Fear could be defined in many ways. One could say fear is an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat, while another could argue it's instead simply to be be afraid of someone or something.

Whatever fear was, Shane Walsh was feeling it.

Now, fear was somewhat of an unfamiliar emotion for the veteran officer, but he couldn't help shiver, feeling goosebumps on his muscular arms. Shane had been out for...well, he didn't even know how long, and had awoken to a deathly silent hospital. If there was anyone who'd be perfectly calm in this situation, Shane would've wanted to ask them if they were goddamn insane.

Still getting his energy back, Shane's trek to the bathroom wasn't as fast as he'd have liked; the first thing the recovering man saw upon entering his personal washroom was not only how much his hair had grown in the time he'd been unconscious, but also the beginning of a beard forming on his chin.

"I gotta shave, cause I ain't likin' this beard too much," Shane dryly remarked, making note to himself to take care of his face when he got home. Looking around the bathroom, Shane found a small paper cup, presumably for swallowing pills or medicine, laying in the middle of the sink.

"Huh, that's convenient. Well, I am pretty freakin' thirsty," Shane said, pouring himself water to cure his dehydration. The water was ice cod. but just the feeling of the tasty liquid running down his throat was enough to make the man smirk, satisfied.

As quickly as that smirk appeared, though, it faded into a neutral look. "Alright, this is creepy. Damn hospital seems like it's dead. I need to get the hell out of here and find Rick, I bet he can explain what's goin' on."

Stumbling, Shane made his way to the door, noticing that the water had done its job; Shane felt his strength coming back, even if it wasn't one hundred percent. "The hell is that in front of the door?" Shane wondered, seeing something sticking out at the room's exit. "'That a gurney? Why would one of those be blocking my door?"

Maybe Rick put it there? Nah, that's stupid, Shane said to himself, pushing the gurney out of the way. As the officer slowly started to ease up, thinking that the deathly silence would only be a resident of his room, what awaited Shane was enough to make his blood run cold.

The hallways of Harrison Memorial Hospital were always jam packed with nurses scrambling to their patients, aides bringing the resting patients food and drinks, and families praying that their loved ones would make it. Nurses had often remarked to Shane, normally when he was flirting with them, that the only time Harrison's hallways were calm was when they built the hospital over sixty years ago.

So for Shane to see the hallway deserted, looking like a hurricane had swept through and taken every soul with it, that horrific feeling of fear returned.

Puddles of crimson blood stained the floor and walls, leaving remnants of what seemed like a battle. Papers lay all over, torn and ripped with no regard. Electrical cords, which were supposed to be safely tied into one another above the corridor, hung from the ceiling, letting sparks fly to the ground. Whatever lights remained on flickered, as if a mysterious, hidden individual was turning them on and off to appease his boredom.

Shane had never seen anything like this, such desolation and destruction. One would think that after meth labs, biker bars, and the occasional janky drug dealer who'd come at him with a rusty switchblade, Shane would have learned to expect the unexpected, but this was too much.

"Man, this is brutal," Shane whispered, forcing himself to continue walking amid the ruins. As Shane walked past a deserted nurse's desk, taking note of the fact that it, like everywhere else in this godforsaken hospital, was abandoned. "What, did everyone take a break at the exact same time!?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Shane located a telephone...that was disconnected, the plug hanging over the table. "Unbelievable. The FUCK has happened?"

Shane continued walking, still at a slow pace, before stopping in front of a set of doors.

DON'T DEAD

OPEN INSIDE

"Don't Dead, Open Inside? Wait, what does that mean? No, it's Don't Open, Dead Inside. What the fuck?" Shane asked himself, just to make sure he hadn't misread it. "Why not just call it a morgue?"

Shane continued to walk, desperate to get the hell out of this hellhole. Finally finding the staircase, Shane kicked open the door with the strength of an NFL punter and immediately covered his nose, choking at the stench of death.

"Ugh, the hell is down here? Mice shit in month old wool socks?" Shane whispered, almost giving into his desire to throw up. But, Shane was a warrior, and the man kept going.

As Shane exited Harrison Memorial Hospital, he savored the ability to see light again. Sure, there was still a putrid smell of decaying death, but at least Shane could see. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and...

"The grass looks uncut, bodies wrapped up, more blood," Shane observed, sighing. Did Shane even want to know at this point what had gone at Harrison Memorial? "Man, I guess whoever took off inside decided to quit working outside too.

Shane continued to walk, noticing a parked military helicopter surrounded by police barracks. Dark, crimson blood stained the chopper's sleek black frame, and the glass was cracked. Noticing what seemed to be rust on the chopper's control panel, Shane wondered just how long it'd been since someone had taken the chopper for a ride.

It wasn't just the helicopter that wasn't in any shape to be used either. Military Jeeps were either out of commission entirely, crashed into walls and trees, or completely abandoned. The parking lot was full, but Shane could already see a bit of rust and decay on the parked vehicles spread across the lot.

"I guess I'll walk for now," Shane said, and walk he did. Slowly, Shane walked through the town, amazed at how dead it seemed. Birds may have been chirping, but the town seemed empty, like everyone had taken a vacation all at once.

Suddenly, Shane heard a loud growl from behind him. Startled by the noise, the officer turned around, only to lock eyes with a beast unlike he'd ever encountered. Laying prone on the ground, somehow still alive, was what appeared to be a female skeleton, but the skeleton was moving.

"AH, what the FUCK are you?" Shane screamed, jumping back in horror. Instinctively, the officer reached to his back pocket for his handgun, groaning when he remembered the pistol was gone, probably in the hands of Rick.

The...whatever it was, growled at Shane, lazily lifting its arm at the officer. Tears welled up in Shane's eyes at the sight of this monster, and monster may not even have been a good enough term to describe it. This poor abomination had lost the bottom half of its body, and Shane could even see her internal organs dragging across the ground.

For a slight moment, Shane locked eyes with the abomination, and he could hear a noise akin to a cry escape from the beast's mouth. Raising her (at least, Shane thought it was a female) arm again in a futile try to grab Shane, the beast let out another groan, hungry for Shane's blood and flesh.

Hyperventilating, Shane jumped on the nearby bike and began to pedal, desperate to find out just what was going on...

As Shane pedaled his way into King County, his feeling of dread and fear returned upon seeing the emptiness of the streets. Now, it wasn't as if King County was Atlanta or Savannah, or even Macon where the population was relatively high, but to see his hometown so quiet and desolate was not like anything he'd ever saw before.

There were no kids playing in the street, or tired parents sitting on their porches with a lit cigarette in their mouth. There were no sounds of cars, planes, or motorcycles; no smell of Mr. White's cooking, or the loud rap music of teenagers. There was nothing, and it freaked Shane the hell out.

"Looks like the 'vacation' has extended to King County too," Shane muttered, sighing. Shane had learned long ago not to be naive, but there was a small part of him that believed once he returned home, it'd all be normal. Rick and Carl, Shane's 'family' at this point, would come running out to greet him, while Lori would have some fresh food cooked and on a platter.

"Everett Street, home. Least it was before everything got fucked up."

Stopping the bike short, Shane jumped off and stared at his house, the building he hadn't seen in presumably weeks. The small, white building was exactly as he left it - the grill was out in front, and a signed football sat on the glass table next to it.

Having lived alone for many years, Shane wasn't surprised to see his house completely quiet either; in fact, it was the one thing so far that actually seemed normal to him. The beer cans were still strewed over the counter, his old football jersey framed on the wall, a signed Atlanta Falcons football jersey next to that…

What immediately caught Shane's attention, though, was the missing photo of him and Rick on a fishing trip from a couple years prior. It had been a perfect, late-summer day, right before Carl had returned to school, and Rick and Shane had spent the entire day sitting on a boat, drinking beer and eventually falling into the water.

"'Bet Rick took it, since there ain't no point in stealing pictures," Shane told himself, gingerly making the trek upstairs. It seemed that Shane using so much energy immediately after waking up from his coma was starting to affect him, as the officer quietly remarked, "Ow," after each step.

"Gotta change out these hospital clothes, get myself in something comfortable," Shane said, beginning to strip from the itchy gear Harrison Memorial Hospital had provided him during his stay. Luckily, all of Shane's wardrobe remained exactly as he'd left it. "Any of this is better than the gown."

After trying on clothes for the first time in weeks, Shane eventually decided on a sherrif's department baseball hat, a black t shirt, and jeans; it wasn't anything special, but it was definitely better than the hospital gown. "Better get to Rick's, see if there's anything he left for me," the officer said, before an idea popped into his head. "Now that I think about it…"

Crouching, Shane lifted up a plank in the floor...and pulled out a Beretta 92FS pistol. The Sheriff's Deputy smirked at the reflective glare from the black handgun, feeling safer to have a means of protection at long last. If Shane was going to encounter any more of those abominations, then he wanted to make sure he wouldn't end up like the bicycle skeleton.

"And to think Rick was so against me hiding the gun there," Shane chuckled. It felt like just yesterday that Shane had brought home a spare gun from the station with the intention of keeping it hidden in his room, and Rick had spent a thirty minutes lecturing him about the safety of keeping again that close.

Digging through his closet one last time, the cop grabbed a picture of him, Rick, and Carl that had been taken right before Shane's shooting. Shane grimaced at seeing how clean cut he looked in the picture, compared to the longer hair and unshaven beard he displayed now.

Placing the picture in his jeans pocket, Shane made his way back downstairs. "After I find Rick, I'm getting a shower and a shave. I can't keep going like this," the cop muttered to himself, walking outside and walking across the street to Rick's house. That had been something both cops had wanted when they started looking for houses all those years ago - to be right near one another, just in case they needed each other.

"Rick?" Shane asked, knocking on the door. When he heard no reply, the man tried again, putting more force into it. Again, there was no response.

"RICK!" Shane shouted, kicking the door open. Like Shane's house, Rick's place was dead quiet; unlike Shane's house, Rick's place had been cleared out, the picture frames empty and valuable items taken straight off the wall.

"RICK! CARL!" Shane yelled, searching all over for his best friend and son. Rick's former partner walked through the house, keeping a hand on his concealed pistol. Everything that Lori and Rick had treasured seemed to have been picked clean out of the house, and it worried Shane greatly. Had the Grimes' house been robbed?

Walking into the kitchen, Shane noticed a small note on the door. It appeared to be hastily written, but Shane would recognize Rick's messy handwriting anywhere. Pulling the note closer, Shane began to read it.

Shane,

If you wake up and you're reading this, thank God, man. I'm sorry I couldn't stay with you when you woke up, shit just got too outta control. I don't know what's happened, or what caused it to happen, but I took Lori and Carl to Atlanta. There's supposedly a refugee zone in the city, set up by FEMA and the government...it's safe there.

The three of us are about to leave for the city, but I wanted to leave this for you, as a just in case...and me being optimistic. I couldn't stay in King County any longer, man, not with Carl and Lori.

Normal rules suspended for foreseeable future, so I have no idea if the precinct would still have anything left...though, I did something to help you out. In my locker, there are some supplies I left for you - I figured that if you woke up, you'd try to come here and find me. Only us two know the combo, so it should still be there..

If this isn't Shane, then I wish you the best of luck. Leave this here, just in case my friend Shane sees it.

- Rick Grimes

After reading the quickly-scribbled note, Shane wiped a tear from his eyes. Even in a time of panic, Rick had still found a way to help his best friend, his brother. "The precinct, huh? Guess that's where I'm goin'," Shane said, turning from the Grimes house for what would possibly be the last time. "After that, it looks like I'm off to Atlanta. Thanks, Rick. I owe you."

Suddenly, Shane heard a nearby growl that sent chills down his neck. Turning, Shane saw another of the abominations, but this one wasn't in as bad shape as the one near the bicycle; this one was bald, with dried blood around his mouth and bright, yellow, eyes that seemed to drive daggers into Shane; its jaw moved up and down, seemingly hungry to take a bite out of Shane's skin.

Though this abomination may have been like the first one Shane had encountered, this one could move, and it was approaching the Sheriff's Deputy at a quick pace. In fact, if Shane hadn't snapped out of his initial shock, it's likely the creature would have taken him down, and his life with him.

"GAH!" Shane cried as the bald man drew closer, clawing in an attempt to hurt its prey. For a brief second, Shane wondered if he should punch the monster in its jaw, but something told him that'd likely turn out not to be a good idea.

So, Shane did the next best thing. He locked eyes with the bloody man, aimed the gun at his head, and pulled the trigger.

SPLAT!

There was a reason Shane kept the Beretta hidden in case of emergencies - if he actually needed it, then it was there and it could pack a punch. The bullet traveled through the pale man's forehead, spilling brain and blood out onto the street.

Breathing heavily, Shane nearly threw up at the sight of the dead monster. The abomination's eyes were still wide open, and it had a look of terror on its face. Shane may have spoke a big game, but killing something was never easy, even if they were trying to end his own life.

"The hell you doing firing that gun, son?"

Shane turned around to see...actual humans beings, it seemed. Two breathing, living, human beings; one of whom had his gun raised at Shane. Both of these new people were black, and the younger one, who Shane assumed wasn't much older than Carl, tightly held a shovel in his small hands.

"This...thing was trying to bite me, so I had to put it down," Shane answered, raising his own pistol at the two. The normally crowded street was quiet, with the only noise being the sound of both guns waving in their owners' hands.

"Who are you? I haven't seen you around here before," Shane said, narrowing his eyes at the black man. The two kept their guns trained on one another, almost daring the other to take the shot.

"Name's Morgan Jones, and this is my son, Duane," Morgan nodded to his young son, and Shane noted the similarities between the two. "I haven't seen you around here, either. You come to loot supplies?"

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Loot supplies? Nah, I just got out of the hospital and found it was dead empty. I tried to come back here, see if I could find my best friend and his kids, but this damn place is a ghost town. The name's Shane Walsh, by the way."

"Hospital? For what?" Morgan inquired, tightening his hold on the gun. "You get bit!? Best tell me, son, or I will end your life. Don't lie to me."

"Bit? No, was shot a while back and was in the hospital. I woke up at the same time everyone else was taking a nap, I guess," Shane revealed, wondering what the man meant by bit. Was that how that...demon… from the park ended up the way she did? "All I'm trying to do, Morgan, is find out what the hell is going on."

"Hmm, so you really weren't bit?" Morgan asked, skeptical. "That's...that's a relief. The last time people were around here, one of 'em was bit and…"

Morgan trailed off, but lowered his gun. "Listen, how about you follow me back inside? I got food, water, clothes; all the shit you won't find in any of these other houses. I'll even help you change that bandage if you need me to. Besides, they're all gonna be coming here soon once they hear the noises. Hell, they may already have heard us."

Shane nodded, presuming Morgan's allusion to 'they're' meant whatever these things were. "Lead the way."

"Shane, was it? It's good to see a survivor, and one not bit, at that. Sorry about getting all trigger happy before; that's just the way things are now, man. I gotta protect my kid, you know?" Morgan said, putting his arm around Duane. The three had settled back into the house Morgan had taken up residency in, and Shane had to admire the job his new comrade had done to protect this place.

The windows and doors were boarded up, enough to the point where even a fully trained SWAT team would have trouble breaking in. Morgan had also begun preparing traps, just in case someone were to break in.

"Yeah, I hear you. My buddy Rick, he's the exact same way. He's all protective of his son Carl, trying to make sure nothing happens to him," related Shane, chuckling. "So, ya'll from around here? This ain't your place, I know that much."

"What can I say? We just moved in," grinned Morgan, feeling surprisingly at ease around the veteran officer. "Duane and I, we found this place empty. No pictures, no nothing."

"Guess people like taking pictures with them during emergencies. Seen it during fires and crap," Shane recalled, getting comfortable on the chair Morgan had provided for him. The man's body still ached badly, but Morgan had done his best to help Shane feel slightly better.

"Fires? You fought fires?" Morgan questioned, and Shane could see Duane's head pop up in interest.

"Nah, was a cop. I had to go into burning buildings occasionally, but never had to put 'em out," explained Shane. "Sometimes, guy may try to set the building on fire, take us all down with 'em, ya know?"

"A cop? Heh, and to think Duane thought you robbed banks," Morgan quietly laughed, smirking at Duane's embarrassed look.

"Hah! I'll have to remember that one. They call me Shane Dillinger! So, mind explaining to me just what the hell is going on?" Shane questioned, finding it an opportune time to pop the question. Shane couldn't stay in the dark forever, and Morgan seemed to be just the man to tell the cop about what happened. "What is this? What happened here?"

Morgan took a deep breath, sighing. "A couple months ago, these things...I don't know, it could be a plague, virus, biological warfare, whatever, it started making the dead walk again. It all happened really quickly, and within maybe two, three, weeks, it was full bore apocalypse. Radio, TV, law enforcement, it all just shut down. Some reporter, she called them walkers on the last radio broadcast I heard. That was a couple weeks ago..."

"Walkers?" Shane asked, his throat suddenly dry. If Morgan wasn't bullshitting, then everything he knew from the old world was gone. In just a couple of months, the world had gone to shit; Shane then wondered to himself how much of humanity was even left if things had gotten that bad that quickly.

"Yeah, cause they don't run. They just walk, sometimes kinda fast, but walk," explained Morgan, rubbing a hand through his hair. "They get more active after dark sometimes. Maybe it's the cool air or hell, maybe it's just the gun shots from earlier. But we'll be fine as long as we stay quiet. Probably wander off by morning. But listen, one thing I do know – don't you get bit. Bites kill you. The fever burns you out. But then after a while…you come back."

"So, that's why you asked if I got bit," deduced Shane, getting an affirmative nod from both Morgan and Duane. "Smart move. Had I been in your spot, I'd have done the same."

"It's something in the bite that makes you turn," supplied Duane. "We've seen it happen before."

"We were headed to Atlanta. Things got crazy. Man, you wouldn't believe the panic," Morgan said, pain evident on his face from the memories. "Streets weren't fit to be on. It was like a great migration of the dazed and confused. And then my...my wife couldn't travel. No, not with her hurt. So we had to find a place to lay low."

"Got hurt?" Shane questioned, before the realization settled in. "You mean…?"

The sudden blaring noise of a car alarm silenced Morgan before he could reply, causing all three members of the house to direct their heads to the walls. Instinctively, Shane grabbed his pistol and held it close to him, ready to protect himself and the Jones family.

"Goddamn walkers. Everyone, stay quiet and don't do anything that'll cause noise," ordered Morgan, reaching for his gun as a precaution.

Out of nowhere, Duane gasped, nearly falling onto the hard wooden floor. "Daddy, she's here!"

One walker in particular, a dark-skinned woman wearing a ratty white gown and her hair disheveled, had approached the door and looked in through the peephole, apparently trying to get into the house. The woman, unlike the other walkers Shane had encountered prior, looked fairly normal; of course, that was before the officer noticed the dried blood on her neck and arms.

"It's okay. Here, cry into the pillow," Morgan quietly told his son. "Do you remember? Shh shh."

Shane stared at the dead woman, who raised her head to meet the officer's. "She, um… She died in that other room on that bed in there. There was nothing I – I could do about it. That fever, man, her skin gave off heat like a furnace," Morgan admitted, pausing to console his now crying son. "I should've – I should've put her down, man. I should've put her down. I know that, but I...you know what? I just didn't have it in me. She's the mother of my child."

Once Morgan's wife stopped turning the knob, her widowed husband and Shane both gave sighs of relief. "Listen, Shane, I think we should go to bed. We have an extra sleeping bag, so if you want, you can just take that into the guest room."

"That's fine," Shane agreed, taking the bag from Morgan. Right now, getting some sleep seemed like a great option; though he hadn't been awake too long, Shane could feel his strength leaving him by the minute. "You two have a nice, safe, night. If you need anything, tell me."

"SHANE!"

""No no no no no no. Shh shh shh shh. No no no no no no no no. He's hit!"

"Rick?" Shane said weakly, trying to find his friend. Shane's vision was blurry, like he'd just awoken from a deep slumber.

"Leon! You get that ambulance down here! You tell them there's an officer down!""

"Rick, what the hell, man?" Shane questioned, doing his best to get up.

"You stay with me. You hear me? Shh shh shh. Okay. I'm right here, Shane. Stay with me. You hear me? Shh shh. That's it. Do you hear me? Shh shh shh. Okay. I'm right here with you. Stay with me."

Suddenly, Rick fully came into view. Gone was the familiar face Shane had known his whole life, instead replaced by one drenched in blood and pain. Rick's nose was busted, and his teeth were a nasty shade of yellow; his eyes...there was not a sense of familiarity left in them, instead vacant; just like the walkers Shane had seen earlier.

"STAY WITH ME!"

As Shane ate breakfast with Morgan and Duane, he couldn't get his mind off of the previous night's dream. Was that Rick...as a walker? No, it couldn't have been. Rick wouldn't have let himself turn into one of those...

"So, what's next for you, Shane? You've been quiet, and it's making me think that you're trying to figure out your next move," Morgan said, snapping Shane from his deep thinking. The cop looked up to see his new friend taking a sip of water, unknown that Shane wasn't even paying attention.

Shane's reply was blunt. "Atlanta. Rick and his family are there, and at this point, they're really all I have left. When I went to their house to see if Rick was there, he left a note that said he'd taken Lori, his wife, and their son Carl to the big city. I figure that's as good a place as any to go. I'm gonna stop at the police precinct on the way, grab some supplies in case I run into any more of those...walkers...and then make my way to Atlanta."

Morgan bit his lip, as if he was thinking of the right way to reply to Shane. "Son, do you really think Atlanta is worth it? When we tried to go, it was a mess of people trying to flood in," Morgan recalled, trying not to think of his now-deceased wife getting hurt on the way. "I know that there was some major refugee site set up, but how do we know it's still there?"

"It's gotta be safe. Standard police protocol would be to move people to a big city if there was some kind of threat or hazard. Knowing Rick, he'd be there even if the threat ended, just so he could help people out," laughed Shane, before going quiet.

"Morgan, man, listen. I want you and Duane to come with me. There's safety in numbers, and I don't want to leave you guys back here," Shane said, taking the Jones duo by surprise. "Ya'll good people, good enough that I trust you to come with me. You can't stay here, not with Duane, man. It's not safe."

"I appreciate it, Shane, and you're a good man," Morgan replied, his voice shaking. "But tell me something. You've only seen this shit for a day, and you're ready to go find your best friend and his family. You're sure Duane and I wouldn't be a burden on you? He can't shoot, and I'm still a bit rusty."

Despite the severity of the situation, Shane still found it in himself to smirk. "Morgan, I didn't say I trusted you to bullshit you. Believe me, it's all good. You're smart, and I feel safer bringing you guys into Atlanta with me."

Morgan took a second to ponder, stroking the stubble around his chin. "Now, you mentioned a police precinct and getting supplies there. They got what we need? Food, clothes, weapons?"

Shane gave an affirmative nod. "All that, plus cars. It's gonna take some time to get into Atlanta, and I figure walking won't work too well. Man, we're told from the second we start at the academy to protect and serve, right? Well, this is me protecting and defending you and your boy."

Grinning, Morgan put his hand out over the table. "You got yourself a deal, Shane. I appreciate this a lot, man."

Shane firmly shook Morgan's hand. "Duane, start packing, we're going to Atlanta."

Welcome back to Fight To Survive. Thanks for all of the good feedback so far, and this was our first real canon-divergent chapter. Yes, we still have Shane meeting Morgan, but it was a necessary one and it looks like Morgan is coming along to Atlanta. Next chapter will go a bit more in depth as to why Morgan's choosing to go with Shane, so don't you worry.

If you have any questions, send them my way and I'll try to reply. See ya'll next chapter! FP out.