Author's Note: So I've been having a clear-out of both my account and my laptop, consigning stories to the bin and salvaging others that have been neglected. This is one of the latter kind. It's my first/only Walking Dead fic, so I'd love to know what you think. I did start it quite a while ago, so it's set back in the "good ole days" on the farm. Thanks for reading! :)

Afterlife

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
- Walt Whitman

One: No naked flames

He was going to shake his son until his teeth rattled. If they both got out of this alive, that was.

His head twisting from side to side, Rick Grimes took in the carnage in front of him and swore under his breath. The pistol he was carrying felt too heavy for his hand and he dashed an arm across his forehead, finding it damp with sweat. He'd known this was a possibility, finding the dilapidated gas station not so abandoned after all. That was exactly why he'd forbidden Carl to come with them when they left the relative sanctity of the farm to try refuelling a few of their vehicles.

Although the boy had been sullen over his refusal to discuss the issue, it hadn't crossed the sheriff's mind for a second that his son would stow away under a tarp in the back of one of the pick-up trucks.

"You got any idea how irresponsible you've been? Huh, do ya? Do ya know that?" Rick had snapped, his harsh tone born out of fear and the certainty that his wife would be going out of her mind back at their base camp.

The last place either of them had wanted their child was in the middle of this shit-storm.

Now wasn't the time for reprimands though. Not with mutilated walkers in the throes of blind blood-lust bearing down on them from all sides as they cowered behind an old van. Above the chilling sound of moans, something whistled through the air and they watched a crossbow bolt quiver as it buried itself in the forehead of what had once been a plump mechanic in overalls that were too small for him. It dropped to its knees and then collapsed face first, dying – properly this time – even before the fall drove the bolt further into its brain.

"Ain't got time for this shit," the redneck with the deadly aim drawled from behind them. "Best be gettin' our asses the hell outta Dodge – I ain't wastin' no more arrows on these bastards."

And with that, Daryl hefted up the nearest thing he could use as a weapon, wielding the heavy spanner like a bat and striding out from their hiding place to catch the next walker to get close under the chin – the upwards swing taking its head clean off. The meaty sound of rotting flesh detaching from bone was sickening, but all too familiar by now. Maybe that was disturbing in itself.

"Stay behind me," Rick warned his son, with a grim look that said he was serious on his face. He holstered his gun and grabbed a thick wooden post that had probably once held the faded 'No naked flames' sign that now lay on the ground. Still trying to look every which way at once, he set off across the lot with the trembling youngster clutching a fistful of his shirt. "We're getting out of this, Carl, you hear me? We're getting outta here."

He didn't doubt that the boy was rueing the moment he'd ever thought he wanted to be treated more like a man.

Another look around showed the rest of their small group – his best friend Shane and T-Dog – also following Daryl's lead and arming themselves with anything they could to conserve their ever more precious ammunition.

"Dad!" Carl choked out, his voice high with terror and sending Rick spinning round to crack a walker across its already wounded face. The boy cringed as the nail that was still embedded in the wood snagged a chunk of flesh and ripped down to the bone, sending dark red blood spraying through the air in a thick, congealing arc. It still took a second and then a third swing of the makeshift weapon to finish it.

For all the very real threat they posed, at least the walkers were a known quantity. The survivors had soon learned that they were slow and clumsy on their feet and best dispatched by going for the brain, not the heart. But it was only after all the undead seemed to have been dealt with that they came to realise the walkers weren't the only thing they had to defend themselves against.

That was when the first shot rang out.

At first, Rick hadn't been sure he could one hundred percent blame the group of men who were armed to the teeth and looking, in their camouflage gear and bandanas, like they meant business. Hadn't they also thought about defending the farm from outsiders and worried over who they might be able to trust if newcomers should present themselves?

Yet while Shane, Daryl and T-Dog had been strongly in favour of seeing off any other survivors, he had been among the minority who remembered that they had themselves once been the strangers in need of help from the farm's owner. And, even though he had been deeply reluctant, Hershel had given them food and shelter.

But now, with nowhere to run and surrounded by bodies, it was immediately clear there would be no negotiations.

These men weren't interested in adding to their numbers or swapping survivor stories. They had claimed the gas station as their own and - judging by the gunshots that continued to blast across the forecourt, despite the risk of the sound attracting more walkers - they wanted the intruders gone. In the most permanent sense.

"Dad, look," Carl said, this time his tone a shocked hush that somehow made his father look round despite the bullets flying through the air.

In a world where hacking mutilated people to death before they got the chance to kill you with their bare hands or teeth had become almost routine, the sight still drew a sharp intake of breath. The sheriff pushed his son further behind him. Eleven years old was much too young to witness any of this, but old sensibilities somehow rendered the half-naked body of a beaten young woman that little bit worse.

The walkers were at least out of their minds - sick from some mystery virus maybe, something unseen and beyond their control. But the men who were responsible for this ... They were crazed only by lust and violence.

They knew exactly what they were doing.

"You got your boy to worry about," Shane was saying as they huddled together in the gloom of the gas station bathroom, judgement written all over his face. "Lori to think about gettin' back to. Ain't that enough?"

"We can't just leave her there," Rick hissed. "She ain't dead."

"Good as," came the ruthless retort from the man who'd dragged both him and Carl away from the seemingly lifeless body and into the building out of harm's way. "How d'ya know she ain't bit? She could be infected – you gonna take that to the farm? She might not even make it that far. You saw her, the broad's spark out ..."

"So we leave her for them? We're cops, man," the sheriff tried, desperate in his need to believe that they could hold onto some shred of humanity towards others. God knows he needed that. "We're supposed to help people."

"Yeah, well, that was before the world went to shit," Shane snapped, raking a hand over his shaved head. "You wanna help people so bad? Indulge that hero complex? Start with your goddamn family!"

Rick bore the sting of the fierce words in silence, his head down as he tried to ignore the occasional shout or burst of deep bellowing laughter that came from outside. Weighing up the options, he was acutely aware of his son's earnest gaze looking up at him and could all but feel the others watching too.

"I have to go get her," he said finally, looking Shane square in the face as the tension hung heavy between them. "If she's bit ... that's different. But we just don't know and I gotta at least try. I ain't asking you to come with me."

His best friend turned away in something like disgust, but Rick ignored him and crouched down to speak to his boy eye-to-eye. "Stay close to Shane, okay, buddy?" Despite their difference of opinion, he still trusted the other man with his son's life. Even if he didn't exactly like the reason behind that.

"But dad-"

"But nothing, Carl. I'm coming back, I promise. Just do this for me. Stay with Shane."

And then, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the task ahead, he was heading for the door. Already trying to figure out in his head how he was going to grab the girl without drawing attention to them both, he heard the light footsteps behind him and turned, fully prepared to have to order Carl back, only to find Daryl instead.

"Gimme your gun," the redneck said with his usual shortness and without meeting his eyes, keeping the crossbow slung secure across his back. "Can't carry the girl and keep yourself covered, can ya?"

Conceding the point, Rick appreciated the unexpected help, but realised Daryl wouldn't thank him for any flowery expression of gratitude. Instead, he settled for nodding towards the stack of tyres where the young woman had either dragged herself or been dumped. "We get behind there, they ain't gonna be able to get at us without breaking cover themselves."

"And if they do ..." Daryl said, a dangerous look in his narrowed eyes. "Locked and loaded."

"If they do come after us, you guys head for the fleet," Rick added to the others. "Get those engines running."

"And what? You jump in, we take off and lose the other two sets of wheels? This is a piss-poor plan, man. 'Specially when we could all be gettin' the hell outta here right now," Shane scowled from where he was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest.

"I ain't leavin' my bike behind," Daryl said, the determination on his face leaving no room for argument. "We'll get the damn girl and we'll all still get out, with or without any help from your whinin' ass. Let's move."

Knowing better than to let the hot-headed Shane get into some kind of pissing contest with the equally hot-headed hunter, Rick took a last look at his son's scared face and slipped out the door with Daryl on his heels.

It had been easy, too easy.

Getting to the girl, crouched as low to the ground as they could while still moving swiftly, had gone without a hitch and there still wasn't a sign of their unexpected adversaries. Neither man was naive enough to think they'd gone, but they still took advantage of the opportunity to survey the body once they'd reached it. Much as Rick had argued his view of the situation with Shane, he couldn't deny that the man had a point about the risk of infection.

But while it was all too clear that the young woman – Rick guessed her at being in her mid-twenties maybe – had been through hell, there was no sign of the usual tell-tale gaping wounds. Just a split lip, a multitude of grazes and vicious bruises marring the smooth tan skin of her stomach, her neck, her cheekbone, her wrists ... her thighs.

The sight made him clench his fists and shake his head in silent, angered disbelief that humanity could turn on itself - even at a time like this when survival, unity, should have been everything.

"Shit ..." Daryl's low growl came from beside him, as his eyes darted uncomfortably over the exposed slender form. "Helluva mess. You sure she ain't dead?"

Rick crouched beside her, checking her pulse and noting the delicate silver necklace bearing the name Ava as he did so, before nodding. "Pulse is weak, but it's there. We gotta get her outta here and fast."

"You sure?"

"Those look like walker bites to you?" the sheriff asked, glancing up at him.

Not seeming to need another look to know he was talking about the bites on her neck and across the tops of her breasts, just above her bra, Daryl shook his head. "Got a name for the pricks behind this, but it sure ain't walker."

Taking that as consent to see out his plan, in so far as it could be called a plan, Rick stripped off the shirt he'd worn over a wifebeater and tried to cover the girl as best he could. Managing to prop her in a slumped sitting position of sorts, he somehow slid her arms into the sleeves while Daryl kept watch and he'd only fastened two of the buttons when a sharp warning sent him to his feet.

"Time to quit playin' dress-up," the hunter urged, just as a shot rang out and ricocheted off a discarded car door nearby. "Gotta hustle, man."

Struggling with the unconscious little brunette in his urgency to find the easiest way to manage her, Rick draped one of her arms around his shoulders and hauled her upright. He was trying to be as gentle as he could, but knew he'd still end up half dragging her dead weight and that was going to seriously hinder their escape ...

"Jesus Christ," Daryl muttered, shoving the borrowed gun back into its owner's hand in his impatience before shrugging off his crossbow and handing it over as well. "Give her here. She's what - a buck twenty soaking wet?"

And with that, he unceremoniously ducked to set a shoulder to her stomach and hoisted her with ease into a fireman's lift as he straightened up. "Now, fuckin' move!"

He'd thought that was how it was going to end. That after everything, they'd be gunned down like animals by fellow survivors.

As Rick stumbled after Daryl's swiftly moving form, it still felt like some surreal nightmare. Sure, they had guns and foraged clothes and okay, the fleet of pick-ups were technically stolen. But everything they'd done had been purely to survive, to make the most of what little was left of the world they'd once known and taken for granted.

Who the hell were these guys with their combat gear and their shoot-first-ask-questions later policy?

The rules had changed and they were all scared, over-cautious, paranoid even. But he liked to think they were better than that. Better than flat-out murdering strangers by the roadside and sure as hell better than what had been forced on the girl. He dreaded to think what fresh horror she might be put through if this went south ...

"Daryl!" he hollered suddenly, knowing with certain dread that he was too late in reacting as another of the shooters appeared as if from nowhere.

A shot was fired, but it was their adversary who fell to the ground with a howl and then Shane and T-Dog were beside them – Shane with a vise-like grip on Carl's arm.

"Get to the fleet!" Shane urged, firing off another round and sending yet another dark figure diving for cover. "Go, go, GO!"

And then Rick was running. They all were.

Reaching the Jeep, he hurried Carl into the front and then turned to help Daryl lay the girl out across the backseat. "Get in!" he shouted to the hunter, sliding himself into the driver's seat.

"Said I wasn't leavin' the bike," came the response, before Daryl grabbed his crossbow again and took off without waiting for an argument.

"Shit!" Rick thumped the steering wheel, looking round to see Shane pull his own ride up alongside and yell at him out the window to get moving. T-Dog had already pulled the pick-up truck out onto the road, though he was idling there without seeming to know whether to stay or go.

With his mind in over-drive, the sheriff looked from his son to the girl he now felt responsible for and then back to where Daryl had been forced to stop and fire a bolt from his crossbow. It sank easily into the thigh of a gunman with a bandana over his mouth and nose – though it only slowed him, instead of stopping his approach.

Rick wasn't even sure what he was thinking when he spotted the gas can, but he dove out of the Jeep to grab it anyway, despite Shane's loud protests. Finding it full, he climbed back inside and pushed it into Carl's arms.

"Don't get it on yourself," he warned his son breathlessly as he reached over him and wound down the window. Then, leaving Shane staring in disbelief, he revved the engine and sped between Daryl and the armed horde.

Why they hadn't just shot the redneck already he'd never know, but – as he ordered Carl to pour the contents of the can out the window and onto the ground – Rick realised it was a mistake that would cost the vigilantes dear.

"Daryl!" he yelled. "Lighter!"

As soon as he saw the flash of realisation in Daryl's shrewd eyes, Rick was already cutting a sharp u-turn and watching the hunter reach into a pocket to produce a lighter, spark up and pitch it with a deft flick of his wrist.

The dancing line of flames racing towards the pumps gave Daryl just enough time to scramble onto the motorcycle, gun it to life and race after the others as they got the hell out of Dodge. And, just like at the Centre for Disease Control only on a smaller scale, a wave of heat bellowed through the air as the whole place went up.

The massive fireball engulfed the entire gas station, splintering the old mainly wooden building in an instant and shattering car windows before the engines caught too.

Daryl drew alongside Rick's open window with a grin and whooped at the sound of more explosions behind them. "No naked flames, motherfuckers!"

to be continued ...