The Georgian sun was beating down on the road. On it, a crow was picking at a dead body, struck by a car. Suddenly, the crow flew back, as an 18 wheeler came charging through, crushing the body.
Inside the truck where three men, Teddy, George, and Robert Sullivan. Grandfather, Father, and Son, all in the truck, living as nomads. Not just their mode of transportation, but also their weapon, their home, and their care taker. Originally used to deliver dry goods, it had become the home of the three men. Filled with numerous amounts of supplies, from guns and ammo, to canned foods, to pharmaceuticals, to a working generator, a insect enclosure, workshop for gun repairs, several car batteries, and a indoor green house used to grow potatoes, carrots, and garlic. The trio had taken to living on the move when the world ended. The grandfather, Teddy, was raised to live on the move, a life style which he passed on to his son and grandson.
Right now, as the Teddy was driving, George was in the back with his son, teaching him about caring for an unusual food source.
"Now what you want to do is make sure you feed the crickets both wet and dry organic material, preferably fresh fruit, because crickets are by nature scavengers."
As Robert placed inside a sliced orange, he then moved to place a water dish, only to be stopped by his father."
"Ah, ah, ah. Never place an open water dish inside the enclosure, always use a sponge instead to feed them water."
As Robert and George where tending to their food, Teddy was driving up to an abandoned farm. He stopped the truck and exited the vehicle, banging on the trailer.
"Everyone out, time to go scavenging." With that, he pulled out his gun, an M16 rifle he got from the Vietnam war. His son meanwhile had brought with them a remmington 870 shotgun, while Robert carried an double barrel. Teddy was wearing riot gear scavenged from a dead swat team, and was also wearing combat boots and a face mask. George was also wearing a face mask, along with a leather jacket and jeans and hiking shoes. Robert was wearing a cap, with a skull bandanna covering his lower face, and wearing a vest with a black shirt underneath, sweat pants, and a pair of sneakers. They also carried with them a pistol and a knife as a back up. While Robert stayed outside to scavenge the car for gas, George and Teddy entered the house only to find a dead family, with the last one, a farmer, holding a shotgun with his brains splattered on the wall. The words next to him were "God Forgive Us."
Without hesitation or fear, they began picking over the house like vultures, even looting the decomposing bodies for any food, supplies, and weapons. As George continue searching the house, Teddy had gone to the field searching for any edible food, only to find a horse. Without hesitation, he took out his pistol and shot the horse. With the help of Robert, they brought the carcass to inside the barn, to prepare it for transport, cooking and preserving it.
They continued to pick over the house for several days, and where about to leave, only to spot a police cruiser coming. As it approached them, they set up assault positions, preparing to catch him off guard. They where planning to kill him, as their experiences with people where mainly bandits, only to see him knock on the door.
In their minds, they only thought one thing. What the fuck was he doing?
Rick POV
Rick had spent several days trying to get to Atlanta, the supposed safe zone, only to find it now much more difficult. What used to be a one or two hour drive to Atlanta had turned into several days, going on back roads, scavenging for gas and food, and killing walkers. He was running on fumes now, and was approaching a farm house. Hopefully, he could find some supplies here.
As he approached it, he also noticed an 18 wheeler. Suspicious, normally, farmers don't trucks this large. It must have been some one else. But going against his instinct, he decided to check the house out first.
"Hello? Police officer out here! Can I borrow some gas?"
He pounded the door, no answer. He turned to the window, only to see a group of dead bodies on the ground, decaying. Realizing that there was nothing he could do, he decided to check out the field. Again, nothing, only a drying pool of blood. With no other options, he decided to check the 18 wheeler out of desperation. As he reached the back, he heard a gun chock.
"That's a Remmington 870 armed with 8 rounds of buckshot. Make a wrong move, and your brain becomes red paint."
Rick responded, lifting his arms up "Listen, whoever you are-"
"Turn around."
He put the gun on the ground, then turned, facing three men of varying ages.
"You must be really stupid, walking up to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and knocked the door and announcing your presence. Could have drawn in some stalkers, or worse, bandits."
He approached Rick, who was glaring at him.
"You know the smartest thing for me would be to kill you and take your gun." The middle aged man said, holding his shotgun. Then, in a surprising move, he and the two men, likely his family, lowered their guns. "But then again, I'm not that very smart."
Rick breathed out, relieved that the group of men had proven friendly. "Thank you, I'm just trying to get gas."
The man held his hand out, "George Sullivan, jack of all trades, this here is my father Teddy and my son Robert."
Rick took the hand of George and shook "Rick Grimes, King County Sheriff."
Teddy asked him "What's a sheriff doing out here trying to get gas?"
Rick spoke in response "I'm just trying to get to Atlanta to reach the safe zone, the radio said that before it went out. Unfortunately, I'm out of gas."
Robert then spoke next "Then how about we give you a lift"
George agreed "Yeah, I bet you could use the lift"
Teddy shouted out "Now hold on just a sec."
"Pa, just think about this, you always complained about how the truck was hard to take care of with just the three of us. Why not we bring him also?" George said
"No way, this here is my truck. Best that I look after it rather than let some government asshole go leering at it."
Robert spoke up "Come on grandpa, we haven't had company aside from the dead ones and the bandits. Plus, you do always say that another hand is always appreciative."
Teddy spoke up "Still, this truck was driven by me for 35 years, I don't want no stranger stealing it."
George spoke up "Come on pa, he won't steal it. Truck would snap him like a twig anyway. We need the extra pair of hands."
Teddy glared, then finally relented "Fine, god damn government."
George then turned to Rick. "So, officer, how bout it?"
Rick responded "I don't know, I don't want to intrude."
Robert spoke up next "It'll be just one ride, from here to Atlanta. just a straight forward drive."
Finally, Rick relented "Alright, I'm in."
