Hello everyone, sorry for the late update but I am proud to present to you the newest chapter of TAaD.

I've spent a lot of time on this in between work and personal life stuff and I have sacrificed many hours of sleep to ensure that I finish this in a timely manner. This chapter is like 9 pages long on my Microsoft Word file and took over three weeks for me to complete.

Because I live in America, I will be enjoying the holidays this week with my relatives so I really had to push myself into getting this chapter done on time before I completely forgot about it.

I hope you enjoy reading the last chapter that consists of Episode 1 from TWD. I am planning to make the next chapter include all of Episode 2 rather than just breaking it down into separate parts, it will take longer for me to upload each chapter but I think it will be easier for me to keep track of chapters and save me from having to fast forward to where I left off in the show.

Rick blinked his eyes open at the sound of footsteps. He was lying on a bed and noticed that his hands and feet had been restrained. The boy from earlier stood off to his left, a bat in hand. To his right was what he assumed to be the boy's father.

"Got that bandage changed now. It was pretty rank." He said as he snapped the rubber gloves off his hands before washing them.

"What was it, the wound?" he asked.

"Gunshot," was Rick's hoarse reply.

"Gunshot? What else, anything?"

"Gunshot ain't enough?" Rick returns with a small hint of sarcasm.

The man dries his hands, his tone becomes serious. "Look, I ask and you answer. Its common courtesy right?" he leans closer towards Rick, "Did you get bit?"

"Bit?" Rick gives him a confused look. What's he talking about?

"Bit, chewed, scratched anything like that?"

"No, I got shot. Just shot as far as I know."

The man reaches over to feel his forehead; he glances over to his son and nods reassuringly.

"Feels cool enough, fever would've killed you by now. It'd be hard to miss" he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a knife. "You try anything, I will kill you with it and don't you think I won't."

He'd already given his friend a similar warning but it was better to be safe than sorry and make sure that both parties got the message. He cuts away the restraints.

"Come on out when you're able," he tells Rick before leaving the room.

ϪϪϪϪ

Nick couldn't help but tap his fingers against the table nervously. It was an old habit he developed whenever he got nervous or felt himself going through the early stages of withdrawal. He had already gotten acquainted with Duane and Morgan but he still felt on edge for some reason

He noticed that R, no, Rick; he finally got a chance to see the full name on the little wristband, was up and moving around the empty front room. He reached towards the makeshift blackout screen covering the window.

"Don't do that," Morgan warned him, "They'll see the light. There are more of them out there than usual." Rick walks away from the windows.

"I never should've fired that gun today. Sound draws 'em and now they're all over the street. Stupid—using a gun. But it all happened so fast, I didn't know what to think."

Rick takes a step closer to the table, "You shot that man today."

Nick scoffs. He still doesn't get it. "Dude, you need glasses. That wasn't a man it was a walker." Rick looks at him, it was probably the first time he ever heard him talk.

Morgan dishes out what might have been canned beans onto a plate, "Come on, sit down before you fall down."

Duane speaks up, "Daddy, blessing."

Blessing? Did these people really think that a higher power was still looking out for them? I get it if it keeps you going through the day but still.

Nick never really believed in a higher power but if it helped them sleep at night then he'd have to accept it. Rick hesitantly takes his right hand while Duane takes the left. The blessing Morgan gives sounds pointless but he's still mindful to say "Amen" when he finishes. Nobody likes a rude guest.

"Do either of you know what's going on?" Morgan asks Rick.

"I woke up today, in the hospital. Came home, that's all I know."

"But you know about the dead people, right?"

Yeah, I saw a lot of that—out on the loading dock, piled in trucks."

Morgan shakes his head, "No, not the ones they put down. The ones they didn't, the walkers. Like the one I shot today. 'Cause he'd have ripped into you, tried to eat you, take some flesh at least."

Nick flinched he didn't like what he was hearing, and with the memory of what happened in the church slowly reemerging in his mind he beginning to lose his appetite.

"It's true," he murmured, catching everyone's attention. "I saw it happen…thought I was going crazy. Thought I was just tripping…but waking up today…I guess I was wrong." He poked at the food with the end of his fork, lost in thought.

Morgan nodded in understanding. "Well, 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."

Don't get bitten. If you do you die and come back. Thanks man, I'll take that to heart. Nick thought. Sure bites will kill you, but what about those who didn't get bitten? He kept the thought to himself; he didn't say another word for the rest of the night.

ϪϪϪϪ

Taking a closer look at the interior of his house, a small portion of Rick's worries is eliminated. "They're alive, my wife and son. At least they were when they left"

"How can you know?" Morgan asks.

"I found empty drawers in the bedroom. They packed some clothes not a lot, but enough to travel."

"You know anybody could've broken in and stole them clothes, right?"

"You see any framed photos on the walls? I don't. You think some random thief took those too?" he turns to open an armoire cabinet, "Our photo albums, family pictures, all gone."

"Photo albums," Morgan laughs, painful memories coming back to play in his head again. "My wife…same thing. There I am packing survival gear, she's grabbing photo alb…" he pauses to regain his composure.

Duane speaks up, "They're in Atlanta I bet."

Atlanta? "Why there?"

"Refugee center," Morgan explains, "a huge one they said, before the broadcast stopped. Military protection, food, shelter, they told people to go there said it'd be safest."

"Plus they got that disease place." Duane added.

"The Center for Disease Control, said they were working out how to solve this thing."

Rick didn't need to hear anymore, if there was all that going on in the city then there would most definitely be a chance of finding Lori and Carl. He turns toward the key cabinet and grabs the keys to the prescient. Atlanta was a long drive away and running into a group of walkers without a weapon would be suicide.

ϪϪϪϪ

Seeing his reflection in the mirror for what might have been over a month, Nick felt like he was looking at someone else. He remembered hearing someone say that he looked like a corpse with his pale complexion…but that was when he was an addict.

"Is this real? Is this really me? Am I still dreaming?" he whispers to himself.

He notices a small scab on the right side of his head, probably from where he hit the pavement from the car accident. He scratches it away, hoping that he was still dreaming and that the skin would peel away en masse to reveal his real reflection, like in that scene from Poltergeist. It doesn't happen, the skin just bleeds. Everything he sees confirms the truth: it's all real. He then realizes that not only does he look different, but he feels different too.

If mom could see me now…

A knock on the door behind him jolts him out of his thoughts.

"Nick, you okay in there man?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's good Duane, just uh…be out in a few minutes" he stammers.

It's quiet on the other side of the door before he finally hears the sound of fading footsteps. He sighs and mentally berates himself for not being more aware before taking one last glance in the mirror and leaves the changing room.

ϪϪϪϪ

Rick wasn't too surprised to find that half of the gun cage had been cleared out. At least there were a few firearms with some ammunition left behind. He checks several shotguns before loading them into his gunbag.

"Daddy, can I learn to shoot? I'm old enough" Duane asked.

"Hell yes, you're gonna learn. But we've got to do it carefully, teach you to respect the weapon."

Rick nods in approval of Morgan's words, "That's right, it's not a toy. You pull the trigger, you have to mean it. Always remember that."

Duane nods in understanding, "Yes, sir"

Six shotguns, two high powered rifles, a dozen handguns, and 700 assorted rounds later, the gun cage had been stripped clean. With the need for weaponry out of the way Rick just needed to find transportation to get to Atlanta, good thing someone had been kind enough to leave their keys to one of the squad cars out back.

"Are you sure you don't want to come along with us?" Nick asks Morgan before he starts to load up Rick's car. It had already been decided that he would be going to Atlanta, if Rick's wife and son were there, then maybe his mother and sister would be there too.

"A few more days, by then Duane will know how to shoot and I won't be so rusty."

Rick thinks for a second before turning to grab a pair of walkie-talkies. He turns them on and hands one to Morgan.

"You've got one battery. I'll turn mine on a few minutes every day at dawn. You get up there, that's how you'll find me."

"Thank you, Rick. Oh, and listen one more thing. They may not seem like much one at a time, but in a group all riled up and hungry…man, you watch your ass."

"You too."

"You're a good man Rick, I hope you find your wife and son" he shakes his hand.

The sound of a growling hiss cuts their farewell short. Rick turns around to see a walker dressed in a disheveled police uniform shambling towards the fence…is that...?

"Leon Basset?

"Was he a friend of yours?" Nick asks.

Rick shakes his head, "I didn't think much of him—careless and dumb but, I can't leave him like this."

"You know they'll hear the shot, right." Morgan reminds him.

"Well then let's not be here when they show up."

ϪϪϪϪ

Things were quiet in the car since they left the abandoned gas station. They managed to make radio connection with someone but the signal was too weak and they quickly lost connection, they only had a quarter of a tank left and Atlanta was still a good hour and a half away. Nick shifted himself into a more comfortable position in the passenger's seat while looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

Are they still alive? Is Travis with them?...ugh, as much as I hate to say it but I hope he's okay. Jaysus, I hope he's not dead. Mom would be devastated. Is the rest of his family with—

The sound of Rick's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "So how'd it happen?"

"How'd what happen?"

Rick sighs, "You said last night that you saw this happen before. But when you woke up in the hospital that morning, you said you had no idea what was going on."

Oh yeah, he had forgotten about that. "I didn't remember what happened until my memory came back that night." He told Rick bluntly.

"What happened? Is that how you ended up in the hospital?"

Nick grows quiet and bites his lip. How the hell was he, a former addict supposed to explain his medical backstory to a cop without already damaging the man's perception of him? If he told Rick the truth he might not trust him anymore, think he'll just run off and screw up his life even more. But if he didn't tell then Rick might distrust him and question his every move.

Nick sighs, "Okay, I'll tell you what happened, but only if you promise not to tell anyone about this."

"Whatever you tell me will not leave this car; as long as you remain honest you will have my word."

It doesn't sound very reassuring to his ears, but a promise was a promise.

"Okay. So um, there's this old church my friends and I used to hang out at where you could um…do things." He pauses to look over at Rick. "Do…do I need to explain?"

"I understand. Please, continue."

"…Okay, um. Anyway I was with one of my friends…I think I nodded off after she did…And, when I woke up…she wasn't there, so I looked for her and…" he pauses to recollect his thoughts. I think I might need a cigarette after this.

"I found her…with a knife…in her chest…and she was eating someone. There was blood and guts everywhere. You-you have to understand, Gloria is like 90 pounds soaking wet, th-th-there's no way she could just do that! N-not unless whatever I had was laced with like…PCP or some crazy shit and I thought I was still…going fucking crazy or something...I didn't know what to do so I ran. I didn't notice the car until it hit me. When I came to…I had no idea what had happened, I thought everything was still the same… until I saw what was behind those doors"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose trying to regain his composure before the memories completely wash over him like a tidal wave. Don't lose it, don't lose, don't you fucking dare break down and lose it!

Rick gives a nod in silent understanding. "Thank you, for telling me the truth." He doesn't know why he said thank you or why he seems to understand what this boy is going through. But what he does know is that there was no lie in his voice, he could trust this kid…and he also knew that they were completely out of gas. Good thing there was a farmhouse not too far away. He slowly brings the car to a stop.

"Why are we stopping? We're not even near Atlanta yet."

Rick shuts off the ignition and pop the back trunk open, "We're out of gas," he explains as he tucks a family photo into the side pocket of his jacket, "Hopefully these people will have a little bit to spare for us." He grabs the gas can and walks towards the gravel driveway.

"You think there are people in that house?" he asks, Rick doesn't seem to be listening, he grumbles to himself before trotting over to the officer's side. "Rick seriously, I don't think there's anybody there."

He's still not listening, he calls out several times but receives no answer. He makes his way towards the front porch and knocks on the door.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

No answer, he knocks again and peers inside the front windows. A tap on the shoulder grabs his attention. Nick shakes his head with a grim expression and points to a dusty window.

"They're dead," he bluntly tells him before pointing to something behind Rick's shoulder. "You don't think they'll mind us borrowing their car, do you?"

Rick turns around but doesn't see anything resembling a car. "Car, what car? All I can see is a bench and a table."

Nick groans in frustration. How unobservant can you be? It's literally sitting right there at the end of the driveway. Anybody with eyes would have seen it from the road. He grabs Rick by the hand and drags him towards the end of the driveway. Rick see's and old pickup truck slowly coming into view and it all makes sense. He rushes towards the driver's seat and searches for the keys.

Defeat washes over him when Rick comes back empty handed. Rick sits down on the bench rubbing his head in tired frustration. They have no gas, no one to help them, and no mode of transportation. How the hell were they supposed to get to Atlanta before nightfall now? Getting there seemed like an impossible dream now.

A soft nicker grabs their attention. In a small paddock by the oak tree was a horse grazing on the short overeaten grass…maybe this dream wouldn't be impossible.

ϪϪϪϪ

Rick could tell something wasn't right before they even entered Atlanta. The other side of the highway was completely back up with vehicles. Why would people be trying to leave a city when there was military protection with food and shelter already set up? Maybe he was just being paranoid; maybe it was just being on this horse for too long and its skittish behavior was starting to get to his head.

The city seemed completely empty, the quiet in the air only being broken by the sound of the horse's hooves making contact with the pavement as it walked. Signs that Atlanta had been abandoned became more evident as they made their way deeper into the city.

The horse suddenly whinnies and spooks as they pass a bus with missing windows. There are a few walkers inside and this was probably the first time the poor animal had ever seen something like this. The walkers shamble their way out of the bus, the horse grows more anxious. He hears Nick's breath hitch in his throat behind him and his grip tightens.

"It's okay," he tells both horse and boy in a reassuring tone, "There's just a few. Nothing we can't outrun." He urges the horse to pick up a trot.

They pass the body of a dead soldier lying on a tank; pair of crows are busy picking and feasting away at his flesh. He grimaces at the site before moving on. Amidst the sound of clicking hooves and cawing crows he hears something…was that a helicopter? He scans the sky to pinpoint the location, but it's hard to see with all the skyscrapers in the way. He spots it being reflected on the windows of a building towering before him, he kicks the horse into a gallop.

Now both men are preoccupied with keeping the helicopter in his sight that they don't notice the massive hoard of walkers right around the corner. Not until the horse whinnies and rears back in terror.

Nick curses, Rick spins the horse around and they take off down the road, the hoard following close behind. More walkers appear by the abandoned tank cutting off both escape routes.

"Oh shit," We're trapped!

The walkers close in around them like a swarm of ants, reaching and grabbing at both man and beast; every one of them intent on getting some of that delicious flesh in their mouths. The horse rears back as a walker grabs the reins, knocking both riders off its back and onto the street. The walkers pull the screaming animal down sinking their teeth into its flesh, the still conscious animal cries out in horrified pain and desperately thrashes about.

Before Rick can even scramble to grab the gunbag, Nick yanks him back just in time to avoid having his arm snapped on by a crawling corpse and shoves him towards the tank before crawling underneath it himself.

If we hide they might forget about us and go away.

Rick doesn't waste any more time thinking. He dives under the tank and kicks at a walker's face that's crawled after him and grabbed his shoe. Nick's hand dangles in front of him; he must have found an emergency hatch to the tanks interior; he grabs the outstretched hand and pulls himself up into the armored vehicle and shuts the door. Nick slams the top hatch down and collapses into a heap on the floor gasping for breath.

Rick backpedals away from the door until he hits a wall. Next to him is a dead soldier, his gun is missing from its holster and a gaping hole in the middle of his forehead.

"He….was…..I…shot him." Nick breathed between gasps. "There's nothing…we can do now. They won't leave until we…come out…or die...in here." He hangs his head in defeat and puts the barrel of his gun in his mouth.

I'm sorry mom, I tried. But nobody's going to save us here…it's probably better this way. He turns the safety off with a trembling finger and tightly shuts his eyes. Don't worry lil' sis, I'll tell dad you said hello.

Rick gets the idea and puts the barrel of his gun against his head.

Lori, Carl, I'm sorry.

Before either of them ca pull the trigger the sound of radio static breaks the silence. A voice on the other end of the radio comes on "Hey, hey you."

They lower their guns in stunned silence; someone was trying to contact them from inside the tank? Who?

"Hey, dipshits. Yeah, you guys in the tank. You cozy in there?"

.