddy, you get that sum'a bitch," Duane said, his father giving him a disapproving look before turning to me. "You ready to get your first walker."

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," I responded, my hands holding the baseball bat tightening their grip.

We edged forward, moving up the sun-kissed roads. The walker was oblivious to our approach until we were within a few metres. When it turned and snarled at us, its flayed cheeks flapping as it started stumbling towards us.

I gave my bat one more reassuring squeeze before I stepped forward and levelled my bat at the skull of the infected. It absorbed the blow, but another blow followed from Morgan. The impact made it tumble to the floor. Where I swung down and began to pummel its skull—eventually making it stop moving altogether.

After I stopped swinging, I fell to my knee. The adrenaline disappeared, and the mix of nausea and pain from my gunshot made me take a moment.

"You alright," asked Morgan in a worried tone, but I waved him off, asking for a moment. I soon got myself together and stood back up, meeting Morgan's eyes.

"I'm fine. Let's keep going," I said, getting an uneasy nod from Morgan, who continued forward.

We moved through the rows of terraced houses, taking out the occasional walker we came across. The whole town felt eerie. The only sound of activity audible the buzz of crickets and the infrequent birdcalls from the treetops. Nothing like the town I could remember from my memories. And it had me constantly on edge.

Morgan and Duane also looked uneasy, but they seemed more used to it compared to me. This had been their reality for a while now. I knew this was how it would be from now on, but honestly, seeing this dead world with my own eyes and experiencing it, I felt dread. Not just for the state of the world, but for the future I had to live through.

We soon found what we came looking for, Morgan and Duane finding a house they hadn't checked just a few blocks away. The food and drink in the house enough to last them for another couple days.

It wasn't much, but they had become used to it after a few weeks. The rationing, that is. I carried a fair amount in a rucksack I had borrowed from them and stepped outside, waiting for Morgan and Duane to finish up inside. I had gone outside for some air, as well as to keep an eye out.

I didn't see anything for the first few moments, but then I saw something from across the road, a little down the slope. There was a walker that had wandered from the backyard of a house. It also spotted me from across the street and walked headlong into a bushed fence, getting stuck.

It snarled at me, and I felt I realised it looked a bit like Duane. And it took a second before it clicked, and I realised it was probably his mother—the one who'd died to a bite. And the very same reason Duane would die in the future. I felt like this was a perfect opportunity. And a compulsion overcame me to drop my bag and move closer.

My bat primed at the snarling face. That, as I neared, increasingly resembled Duane. I knew I might get some negative feelings from Morgan and Duane for doing this, but they hadn't told me about her. Only alluded. And neither did I see her like the original in the show. So regardless of the damage, it wouldn't be irreparable, if any at all.

I looked at her, trying desperately to get at me through the bush, and I thought, 'this is sad.' And it was sad, at least to me. A living, breathing person with a loving husband and child, reduced to something less than an animal.

And felt a sliver of anger at Morgan for even leaving her like this. But that unreasonable emotion was soon suppressed by equal part sympathy and resolve as I raised my bat and swung it. Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack!

Four swings. That was all it took. And I knew they had saved a boy's life. The feeling making an overwhelming warmth flood my body. Something I'd most aptly describe as a sense of accomplishment.

And for the first time, I felt a sense of optimism for the future. Thinking maybe I could make a difference. Use this whole crazy situation and do something meaningful. Utilising my knowledge of this world, too, again and again, prevent tragedies like the fate of Duane from repeating.

'Maybe this happened for a reason,' I thought before I heard the voice of Morgan coming from behind.

"You alright, Rick," he said, the sound of his footsteps coming up from behind me. He was relieved seeing me unharmed, but his breath halted when he saw the body of the walker in front of me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But shouldn't I be asking you that, Morgan? You look like you've seen a ghost," I said, feeling bad.

He didn't respond, and instead, his watery vacant eyes looked at the corpse ahead, his face tense as he tried to open his mouth and speak, but nothing came out. Duane came up from behind, but I moved to intercept him. Walking him away to give Morgan a moment.

The boy initially protested but went quiet as Morgan said, "Duane, follow Rick. I'll only be a minute." His trembling, stern voice pacifying him.

I returned to the other side of the street and sat on the curb, waiting for Morgan. The man did not move a single inch. However, I heard his voice speaking, talking to what remained of his wife in what would likely be a final farewell.

And soon, he had finished whatever he was doing and moved back toward me and Duane, his eyes visibly red. He gave Duane a reassuring hug before ushering him forward and turning to me.

"Thank you," he said, surprising me a bit.

"You don't need to thank me. It wasn't my place to do that. I didn't know. At least not at first," I replied. Morgan shook his head profusely as he laughed and grabbed my shoulder, bringing me into a hug.

"No, I do. I promised myself the next time I saw her; I'd do it. I'd put her down. But when I saw her just now. Saw you had taken care of her. I was relieved. So I didn't have to do it myself. To kill my Jennie," said Morgan. "So thank you, Rick. Thank you."

After that, it was a silent walk back. And I waited until we were near my house before I stopped Morgan. "I need to check my house to see If there's any clue where my wife and kid went," I said, getting a nod from Morgan, who hollered at Duane and followed me into the house.

We looked around, and Morgan didn't seem optimistic about their chances. But after pointing out the lack of clothes and missing picture frames and albums, he broke out into a laugh and sat at the table looking up at me.

"My wife. Same thing. There I am packing survival gear, and she's packing photo albums," said Morgan, with sad remembrance.

"They're in Atlana, I bet," spoke Duane, breaking the silence and getting his father's agreement.

"Why there?" I asked, keeping up the clueless act. My ability to lie so easily starting to worry me.

"Refugee centre. Huge one they said before the broadcast stopped," said Morgan. "Military protection, food, shelter. They told people to go there. Said it be safest."

"Plus, they got that disease place," added Duane, getting his father to turn.

"Centre for disease control. Said they were working out how to solve this thing," he clarified—getting me to nod.

"So Atlana's my best bet?" I asked, getting the affirmative from both. "You have any thoughts of going to Atlanta with me?"

Morgan seemed undecided. I had assumed that the thing tying Morgan down to this place was his wife still wandering around. But even despite that, he appeared to have some reservations. "From what you've described of everything now, I'd figured sticking together has got to be safer, right? You watch my back, and I'll watch yours kinda thing."

"Daddy, we were headed to Atlana anyway. Why don't we just go with Rick? We've been putting it off," said Duane, thawing more of his dad's defence as he gave a begrudged nod after giving it some thought.

"It's only been gettin more dangerous," Morgan said. "I could do with an extra pair of eyes. Atlanna was on the bucket list anyway," getting a smile from me as I moved towards the key cupboard and pulled the station keys off the hook.

The keys jangling in my hands as I said, "Then let's get something first."