Chapter 1

Some mornings were always worse than others, but today it felt like I'd been hit by a truck. All I could remember from last night was agreeing to go out with a couple of friends and meeting a girl in the bar. From there, everything was blank.

Everything ached. My eyes were heavy, and my body felt like lead, but more than anything, an overwhelming thirst burnt at my throat. It almost made me want to comply, close my heavy eyelids and never open them again. But the burning sensation for water made me pry my eyes open.

The moment my eyes opened, plumes of sunlight bored in from the window, making me flinch my eyes closed. A blurry mess of colour was the only thing I could see. At this moment, I only felt a profound sense of regret that I'd even agreed to go out last night. This would be a turning point for sure. I never wanted to feel like this ever again, though I knew I'd probably be out drinking again the next chance I got.

I pressed my hand against my bed to prop me up and let out a hiss, and fell to the bed as a dull pain radiated from my shoulder. An encompassing feeling of weakness coming from my shoulder, making it hard for me to move.

My hand touched my shoulder, and I again groaned, feeling the pain. But felt the distinctive feel of a bandage, causing me to mutter, "What the fuck have I done now." The voice something I'd imagine a chainsmoking cheesegrater would sound like.

I once more tried to push up from the bed with little luck. But my eyes had managed to adapt somewhat, allowing me to make out a hospital room. My eyes went wide at the condition of the room. Curses filled my mind as I wondered what kind of shithole Isaac and Finn had dragged me to.

Wilted flowers lay on the dusty bedside cabinet, and a smell, something like a mix of fermented sweat and piss, wafted up from the sheets. Making me squirm as I realised what the sticky wetness between my legs was. The reflex reminded me of the pain, making me still.

The electronic equipment surrounding my bed also appeared to be disused, covered in dust. Tubes and electronics looking like they hadn't been used in quite some time.

'How could they bring me here, I thought? Hell, were they even the ones who brought me here? just where the fuck even is this?' I thought, the feeling of a headache coming on as I pulled odds and ends off of me.

There was a jug of water beside the wilted plants on the bedside table, making my dry throat flare to the front of my mind. However, my eyes raised in disgust at the water that had begun to turn a brownish-yellow.

'How the fuck is this place still operating?' I thought before turning to the bathroom nearby and again trying to get up from the unsanitary bed.

My arm soon gave out under strain, and I lost balance, falling ungracefully to the floor. A dull pain ached across my body, making me groan as my face kissed the cold floor. My legs soon did the heavy lifting as I struggled only my feet, the bed nearby coming in clutch to support me.

On my feet, I stumbled to the bathroom nearby, flicking the light switch and getting no response, before turning the tap and guzzling the water. Relief washed over me as I felt the water fill my mouth. The greedy gulps gradually removing the discomfort I felt earlier.

As the thirst disappeared, the more rational side of my brain returned. My mind telling me to orientate myself and find out what had happened and where I was.

I left the bathroom and sat back on the bed, rubbing my head as I tried to recall what had happened. But I just kept coming up blank. So instead, I went to check my wound. However, I paused my arm, the thin hairy arms making me still. They were sallow, and although they still had some muscle, my arms weren't that small.

I went gym most days after work. I knew my arms weren't that small. And besides, my arms were more tan, at least much darker than the pale gangly arms that hovered in front of me. My mind froze at the realisation. My eyes looked at it like some kind of alien, whirring non-stop for an answer, the dots soon connecting.

'I haven't been here for a small amount of time,' I thought, the withered flowers flashing in my mind before the wound rose again to the forefront of my mind. My hands moved the bandage with a small red mark aside. There was a sealed-up bullet hole that made my eyes widen.

'I was shot?' I thought, my mind finding it hard to comprehend. After all, I lived in London. Although that wasn't to say there was nobody with guns, you had to be seriously unlucky to get shot while drunk.

But something didn't feel right. No, nothing felt right. This whole scene was beginning to unnerve me, a feeling of nostalgia warping my mind. Making my eyes dart, looking around the eerily silent room trying to decipher the feeling, stopping only at the sight of several cards lying atop a dresser near the door.

I moved over, taking up a card into my hand. The card read, 'To Rick, I hope you get well soon. We're sending you prayers. From Fred and Cindy.'

'Rick? No, no, this can't be,' dread and denial instantly filled my eyes when I read the name on the card. My hands snatched and read another.

'To Rick, wishing you a speedy recovery, from everyone down at the King County sheriff's office.' the card dropping from my hands as I dropped the card and paced, my head a mess.

"No, no, no, no, no, no… This can't be," I said, my hands roaming through my hair as I pulled my hair taut, almost taking some from my scalp.

But as the image of everything in the room flashed through my mind, the gristly southern accent and the pale arm I could still see in my vision. I knew that it could be, and as much as I wished when I opened the door it would be just some elaborate practical joke. I knew it wouldn't

My eyes turned to the window, and I ran forward, the adrenaline pumping through my body, making me ignore the pain.

A reflection stared back at me in the window, a sallow man with piercing blue eyes and chapped lips. His hair was curly, and a beard wrapped across his chin. But this wasn't me. This was another man, a fictional man. Something that I had to be dreaming.

Because if what I saw was real, that meant I was now Rick Grimes. And I was now in the zombie apocalypse, a life of hell and misery waiting for me outside this room. Because this was real life, not some work of fiction scrambled together in the writing room. If this was all real, this wouldn't be like some teenage power fantasy of thrashing zombies, getting the girl and rebuilding the world. It would be hell. And just the prospect made my heart pump harder.

My hand touched my sallow bearded cheeks, and I squeezed my cheeks and repeated again and again. Until I realised that if this was a dream, I couldn't wake up.