"Oh my god," Andrea muttered, her voice breathless with disbelief. "It's like Times Square down there."
She stood near the ledge, hand gripping the concrete wall as she looked down at the sea of walkers that churned in the streets below—limbs clawing, jaws snapping, torsos bumping into burnt carn and each in slow, ceaseless tide. Next to her stood Morales, Rick, and Jacqui, each silent for a long moment, their faces pale like snow.
The noise was constant, a low groan like gravel, rising and falling.
Behind them, Glenn sat on rusted steps, walkie pressed to his mouth, while T-Dog, face swollen and a split at the lip, winced as he adjusted the battered antenna on the second radio.
"How's the signal?" Morales asked his tone sharp and worried.
T-Dog, eyes narrowed, he didn't look up. "Like Dixon's brain…" He clicked the mic again. "Weak."
Morales ignored the stare-down between Dixon and T-Dog: "Keep trying."
Andrea looked at him, her face tired, "Why? There's nothing they can do." she stepped away from the ledge, "Not a damn thing."
Rick glanced her way, brow drawn together in thought. He looked at Morales, something silently pleading behind his eyes. Morales caught it, sighed, and answered the unspoken question.
"Got some people out of the city, is all," he said calmly. "There's no refugee center, that's a pipe dream."
Rick nodded slowly, and he turned back to the street, eyes scanning the crowd beneath. His voice came low but firm, "Then she's right, it's up to us to find a way out."
"Good luck with that," Merle barked from behind them. "The street ain't safe in this part of the town from what I hear." he licked his cracked lips, turning toward Andrea with a leering grin. "Ain't that right, sugar tits?"
Andrea rolled her eyes and looked away in disgust. No one responded, even Rick didn't bother, just another Merle comment.
Rick stared at the mass below, thinking, "There's gotta be some other way, what about under the streets? Sewers?"
Glenn's head perked up. He darted across the rooftop to the far edge and looked down, scanning the narrow alleyway that split the building below. A few walkers milled about, but no manhole, no visible access. He returned, shaking his head.
"None, must be all out on the street where the geeks are."
Silence fell for a moment. Then Jacqui spoke up, voice measured. "Buildings built in the twenties, some of them had drainage tunnels. Connected to the old sewer systems. You'd have to get down to the subbasement."
Glenn looked at her, blinking. "How do you know that?"
Jacqui turned to him, 'It's my job… was," she corrects herself, "City zoning office."
***
"This is it?" Rick asked Glenn, looking at the tunnel entrance, Morales, Andrea, and Jacqui followed behind, with torches in hand.
"I scoped this whole place last time I came here," Glenn began, "It's the only thing in here that goes down."
"Who'd want to, right?" Glenn chuckled and looked at the group.
They all looked at him, as if they had found an answer to his question.
"Oh." Glenn sighed, "Great."
"We'll be right behind you," Rick assured him.
"No, you won't." Glenn blurted out.
"Why not, think we can't?" Andrea scowled at him, a little pissed.
"I wasn't…" Glenn muttered, shutting up.
Rick tapped his back, "Speak your mind."
Glenn looks at the group, doubt visible on his face, then turns to Rick, getting the courage, he began, "Look, until now I always came here by myself… In and out, grab a few things... No problem. The first time I bring a group… Everything goes to hell." he finally stops, "No offense."
He sighed as the group stared at him, unable to put up an argument of their own.
"If you want me to go down this gnarly hole, fine… But only if we do it my way."
***
Glenn told them what to do. Jacqui stayed in the subbasement; if something happened, she could yell for them to come out. Rick and Morales went to the department store, keeping an eye on the gate.
Glenn and Andrea made their way cautiously down the winding sewage tunnels beneath the city. The stale air clung thick with the acrid smell of rot and mold, but no water ran through the tunnels.
Andrea, walking behind Glenn, wrinkled her nose and asked, "You've never messed up scavenging around?"
Glenn smiled faintly over his shoulder. "Never—"
He paused, eyes distant. "Well, there was one time I needed help."
Andrea's brow rose with curiosity, trying to distract herself from the dank smell. "When?"
"I was in Macon… what was his name…" Glenn muttered, the memory had become foggy, it had been almost two months since he left Macon, then, it clicked, "Albert. Albert Wesker."
Glenn's smile faded fast as he remembered what happened that night. "But he died trying to save someone." Wesker hadn't returned to the motel the night Glenn left Macon.
She said nothing, not wanting to press him.
They moved on in silence, their footsteps echoing off the damp concrete walls. Time seemed to stretch as they searched the dark, the torchlight barely cutting through the black.
Suddenly, a narrow passage appeared to their right, sealed off with heavy iron bars. Glenn's eyes flicked sharply to it just before four walkers lunged against the metal, rattling it violently. In their clawed hands was a rat, half-chewed and twitching.
Glenn and Andrea both moved back, adrenaline surging, and Andrea raised her gun instinctively.
"Don't," Glenn hissed urgently, gripping her wrist. "They can't get through."
Andrea lowered her weapon, looking at it, slightly confused. She had pressed the trigger, but it didn't shoot.
***
Meanwhile, Morales and Rick explored the department store, a vast place filled with all kinds of things that were no longer needed.
Suddenly, the sharp crash of breaking glass shattered the uneasy quiet.
Both men turned toward the front doors just in time to see a horde of walkers break through the first set of double doors.
Rick raised his gun, finger on the trigger.
Then, from the stairwell, Andrea, Glenn, and Jacqui appeared, weary and grim-faced.
"There's no way out," Glenn told Rick flatly.
Rick's jaw clenched. "We need to find a way… and soon."
They hurried upstairs, the sound of groaning dead echoing below, as the hopeless search for escape pressed on.
.
.
All of them arrived back on the rooftop, breath heavy, Rick lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes, scanning the street below. His gaze settled on a half-finished construction site just a block away, the skeletal frame of steel beams and concrete pillars standing like a ghostly fortress.
Rick pointed, voice determined, his mind was racing with ideas, he needed to get out of here, he needed to find them. "The construction site… those trucks." he nodded toward a row of idle vehicles, "They always keep keys on hand."
Glenn frowned, still wary. "You'll never make it past all those walkers out front."
Rick's eyes narrowed as he lowered his binoculars. "You got me out of that tank."
"Yeah, but they were feeding. They were distracted."
Rick rubbed his temple, thoughts racing. "We need to distract them, or… we can just…"
His words trailed off, leaving the dangerous plan hanging between them.
Without another word, he headed down with Morales, Jacqui, Andrea, and Glenn following behind him.
Rick began gathering anything useful, coats, gloves, and face shields, giving everyone a set.
In the alley adjacent to the store, they found a dead walker, slumped against the brick wall, lifeless. They dragged it into the subbasement. Rick readied an escape axe to dismember the corpse, but suddenly hesitated.
With quick fingers, he reached into the filthy pockets and pulled out a crumpled wallet. He pulled out the driver's license.
"Wayne Dunlap," he read slowly. "Georgia license, born 1979." His voice softened, the grim reality setting in. "He had twenty-two dollars in his pocket when he died… and a picture of a pretty girl."
Rick held up a worn photograph, edges frayed, of a smiling young woman with kind eyes.
"With love from Rachel," Rick murmured.
The group's eyes averted, uncomfortable with a stark reminder that the dead were once like them—people who'd worried about bills, rent, or the Super Bowl.
Rick handed the wallet to Glenn. "One more thing…"
Glenn looked at the wallet. "He was an organ donor."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, but the necessity was clear.
Rick raised the axe again, but didn't hesitate this time, hacking into the walker's rotting body. The sickening wet thud of blade meeting flesh echoed in the quiet basement. Andrea, Jacqui, and Morales helped smear the rotting flesh and guts onto the coats Glenn and Rick wore.
"We need more guts," Rick said and raised his axe.
.
.
They stepped into the alleyway, the whiff of the dead city hit their nose, and Glenn was fighting the urge to vomit from his own smell. Rick's jaw was tightened, the photo of the woman still etched in his mind.
Walkers filled the streets—hundreds of them, maybe more—staggering, snarling, slamming against broken-down cars and buildings like drunk ghosts.
Without speaking, Glenn and Rick fell into step with the horde.
Their pace shifted, becoming crooked and erratic. Shoulders slumped. Head lowered, Feet dragged.
It wasn't learned, it was instinct. Somewhere between fear and survival, even though it slowed them down, they knew if they walked as humans, the walkers would catch on to it.
Rick's heart hammered in his chest, and his grip on the axe tightened. He kept his eyes forward. Glenn, beside him, twitched every time one of the dead bumped into him, his fingers trembling on the crowbar he was holding.
They shuffled through the hellscape.
Past the wrecked pharmacy, past the body hanging from a lamppost, past the wreckage of a school bus that had stopped in the middle of the street months ago. And finally, past the edge of the crowd.
The iron gate stood untouched. Rick climbed past it, Glenn following quickly behind.
The moment they stepped onto the asphalt, the sky darkened.
Rain.
It started like a whisper, then built into a downpour.
Red and black streaks began to wash off the coats in ribbons. The walker limbs that clung to them grew slick and heavy. Glenn ripped his coat off first, gagging as he threw it onto the ground. Rick followed suit, tossing the ruined coat aside.
Glenn darted toward the key cabinet attached to the wall. He stuck the crowbar in the gap, breaking the lock, and took out one of the keys and tossed it to Rick.
Back on the rooftop, Andrea stepped forward, her soaked hair clinging to her cheeks. Her mouth opened, and a whisper escaped her.
"They're leaving us…"
Rain hit hard and fast, drumming against the concrete, against her shoulder, against her hope.
The others gathered behind her, staring at the fading truck as it disappeared around the corner.
"What? What?" Dixon barked from behind them.
"Where the hell are they going?" Jacqui muttered.
"No, no…" Morales shook his head, face pale.
Inside the truck, Glenn was panicking, gripping the dashboard like he would fall out of the truck.
"Oh my god, oh my god, they're everywhere. Rick!" he shouted, eyes darting to the rearview mirror, to the side mirrors, to the crowds they passed.
Rick kept his eyes focused, voice commanding. "Glenn."
Glenn didn't hear him.
"Glenn."
"What?!"
Rick pointed to the roll-up doors at the base of the department store, "You see that area? I need that cleared. You're gonna draw their attention."
"What? How am I gonna do that?"
Rick cut him off. "Raise your friends. Tell them to get down there and be ready."
Glenn stared at him like he hadn't understood a single word.
"Draw their attention?" he repeated. "I… I missed that part."
Rick's hands tightened on the wheel.
"Noise," he said simply.
Then the truck skidded into a turn, tires screeching through the rain-slick street, and the real part of the plan began.
.
.
Rick and Glenn stopped in a place that was void of walkers but filled with cars. Rick spotted a Mustang in the distance, and he took the crowbar and triggered the car alarm.
Instantly, the groans of the dead intensified in the distance, echoing through the empty streets.
Rick climbed into the seat, reached under the wheel, and started yanking at wires with a screwdriver.
The engine roared to life.
Glenn took the wheel and followed behind Rick's truck, with the car's alarm screaming, which to walkers was like the ice cream truck to the children.
They dragged behind them, as Rick turned toward the department store, leaving Glenn to lead the walkers elsewhere.
Back on the rooftop, Glenn's voice crackled through the radio.
"Those roll-up doors facing the streets. Meet us down there and be ready."
The group jumped to their feet, adrenaline surging.
Andrea and Jacqui were first, picking up the duffle bag, with focused eyes. Morales grabbed his. T-Dog moved last, limping but determined.
They ran toward the stairwell.
"Wait!" Merle's voice exploded behind them, "Wait! Don't leave me!"
He moved, but not so far, one arm still cuffed to the pipe. He waved his free hand desperately, soaked in sweat and rain.
"Don't you dare leave me here!"
T-Dog stopped at the door, torn.
He glanced at the rusted toolbox beside the doorframe, jaw clenched. He picked it up, ran to Dixon, and dropped it beside him with a clatter.
"What the hell is this?" Merle snapped, eyes wide. "What the hell am I gonna to do with this? Give me the fucking key!"
T-Dog looked at him, breathing heavily, regret in his eyes as he stepped back, walking away from the pleading man.
"I don't have the key," he muttered, loud enough for Merle to hear even with his screaming.
Then, without another word, T-Dog ran to the stairwell.
Before he left, he slammed the metal rooftop door shut—using the chain hanging on the door, he wrapped it around the handle and used the lock.
"You son of a bitch! Don't leave me! You coward—" Merle screamed, squirming on the ground, trying to break the cuffs
***
Meanwhile, Rick backed up, aligning the truck to the doors.
Inside the department store, the others raced down the steps, reaching the door and grabbing onto the rope that would open the door.
Then, three bangs from outside.
Rick's signal.
All four of them pulled down on the rope, it groaned and rattled as it rose, letting in the gust of rain, wind.
As the group began to put the bags into the truck, they heard a glass break inside. The last door of the department store burst open.
Walkers poured in, dozens of them, their silhouettes framed by flickering light. Their snarls filled the air as they surged.
Rick slammed the accelerator as Morales jumped in.
Tires screeched. The truck lunched forward, and Morales slid down the truck's door as a walker's arm scraped against the bumper.
They were out.
Water sprayed behind them as the truck tore through the streets, the horde chasing in a mindless, hungry tide.
Inside the truck, soaked and panting, the group was silent. The adrenaline hadn't faded, only settled.
Rick kept his eyes ahead, jaw tight.
"Merle?" he asked suddenly, his voice hollow.
T-Dog swallowed, his expression twisted in guilt.
"I didn't have the key," he said quietly.
Rick blinked, and his hands slid into his pockets.
The key is still there.
He stared at it for a long moment, lips parted in shock. He just killed a man. He clenched the key in his hand, his lips twitching, and he punched the steering wheel.
No one said anything.
Until Andrea looked up, "Where's Glenn?"
.
.
Across the city, in the red Mustang, Glenn was howling with laughter.
He swerved around a pile of overturned vans, honking wildly, the engine roaring like a beast through the rain, the car alarm hadn't stopped, turning every walker's attention to him.
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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