Wow! Pretty much this entire chapter is an original concept - something I've been planning since chapter 5, but I didn't realize how hard it could be to write something like this and also staying true to the core characteristics of the characters.
But in this chapter, I'm making a prediction for the upcoming Daryl's spin off. (you'll know when you get to it.)
anyways, enjoy.
PS. Next week is my birthday, and I'll be heading to the beach. I don't think I'll be able to write while there, so expect some delay for the next chapter.
RECAP Chapter 47- "But it's not just about chemicals. They have pharmacies and cafeterias in each and every wing," you say, glancing around the room, sensing the fear and guarded yet determined looks. "It's a gold mine waiting to be picked..." there is a pause as you let it build for the anticipation.
"So why don't we pick it? …Let's raid it."
Eyes are straight ahead I'm on the frontline
Living on the edge until it's all mine
This is my time
I'm coming for it
I won't sleep until the flames are finished burning
Fighting for my life
Because 'cause I know I have to earn it
I would still win the war at my weakest
Put it all on the line cause you know
I'm coming for it
I'm coming for it by UNSECRET
"We're only targeting the west wing, that's our primary objective," you declare, lifting your gaze to the attentive faces gathered around the table. With a purposeful gesture, you move the black bishop to represent the guard tower on the west side and position the white knight to symbolize the entrance gate.
The setting is your dining room, illuminated by a grand overhead chandelier casting an intense glare over the white paper sprawled across the wooden table. The room is filled with people—your group and a few Alexandrians—all fixated on the rough sketch of the makeshift map of the NIH buildings. Chess pieces are carefully arranged to mark your team's positions and potential threats.
"I didn't think it was gonna be this huge," remarks Jamie, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.
"Yeah, it's set up more like a university campus," you explain, tapping the square occupied by your King chess piece. "This building, though, is the only one I have access to." You say pointing at the NIAID building.
Taking a survey of the room, you assess the assembled faces. To your right stand Rick, his stare piercing the layout, and beside him, Daryl squints in concentration at the drawn details. On your left, Deanna seems lost in thought, her face unreadable as she gazes at the makeshift map. It has been three days since Reg's untimely passing, and she has become somewhat withdrawn. However, Reg's vision for the future and his dream for the potential cure have propelled the construction of your lab into high gear.
Rick gestures on the map, outlining the coordinated moves. "Once we breach the gate," he points to the white knight, "we'll need a sniper stationed on one of the trucks, overseeing the situation with a clear view of everything."
"We'll also need a few people in cars to help herd any walkers and clear out the opening—so we can save on bullets," you add, adjusting the position of the black pawns closer to the white knight to indicate potential walkers.
"I'll take the spot on the truck and be your eyes from up there," Sasha volunteers, giving you a determined nod.
"And I'll take one of the cars and handle the area clearance, if needed," Carol promptly offers, and before you can respond, Maggie chimes in, also nodding at you.
"I'm going too; I'll take another car," she states, her determination shining in her eyes as she turns to whisper something to Glenn. You look at her, silently communicating your concern, especially considering she's pregnant. Your gaze shifts towards Glenn, who sighs, indicating that his wife has already made up her mind.
You know it's too early in her pregnancy, and she'll be fine, but still… "You guys shouldn't be alone," you voice your thoughts aloud, the idea not sitting well with you.
"I can go with Carol," Tobin speaks up, raising his hand.
"And I can keep Maggie company," Eric says, his eyes locked with his husband's in silent understanding.
"Alright, then we'll need a team to secure the chemicals," you nod and proceed to move your white queen to the corresponding building on the map. "These chemicals are dangerous and federally regulated. And as part of their standard operating procedure, they keep them separated to prevent unexpected reactions in case of human error or spills. Daryl, you're with me for the organic solvents. Abraham, you'll take Eugene to grab the acids and bases. Glenn, you're in charge of both leading and handling the enzyme extraction, and Merle, you'll be backing him up."
Glenn looks up, clearly surprised. "Me? I'm in charge of extraction?" he questions, uncertainty evident in his voice.
"Yes, Glenn. You're not just clever, but also book smart. I trust you can handle this responsibility," you assure him with a smile.
"Go Glenn! Brains and brawn!" Jamie exclaims from beside him, pulling Glenn into a playful headlock, his arm draped over his shoulder. With laughter, Glenn pushes Jamie off, and the two exchange friendly shoves.
Rick interrupts the moment, moving the Rook chess piece to another marking on the paper. "Meanwhile, the rest of us will scout around for supplies. Check out the cafeteria or see what else we can dig up," he announces, looking around at the group. "Michonne, Jamie, Rosita, Morgan, Aaron, Holly, and Tara—you guys are with me."
Aaron raises his arm, speaking for the first time, "Have we thought about there being survivors? What if the place is still up and running?" He looks up and catches your gaze. You're surprised that he's shown up, given you had threatened him and his husband, but both he and Eric are now volunteering to go with you. "And if it is, what do we do? We can't just barge into someone's place like that," he adds.
"Yes, we can," Rick responds, and a tense silence envelops the room as he scans the faces around the table. "You've heard the doctor; we need these chemicals. They hand over what we need, and we leave them in peace. If they resist, we'll handle it." The implication of his words hangs heavily in the air, and the Alexandrians shift uneasily, clearly apprehensive.
You decide to intervene, placing your hand on Rick's shoulder. "Of course, we are talking hypothetically, but I really doubt there'll be any survivors there," you explain, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. "Hospitals and facilities like that were hit the hardest during the early outbreak. People might have sought shelter there initially, but it would have been challenging to sustain such a large place. I suspect it's more likely to be a graveyard now."
Rick nods, his eyes still locked on the map. "You're probably right. But we can't take any chances." He looks back at the group, his gaze firm and resolute. "We stick to the plan and be prepared for anything. We watch each other's backs, and no one goes off on their own."
There is a pause before you speak up again. "Alright then," you say, taking a deep breath. "We leave tomorrow at sunrise. Get some rest and prepare your gears."
A few minutes have passed since the room emptied out, leaving you lingering behind. You busy yourself with clearing the table and organizing the scattered papers. Picking up the chess box, you make your way toward the family room, intending to return it to its place on the bookshelves. However, your movement halts as you notice a fleeting flicker of motion outside the window.
You know it's not the boys; their muffled laughter and banter echo from the kitchen where Merle and Jamie are engaging in their usual back-and-forth, punctuated by the sporadic interjections from Daryl's unmistakable rough voice.
Placing the chess set down on the table, you make your way to the door and step outside. Immediately, you recognize the figure, as Rick's back faces you, his gaze fixed upon the house across the street, lost in contemplation. With a sigh, you approach him and stand at his side, both of you taking in the view of the houses and the fading sunset peeking through.
"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice a gentle whisper carried by the wind.
He shifts slightly to acknowledge you. "Yeah. We're ready for tomorrow," he responds, though an underlying tension lingers in the air.
"But are you though?" you question, raising an eyebrow. You haven't really spoken to him since the incident at the cemetery. His recent actions – from the gun, to shooting Pete in the manner he did, and the burial – it all leaves you with lingering doubts. Stepping closer, your voice remains hushed. "I need you, Rick. I need you on this, and I need you fully present."
"I am here," he asserts firmly. "I've been here, and I'll be here tomorrow."
Yet, you can't shake the nagging feeling. "Doesn't seem that way," you reply gently, "Everything we talked about, the two of us making this place— none of it works if they don't have faith in us. Trust is fragile, Rick. And without trust, it's always 'them versus us'."
You know he's there—there was a moment right before he shot Pete, a moment when you saw the old Rick.
"You've said it yourself; they're not living in the real world." he counters, using your own words against you. "We're still here because we know what needs to be done, the hard decision it takes to survive, the tough calls we're willing to make. We'll make sure this place continues to stand… If the others want a future, they need to adapt. If not..." He shrugs, voice cold, "They won't make it."
"No, Rick, I was wrong," you admit with a heavy sigh, "It was Noah, Glenn, Daryl, Maggie... our own people: they're the ones who opened my eyes." Maybe, in a way, your determination to seize Alexandria had stoked the flames of his own conviction.
"Ever since we got here, I've felt this... need to control everything, to meticulously plan every move. I think it's this survivor's guilt eating away at me—thinking of all those we lost, the ones who deserved to still be here with us... I keep thinking… maybe if I planned better, it won't happen again." Your voice trembles, eyes misting over with tears.
Rick averts his gaze, but the sorrow and regret are unmistakable in the depth of those blue somber eyes. At that second, you realize that if you grapple with these emotions, he must be carrying an even heavier weight given the losses he's endured. Stepping even closer, your hand gently cups his cheek, coaxing his gaze back to yours. "You've been through so much since the prison, haven't you? Faced some unimaginable horrors that hardened you."
Your hand slips from his cheek to hold both of his in yours, clasping his hands against your chest, mirroring the gesture he made when he asked you to come back with him the first time you met. Looking up into his eyes, you continue, "you remember when we first met at that pharmacy? What caught me was how genuine you were, your willingness to reach out to me—to ask me to take a chance, to trust a complete stranger. And look at us now. We're family, and it started 'cause you placed that trust in me." His trust in you went beyond mere words; he had entrusted his family's lives to you, over and over, whether dealing with Lori or facing the Governor.
"Give these people a little bit of that, a touch of the old Rick," you urge, hands gripping his tighter, voice unwavering with conviction. "They'll follow you, learn from you. They'll change, and they'll adapt. And one day, they'll be your family too. One day, they'll stand here just as I am. They need that, the heart of Rick Grimes. We all do."
You could see the vulnerability simmering beneath the surface, the emotions he struggled to restrain. "Ever since I woke up from my coma," he began, his voice carrying a mixture of exhaustion and admission, "It's been one fight, after another, after another. Bob once said I'd find myself in a place how things are like before," he gestured around the surroundings. "a place like the old world, but being here, these walls, uniforms, and small talks… after everything…I hit my limit."
A thoughtful hum escaped you as you picked up on the way he framed his words, words you have heard before from soldiers returning from deployments, the way reality seemed to shift for them. Rick's voice cuts your thought, snapping you back to the present, "But I'm still here with you, Alie. I'm still trying. Trying for all of us."
"Okay," you reply with a nod, "I trust you," you add gently tugging him to you. You hug him tight, one hand weaving through his curly hair at the back of his neck, and your other hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, trying to convey what comforting words might not fully express. He returns your embrace just as tightly.
When you eventually pull back, a warm smile graces your lips. "By the way, about what I said at the graveyard… about us being killers. I want you to know it isn't meant to be malicious," you state softly. "The only way this could work is if we're willing to call out each other's bullshit. If I go along with everything you say, and you do everything I say, then what's the point of having two heads. We have to challenge each other, to be better, to make better decisions."
He nods, releasing you and stepping back, as he lets out a defeated sigh, "yeah, I know. And you're right, it's just another dead body, and the world is full of dead bodies."
In the midst of a bustling morning, Eugene trails behind you like a persistent shadow, his eyes brimming with concern, listing off a slew of acid names: "Hydrochloric, Sulfuric, Nitric, Acetic, Phosphoric, Citric, Hydrofluoric…" The day had started early, and you had risen with the sun to ensure your new lab was properly prepared for the arrival of the incoming chemicals.
"See, you know what you're doing... you've got this," you reassure him, halting momentarily in the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee before moving with purpose towards the door.
Eugene continues to follow you, his voice a blend of gentleness and pleading, "hold up a moment. I really think we oughta discuss the notion that perhaps I shouldn't accompany you on this venture." He stumbles along beside you, struggling to match your stride.
You pause as soon as you step onto the front porch, surveying the array of vehicles parked across the street. A deep inhale fills your lungs as the familiar hum of activity fills the air—some fine-tuning equipment, others checking guns and exchanging last-minute strategies. This was it. You're venturing fifty miles into Bethesda Maryland, to raid the NIH building.
"It's not my lack of knowledge that concerns me," Eugene explains, his gaze taking in the scene. "But the fact remains that I'm not combat-ready in any capacity. I'll be nothing more than a liability out there."
With an exasperated eye roll, you move toward Daryl, who's seated on the porch's bottom step, meticulously cleaning and oiling the chain on his bike, readying for the long trip.
"Only you and I understand the potential danger of these chemicals and how to handle them, that's why I assigned the acids for you and the organic solvents for me—this isn't open for debate. You're going." You assert firmly, not pausing even as you place one of the coffee cups beside Daryl and plant a kiss atop his tousled hair. He looks up briefly, but your steps carry you past him, leading you toward the church.
Eugene's shoulders sag in resignation, and you don't break your pace as you command. "Now, let's not waste any more time. Go get ready," you say, patting his shoulder dismissively.
Just as if on cue, a call breaks the air: "Hey, Alie," Glenn's voice rings out as he jogs towards you.
Eugene's reluctant departure is replaced by Glenn's presence beside you. "Are you all set? Did Eugene give you the cheat sheet?" you ask as the two of you fall into step, your steps synchronized.
"Yeah," Glenn affirms, tapping his chest pocket to indicate that he had it. "He mentioned to look for a sign, something resembling a biohazard symbol."
You offer a nod, "Enzymes themselves aren't dangerous, but they're stored in liquid nitrogen to maintain their ideal temperature," you explain, trying to summon up the image of the storage system at your old lab's layout. "Once you get in there, look for this big metal cabinet on wheels – you won't miss it. Just open it up, make sure none of the cylinders are leaking, don't mess with anything inside, and roll the whole thing out with you."
Glenn nods rapidly, his demeanor shifting as he takes a deep breath. "I understand all that." He suddenly slows his pace, forcing you to match his stride. You notice a hesitancy in his eyes. "What I don't get is... why Merle? I could team up with Jamie or, frankly, anyone else."
You give Glenn a pointed look, and as his eyes catch yours, he continues, "Come on, you know our past, everything that's happened between us. This mission is important, and I need someone I can rely on to watch my back in there."
Pausing your steps, you turn your attention fully to him, "A lot has changed since the Governor, and Merle is one of us now. He's earned his place."
"I'm not disputing that," Glenn responds hastily. "We can coexist, sure, but Merle is... well, he's Merle." He emphasizes the last part, as though that alone should explain everything.
His expression betrayed it all—the lingering reservations about dealing with the older Dixon, and it reminds you of the exact reason why you paired them together. "Merle is one of our heavy hitters, more than capable of handling things if push comes to shove," you reasoned, your voice softening. He looked down as your hand reached out to grasp his. "But you have to let him redeem himself. How can he do that if you don't give him a chance? If you don't allow him to prove himself to you?"
He sighs, clearly exasperated. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?" you reply, laughter bubbling up.
He shot you a look, clearly dreading the prospect of dealing with Merle. But your amusement only deepened. "You mean making sense?" you teased. "It makes sense because that's who you are, Glenn. You believe in giving people chances."
Releasing his hand, you take a step back, your gaze warm as you study the young man before you. "You gave Tara a chance after she stood at our gates with the Governor. You gave Nicolas a chance too—don't think I don't know about that, Maggie told me."
With a knowing smile, you resume walking, leaving Glenn momentarily rooted in his spot, processing your words.
Over your shoulder, you call out, "Give the man a chance, Glenn!" Even without looking back, you can feel his contemplative gaze.
Daryl reclines on his bike, patiently waiting for his wife. The group is ready for the upcoming journey as the rumble of a few car engines already filling the air. Alie is accompanying him; he had promised her a bike ride, and this way, he can also keep a watchful eye on her.
He releases a sigh as he gazes at his wife, a task that seems to occupy most of his time these days. Denise and Deanna stand nearby, engaged in a brief exchange of words with her. A familiar giggle escapes her lips, a sound that Daryl knows all too well, and he watches as she says something to Denise before tenderly petting the younger woman's back.
Another burst of laughter slices through the air, prompting Daryl to shift his attention to his brother, who is waving at Glenn. "Hey, Chinese kid, come on over. You're ridin' with us," Merle's voice rings out as he stands beside the imposing box truck, sharing a hearty laugh with Jamie over some undisclosed joke.
Glenn steals a glance back at Maggie, who is stepping into one of the cars alongside Tara and Rosita as he reluctantly trudges towards his brother. "I'm Korean," Glenn interjects with a sigh the moment he's within earshot of Merle, but the older Dixon merely dismisses it with a playful chuckle.
"Potato, potahto. To me, y'all all look the same," Merle counters with his characteristic irreverence, though Jamie swiftly jumps in to defend Glenn, as he opens the driver's side door of the truck.
"Yo, man, that's the same kind of crap the police used pull on black folks—"
"Hey," a voice interjects, diverting Daryl's focus away from his brother. He turns to find his wife standing right in front of him. "Are you all set?" she asks, to which he nods in affirmation.
He swings his leg over his bike and helps her hop up behind him. As her arms wrap around his waist, his bike roars to life. Taking the lead, he guides the bike to the front of the cars, unable to contain his smile as she playfully shakes him with excitement.
The gate opens, courtesy of Spencer, and they're off.
"I've missed this!" Alie's voice pierces through the wind and engine noise, reaching his ears. Then, she does something that steals his breath away entirely. She presses her face against his back, her hand sliding beneath his vest, her fingers tenderly caressing his abdomen. A rush of memories floods his mind, yanking him back to that feeling, reaffirming everything he's been contemplating lately.
He hadn't realized it for a while, but he did it, didn't he? By some extraordinary twist of fate, when the world crumbled, his world had somehow fallen into place. Of course, he hadn't comprehended it fully back then, not like he does now. Those walls, those houses—he had felt trapped, caged the moment he entered passed the Alexandrian gate. But in retrospect, that was what he always wanted.
It wasn't until he was trapped in that car with Aaron, facing the grim possibility that they might not survive, that It struck him. Home wasn't four walls, or some gate—it was wherever she happened to be.
And he is content.
The happiest he's been in a long, long time, or at least as close to it as one can in this grim existence. How could he not be, when each morning he rises before her, her form nestled against him, radiating warmth, her unruly hair scattered like he remembers. Yet, this reality is better than his memories of young love, even though her presence consumes him just as effortlessly.
And that was what he held onto—the scent of her, the feel of her soft, bare skin against his, their early morning whispers, her fingers running through his hair, or the way she'd kiss any part of him she could reach just before drifting to sleep.
That was what he held on to during the moments he was stuck in that car, surrounded by walkers with a W on their foreheads. The promise he made to her before he left, that he would come back to her, come home, lingered like an echo. Home.
Then Morgan came through, swinging that staff like he was 'Master Splinter.' It all felt like an uncanny coincidence, seeing the map with Rick's name on it, but Daryl took it as a second chance and when he got back on his bike, he raced back home.
"Hey! Do you smell that?" Alie's shout cuts through the wind and his thoughts. He tilts his head towards her, struggling to hear her words, until she taps his shoulder insistently. "Pull over." He glances back at her before steering the bike to the side of the road.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asks as he cuts the engine, his nose wrinkling at the overpowering stench of death that wafts through the air. "What in the hell is that—smells like a damn graveyard?" he questions, his brows furrowing, even before she can answer his initial query.
"And do you hear that noise? Something isn't right," Alie states, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her expression is a mix of concern and curiosity.
Yep, he hears it, a low, ominous buzzing, like a nest of beehives, a sound that seemed to reverberate the air.
She gives him a meaningful look as she dismounts the bike, and he quickly follows suit. The rest of the group also pulls over, the convoy of vehicles coming to a halt.
"Daryl, why are we stopping?" Rick calls out as he gets off Aaron's beat-up Honda, trailed by Michonne, and he quickly makes a face, as if he smelt the stench too.
But it's Abe's booming voice that takes the lead, "What's the holdup—damn, what the hell is that smell?" He pauses, seemingly affected by the buzzing noise. Daryl doesn't quite grasp the situation, but he observes a telling exchange of looks between Abraham and Alie. It's not just them—others, including Glenn, Merle and Jamie, seem to react similarly.
"This kinda reminds me of—" Glenn starts, but Abe suddenly charges up the side of the road. Acting on instinct, Alie follows suit, her hand on her machete as she darts through the bushes, startling Daryl. He cusses, quickly grabbing his crossbow and following after his wife.
This seems to spark a chain reaction, and the rest of the group are right on his ass, pushing through a narrow pathway that winds its way up the side of a cliff. The buzzing noise grows louder with each step, creating an eerie symphony that sets Daryl's nerves on edge.
Upon reaching the top of the cliff, Daryl steps onto a plateau that overlooks a pit below. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the chilling sight before him. Thousands upon thousands of walkers roam, some tumbling down a leeway. The buzzing noise he's been hearing is the collective growl, resonating through the vastness of the space, and their growls attract even more walkers.
"Mother of dick—I knew it!" Abe curses, looking down below. "Knew I smelled that funky rotten flesh before."
Alie nodded, "Yeah, just like the day we met, by that fire truck," she stated, casting a brief glance toward the red-haired man.
"Where exactly are we?" Rick's voice comes from beside him, as he accepts a pair of binoculars that Morgan passes to him.
Daryl glances back behind him to see Aaron fumbling with a map in his hand. "We're about five miles east of Alexandria," he answers.
Rick hums, passing the binoculars to Daryl, who brings them to his eyes to take a look. "This is how. This is how Alexandria is still here," Rick tells him. Daryl follows Rick's gaze to the cliff edge on the opposite side and notices that someone has strategically blocked the path with large 18-wheelers. "They've had walkers at the wall, but not nearly enough. This is how they've survived this long; they all, if not most, end up here," Rick adds, his voice tense.
Daryl can see it—the 18-wheeler tires slowly edging off the cliff. It's only a matter of time before those walkers find their way out. "The hell we gonna do?" he asks, observing the sheer numbers of walkers. However, before Rick can respond, it's his own wife who answers him.
"We're going to have to handle it," she says with resolve, pointing toward the same cliff he was just observing through the binoculars. "You see that? We're one bad storm away from all of that ending up at our gate."
Rick takes in her word and turns to the rest. "Listen up!" his voice cuts through the murmurs and discussions taking place among the group, all of them fixated on the horde below. "There's nothing we can do at the moment. Let's get back in the cars and get what the doctor needs for her cure. When we get back home, we'll deal with it."
Daryl lets out a sigh, gently tugging his wife back toward the direction they came from.
The towering presence of the NIH building looms, a stark juxtaposition against the chaotic backdrop. The parking lot stretches before you, overrun by walkers whose lethargic movements create a macabre spectacle. Forgotten corpses are strewn across the ground, and an air of palpable tension hangs heavily.
You stand along with your group, covered by the trucks flanked on each side. Your attention shifts to Jamie and Abe at the front, two sergeants leading the way, their combat experience evident as they guide you forward.
Yet, you can't help but wonder how they must be feeling – the sight of walkers, many clad in military uniforms, leaves no doubt that this area was once heavily fortified by the military, soldiers much like themselves.
The sheer number of walkers, the military vehicles lined up like mournful sentinels, and the abandoned tanks all point to a valiant but ultimately futile defense. The military must have been deployed to protect the building and its researchers, only to be overwhelmed.
And it's this sheer number that made you decide to leave Daryl's bike a few blocks away and mount Sasha onto one of the trucks in advance. Rick had given the command for Maggie and Carol's vehicles to set off first. Each car had headed in the opposite direction, working to lure the walkers away.
The groans and moans of the walkers' echo all around you, reflecting off the buildings that stand in disarray. You can see that the east side of the NIH campus bears the scars of a devastating fire, yet the buildings defiantly hold their ground. But none of it matters to you because the one thing you came for—the west gate buildings, especially the NIAID unit, still stands.
Now, you stand in wait, with Daryl and Merle in front of you, while Rick and Michonne stand behind. Looking past the two figures in your immediate view, you notice the sedans where Rosita occupies the driver seat of one car and Morgen the other, hanging back behind the two trucks.
Rick presses the button on his walkie-talkie, his voice quiet yet audible to those around. "Where's the diversion?" he asks, anticipating the signal from Carol and Maggie, ready for their coordinated maneuver.
"One diversion coming right up," Carol's voice crackles through the walkie-talkie, and a burst of crimson light streaks across the sky, piercing through the gloom to strike an abandoned car a few yards away, the impact ignites the vehicle.
"That should grab their attention." Rick prompts just as a second flare arcs to your right, its trajectory deliberate. Almost instantaneously, it seems every walker within the vicinity is entranced by the illumination. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, they split into two groups—some veering right, others left. Their collective groans intensify, the fiery light from the flares dancing in their vacant eyes.
Jamie and Abe's movements synchronize seamlessly, seizing the fleeting window of opportunity as it presents itself. "Go!" Abe commands, the cue for Glenn in the driver's seat and Eugene in the other vehicle to initiate movement. The trucks remain in neutral, their engines whisper-quiet, as they roll forward. Everyone put their head down, and begins moving along with it, taking cover by the trucks on both sides as they advance. Another round of flares ignites the sky, providing additional distraction for the walkers.
The cars pick up momentum, following the rhythm of your steps as they glide past the distracted horde and approach the entrance of the west wing. Once you've cleared the initial wave of walkers, Eugene and Glenn gently hit the brakes and smoothly shut off the engines. The remaining cars follow suit, and the side doors slide open, allowing each driver to slip out and huddle in the middle.
Rick's voice cuts through the quiet, his orders crisp and clear. "Use only knives and silent weapons," he whispers as you all gather closely. "We can't afford to draw attention to ourselves."
Your heart races with a blend of adrenaline and focus as their eyes turn to you. You offer a determined nod, withdrawing your access card from your chest pocket. Taking Eugene with you, you position yourselves in the center, encircled by your people. Your hand settles on the back of Jamie's vest, like you always do as the group pushes forward.
The distance to the entrance doesn't take long to traverse, each step carrying a heightened sense of anticipation. Your hand trembles slightly as you slot your ID into the scanner, desperately hoping that the door's security system still functions, that your efforts haven't been in vain.
With each suppressed thump of the silent gun shots, you flinch, Sasha from her position atop the truck, expertly pops any walker that turns your way. And those that manage to slip past her are dispatched swiftly by Michonne's sword.
Then, after a few nail-biting seconds, a mechanical beep punctuates the air. The card reader does its job, and with a resounding clink, the door unlocks. A triumphant surge courses through you as you pump your fist into the air—luck is still on your side.
"GO! GO! GO!" You command, propelling the door open as the group surges inside. Guns and flashlights are raised, poised to confront the walkers that await within. The door slams shut behind you, sealing off the outside world. Enveloped in darkness, you take in the eerily familiar scene, now only illuminated by the beams of your flashlights.
The once-pristine hallways are now shrouded in dust, bearing witness to the chaos that once reigned. Scattered papers narrate tales of unfinished research, while overturned chairs and abandoned hospital beds hint at an abrupt evacuation. Here and there, decaying bodies lay as silent markers of the tragedy that unfolded here.
Without a word exchanged, your team ventures deeper into the building, navigating the labyrinth of hallways. Each left turn, each right turn, takes you further into the heart of the facility.
You're on edge—but What's particularly unnerving is the absence of walkers. The sound of your footsteps reverberates off the walls, a chilling reminder that in this grim reality, silence can be more foreboding than noise.
Your flashlight catches a sign overhead, its letters illuminated: "Cafeteria =" You share a glance with Rick, who nods in acknowledgement. "We split up here," he announces in hushed tones, his gaze encompassing the group. "You all know the plan—get in, get what we need, and get out."
As the group shifts, you release your grip on Jamie's vest. He turns to you, his eyes wide with concern, reflecting the weight of responsibility he feels for your safety. "I'll be okay," you whisper, and in response, Daryl's hand slides into yours.
"I've got her," Daryl murmurs to the soldier, his presence a reassuring anchor.
"Jamie, we gotta go," Rosita whispers more audibly as Rick's group parts ways, leaving the rest of you behind. Jamie nods, following after her, but not without casting a final look in your direction.
Raising your gun, you lead the way with Abe and Daryl flanking you on either side. Behind you, Eugene follows, his hand trembling as he clutches his knife. At the rear, Glenn and Merle form a protective barrier.
Still, not a single walker in sight as you proceed. The tension only grows as you venture deeper, stumbling upon an area that seems to have once functioned as a makeshift camp. Discarded sleeping bags, empty cans, and personal belongings litter the ground, indicating that this spot was a refuge for some of the staff.
You navigate your way through the scattered remnants and turn in another hallway, only to jump in surprise as a hand suddenly reaches out toward you.
"Holy shit!" you exclaim, your flashlight illuminating the source of the disturbance. Almost immediately, a cacophony of groans fills the air, and a chorus of undead hands emerges through the shattered glass of a metal barrier.
A collective pause ensues as you all take in the scene before you.
"Someone did this," Daryl remarks, raising his flashlight to illuminate a sign on the wall. "Someone had the smarts to corral 'em."
The words "Quarantine Zone" are visible, sprayed onto the wall just above the gate. The realization dawns on you that the absence of walkers in this area wasn't merely coincidental. It was a calculated move by whoever had been here last.
Suddenly, Glenn steps forward a few paces, his flashlight beam pointing ahead. "Hey, is that it?" he questions, his light revealing a set of sturdy, bunker-style white double doors accompanied by thick bulletproof glass windows on either side.
"Yeah," you confirm the moment you see the old laboratory entrance, disregarding the presence of the walkers. With renewed excitement, you hastily move, the rest of the group following your lead.
You stop in front of the computer system embedded into the wall beside the door. Swiftly, you press the power button. The screen flickers to life, and with a surge of anticipation, you insert your ID into the slot. Tension fills the air as the system processes the information.
To your left, Glenn shines his flashlight through the glass windows, attempting to catch a glimpse of what lies beyond. A distinct beep resonates, and suddenly, a finger scanner prompt flashes on the screen, and you press your hand to it.
"What's that?" Glenn gasps, and before you can even react or question further, a synthetic voice cuts through the air.
"Backup generator power restored. Emergency procedure shutdown backtrack initiated. Chamber decompression sequence commencing," the robotic voice announces.
A burst of light floods the halls as overhead lights blaze to life, their intensity momentarily blinding. You rub your eyes, attempting to adjust to the sudden glare.
"By the grace of God," Abe exclaims, the first to make his way to where Glenn was pointing. "Now that's a mug not even a mama could love."
As a unit, you all move forward, your breath hitching as you peer through the glass. Before you stands a grotesque sight—a bloated walker, its body swollen to an unfathomable size, its once-human features distorted beyond recognition. Its skin has taken on a sickly gray hue, stretched taut to the point of rupture, revealing deep cracks and fissures that leak vile-looking fluids onto the laboratory floor.
"Oh, hell, I've laid a turd that held more appeal than that." Merle comments with a grimace of disgust. "Reminds me of 'em carnival balloons, you know? That lab coat's clingin' to his arms like that... oh look... he's leakin'." The vivid description makes you gag, compelling you to look away.
"Enough, for God's sake!" Daryl scolds his brother, his voice laced with frustration.
The unfortunate creature's limbs have swollen to grotesque proportions, each appendage resembling an inflated, decaying mass of flesh and bone. The lab coat it once wore now clings to its decomposing form, marked by patches of dried blood and bodily fluids.
"What the hell went down here?" Glenn questions, his features contort as if struggling to suppress his urge to vomit.
Shaking your head, you offer your insight. "I think when the emergency power kicked in, it set off some sort of defense mechanism. It turned the lab into a vacuum chamber, likely to keep those nasty viruses locked in." you explain, your gaze returning to the unsettling scene in front of you, curiosity overpowering your repulsion. "In a vacuum, the pressure changes, sucking out all the air and oxygen. Without that air, bodies decompose differently—gas builds up inside, and there's nowhere to go."
"Damn, so that doctor—," Merle begins, but his words are abruptly cut off by the voice echoing from the intercom.
"Decompression process complete. All doors are now unlocked. Welcome back, Dr. Hart." The voice punctuates its message with a decisive clink, signaling that the door before you is now accessible.
Yet another click echoes behind you, causing everyone to pivot, and you all witness the other door, the one that held the walkers, swinging open as well, ushering in a frenzied atmosphere. Daryl takes a firm grip of your hand, tugging you forward into the laboratory chamber. The rest of the group follows suit, scrambling to enter.
You all push to close the hefty door behind you, sealing yourself with the bloated walker. But it wasn't the walker that makes you jump, the unmistakable echo of gunshots resounding from somewhere within the building. Rick—you think, wide eyed, and suddenly dawns on you why the other doctors might have left the bloated scientist behind.
What else have you opened…
"MOVE YOUR ASSES, NOW!" Abe's booming shout fills the air as he seizes the back of Eugene's shirt, propelling him forward with urgency, maneuvering around the immense walker, so large unable to move.
"LEFT! GO LEFT!" your voice reverberates down the corridor as you make a sharp right turn. "GLENN, ROOM 107! EUGENE, ROOM 201! PIN NUMBER 1998!" Your instructions resound amidst the backdrop of echoing footsteps and the sporadic crackling of gunfire, the chaotic symphony guiding your frantic movements.
Daryl sprints with your hand held in his, and you strain to keep up with his rapid pace. Casting a glance backward, you confirm that the team has divided into their designated pairs. The sound of your footsteps echoes faintly against the walls, muffled by the relentless pounding of your heart as you race down the pristine white hallway.
You skid around a corner, nearly colliding with a long-forgotten stretcher. As Daryl expertly maneuvers you around the obstacle, in that fleeting moment, time seems to stretch as you catch sight of the main laboratory, a place where you once learned from your predecessor, Dr. Lehman.
But there's no time to dwell on the past. Ahead, a door labeled "Room 102" stands before you—the storage room you're aiming for. Without hesitation, you input the access code, your fingers dancing across the pin reader on the door. After a brief pause, the door slides open with a soft whoosh. The storage room is filled with orderly rows of metal cabinets.
Your body is tense, the intermittent gunshots serving as a grim reminder of the urgency of the situation. Daryl waits by the doorway, crossbow ready, as you move with speed, scanning labels and lists for the required chemicals. Finally, you spot them. Unclipping the cabinet latch, you inspect the cylinders within, ensuring none are leaking.
"This is it, and this one!" you point out, and Daryl responds by slinging his crossbow over his shoulder, moving toward the cabinet with purpose.
"Alright, let's get a move on!" he calls out, and you nod, swiftly heading to closet in the corner, pulling off your backpack and shoving the necessary personal protective equipment (PPE) gear inside.
Soon you're back outside, right behind Daryl, as he wheels the cabinet out, rushing in the direction you came from.
While jogging, you mentally strategize your exit plan, wondering how you're going to get out through all those walkers. However, your strides falter as you pass the main laboratory once more. This time, a flash of red on a computer screen catches your attention.
"Come on, sweetheart, we ain't got time!" Daryl shouts when he realizes you've lagged behind.
"Go ahead, I'll catch up!" you call back, extracting your ID card and turning toward the laboratory door. Down the long hallway, you can spot the rest of the group also making their way back.
"Are you outta your damn mind?!" Daryl's exclamation reverberates as more gunfire resounds. But, the door swooshes open, and without a second thought, you raise your rifle and step inside. "Alie! Goddamn it!" Daryl curses, before pivoting towards the advancing group. "Merle, take over for me!" Daryl's command rings out as he relinquishes the cabinet and rushes after you.
The laboratory is eerily quiet, except for the gentle hum of the computer. With each step, your focus sharpens until you spot another bloated body. This time, it's as if two doctors had been locked in, dying while holding hands. Their swollen limbs seem almost fused together. They growl as their lifeless eyes track your movements, unable to shift or move from place. You sigh and navigate around them, deeper into the immaculate lab, not a speck of dust in the vacuum-sealed room.
The red light from the screen appears even more striking now that you're standing right in front of it. You start typing quickly, attempting to gain access to the system. Just as Daryl enters, he urgently speaks, "You not hear 'em shots? We gotta move!"
"Give me 30 seconds, this might be important," you murmur, and suddenly, the screen springs to life as files labeled with dates begin to load.
"What's that?" Daryl asks, and you shrug in response as you click on a random file. A grainy video pops up, showing a doctor in a white coat. The timestamp reveals it was recorded nearly three years ago.
"This is Dr. Jenner speaking, from the CDC, Atlanta. It's day 61, and no clinical report to be made. So far, we know the virus attacks the brain much like meningitis. After reanimation, only the brain stem remains functional…"
"I know that guy!" Daryl chimes in, immediately by your side, studying the man on the screen. "That there's the guy from the CDC, Doc Jenner, the one who tried to blow us all to hell."
You hum, glancing back at the screen, recalling the story you heard during your early days at the prison.
The doctor in the video casually takes a sip from a wine glass, a sense of resignation in his demeanor. "But at this point, hope is a cynical thing," he remarks. "I'll keep working on my samples, but I've got maybe three or four days left before the power grids runs out of juice."
"He never found jack shit, let's skip this crap," Daryl insists, and you agree, closing out of the video. You continue scrolling through the files until one at the top catches your attention, highlighted in bold red with the label 'emergency.' You click on it.
The video starts with a shaky image of a woman facing the camera. Tear streaks mark her dirt-smudged face, and her lab coat appears soiled and disheveled. She speaks her voice carrying a distinct French accent, "Mon Dieu! If you're watching this—please forgive us. My name is Dr. Marie Leclerc. I was part of the research team at Santé publique France, working on a solution for the virus. We thought we were close, but it all went terribly wrong."
The woman in the video jerks as a banging noise resonates in the background. Dr. Marie glances nervously over her shoulder, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We thought we could alter the coding of the virus, genetically modify it to make it incompatible with our DNA." She sobs, lifting a small revolver and clutching it tightly. "We were so wrong, so wrong... It mutated, and we inadvertently created a new variant—it's unlike anything we've seen before—faster, stronger, reanimating within minutes, if not seconds after death."
"Variant, like a different version of the walkers?" Daryl questions, and you nod, your eyes locked on the video.
The woman takes a deep breath, attempting to speak through her tears. "I thought we could control it, but... we couldn't. I'm so sorry for what we've unleashed upon the world. We didn't mean for any of this to happen. We were trying to save lives, but instead, we've brought devastation." The banging noises intensify, and she glances back fearfully. Tears stream down her face as she raises the gun to her head.
"DOCTOR!" Abe shouts from behind and you jump out of your skin. "Ain't no time to dilly-dally, the walkers are flockin' away 'cause of them gunshots. If we don't take advantage of this chance, we're gonna be in a world of hurt!" he calls out to Daryl, who reacts by grabbing the back of your backpack and pulling you back with a forceful tug.
The banging noise in the video grows more relentless, mirroring the panic that's building inside you. "Wait! Wait—we need these as well. We can put it in Glenn's cart," you quickly suggest, your hands reaching for the microscope and centrifuge and shoving them into Daryl's arms. You swiftly grab the PCR machine as well, all the while the soft prayers of Dr. Marie continue to play in the background.
"Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié, que ton règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel…"
As you rush out, a sense of detachment washes over you, your focus solely stuck on the doctor's tearful face, her haunting eyes, and the screen's persistent banging. The world around you seems to meld into a blur of noise, each sound echoing in your ears. As Abe opens the double doors and you run, the sound of the cabinet's wheels on the floor grounds you, reminding you of your surroundings. Time seems to warp, each second stretching and contracting, feeling both endless and fleeting simultaneously.
Eugene clings to his cabinet, pale and trembling, wheels squeaking in protest. Glenn navigates skillfully on the opposite side, deftly avoiding obstacles and walkers alike. Your grip on your own cabinet remains steady, though your thoughts are entangled with the French doctors and the creation of the variant.
Daryl leads in front, and even amidst this haze, your focus is sharply on him, a force of nature your husband is, as he clears a path through the walkers. His knives slice the air with precision, his voice commanding you forward, "Keep movin'! Don't stop!"
Not just his voice, but the wings on his back guide you forward, your steps instinctively following his. Yet though the chaos—both literal and mental—a sudden burst of laughter pierces the air. You glance over your shoulder, taken aback by the surreal scene unfolding.
Abe and Merle stand back-to-back, faces smeared with the grime of battle, yet in the midst of it all, they're bantering and laughing as if this were just another ordinary day.
"Damn, Red! You're movin' slower than molasses on a cold day!" Merle jests, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he effortlessly dispatches a walker with his prosthetic arm. "Or is that just yer regular speed?"
Abe grunts, smashing the butt of his rifle into another walker's head. "Well, maybe if you had two real hands, you wouldn't miss half of 'em, and I wouldn't be stuck with cleanup duty."
Merle snorts, his grin mischievous. "Least I don't need a whole damn arsenal just to keep up. How's it feel to be outshined by a one-handed man?"
You focus your attention ahead, your heart racing in your chest, the exit in sight. The doors swing open, and the sunlight momentarily blinds you. Outside—an even larger battle is unfolding as Rick's group fights to keep the walkers at bay. During the chaos, someone takes the cabinet from you and pushes it toward the truck. Daryl lowers your head, leading you to a waiting car where Maggie awaits, half of her body out the window, firing her weapon as she scans the chaos for Glenn.
"GLENN!" Maggie's desperate cry rings out as she spots her husband. Glenn gestures for her to leave, turning back for Merle and Abe, who are still inside the building.
"I'll go get him; you make sure she gets out!" Daryl instructs Maggie the moment you're in the passenger seat.
Before you can react, he's already turning to run back. "DARYL!" You call out opening the door to follow him, but Maggie floors the gas pedal, the car screeching, as it pulls away, tires burning rubber.
The sun descends beyond the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue across the landscape as the group returns to Alexandria. You don't immediately dismount from the bike, still holding onto Daryl. Exhaustion hangs in the air, but it's a different kind of fatigue now—a weight of success.
You did it. No lives were lost, and you have what you need.
The roaring of the engines as they come to a halt attracts many Alexandrians, who emerge from their houses. As the group disembarks out of the car, each one covered in dried walker blood and dirt, Olivia and Deanna wait at the open garage of the food storage. Their expressions hold a mix of anticipation and relief. Deanna's eyes meet yours, and she nods, a silent acknowledgment.
When Rick steps off the lead truck, his gaze meets Olivia's, and a small smile curves his lips. Olivia wastes no time, her voice bubbling with curiosity. "Rick, tell me you have something good?"
Rick exchanges a glance with you, and you both share a smile. They haven't been able to scavenge the cafeteria as they had hoped, not after you accidentally opened all the doors and released the walkers inside. "We managed to get a few bags of rice and flour," Rick answers, his tone practical. "It's not much, but it's what we got."
It felt like a miracle, the way you all had managed to get out of that building. You had screamed at Maggie to stop the car as she sped out of the parking lot. Within moments, the rest of the group had followed suit, but Maggie only brought the car to a stop when she reached the same block where you had left Daryl's bike. Cheers erupted from the group as you all regrouped, a mixture of relief and triumph filling the air before you set off for home.
"You good?" Daryl's voice pulls you back to the present as you release him and slowly dismount the motorcycle with a sigh of relief. The engine's vibrations still reverberate through your body, a trace of adrenaline coursing through your veins.
Before you can answer, a loud hoot breaks through the air as Jamie leaps down from the truck. "Whoop! We kick some Navy SEAL ass!" he exclaims, wearing a hat with the words 'Navy SEAL' on it.
"You forget the 'dead' part," Merle, never one to miss an opportunity for a jab, chimes in, following suit as he exits the car. "They ain't real Navy SEALs, just dead walkers."
Jamie's enthusiasm deflates slightly, but he still holds onto the triumph. "Come on, man, do you have to be a party pooper? We get them guns, don't we?" He proudly displays a rifle he took from one of the fallen walkers.
Everyone seems to be carrying different rifles than the ones they left with. Based on the brief information you are given, most of the undead soldiers have guns on them, and that's how they manage to survive. You shake your head, stretching your weary limbs, muscles protesting after the long ride. You turn toward Daryl, who is covered in walker remains.
"I just want to get the stench of death off me," you mutter, your bones feeling weary from the journey. "But before we do that, let's get these chemicals into the lab—" but you're cut off by the older Dixon.
"Hey, kid!" Merle's voice echoes as he strides toward Glenn, who had taken your place in the car at the rendezvous point. "Ya did good in there!" Merle slaps his back and throws his arm around Glenn's shoulder. "Come on then, let's go knock back a few shots to celebrate."
Glenn glances back at Maggie, his body tense and hesitant, but he has a tired smile on his face. "I gotta get this off me first," he says, motioning to his dirty clothes even though he allows Merle to tug him forward.
"Nah, you'll be fine—got a washroom in there, so no need to fret," Merle replies, his tone almost persuasive.
"Dude, have you seen Merle's setup—we got surround sound and just added a video game in there too!" Jamie joins the conversation with a burst of energy as he quickly falls in step on the other side of Glenn.
Like a magical word being said, Eugene pops around the truck, followed closely by Abe. "Video game? What kind of video game are we talkin' 'bout here?" he asks, his face lighting up with excitement as he eagerly trails behind.
You watch the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Excuse me!" you call out, waving your hand to grab their attention. "Somebody's gotta get these chemicals out of the truck!"
But your words seem to fall on deaf ears as the group carries on with their banter, as if you are a nagging presence they can easily ignore.
"Ah," you snort, turning to Daryl, as the men disappear into the house. "Can you believe them?"
A chuckle escapes Abraham, who approaches on your other side. "Yes, I can," he replies with a knowing grin, "I think I'm gonna go take that shot too!"
You let out a huff in frustration and take a step forward, but Daryl's hand closes around your arm, stopping you. "Leave 'em be," he advises, nodding toward the Alexandrians who're standing around, seemingly idle. "Let's put these able-bodied folks to work, heh. Ain't like they've got shit to do, anyways."
Notes:
The French variant is my prediction for the upcoming Daryl's spin off. We'll see if I'm right.