As promised, the scene that was erased is at the bottom. I decided to go with Merles military training and the impule control reasoning. Also, Fucking Ricks scene ended up eatting away more pages then I wanted to focus on him so next chapter should be Daryl meeting Rick for the first time.
~Loner
Ace Company, which started off as just 'Ace' then later 'Company' was added, was named way before Aiden started to go by the name Ace, which was a sign of how bad Aiden's naming sense was, especially when put on the spot. Its primary job was to be a place for any business deals related to the gang to go down. It had started out as a small business ran out of a lovely old home on the outskirts of Atlanta. Its function was just to act as the 'office' of The General. Over time, that office had grown to include storage. A safe space for Aiden to store the awesome little toys he got from the trade deals. Before Aiden knew it, he was creating a brand and opening a warehouse down the street from his office.
By the second year, Ace Company was one of the leading black market trade companies in the area. If you needed it, Aiden more than likely had it. As long as you didn't ask Aiden how he had it, he had no problems selling it to you. If you wanted art, he would pilfer it and sell it at double the value. If you wanted someone dead, Aiden found someone to do the killing. Military weapons? Importing? Smuggling? Sure, why not? For a price, Aiden would have no problem with any of it.
Now, some would say Aiden was money hungry. Greedy. But, Aiden was a business man with a family to support. He had learned young that money didn't grow on trees nor was it just handed to you because you asked. At the rate that he picked up strays (like Jefferson), Aiden needed money to feed and clothe them. Ace Company was born from that need.
By the time Aiden was 25, he was leading in the black marked industry. He made more money off the commission of a sell then most made in their lifetime. His company's name was on the tip of every backyard seller and invitation for tea from the rich was almost none stop. Not that Aiden cared any. He was perfectly happy staying in the background, picking up strays and giving them a home.
When he finally turned 27, Aiden noticed a problem. He had money, lots of money, and no legal way of explaining it. Especially, when the police came knocking on his door. Disposing of evidence had never been harder in his life: a lot of bribery, black mail, favors pulled… Aiden couldn't allow that to happen again. It was annoying.
So, Ace Company branched off into Ark, a new legitimate business that mostly deals with real-estate. Ark was the third party buyer who bought the place of business or home and turned it over for a profit. Then, it either sold the home or rented out the place of business to others. If a few random business, like a manga store that didn't sell just manga or used electronic store that sold more newer equipment then older, popped up in the process, well, no one would question it. Ark was, in the eyes of the law, a respectable business that did dealing all across the USA.
Ark was the front to Ace Company's money, while Ace Company was the money maker.
Now, one month into the Zombie, mother fucking, Apocalypse, Aiden was using everything Ace Company had to offer him, all the way down to the big rigs used to transport.
Aiden had always been a paranoid bastard; one didn't get their own branch of a gang by trusting people. He had plans for virtually everything under the sun: nuke strikes (thanks to a lovely show called Jericho), power outages (he found out Texas had their own God damn power grid and got jealous), invasion (what? Have you seen the political world lately), etc. The one thing he had never thought to plan for was the God damn dead coming back to eat people. That shit was reserved for the fictional world only in his mind. That was okay, though. A lot of the plans needed to be modified, but they fit the situation just as well.
His original plans to head out to Red Bank was immediately scrapped two days and 12 hours after being made as the group of 4 watched Military plans jet over head on their way to Atlanta, Georgia with a good crowd of bikes stopped in the middle of the road with them. They all watched as the plans cargo hold opened and 3 bombs were released in the middle of the streets. Aiden, despite his usual attitude, had gotten a wakeup call that day.
This was a sign that all hope was lost.
"What do we do now?" Terry asked when he finally found his voice. He looked around him at the group that took over the back roads in their orders to flee the city.
Jefferson shrugged at the question. "Don't know." The brunette looked at Max, who in response looked at Aiden.
Aiden had gone pale in shock, just staring out at the burning city. Years of hard work put into that city, so many years of blood, sweat and tears, just wasted. It was a cruel realization. His soul had been resting in that city. That stupid city that was the reason he continued to return whenever he could. That dumbass city with it's grossly over population. Most importantly that ugly ass city was where he had laid his roots and built a name for himself. What was he without it? What could 'just Aiden' do?
Max elbowed Aiden in the side, pulling the man from his thoughts. "Build another," Max said as if he was reading Aiden's thoughts. Maybe he could or maybe he could read Aiden like a book with all the years they had known each other. It was no secret that Aiden was proud of what he accomplished.
Aiden took in Max's expectant expression. Then, his green eyes took in the looks on his brothers and sisters face, his fellow riders from all over. They looked just as lost as he did, unsure about the new world they all just found themselves in. Aiden's eyes landed back on Max, his confidant, his never ending support. If Max thought it could be done… Aiden straightened his shoulders. "We rebuild," he said loudly, his voice full of confidence he barely had, "Make a better home. One more suited for the new world." Aiden had forgotten he was and would never be 'just Aiden.' It was impossible for him.
"Terry, go spread the news with Jefferson. Tell them to get ready are going back in at first light. Hopefully, the fires have died out by then," Aiden commanded. "Max, you're with me. We are going to scout ahead, see how far the damage is. I'm going to assume everyone grabbed a radio on the way out. If not, find one." Someone handed Aiden a map of the city during his speech and Aiden crouched down to spread it out over the ground. "We will cut the city into zones." Aiden raised his hand and snapped his fingers a few times in a silent demand. "And check them out one by one, starting with the areas closest to our warehouses." A pen was placed in Aiden's outstretched hand, and he began tracing lines on the map, bumpy lines due to the asphalt of the road but lines. "Each zone will cover a six block area or one major road to another depending on the area. Under no circumstances are we going into the middle of the city nor near the areas they dropped the bombs." Aiden looked up at the people who had walked up and surrounded him as he spoke. "If our family from Florida are correct in their assessment of these things being blind, those bombs were just another way of ring the dinner bell. The edges of the city should be clearer than they were before, now that the dead have moved towards the explosions but we still need to be careful and watch our backs."
Aiden paused in his planning to let everything sink in and took in the faces around him. "The radios," he began speaking again, "are not fool proof, but they are the best our tech division has to offer currently.
While Max and I ride out, we will test the range. When no response is given we will return. We should make it to, at least, city limits but it's better to be safe than sorry. Once we get to the warehouses, we will work out something better." Because there had to be something better.
Thus, began the rebuilding of Aiden's secret empire. A long, long month that felt more like years, plenty of poor souls being lost in the attempt, they now had the central HQ of Ace Company set up in one of the warehouses, tucked away in the middle of the district for safety reasons, and check points scattered across the city, mostly within the strange stores Aiden had set up through Ark and a scattered few sites still standing after the bombs went off. The check points were simply just that, a safe haven for the recon and scavenging teams to check in and rest. There were 2 in each 'zone' as they called them. Sometime during the search and clearing out of the warehouse district, Aiden had dismantled the radios of every cargo truck he could find, seeing as the radios in the trucks were built for cross country trips, which was a lot considering where they were. Those radios were installed into the buildings they used as check points, after some serious revamping with the supplies they found in the warehouses.
It wasn't all bad, Aiden supposed. When they were playing with the radios, just switching back and forth between channels, they discovered some radio head who locked himself, family and friends away in a nearby tower. Aiden found it a little ironic really, that someone, anyone, would think to secure a radio tower of all things. Apparently, radio towers were a dying art form, at least the radio head had said. Aiden, honestly, just thought they just got stuck there in their escape from the city, and was now playing whatever tracks they found lying around for the lack of anything else to do in their suddenly free time.
On the nation radio, they discovered a guy in Alaska… Atlantic, maybe. Nerdy guy, that one. Always on giving the latest of updates he found through the military database at least once a day early morning. That guy seemed to be on his own with his dog, so he said. He was a researcher working for the military division, using his now dead Sargent's codes to access the systems still up and running. There was a lot of information flow on that channel and I was only thanks to the radio tower within the radio heads hands that they had access to it.
When Aiden finally got the power up and running, about a week ago, now. They had their tech division work on a way to get in touch with the nerdy doctor off on his own. It wasn't too hard to do, since the guy was sending out his contact information what felt like every hour on the hour with hopes of communicating with the outside world. It was lonely; the doctor had said once, being secluded from the world, even though it had gone to shit.
The one thing about the Ethernet, Aiden discovered in his task of trying to reach the guy, was that it never died; only the companies that monopolize it. While Aiden didn't know nor understand the devices of what was the combination of Ark and Ace Company's tech division had built, Aiden understood what it did and that was all he cared about. All Aiden needed to do was supply the necessary parts, something he was more than happy to do after the techs told him were to look. Technicians that were extremely underestimated and abused in the world before the dead became Aiden's life line in the new world.
Then there was the mechanics division. While they couldn't create new parts just yet, despite having a small team working on doing just that, they could easily dismantled the useless things, such as cars that ran out of gas, fried coffee makers, the stupid TV that were hidden away in one of the workers lounge of the very first warehouse they had cleared out, and rebuild something new out of the parts. That was how Aiden got the big 18 wheelers up and running. Once those were up and ready to start transporting,
the building and supply runs were a breeze. Between Aiden and the bikers, there were a surprising large amount of mechanic inclined people, but only a hand full of certified mechanics in the group.
Their runs out into the city had been shitty at first, mostly due to the fact that most of them preferred the open air of motorcycles, thus less protected from stray dead attacks. The less experienced bikers ended up sliding in critical periods of escape and those who managed to make it back could only carry so much, even with their relatively ingenious ideas of getting the supplies back. The first month of the Zombie outbreak was touch and go as they focused solely on setting up.
Two months in, Aiden could confidently say, they were in a good spot. They only had two 18 wheelers running most of the time, regardless of the diesel that seemed to be endless. They had a few jeeps rigged up for group transportation, plenty of supplies to trade with the nearby communities they found in their search of the city. Most importantly, they were as protected as you could get in such short amount of time and experience, as the construction on gates and outposts was theory based and limited to the hands on dads and sons in the group. Aiden had to admit, there was a huge difference between the theory of building and actually building it, and he was no use with a hammer, or tape measure… or really anything that had to do with putting together a structure of any kind. So he was stuck moving cars and checking for keys in the vehicles around the build areas, while taking out any dead drawn out by the noise of construction.
The layout of what they dubbed HQ ended up being, car blockades on the outer most rim where there the main streets turned into the warehouse district. 50 yards back from that fencing was put up, and behind the fencing was the stand, almost deck like in design, being built. So far, though, those were half done with only the ones facing the streets and one in the very back of the warehouses being finished.
By the third month in, the company that started off as bikers and there family grew to include the smaller families that stayed in the city, basically turning it into a small town ran out of warehouses. Aiden was thinking about moving too slowly take over the house a good 5 miles out, but that task was still a long way off. They were still trying to secure what they had. Despite the souls he had under his roof, they were still too small to attempt a takeover that big.
In the last 3 months they had been working hard to block off the dead, some still got in, usually during the mass stampede the dead would occasionally create. With so many, it was difficult to keep them completely out, which was why the important areas, like the network room and mechanics were kept in the middle of the warehouse district. The warehouse was being enough to hold all the important gadgets and people who worked with them while being strong enough to hold off the dead who wondered far enough through to bang on its doors. Just in case, though, Aiden had most of the mechanics working alongside the group of technicians in project mobility. Which is to say, they were working hard to put everything on wheels. Also, a project Aiden couldn't do more than order done.
"If we can put a fucking house on wheels, then we can put a mother fucking network on wheels too, damn it," he had said when he ordered it done.
"Boss, it's not a network," some techy had said in a fit of stress, "It's more like a whole internet company."
"I don't care what it is," Aiden snapped, "put it on wheels. Even if you have to break it up into two God damn trucks."
Thus, how they ended up with 2 hospital emergency backup generators on the back of a flatbed prepped and ready to be connected to the cab of any of the 18 wheelers sitting around the district. Two 'wide load' trucks with half a house trailers sitting close enough, Aiden wasn't sure how the trucks could move if and when they needed to evaluate the area. It wasn't a finished product, but it was a starting point.
Aiden really didn't have enough bodies for even a fraction of what he wanted done. Still 3 months of constant work, where Aiden woke up to yell orders at people all the way up to his head hitting the make shift pillow on his make shift bed in the make shift room that was mostly just curtains and stacks of crap metal for walls, they were making progress. Plenty of people hated him for it, a lot of people argued with him, but they all understood why he was the way he was.
Merle had always been resourceful. Ever since he was young, he'd always been on his own. Sure, he had a mom and a dad, so he wasn't an orphan. He may have well have been, though. His father was a drunk whose hobby was beating the woman who birthed him a son. His mother had spent most of her free time in hospitals for falling down stairs everyone knew they didn't have, until she got hooked on the pain medication. Yeah, Merle wasn't an orphan, but he was alone in a world that didn't want him.
That was until Daryl was born. Daryl was the one good thing that came from a drunk and an addict. Out of the whole family unit to share the name Dixon, Daryl was the one that would going places. He would make sure of it. Daryl was the fresh start, and he refused to see the kid fall into the same habits as his father, mother, even himself.
With Daryl, life wasn't lonely anymore. Stressful, yes, but that was mostly because Merle didn't know what a baby was, let alone how to take care of it. Merle was the one getting up with his little brother, the one to change the kid's dirty diapers and feed him his bottles. His parents would neglect the kid, completely happy to forget Daryl and Merle existed until they needed a punching bag or two.
It was a fucked up situation, but Merle was resourceful and quick on his feet. Without Daryl being nearby, though, Merle's resourcefulness was also self-destructive.
Merle awoke with a start, already feeling the crash from the wonderful high. "Fuck," he groaned, lifting his hand to his head, only to find it jerking to a stop. "What the fuck?" the man blinked, glaring against the sun, towards his hand wondering why it was being restricted. A small part of him panicked thinking maybe a walker had gotten ahold of him, but that didn't seem right either. Eyes trailed down tatted forearm to stop at his wrist where a pretty silver bracelet that he didn't have before sat innocently around the skin attaching him to a metal pipe running along the rooftop he had awaken on. "Tha fuck?" slipped from his split lips when he spotted the hand cuffs.
Merle licked his lips nervously, feeling the dehydration from the crash start to set in, tasting the dried blood on his tongue and feeling the scab on the skin in the process. Seriously? What happened? Merle pulled on the metal cuffs again, testing them. Whoever put them there was a professional, which meant they put handcuffs on either themselves or other people for a living. He was betting the later. So, a cop? Which honestly explains the whole situation, Merle thought. He hated cops. "Fuckers."
With as high as he was, and he was betting it was pretty high because he couldn't remember much after entering the city, Merle had probably taken time out of his day to pick a fight. If he went by the split lip, then he most definitely picked a fight somewhere along the way before passing out.
Merle inspected the cuffs. They looked warn in. So, experienced cop. Probably, someone who got the drop on him, then. Wouldn't have been hard to do in his half delirious state.
Merle sat up, bringing his legs under his body so he was kneeling. Holding the cuff on the pole, he brought the two cuffs together. Then, he started to rotate his wrists at an angle, working the chain into a twist, careful to make sure none of the links overlapped the loops they were attached with. When he was sure the chain was nice and tight, Merle brought the cuffed hand inward towards the other cuff. It was difficult to get them to actually snap apart. He had to try several times due to the angle, but, eventually, one of the links did break, giving him his freedom back.
Just in time for the dead to start banging on the door leading up to the roof. "Fuck." He was virtually defensiveness with only his hunting knife tucked away at his hip. "Double fuck."
The months without society had taken its toll on the small group of families that found themselves hiding in the camping area off the main road to Atlanta. A lot of them had shown up with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and a few supplies to last them from home to the rumored safe haven set up in Atlanta. What they had collected after days of sleeping in cars, wasn't much: a few tents rounded together and pitched near the only water source, food collected from cars and thrown into a pile, a fire set up by a few more outdoor inclined people. It wasn't much at first, but it had grown slowly over time thanks to Glenn's planning and the volunteers to do runs into the city.
Now, a couple months in, the worst they had to deal with was Merle's attitude towards what they saw as the controlling couple: a dark haired, stick of a woman named Lori and an equally dark haired, sun kissed man called Shane.
Everyone had learned to ignore the couple when they started barking out demands, only choosing to follow them for the sake of keeping the peace. None of them really wanted to deal with them, but they, also, didn't want to kick people out of the small safe zone they made for themselves. Most of the adults felt guilty just thinking of sending anyone out on their own; safety in numbers and all that fancy jazz they grew up hearing about. If anything, now was the time to put the saying to use. If all else failed and push came to shove… well, no one in the small community built in around the flush would blame anyone for using the two as bait for the dead in their attempt to flee.
Merle, though, dispute being an okay guy, when you weren't trying to stand between him and his victim of verbal abuse, couldn't stand the couple. With every demand directed his or his brother's way, Merle would snap back with the dirtiest, sarcastic comment he could come up with in the moment. Those who were aware of the background drama of the group like the fact that Lori and Shane often snuck of to have sex in the nearby bushes, admired the man. They themselves didn't have the guts. Shane always had this insane look in his eyes when someone, who wasn't what he viewed as his family unit, back talked him.
The news about Merle being abandoned on a roof top with a horde of dead banging on the door, horrified most of the group. What was worse the new guy they inherited to take the man's place in the group was the hated Shane's best friend and past coworker. They dreaded the coming future. Was it too late to dip out?
"I hate to break up this touching family reunion," Dale was the one to speak up, "but…" the old man paused to look around at the crowd that gathered to welcome the volunteers back, "Whose going to tell Daryl?"
"Daryl?" Rick, the new guy, pulled back from his apparent wife, Lori, and child, Carl. Both of whom had pulled the man dressed as a sheriff into a group hug, crying out in ecstatic joy, though, Lori's joy was much less pronounced then Carl's.
"I'll tell him," the only black volunteer in the run said. "I dropped the key. I should take responsibility."
"No, T-Dog," Rick said, face darkening with guilt, "I'm the one who handcuffed him. I will tell Daryl."
Dale eyed both T-Dog and Rick with a smidgen of respect. The old man clearly didn't condone the groups action, not by a long shot, and he was quite disappointed in Andrea's actions in the situation as well. However, the old man could respect T-dog and Rick's dedication to the blame. Still doesn't make it any better, though, nor appropriate.
"I'll help," Shane butted in, "Daryl Dixon has a hot temper. You're going to need back up."
A dozen wide eyes in the group shifted to stare at Shane. Daryl was so mild mannered, especially compared to the kid's brother. You couldn't push the boy around, but anyone who bothered to watch the kid knew he had a quiet heart of gold. Anyone who watched over the children for hours on end so the parents could focus their attention elsewhere for a while couldn't be a bad guy. Most of the parents actually appreciated the kid and often tried to help him in some way, which didn't happen often as Daryl was as independent as a 23 year old could get. No, if the kid got "hot tempered" it was because he was worried about his older brother. None of them would or could blame Daryl for any outburst the quiet kid may have at hearing the news.
Daryl and Merle weren't exactly out casted from the group of survivors. Actually, only a select few actually hated the men for reasons that were bigoted and prejudice. However, those handfuls of people were enough of a reason for the two men to pitch their tents on the furthest edge of the group. At first glance, if the one looking didn't understand the dynamics of the group, one would think they were unwelcome; which is exactly what Rick automatically thought when he asked whose tents they were when the man sat down later that night for dinner.
"Those are Daryl and Merle Dixon's tents," one of the group members explained kindly. "They seem to like their privacy."
Ed snorted from his place next to his wife, Carol, and daughter, Sophia. "Exactly where people like them belong." Ed sneered at the tents and spit in their direction. He didn't like the Dixon Brothers. They were always interfering where they didn't belong. The younger ones snake eyes always caused his hair to stand on end. The older one would threaten Ed silently when he was sharpening his knifes, which the older brother did a lot. "Fucking bastards."
No one said anything, but a scattered few did roll their eyes at the overweight man. Ed wasn't one to talk. Their community was small and most of them lived in tents. The tent's walls were thinner than a cheap hotel rooms. They all could hear the abuse the man laid on the poor woman and child at random times of the day and night. A few times they even witnessed Merle holding Daryl back with a firm hand on the boys shoulder.
"Don't interfere," the elder brother had said loud enough for those to hear, "it will only make their life's worse. I know."
That statement alone had told the group that watched a lot about the life Merle and Daryl had come from. Many of them had followed the man's advice. He was right, of course. Aside from killing the man, which came with its own set of problems, there wasn't anything they could do. They couldn't report the abuse to the authorities anymore, and they had no where they could reliability lock the man up. Instead, they had quietly agreed among themselves to try and keep the mother daughter duo away from their husband and father as much as possible.
Rick, for his part, couldn't be blamed for listening to Ed and forming his own thoughts on the situation of the group. The old sheriff had only been with them for a few hours, and so far he had only heard one side of the story. Of course, neither the respectable adults of the group nor the ex-sheriff had attempted to reached out to the other. One side, the people who had been with the group for a while, assumed Rick was just like the other two, Shane and Lori. The other, Rick, assumed the group was all in agreement with each other.
Even if Rick did see the wide looks and rolling of the groups eyes when select others spoke, he just chalked it up to their surprise and agreements with the speakers. After all, he didn't know these survivors well enough to know how they really felt about things. Rick only knew Shane and Lori, both of whom nodded along with Ed's words. At least, he knew the sides of Shane and Lori that they showed him, he would find out later, and the lesson would be a bitter pill to swallow.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep for the night, Rick snuck out to one of the cars lining the edge of the camp, phone and charger in hand. He pulled himself into the furthest ones and started the engine. Then, untangled the charging cord and plugged one in, the USB port, into the car adapter already pushed into the cars port. Finally, the other end of the charger went into the phone's charging slot. Immediately, the phone lit up with the charging signal, then went black. Rick waited for the phone to get some sort of charge, staring blankly out the windshield.
When he had first woken up, he had been confused. Why was he in a hospital? What had happened? Where was everyone? It all circled in his head. He remembered feeling that eerie feeling of something not being right. The air smelled like death, he could taste it with every breath. For a moment, in his deleterious state, he had thought Death had come for his soul. Then, his mind cleared away the last of the fog and he realized it was so much worse.
Walking through the blood covered halls of the hospital, to Rick, was like walking through a horror scene. There was blood smeared on the walls, windows. Oh God, the bodies, littered everywhere, like he had woken up in a war zone. Even now, thinking about the scenes he had seen since he woke up from his coma caused his hands to shake and his lower lip to twitch as his eyes started to sting. He'd been scared and confused walking through those halls, calling out for anyone, only to be met with silence and groans of, what he now knew was the dead.
He had been stupid in his confusion, following the groans echoing through the otherwise silent hospital. He came upon a chained door with the words 'DEAD INSIDE!' in red spray paint. At first, Rick had thought it was a cruel joke. Someone, multiple people, was, were, banging and pulling on the doors, trying to get
out. At the time, Rick had been legitimately concerned for them. However, each step closer, the hair on his skin began to stand up. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
"Hello?" Rick called and the banging grew louder and more persistent. "Hello? Are you okay in there?" He had called again; worried the other person… persons… was hurt with the amount of pained groaning coming from the other side. He moved closer to the door, grabbing the long bar that rand horizontal of the door. "Move back, I'm going to see if I can push the door open enough to see you." The groaning had just increased in volume, which, honestly, unnerved him more than anything else.
Rick tried to ignore the fight or flight instinct that told him to flee. He was a cop, and, as a cop, it was his job to help others in need. He kept telling himself, it was his job, like it was a mantra to soothe the fear. It had help all the way up until he pushed the door open 2 and a half inches and a rotting arm shot through, jerking the door in the process, broken nails heading straight for his face. Rick had screamed like a little girl in shock and heart stopping fear as his flight instinct took over and pushed him back onto his ass, his legs working to push him further away from the door. When his back hit the wall on the other end of the hall, Rick curled in on himself, a choked sob of fear, of relief that the door was chained shut now that half a dozen arms flopped around like fish in the open door way, of confusion, left his lips.
The weeks leading after that hadn't been much better for the man. Reality is, while everyone else had been living through this as it came, Rick quite literally woke up in this never-ending nightmare. He was like a new born babe trying to learn the world it had been born into. Only, this world he was thrown into scared the shit out of him, and he wanted to go home. Wanted to go back to the simple days where all he had to do is listen to Ace's orders, go to work, and teach Carl how to be a man. For goodness sakes, Rick didn't even know how he was still alive right now.
Lori had told him, he had been in coma for at least two days before the outbreak. Shane had said, the military had come through and shot anything on sight. It was a miracle Lori, Shane, and Carl had gotten out of town when they did, or they would have been dead too. Shane had even given him a story about how the man had unknowingly and heroically saved Rick's life by pushing a gurney in front of the door. At the time, though, Shane didn't actually believe it would work. Of course, Rick didn't think it should have either. Rick supposed, with the dead rising to eat people, the military officers were too panicked at the time with the idea of being eaten to notice one gurney that did little to block the door of the room, as the door opened inwards towards the inside. Perhaps, the officials even though the room was blocked off because of the dead that inhabited the room.
Either way, none of the story explained how he lived the coming months afterwards, unless there was a nurse or doctor still taking care of him all the way up until he opened his eyes. If there was, then what happened to them? Were they one of the dead he had seen outside the hospital when he finally limped out of the building? Perhaps, they were still alive, just happen to be out gathering supplies when he woke up. He didn't know, but he sent a thanks in prayer to the unknown medical personnel that had stayed behind, just in case.
Rick was broken from his thoughts as his phone lit up, displaying the 100% on the screen. The man sighed in relief as his thumb held down the power button. Sadly, Rick, like so many others, didn't have service on his phone.. That was okay, though. Right now there was only one voice he wanted to hear, and, while it wasn't as good as hearing the real thing, Rick could settle for a recording.
"…One saved message:" the mechanical female shifted into that familiar deep and seductive voice of his true Master, Ace. "Pet," Ace's voice came through the phones speaker causing Rick to gasp. It was a term that normally turned him on, but tonight it made him sad. "I called earlier, but the bitch answered." Rick could hear the lighter flick in the background, and then Ace pulled in a deep breath. If Rick was there, he would have pulled the cigarette from the man mouth almost as soon as he lit it, despite the trouble he would have gotten in for it. That, he thought as tears pooled in his eyes, was half the fun. "Said something about you being shot." Ace paused. Maybe, thinking about something? "Assuming, because you haven't called me back, the bitch either still has your phone or she never told you." Rick could guarantee Lori would have never said anything. The woman may have gone as far as delete the evidence of the call.. "Listen Rick, my lovely pet," here, Rick's breath hitched, and he let a whimper of complete and udder sorrow leave his throat, "it's getting dangerous out here. From the information I've gathered, the dead are coming back and killing people. They say, they are eating people. That's all I know at the moment. I will call again when I know more." Ace, bless him, had tried to warn him. Ace couldn't have known Rick was in a coma, but still Rick was touched.
When the voice recording ended, Rick pulled his legs up to his chest and hit replay on the message.
"Pet, called earlier, but ..."
Then, Rick cried full blown snot bubble inducing sobs as the voice played again in his ears. He wanted to go home. Go back to sneaking around with Ace, curling up in the man's arms where he felt the safest and most love. He wanted the man to take his son on another one of their not so secret outings. Go out of his way to argue with the man over taking his 10 year old to the gun range. Most of all Rick wanted to go back, completely back in time, before the a coma and tell the man he loved him, even if it would scare Ace away. This time he would cling to the man, invite Ace's other lover if he had to, in order to keep him there within his eyes sight at all times.
Ace was probably one of the dead now.
That thought made Rick break down.
If anyone saw or heard Rick's break down, no one said anything about it the next morning. They all stubbornly avoid looking the man in the eyes, choosing to ignore the puffy, swollen eyes from a night of crying.
"You look like shit." Except Shane.
"Yeah," Rick sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I could hardly sleep last night. Lot to take in, ya know."
-ch cut out-
Merle tugged on the cuffs again, this time out of habit and lack of anything else to do, as he looked around the area for something useful in getting the cuffs off.
Nothing.
So, Merle thought through the headache that was beginning to set in, my options are to sit out here in the fucking hot sun, or… his eyes looked around again, spotting a black duffle bag that was left behind with him a few feet away. Or, I see what can be used in the bag. "Merle, what have you gotten yourself into?" he scolded himself, exasperatedly. Could he not do just one task right? Just go into the city, look for a walkie-talkie, preferably a long range one. That's all he was supposed to do. All he promised to do. But no, he had to go and find something else. He just had to snort the nice powdered stuff that that made him feel like he was flying. His fucking impulse control was virtually nil.
Merle twisted his body, sticking a leg out, trying to hook his toes into the loop of the strap. "Fucking idiot," he cursed himself as he attempted. "One job, Merle. One, mother fucking, job. Damn it!" He shout in frustration as the strap only glazed the toe of his boot for the third time. Ugh, there has to be a better way. He just wanted the God damn bag. Was that too much to ask?
As the minutes ticked by, so too did the headache. It was almost hammering at his brain, his ability to focus and think. The bag that started off as one was turning into three. He needed water. Merle looked up at the sun directly overhead. He needed shelter from the sun's rays. Noon was the worst time to be outside in the Georgia heat. This high up on the roof of a skyscraper on top of that? Merle was surprised he wasn't last week's barbecue yet.
"Just a little more, Merle," the man tried to encourage himself, sliding down along the roof as much as the short cuffs would let him. At this point, Merle would be quite happy to rip his hand straight from the socket if it meant getting out of these cuffs. Except, Merle kept pictures Daryl in his mind, kept imaging the kids reaction to that scenario. No, he would be no help nor be able to protect his baby brother with one hand. He needed that bag, and that bag needed to have something he could use.
"Ah ha!" Merle would deny it later, but he did a little wiggle dance in celebration when his toe finally caught the bag. Now the tedious job of bringing the bag to his upper body.
That task proved to be even more difficult as his body was twisted up in an effort to reach the bag.