Hey guys! So this is a new fic based on the Walking Dead, written by myself and tumblr user Ordinaryryder. Check out our tumblrs: usernames are ordinaryryder and either kocoumbuthessoserious/glintwarsgreatest for mine!
Disclaimer: This is a horror story. Like the show, and the comics, and even The Hunger Games – anyone can die at any point, and seriously – we mean anyone. We could decide to George R. R. Martin this. Also, you will get Everlark. It will happen, we promise, we just ask that you are patient.
It was just another normal, hot, muggy, unbearable Georgia summer day as Peeta Mellark and Gale Hawthorne sat in their squad car, eating burgers, waiting for something to happen in their sleepy hometown. Peeta sat in the drivers seat, droplets of sweat dripping from his brow, watching the slow moving towns people make their way into the shops on main street.
"I don't know man," Gale said as he munched on some of Peeta's fries. "It seems to me like the real action is in Atlanta. Not much really happens around here you know?"
Peeta sighed. How many times had they had this exact conversation?
"Plenty happens here Gale. Just because it's not like some damn TV show doesn't mean we don't keep busy." He retorted, slapping Gale's hand away from the rest of his burger. "Besides, I got my family here. I like being able to see them whenever I want, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah I know, always with the family. How's Madge doing by the way?" Gale asked, his interest suddenly drawn to the peeling paint on the inside of the door.
"She's fine. Rye keeps her plenty busy and so does Rick, but they seem happy." Peeta said, trying to not roll his eyes at Gale's transparency.
"Happy huh? That's good, that's good." Gale grunted as he shifted in his seat.
Peeta was about to launch into his normal "you need to stop asking questions about my sister" tirade when the radio on the dash interrupted his speech.
"All available units, High speed pursuit in progress. Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound. GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise Extreme Caution."
The call sent a jolt of anticipation ran down Gale's spine. He flashed a grin at Peeta, who looked less excited, and more apprehensive.
"Well what are you waiting for Mellark? Flip on the lights and let's go!" Gale said, his enthusiasm undaunted as he tossed the bag with their burgers into a trashcan next to the car.
Peeta sighed and did as he was told, pulling the car out from where they were parked and speeding off, sirens blaring.
It wasn't that Peeta didn't love his job as a police officer, he did; but he often wondered if his best friend was only in it for the thrills, for the possibility of things like shoot offs, and tire spikes; like they were playing a real life video game.
The reality of another man (or woman) pointing a gun at you wasn't anything like a video game. There was no "respawn". You only had one life.
As the squad car sped down the back county road towards the highway, dispatch continued to provide Peeta and Gale with more details on just what it was they were going to encounter. Gale sat checking his gun over and over, ensuring it was loaded while Peeta gripped the steering wheel, listening intently to what was being said. Little details could be life saving.
"Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded."
Almost immediately another car joined them as they sped down the highway, coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the road to intercept the chase.
"Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18, two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio."
Gale immediately jumped out of the car, and raced around towards the trunk to retrieve the spike roll there. Joining him, Peeta and Gale jogged out a few hundred feet from the squad car to lay out the strip and hopefully deter the criminal's car. Peeta stood for a moment, keeping his ear pealed for any sounds, as well as what was coming from the radio.
"Roger that. We're five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection." The voice of a sheriff's deputy announced over the radio.
The spike strip laid out, Gale and Peeta ran back to the car, backing it up a large distance from the trap. Peeta grabbed the radio on his dash quickly.
"Dispatch, unit 1 and unit 3, we are 10-97 and Code 100, Highway 18, E.B. of Interstate, Please advise." His voice sounded hard and emotionless, how it always sounded in these tense situations. It was why he was a good cop, his ability to turn off his emotions and focus solely on the job in front of him. Gale continued to gaze excitedly down the road, awaiting the appearance of what was sure to come their way.
Backing up next to the other squad car, Peeta slammed on the brakes, getting out of the car quickly, readying his gun as he sat protected by the nose of the two cars parked close together. Gale quickly pulled a large rifle out of the car, loading it with ammunition.
Now all they could do was wait. The other police officers prepared themselves as well, all eyes tuned down the road as the chase made its way to them.
"Think we'll make it on one of those crazy cop shows? You know world's deadliest chases or something like that?" The young officer to Peeta's right asked.
"I think you need to focus on what we're doing here, not fantasize about being on television. And make sure the safety is off on your gun." Peeta answered, not bothering to spare the younger man a glance.
"It would be kind of cool to get on one of those shows." Gale reasoned with a smile. Peeta simply shook his head.
It was on them in flash, an older car flying down the road, swerving as it did so, with two sheriff's vehicles close behind it. Peeta felt all the muscles in his arms tense as he aimed his handgun, waiting to see if the spike strip worked it's magic.
The moment the car rolled over the strip, the sound of tires blowing rang out around them. The car lost it's handle on the road, twisting and turning, smoke billowing out from the tires and from under the hood before finally flipping over, and rolling to a stop in the field on the side of the road, wheels spinning in the air.
"Holy shit." Gale murmured loud enough for Peeta to hear.
Peeta watched as the car finally seemed to stop moving, waiting for what felt like minutes (but was only seconds) to see if any of the passengers had survived the crash. They all stood slowly, guns raised, as they made their way towards the car. Peeta felt slightly better now having 8 officers in total to fend off the two criminals, but still, the situation was dangerous.
Suddenly the door of the wrecked car groaned open, a dazed man stumbling out. For a tense moment, nothing happened, but as Peeta watched, the man pulled a gun.
"Put the gun down NOW." Peeta commanded but the man ignored him, firing on the officers that were surrounding the car.
As the battle ensued Peeta felt the air go out of him, a bullet hitting him in the stomach of his bulletproof vest. Falling to the ground, he quickly rolled towards the tall grass, trying in vain to regain his ability to breath.
Gunfire rang out around him, eight officers against one man was really no contest.
They put him down easily, riddled with bullet holes, and almost immediately the second passenger of the car hopped out with a shot gun in his hands, firing off a round the blew the windshield of Gale and Peeta's squad car. The man stumbled backwards, blood pouring from the side of his head from the wreck, allowing the officers a clear shot. He too, was killed quickly, and finally the sound of gunfire ended.
"Peeta!" Gale yelled, rushing towards Peeta now that the coast was clear.
"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Peeta wheezed, struggling to stand up, still gasping for breath. "That son of a bitch shot me, but I'm fine." He assured Gale who was now at his side.
"Damn, that scared the hell out of me Peet. I thought you were gone." Gale said, placing a rough hand on Peeta's shoulder.
"Scared the hell out of me too, dude. I can't believe he shot me, can you believe that?" Peeta responded as he unbuttoned his shirt to check on the vest he was wearing underneath.
"Gale, you don't ever tell Madge that happened ok? She'll lose her shit." Peeta started, turning to face Gale. Gale placed his hands in the air, nodding his head in understanding, when suddenly a single gunshot rang out and Peeta felt hot searing pain radiate from his side into his back, throwing him to the ground.
He heard the sound of Gale's shotgun go off, followed by a body hitting the ground, while he struggled to keep his eyes open. Gale was on him quickly, turning him onto his back.
"No, no, no, no, no! Peeta! Stay with me man! You've got to stay awake!" Gale yelled frantically, stripping off Peeta's vest and applying pressure to wound as Peeta laid gasping and wincing in pain.
"He's hit! Call an ambulance! We have an officer down!" Gale screamed behind him, as tears poured down his face.
Peeta watched Gale for as long as he could, but quickly – too quickly – everything around him faded into black.
Madge sat outside of Rye's school waiting for the bell to ring, just as she did every day of the week. It was hot outside, normal for this time of year, as she watched other parent's mill around, some on cell phones, other fussing with their younger children.
Sighing she leaned back against the bench she was sitting on, perking up slightly when a cop car rounded the corner. Sometimes Peeta liked to come by when she picked up Rye from school, give them both a ride home, and more often than not, give Rye candy he didn't need.
What she wasn't expecting was to see a pale-faced Gale emerge from the car, his eyes set immediately on her. She stood without even thinking, and found herself walking towards Gale quickly before she even realized she had begun to move.
When she reached him she could feel her heart twisting inside her chest, her stomach dropping to her knees.
"Madge, I'm sorry. He – he got hit today. It's bad. He's in a coma." Gale told her. He didn't give too many details about what had happened, but she didn't want, or really need, them. Not right now.
"A coma?" She asked, her voice breaking. Gale nodded his head, his eyes trained on the school doors opening behind her.
She turned and followed his gaze, her eyes finding her blonde haired, 11 year old son as bounded down the steps towards them both, his eyes searching for his uncle.
She closed her eyes and felt her heart break apart.
The first thing Peeta registered was that it was hot. Really, horribly, terribly hot. As his eyes flickered open, he could smell himself, sweaty and unwashed, and – oh god his side hurt. He winced as he moved his head, trying to take in his surroundings.
Hanging above him was a half empty liquid bag on an IV pole, on his left sat blank, lifeless hospital machinery. On the table nearest him was a vase with dead, wilting flowers, cards reading "Get Well Soon!" surrounding it.
Shit. How long had he been out?
He glanced down, noticing a bandage wrapped around his mid chest, his only clothes an open hospital gown and a set of grey shorts. He couldn't hear anyone moving around in the corridor outside his closed door. Buzzing for the nurse didn't work, in fact none of the machinery in the room seemed too.
Grunting, he tried to sit up, the pain radiating throughout his entire body. Looking down at his arms, he ripped out what was supposed to be his IV, pulling himself free from all the wires he was hooked up to.
As soon as he tried to stand up he stumbled, grabbing onto the machine nearest him to steady himself on his feet. How long had he been here like this? Who let him be forgotten?
Glancing around the room he spotted a phone, and using the wall to steady himself, he made his way over towards it.
Dead. No sound at all, no dial tone, nothing.
Questions spun in his head. Did the power go out? Where was his nurse? His doctor? His bandages were soaked through, blood and something else visible through the white cotton. Obviously it had been some time since he was checked in on.
"Something's happened." He said aloud, surprised at just how raspy and unused his voice was. Something had to have happened. He wasn't a police officer for nothing, and his gut was telling him – screaming at him – that something was very, very, wrong.
Before he could find out what exactly was going on, he needed water. Badly. Thirst and pain were his two most prevalent concerns right now, and after calling for a nurse for some time, it seemed that no one was coming to help him with either.
Cautiously making his way over towards the restroom, he turned on the water tap, placing his mouth directly on it, gulping down the water as it flowed, splashing some onto his face, trying to jumpstart his foggy brain.
Taking a moment his looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. His hair was longer, shaggy almost, and he had a beard coming in. Madge would hate that, she always hated when he tried to grow out his facial hair he thought, smiling to himself.
Madge. Oh shit. Madge. She would never let this happen to him if she knew. So where was she? And Rick, or Rye, or Gale? Shit, Gale would throw a fit and probably arrest people if he saw the dead machines and soaked through bandages.
Where the hell was everybody?
Making his way to the door of his room, sweating profusely just from the walk, he turned the handle only to find his way out blocked by a hospital bed jammed up against the doorway. Pushing it aside took insurmountable effort, and he came to a stop in the middle of the hallway to regain his breath, taking in the sight around him.
Papers littered the floors in all directions; the lights directly above him were all out, but down the hall a ways some flickered on and off. Down the hallway to his left something swung from the ceiling, and there wasn't a single soul in sight. It was as if everyone who worked at the hospital had left in a hurry, desperate to escape.
A hurricane? Maybe. But they would have transported him as well if that were the case. An invasion? Unlikely, especially in Georgia where everyone and their sister had a gun – an uprising would have been more likely than that, but a hospital would have been valuable to any sort of rebel group for those injured during the fight.
"I have to move." Peeta thought, and slowly – as fast really as he thought he could manage in his current state – he made his way towards the help desk, and the flickering lights, his left arm hanging limply at his side.
Reaching the help desk he immediately picked up the phone, only to find this one dead too. Shoving it off the desk in frustration he felt around until his fingers closed on a book of matches that would be helpful now that he was in the dark.
Once again walking towards where the light was flickering, he came to a stop outside a double swinging door. Peering through the window he caught his breath.
There lying in the hallway, was a corpse. It's middle and legs were completely red and mutilated, fleshless, as thought something had mauled it and removed the skin. The lack of blood made Peeta think it had to have been moved here by whoever had killed it. He took a minute and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.
What the fuck was going on? What had he woken up to?
He turned quickly, opting to walk in the other direction from the body, noticing as he walked the bullet holes and bloodstains that lines the walls. Puddles of blood were everywhere, splatters across the doors made it so a struggle was evident.
As he continued to make his way, the hallway became more and more war torn, fixtures hanging from the ceiling (if there was even an intact ceiling left), glass and plaster covering the floors. At the end of the hall stood the cafeteria door- marked with writing in what appeared to be blood reading "Don't Open Dead Inside".
Coming to a stop outside of it, Peeta stood in utter bewilderment. The door handles were locked together with a steel chain and padlock, a board forced through the handles. As he watched someone – or something – inside began to try and force it open, the chain and board only allowing for a small crack between the two doors, as pale, yellowing fingers with long yellow nails clawed at the chain.
Bewilderment turned to panic. Dead Inside. Dead people… that could still try to open a door. Peeta began breathing heavily, turning quickly on his heel and heading out of the door to his left. Finding a fire exit he hastily opened the door, throwing himself in total darkness.
The elevators didn't work, making the stairs his only option. He felt the matches in his hand, his only defense, his only source of light, and took a deep breath as the door closed behind him.
Three matches later he had made his way down the flight of stairs and out of the exit into the bright light of day. The outside world looked just as ravaged as the inside of the hospital, and on the ground lay wrapped body bags – bloodstains seeping through the fabric, flies buzzing around the corpses.
There were hundreds, all over the yard of the hospital. He walked out of the doors of the corridor and made his way up the hill, shocked at the sight before him.
Buildings looked bombed out. A helicopter and military vehicles all sat abandoned near more body bags, debris everywhere.
"What the hell happened?" He wondered aloud to himself as he began walking. He needed to get home – or more specifically he needed to get to Madge's house where he rented out the garage apartment. He saw a bicycle on the side of the road and made his way towards it, hoping against hope that his family was ok.
There was what looked like the upper half of a body lying next to the bike, but he ignored it, reaching for the handles. As he watched the half body, deep in thought, it suddenly moved, rolling over to face him.
Falling to the ground in shock, Peeta felt his heart race, a fear he had never really known taking him over.
The half body was somehow alive, even if it looked very, very dead. Its flesh was rotting through, intestines hanging out of its end, ribs visible. The lips on the face were missing – most of the face rotted through as well, its skin (or what skin was left) a dull and lifeless grey. It reached out towards him, releasing a rasping, guttural screeching sound as it did so.
Peeta collected himself, standing up quickly and mounting the bike, leaving the half dead woman on the grass behind him, struggling to crawl to where he had been on the ground.
Riding the bicycle was a relief, it took less effort than walking had, and as he rode Peeta felt anxiety rising throughout his entire being. What was that thing? How does someone become that in the first place?
As he made it to Madge's house and his own garage apartment, an even more eerie question settled over him: why hadn't he seen another living person since leaving the hospital?
Throwing the bike down in the front yard, he hobbled as quickly as he possibly could up to the front door. He found the outer door open; the screen door only partially closed and felt panic rising again.
"Madge? Rick? Rye?" He shouted as he busted in through the screen.
Nothing. No response. He made his way through each of the rooms, all of which looked completely ransacked, drawers open, clothes left on the floor, picture frames missing from the walls. All of the rooms were completely empty he realized as he collapsed onto the floor, crying out in pain and anguish.
They were gone.
"Is this real?" He whispered out loud, running his hands on the ground.
"If it's not please, please let me wake up." He begged no one in particular. When nothing changed about the reality around him, he sighed, hauling himself to his feet and walking outside to sit down on the front porch steps.
He watched, as a man from a distance down the road slowly made his way towards where he sat, and he tentatively put up a hand to wave. The man didn't wave back, and he squinted. Something wasn't right about the way the man was walking, his shoulders hunched, his feet shuffling. Was he injured too?
He didn't have a chance to find out, the sound of a twig snapping behind him alerted him to another's presence. Before he could tell who – or what – it was, the cold steel of a shovel slammed into the side of his face, causing him to fall limply onto the ground.
"Shit!" Peeta gasped, causing his assailant – a kid no older than 12 – to stop from hitting him again.
"Dad! I got him! What should I do?" The kid yelled.
As Peeta lay on the ground, struggling to stay awake, he watched the still ambling man walking towards his assailant and himself when suddenly, a man (the kid's father no doubt) walked up and shot the shuffler in the head without a second glance.
The man walked quickly over to where his son stood over Peeta, placing a hand on the child's shoulder.
"Did he say something to you? I thought I heard him talk." The man said as he breathed heavily.
"He said shit when I hit him." The kid replied, watching Peeta carefully.
"Now, you know they don't talk none son." The man said before pulling out his gun and aiming it at Peeta.
"Can you talk? Say something to me man. What's that bandage for?" The man asked pointing the gun briefly at Peeta's now almost completely soiled bandage.
"What?" Peeta gasped, staring at the barrel of the gun, trying in vain to understand the situation happening in front of him.
"What your wound? How did you get hurt? Tell me the truth or I will kill you." The man threatened as he cocked the gun.
Before Peeta could answer however, the world once again faded to black.