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_____
Chapter 3
The world was quiet in the way only the end of the world could be, no cars on the roads, no hum of civilization, just the distant caw of crows and the growl of undead.
But inside the compound, life thrummed.
Dozens of men moved with purpose and coordination across the compound.
Guards perched in towers scanned the horizon, their silhouettes still and alert.
On the ground, mechanics barked to one another over the growl of engines, welding torches throwing sparks into the air.
The sharp tang of oil and gasoline clung to the air, mixing with the savory, comforting scent of something baking, bread maybe, or biscuits, in one of the makeshift ovens someone had cobbled together in the back.
Rick was off to the side, being ordered to only watch by Leo, much to his chagrin.
But seeing them work, it made sense why he did so.
He would have only gotten in the way.
He saw how each of his men worked like a well-oiled machine, fast and proficient.
"Doc, Hound, Hawk!" Leo called, voice echoing across the concrete as he approached the rear of the SUV with supplies carried by other masked men.
They snapped to attention and jogged over.
"Put these in the car.
The trio immediately got to work loading the last of the crates into the back of the vehicle.
Inside: stacks of canned food labeled in black marker, sealed water jugs, med kits packed with gauze, antiseptics, painkillers.
A box of ammo clinked dully as Hawk slotted it into place.
And resting at the top of the final crate was a black satchel packed with extra melee weapons, sidearms, and a compact emergency flare.
Once they got everything into the vehicle, they then climbed in themselves.
Leo moved through the process like a general checking his soldiers. His fingers brushed each container, eyes scanning every detail, and he muttered to himself as if mentally crossing items off an invisible checklist.
Rick leaned against the open door of the driver's seat, arms folded as he watched. "Looks like you've done this before."
"More times than I can count," Leo replied without looking up. "Supply drops, rescue runs, recon missions. You name it, we've done it."
Rick raised a brow.
That raised more than a few questions, one being how someone so young ended up in charge of such things?
"And you trust me with this much?"
Leo paused, glanced over, then gave a small shrug.
"Wouldn't've packed it if I didn't."
Rick exhaled slowly and climbed into the SUV, running his hands along the steering wheel.
The leather was worn but clean. The ignition was already prepped, and a laminated map was tucked into the glovebox with a red circle drawn thick around "ATLANTA."
Leo walked around to the driver's window, resting his arm casually against the edge.
"That's everything," he said. "Food, water, medicine, backup weapons—check, check, check, and check."
Rick turned toward him, face unreadable for a long moment. Then, his voice came low, sincere.
"I owe you."
Leo just smirked beneath the shadow of his hood. "Don't get all sentimental on me, Sheriff."
"I mean it," Rick said, firmer now. "You didn't have to do any of this."
"Yeah, well, I did. And you can't do anything about it~!"
With a half-laugh and a dramatic roll of his eyes, Leo pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and held it out through the window.
Rick took it carefully, unsure of the weight in his hand.
"What's this for?" he asked.
"In case you're in deep shit," Leo said, tapping the side of the walkie. "And you need me to get you out of it."
Rick's eyes flicked up to his. "That a joke?"
"Nope," Leo said with a crooked grin. "If you run into real trouble, bad trouble, call me. Doesn't matter where, it doesn't matter when. You hit that button, I'll come and save your ass."
Rick studied him, the young man who stood like a war-seasoned veteran in a teenager's body. He wore that battered dragon mask like armor, but behind it, Rick could still see the weariness in his posture.
The weight he carried.
The responsibility.
"You serious?" Rick asked finally.
Leo's smile faded, but only slightly. "Always."
Silence fell again, the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.
Then Rick dipped his head slightly. "Thank you. For all of it."
"If you thank me one more time and I'ma have to slap you," Leo warned flatly, folding his arms.
The boy stared him dead in the eye, dead serious.
Rick smirked. "…Thank—"
He ducked just in time as Leo's hand shot forward in a mock bitch slap, laughter slipping out before either of them could stop it.
Leo backed away from the vehicle, the smirk still playing across his lips. Then he went still, expression darkening just slightly as he spoke again.
"You go find your family," he said, tone low, serious. "Don't look back unless you have to."
Rick's grip tightened on the wheel. His eyes flicked up to meet Leo's.
He took in everything: the compound, the guards in the towers, the people he was protecting, the children playing inside the shelter walls, their laughter faint but real.
How the hell did this kid become the beating heart of all this?
Rick swallowed thickly.
The SUV rumbled to life beneath Rick's hands, the engine roaring with a smooth purr thanks to the mechanics' fine-tuning.
Leo raised two fingers in a lazy salute, the motion almost mocking, almost sincere.
It was impossible to tell which.
Rick gave a tight nod, jaw clenched, emotions caught somewhere between gratitude and regret.
And then he shifted into gear.
The vehicle rolled forward slowly at first, bumping over cracked pavement and scattered gravel.
As the SUV picked up speed and turned out onto the road, Rick glanced once in the rearview mirror.
Leo stood alone now, the others already back to work, their footsteps a fading chorus of movement and life.
_____
The road stretched out ahead like a scar across a broken world.
Rick drove in silence, the hum of the engine steady, the tires crunching over debris and bits of shattered glass.
Atlanta.
That was the mission.
He kept glancing at the walkie-talkie.
It sat in the passenger seat like a loaded gun, full of potential.
A lifeline in a dead world.
Leo's words echoed in his head.
"You hit that button, I'll come and save your ass."
He still couldn't believe it.
A kid, no, a leader, who moved like he'd lived a dozen lives before this one. Who laughed like the world wasn't ending, but fought like he knew it was.
Rick clenched the wheel tighter.
A walker stumbled out onto the road, dragging a broken leg behind it.
He accelerated.
The body crumpled beneath the front of the SUV, tossed aside like a ragdoll. Rick barely blinked, his thoughts far from the road now.
They were on his family.
Lori.
Carl.
Were they alive?
Were they safe?
His grip tightened again.
"Hold on," he muttered to the air. "I'm coming."
___
…
…
Time ticked by.
…
…
Hours slowly disappearing.
…
…
Yet not a single word was said among the four men.
Rick figured the silence was just tension at first, that it was because no one wanted to be the one to break the ice first.
"Alright," he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he glanced at the trio in the back. "So… Doc, Hound, Hawk, huh? That's what he called you."
No answer.
Rick glanced into the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of their masks.
All three of them sat still, eyes ahead or slightly down, weapons laid across their laps. Not even the dog, seated obediently between its master and the door, made a sound.
Rick cleared his throat, tried again.
"I'm Rick Grimes, in case you didn't know. Used to be a sheriff, back before… You know. All this."
Still nothing.
The SUV rolled on, engine humming.
Rick waited, giving them time.
Maybe they were just slow to warm up to strangers.
God knew he could be.
After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Rick glanced back again.
"Do you guys always travel like this? I mean, don't you ever talk? Even a little?"
Not even a twitch.
Even the damn dog refused to bark.
Rick exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, "You've gotta be kidding me…"
The road dragged on, cracked asphalt stretching out into nowhere. They passed the wrecks of cars, some burned out, some just skeletons of what they used to be. Trees clawed at the sides of the road like they were trying to reclaim it.
The world was truly broken.
And the only company Rick had was the buzz of tires and the unshakable silence of three masked ghosts.
Hours passed like that.
Rick almost forgot what another voice sounded like.
He could only thank god that they were only a few minutes away from their destination.
Then suddenly—tap.
Rick jerked slightly in surprise, head whipping to the side.
Hound had reached forward from the backseat and tapped him firmly on the shoulder with two fingers, then pointed ahead.
Up the road sat an old farmhouse, faded white paint peeling in the sun.
A mailbox leaned drunkenly off its post.
The fields beside it were overgrown, but still fenced.
A tractor lay rusting in the tall grass.
Rick opened his mouth. "Why—?"
He stopped himself. No point.
Instead, he sighed, flicked on the blinker even though no one was around to see it, and pulled the SUV over onto the gravel shoulder.
As soon as the vehicle slowed to a stop, the three men moved in sync, like gears in a machine.
Doc and Hawk wordlessly popped their doors open and headed straight for the house.
Hound went around back, the dog at his side, and opened the rear of the SUV.
To Rick's growing disbelief, the man began pulling out a saddle.
A saddle.
Since when did they pack that in the car?
He blinked as he watched Hound walk to the back of the house with the saddle.
"You've got to be shitting me…"
Sure enough, Hound led out a horse, an actual horse, from behind the barn.
The animal whinnied softly, and the dog trotted beside it, still not making a sound.
He watched in disbelief as the man casually got on the horse and began trotting ahead.
The former cop could only shake his head as he watched them go before turning his attention back to the other two raiding the house like it was routine.
Doc came out first with two plastic jugs of fuel, shaking one to listen to the slosh, and a shotgun.
Hawk followed with a pillowcase full of what looked like canned goods and everything else in the house that could be of use.
Rick watched in stunned silence.
They were too efficient.
Too practiced.
Like they've done this hundreds of times before.
Doc popped the trunk without a word.
The two jugs thunked against the SUV floor, followed by the shotgun.
Hawk added the overstuffed pillowcase without glancing at Rick, then returned inside like he was checking for anything they missed.
Rick blinked, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Doc adjusted his mask as he passed Rick, eyes barely flicking his way.
Rick knew that look, it was a look that said, 'Why are you still sitting on your lazy ass instead of helping?'
He stepped out of the SUV, boots crunching on gravel as he followed the path toward the porch.
The door creaked open as Rick pushed inside.
The smell of a rotting body hit him first, causing him to gag before he started looking around.
Inside, he saw a kitchen in disarray.
Drawers yanked open, a chair overturned, and picture frames emptied of photos.
Rick swallowed thickly.
Hawk was in the pantry, scanning shelves like a machine. He grabbed a half-used bottle of aspirin, checked the silverware, then tossed both into a bag.
Rick spoke up, voice low. "Did you even check if anyone lived here?"
Hawk didn't stop moving and didn't answer.
Rick frowned. "I asked you a question."
Still silence.
Then Hawk turned, passed Rick, and exited the house without so much as a glance.
Rick followed him out, frustration bubbling under his skin. "You can ignore me all you want, but I know you hear me."
No answer.
The only reply was the soft clatter of the SUV's trunk closing again.
Hawk stood at the driver-side rear door, loading the last of the goods.
Doc handed something to Hound, a weird-looking device, and the man nodded once before tucking it away under his mask.
Rick stood by the passenger side, arms folded.
"You know, a single sentence wouldn't kill any of you."
Nothing.
Not even a damn shrug.
"Look, I don't need you to talk my ear of-"
He stopped what he was about to say when Hawk turned and pointed at the window of the house.
"They're over there."
A frightening, deep voice escaped from him, causing Rick to almost flinch at how unnaturally deep it was.
"What the hell was that?" Rick muttered, stepping back slightly. "Why do you sound like that?"
Hawk didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his mask and pulled out a small, boxy device. He held it out briefly for Rick to see.
Rick stared at it, frowning.
Hawk turned and climbed back into the SUV like the conversation never happened.
Doc followed after giving Rick the barest of glances, pulling the door shut with a quiet thunk.
The engine idled patiently.
Rick stood there for a moment longer, head spinning.
Trying to shake off the chill that clung to him, Rick turned and walked to the side of the farmhouse.
The window Hawk had pointed to was cracked and grimy, but not broken. He cupped a hand against the glass to peer inside.
His stomach dropped.
There, in the middle of what used to be a cozy living room, lay the corpses of a man and woman.
A husband and wife, from the looks of it.
They sat slumped on a ratty couch, leaning into each other, arms tangled like they'd tried to hold one another in the end.
Each had a shotgun wound under the chin.
Blood and bone painted the wall behind them like a mural of despair.
Rick recoiled a half step, swallowing hard.
His eyes drifted down to the empty shotgun shell casings on the floor, and then it clicked.
The shotgun…
The one Doc had casually carried back to the SUV.
They'd found the couple.
Saw the choice they made.
And took the one thing worth taking right from the corpse without a second thought.
Rick stared at the bodies a moment longer, then quietly turned away from the window.
He trudged back to the SUV, opened the driver's door, and got in.
His hands settled on the wheel, motionless.
So many questions buzzed in his skull.
But none of it came out.
Rick took one last look at the farmhouse through the side mirror, then shifted the vehicle into gear.
_____
The sun hung low by the time the city finally came into view.
Atlanta.
Or… what was left of it.
Even from a distance, the destruction was obvious.
The skyline, once proud and gleaming, was marred by columns of broken silhouettes.
Several buildings looked like they'd collapsed in on themselves, others blackened by fire and time.
Helicopters lie like dead birds on rooftops or impaled through the streets. Choked streets shimmered under the heat, layered in wreckage and ash.
The city was silent, but that silence was not peace.
It was a warning.
Rick slowly brought the SUV to a crawl.
The road leading out was blocked with cars, wrecked, flipped, or left abandoned with their doors still open and the dead long gone… or not.
Bodies littered the edges.
Some dried into husks.
Others were fresh enough to make his gut churn.
And more than once, something moved in the wreckage.
Walkers.
A lot of them.
Rick swallowed, the noise loud in his ears.
Hawk, sitting behind him, tapped once on the glass between the front seats.
Rick looked back.
Hawk raised one finger, then gestured to the side of the road.
"Pull over."
Rick did.
The SUV rolled to a halt beside a semi-truck angled sideways across two lanes, offering a decent view of the road ahead, but more importantly, a small blind spot to keep the vehicle hidden.
Rick turned back. "What's going on?"
Hawk leaned forward slightly.
The mechanical voice that followed was low and crackled.
"This is as far as we go by car."
Rick frowned. "Why?"
Doc turned his head slightly, as if already expecting the question.
Hound, on his horse, was already scanning the surrounding buildings.
"The city's blocked," Hawk explained. "Too many wrecks, too much rubble, and too many walkers."
Rick nodded slowly, eyes flicking back to the path ahead.
Of course.
It made sense.
"You're saying we walk the rest of the way."
"Yes."
Rick looked forward again, at the shattered remnants of civilization, the buildings that rose like tombstones in the distance, and the shadows that flickered through alleyways like vultures biding their time.
"All right," he muttered.
He put the car into park and opened the door.
The air was hotter now, heavy with the stench of smoke and rot.
He circled to the back and popped the trunk.
With practiced movements, he packed a light kit: a compact med bag, two full canteens, a flashlight, road flares, a handful of protein bars, and a map.
Then he pulled a revolver from the satchel and a baseball bat for Malee.
He hesitated at the last moment, then grabbed the walkie-talkie from the console and clipped it to his vest.
Just in case.
When he closed the trunk, the others were already assembled.
Doc carried the larger medpack but was armed with a spear.
Hawk had a scoped sniper slung around his back, and in his hands was a crossbow.
Hound was on foot, his horse now inside an abandoned horse trailer that was luckily nearby, and left behind without hesitation, like they knew it wouldn't survive the city.
Even the dog was alert now, head low, ears perked forward.
Watching.
Waiting.
Rick walked up beside them, the only one without a mask.
He took a breath, slow and steady.
"All right," he said. "Let's move."
No one replied.
But they did.
They moved through its skeletal remains in silence, four figures among the dead, each step pressing deeper into a graveyard of concrete and steel.
Rick had seen cities in crisis before on TV.
But this… this was different.
This was extinction.
Windows stared blankly down at them like hollow eyes.
Shattered glass glittered in the streets.
Burned-out cars sat like tombstones, their skeletal frames filled with ash and silence.
The air was heavy, humid with decay.
And the quiet, the sheer, suffocating quiet, was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
This was a city that should've been howling with noise and life.
…But it was deathly silent.
Rick's boots thudded softly on the broken pavement.
He glanced to his right—Doc, spear in his hands, ready, was scanning the area for a threat.
Hound was ahead, his dog prowling in tight circles, nose close to the ground.
Hawk was behind, every so often pivoting to cover their six with the smooth, mechanical precision of someone who'd done this a thousand times.
Rick gripped his revolver tightly, eyes flicking over alleyways, cars, and doorways.
Nothing moved.
"This place is too damn quiet," he muttered under his breath.
None of them responded.
He didn't expect them to.
As they rounded the corner past an overturned ambulance, Rick's thoughts began to spiral. They were close.
The shelter Leo had circled on the map was only six, maybe seven blocks away.
But what if it wasn't there?
What if it was overrun by walkers?
What if it was too lat–
Rick clenched his jaw, he refused to believe his family was dead.
But this silence, this endless, dead quiet… it was eating at him.
No survivors.
No walkers.
No nothing.
That's when he heard it.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
His head snapped up.
"Wait."
He froze.
So did the others.
Rick turned in place, squinting toward the sound, his heart suddenly pounding like a war drum in his chest.
There. High up, far above the shattered ruins and blackened buildings, he caught it.
A reflection.
The glass of a distant skyscraper shimmered briefly, and within its fractured panes, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a helicopter.
Blades turning.
It was flying low, maybe trying to find survivors, but it was there.
Real.
"Oh my God," Rick breathed.
The others had gone rigid.
Hawk lowered his crossbow and went for his gun.
Doc's head tilted upward, body tense.
Even Hound's dog let out the faintest growl.
But Rick wasn't thinking tactically.
He was thinking of hope.
"Hey!" he shouted, waving his arms. "Hey! Down here!"
"Rick—!"Hawk warned, but Rick was already moving.
He bolted forward, boots crunching over debris.
He rounded a taxi, ran into the middle of the street, and grabbed at his side, yanking the flare from his vest.
"Come on, come on…"
He held it high, arm trembling with urgency, heart hammering in his chest.
He didn't even hear Doc behind him.
Didn't notice the quick footsteps.
Didn't register the spear being dropped until—
WHAM
Rick grunted as he was tackled hard to the ground, the flare spinning from his grip and skittering across the pavement.
"Get off me!" he yelled, shoving hard.
But Doc didn't answer.
He wasn't even looking at Rick.
Rick blinked, about to launch into a furious tirade, when he saw the medic's eyes, partially visible behind the mask.
Eyes wide.
He followed Doc's gaze, confused.
Then he saw them.
From the end of the street.
From the alleys.
From shattered doorways.
From the wreckage of a subway entrance near a collapsed intersection.
A horde.
Dozens.
No—hundreds.
Crawling, limping, walking.
Young and old.
Some wore business suits, others still had melted security vests hanging off their frames. Some crawled on broken limbs.
Some had jaws torn half off.
One still dragged the twisted remnants of a hospital IV.
And they were all coming straight toward them.
Rick's breath caught.
Doc shoved off him and snatched up the flare, snapping the cap closed and tucking it back into Rick's vest.
And then smacked him on the back of his head for good measure before shoving him away from the horde of walking.
Rick nodded, his heart slamming against his ribs. "Yeah."
They sprinted.
Doc hauled up his spear, Hawk shifted back behind them with the crossbow, Hound and his dog veered off toward an alley.
Rick ran alongside them, boots slamming pavement, every breath a knife in his lungs.
He could practically feel their glares on him.
They took a sharp right past a collapsed store and dove through a broken fence, the horde right behind them, groaning, shrieking, hungry.
And the worst part?
That helicopter?
Gone.
____
"How the fuck did this happen?!" Hound screamed through the link shared between the three of them.
"Not now, Hound!" Hawk growled while stabbing a walker that was about to take a bite out of Rick.
"How did that fucking helicoptor still appear when we know for a fact we arrived here earlier than canon?!" The animal specialist questioned while ducking under two rotting corpses that were fresh enough to lunge at him.
"Not now, Hound!" This time it was Doc who barked, his voice sharp, cracking through the link like a whip.
But Hound wasn't done.
"No, seriously, explain to me how the hell there's still a helicopter here! It's too much of a damn coincidence for it to be–"
"Focus!" Hawk snapped, turning and losing a bolt into a walker lunging out of a shattered storefront. The bolt punched through its eye with a wet crunch."We can argue when we're not about to get eaten!"
Rick didn't hear their exchange, only the chaos unfolding around him as he tried desperately to survive this mess he got them into.
The horde behind them thundered like a wave of rot.
Groans echoed off the walls, a rising tide of hunger clawing through the concrete.
Then Hawk froze.
Just a heartbeat.
Just long enough.
He skidded to a stop halfway down the alley and jerked his head toward the other side of the street beyond a narrow break in the buildings.
The visor of his mask caught the figure.
"Shit," Hawk's voice crackled through the link."Across the street."
Doc and Hound halted for a moment, Rick nearly slamming into Doc's back.
"What is it?" Doc demanded.
"It's Glenn," Hawk said.
"What?!" Hound's voice shot up."No fucking way! How the hell is Glenn here?!"
Across the street, barely visible through the haze of heat and dust, a figure darted through a parking garage stairwell, quick, light on his feet, a baseball cap shadowing his face.
It was Glenn.
No mistaking it.
"Someone tell me how he beat us here," Hound growled.
"What is he doing?" Hawk muttered while watching him.
"Doesn't matter, " Doc snapped."We adjust. Focus."
Hound was less than pleased.
"This is bullsh—"
Then he sighed, frustrated.
"…Screw it."
A sharp whistle cut through the air, loud, piercing, deliberate.
Rick spun around just in time to see Hound's dog snap its head up.
The K9, silent for hours, suddenly broke into a frenzy of barking, paws pounding against the cracked asphalt, voice echoing off buildings like gunfire.
Rick's eyes widened. "What the hell is it doing?!"
But they didn't answer.
They were already in motion.
The medic lunged forward, grabbed Rick by the arm, and pulled him back through the alley just as walkers began pouring in from both ends.
Doc shoved him onto the ground and ran to a nearby walker that was separate from the group.
He killed it with a quick stab of his spear and, much to Rick's confusion and disgust, shoved the dead walker onto the former sheriff.
He brought his hand up to his face and made a shushing motion, telling Rick to keep quiet.
And then proceeded to do the same for himself.
The sniper was already underneath three dead bodies.
Hound stood his ground and enacted Plan D.
He reached into a pouch and pulled out a single road flare, popped it with a twist of his thumb, and waved it in the air, the red light dancing like blood on the concrete.
The walkers, seeing no other living thing, focused on him..
"I'll draw them away. You two keep Rick in one piece and get him to his family."
"Don't be an idiot, the city is littered with—"
"I got this," Hound cut him off. "I'll loop south and regroup with you guys when I lose them."
A beat of silence passed
Then Hawk grunted."Try not to get eaten, it would suck to lose our only animal specialist."
"I'll bring back souvenirs."
With that, Hound whistled again, louder this time, and took off into the open, his dog sprinting beside him as a blur of motion.
Rick watched from underneath the walker corpse, stunned, as Hound waved his arms, drawing the horde with practiced ease.
They followed.
The walkers, moaning and snarling, turned from the alley's narrow mouth and followed the barking, the flare, and the bait.
Rick was yanked away from he corpse he was under and further into the alley as Doc shoved him down behind a garbage bin.
Hawk crouched at the opposite end, scanning with his crossbow ready.
They waited in silence as the thunder of the horde grew fainter, swallowed by the bones of the city.
Rick finally turned, panting. "What the hell was that?!"
But again, they didn't answer.
"We need to go help hi-"
He was interrupted by the sniper of the group.
"He'll be back."
Rick glared at him, feeling his guilt slowly starting to eat him alive, it was him who got them into this mess after all.
"And how are you so sure?" He snapped, emotions taking over him.
Hawk slowly turned to him and stared him dead in the eye.
"I find your lack of faith disturbing."
"..."
Above them, the sky darkened by degrees.
And somewhere beyond the buildings… Hound ran with death at his heels.