Author's Note: There is some very strong language in this chapter that I don't condone or necessarily approve of, but to stick to the characterization and part of the story, it was used. It was not meant to offend anyone.


After seemingly endless hours on a goddamn horse, we finally reach Atlanta. I could've never been a cowgirl. Being on this creature has terrified me to no end. I'm sure I've nearly strangled Rick for fear of falling off. He hasn't said anything about it though, he just laughs every so often.

As we enter the city, it's a complete ghost town. The scene is identical to King County except there are tanks, roadblocks, and tall buildings added to the mix. I don't see many walkers so far, yet those I do see are lying in a pool of brain matter, slain once and for all. We slowly gallop through the Atlanta streets with ease. Since our pace has lessened, so has my grip around Rick's stomach. I still feel like this horse will be the death of me, but not as much now. Our steed carries us past a charred bus and is spooked as a pair of walkers exit the bus. Rick reassures the horse that they're nothing we can't outrun. Like the dumb creature knows what he's saying.

Our speed picks up slightly and we turn a corner, slowing once we're safely away from the stray walkers. There's a tank on the side of the road with a dead walker lying near the opening topped with a pair of crows. They peck at the dead thing's open wounds, tearing them even deeper and devouring the tainted flesh. We stop and stare for a second in silence, half in awe and but mostly pure disturbance.

"Hungry?" I ask, unable to peel my eyes from the dining birds and disgust distorting my face. The creature beneath me stirs at Rick's command and I notice he's looking around to the sky.

"Do you hear that?"

"What?" I look around to try and discover what he's talking about.

"Is that a helicopter?"

"Helicopter? Where?"

"There! HI-YAH!" Before I can find out where exactly 'there' is, Rick digs the heel of his boot into the horse's side and it bursts forward. As the horse rears back, I feel my unprepared arms slip from around Rick's midsection and as my brain catches up with the situation, I grab at anything to keep me from falling. I grab at Rick's shirt but my grasp falls too short. The cloth slips right through my fingers and the next thing I know, I'm off of the horse and I fall right on my back onto the hard pavement.

I gasp for air as my lungs are instantly evacuated on impact. Through my shock, I notice the gun bag that was once on the side of the horse is laying in the middle of the street. I roll onto my arms and knees and look after Rick riding away, most likely not realizing I've fallen just seconds ago. I call to him and come to the realization that could have been a stupid mistake. Before Rick and our horse companion turn the corner, the animal whinnies furiously and backs up. In response to my call, Rick turns to retrieve me. Something's wrong. His face is panicked and he keeps looking behind him. Only moments later, I discover he wasn't, in fact, returning for me necessarily. It occurs to me that a rather large horde of brainless reanimates are now in his pursuit, moving as one furious wave. I begin to scramble up with the idea that I'd jump on the horse behind Rick like I'd seen in several movies before. I'm not sure if it'll work or not, but it's the best I can come up with at the current moment. However, before I can get six inches off of the ground, I hear a chorus of low guttural noises resonating from behind me. Shit.

With swarms of the undead closing in on us, I head to the closest form of cover, which so happens to be the tank. I frantically crawl, as quickly as my injured body will permit. Once under the tank, I watch as dozens‒ hundreds‒ of walker feet close in around the frightened horse's stamping hooves. My heart is racing uncontrollably and my mind can't focus. I want to help Rick, but I can't move. Rick falls to the ground, his Sherriff's hat off of him and out of his reach. The horse is fatefully pulled to the ground creating a limited buffet for the gathering walkers. One comes after Rick, but he kicks it off quickly. He begins to crawl away but realizes he's trapped.

"Rick!" I call, my voice cracks and my mouth is dry. He instantly changes his direction and moves under the tank with me. Several walkers follow him. I kick at some closing in on my side. I look up and see a miraculous opening into the tank and lift myself quickly into the interior. Rick shoots five times underneath me, trying to hold off the walkers. Unaware of my discovery, I see the hopelessness in the film of sweat drenching his face. He raises his Colt to the side of his head.

"Lori, Carl, I'm sorry‒" he mutters.

"Come on!" I pull his arm up and he breathes a sigh of relief. Hastily, Rick raises himself into the tank with my help, and backs up as far away from the opening as possible. I slam the hatch down and lock it while Rick leans against the wall of the tank next to a dead man in a military uniform. Rick looks at him with sudden fear and disbelief, but it fades as he discovers our friend is motionless. Rick goes for the Berretta holstered to the soldier's side and examines the clip. "Thanks for leaving me on my ass back there," I say bitterly.

"I'm sorry, once I realized you were gone, it was too late, everything happened so fast," Rick explains breathlessly. Next to him the mistakenly deceased solider stirs and looks at Rick.

"Rick!"

Rick gasps and raises his gun to the walker's chin.

"NO!" I stand to stop him, but it's too late. The deafening gunshot rings in my eardrums and bounces off the walls of the tank. Time seems to slow as I fall back to the floor and Rick stumbles and falls to the floor next to me. Entranced, he looks up at the ceiling in either horror or inspiration and jumps into action. He lifts himself through the hole by jumping on a chair placed directly underneath it. He just stands there and looks out for a moment then shuts the hatch promptly, falling back onto the floor.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a dumbass?" I pant. He nods. I can feel my usual sense of cool drain from my veins as I look at his frightened face. "It's not good, is it?"

He shakes his head.

"Maybe it'll be like with the car last night, you know. Maybe they'll just clear out after a while," I say with little hope in my voice to back up my words. His face is sullen. "Hey, I'm supposed to be the pessimist. You can't be like this."

He just sits in silence, holding the soldier's gun in his hands.

"That poor horse…" I breathe sincerely as I lean back against a wall. I cup my hands over my mouth and nose and heave a great sigh. I can barely hear the hopeless sounds of the walkers outside, but that is the only noise for a several minutes.

"How old are you?" Rick asks finally.

"Twenty-eight."

He rubs his face with a single, shaking hand and returns to silence. I know why he asked. He seems to be only a few years or so older than I am. We're going to die and we haven't had a chance to live full lives.

Suddenly, there's an odd noise. It sounds like… feedback from a walkie-talkie.

*Hey dumbass.*

Rick and I both look at one another.

*You in the tank.*

We both look to the CB system on the other side of the tank.

*Hey, you alive in there?*

Rick jumps up and hits his head on a pipe but keeps moving to the walkie-talkie.

"Hello- Hello," Rick says with excitement.

*There you are, you had me wondering.*

"Where are you? Outside? Can you see us right now?"

We quickly discover that this man, whoever he is, has eyes on the outside. He explains the scene to us, not making us feel very confident about the situation. Then after he explains that we're surrounded by walkers, he tells us that it would be in our best interest to make a run for it. Now. The idea would have sounded completely insane on before, yet in this new fast paced way of living, it doesn't sound completely crazy. I have to think about it for a second, but I come to the conclusion that it is in fact our best bet. A great majority of the walkers are busy with at the Horse Meat Buffet making it a little easier for us to slip away.

Going back for the gun bag isn't an option. We have to move quickly and make every shot count as we run through the streets to find this God-sent living person who is helping us. Taking deep breaths, we ready our guns and ourselves for the hatch to open. Three, two, one. We push the hatch open knocking several walkers off of the tank. We then proceed to hastily jump off of the military vehicle, which by no means was in any way shape or form, aiding my ankle situation from the previous day. The jump hurt Rick too who's limping in front of me. He shoots down walkers in front of us and I take down those in back.

"Not dead!" cries a man that jumps out of an alley way with his hands up. "Come on!"

We ignore the walkers that are closing in on us and focus on getting the hell out of there. The shorter, Asian man runs in front of us, leading us to a fire escape ladder where, once we're up it, we're able to get a moment's breather.

"Nice moves there, Clint Eastwood. And uh, little Red," the man gulps. "You the new Sherriff, riding in to clean up the town?"

"It wasn't our intention," Rick explains.

"Yeah whatever, yeehaw. You're still a dumbass," the man says.

"See, I'm not the only one who thinks so," I laugh hoarsely. "I'm Abigail."

"And Rick. Thank you," Rick offers his hand.

"Glenn. You're welcome," Glenn shakes Rick's hand and then looks down at the walkers crowding around the base of the ladder. "Jesus… we gotta go."

Rick shoves his new handgun into one of the outer pockets of my pack. Thankfully, I was smart enough to attach the straps across my chest so it wasn't lost in all of the recent action, unlike the gun bag. We need those guns, but there's no way right now to go and get them. Instead, our ever optimistic friend, Glenn, guides us up the second ladder, assuring us "It'll be the fall that kills us." Glenn leads us to a rooftop opening that takes us into a building. From there we venture down the fire escape above an alley way.

"I'm back. Two guests. Four geeks in the alley," Glenn reports into a walkie-talkie as we fly down the stairs. We near the bottom and the men stop in front of me as the walkers sense us. I pull my gun from my belt and start towards the staggering cadavers. Before I can make it two steps, a door bursts open revealing two people covered in protective gear and armed with wooden bats. They instantly attack the walkers, smashing their brains on the ground.

"Come on! Let's go!" Glenn instructs and we follow him into the building. The other two are quick on our trail, slamming the door behind us.

Upon our entrance, a gun is shoved promptly in Rick's face and bad names start flying.

"Son of a bitch! I otta kill you!" A blonde woman pushes Rick up against a line of file cabinets. I aim my gun steadily at the back of her head.

"Lady, I wouldn't," I threaten.

"Just chill out Andrea! Back off!" one of the men warns her.

"Abigail-"

"Rick," I grit my teeth but stay focused on the woman named Andrea. Her people try to get her to back down as well. "Look, you put the gun down and I put the gun down. Got it?"

"Come on, ease up," a black woman begs.

"Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of these stupid assholes," Andrea says.

"Andrea! I said back the hell off," the Hispanic man comes closer to her. She waits for a moment. "Or pull the trigger."

"Pull it, bitch. I dare you," I growl.

She stops and painfully lowers her gun. I, in turn, lower mine.

"We're dead. All of us. Because of you," she looks at both Rick and me. I move closer to him.

"I don't understand," Rick says. The guy who talked Andrea down grabs Rick by the arm and we all start walking.

"Look, we came into the city to scavenge supplies. You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving. You wanna know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out! Tiptoeing in and out, not shooting up the streets," he explains.

"Every geek from miles around heard you poppin' off rounds," the black man adds. We're now at the front of a department store, facing the glass paneled doors.

"You just rang the dinner bell," Andrea points out as God knows how many walkers bang against the glass.

Rick and I exchange a terrified look. We all back up further into the store, like it would help having a few feet more between us if those things succeed at breaking in.

"What the hell were you two doing out there anyway?" Andrea asks.

"Tryin' to flag the helicopter," Rick says quickly.

"Helicopter? Man, that's crap. There ain't no damn helicopter," the black man says matter-of-factly.

"You were chasin' hallucinations, imaginin' things. It happens," the black woman explains.

"I saw it! She saw it too!" Rick looks to me. I stay silent for a moment. "Didn't you, Abigail? You saw it too."

"I think I heard it, I never actually saw it though," I say quietly and his face falls. "I was knocked off the horse before I could tell anything."

"Hey T-Dog, try that CB," the Hispanic man instructs the other man. "Can you contact the others?"

"Wait, there's more of you?" I ask with a shred of hope still lingering in the pit of my stomach.

"The refugee center?" Rick adds.

"Yeah, the refugee center. They got biscuits waiting straight out the oven for us," the black woman remarks sarcastically.

"No signal," T-Dog shakes his head. "Maybe the roof!"

A gunshot rings out from above us.

"Oh no, is that Dixon?" Andrea looks to the ceiling. The group starts to move, heading towards the source of the disruptive noise. We all scurry up the stairs that spiral towards the door that gives us rooftop access. The shots continue until we barge out onto the roof. A man stands on the edge with a rifle in his hands. When he sees us he turns with the smile of a drunkard.

"Dixon, are you crazy?!" the Hispanic man fumes.

"You better be nicer to a man with a gun," Dixon just laughs and jumps down from the wall on the ledge. "Huh? Only common sense."

"Man, you're wastin' bullets we ain't even got, man!" T-Dog yells. "An you're bringin' even more of 'em down here on our ass! Man, jus chill!"

"Hey! Bad enough I got this taco vender on my ass all day, now I'm gonna take orders from you? That'll be the day," Dixon says.

"That'll be the day? There somethin' you wanna tell me?" T-Dog raises his voice.

"T-Dog, maybe you should just leave it," the other man tries to stop whatever is about to happen. Rick and I watch attentively.

"Naw, I wanna hear what he has to say."

"It's not worth it man," the Hispanic man tries again. "Now Merle, just relax. Okay? We got enough trouble as it is."

"You wanna know the day?" Merle Dixon presses.

"Yeah," T-Dog insists.

"I'll tell ya the day Mr. Yo. It's the day I take orders from a nigger," Merle's words are meant to be poisonous. Instantly, T-Dog springs into action and starts to punch the brusque redneck. Merle hits him in the face with the butt of his rifle knocking him to the ground. The Hispanic man tries to back Merle off of him but he continues administering a beating. Rick pushes past me and the cop in him starts to show big time. Receiving a punch in the face, Rick, himself, falls to the ground. Merle is just punching anyone and everyone now. This plus my utter stupidity and my inability to fully think through my actions before doing them causes me to get punched to the ground as well.

Rick comes over to check on me but I wave him away. Merle is on top of T-Dog now, pounding his face in. He then pulls out a pistol from the rim of his belt and presses the barrel in the beaten man's face. I get to my feet and wipe fresh blood from the side of my mouth as I watch Andrea beg for T-Dog's life. Merle sits there, silent for a moment, and spits on T-Dog's chest.

"Yeah! Alright! We're gonna have ourselves a lil' powwow!" Merle stands with his gun still in his hand. Glenn, Andrea, and the other woman bring T-Dog back away from him. "Talk about who's in charge. I vote me! Anybody else? Huh? Democracy time y'all. Show of hands. Huh? All in favor? Come on! Let's see 'em!"

The Hispanic man raises his hand.

"All in favor?" Merle asks again. Everyone else raises their hands. I watch Rick grab Merle's rifle and then look back to me. I nod and he proceeds forward. "Good. That means I'm the boss now. Anyone else?"

"Yeah," Rick smashes Merle in the face with the butt of the gun as he turns to face him. Merle falls and Rick is now on top of him with silver cuffs in his hand. He slaps one of the cuffs to Merle's wrist and the other around a pipe next to him.

"Who the hell are you, man?" Merle asks pitifully.

"Officer Friendly," Rick replies. "Look here Merle, things are different now. There are no niggers anymore. There are no inbreed, dumb as shit, white trash fools either. Only dark meat and light meat. Only us and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart."

"Fuck you, man," Merle replies bitterly.

"I can see you're makin' a habit of missin' the point."

"Yeah well fuck you twice."

Rick presses Merle's repossessed gun to the redneck's head.

"I would be a little more polite to a man holding a gun. It'n it common sense?" Rick reiterates Merle's earlier words.

"You wouldn't. You're a cop."

"All I am anymore is a man lookin' for his wife and son," Rick removes the gun from the man's forehead. "Anyone who gets in the way of that's gonna lose. I'll give you a moment to think about that."

Rick pats him down and finds dope in his pocket, throwing it over the side of the building. Merle protests loudly and threatens Rick, but he pays no attention to him. Instead, the Sherriff's Deputy walks to the edge of the building, clutching his hand. I follow quickly behind him.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm good," Rick says. "Your ankle?"

"Well, can't say it feels wonderful right now, but it's fine," I laugh and then it's silent for a moment.

"That's three times now."

"Three times what?"

"You've saved my life three times."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I mean who's counting anyways?" I ask rhetorically.

"I am," Rick says sternly.

"Well damn, fine," I laugh.

"Why did you stand up for me to them?"

"Well, I know you… okay-ish, but I don't know a damn thing about these people. You're the only person I'm willing to trust right now," I explain.

"You're not Atlanta PD," the Hispanic man appears behind us. "Where you guys from?"

"Up the road a ways," Rick replies quickly.

"Well Officer Friendly and Little Red from up the road a ways," the man looks over the edge. "Welcome to the big city."