'I love you!
I love you with a fever!
you and me,
To infinity and beyond.'
It was the last week of your senior year when you wrote that letter. You were 17 and naive. That was a long time ago, 15 years to be precise.
The world has gone to shit now. It belongs to the dead and the cruel.
So, to see him again, standing there, with a crossbow aimed at your head…
You suppose if anyone was able to survive this world, it will be him.
This story takes place around the beginning of season 3 and the year is 2013. This story also includes pre-apocalypse, where our characters meet in the late 90's. so there will be a lot of back-and-forth time jump. I will also do my best to break down the virus, which the creators of the walking dead haven't done. And I will be using some real science and medical terms.
Old love, you're breaking me up
Burn, burnin' like sun
I don't forget like an elephant
It's imprinted on my heart
I don't forget
The sun don't set for me
elephant by freya ridings
Chapter 1 - Miracle
When everything had seemed dark and all hope was lost, Rick prayed for a miracle.
Finding the prison had been that miracle. Despite only a week having passed since they took over, things had improved considerably. (Knock on wood.) But now, as he stood in front of Hershel's cell, Rick needed one more miracle.
Although the weather outside was getting cooler, the prison cells felt stuffy. With their cold metal bars, high ceilings, cement walls, and poor air ventilation, the conditions were not improving. Hershel sat on his bunk bed, struggling with simple tasks like adjusting on the bone-dry mattress. Even now, he was looking at the paper in his hand, but his mind was far away. After all, he had lost his leg just a few days ago, and Rick feared it would break him. The signs were already starting to show - mentally, he hadn't been the same since that day.
Rick couldn't imagine what kind of bravery it must take. Hershel must be in extreme physical pain, and they hadn't been able to find proper pain meds beyond a few over-the-counter pills, which weren't doing much for his amputated leg. Hershel was now disabled, and in the world they lived in, that was a guaranteed death sentence. He tried to smile and comfort his daughters, though he was starting to feel like a burden to them - girls who would never leave their father behind, no matter the danger.
And then there was Lori's pregnancy, Rick's current biggest obstacle.
He knew how he felt about it, but he was afraid to acknowledge it because acknowledging it meant opening that can of worms, and he wasn't ready to deal with it at the moment. "One thing at a time," he told himself.
His wife, or what was left of her, was in discomfort. She was very close to delivery - seven months, she had said. But Rick doubted the number. Lately, the days were starting to blur. At least here at the prison, all hope for a safe delivery wasn't completely lost.
"Here," Herschel finally spoke, bringing Rick out of his thoughts. Rick reached out and accepted the piece of paper from Hershel. There, in black and white, was a list of medical terms Rick didn't understand. In fact, it might as well have been a foreign language to him.
"I am not a real doctor, Rick, and at my current state, I'm not sure how much use I can be," Hershel's voice shook. He was worried and unsure if he was capable of delivering Lori's baby.
"I know, but you're the best we've got. We'll figure something out when the time comes. We've got a little bit of time," Rick said, putting his hand on Hershel's shoulder comfortingly.
"It's all there. Try to get everything on that list if you can - all the antibiotics, pain meds, and glucose we might need," Hershel said as Rick slid the piece of paper into his breast pocket. "That's all I can think of."
"We'll do our best."
The last pharmacy they had hit was almost completely empty. But today, they were going to try to go out further and try their luck there. As he tried to stay optimistic, Rick couldn't stop the nagging thoughts and doubts that he wouldn't be able to find anything on that list, let alone everything. "I'm taking Glenn and Daryl," he announced.
Hershel nodded slowly, moving to get up and reaching out for his makeshift crutches. Rick fought every instinct to move forward and help the older man, but he told himself that Hershel needed to feel independent. Slowly, very slowly, the two of them walked out. Immediately, they are greeted by Beth and Maggie, who rushed to help their father.
"Good luck," was Herschel's last words.
When Rick reaches the car, Daryl and Glenn are already waiting with weapons in hand. He nods at them and jumps into the driver's seat. Glenn sits in the back, and Daryl takes the passenger seat.
As they drive out of the prison gate, Rick looks up at the clear sunny sky. It would have been a beautiful day if he didn't feel crippled by fear he felt.
He let out another sigh,
And wish for one more miracle.
In a coordinated manner, they clear out the few walkers lingering outside of the drugstore. Unfortunately, the first pharmacy they hit is almost completely empty, except for a few random pills and creams that don't match anything on their list. They can't afford to waste much gas, so they decide to move on to the next pharmacy circled on the map.
The second pharmacy is located in a small, dilapidated shopping center, on the far side of the building. It's obvious that it doesn't have a lot of foot traffic even before the outbreak. As they walk forward, Rick notices that the area is too quiet for his liking. They all look around suspiciously, completely alert to their surroundings.
Daryl signals to Rick to slow down as he points to the ground, where he sees fresh footprints. Rick doesn't need to be told twice and quickly pulls out his gun, followed by Glenn, who copies his moves. The footprints on the dirt are straight and fresh, unlike the way the walkers drag their bodies.
With the second signal, both Rick and Glenn press their bodies against the entrance of the pharmacy door, one on each side. Daryl slowly creeps up and opens the door, his crossbow aimed low to the ground. Nowadays, threats don't only come in the form of walkers, so they must be ready for all possibilities.
Rick's first thought is that the pharmacy is empty. But as he listens, he can hear the distant noise of pills in a bottle, as if someone is picking it up, flipping it around, and putting it back down. They step in slowly, each moving quietly to avoid making any sound.
The pharmacy is small, with the cashier desk facing the entrance. In the back, there are a couple of rows of shelves stacked with products. Someone is standing behind one of the shelves, hidden from view. As far as Rick can tell, the person is completely unaware of their arrival.
Rick moves quietly to the left, with Glenn moving to the right, trapping the person between them. Daryl slowly rises from where he was squatting behind the cashier desk, his crossbow aimed directly at the person.
"Put your hands up," Rick says, "and slowly step forward."
It's your idea to stop at the pharmacy, and lately, the drive has been long and bumpy due to most major roads being blocked by the dead or piles of abandoned cars. Although you don't need any supplies this pharmacy can offer, you convince the two men you're with to make a quick stop for a bathroom break, an excuse to stretch your legs, and who knows what you might find.
Nowadays, medications can be used like currency. In Jacksonville, you were able to trade the pain pills you had for the sneakers you're currently wearing, finally losing the heels that were starting to cause you blisters. And if you could do it once, you can do it again.
Humming a melody of a long-forgotten song, you hold an open backpack with one hand and pick up bottles with the other, reading label after label. It's important to stock up on things like asthma inhalers and pain meds, and maybe some insulin as well. These are good commodities with high value. There's a possibility that you might trade these things for other goods such as food, or maybe even chocolate.
"Put your hands up and slowly step forward," a man's voice followed by the cocking of a gun cuts the silence in the room.
You freeze, slowly creeping your hands to your waistband where you normally keep your gun. But where was your gun? You must have left it in the car, only grabbing a knife.
Standing there, not knowing how to respond, you debate whether you should scream, but that might go completely wrong if your companions rush in for the rescue. Gently, you put the bottle and backpack down and slide out from behind the shelf, hands raised up.
The man facing you is dressed in a dirty khaki shirt and dark jeans, his gun pointed at your head. He has a full beard and curly hair that is pushed back from his face. Dark circles under his eyes make the blue of his eyes bright like sapphires, and a frown is displayed on his face, as if he wasn't expecting a woman.
He looks you up and down, from your dark hair to your cargo pants and basic tee. You had a ruby-colored scarf wrapped around your face. A few months ago, you started covering your face with a scarf whenever you left the safety of your vehicle, as it only took a few months after the outbreak for the zombies to start smelling like rotten flesh. It was difficult adjusting to the constant stench of decaying corpses that lingered everywhere.
"Easy now… no need for that," you reason, keeping your voice calm. On the contrary, you are nervous. You don't know what kind of person you are up against; for all you know, they might be trigger happy.
"We don't wanna hurt you, but we will if we have to," the man spoke.
"We? We-," you think to yourself, noticing that you are outnumbered and outgunned. Three men stood there, one holding a shotgun pointed at you while the other holds a crossbow.
"I-" Your hands felt clammy. The odds are on their side, and you need to move smart. Before you can come up with a proper reply, one of the other men, the Asian one, speaks up.
"Are you alone?"
Your body immediately tenses as you realize where this situation is headed. However, your thoughts are abruptly cut short when the storage room behind you is kicked open with a loud bang. Your cavalry has finally shown up.
Standing behind you are the two soldiers you are traveling with: Jaime and Charles. They aim their A.R. 15 rifles, dressed in their full tactical gear. This pharmacy used to be a compounding apothecary with a small storage room and mixing lab. The two men had moved to the back storage room to check out the heavily stacked boxes.
The room erupts into chaos with everyone screaming at each other to drop their weapons. It's an absolute testosterone standoff, and the tension is high. "WHOA! WHOA! WHOA!" You scream, hands still up and stepping between the strangers and your soldiers.
The air feels hot and electric, and any wrong move could set it off into a blaze. "Wait, please," you beg. "There's no reason for that. Let's just talk about this. It's not worth taking a life." You look towards Charles, who is the most experienced and highest ranked member of your small group and has taken on the mantle of leadership.
No one moves as the seconds tick away, with each group assessing the other. You look back and forth, keeping your eyes on everyone, moving from one individual to another.
Lies start pouring from your mouth, anything to defuse the tension. "Look, we mean no harm. We are just passing through, okay? We only stopped by to look around for feminine products-"
.
Your brain short-circuits.
.
Your tongue feels as though it's been coated in lead, preventing the formation of any coherent words on your lips.
It happens in a mere moment, yet it feels like an eternity.
In that split second, everything shifts. The very fabric of reality seems to warp and twist, gravity losing its hold as the world turns upside down. Your senses betray you, rendering the world a distorted and unfamiliar place.
Through it all, one name escapes your lips in a desperate, ragged breath: "Daryl..."
That seems to be the key word as it instantly garners everyone's attention. Daryl, a man with a crossbow, shifts his eyes towards you instead of the soldiers that he perceives as a threat.
"How ya know my name?" he says, his crossbow still raised. His voice sounds just as you remember it - deep and made at the back of his throat. Although he looks older and his hair is longer, his eyes remain clear and blue as a morning sky, and his face is covered in dirt and sun damage.
The last time you saw him, he was 18 and your eyes were filled with tears.
With a shaky hand, you slowly pull the scarf off your face. "Daryl..." you whisper again, feeling a tremor run through your body. Your brain can't stop saying his name. You never thought you would see him again, not even before the pandemic, let alone after an apocalypse.
His gaze bores into your own, penetrating deeper than mere sight. You can feel his scrutiny like a physical touch, as he takes in the contour of your face.
Recognition dawns upon him like a bolt of lightning, and his eyes widen with shock and panic, as if a deep-seated instinct is urging him to flee from the sight before him. His body tenses, as if bracing for impact, but then, with an almost imperceptible motion, he lowers his crossbow.
"Hi, Daryl," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Long time." A smile lights up your face and a rush of happiness washes over you.
The rest of the men follow his lead and gradually lower their guns. Daryl's partner, the man with the beard, steps forward, looking back and forth between you and Daryl, trying to read the tension in his friend's body.
Daryl hasn't said anything yet, except for continuing to stare at you. There's a hovering moment where you just hold eye contact. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach feels queasy. You plant your feet harder on the ground, feeling like you're 17 again.
How long has it been? Almost 15 years...
"Y'all know each other?" the bearded man speaks up, and you pry your eyes away from Daryl.
"Yeah...yeah, we do. We went to high school together," you say, trying again with your voice sounding much better. "I'm Alice, by the way. Dr. Alice Hart. The two gentlemen behind me are Sergeant James and Staff Sergeant Charles." You reach your hand out.
"Howdy, gentlemen," Charles says with a nod.
"Hi, I'm Rick and that's Glenn. You already know Daryl." Rick's callous hand grips yours, his handshake firm. "We want no trouble. We're just here to get some stuff. We'll be out of your hair in a jiffy," he says, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his chest pocket.
"We want no trouble as well," says Charles, strapping his AR-15 over his shoulder as a peace offering. "Dr. Hart, grab what you need. We depart in 5." You nod your head and your eyes shift to Daryl, who has taken up a post guarding the door.
As you pick up your discarded backpack and gather yourself, your eyes move to Rick. He stands in between the shelves, and there's a pinch between his eyebrows as he looks at the paper.
As another peace offering, you extend your help. "I'm a doctor, Rick... is there anything I can help you with?" you ask. For the first time in a long time, it feels weird saying your title. Does it even matter anymore?
Rick looks up from the piece of paper, almost surprised. He seems uncertain about how to reply, his body language screaming he wants to accept the help. You take pity on him and step forward. There is a pause before he responds.
"Actually, yes... my wife... she... she is pregnant and due soon." He hands you the piece of paper. "I need to get the stuff listed there."
You read down the list. There are a few pain meds, antibiotics, and glucose listed.
"Hmm, all looks good, except I would change a few things here if she were my patient." You state unsure if you are stepping on anyone's toes.
"These Morphine pills could work and are usually used in the early stages of labor, but if used too close to delivery, it can cause temporary breathing and heart rate problems in your baby after birth." Rick just stares, worry etched between his brows.
"This one here could make the mother sleepy and nauseous, might not be best for home delivery," you point to the 3rd item on the list, "I would swap it for Misoprostol, it will help induce labor."
"Our doctor... he's a vet," is his answer.
"Ah, I see. In that case, I'll make the necessary changes and get you what you need." You say, moving towards the shelf, pulling bottles and reading labels, handing him only the necessary items.
"Not all the antibiotics you need are available, but this will do." The mother-to-be is going to need something easy on her stomach.
"I have a few glucose drip and pain pills I was saving. That's the only thing I can think of that won't be too harsh on her post-delivery. It's in our car, you're welcome to have it." It was one of the items you nicked at the last pharmacy a few days ago. You remember Jamie complaining about all the 'junk' you're collecting.
Rick nods. "That's very kind of you," as he follows you to the second aisle.
"These are all prenatal vitamins." It's the one item that hasn't been touched, not an apocalypse essential you guess.
"Proper nutrition must be difficult to come by, so make sure she doubles the dose on these." He accepts all the bottles you are handing him, putting them in a satchel he brought.
"Thank you, really, thank you." He is sincere.
"It's no trouble." Picking up your discarded backpack again, you move toward the door. Daryl is leaning against the door as he looked out. When you walk past him, he stiffens like a board.
The soldiers and Rick's group quickly follow you as Charles, who had been hovering nearby, heard your conversation with Rick. With a stern look on his face, he leads the group towards the RV hidden in the trees.
Glenn and Daryl swiftly take care of the handful of walkers that were drifting from the east side.
"This is us," you inform Rick as you approach an old, ugly RV that you found during the chaotic stage of the outbreak. It had solar panels and was pretty efficient on gas. Jamie and Charles move around the vehicle, performing regular check-ups to ensure that it hasn't been tampered with.
"Wait here, please," you tell Rick before heading inside to retrieve the IV drop you promised. You don't take long before returning with two plastic bags filled with liquid, tubes, and syringes included in the packaging.
"She may experience cramps for a few days after delivery. Give her these," you hand Rick two generic boxes of ibuprofen. "That should get you set."
Rick holds his satchel open, and you place the items gently inside.
"Thank you again," his smile is warm and infectious. You smile back, nodding.
"Good luck, Rick. And don't worry, everything will be okay. Congratulations on the baby."
"Thank you." He swallows a lump in his throat.
At that moment, it feels like a conclusion. Your eyes search again, locating Daryl. You want to talk to him. There is so much you wanted to say. This time, it might truly be the last.
But he hasn't said a single word to you, and you can't help but be brought back to how things ended. You know he recognized you, but he has shut down. He absolutely isn't going to say anything.
Perhaps, for him, that bridge was burned a long time ago.
Rick still doesn't move.
"Come with us," he says out of nowhere, bringing you back to reality. He speaks optimistically, as if it's the most brilliant idea. Rick slowly reaches out and engulfs your small hand in both of his.
"We have a group and a safe place, a place that has real potential. We have food and water, and we could really use you, all of you," he says, looking around and acknowledging the men as well. "Your skill sets are very important. The only way we can all survive is if we stick together."
As Rick continues to hold your hand, your eyes move to Daryl again, holding eye contact. Deep down, you know you want to reach out to Daryl. Old habits die hard. Rick follows your gaze, looking back and forth, waiting for some type of answer. You sigh with a sad smile.
"Thank you for the offer, Rick. It's really kind of you, but we can't. We're heading to DC."
Rick is desperate. "Please!" His eyes show anguish.
"The world is gone. I was a sheriff before all this, so I understand why you would think DC is the answer. But I don't think you're going to find what you're looking for," he says, stepping forward and closing the gap. "Safety is our best chance now, and there is safety in numbers. Please, we could really use a doctor right now. Please, for the baby!"
You don't have the heart to say no, so you look towards Charles. Jamie normally follows wherever you decide to head anyway. "I'm sorry, Rick, but DC is not an option. Dr. Hart was doing research on the zombie virus before our military base got overrun. We must head towards DC. The last message we received states they are moving underground," Charles replies firmly.
Rick softly releases your hand and turns toward your group leader. "When was that, months ago? Things could change. Things have changed. We both know there ain't nothing there."
"We must try, for everyone's sake."
"You're moving across multiple state lines completely blind. Danger is everywhere, supplies are short to come by. Are you really willing to risk your life as well as hers on a very slim chance maybe there's something there?"
"There is nothing here for us, Rick."
"But there could be!" Rick sighs, fists clenching his hair. "How about you just stay for a few months? Let the winter pass. It will be snowing and unsafe to drive soon. So, what do you say? What's another few months? My baby will be born by then, and my wife will have a doctor. It's a win-win."
There is a pause. You can tell Charles is considering the idea. He looks towards Jamie, who gives him a nod in reply. "Let's discuss it in private, and we'll get back to you," Staff Sergeant Charles says. He is an intimidating man in his mid-40s with a dash of salt and pepper hair, cut in the signature military buzz. He has a deep commanding voice that he often uses to his advantage. Although he stands 5'10, his presence is a total force. Jamie, on the other hand, is a complete opposite. He is a 26-year-old black man with a baby face that makes him look even younger. He is tall, lean, with big brown eyes and the prettiest teeth
"Ok...yeah... discuss it. We'll be here," Rick says, stepping back and moving towards his crew.
You follow Jamie and Charles into the RV.
"What do you guys think?" you ask, speaking first.
"We could use a base to settle somewhere for the winter. Gather supplies. We are also running low on ammos." Charles pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "My assumption is all major roads will be closed or blocked. So, we need to figure out an alternate route. The way we're moving, it's taking too long. I'll say we stay until March, that should put us at the beginning of spring, we can head out then." Charles says.
"But can we trust them?" Jamie asks looking between the two of you.
"I think so," You reply. "They seem genuine. I can also vouch for Daryl. I say we should stay as well."
"Ok, I vote yes as well. Besides, they are desperate for a doctor, so the ball is in our court." Jamie says.
As soon as the doctor and her soldiers step into the RV, Rick turns to Daryl with a desperate plea. "You have to convince her," he says urgently.
"Whatcha wa me to do man?" Daryl responds, uncertainly.
"I don't know, but you have to do something. She keeps looking at you. Whatever history you have with her, I need you to get over it, brother. Please, just ask her to stay."
"Ya don't know jack shit man." Daryl retorts. "I ain't seen her in 15 years. It ain't up to me."
Rick's frustration mounts as he grabs his hair and backs away. But he can't give up. The possibility briefly crosses his mind - maybe he can force them. He considers putting a gun to the doctor's head and just taking her, but the soldiers are too well-armed, and Rick doesn't want to risk a shootout. Still, he has a gut feeling that this is the miracle he's been praying for. He can sense it - she is the miracle he's been seeking.
He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe he's just losing it - the stress is getting to him. But gaining a doctor and two military-trained soldiers would be a major win for the group.
Before long, the RV door opens.
It's Charles that stepped forward meeting Rick halfway. "We have decided to stay with you until the winter passes." The smile that broke out on Rick's face is brighter than a dying star. You can see it now, the kind of man Rick may have been before the outbreak.
"But," Charles cuts in, "before we head anywhere with you, we want to know where you guys are staying."
Rick hesitates and looks back at his teammates before indulging the information. He knows this is about extending trust. He decides to take it as a sign.
"It's a prison, about 7 miles east," he murmurs. You and the soldiers look at each other before nodding. This could work. Shelter and protection. Better than you could hope for.
"Yeah, that will do," you say.
The relief Rick feels at that moment is unimaginable. He smiles before stepping forward and engulfing you in a hug.
You laugh as you pet his back.
"Thank you, thank you! you have no idea what this means for us." Rick speaks excitedly. "Let's get going before it gets too dark." He doesn't want to wait any longer, doesn't want to give them a second to reconsider. Everyone nods in agreement.
As the RV followed Ricks truck, you couldn't help but to let your fingers glide across your wrist, feeling the tattoo,
to Infinity and beyond.
That tattoo, you knew every line by heart.
Who would have thought…