Chapter 1: Welcome to Fort Good
"The dead walk among us. Zombies, ghouls—no matter what their label—these somnambulists are the greatest threat to humanity, other than humanity itself."
-Max Brooks (The Zombie Survival Guide)
"Hey you." a voice crackles to life through the radio "You in the tank… Yeah, YOU dumbass." Rick stares at the source of the sound in disbelief. He had only been in the tank a minute, maybe two. The thought of using one the last of his remaining bullets on himself had crossed his mind. More than once in fact since he had fallen off the horse. "You still alive in there?"
He crawls over to the radio in a panic "Yes, yes I'm here. Where are you? Can you see me?"
Only static comes through for a moment and Rick fears they've lost the connection. Then the man's voice breaks through again, "Yeah, we can see you… AND the hundreds of walkers swarming all around you. Smooth move buddy."
"It's pretty bad out there, huh?" Rick sighs. He knew he was in trouble the moment he ran into that big group of them. He expected a safe haven in Atlanta. He hoped to find his wife and son. This was not part of the plan.
Again the radio goes silent. Taking longer this time to respond, "Just be glad you can't see what I'm seeing." The voice laughs sympathetically. "We got a plan though. If you're up for it?"
His eyes open wide at that last question, and instantly his adrenaline starts pumping. The thought that he may well make it out of this situation overrides any other thoughts of fear or failure. "I'm ready. Got my pistol but that's it. What's the plan?" he spits out quickly.
"Alright, we're gonna try to distract them first. Send the ice cream truck by you. Use the noise to draw them back in the direction you just came from. Wait 30 seconds after that car passes and come out. Head out AWAY from the horse. There will be a car waiting. Get in the back seat driver's side." The voice goes silent but hasn't let go of the talk button. "Oh and you better move fast. Killer doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Confusion spreads across his face as he mentally enacts the plan in his head. "Wait, ice cream truck? Killer? When are you coming?" he wonders aloud. He hopes they are right about the noise. He hopes when he opens the hatch there isn't a horde of dead… things… waiting to eat him alive. The corpse next to him is already giving him the spooks.
A laugh comes through the speaker once again, "Killer is about to save your sorry ass in about 60 seconds. If you wanna make it outta that tank alive you better get your shit together buddy. Ready or not here they come." He breathes deeply and drops the CB, positioning himself to jump out as quickly as possible. His gun aimed at whatever might be waiting… just in case.
Rick soon hears the muffled sound of an ice cream truck pass by. He lets out a chuckle. It goes slowly trying to lure in as many of them as possible and allowing them to keep pace. It seems to be working as the sounds of banging on the tank around him ease. He counts out 30 seconds with the tap of his foot and flings open the hatch. There is one straggler waiting for him. He quickly fires at his head and it drops to the ground. His police training proves advantageous yet again.
The car is just yards away and Rick runs easily around the others that were drawn back in by the sound of the gunshot. He quickly jumps inside the vehicle. It seems to be more of an SUV. Definitely an older model that's large and heavy for better protection from 'outside forces'. The body is spray painted by hand in an amateur attempt at camouflage. The windows are tinted so nothing can see inside. Before he even closes the door the driver takes off. Speeding down the road Rick tries to get his bearings.
The truck is empty aside from him and the driver. The interior looks old and well worn. Probably something they found on the street and commandeered. It is a wise choice for safety's sake but not altogether the most fuel efficient in a world where gas is hard to come by, Rick thinks. A walkie-talkie on the passenger seat beeps and startles him out of his revelry. "Hey Killer, is he clean?" the same voice that he heard in the tank now addresses the driver of the vehicle.
His eyes meet 'Killers' in the rearview. Very feminine blue eyes attempt check him out as best they can while speeding down the deserted streets of Atlanta before she asks, "You alright there cowboy?" Her words are dry as if it didn't much matter to her whether he was ok or not.
"Yeah, I think I'll live." He answers smartly but gets no reaction from his rescuer.
Killer grabs the radio instead and responds "Nothing obvious. I'll check him out when we get in. Heading out on Moreland. Rendezvous at base in five." She has on army fatigue pants and a black tank top with blonde hair pulled back tightly in bun. Everything about her seems to be precise and almost cold. From the way she looks to the way she drives and even the way she spoke. Rick mentally crosses his fingers that he's been rescued and is about to be taken to safety. That he might find his family there. He chooses not to show his hand just yet though.
Then there is silence. Aside from the frequent glances in her mirror the driver doesn't acknowledge him at all. "My name is Rick. Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes. Thanks for savin my ass." He pauses for her to speak but when she doesn't he continues, "Do I call you… Killer?"
"If you want." She says matter-of-factly.
He laughs to himself a little at the image that popped into his head when they first told him not to keep Killer waiting, "Don't you have a real name?"
She's apparently not amused. "You can call me whatever you want sweetheart, as long as you stay out of my way." Her eyebrow arches in the mirror, annoyed with his persistence.
Rick takes quick note of the gun on her hip but still cannot get a read for her intentions. "Well if it's all the same to you I'd like to call you by your actual name, like the one on your birth certificate? You have to have a name…" He says with as much charm as he can muster while sliding to the other side of the car to get a better look at her. His partner Shane always told him he could he could sell sunglasses to a blind man if he wanted to. Not that he would. He was too honest of a guy.
Not missing a beat she answers, "I don't have a REAL name, or a birth certificate, or a driver's license, social security card, passport… no marriage certificate, voter registration card… did I miss anything there? Well, whatever it is, I don't have that either." Maybe he's not as charming as Shane thought. Killer still doesn't look at him but she smirks in his general direction. He can see the freckles on her cheeks and nose now. She's younger than him, maybe in her early thirties.
Rick puts a hand on the head rest in front of him and smiles, "Well alright. Killer it is."
As they drive he sees an ominous building loom in the distance located off the main road way on the outskirts of town. It's an institutional building for sure. When the barbed wire comes into view their destination becomes all too clear. Two men dressed fully in army fatigues and carrying rifles run up to open the gate and Killer drives up the drive to a loading dock in the back. Others are waiting for them there. Talking amongst themselves but all heavily armed they seem both casual and menacing at the same time.
A spark of hope lights up Rick's face. It doesn't go unnoticed by Killer either. Still, he is reluctant to walk into any situation uniformed and outnumbered. Life has taught him that lesson the hard way twice now. She waits for Rick to exit the vehicle and when he doesn't she opens her door and says over her shoulder, "Welcome to Metro State Prison. A.k.a. Fort Good. You better go check in with boys…"