THE WALKING DEAD
"EL DORADO"
CHAPTER 1
As the morning sun rose above the West Georgia Correctional Facility, Rick Grimes spoke to his group living in Cell Block C, and then visited the Woodburians living in Cell Block D; he told both groups that he had a special announcement, and asked them to step out onto the courtyard. The two groups walked over to the set of aluminum bleachers and sat down. Rick stood before them, his jacket buttoned up to protect him from the cold breeze, but he had a grin on his face.
"Everyone, I have good news: last night Daryl came back with a deer."
The Woodburians looked over at Daryl Dixon, who stood a few yards alongside Rick. The gruff redneck had his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow slung over his shoulder, and he looked like he was staring down a bull moose preparing to charge him. One of the Woodburians started to clap, and he was joined by another, and then all of the Woodburians started applauding Daryl in appreciation for his successful hunt. The gruff redneck blushed and turned his head. Carol Peletier sat amongst Rick's group on the other bleachers; she smiled at Daryl's embarrassing reaction, but she covered it up with the palm of her hand before he noticed.
The applause died down, and Rick gave everyone the bad news:
"Unfortunately, the meat has to go to the work crew."
Everyone—especially the Woodburians—looked dumbfounded at Rick for a moment, and they started to grumble.
"I'm sorry. It was a tough call, but a necessary one," Rick explained. "Henry drafted a plan that uses the motor pool's side doors for the new gate, but the work crew needs to build up its strength first; we can't risk someone getting seriously hurt. Everyone will have oatmeal for breakfast, but the crew will have the deer meat for lunch and dinner."
The Woodburians shouts grew louder and some began to curse at Rick.
"My kids are starving!" a woman shouted.
"You call yourself a leader, Rick?" a man asked angrily.
"To hell with this prison! I say we go back to Woodbury!" another man shouted.
The man's suggestion was met with a roar of approval from his fellow Woodburians. John Boyd, the Woodburians' self-appointed leader, and who seemed to wear an Atlanta Braves baseball cap constantly, folded his arms across his chest and grinned. On the other bleachers, Rick's group sat in disbelief as they watched the Woodburians' rant, but Carl Grimes glared at the recent arrivals and muttered, "You ungrateful fuckers."
Rick took a few steps forward and raised his arms. "Okay, calm down. Calm down," he said.
The Woodburian's stopped shouting and Rick put his hands down. "I'm sorry. I know all of you are tired of three squares of oatmeal every day, my people are too. But this is the way it has to be. The work crew will rest up today, go over the plan, and tomorrow morning they'll put up the new gate. I'm just asking all of you to be patient for 48 hours. I'll be worth it, believe me."
The Woodburians grumbled amongst themselves until they nodded in agreement.
"Wait a minute," John said as he stood up with a hand raised.
"John, don't—" his wife Donna whispered as she took hold of his other hand.
John swatted Donna's hand away and glared at Rick. "Here's an easy command decision for you, Rick: Send Dixon out for some more deer."
John's comment brought a round of applause from the Woodburians, but Daryl stomped towards the bleachers and glared at the Vietnam veteran. "Hey! I ain't a damn deliver boy!" He shouted angrily. "If you want fast food, talk to the Korean!"
The Woodburians turned their anger towards Daryl again and he shouted back at them until Rick put his hand on his shoulder and eased him backwards. On the other bleachers, Glenn Rhee huffed at Daryl's statement. "Well, at least he got my heritage right this time," he muttered.
"You can't expect us to keep eating oatmeal when there's fresh meat!" a woman shouted at Rick.
"It was never this way with the Governor!" a man shouted as he stood up. "He saw to it that all of us had food!"
The Woodburians shouted in agreement and others stood up and pointed their fingers at Rick as they resumed shouting at him. On the other bleachers, Carl couldn't take seeing his father being insulted, so he stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Shut up!"
The Woodburians stopped shouting and they—along with Rick's group and Rick himself—looked stunned at the boy in the weathered Stetson hat.
"My dad is a good man!" Carl shouted. "He was helping people long before all of…all of this happened! He was a policeman, and a bank robber shot him and put him in a coma! When the walkers appeared in our town we had to leave him in the hospital. I thought he was dead!"
A tear ran down Carl's face and he trembled. "…My mom thought he was dead too."
Rick, standing on the courtyard, lowered his head and remembered Lori, how she believed he died in that hospital too, and how her grief led her to Shane.
Carl wiped the tears from his face and looked up at the Woodburians again. "My dad found me and my mom with this group outside Atlanta, and he's led our group ever since. He never asked to be our leader, he became our leader. And do you know why?"
The Woodburians didn't reply but a few of them looked at each as if one of them was going to answer Carl's question.
"Because no one else wanted to be our leader!" Carl shouted. "Nobody ever wants to make hard decisions: where to go, where to find food and water, were to find medicine, who to trust, who to help, and when we have to fight. Those decisions mean life or death, and it takes a strong person to make them!"
"I don't agree with everything my dad has done; when brought you all back with him, I was angry, but I know he did it because all of you needed help. That's what a leader does!"
"What about your leader, the Governor? Did you all forget what he did? He murdered your friends! They believed in him, but he murdered all of them! Is that the kind of man you want as your leader?!"
The Woodburians were shamed by Carl's words, and they glanced down at their feet and shifted their posture uncomfortably.
"If you're going to want live with us in this prison, you better start listening to my dad and give him some respect! If you won't do that or if you to go back to Woodbury…go!" Carl shouted angrily while pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "Pack your bags and get out!"
Carl remained standing and the silence was bursting like thunder over the courtyard. Then slowly, the Woodburians sat back down on the bleachers and lowered their heads in submission. Rick Grimes looked up at his son and smiled in pride and gratitude.
"What…what do you want from us, Rick?" John asked meekly.
Rick rested the palm of his hand atop the grip of his Colt Python and took a step forward. "Well, John. What I need is a construction crew."
John looked to his left and to his right. "Who did you pick?"
Rick shook his head. "I didn't pick anybody."
"What?" John asked.
"I don't know anything about construction, so I asked Henry to write up a list of candidates. Henry, could you step forward please?"
Construction foreman Henry Matheson sat on the row above John and Donna, he stood up with his clipboard in his hand and muttered "Excuse me," as his tall, thin frame stepped over the couple and walked towards Rick.
Henry faced the Woodburians, cleared his throat, and flipped through the papers on his clipboard. "Okay. I made a list of the guys I think would be the best for this project. When I call your name please step forward."
"Tyreese Williams," Henry called out.
Tyreese, a former NFL player and a construction worker, sat on the third row between his sister Sasha, and Karen. He stood up and made his way down the bleachers and onto the courtyard.
"Eddie Nowak," Henry called out.
Eddie, a sturdy carpenter with calloused hands and gray hair, sat on the bottom row. He stood up, and walked forward to stand alongside Tyreese.
"John Boyd," Henry called out.
John smiled, kissed Donna on her forehead, and sauntered forward proudly.
"Daryl Dixon," Henry called out.
Daryl raised his head at the sound of his name and glared at Henry. When Daryl didn't join the construction crew, Henry looked over at the gruff redneck and threw up his hands with impatience.
"No," Daryl said as he shook his head for emphasis.
Henry blinked in disbelief as Rick huffed at the defiance of his second-in-command.
"Daryl, we need your help on this," Rick said sternly.
"You've got plenty of hands over there," Daryl grumbled as he adjusted the crossbow's weight on his shoulder and nodded at the Woodburians. "Pick yourself another pair."
"What is your malfunction, Dixon?" John asked.
"Well, I've three of 'em: first is fuck you," and at that, Daryl pointed his middle finger at John.
"You fucking, white trash—!" John shouted as he started to run towards Daryl, but Tyreese and Eddie held him back, as Donna stood up and ran forward to calm her husband down.
"Second: I've done my share already," Daryl continued as he pointed his index finger alongside his middle. "So don't forget to tell me thanks before you have your dinner!"
"And third: You pricks need to start earnin' your keep!" Daryl resumed as he pointed his ring finger alongside his middle and index. "So start singin' like the Seven Dwarfs and get to it!"
John—and a few of the Woodburians—started cursing and shouting at Daryl, but he walked towards Cell Block C as if he didn't have a care in the world. Rick raised his hands and called for order, while Carol, held her head in her hand and sighed wearily over Daryl's rash behavior.
"All right, everyone. Calm down, please," Rick repeated until the Woodburians finally heard him and stopped talking. Rick looked over at John and Donna: she was returning to the bleachers, and he looked over at him; Rick shrugged and John kicked a pebble across the courtyard.
"Henry, do you have anyone else on that list?" Rick asked.
Henry looked down at his clipboard and his fingertip slid down his list. "Alonso Rawlins," he called out.
Alonso, a bald black man with a goatee, stood up and joined the work crew.
"And finally…Greg Manning," Henry called out.
Greg , a white man with receding blonde hair, stood up and grinned at the construction crew as he walked over to them.
"That should be enough, Rick. Especially if we're careful," Henry said as he tucked the clipboard under his arm.
"Well, careful is exactly what we have to be," Rick nodded.
"We will. But remember what I said: keep those walkers off my back."
"Done," Rick nodded. "Okay, everybody," he said as he looked at both groups, "thank you for your patience. Go and have your breakfast. The work crew will meet back here in an hour."
The two groups climbed down from the bleachers and followed the work crew as they returned to their separate cell blocks. Carl was about to walk past his father when he felt his father's hand rest on his shoulder.
"Carl, we have to talk," Rick said.
Carl looked up at his father, and nodded. Rick gently moved Carl forward and he and his son began walking side-by-side across the courtyard.
"I'll say one thing, Carl: you certainly speak your mind," Rick grinned.
"I'm sorry I shouted, Dad," Carl said apologetically. "I'm sorry I—"
"Carl," Rick interrupted.
Carl stopped walking and looked up again at his father, who had also stopped walking and was looking down at him.
"It's all right," Rick said.
Carl blinked and Rick knelt down on one knee so he could look his son in the eyes. "I appreciate that you stood up for me like you just did. I wish you mother were here to see that."
Carl smiled and tears began to run down his face, but he put his arms around his dad's neck and hugged him so tightly, the Stetson hat on his head almost fell off. "Thanks, Dad," he wept.
Rick closed his eyes and hugged Carl, and in his mind, he saw Lori again, alive and smiling softly. "I miss her too, son," Rick said.
"I know," Carl said as he started to cry harder.
Rick held onto to Carl for a while longer, and then he gently broke his hold on Carl and reached into his jacket pocket for a balled up piece of Kleenex to dry his son's eyes. "I know these last few weeks have been rough on you: your mom died, we had the war against the Governor, and Andrea died. But you handled all of it better than a man twice your age. I'm proud of you, Carl."
"Thanks, Dad," Carl smiled as he adjusted the Stetson on his head.
Rick smiled in return and he patted Carl's shoulder. "One last thing: I know you thought I was angry with you when Hershel told me about that kid you shot in the woods. But I understand why you did it. You were protecting Judith. I just hope you never have to use that gun against another human being again."
Carl smiled at his father, but then the smile disappeared and he looked over his shoulder at the last of the Woodburians filing into Cell Block D. "Dad?" he asked.
"Yes, Carl?"
Carl looked at his father. "Do you trust those people?"
Rick stood up slightly so he could look at Cell Block D. He imagined that John Boyd was ranting about him being a bad leader and about Carl being a disrespectful brat.
I can't say that I hate that John Boyd, but I can't say that I like him either, Rick thought. But he was fooled by the Governor, so I shouldn't be surprised he doesn't trust me. I just have to earn his trust. It wasn't easy at first with Daryl, but despite some speed bumps we've gotten better. I think John and I will get there too.
Rick knelt down again looked at Carl. "I trust some of them, like Henry, and Juan. We just need to get to know them, Carl."
"Yeah," Carl said with uncertainty.
Rick stood up and he and Carl resumed their walk to Cell Block D. A minute later Carl said, "Dad?"
"Yes, Carl?"
"I think when you put up that new gate, you should throw John out."
Rick shook his head in amusement and playfully pulled the brim down on his Stetson hat. "Very funny, Marshal Dillon."
Carl pulled the brim of his Stetson up and glanced up at his father on last time before they stepped inside Cell Block C.
•••
Downhill from the prison, and behind the prison squad car that served as a temporary gate, Jeanette, a thin black woman with short hair, stood guard with Mariana Zavala, Juan's wife. Marianna's long, black hair was styled into a bun. The two women had volunteered to relieve last night's guards for this morning's watch, and they were holding brush hooks to defend themselves from any walkers that staggered out of the tree line. Two shotguns were leaning against the guard tower in case walkers staggered down the road or out of the woods and were too much for the two women to handle.
Despite the responsibility of guarding the open gate, Jeanette and Marianna couldn't help but listen to Carl Grimes' passionate defense of his father. The two women now watched as their group and Rick's group climbed down from the bleachers and made their way to their separate cell blocks for breakfast.
"Rick's boy has a way with words, huh?" Jeanette asked with a smile.
"Sí," Marianna smiled in return. "Maybe he'll grow up to become a politician."
The two women turned around and gazed down the deserted road that stretched out into the horizon. After several minutes Jeannette asked, "A lot has to change if that's going to happen."
Marianna looked questioningly at Jeannette.
"You know, the world getting put back together," Jeannette explained. "Do you think Rick Grimes can get us there?"
Marianna held up the brush hook in her hand, and remembered Juan told her that he used this weapon—a tool actually—to help John and some men kill walkers that had been attracted by the gunfire from Rick's group.
How could Rick be so stupid as to make all that noise and bring more of those monsters here? Marianna asked herself. There had to be another way to take back that field. A real leader would've thought of something better.
Marianna next thought about the other leader she knew, and how her belief in him nearly got her and her husband killed.
•••
It was past noon as Marianna and Juan cautiously make their way through the deserted, debris strewn streets of Atlanta. Juan held a Remington 870 shotgun he found inside an abandoned Atlanta PD squad car that had crashed into the side of an O'Reilly Auto Parts store, while Marianna held onto Juan's Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver with both hands. They both were carrying backpacks: Juan's was stuffed with canned food, bottled water, and ammunition for his revolver, while Marianna's was stuffed with her most treasured family photo albums. The street was mercifully clear, with the occasional car wreck or an abandoned vehicle along the street.
"Do you think we should take a car?" Marianna asked Juan.
Juan watched their surroundings but grunted his refusal. "No. We're not clear of the city yet."
"Please, Juan, let's take a car and get out of here!" Marianna begged.
"No!" Juan said though clenched teeth. "What if the engine won't turn? I don't want us trapped in a melon if the dead show up! We'll get a car when we're clear of the city!"
Marianna obediently accepted Juan's reasoning and they continued to move carefully along the street. Then they heard the rumble of engines behind them. They turned around and saw a convoy of three vehicles speeding up the road: the lead was a Nissan Altima, the second was a Ford Explorer, and the last was a Dodge Grand Caravan, with its roof loaded with metal boxes and canvas bags.
"Juan, we have to hide!" Marianna shouted as she tugged on her husband's arm.
"It's too late, miel, they spotted us," Juan said, his complexion turning pale.
Marianna started to cry, but she found the courage to raise the revolver and aim it at the lead car. Juan took a deep breath and raised the shotgun to his shoulder as he looked down its iron sights. "Padre nos proteja," he whispered.
The convoy slowed down and came to a stop a few feet away from Marianna and Juan. The Nissan's passenger door opened and a timid man wearing granny glasses and holding a roadmap stepped out. "Uh…hell-hello," the man stuttered. "My name is Milton. Milton Mamet."
In the opposite lane, the front doors to the Explorer opened: a middle aged white couple with dark hair stepped out of the driver and passenger seats. The man had a Springfield Armory 1911 pistol and aimed it at the Zavala's, while the woman held a Mossberg 500 Cruiser shotgun and aimed her weapon at them too.
The doors to the Grand Caravan opened: two white men climbed out from the front, and a white woman with two small children climbed out from the back. The driver had a revolver in his waistband, but he didn't draw it, but the passenger had an AR-15 rifle and aimed it at Marianna and Juan. The two children were scared and clung to the woman for protection.
The driver's side door to the Altima opened and a tall, white man with auburn hair got out. He wore a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a quilted hunting vest, and charcoal pants; a nickel plated Beretta 92SB pistol was in a crossdraw holster on his belt, and a hunting knife was on his hip. The man put his hands in the air and he smiled warmly. "Hello, folks. Nice day for a walk, right?" he asked.
Marianna and Juan kept their weapons up, but they glanced at each other in disbelief at the man's greeting.
"That was a joke. A bad joke, but my heart was in the right place," the man explained. "Could you both lower your weapons please?"
"You rolled up on us!" Juan spat.
The man's smile vanished and he turned around and motioned for his group to lower their weapons; the silently obeyed his order. "I'm sorry that I frightened you both," he said as he looked back at Marianna and Juan. "Please, lower your weapons and let's talk."
Marianna and Juan glanced at each other, and they lowered their weapons. The man smiled again and walked over to them. "All things considered, it's fortunate that we met like this. If you didn't run into a gang of thieves, you surely would've run into some biters."
Marianna looked questioningly at the man. "Biters?" she asked.
The man nodded. "That's what we call the dead."
"Dios Mío," Marianna whispered as she crossed herself.
"We…we haven't seen those…demons today," Juan said.
"No…not yet," the man countered.
Juan looked over his shoulder at the open road, and a moment later he looked at the man and nodded.
"My people and I gathered up these vehicles and supplies and are going to try our luck out in the country," the man said. "Judging by those weapons and backpacks, I'd say you both have the same idea."
"Sí," Juan said.
Marianna nodded quickly in agreement.
"Then if you want to join our group, you're more than welcome," the man said. "We can't rely on the police and the army anymore, but we can rely on each other."
The man extended his hand to Juan, who looked at it for a moment and shook the man's hand. "I'm Juan…Juan Zavala. This is my wife, Marianna."
"Philip Blake," the man said.
Mariana shook Philip's hand and he led her and Juan to the Ford Explorer. As they walked past the Altima, the rear passenger window slid down and a little auburn haired girl stuck her head out the window. "Who are they, Daddy?" she asked sweetly.
"They're friends, Penny," Philip answered with a smile.
Penny smiled at Marianna, and she couldn't help but smile back at the little girl.
The driver of the Explorer climbed into the vehicle and Marianna heard the trunk's lock disengage. At the same time, the Explorer's passenger climbed into the vehicle. "That's Nick and Alice," Philip explained as he opened the Explorer's trunk. "You two can get to know them during the drive. Put your shotgun and backpacks in here."
Marianna and Juan took off their backpacks and put them atop a pile of gym bags that were loaded with supplies. Next Juan clicked the Remington 870s safety on, and put it atop the backpacks. Marianna hand Juan his Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver, and he stuck it in his waistband.
Their gear stowed away, Juan and Marianna walked over to the Explorer's rear door; Juan opened it, and leapt back in surprise. "Madre dios!" he shouted.
"Juan, what is it?" she asked worriedly.
Juan pointed at the Ford Explorer, Marianna looked inside and saw a white man who was deathly pale and wrapped in blankets sitting beside the rear passenger window. The man's right arm ended in a stump and it was wrapped in gauze that was stained with dry blood.
"I forgot to mention Merle," Philip smiled. "Don't worry about him. He cut off his hand to get away from the Biters, but he'll be fine in a few days."
Juan reluctantly climbed into the Ford Explorer and sat in the center of the rear passenger seat, Marianna climbed in after him and Philip closed the door for her. Juan couldn't help but stare at Merle, whose tired eyes suddenly burned with hate. "What the fuck are you lookin' at, Beaner?" he spat.
Juan looked down at the floorboard, clasped his hands together, and said nothing.
Philip returned to the Altima and stood by the car's doorway as he looked at his group. "Let's roll!" he shouted.
Philip sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door. Milton got back in the car and closed the passenger door. The rest of the group climbed back into their vehicles, closed the doors, started the engines, and followed Philip as he led them out of Atlanta.
•••
Her memory of meeting the future Governor over, Marianna started to tremble. She dropped the brush hook to the ground and wrapped her arms around her chest as she began to weep.
"Marianna, what's wrong, honey?" Jeanette asked worriedly as she placed her hand on her friend's back.
"Oh, ¡Dios mío," Marianna wailed.
"Marianna?" Jeanette asked.
"He won't save us," Marianna said.
"Who?" Jeanette asked frightfully.
"Rick Grimes!" Marianna answered. "He'll kill us all!"
TO BE CONTINUED