Author's Note: This is a neo-western about revenge/redemption. It centers on Richonne in a ZA setting, but none of the events from the show are applicable. Completely AU. I've had this idea for a while, just never got around to writing since it's kind of niche. If you like Richonne with lot's of friction where they're forced into working together a la season 3 then you might like this one. I know I always love writing them most when I'm partnering them up. We'll see how this goes. :)
Each chapter will alternate between Rick and Michonne's POV. First up is Rick.
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1 – Until the End of the World
"You'll never catch me!"
Rick stumbled to his feet in a late start. His Converse sneakers were untied and his mouth was full of blueberries, but neither would stop him. He wouldn't let her win again. He sped off in her wake, paces behind as she led him across the endless green pasture. The grass and clover had grown to such a length it tickled his knee tops for every step he took. He only ran faster, spurred on by her unabashed bravado. She giggled in taunting, the breathless sound like a musical note carried by the wind.
The gap between them narrowed. He outstretched his hand. If he could just get close enough to tap her shoulder and tag her…
"SAFE!" Michonne shrieked the split second she reached the biggest mulberry tree on the farm. Her hand rested on the frayed bark as she gulped down some air.
Rick reached the giant tree in a much less graceful effort. His untied laces finally got the best of him and he staggered out-of-control. Michonne might've been fast enough to reach the tree first, but she was too slow to dodge Rick. His tumble brought her down with him as an unfortunate casualty. The ten and eleven-year-olds crashed onto the grass like two cars colliding. He sat up, half-dizzy and half-embarrassed.
"Sorry," he mumbled, spitting out the grass on his tongue.
Michonne sat up a second later and her brows bunched together.
Oh, brother. That look was familiar. She was about to let him have it…
"Can't you play tag right?" she asked haughtily. She stretched her legs in front of her and gestured to her skinned knee. "Look what you did, Grimes."
"I said sorry." Rick pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. Pa always said to help girls with stuff like this. He called it being a gentleman.
Michonne ignored his helping hand and jumped onto her feet without him. She was stubborn like that. It was one of the things about her that drove him crazy. She always had to have her way. She always had to prove she was better than him and didn't need him. She wasn't like the girls he'd known in school. Sure, she liked playing dolls with her cousin Jocelyn and she wore dresses and her mama taught her how to cook and clean, but she was different than other girls he'd known before. Actually, she was different than other kids he'd known before.
But for as much as she confused and annoyed him, she was his friend. Best friend probably. Before he'd been best buds with a boy named Daryl. Pa said him and his family hadn't made it. That left Rhett and Michonne as his only friends. Considering his big brother treated him like gum on his shoe, he supposed that meant Michonne held the best friend title.
Not that he was her best friend. Knowing Michonne, she thought he was annoying. She only played with him because Jocelyn was too young and Rhett was too old. He tried not to think about that too much, though.
"Mama's gonna be mad my overalls got dirty." She sighed, grass still in her ponytail puffs.
"You can blame me."
"I am. I'm gonna tell her all about you knocking me over."
Shock stung Rick like a jellyfish and he widened his eyes. Michonne couldn't leave him suffering for long. Her sharp tone gave way to a small smile as she giggled in the same vein as earlier. That musical taunt of hers further confused him.
"Just kidding. I'm not gonna tell her."
"You're not?"
She shook her head and lowered her eyes to her skinned knee. His gaze followed.
"It happens. Besides remember that time I tripped you and you hit your chin on the fence?" she asked. "You could've told my mama and papa on me, but you didn't. Consider us even."
Rick grinned in relief. "Okay. Maybe no more tag today…."
"My mama's gonna be calling us in to set the table. I'll race you—"
"Michonne," he warned.
She laughed again with a slight backward toss to her head. "Kidding again! Don't have a panic attack."
The mulberry tree began to shrink behind them on their walk across the green. Around them the once bright blue of a spring afternoon hued into golds and pinks. Pa didn't like them being so far off from the farm house once dusk hit. Curfew wasn't taken lightly. They were expected to be inside well before dinner.
"What's it like out there?"
In step, grass crunching beneath their feet, Rick glanced at his friend. "Outside the fence?"
Michonne nodded.
"Not fun."
"The farm's not much fun either."
"Yeah, but…it's safe. Our pa's make it that way. Out there? It's not like that."
"I wanna see. Just once."
"You never been?"
"Not since it happened," she said broodily. Her scowl was immediate. "Papa says me and Jocelyn shouldn't be out there. It's too dangerous for girls."
"He's right."
"Says the boy who's scared of piglets!"
Rick walked alongside Michonne listening to her laughter, but his mouth clamped shut. His pale skin flushed from more than their earlier game of tag. The embarrassment burrowed deep in his belly as he wished he weren't the boy known to be an easy scare. Rhett told him the same. Pa never did, but it usually flickered in his eyes.
He wasn't brave like Rhett and he wasn't capable like Pa. He wasn't even curious like Michonne. Instead he was content being safe and sound and away from the horror he'd witnessed when the world ended. The things he'd seen over the last two years gave him nightmares. He stopped bringing it up to Pa and Rhett, but the anxiety festered under the surface.
He never wanted to step outside the farm fences again if he could help it.
Pa said when he turned thirteen, he'd be a young man. Young men helped keep their home safe in this sort of world.
He tried not to think too much about that. Told himself it was a time far, far away. Thirteen-year-old Rick would deal with parameter checks and supply runs miles away from home. He had a whole two years before he had to step up to the plate and deal with the danger he didn't want to face. And then there were kids like Michonne, who didn't understand what it meant to go beyond the walls.
His stomach knotted thinking about how weak he was to dread the inevitable. After the world ended, he spent months on the road with Pa and Rhett. He might've been a boy, but he'd witnessed things well beyond his years. He'd slept in barren cars and gone days without basic grooming. He'd seen people eaten alive and fired pistols to stave off the dead. He'd breathed fear like it was air.
In a perfect world he'd never have to return to such wretched behavior. In a perfect world the dead wouldn't have risen in the first place…
Rick and Michonne climbed the steps to the farm house's wraparound porch. Even from outside the screen door, Mrs. Felix's kitchen soundtrack could be heard. Michonne's mom toiled away at the stove, intermittently ducking cabinet-to-cabinet as she pulled out dishes, spices and whatever else was needed spur of the moment.
Michonne's young cousin Jocelyn hovered in the kitchen as a useless accomplice. The seven-year-old hoped to help, but had no idea where to start. Occasionally Mrs. Felix paused to tell the little girl to run off and set the table or wash her hands. Otherwise she paid her dust, too immersed in cooking dinner itself.
They pulled open the screen door and offered themselves as assistance.
"Help Jocelyn set the table—she needs it," said Mrs. Felix from over her shoulder. Her heart-shaped face was framed by a cloud of tight black curls.
Rick and Michonne picked up stacks of silverware and cutlery and shot for the door leading into the dining room. They found Jocelyn there, struggling with the setup of each placemat. Michonne quickly joined in and helped her young cousin.
Fast forward another hour, the kids sat with the adults at that very table. Mrs. Felix's delicious meal filled their plates as another testament to the magic she could whip up even with the barest ingredients. For supper tonight was a spicy veggie stew that packed enough flavor they forgot about its lack of meat. These days even with the modest number of cattle on the farm, they had to be selective with their use. Any meat was reserved for the specialist of occasion.
Pa and Mr. Felix chatted away. Both men had had busy days but in different ways. Mr. Felix spent his tending to the farm. Being as big and burly of a man as he was, growing up on the farm, he took care of the land like it was second nature to him. The strenuous work was hardly taxing, though he usually arrived in the house starving after the long hours.
Pa was head of security and supply. Mr. Felix had taken them in under the condition that Pa filled these roles. Before they stumbled upon their farm, Mr. Felix had been burdened with too much. Having another man around to split up these duties took the load off. Pa didn't mind. As a former police officer, he was used to the charge of serving and protecting. He was used to the danger. He dealt with the ugly world beyond the farm fence better than most.
Rick hoped one day to be the fearless, no nonsense, gun-slinging man that Pa was. Rhett got a real laugh out of that, but he didn't care. He was allowed to dream…
"I was thinking we can start reinforcing the fencing," Pa said between spoonsful of stew. He eyed Mr. Felix from across the table. "The fencing we've got now is sturdy enough, but you can never have a fence too strong."
"That can't hurt. You know where to find wooden slats we can use?"
"Sure do. Rhett and me came across a hardware store a couple towns over. Figure we can make this our summer project. Have it ready by winter."
Rick nosily tuned out the other chatter around the table and focused on the men's exchange. Elsewhere Rhett teased Jocelyn about her missing tooth and Michonne stuck up for her cousin. Mrs. Felix and her sister Kiki talked about sewing new bedsheets from recently scavenged fabric. Rick paid attention to none of it as he observed Pa and Mr. Felix.
"It's settled then. I'll never turn down more protection."
Pa set down his spoon and Rick recognized the blue spark in his eyes. The gears were turning. He wasn't done. "Listen, Malcolm…speaking of protection, I've been thinking."
"I'm all ears."
"Going on the runs like we have, Rhett and I notice things changing. Places more and more ransacked. We've come across at least two other groups looking for goods themselves—desperate for anything they can find," Pa explained, holding Mr. Felix's gaze. "It can't hurt if everybody knows how to protect themselves. In case."
"In case of what?"
Now Rick wasn't the only one listening. Mrs. Felix and her sister had stopped talking. The two women must've figured out what was being discussed before Rick did, because they looked a lot less confused than him. He frowned and his eyes darted between the adults.
"In case of anything. You never know what situation'll arise," Pa finished. He spoke vaguely in his low drawl though the implication lay unavoidably at their feet. "Everybody on this farm should know the basics. How to operate firearms and catch game. Knife training and things like starting fire."
For a long second, Mr. Felix stared at Pa without one blink. Though Rick still straggled behind to figure out the subtext to their conversation, he picked up on friction. Mr. Felix was not happy with the suggestion. Pa was not backing down.
"No," the Felix Farm Patriarch answered.
"There's no telling what the future holds—you might not always have the farm."
"I said no," he repeated louder, harsher.
The last ears at the table, belonging to Michonne, Jocelyn and Rhett, had finally joined the others listening to the tense exchange. Neither man seemed to notice nor care, too locked up in their conflict to address any of them.
Pa exhaled a deep breath and wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin. "I was making a suggestion to help protect everybody. I can teach 'em myself. I taught Rhett how to survive. Rick knows some things too…even at his age. It can never hurt to know too much rather than too little."
"Felicia, mind if you have the others help you clear the table?" Mr. Felix asked in a clipped tone.
Mrs. Felix's brows jumped high on her forehead, but she promptly nodded. Her sister Kiki hissed at the kids to grab their plates and haul them to the kitchen. The others did so with less reluctance than Rick, who rose and then dragged his feet toward the door. He wanted to hear every last bit of their conversation…
"That's the last time," warned Mr. Felix. He'd honed in on Pa with the belief they were now alone. "We've talked about this. My family is my say. I will not expose them to what's out there."
"It's the wrong call, Malcolm." Pa stopped there. He caught onto the third presence in the dining room, hovering by the door to the kitchen. His tone was suddenly as severe as Mr. Felix's. Maybe more. "You going to help in the kitchen like you were told or what?"
"Right. Sorry, Pa." Rick scurried like a critter avoiding bug spray. The kitchen door flapped shut behind him and drowned out the rest of the men's conversation.
Later that night, the house dark as the lantern's downstairs were snuffed and everybody retired to their rooms, Rick and Michonne met in the attic. Armed with flashlights, blankets and a baggie of blueberries swiped from the kitchen, they set up camp for the next hour or two. It was a weekly tradition to stay up past bedtime and swap scary stories. Michonne especially liked the thrill, oftentimes the one to plan the secret meetup.
Tonight, she flicked on her flashlight and held it eerily under her chin. The light illuminated her features as her mouth twisted into a smirk. Rick's heart palpitated sitting cross-legged opposite her. Her stories managed to scare the living daylights out of him on regular occasion. What spooky tale would she tell this time?
"You go first," she said mysteriously.
"Me? Why me?"
"'Cuz mine's a good one."
Rick balked, blanket tight about his shoulders. There was an inescapable draft in the attic no matter the season. The flashlights and snacks were a must, but with the draft, so were the blankets. He let the wool warm him up and he invented a story on the spot to appease her.
"Okay, fine," he said with another small pause. "It was a dark and stormy night."
"Real original, Grimes."
"Hey, it's my story, remember?"
Michonne used the flashlight to motion him to go ahead, looking bored already with her hand holding up her head.
"Anyway, before I was interrupted," he said pettily. "It was a dark and stormy night. A family slept in their home thinking everything was alright. In the silence, there was a slow creak. Like this." He pressed his palm on the aged floorboard beneath them to recreate the unnerving sound effect. Michonne never liked to reveal when she was scared, but he could tell sometimes. It was in how she held her brows. Right then, with the eerie creak splitting in her ears, her brows knitted together. Rick bit back his urge to grin satisfactorily and continued. "It woke the youngest daughter in the house. She sat up and listened to the silence and the creak continued. It got closer and closer in the dark."
Michonne inhaled audibly and glanced over her shoulder. The attic was shrouded in as much darkness as he envisioned in the scary story. What moonlight filtered in by way of the porthole window was minimal at best, and created another unsettling effect in the shadows of different shapes and sizes.
For once, Rick forgot about being frightened himself and plunged on with the story. After another six minutes, he wrapped up the tale with an off flick to the flashlight. It commenced an even deeper darkness in the slanted room. Michonne snatched the flashlight from his grasp and hurried to turn it back on.
"What a stupid story," she huffed. The waver in her voice belied her words.
"Stupid or scary?"
"Wait to you hear mine. I got the idea earlier after our papa's were talking."
Rick switched from proud glee he'd spooked Michonne to his earlier nosy curiosity. He scratched his uncombed curls and said, "Why d'you think they wanted us out the room?"
Michonne shrugged. "You don't get why?"
"No…?"
"They didn't want to be arguing with us there. Mama and Papa do it all the time when me and Jocelyn are around. Aunt Kiki gets to stay because she's grown. But they always make us leave."
"Oh."
"Who knows what they said. Maybe more about what your pa was asking."
"You agree with yours?"
"What d'you think?" she asked back with brows raised.
Rick started to chuckle, but caught himself. They had to be quiet in the attic lest they wanted to get caught. "You agree with my Pa. You wanna learn."
"Yep. But it's not gonna happen. Papa says me and Jocelyn will stay in the house with Mama cooking and cleaning."
The dejected look on his friend's face bugged him. She annoyed him and he took pleasure in annoying her from time to time, but he hated seeing her upset. Rhett teased him for it, saying he shouldn't care if a girl was having a hard time. It was no business of his if he wasn't crushing on her.
"You got a crush or what?" he'd ask and Rick would blush and vehemently deny his brother's claims.
Still, sitting across from Michonne, he wanted to help. She had skills Pa said were good for outside the fence. She was fast and nimble and after years spent in gymnastics, she was good at climbing stuff. One of the first times they'd played together she'd taught him how to climb a tree. She also tried to show him how to swing off a branch and land safely on his feet, but he hadn't mastered that. He made a fool of himself and flopped into some mud to her snickers. Regardless, he had no doubt that Pa was right; she should know as much as possible. In case.
"Pa's gonna hold lessons for Rhett and me," he blurted in a whisper. He glanced around the attic with sudden paranoia, checking for Mr. Felix to abruptly appear. "You can sneak off and join us."
Michonne sat up straighter, eyes on him. "You think?"
"Yeah, why not? Pa's a good teacher. He won't say anything."
"Okay," she agreed, smiling wide. "Thanks, Rick."
He smiled too. He could always tell how Michonne felt about him in any given moment based off what she called him. When he frustrated her or she wanted to annoy him, she called him Grimes. The more he thought about it the more he noticed Mr. Felix did the same to Pa. But when they were sharing a laugh or bonding over something, that's when Michonne used Rick. It usually came with a smile, spoken in the softest lilt her voice could go.
A couple days went by before Pa held lessons on basic survival skills. Mr. Felix spent the afternoon lost in the long field of crops. Mrs. Felix and her sister Kiki were in the house doing laundry. Jocelyn was somewhere inside too, probably playing with dolls. Rick and Michonne found Pa and Rhett on the far end of the southern fence, way out where they'd raced to the giant mulberry tree countless times.
Lesson one, Pa showed them how to start a fire with sticks. He patiently watched over them and ensured they were safe at all times when learning. Rhett managed to create a fire first. Lesson two came about a week and a half later, and was on navigation sans a compass. He taught them tips and tricks for finding their way in the event they were in the wilderness or lost when on a run. Lessons three and four were important, focusing on knives. He started off on safety, banning them from touching their knives until he was confident they were ready. He showed how diverse a knife could be.
They covered using knives for camp purposes, technique for stabbing the dead, defensive maneuvers with the sharp object, and even how to throw them from afar. He tossed the knife at a distance and landed the target on the mulberry's bark. Rick and the other two erupted into impressed gasps that were audible.
"Now, how 'bout you try that point-driven application like I showed you, Rhett? It's good on walkers." He gave his eldest boy the hunting knife by the handle first. The fourteen-year-old dusted grass off his jeans standing up and mimicked Pa's motion with the knife. Pa stood close by and made spot corrections, explaining how and why.
Rick and Michonne sat front row on the grass like students in a classroom, attentive and observant to his instruction. Nothing else captured their attention until the clunking gallop of a horse interrupted the flow. They looked up to the sight of Mr. Felix riding his prized steed across the fields. Even with features obscure due to distance, his fury bounced off him in heated layers. The kindness Rick saw in his eyes most days was long gone, replaced by the ire of a father and patriarch spurned. He dismounted and strode toward them like a force to be reckoned with. Pa stood his ground, unafraid despite the obvious confrontation about to take place. Mr. Felix's voice was a bellow.
"You must think you call the shots around here, Grimes!"
"I was showing 'em basics. Things they need to—"
"Not my daughter!"
"If you don't think she needs to know like everybody else, you're being naïve."
"She's only ten. She's still a little girl."
The fiery argument was like a tennis match. Rick, Michonne and Rhett's eyes darted back and forth between Pa and Mr. Felix. He stepped closer and so did Pa, minimizing the gap separating them.
"And my boys aren't young? Rhett barely has peach fuzz. Rick's eleven, but it's things he has to know! It's a new world, Malcolm."
"Your boys aren't my say. I'll raise my family how I see fit."
"You're doing 'em a disservice and you don't even realize it. You're setting 'em up for failure should anything happen to you. Your wife and those girls will be sitting ducks."
"Let's get one thing straight. You've gotten too comfortable on my property—with my family! It's not your call!" Mr. Felix growled in warning. "Remember that if you expect to keep having my roof over your head."
Mr. Felix snatched Michonne's hand and tugged her alongside him toward the waiting horse. They rode off with Rick, Pa and Rhett watching in gob smacked silence. Rick snuck a glance at Pa to find him stony faced and guilt pooled in his stomach.
"Don't ask me to include her again," Pa scolded. He turned his back on his sons and pulled the knife out the tree bark. "If we wanna live here on this farm, it's his rules. Understand?"
Rick hung his head. "Understood."
And he did understand. He obeyed for a while. For weeks he joined Pa and Rhett for training. He mentioned it to no one, not even when Michonne gave him questioning stares. He ignored the pleading look and shuffled off, heading to the lessons. Seasons changed with it being this way and him sticking to what was asked.
Come autumn, he slipped up. He and Michonne felt too old to play exactly as they used to. Her eleventh birthday passed and his twelfth was coming up, and playing tag didn't cut it anymore. Instead they took to sneaking behind the barn late into the afternoons. There they practiced what Pa taught at his lessons. Rick showed her what he'd learned firsthand and she paid special attention as she'd done whenever Pa instructed. They went over tying knots with rope, tracking footprints, and some defensive maneuvers.
Nobody knew. Rhett was too busy shadowing Pa to notice. Mr. and Mrs. Felix were too wrapped up in keeping the pace of the farm as normal as possible. Pa too busy supplying the place with necessities from beyond its borders. Only Michonne's nosy cousin Jocelyn seemed to notice anything amiss. The eight-year-old caught them more than once trying to sneak off. They usually bribed her with their share of the ransacked candy Pa sometimes brought back for the kids. She was happy to stop asking questions as soon as sour candies were shoved into her hands.
"Kept the Big Kat," Michonne muttered one afternoon.
Rick high-fived her and ducked behind the barn. He'd tucked his rope into the cargo pockets of his pants. Today he'd show her how to tie a barrel hitch and fisherman's knot.
"See this? It's called a barrel hitch 'cuz you go like this," he instructed as he looped frayed rope. He untied what he'd done and held the rope for her to take. "Your turn."
Michonne stretched her hand to take hold, but stopped at the clomp of hooves and crushed gravel. The friends twisted around to spot a horse wagon headed for the main house. Michonne's curiosity got the best of her and she moved to step forward to go and investigate. Rick grabbed her arm and pulled her with him behind the barn corner. These folks looked like strangers and he'd learned long ago how troublesome trusting them could be.
The horse wagon stopped at the foot of the porch steps. Two passengers, a large man and a slim woman both dressed raggedly in long coats, hopped out. Their coats riddled with holes made it so that their steps onto the porch looked like a sweeping glide. The woman, blonde and gaunt, rattled her pointy knuckles on the screen door.
Michonne gave a start to disrupt them, but Rick grabbed her a second time.
"What are you doing? Mama and Aunty Kiki are in there!"
"What are you gonna do? Rush in and get yourself killed? Did you see that guy?"
"I'm gonna go and ask what he wants with our farm!"
"You can't. It's too dangerous."
She scoffed and shrugged him off. "You think everything's too dangerous. I'm going!"
"Michonne—"
It was too late. His bullheaded friend sped off toward the house. Rick gasped but didn't follow, too shocked to think of what to do. He didn't want his best friend or her family to get hurt, but he also thought back to the many horrors he'd seen before coming to the Felix Farm. He'd seen people foolishly torn limb from limb for acting reckless. People killed because they couldn't keep their head and charged into danger.
He stayed put and posed as a voyeur. Michonne dashed up the porch steps and tugged on the screen door. It didn't open, locked from the inside. She cupped hands around her eyes to see through the netting and into the house. The sheer bewilderment showed itself in how her features twisted. No real noises entered the air from the house, though if Rick strained his ears he could pick up on a steady conversation.
Five minutes passed before the screen doors flapped open. The abrupt swing knocked Michonne off-balance and she fell against the porch railing. The big man and slim woman emerged carrying boxes they loaded into the horse wagon. They ignored her presence as if she were invisible and not standing ten feet off. Several more trips were made into the house and back to the wagon with more boxes. After the fifth trip, they piled into the front seat and yanked the reins to signal the horses. Michonne ran down the porch steps to chase after them, giving up after they reached the end of the dirt road.
Her back was to the house and barn, but Rick didn't need to see her face to pick up on how she felt. The moment confused her as much as it confused him. He stayed put and watched the wagon shrink out of view. Michonne stood on the dirt road and did the same in an equal measure of bemused silence. The screen door swung open again and Mrs. Felix appeared with an air different than usual.
"Michonne, what are you doing next to the gate? Get your behind inside."
Rick's eyes darted to the Felix Matriarch, surprised to see how rigid she'd gone. He was used to seeing her with a kind smile. Even when she reprimanded, she possessed a motherly charm that guilted you into remembering it was out of love and care. Now, she looked vexed more than anything. Was she mad at Michonne for nosing around? Was she annoyed at the strangers in the horse wagon?
"But Mama who were they?" Michonne pressed once on the porch. For as tough as Michonne acted, she was still a young girl, and that showed in moments like these. She looked up at Mrs. Felix with brown eyes wide and nose wrinkled.
"Never you mind. Wash up and help me in the kitchen. Where's Rick and Jocelyn? They need to help, too."
Rick gave it a couple minutes before he emerged from his hiding spot behind the barn. His brain overflowed with theories on what he witnessed. None of them made too much sense. Michonne must've been the same. Inside she avoided his gaze, clearly in deep thought. He gave her space. He didn't know what to say otherwise. That afternoon never got brought up again. They filed it away into their recesses like it never happened.
Things reverted back to being carefree, for which Rick was grateful. October whizzed by and November brought record chills that year. Pa's fence project remained unfinished, lacking the slats he needed to complete the eastern perimeter. Mrs. Felix and her sister Kiki had taken to sewing everybody new knitwear. Mr. Felix prepped the farm and the animals for winter. Rick and Michonne continued their secret lessons behind the barn.
Eleven days before his twelfth birthday, Pa woke him up at dawn. Rhett sleep-walked to the bathroom to get ready for their run that day. Pa stood at his bed already dressed. His grizzly beard hovered blearily above him at first as Rick rubbed his eyes and fought sleep.
"Get dressed, Ricky. You're coming with us. Sooner than I wanted, but we need another hand."
His pulse tripled and he sprang up in bed. "Another hand for what?"
"We're going on a run for a couple days. We've gotta collect more supplies for the fence. Needa finish it before the first storm hits."
"For a couple days?" Rick repeated in a whisper. His palms had gone clammy as he couldn't stop his racing heart. The thought of going back out there for days frightened him…
Pa tousled his bedhead curls. "You'll be fine. We're traveling to Greenville. There's a huge hardware outlet that way. Rhett and I've been before. Has everything we need to finish the fence. It'll take us two days, coming and going, but we'll be back before you know it. Wash your face and put your boots on."
Rick said nothing else, paralyzed by fear for another couple seconds. Eventually he had no choice but to climb out of bed and follow orders. He joined Pa and Rhett fifteen minutes later outside the house, loading up the truck. They looked like polar opposites. Pa and Rhett looked like pioneers about to embark on a thrilling excursion. Meanwhile, Rick dug his sneaker into the ground and scratched his hair. He'd tried to brush his curls, but they were at an odd length that he preferred Mrs. Felix give him a haircut instead. That simplicity escaped him now as he piled into the truck and Pa started the engine.
Eyes were watching. Rick glanced to the house, above the porch's slanted roof to the third window on the second floor. Michonne stood peeking from her bedroom curtains with that curious stare he'd grown used to from his best friend. He stared back neither with a smile nor a wave, too jostled by nerves to do much but think about how he'd like to be inside instead. How he'd give anything to be sitting up in the attic right about now, across from his friend with her flashlight and scary stories…
They were off in another second. Michonne and the house and soon the farm itself faded away. The harsh rural roads and forgotten fields replaced their view out the truck windows, opening up what felt like a whole new world to them. A world that was dangerous and dead and that Rick hadn't missed one bit since finding refuge at the Felix Farm. He sat back against the seat and closed his eyes to breathe calmly.
"Pa, thought we were going next week. Why'd we move up the trip?" Rhett asked from the front.
A beat ticked by before Pa answered. With his eyes closed, Rick couldn't see Pa's face, but his tone drawled tenser than usual. "I already told you. Bad weather's coming. Fence needs to get finished."
The trip to Greenville took them about as long as Pa predicted. By evening they arrived in the abandoned town and scoped the neighborhood for a place to camp that night. Next Pa swung by the hardware outlet he spoke of, cautiously surveilling the giant store before he explained to his boys what the plan would be for their haul.
One thing Rick and Rhett shared in common was that they both admired Pa greatly. They hung on his every word with silent revere as he skillfully broke down their plan. He spared no detail, going over exactly how their supply run would go right down to what weapons and exits to use. Rick couldn't help the minor prick of excitement that jolted through him listening to Pa's words as it dawned on him he was his son—he was a part of his team. Pa was the most unafraid and confident man alive, and he trusted him to help him on this run.
In this world, young men help keep their home safe.
Rick let go of the fear he bottled up, at least in the moment, and for the rest of their trip, he followed Pa's lead. They loaded the truck with so much wood they needed a second set of wheels. Luckily Rhett had learned on the road months before. By the time they departed Greenville and hit the road, Pa led in his truck and Rhett followed in a van they jumpstarted. Rick slept for the bulk of the journey, exhausted by helping carry pounds of wood. He wasn't too strong at his age, but he'd helped Rhett as much as he could with the slats. His scrawny arms ached and wood splintered his thumb. Hopefully Mrs. Felix or Kiki would be able to use tweezers to take it out.
The gas guzzling truck zoomed by endless green pastures and the black birds crowed as they flocked skyward. Rick stirred from his nap, recognizing the sound, feeling the familiarity in the air. He pressed his face against the glass and watched the farm fields engulf them on either side.
Home.
Relief floated through him like a balloon. His cheeks hurt from the goofy grin covering his face. He'd get to bathe and thank Mrs. Felix for a hot meal and lay in his bed. He'd get to see Michonne and the others and thank his lucky stars they'd made it back okay. Things could go back to normal at least for now.
His eyes shot ahead and the grin slid sideways off his face. "Pa."
"Hmm?"
"Why's the fence like that?"
Pa eased up on the gas pedal unable to provide an answer otherwise. The gate leading into the Felix Farm hung precariously open, dented as if crashed into. Their earlier relief transformed entirely, shifting as the major breech in security shocked them. Suddenly, an eerie calm permeated the air much like it had when the world ended and they'd wandered outside for the first time to see the dead rising.
Rick stopped breathing and Pa's gaze narrowed. The truck, with Rhett tailing him in his van, continued down the rutted road leading up to the main house. Plumes of dust clouded the air, clearing soon to reveal the intruders in the fields. Walkers roamed astray across the vast green. Whether they'd been a part of a larger horde or if they'd happened upon the open gate was anyone's guess.
"Oh, shit."
The words were Pa's, but the gasp to follow belonged to Rick.
At the main house, the screen door flapped off the hinges, seemingly ripped off on purpose. Bloody handprints stained the door's netting. The sight chilled Rick to the core. His heart wouldn't stop hammering. The unfettered panic spread through him until he surely would retch any second. Pa braked and Rhett did too.
For a while, nobody moved. They stared up at the house they'd called home for over a year. The devastating silence was unbearable, weighing them down into defeat.
Pa gulped. "I'll check out the inside. Y'all stay in the cars."
"No." Rick didn't wait for Pa's approval. He was hopping out the truck before he could protest. He had unsheathed his hunting knife and ran across the grass and toward the porch steps. Pa called after him in a mad dash. He didn't look back. If anything, his legs carried him faster up those steps and to the bloody door off the hinges. His heart thudded ceaselessly in his ears. He had to know. He had to find out for himself.
"Ricky!"
He disappeared inside, swallowed up by the home's darkness…
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
17 years later…
Ashburn was dead.
Quarter past noon, they rode into the ghost town. The bodies littered the dusty streets freshly dead, reanimating here and there. What they had been told was correct—the small armament community had been massacred. The dozen or so residents, males aged twenty to fifty, hadn't stood a chance against the surprise attack.
In minutes, Ashburn fell. In hours, word got back to the Governor. In another day, he sent out the Blake Territory's two best Marshals.
They stopped outside the armory and dismounted their steeds. Shane sucked on his crisply rolled cigarette and tied Tucky and Goose to the nearest post. The horses obeyed, but not before a snort and stamp of their feet. On the opposite side, stood Rick surveilling the barren community for the slightest sign of trouble.
Shane always joked that he had eagle eyes, only blue as the ocean. He liked to think of himself as patient. Observant. The type to sit back and watch things. As far as he was concerned, everything in the world could be figured out if treated like a puzzle that needed solving.
"Could be miles away by now," Shane remarked, tossing his cigarette butt to the dirt. "Looks like they didn't try and break into the armory."
"It's not their M.O. They wanted to send a message leaving Ashburn like this."
Shane grinned, tickled by his own dark humor. "They sent one. Got the Gov calling for their heads on silver platters. Can't wait to be the guy who delivers 'em."
The Governor had offered six months of rations if they brought them in. It was triple the pay for one job. The one condition was that they couldn't be dead. He wanted them alive.
"You think it's only four of 'em like they say?" Shane asked after a few seconds ticked by. He and Rick slipped between the brick of the armory and the building next to it, what looked like a dining hall. The thin alleyway offered them temporary reprieve from the burning afternoon sun. Much more than their wide-brimmed hats could, though sweat gathered on their brows regardless. They stopped at the backside to the armory and Shane's eyebrows told a tale. High on his forehead, he jutted his chin to the left and Rick's gaze fell to the footprints in the dirt.
He knelt for closer observation. Shane withdrew his pistol and eased toward the back door. The footprints must've been fresh, leading from the door to a chain-link fence. The prints looked intentional, as if the individual hadn't fussed over hiding his tracks. He glided his boot across the footprint to compare size.
"Backdoor's unlocked," Shane said. "You think it was an inside job?"
Rick rose to full height. "Don't know. Could be but I doubt it."
"If it's true what they say, they don't take in just anybody. They don't call 'em the Four Horsemen for nothing."
Shane was right. In a civilization reborn years after the dead had risen, not everybody agreed with the new world order. Society had rebuilt itself in its barest form with territories set up across the land, but even though laws had been established, select few saw fit to go rogue. Outlaws like the Four Horsemen stirred up trouble and sought anarchy. They went from town to town, murdering and massacring, waging war on the Blake Territory. Their violent reputation made them the four most wanted men in the Governor's eyes. And Rick would do his job by bringing them to justice.
"Let's check the inside. See if they left anymore messages for the Governor. Then head out," drawled Rick after some thought.
Shane cracked a grin. "Tell you what we better find 'em soon. Else I might off one myself. Fuck what the Gov says—"
Tucky and Goose whinnied at full volume, suddenly startled. Neither said a word as they snapped into action. They dashed back through the slit between the buildings with weapons drawn. Rick with his pistol. Shane with his rifle. On the dusty street where the horses were tied to a post, stood a man with a bandana cloaking his face to his eyes. He ran a hand along Tucky's side, petting him like his own with a nonchalance about him that grated. His placid demeanor was insulting considering the situation. He was a smaller man with a leather jacket, a beard and a beanie, but at no point did he look the least bit intimidated. They had their weapons on him, but he didn't flinch, slowly turning to face them. He raised his hands.
"Nice horses. I couldn't resist," he teased.
Shane spoke in a growl. "Maybe I can't resist putting a bullet between your eyes."
"I wouldn't if I were you."
"Yeah, why?"
"You never know who might be watching."
Rick's eyes flicked to the surrounding buildings on the dusty, small town street. The many windows were jagged cuts of glass, backed by shadows. Nobody could be seen, but that didn't mean somebody didn't lurk in wait, watching…
"This ain't gonna end well for any of you," Shane promised, unfazed. He hadn't backed down and he hadn't lowered his rifle. "There's a price on your heads and we're gonna collect."
"Do what you gotta do," the man said with a shrug.
A stretch of silence ensued, where the three men squared off with unblinking stares. Uncertainty hung in the air gauging each other for what was to come next. For who would make the first move. What that next move even would be as they weighed their options and drafted strategy. Rick sensed it before it happened, his instinct leading him a millisecond ahead of the bang.
In a flash, bullets streamed. He dived, taking cover in the alleyway and returning fire. Shane had done the same, crouched by his side as he spotted the sniper in a window. He took aim in an attempt to land a hit, but Rick wasn't distracted so easily. His hand shot to his hip and he snatched his machete from the hook on his belt, spinning around. A man had run up behind them with an axe, fast on his feet. Rick rose and held up his machete as a shield. Metal chinked against metal and the two men bounced half a step backward.
The man swung again, but Rick ducked without so much as a snip to his brown hair. He charged forward giving the man little room avoiding him. They collided with the brick, arms locked on each other in a grapple. Around them bullets continued to fly. Shane promptly reloaded and reengaged the sniper across the street. The man gained the upper hand with his strength and size, jostling Rick to a rocky fall on the ground.
Rick landed unevenly on his hands and knees. Out his peripherals, the man approached for a swift follow up. He might've been bigger and stronger, but Rick was faster. The man charged toward him like a stampeding elephant, axe raised. At the last possible second, Rick tumbled out of the way. He crashed into the brick and saw stars.
On his stammer backward, axe limp in his grasp, Rick kicked his stance out from under him. He dropped to his knees and then the ground, eyes wide and mouth agape. Rick stood over him and produced his cuffs to restrain him. Only then did he notice the sudden quiet. The bullets had stopped though their burnt stench stunk up the air. Shane was at his side in another second. Breathless and sweaty, his partner wore his trademark grin of arrogance.
"Got the sniper and the shithead who touched Tucky. He's cuffed. Sniper didn't make it."
Rick looked beyond him, into the streets where it looked like the sniper had fallen out of the window. His jaw tightened, still unsatisfied.
"Number four," he drawled. "Where is he?"
"Dunno. But two brought back alive ain't bad. Decent start."
"Decent's not good enough."
Rick walked around Shane and onto the street littered with death. He scanned both ends before he saw it—a flicker of movement far away, out the corner of his eye. It dawned on him they'd been focused on scoping out Ashburn's armory when they should've checked out its command post first. Darting from its doors was the same figure who must've left the footsteps by the chain-link fence. He knew based on size alone.
Shane stepped forward to aim, but Rick stopped him.
"You round these two up with the horses. He's mine."
He left Shane after that. Whoever it was attempting to make a break for it, dipped between two buildings, stashing what looked like a rolled parchment into a knapsack. He couldn't make out much else about him, given the hooded cloak and bandana he wore. His pursuit was one of stealth. He moved silently but quickly, used to tracking down his perps undetected. The skill he learned long ago, taught to him by his father.
The runaway Horseman couldn't be underestimated. They'd made that mistake coming into Ashburn and focusing on the armory. He needed to be smart capturing the last one. He traveled onto the opposite side, going the backend behind the buildings. The second glimpse of the Horseman came soon as he caught the tail view of his cloak billowing around a corner. He followed and gained enough traction he saw a side door slamming shut. The building looked like it'd been used to house those living in the armament community.
Going through that door was too obvious. The Horseman wanted him to use it. Instead he hopped on the fire escape to the neighboring building, making quick work of the ladders which led to the rooftop. The space between the buildings was at a distance he could leap. He did. He jumped from that building to the housing one, never stopping.
His breath was ragged running across the roof to the door that led inside. Wrenching it open he dashed down the staircase and discovered his hunch had been correct. The Horseman had started up the stairs, currently two flights below him. He opened fire, but the Horseman proved to be quicker than the others. His cloak flew into the air like a blur, signifying his spin out of the way.
Rick jumped down the flights, trying to catch up. His efforts paid off. He landed on the same floor as the Horseman and rushed toward the room he'd disappeared into.
"Arghhh!"
Two footsteps into the room, the Horseman swung off a beam and kicked him square in the chest. Rick fell onto his back like a turtle, barely able to dodge the next blow. He rolled to the side to escape a weapon he had never encountered before. The long blade of a sword thankfully struck the ground instead of him. He pushed himself unsteadily onto his feet and tackled the Horseman in a strategic play for control. The Horseman might've been wily and nimble, but he could overpower him.
As a pair they tumbled as one. The sword slipped from the Horseman's grasp and Rick proved himself correct. He pinned him the second they hit the ground. He was breathless and agitated and wanted to knock the son of a bitch out for being so much trouble, but drawing his fist back and staring into his eyes at last, his heart stopped beating. He recognized those eyes.
The last Horseman wasn't a small man. It was a woman. It was…
"Mi-Michonne?"
His hardened exterior as the famed Marshal Grimes slipped away. For that brief second, he uncharacteristically hovered like a deer caught in headlights, blinking and questioning reality. He pulled down the bandana covering half her face and there she was, his old friend as he remembered her. Only years older and matured into womanhood, she was alive. He was speechless.
Rick didn't know what he expected. He didn't know what to do. He hung there for that second or two stuck on what to do next and he supposed he thought she felt the same. He was wrong, alone in his momentary shock.
Michonne used it against him. Her head collided with his as she butted him hard enough for him to lose orientation. She shoved him onto his back for the second time in minutes. He jerked to gather his wits, but she was on her feet and armed before he could. The long, deadly, shining blade of her sword pricked against his neck as she held him at bay with zero mercy.
"Not so fast," she growled through clenched teeth. Her eyes were suddenly the eyes of a stranger, a woman he'd never met. "You move, you die. Got it?"
Rick's skin splotched red, anger rising in him for how foolish he'd been to let his guard down. "This only ends one way—with me hauling you out, cuffed."
A small smile spread on her mouth and she quirked a brow. "You're forgetting another option."
The next second, his world went black. She knocked him out cold.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Author's Note: What do you think? I'd love to hear from you so I know if I'm not just some lone nut writing a guilty pleasure story or if I should post more, lol. .
Next chapter is Michonne's. And yep, lil' Michonne's POV will be included just like Rick's. As usual, more will be revealed about what's going on in the coming chapters.
Thanks guys!