Chapter One

Or

The One Where I Lied And Said I Don't Do Serious

Dear Future Historians,

Look, I get this isn't your traditional history book, but, well, tradition has pretty much gone to the pits anyway. I'm a damn fiction writer, not a history writer; as a general rule, I don't do serious. Life's too short for that, so you'll have to bear with me. Also, I cuss a lot. But hey, you know what, that makes it interesting, right? History books back in my day were a major freakin' snooze fest, so really I'm doing you all a favor. You're welcome, future grade school children.

To be honest, this wasn't really my idea. Carl had said something the other day about how one day no one will ever even know how it happened or what exactly went down. Which is true. Part of me thinks, "Well, fuck, how could they not know?", but the rational part realizes. Realizes that sure, we'll tell our kids about it (it being what I like to call the Walker Wars), and they'll tell their kids, and so on and so forth, but without an actual physical, written account of it, it'll be lost. Our history, us, won't even matter cause no one will remember. We heard about it in school growing up in the old world, about ancient civilizations who relied on oral stories passed down from generation to generation to keep their history going. And a great majority of those stories are gone, no one has ever seen them. No one knows them.

Then, Carl told me to write it down for us.

Rick thinks it's a good idea, anyway. And when Rick thinks something's a good idea, you don't fucking argue. Because, well, it's Rick. And Rick's the shit, to put it simply. Daryl thinks I'm a moron and that it's useless, but he knows how I like to write, and he knows I've been feeling uninspired for months. So he says if it helps me find a creative outlet and gets me to stop bitchin' about it, then "fuckin' go for it. Just don' put me innit, ya got that?" Sorry Daryl, but it just wouldn't be the same without you and your charming personality.

So here goes.

I couldn't honestly tell you exactly when it all really started. We'd been hearing about it for months in other countries; news blips about an aggressive virus caused by who the hell knows what, and cured by 'fuck-if-we-know'. No one really paid attention to it. Then it got to the U.S. about half a year later, and they told everyone to get flu shots, to help calm the nation-wide panic that was spreading faster than the disease itself. Of course, the flu vaccination did jack shit, but everyone was kind of expecting that anyway. Still, the public turned a blind eye to it, right up until the point where Grandma started munching on Grandpa like it was Easter brunch, and that was when shit really hit the fan. It took only two months for the pandemic to wipe out nearly everyone in the country.

It hit us- King County, Georgia, to be specific, on a Monday, which just about explains everything anyway. Monday, September 27th, 2010. I can recall the day with startling clarity. It was the day we all lost nearly everyone we knew and loved. It was the day I lost my mom, my dad, my friends, so something like that is hard to forget, even if I wanted to.

It wasn't all bad, though, little Peter can attest to that.

Dad was wealthy, came from old southern money and told me I would never have to work a day in my life. Despite that, I still wanted a job. I wanted to do something, needed to do something, to feel like I was useful; so I got myself hired at the local diner as a waitress at the age of sixteen, and worked there for a good five years. It was good for me, I liked to work.

I had clocked in early that day, said my hellos to my co-worker and close friend, Hannah, as we tied our aprons on, and then went to unlock the entrance door. Morris was in the kitchen already, prepping and warming up the stoves for breakfast. I said my hellos to him as well.

Hannah and Morris were good people. Hannah had two kids, a boy and a girl. Jamie was her oldest, she was eleven, and Billy was just five, and I loved them all dearly. Hannah was older than me by a good ten years, but we were fast friends and she and had I counted on each other like sisters, so she made me Billy's godmother when he was born, and he and Jamie called me Auntie from that day on. Well, Billy did when he finally learned to talk. When Hannah and Andrew had arguments and ultimately went through their divorce, Billy and Jamie would stay with me in my apartment in old downtown.

Morris was the owner of the diner and the cook. He was an old, curmudgeonly middle-aged man who liked to pretend he was meaner than he was to cover up the fact that he was really just an old softie. No stranger questioned him on it though; he looked mean with all his scars and tattoos and muscles as big as your head. He was black too, so you know that scared off all the little old southern ladies who still hadn't quite caught up with the times. Pretty sure he'd been in prison or maybe even military, he talked like it at least, but I loved that stupid man like family anyways, just as he did in return. I think he had a wife at some point, but she didn't seem to be around anymore at the time and he never really talked about his family. Never talked much at all. So, I assumed he had none to speak of.

Wish I hadn't. Wish I'd asked. Wish I'd tried.

(Wish a lot of things.)

It was a nice day, sunny and clear, a comfortable 75 degrees but with the usual humidity. It wasn't too bad. I mean, it was Georgia; humidity sort of comes with the territory. Hannah had clocked out about thirty minutes before so she could go pick up her kids from school. She felt bad for leaving me, always did, but from about two to four thirty the diner was practically empty and it was useless for both of us to be on the floor. I was just finishing wiping down the breakfast bar counter as it neared three PM when I heard the bells on the door chime, signaling that someone had just walked in, and then my name was being called.

"Hey, Pooka!"

Alright, so not technically my name. Pooka was a nickname given to me by Carl back when he was still a toddler. Like Billy, I'd known Carl ever since he was born, but unlike Billy I was never made his godmother. Which was fine by me, Carl was still practically a little brother to me, while Lori made a good surrogate mother when my birth mom couldn't step up to the plate. Rick had always been different though. I always loved Rick, he'd always felt like family, but I could never pinpoint if he was like an uncle to me, or a brother, or even a father. None of the titles seemed to fit, but I never questioned it much. He was family, still is, and that's what mattered.

I looked up, grinning happily as my eyes fell on a rather worn out and downtrodden Grimes family. Well, two thirds of the Grimes family. Rick had still been in the hospital after being shot on the job. Such were the hazards of being a cop, I suppose.

"Hey, Lil' Grimes! Mama Grimes!" I'd greeted. Lori and Carl had smiled, but I could see them straining to do so. They had always been like that after hospital visits with Rick. After a month, he had still yet to wake up from his coma. "It's good to see you guys."

"Nice to see ya too, Puck," Lori had replied. And there it was, the name that I went by, the name everyone knew- knows- me as.

I followed them both as they took seats at a booth, but not before grabbing an iced tea and a chocolate milk, their usual drink order. Rick had always been a Coca-Cola kind of guy and I almost filled a glass for him too out of habit, until I remembered.

"How's it going little man?" I asked Carl as I delivered the drinks and slid into the booth beside him, then slung my arm across his shoulders and leaned back casually.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I ain't little," he argued, and hell if my heart hadn't melt to pieces at the sight of him, and what I wouldn't give to see him like that again, like a regular kid. But I didn't have the same thought processes back then, and I'd just smirked and bumped my forehead against his affectionately.

"You'll always be little to me bro, just like I'll always be Pooka to you. Get over it, kid." As grumpy and grouchy as he might try to look when I ruffled his hair, he still had a pleased gleam in his eyes and it made me laugh. "Go on back to the kitchen and tell Morris what you want for lunch, so I can talk to your mom without you listening."

Carl fixed me with an incredulous expression, like he couldn't believe I wasn't trying to cover up my motive as Lori giggled. "Seriously?" he asked.

"Yeah, seriously. You know I never lie to you. It wastes time." He groaned, but ducked under the table and crawled out, mumbling under his breath about stupid surrogate sisters.

"So, how's our favorite Sheriff's Deputy doing?" I asked Lori when Carl was out of earshot. She sighed heavily, swirling the straw in her tea after dumping a couple of sugar packets in it, and I could hear Morris exclaim a gruff but otherwise fond, 'best have a damn good reason for bein' back in my kitchen, Lil' Grimes,' from the kitchen. Lori and I spared a smile for a moment before she answered.

"Same as he's ever been; stable, but still not wakin' up," she shrugged.

I had stared at Lori then for a moment, and really tried looking at her. She was wearing makeup, just like any other day, but I could see the stress lines forming across her forehead, the dark circles beneath her eyes looking as pronounced as ever. Lori was young, older than me, but still young. She was only thirty-six. The Lori I was seeing had aged about fifteen more years, and I was afraid of the effect prolonged stress would have on her. I remember thinking that the Lori I was looking at now shouldn't be there. That Rick shouldn't be in the hospital. That Carl shouldn't be relying on Shane the Douchebag as a father-figure, no matter how short-term it was.

Mostly because Shane was a douchebag.

"You know he's going to make it, right?" I told her. "He's a Grimes. Grimes' are stubborn, and loyal to a fault. He's not going to just lie there and waste away, he won't leave you and Carl. Death himself can't even stop him." She looked doubtful so I continued. "I don't believe in much, Lori, but if there's one thing I have faith in, it's Rick Grimes. He's gonna be fine."

Lori laughed a little, but only a little, as she muttered "Yeah, you're right, you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm Puck fucking Montgomery," I'd stated loftily. That made her snort.

"Technically, you're Lyla Puck fucking Montgomery."

"Eh," I grunted, turning up my nose and waving my hand dismissively, and purposely brought up a another topic she could use as an out if she wanted, "My own mother doesn't even call me Lyla."

And lo and behold, she did. Lori straightened, eyeing me with interest and genuine concern. "Speaking of your mom, how's she doin'?"

I sighed and leaned forward to rest my elbows on the table, cupping my chin in my hand. "Good, actually. Really good. She's been clean ever since she found out she was pregnant, and the little guy is due any day now," I paused. "I'm proud of her."

Lori nodded, seeming relieved and happy for both me and my mom. "How do you feel about bein' a big sister at twenty-one?"

My responding grin was wide and excited. "I've always wanted to be a big sister, ever since I could understand the concept. I won't lie and say it doesn't feel a little weird, I mean, mom's like forty-five, and I'm old enough to have a kid myself. But I'm looking forward to it, and I'm more than up for the challenge."

"God, you're just adorable!" Lori laughed. I shrugged, unashamed.

"I know, I can't even handle myself sometimes."

Lori rolled her eyes and shook her head, though she was still chuckling. "She figure out a name yet?"

"Nah," I snorted. "She says she won't know till she sees him. Whatever the hell that means."

"Mother's intuition, Puck. You'll understand one day," she advised sagely. This time it was my turn to roll my eyes and shake my head. "What about your dad? How does he feel about it?"

I shrugged. "Dad seems to be taking it all right. Which is to say, he doesn't really care. Ever since he and mom split so mom could, and I quote, 'slum it', he doesn't seem to give two shits what she does. Doesn't understand why I continue to go see her though, to support her. For all my Ma's faults, she tries when she thinks it's worth it."

Lori understood that. "Uh-huh, what about the baby's father?"

I can recall being stumped by that one, as I tried to figure out what I was feeling. I hadn't met my half-brother's father, but based on stories I heard from mom, he wasn't a very good man. "Dunno," I said finally. "Ma hasn't seen him in months, she says. Could be locked up again. I'm pretty sure though that if he ever comes near my mom or baby brother again, I might lose it. I do know for sure that won't let either of them get hurt."

"Loyal to a fault," Lori mused with amusement, "How like a Grimes."

"Well, you three were bound to rub off on me sometime."

Just then, Carl came bursting through the kitchen door with a plate held with both his hands, Morris hulking right behind him with a plate of his own.

"Mom," Carl interrupted, "I made you lunch!"

"Did you now?" Lori asked. "I hope it's edible."

"No worse than your pancakes, I'm sure," I teased snarkily.

Lori gasped playfully, pretending to be affronted. "My boys love my pancakes! Ain't that right, Carl?"

I snickered, watching Carl's on point performance of a deer caught in headlights. "Yes, mom," he said slowly, awkwardly, "your pancakes are... great."

His mom let out a short breath, almost a scoff, as her back hit the leather of the booth. "Unbelievable," she said, her eyes wide and a small astonished smile stretching her lips, "This is your fault, ya know," she told me as her son served her her food.

"Pfft, mine?"

"Yeah, yours, you're corrupting my son."

"Wouldn't be a big sis if I wasn't," I shrugged, and looked at Carl, giving him a conspiratorial wink. "Ain't that right, Carl?" I asked him, using his mom's own words. He nodded once in affirmation, turning a proud smile to Lori, one that bared all his teeth.

And then I got the call.

Every time I run through this particular moment in my head it seems to go slowly, though it all went lightning fast for me at the time. As soon as I felt my cell vibrating in my jeans back pocket, I excused myself to answer it, confused when I didn't recognize the number. I answered with a pleasant but questioning hello, replying with an affirmative when the woman on the other side asked if she was talking to Lyla Montgomery-

"I'm calling to inform you that your mother, Virginia Montgomery, has been admitted to Harrison Memorial Hospital's maternity ward. She's gone into emergency labor, and she told us to contact you."

And my heart skipped a beat as my mind tried to send itself into a panic. "W-what?" I asked breathlessly. Lori, Carl, and Morris looked over in concern, and seeing them is what made me pull my shit together. "Fuck."

The next thing I knew I was flying out the door with my car keys in hand, uniform still on, and cursing up a storm while still on the phone with the woman from the hospital.

"I'm sorry to also inform you that she... She has been infected."

"Fuck," I'd hissed again, "Give me five minutes,"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but we aren't accepting any more visitors today."

"The hell you mean you're not accepting any more visitors? It's the middle of the day!"

"I'm aware, Ms. Montgomery, but we just aren't accepting visitors."

And instantly I was so immeasurably pissed that I growled into receiver "Yeah? The fuck ya ain't! She's my God damn mother lady!" and then hung up.

I had almost been too late. Traffic conditions were weird for three thirty in the afternoon, and it caused me some delay. Helicopters were crowding the horizon, but I never paid them much attention. My focus had been on getting to my mother, to my little brother. When I did arrive, the woman at the front desk, the woman I had presumably spoken on the phone with, tried to stop me but I approached her without any regards, and demanded she tell me where my mom was. Something in my expression or my tone must've told her I wasn't fucking around and she stammered out an answer, and I breezed past her without a second thought.

"You need scrubs, she's in the operating room!" I heard the woman call. I turned.

"Why?"

"Emergency cesarean section. She was infected, and the Doctor didn' wanna risk the babe."

"Then fuckin' put me in scrubs, because there ain't no way in hell she's goin' through this alone," I snapped back, my drawl bleeding through heavily due to my anger and stress. I usually went to great lengths to keep it clamped down, but I couldn't be bothered anymore.

The woman didn't argue, just took me back, put me in scrubs, then led me to the operating room my mother was in. She was awake, mouth attached to a breathing mask, and lying on a table with her belly cut open with three people standing over her and two more off to the side.

"What is she doing in here, who is she?" One of the men to the side demanded to know. Thankfully, the three trying to pull my baby brother from my mother's womb kept their focus on her instead of me. My mother's head flopped to the side, to see who the man had shouted about, and her hand reached for me when she realized who I was. Immediately, I went to her and took her outstretched hand, smoothing wisps of hair from her sweaty face.

"It's alright Mama, I'm here." I comforted as the woman who escorted me explained who I was. The man wasn't happy but I didn't care.

"The hospital is supposed to be on lockdown," he pointed out.

"Doesn't matter, she's here now," the second woman told him.

Then there was crying, crying that could only come from an infant and I glanced over the screen they had put up to block mom's view. "Oh, mama he's beautiful," I told her softly while they disconnected the umbilical cord. She smiled, and exhaled with relief, her eyes bright and feverish. The nurses took him to the other end of the room where they began to clean and examine him. "You'll get to hold him soon, don't worry."

She was shaking her head before I even finished the sentence, and pulled the mask down. "No, no, not now, can't risk it," she muttered in a panic.

"Okay, okay," I soothed, still brushing through her hair with my clammy shaky fingers, "That's okay, don't worry about it." A nurse, whose face I can't recall pushed him into my arms, and I took him without hesitation. "What's his name though Mama? What are we gonna call him, he needs a name."

She smiled at me once again, and then at him, extending her hand to softly brush against the blanket he was swaddled in. "Peter," she cooed softly.

It was a nice name; simple. Too simple for her, considering what she named me. "Why Peter?"

God, she looked so tired. "I just- ya always loved Peter Pan," she replied, "Ever since you were a little girl. It was yer everythan', I couldn' get it out of my head, and just I started callin' him Peter. And it just seemed to fit. It's silly."

I choked a laugh and sniffled, not even realizing that I had begun to cry. "Ain't silly. It's perfect. All right, Peter. Peter what?"

"...Peter Benvolio."

"Aw hell Ma," I cringed. "You gotta stop with the Shakespeare thing, the kid's gonna get bullied. God, I'm so sorry Peter, Ma's loopy on the drugs."

"Puck, I'm so sorry, baby girl, m'sorry," she breathed, and it felt like I couldn't breath myself.

"It's okay Mama, it's okay, you're gonna be fine."

"M'not baby girl. I'm sorry."

I had scoffed at her, "Don't be sorry Mama, you got nothin' to be sorry'bout."

She shook her head dazedly. "Nah, I got plenty to be sorry 'bout. But not you two," she said, looking at Peter and I with pride, "You two were good. Best things I've ever done. Peter and Puck," and then she laughed, "Two of literature's most mischievous characters. If he's ever like you, yer gonna have yer hands full, baby girl."

"Don't talk like that," I ordered. "We're both gonna have our hands full."

"Ain't we anymore baby. M'sorry. Love ya Puck. Tell Peter I love him too."

"What-?" I started, before I noticed the doctors and the nurses weren't doing anything, they just stood there watching. "Why aren't you sewing her back up?"

The lone female nurse gently tried to approach me. "She's been infected Ms. Montgomery. There ain't nothin' we can do."

The door burst open again, and the sound of screaming and shouting and gunshots that I hadn't heard before filled the room. My mother was crying hopelessly, and Peter was wailing like any other healthy newborn, and some military man with a huge ass gun and a shit ton of armor was standing in the doorway waving us out and the situation was just so wild and unknown that I couldn't comprehend it and I felt like I was going to hyperventilate with how fast everything was going through my head.

"We gotta move out!" the soldier was yelling.

I shook my head, clutching Peter tightly to my chest, "What the fuck is going on? Why aren't you helping her?!" They all tried to usher me out, but I was resistant.

"It's too late, the hospital is being overrun, we have to go!" the soldier yelled at me again, finally forcing me out of the room by grabbing my upper arm and yanking me towards him.

"Overrun by what?!"

And suddenly, a bloodied, disfigured face was surging towards me and my brother, teeth snapping, and by instinct I kicked him or her or it away from us, screaming as I backed away. The soldier pushed me behind him and shot it in the head once. Just once. And it stopped moving.

"That," he answered. I held Peter closer, if that was even possible, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he continued to screech. I felt like I was going to throw up, or pass out, or possibly just start screaming and crying like Peter.

"And you're just gonna leave my mom open there like a buffet table for whatever the hell those things are?! What kind of doctors- what kind of people are you?!"

The soldier, whose name I later learned to be Corporal Maze, turned to me. I couldn't see his face, due to all the gear on him, but I could tell he considered me for a long moment and then Peter, and he sighed.

"The kind that get the ones who have a chance out," he told me. "Now, move."

I obeyed that time, caught in some some kind of a daze, but I somehow managed to process that he while he sent me and the others ahead of him, he stayed behind for a moment. I heard him fire another single shot and the door we had just come out of close, before his heavy booted footfalls caught up with us.

And in my head, I could hear my mother crying and whispering my name like a prayer.

A/N: Sorry, gonna start yet another fic that I probably won't update regularly. Whoops. Just needed to get this out of my system after seeing season 5's finale Sunday. That was a wild ride.

Let me know what you think.