3 A Meal And Heading Off

Shortly after that little run-in with Morgan and his son, we found ourselves in his secured house. The windows were covered and blocked off with thick, sound-muffling fabric and the doors and other entrances were blockaded with wooden planks.

As we sat about, we spoke very little but what little we did speak about was Morgan informing Rick about what had happened.

He was saying it to me as well, but I already knew about it. I just had to feign surprise and horror.

Morgan told us about how one day, for some reason he didn't know, the dead just started rising again. He explained all this while he cleaned up Rick's bandages and wound which were getting a bit rank after the lack of consistent changes while in his comatose state. He explained how the dead, which he called walkers, were everywhere and how they outnumbered survivors over a thousand to one. It was a horrifying prospect, even to me, someone who already knew about it.

Moments after he finished dressing Rick's wound, Morgan got to cooking something to eat. He offered the food to us and neither of us could see a good reason to deny his goodwill. I was starving and Rick was too, no doubt.

Though as we sat and were about to eat, Duane spoke up, "Daddy, blessing," he said as Rick was about to start digging into what looked like chili.

He looked to his son and nodded, "Yeah," though he seemed less than enthused about the ordeal - maybe a sudden lack of faith after the whole dead rising from the grave and his wife dying. I wasn't all that religious myself either but I guess it didn't hurt so I put my hands out and Duane took my left while Rick gave me a look before reluctantly taking my right - he wasn't all that religious either, I guess. "Lord, we thank Thee for this food, Thy blessings. And we ask You to watch over us in these crazy days," he gave a look to both Rick and I but said nothing else other than, "Amen."

""Amen"" Duane and I repeated but Rick stayed silent. I mentally shrugged, knowing to each their own and all that. Releasing their hands after grace was said, I picked up my spoon and began devouring the chili placed in front of me.

A few bites in, Morgan leveled a look toward me, his eyes somewhat narrowed, "Mister--Harry," he corrected himself before continuing, "You said you and your buddy here woke up in a hospital. I can see why he was in there...but what about you?" he asked just before he shoveled a spoonful of food into his mouth.

"I don't know exactly what put me in there," I answered truthfully, gaining a raised eyebrow from Morgan and an unbelieving look from him at the same time. Unperturbed by his look, I continued, "I read the clipboard near my bed - something about a head injury. My memories are all messed up, so I guess it checks out," I shrugged and Morgan didn't fully lose his suspicions over what I said but they did lower quite a bit as he nodded.

"Well, you two have got some luck to survive this hellhole while asleep," Morgan said and I couldn't help but grin a little when I thought about the classic Rick Grimes' luck I was joking about earlier.

Rick who'd already finished most of his food looked over at Morgan, something seeming to weigh heavily on his mind. It took a few seconds of silence but Rick spoke up eventually, "Morgan...are you sure those things out there are dead? Like, properly dead? You sure they ain't just sick or something?"

Things went quiet for a few more second after that, a very uncomfortable silence if I do say so myself.

In the end, Morgan nodded, "Yeah, they're dead. They ain't sick, Rick. Their heart's don't beat and they don't need normal food. They just try and eat everything alive," he grimly explained, his expression darkening as he did so. No doubt reliving some bad memories. Morgan put down his cutlery and brought his hands together as he looked at Rick, "Another thing I do know--Don't you get bit. Bites kill ya. The fever burns right through you. But then after a while..." a look of sadness came across Morgan's face, "You come back."

"Seen it happen," Duane added in a subdued tone, causing Rick to look at the young kid with a bit of pity in his eyes.

Morgan put a comforting hand on his son's arm, giving it a squeeze while he forced a smile.

Then we got back to eating, the conversation being over. I wanted to ask a few more questions but the mode wasn't all that receptive. I'd have to wait, I guess.

. . .

At some point, Rick had mentioned his wife and son while we were all seated in the living room. Morgan and Duane took up the only two proper mattresses, with the latter sleeping - or at least trying to do so. Rick and I were on the other side of the room.

I was lying on a sofa and Rick was sitting next to it on an impromptu bed made up of cushions and blankets.

So, while I was lying down, Rick and Morgan were talking about Carl and how he was probably with his mother. Once that conversation peered off, Duane spoke up sleepily, "Dad...did you ask them?"

Morgan let out a sincere chuckle at his son's question and turned to Rick, "Your gunshot wound--we've got a little bet going. My boy says you two are bank robbers and you got caught. That's how you found yourselves in that hospital," Morgan chuckle and Rick let out a laugh himself, smiling despite being called a criminal.

"Yeah, that's me," Rick jokingly said, "The deadliest Dillinger," he continued, causing Morgan to chuckle in reply even more.

I decided to chip in, "As you can see, I'm the muscle and he's the brains," I gestured to Rick, "Probably explains how we got caught so easily, don't it?" I joked, jabbing at Rick verbally and causing him to smilingly shake his head at what I said.

"Sheriff's Deputy," Rick truthfully said what he was and I soon followed.

"I can't say for sure but I'm pretty sure I was in the military. Fuzzy memory aside, I can remember basic training and parts of being deployed," I said before popping myself up on my elbows and turning to Morgan, "Ain't you lucky, Morgan, you've got the military and the sheriff's department guarding your house tonight?" I joked and saw Morgan crack a small grin.

"Uh-huh," he sarcastically intoned, playing along with the joke. Before he could reply any further, however, the conversation was completely cut off by the sound of a car alarm blaring outside the house. Duane jumped up out of bed, only stopped from standing by his dad holding him steady, "Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm here," Duane looked around, his eyes wide like a deer in the headlights of a truck. Same could be said for Rick who'd been skittish ever since he found out about the zombie apocalypse he'd woken up to.

Even I sat up, not thinking this would happen like in the original. Mainly because there was no gunshot like in the original episode. There shouldn't be that many walkers outside and I guess I thought this little segment wouldn't happen because of that.

Guess I was wrong.

Seeing our reactions, Morgan spoke up, "It's nothing. One of them must've bumped a car."

"Are you sure?" Rick asked, standing up. One of his tells for when he got nervous or somewhat scared, was that he reached for his hip. Which he was doing right now. Muscle memory was no doubt betraying him and told anyone who knew him that he was on edge right now. I couldn't say I knew Rick but I'd seen him make the same tell over half a dozen times since I met him in the hospital, so it wasn't that hard to know it was one and what caused it.

Morgan answered, still trying to comfort his son, "It happened once before. Went on for a few minutes," Morgan reached over and grabbed his revolver, Rick pulling his own Beretta at the same time. I left my guns on the table nearby, but I quickly got up and walked over, picking them up and tucking one in my waistband before flicking the safety off of the one I kept in my hand.

I didn't know what could happen. They could break in for all I know, so it was best to be prepared.

"Get the light, Duane," Morgan said and made his way over to the living room window. The kid did as he was told and got to turning the gas-powered lamp next to his bed off while Rick did the same to the one nearer to the window.

Looking through a gap in the fabric covering his windows, Morgan made a 'tsk' sound before turning back to look at me and Rick, "It's the blue one down the street. Same one as last time," he informed us and I peered through the gap, seeing the walkers roaming the street and slowly but surely making their way toward the blue car about fifteen or so yards away from the house we were in.

I pulled back, letting Rick take a look. He let out a sharp gasp when he saw the amount of walkers and pulled back, turning to Morgan and asking a question, "That noise--won't it bring more of them?"

"Nothing we can do about it now," Morgan replied with a helpless tone, "Just have to wait 'em out till morning."

Duane who'd snuck between his dad and Rick, and was now looking out his own gap in the fabric, whimpered when he seemed to see something, "She's here," he said, his tone shaky. Morgan saw what he was looking at and forcibly moved Duane back and away from the window.

"Don't look," he urgently said but not being able to look away himself, "Just get away from the window. Go back to bed, Duane."

He did as he was told, flopping onto the bed and beginning to sob and cry his eyes out. No doubt having seen his mom's walking corpse. Morgan went over to him, trying to placate him and Rick looked to me, gesturing to the window and then to the door, communicating that a walker was heading toward the entrance. He walked over to the entrance and I followed him until he peered through the looking eyehole in the door.

Seconds later, the door knob began twisting uselessly back and forth.

Rick and I took one look at each other and slowly backed away from the door, careful to not make any noise as we did so. Seeing the door showed no signs of opening even with the handle turned - courtesy of the wooden planks nailed across it - the two of us returned to where we were originally seated.

Once sat down, I kept my eyes on the door and window, just in case, my Beretta in my hand. I doubt I'd be sleeping very well tonight, purely out of paranoia.

As we sat in silence, Morgan who was still comforting his son, decided to give some explanation.

"She, um--" he stopped, his voice cracking with emotion but continued shortly after composing himself, "She died in that other room, on that bed in there. There was nothing I--I could do about it," his voice cracked again, filling with sadness and a hint of self-loathing, "That fever, man," he said in disbelief, "Her skin gave off heat like furnace," he began sniffling and silently sobbed so his son didn't get worried about him. "I should've put her down, man. I should've put her down. I know that, but I..." he trailed off, "You know what? I just didn't have it in me. She's the mother of my child," he said, wiping at his eyes and Rick seemed to empathize with him. I could as well.

It ain't easy putting a bullet in something that was once your wife. Even if it wasn't trying to eat you, I doubt you could find many self-respecting and normal people who'd willing put a bullet in their loved ones corpse.

It's just one of those things that's hard. But this apocalypse doesn't allow for sentiment like that. It just doesn't.

Morgan seemed like he needed to get that off his chest and I can see why. He's finally in the company of some adults that don't seem so bad and because humans are social animals, we usually end up latching onto whoever we can when we find ourselves at risk of being alone or isolated. So Morgan, as a human, was taking this chance to have a serious conversation with someone.

Not like he could have it with his middle school aged son, is it? Besides, humans need to talk about trauma for it to get better. We wouldn't have therapists if it didn't work. Neither would we have such an advanced level of language if we weren't meant to communicate with one another.

Just like that, Morgan lay back and tried to get to sleep. Though the incessant rattling sounds of the door handle seemed to haunt him.

I laid back, my guns resting on my stomach and chest, their handles pointing outwards to my arms in case I needed to react quickly and grab/use them. Like I said before, I doubt I'd be getting any sleep tonight but I'd been trained on how to deal with fatigue and I knew I could go for a few days without any sleep if it was necessary and function just about the same.

Still, I closed my eyes after whispering goodnight to the other three in the room. I needed to organize my thoughts a little.

. . .

The sun was up and the morning was bright, I could even hear birds up in the nearby trees, whistling and tweeting away. So, as I crept out the house with a baseball bat in hand, I looked back at my fellow group members.

Duane with his shovel, Morgan with his revolver and Rick with his Beretta, "Now, don't go using them guns. Last thing we need is more of these walkers on our asses because we take out a single walker with a gun when we didn't need to," I said and got three nods in return. Giving them my own nod, I turned back and began creeping along the porch and onto the front yard.

Reacting to my presence, the nearby walker hissed, turning it's head with a sickening crunch and before long began trying to get to it's feet. I didn't give it much time, however.

I was on it like a swarm of angry bees, bashing it's head in with the wooden bat.

Trying my hardest to balance the strength of my strikes so I could deal the most damage possible without breaking the bat under my own exceptional strength. Two blows caved it's head in but I did a third one just to be sure and it's head completely broke open, it's brain mulched and oozing out of the cranial cavity I'd broken open.

Flicking he gore off the bat, I turned and gestured for the three to come on out. Morgan gave me a wary look, no doubt on edge when faced with such a physical specimen like myself, while Duane looked somewhat in awe when he looked at me.

Ignoring the looks, I turned and led the way over to Rick's house

They went in, I guarded the outside and kept a look out for anymore walkers. Even from her, my keen senses picked up their conversation. Speaking about how Rick's family was still alive - or at least they were when they left the house - because the photo albums were all gone. It was sound logic. Not many thieves in an apocalypse would take photos and family pictures when they were looking for food and the like.

Then they went on about how the family probably went up to Atlanta because there was a military refuge up there. I knew it was a bust - but I also wanted to go up there to look for supplies. Sure, a lot of it would've been picked clean. But the same goes for the camp outside the hospital. That place was picked almost clean but I still found my new Berettas, didn't I?

Besides, I planned on getting Rick back to his family and I knew there was a group scouting the place out that was connected to the group where his family was. Also, there is such a thing as safety in numbers.

I could scavenge and hunt but there's something nice about knowing other people can have your back. I learnt that in the Marines. Back to back with people you've survived life and death with? There's no stronger bond. A bond I could no doubt forge in this shithole of an apocalypse just by saving a few people.

Though, honestly, my memories on 'The Walking Dead' ain't that great. I only watched up until season three or four and only know a few spoilers from later seasons that may or may not even be true. And let's not forget that for the last fifteen years I've been doing nothing but training.

So I guess I'll just have to stay frosty and not get too careless.

Either way, Rick came back out with his keys to the Sheriff's Department building and off we went to go and get some more guns. Nice.

The journey there wasn't what you'd call long but it wasn't short either. Took about ten/twenty minutes of slow walking and having to deal with the occasional walker - still, it probably took less time than the original because I was here to clear out the walkers in record time.

When we finally arrived, Rick took the front with me, pulling out a flashlight and checking his corners with his Beretta. I did the same, handing the bat off to Morgan. Luckily Rick's house had two flashlights, so we got to clearing the building pretty quickly. Thankfully, nobody had gotten inside, so there weren't any walkers.

After clearing the building from the reception all the wall back to the holding cells, we put away our gun and made our ways to the showers.

There, we had a nice relaxing shower which seemed to lift morale incredibly. Especially for Duane who seemed like he'd gotten every gift on his christmas list when he stood under the heated water of the shower.

After that, we made our way to the armory.

And boy oh boy it sure did feel like christmas.