A/N: Thank you everyone who favorited and followed. I've had a lot of inspiration for this story so it's gonna be a little longer than I thought. As to my guest reviewer: next chapter coming right up :D
The Call
"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod get over here she's eating him!"
"What street."
"1623…Lowry Dr—"
"—We're on our way," Rick said calmly. "Stay in a safe place. Lock your doors. Do not approach the cannibal and if you have to defend yourself aim for the head."
Not waiting for a response, he shouted "Shane, another!"
His partner appeared with half a dozen guns. "Figured that. We don't get calls about trespassers anymore." He handed over one of the assault rifles slung over his shoulder and a shotgun he was carrying. Rick almost laughed, remembering those days when they could afford to carry only revolvers and not need them.
Those days were dead.
What had happened to the world? He settled the bullet-proof vest on his shoulders, its weight reassuring rather than heavy now. Over that he slipped on a tough leather jacket. Once their lives had been peaceful. The car-chase—a lifetime ago—had been the most excitement he'd ever seen as a cop. Before. Now the two of them left an empty department behind as they got to the only police car left, armed and armored enough for a war.
A war it was—against the dead.
"How long can we keep this up?" Shane asked as he drove.
Rick shrugged. They were both packing some pretty impressive bags beneath his eyes and the car stank of sweat, blood and grease. He would have liked to tell Shane to take the night off, but neither of them could afford such a luxury anymore. The King's County police department had never been particularly well-staffed. Never needed to be. Now, between the cops fleeing to be with family and those dead in the line of duty, he and Shane were the only ones left. And how long would they last?
"Need to move into that damn office," Shane commented. "Us and our families. No use going home."
"You may be right; more defendable than our houses," Rick said. Still, the thought of leaving their homes felt suspiciously like giving up; turning their backs on civilization like everyone else; abandoning the living to the dead. A move he couldn't bring himself to make. Not yet.
"Especially those glass doors Lori insisted on," Shane commented.
Rubber burnt the air as Shane slammed on the breaks, halting from one-sixty and nearly plowing into the front door. Rick aimed his revolver at the lurching figure turning toward them before opening the door. "Hands up! Say your name!"
A familiar rasp crawled from the woman's throat. Rick shouted the order twice more just to be sure but blood stained the woman's face and he was pretty certain 'rahhh' wasn't her name.
Rick pulled the trigger.
The following silence was broken only by a heavy flag snapping in the wind, then Shane's boots as he climbed to the top of the police car. Rick joined him, ignoring the bright lights and waiting. Sure enough, several more staggered toward them, drawn by light and gunfire.
Four more shots rang out before the only cops left in King County approached the door, Rick with knife and gun at the ready, his partner covering him with an assault rifle. He knocked. "Anyone still living in there."
"Yes! They're in here!" Someone panicked.
Shane blew off the lock and Rick kicked in the door—another handy skill when civilization went to shit. Sure enough rasps and moans from the dining room alongside a more worrisome stench of guts. Someone was being eaten—or had been eaten. A family of three was huddled behind an overturned table, the dead closing in. The mother had a drawer half-open, drawing a knife when one of the attackers grabbed her, pulling her arm toward its blood-stained teeth. She yanked back but the thing was larger and stronger and dragged her inexorably toward its jaws.
Blam.
A spray of gore shot out its head in the wake of Rick's bullet. The thing fell, dragging the struggling woman with it.
"Hands up! Say your name!" Shane bellowed at the remaining attackers.
They turned glazed, pale eyes between family and police officers as though still able to see but never spoke. Two more shots rang out. The pair lowered their guns but kept themselves ready. Sometimes the living were more dangerous than the dead. They'd been attacked by desperate people, looking to seize weapons for themselves.
"Are they…dead?" the woman pried tense fingers off her arm.
"Properly dead now," Shane nudged the bodies with his gun. One of them had their stomach eaten out. That explained the stench. "When they're like this only a head-shot will put them down."
The father slumped with relief, "Thank you. For a second there I thought…oh God…I have never been so glad to see a cop in all my life. I'm Morgan. This is Jenny and our son Duane."
Rick smiled guilelessly, "You'd have done the same for me."
"You wouldn't want him to," Duane spoke up. "Dad's a lousy shot."
Movement caught Rick's eye out the glass side-door. People. Not lurching like the dead but not running as if chased by those things. Ahead rode a figure on horseback and even in the feeble light he could tell something was wrong. The lurching dead closing in on the house inspired swift fear, adrenaline-fueled fear but the rider gave him a deep, leaden lump of fear in his heart. Inevitable fear. The living followed the terrifying figure into the shadows, ignored by the dead limping to the door. "We need to leave. It's not safe here anymore. Pack up everything you can."
"Where is safe anymore?" asked Jenny calmly. She picked up the kitchen knife and glanced shrewdly at the approaching dead.
The rider turned toward him and drew something, holding it like a weapon. Rick ducked behind a wall, away from the door. "The police station…for now. Shane, can you pick up your wife and my wife and son?"
"Yeah. I'll get them."
"You can ride with us," Morgan offered to Rick.
"Then you take the police car," Rick told Shane. "I'll meet you at the station." Gun drawn, he stepped away from the wall, ready to face the reaper.
Everyone was gone.
A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this little snippet of what Rick's life would be like—and what he would be like—if he hadn't been in a coma.
