"Every time you do a good deed you shine a light a little father into the dark.
And the thing is, when you're gone that light is going to keep shining on,
pushing the shadows back."
- Charles de Lint


CHAPTER THREE – Cherry

I was walking through the hospital, through to the ICU, intending on foraging for more medical supplies. Except this time, the door to the pharmacy was locked. I tried to make it budge, but it wouldn't. I tried kicking it down, but it barely shook from the onslaught.

"This wasn't locked the last time." I muttered to myself, as I tried to force it open by throwing my shoulder against it. It still didn't move.

Suddenly, something behind me crashed to the floor with a loud metallic bang, and I spun round and reached for my guns. I aimed the two pistols at the source of the noise, recognizing the outline of a person shuffling towards me. It was clearly a patient, as it was only wearing a gown, but it was too dark to tell if it was a walker or not.

As though my thoughts could be heard by some divine power, the lights started to flicker, giving me brief moments of light. It was definitely a walker. I could hear the tell-tale moans and groans now. Except, it was much worse than just an ordinary walker. So much worse. I gasped, and my heart broke into a million pieces.

"No. No, no, no, no. Why him? Why him?" I sobbed, as I kept my guns trained on him as he continued to move towards me. I backed up slowly, not wanting to turn my back on him for even a second. "Why did you turn?"

His skin was pale, like all the color had been washed out. One of his arms was missing, probably devoured by whatever walker had bitten him and caused him to turn. The hospital gown he was wearing was torn and bloody.

The thing that I was disgusted by the most were his eyes. Those pretty blue eyes that used to twinkle when he was amused, or darken when he was angry. The ones I had spent most of my life daydreaming about…his eyes were glazed over, almost milky, and vacant. No sign of real life. Just a sick hunger. A sick hunger for the food he was stumbling towards. Me.

He wasn't the man I loved. He was not Rick Grimes anymore. He was a half-starved monster who wanted to eat me. It wasn't Rick. It wasn't him.

"Please. Just leave me alone," I cried, which only seem to invigorate him, as he started to move faster. My guns were still raised but I seemed unable to pull either trigger. "Please. Let it all be a dream. This is just a horrible nightmare. This isn't real."

I kept repeating those words, until I came to a stop and felt it. The wall at my back. I briefly took my eyes off Rick, flickering to either side of me.

I had backed myself into a corner.

I turned back to Rick, panicking at how close he was to me now, and I willed myself to grow a backbone. I had to do it. It wasn't Rick. I had to do it. He was dead. I'm alive. It wasn't Rick. I had to do it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Rick. I love you."

Walker Rick seemed to realise what was about to happen, but tried to rush forward to get his meal before it could.

I squeezed both triggers, and closed my eyes, sobbing as I heard his body hit the ground.

I woke up with a loud gasp. Feeling someone's arms around me, I started to panic and struggle, until I heard his voice murmuring in my ear.

"It's okay. It's okay. T, you're okay. I'm here. I'm here." Rick whispered, and I looked around to see that Morgan and Duane were awake and watching me with worried eyes. I tried to calm my breathing, clutching to Rick as I attempted to shake off the nightmare.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake anybody."

"Same one?" Morgan questioned, and I was grateful he didn't say anything more than that. I hadn't told him exactly what happens in my dreams, but he knew enough. I just didn't want Rick to know. He'd probably feel guilty or worried and neither of us needed that right now.

"No. Afghanistan flashback. Bad one." I lied, sitting up and untangling myself from Rick.

"Wanna talk about it?" Rick questioned, holding onto my wrist so I couldn't escape. I could easily break out of his weak grip, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings or, much worse, hurt him.

"It's stupid. I've seen so much bad shit in the past two months, but I still dream about warzones, terrorists and IEDs," I replied, only telling a half-lie. The battles I fought in Iraq and Afghanistan still plague me some days. It's hard to forget the sight of shot-up buildings and children, or the smell of burning flesh after an IED blew up a jeep or a bomb disposal unit. I climbed to my feet, shaking away the memories, and forced a smile onto my face. "Hey, little D, wanna help me make breakfast?"

"Oatmeal?" Duane asked, a little bit of hope in his voice and in his face, probably hope for a better breakfast. I grimaced with him. Oatmeal was getting old already, and we'd only been eating it for three weeks.

"Oatmeal."


Once a measly, tasteless oatmeal breakfast had been silently eaten, we all got dressed, Rick borrowing some clothes left by Fred Drake that didn't fit him right, to begin Rick's apocalypse training and to get Rick some of his own stuff. It was Morgan's idea. Rick needed to know how to kill walkers, because if he didn't, he was going to be breakfast. Plus, he needed something of home. It was the only way he would stay sane.

I kept my army tank top on from the day before, since I only had two shirts with me (the rest I had placed in a duffel bag and placed in the secret compartment of my car, where my weapons were kept) and the other was the only clean shirt I had left. I pulled on a pair of dark jeans, and my boots, before I strapped my leg holsters on and checked the ammo in my two pistols. Next, I checked my backpack was still stocked with everything necessary for an excursion outside, checking off each item in my head. My magic knife, check. Bowie knife, check. Med kit, check. Canteen filled with water, check. Lighter, check. Torch, check. Long range radio, check.

"You ready, T?" Morgan questioned.

I nodded, turning around to face him, when I burst out laughing at the scene in front of me.

"What?" Rick asked, and I giggled a little harder. The blue helmet and visor Rick was wearing made his face look incredibly small, and he looked pretty ridiculous.

"Nothing, just nothing. Let's go, boot. You need to pop your walker-slaying cherry before the morning is out." Rick shook his head at me and rolled his eyes, before following me through the house.

I checked outside and saw only a couple of walkers sitting around, waiting for a meal to reveal itself. I led them out on to the porch, a pistol in hand, my eyes scanning everywhere.

"Are we sure they're dead? I have to ask at least one more time." Rick repeated his words from each time we talked about our plans for the day. He didn't want to believe us, because he was still clinging to the hope that this was all some intense coma dream or something.

"They dead, except for something in the brain." Morgan replied.

"That's why you aim for the head. Head, they're dead. Anywhere else, you're dead. That's the way the world works now, honey. We all got to get used to it." I said, ignoring the bitterness in my own voice. If Rick and Morgan heard it as well, they made no mention of it.

We followed Rick down the front garden path, each armed with a weapon. Rick was wielding Duane's old baseball bat, Morgan held a crowbar in one hand, and I had my guns. We were letting Rick lead, against my better judgment, because he needed to get a hold on the way things worked now. I told myself he'd be fine, but he was still pretty weak.

So when a walker, which had been leaning against the white picket fence of the Drake's home, rose to its feet and moved towards him, I felt my heart hammer in my chest, and my grip on my glock tightened slightly.

Rick hurried towards it, smashing it in the head with his bat, repeatedly, harshly, until they both collapsed to the ground. When I saw Rick wrapping his arm around his chest, I moved towards him, worried he'd pulled his stitches or something.

"You all right?" Morgan questioned, voicing our concerns.

"I need a moment." Rick said, so while he gathered himself, I checked the street, making sure that we hadn't attracted any unwanted attention.

Luckily enough, it seemed we were going to have a quiet day. Hopefully. Probably not.

Rick took down two more walkers, before we finally headed into his house. The door was locked, exactly how I left it, but I produced the key I had hidden away in one of Lori's dying flower beds. I wasn't exactly going to leave it open to looters, like myself. Had to loot to eat.

We let Rick in first, following in behind him. I watched as he dropped that ridiculous helmet he'd been wearing by the front door, and continued to breeze further into the house.

"You sent Lori and Carl away with Shane, right? So they are alive?" Rick questioned, looking around his abandoned home, all signs of his family gone.

"Last time I saw them, yes. No scratches, no bites, no infection. I can't guarantee that they're still alive now. It's been two months. A lot of things could have gone wrong in that time." I stated, not wanting to get his hopes up. I trusted Shane to look after them, but, in this world, anything could have happened. They could have been surrounded by walkers, or one of them could have gotten bit, or some asshole opportunists could have killed them for their supplies. I didn't want to think like that, but someone had to.

"They're alive. I can feel it." Rick insisted, and I smiled weakly at him.

"Forever the damn optimist. Look, this is all I know. I sent Lori and Carl off in my car, following Shane in his Jeep. We lost contact with the Atlanta CP just before we were overrun here, so who knows what Atlanta is like? I mean, I want to believe that they're safe too, and with Shane with them, it's highly likely they are..." I trailed off as I realized that Lori had taken all the photos from the walls. She'd packed photos for the apocalypse. I chuckled at the thought of Lori smacking a walker round the head with one of her thick photo albums. I remember helping her with those photo albums, not by choice mind you, but we spent hours pasting all their family photos into three plain black books, scrawling the date and description of each photo underneath. "She took the damn photos. She must have done it while I was helping Carl pack up."

Morgan started to laugh with me, and I knew he was thinking about his wife.

"Photo albums," Morgan said, sitting down on one of the chairs in the living room. "My wife. Same thing. There I am packing survival gear, she's grabbing photo alb…"

Duane stepped further into the room, almost sensing that his father's mind was taking a darker turn.

"T said they were headed to Atlanta. They could be there."

"Yeah, it's possible." Morgan backed his son up, and I turned my eyes to Rick, who looked back at me.

"Why Atlanta?"

"Refugee center. A huge one, they said, before the broadcasts stopped-" I cut Morgan off, because I knew that it would reassure him more if all this came from me, and I wanted to believe it all too.

"Military protection, food, shelter. Before we lost contact, I spoke to an army buddy of mine. He said that he'd look out for them when they arrived. If they managed to get there, to find him, they'll be safe. Clayton's a good guy, good soldier and a good friend. They'll be safe." I repeated the last part, trying my best to convince one of us it could be true.

Shane would die before he let Lori and Carl die. I'm eighty per cent sure there was something going on between him and Lori before I sent them away, so at least I know he'd keep them safe. Clayton…he'd take a bullet for anyone. I just hope they had found him. Between him and Shane, nothing would have happened to Lori and Carl.

"They said it'd be safest there." Morgan added, nodding his head as like a second assurance.

"Plus they got that disease place." Duane said, smiling a small smile as he hoped his contribution would help.

"The centre for disease control said they were working out how to solve this thing." Morgan explained, and I watched as hope filled Rick's face.

He looked like a man reborn. There was hope and determination in his eyes that I hoped wouldn't be unfounded.

If we didn't find Lori, Carl and Shane…or worse, if we did and they weren't alive…it would kill Rick. Even if Rick and Lori were 'divorced' he still loved her and would be equally upset by her death as he would be by Carl's.

He moved into the kitchen, opened a cupboard and I heard the jingle of a set of keys. He held them aloft when he walked back in the living room, and I smiled at him.

"Where to, Office Friendly?" I questioned, already knowing that he had some sort of plan running around that brain of his. He knew his next step, and, by extension, mine too.

"The station."


We got to the station easily enough. There were only a couple of walkers that noticed us as we drove by but those ones were too weak, too hungry to follow the car.

Yet I didn't relax until Rick unlocked the doors to the station, bolting the door shut behind us and we had checked all the rooms for any walkers. I didn't particularly feel happy about the bolted door as it was a potential death trap, but it kept any walkers outside from coming in and surprising us.

It was empty. The station was completely deserted, just like the rest of town.

"All clear." I called to Rick, making sure that the offices were empty, with a shine of my torch around every nook and cranny of each room.

It was kind of sad. There were all these little mementos people had left behind on the desks, people I had once known. Pictures of families, of friends, little knickknacks and unfinished paperwork. One office even had a tray of decaying donuts and a pot of stone cold coffee. All of it abandoned.

I remembered my last visit to King County, on my last leave, choosing to surprise my two best friends at work. I walked in to the station, and got one of the dispatch girls to smuggle me into Rick and Shane's joint office. When they got back from cruising around town, and saw me sitting in Rick's chair, they had crushed me into a double bear hug and then we had gone out for drinks.

Things were better in the old days, when the only thing I had to worry about when walking around this police station was the odd perverted criminal grabbing my ass.

"I got a surprise for you." Rick's voice said, much closer than I had anticipated, scaring me out of my memories. I had to fight my instinct to elbow him in the throat, instead pressing my hand awkwardly against my racing heart, fingers still curled around my Glock, thumping harder at the shot of fear that went through me.

"You jerk, you scared me!" I squeaked, slapping him hard in the arm when he started to laugh at me.

"Sorry." Rick chuckled, and I was glad to see his spirits so high.

"No, you're not. What's this about a surprise?" I asked, and he just grinned, taking my torch so he could take my hand. The other still gripped my Glock, finger not on the trigger luckily for Rick.

He pulled me out of the offices, past the front desk and to the locker rooms, where Morgan and Duane were waiting. He smiled at all three of us, and we got a little nervous. Rick had just woken up from a coma to find he was in the middle of an apocalypse. Chances are he could have lost his mind.

Rick just walked past us to one of the shower stalls in the men's locker room, twisting the shower tap and showing us a steady stream of clear water.

"Gas lines have been down for maybe a month." Morgan stated, not wanting to get our hopes up for a hot shower.

"The station's got its own propane system," Rick announced, and I fought a grin when he put his hand in the water, and looked back at us with a grin. "Pilot's still on."

"You're telling me that I can shower like a normal human being?" I questioned, feeling the excitement bubble up within me. Hot water was the thing I missed most, being able to wash myself properly and being able to shave my legs and underarms in something better than a bucket filled with ice cold rainwater.

"That is what I'm telling you," Rick said, taking my hand and pulling me away. "I'll show you where the ladies of the force kept all the products."

He took me into the ladies locker room, and broke open one of the lockers. We hit the jackpot, finding a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, a razor, a clean, I'll repeat it, clean towel and some body wash. Rick handed it all to me, and pointed in the direction of the shower stalls.

"Thank you, Rick." I said, smiling at him.

"What for?"

"Being alive, bringing us here, giving us something to hope for, being you. God knows how many times I prayed for you to be with me during this. Guess he's still listening." I leant up and pressed my lips to the scruff on his cheek, pulling away after a couple of heartbeats and heading towards the showers.

As soon as I was out of sight, I set palm to forehead, questioning my own sanity.

Why, oh why, did I just kiss him?


A/N:

Hello Readers,

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!

Let me know what you thought of it with a review, and the next chapter will be up on JUNE 6TH.

Love you guys,

SophStratt.