Chapter 2

The denial oozed through my every pore. The pain on my cheek, my shoulder, and my whole body felt very real. Making the sight of the rows of bodies down on the parking lot down below all the more visceral.

I knew what they were. Although I wasn't a superfan, I had still watched the show in passing. It was as good a time burner as any show out there. They were the bodies of those bitten while the hospital was still under military protection.

The rows of dirty, white, cloth-covered bodies made me stumble back from the window, my stomach and legs feeling weak. My headache also starting to get worse, my head thumping.

The feeling of the bed beneath me comforted me somewhat as I sat and tried to regather some semblance of control. I was trying to calm down. If this wasn't a dream, then I had to get my shit together quick. I couldn't just stay here.

But just thinking was becoming hard. The headache, which had started small, was now pulsating inside my scrambled brain. All the while, I was having a quasi mental breakdown. Having found myself in another man's body in an abandoned hospital, probably filled with flesh-eating zombies.

I only kept trying to calm myself down, my hands massaging my forehead, focusing on just my breath. And it seemed to work. However, my headache only seemed to be getting worse, and It was beginning to worry me a little.

So I cradled my head, trying to assuage the throbbing pain overcoming my mind. My eyes soon scanned past something on the floor, making me stop. It was a card I had knocked over a moment ago in my agitation.

On the front, there was a handmade drawing. A child's drawing. And the few scant words simply read, 'Dad, me and mom are very sad you've still not woken up, please wake up soon, Carl.'

And as if the words were the straw that broke the camel's back, my headache ballooned in intensity, my vision going dark and the whole world swirling around me. The last thing I could remember before everything went black was a dull squeezing pain coming from my heart and the child's drawing.

—

I don't know when I woke up, but all I knew was it was dark, with only the pale moonlight lighting the room. Although my head was still aching, the pain that swallowed me earlier was gone. But that wasn't what worried me. Instead, it was the countless unknown memories that filled my mind.

These weren't mine. And the more I focused on them, the more they revealed a completely different life from the one I had lived.

There were memories of people and faces I knew I had never seen, but just their remembrance brought a warm feeling from the depths. A kind of fondness and familiarity that felt both natural and repulsive at the same time.

I could remember a loving father, not the cold, expressionless man I'd begrudgingly respected. No, this man was different. He was a compassionate and wise man who always tried to look out for his family. The most potent images of him in my head were the several ones where he talked to me about morality, family and faith.

Again these flashing memories built up such warmth inside me, but this time stronger. And as I scrolled through more and more memories, unknown faces kept appearing to me.

Of a grizzled worn grandfather who spoke about his time in the war, a homely southern belle that read stories to me as I fell asleep, and a mischievous best friend. No 'best friend' wasn't right. He was a brother. A brother who was with me through thick and thin, never leaving my side. And of course, last but not least, of a wife and kid, one which I knew weren't mine but filled my entire being with such scorching feelings of love.

But there was a dissonance. These feelings overwhelmed me, but at the same time, there was a sense of detachment. The more memories I viewed, the better it got. But each memory still felt alien, and there was a kind of instinctive repulsion.

From what I could gather, this wasn't a dream. I was Rick Grimes, at least that's what everything to this point told me. This body had lived here in King's County, Georgia, all his life.

He was married to a woman called Lori. Leaving her every day to look after their son, Carl, while he worked as a sheriff alongside his best friend, Shane.

Although I still felt some lingering denial, the memories made it hard for me to disconnect and treat everything as some figment of imagination. Each person felt real. Their mannerisms, happy smiles, tears of anguish and eruptions of rage felt entirely human. Just the thought that they didn't exist made every fibre of my body refuse, returning me again and again to the most vibrant memories.

Forcing me to swallow that they were real, or at least as real as any other human. Although my logical side told me they were all fictional characters and couldn't be real, my burning emotions pried open my eyes and forced me to look at them as individuals. As the loved ones seen in my memories.

And because of this, my head hurt even more than earlier. I was in the middle of an identity crisis here. It felt like I was two distinctly different people at the same time, but the lines were slowly blurring. And It scared me. Like I was being slowly corroded. The fabric of my existence being warped and moulded as the two sets of identity fought inside me.

I could still take comfort that I was thinking coherently, well, somewhat at least. And maybe it was me being paranoid. But it didn't help that I had also realised that if I accepted this as reality, I was stranded. In a new world, with memories that weren't mine., inhabiting a body that also wasn't mine.

But instead of this lingering dread, my whole thought had been consumed by a single thought. Reuniting with Lori and Carl. It made my skin crawl that this was my main concern despite this clusterfuck, but the impulse was insuppressible.

Of course, there were contradicting thoughts, like killing Shane and Lori. But everything was a mess. And frankly, Rick nor I had been a killer in our lives. At least not one who could coldly kill our best friends and wives. I mean, which one could?

It was hard to maintain any semblance of rage when the sequential events of the show were all lined up neatly in my mind. And frankly, I felt conflicted about what I would even do If I met either of them. The sting would have long passed. But I don't think I could ever follow what happened in the show.

Even with foreknowledge, there was too much chance that events wouldn't magically fall into place. That things wouldn't go as they went in the show. And I wouldn't let it. For one, If I fucked up even a fraction, It wouldn't be Shane dead on the Greene farm. It would be me. And even before that, I wasn't going to go prancing into Atlanta on a horse.

Although Rick survived in the show, I didn't want to take a bet that I could. Rick should have died on that street by all stretches of the imagination. And God knows how things will change just from that small change.

I had knowledge, but this world was too dangerous. I couldn't control the events, and I wasn't going to purposely run headstrong into danger trying to maintain the timeline of events. Not when tiny changes could still result in my death despite the circumstances staying the same. No, things would change.

Many of Rick's decisions were far too dubious anyway. At least with the knowledge I had, I could steer the ship in a relatively safe direction. Beyond that, it was an untrekked gamble.

Now that I had somewhat accepted the current circumstances, I looked up at the room. The night sky was visible from the window, and I could only hear silence. I could leave now, but I didn't want to take any chances, not in the dark. Although I had to get out of this hospital room, that could wait for tomorrow. There was less risk. And besides, I need more time to think. Time to digest everything. Leaving could wait.