Ashes of the Apocalypse

 “Rick, just… you’ve got to keep your strength up,” Lori said, her eyes filled with concern.

Rick gave a faint smile, his gaze distant. “Lori, did you… I mean, it was legendary. Did you ever hear about the time Shane stole Kingsley’s car?” he asked.

Lori nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah.”

Rick chuckled, the memory bringing a brief flicker of light to his weary expression. “The Principal’s car, right out of the teacher’s lot in the middle of a school day. Shane steps out of lunch and makes a beeline to Kingsley’s Hyundai. Wires the ignition, peels out, drives down Dylan Drive to that chicken farm out there. You’ve heard this before, right?” He paused, glancing at her.

Lori nodded again, her smile growing.

“So he pulls it into one of the big holding pens,” Rick continued. “Kingsley, he waxed that thing every month; had the auto shop vacuum it out every week. Shane, he parks it in this huge pen with a couple hundred Rhode Island Reds. He busts open bags of seed in the back seat, rolls down all the windows, and then starts sprinting back to school. It’s three miles away easy. He’s back in time to finish his sandwich before the bell. And then the bell rings. Shane gets up, and when he runs into Kingsley in the hallway, he looks out the window and says, ‘Principal Kingsley, your coupe’s gone.’ Coupe, like chicken coop.”

Lori let out a soft laugh. “I get it.”

Rick smiled faintly. “Of course you do. You’ve heard this story a thousand times.” He paused, his voice growing steadier. “What you said before, you’re right. Shane’s gonna make it back with what the doctor needs. He’ll make it back.”

Lori nodded, her tone gentle. “Hershel said you need to eat.”

Rick glanced at Carl, his expression softening. “Carl’s gonna be alright.”

At the high school, Shane and Otis crouched on the bleachers, their backs pressed against the cold metal as walkers shuffled below them. Shane scanned the area, his voice low and urgent. “Those windows—what’s on the other side?”

Otis peered through the dim light, his face tense. “About a 20-foot drop with nothing to catch you. Maybe some bushes, then the athletic field.”

Shane nodded, his mind racing. “We just need enough time. We gotta get up there. We gotta get ’em open and get out.”

Otis shook his head, his voice firm. “Not me. Maybe you.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shane said, his tone sharp.

Otis gestured to himself, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Come on, man, look at me. You really think I can squeeze through one of them tiny windows? They’d be all over us. Look, we lay down some fire to get a head start. You stay here. I hop down and draw them away. That gives you the chance to get up the bleachers and out a window.”

Shane frowned, his grip tightening on his weapon. “And where do you go?”

Otis pointed toward the steps. “Locker room down those steps.”

Shane shook his head. “Looks like a good way to get trapped.”

Otis shrugged. “It’s got windows too, and more my size. I get out through one, I double back, we meet up out on the field.”

Shane let out a dry laugh. “You’re a crazy son of a b*tch, ain’t you?”

Otis gave a faint smile. “Just trying to do right for that boy.”

Shane nodded, his voice steady. “You take three shots and you go. After that, I fire. I’ll lay down a cover for you. I’ll get you a lead.”

Otis exhaled deeply, his hands trembling slightly. “All right. Oh God.”

With that, Otis jumped from the bleachers, his feet hitting the ground hard. A walker lunged at him, grabbing his foot. He let out a scream, struggling to break free. Shane fired his shotgun, the blast echoing through the gym as the walker fell. Otis took off running, disappearing into the shadows.

Shane followed a moment later, jumping down and breaking a window. He landed hard, the 20-foot drop jarring his knees as he hit the ground. The sound of walkers grew louder behind him, but he didn’t stop. He had to keep moving.

Back at the farm, Glenn stood near the porch, glancing at the house nervously. “So do we ring the bell?” he asked. “I mean, it looks like people live here.”

T-Dog leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re past this kind of stuff, aren’t we?” he muttered. “Having to be considerate.”

Maggie stepped forward, eyes sharp as she studied them. “Did you close the gate up the road when you drove in?” she asked.

Glenn hesitated, then nodded quickly. “Uh, hi. Yes, we closed it. Did the latch and everything.” He cleared his throat. “Hello. Nice to see you again. We met before—briefly. Look, we came to help. Anything we can do?”

T-Dog lifted his arm slightly to show the wound. “It’s not a bite. I cut myself pretty bad, though.”

Maggie’s expression softened slightly. “We’ll have it looked at. I’ll tell them you’re here,” she said.

Glenn shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the house. “We have some painkillers and antibiotics. I already gave him some. If Carl needs any…” His voice trailed off.

Maggie nodded. “Come on inside. I’ll make you something to eat,” she offered.

Harry stepped forward, barely able to contain the emotions threatening to spill over. The moment he crossed the threshold, Rick was there, pulling him into a tight hug. Rick held him for a long moment before gently guiding him toward the room where Carl and Lori were waiting.

Inside, Lori sat beside Carl, brushing his hair from his forehead, whispering reassurances in his ear. Harry stepped closer, his throat tightening at the sight of his brother.

Glenn lingered in the doorway, giving Rick a tight nod. “Hey.”

Rick turned, exhaustion in his eyes. “Hey.”

Glenn exhaled. “Um… we’re here, okay?”

Lori looked up, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said softly.

T-Dog, still leaning against the doorway, glanced toward Hershel. “Whatever you need,” he added.

Hershel pressed his lips together, his expression grim. “They don’t get back soon, we’re gonna have a decision to make,” he said.

Rick straightened, immediately on edge. “And that is?”

Hershel exhaled. “Whether to operate on your boy without the respirator.”

Lori’s face paled. “You said that wouldn’t work.”

“I know,” Hershel admitted. “It’s extremely unlikely. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Woods

Andrea stepped over a fallen branch, her boots crunching against the dried leaves as she glanced at Daryl. “You really think we’re gonna find Travis?” she asked, doubt creeping into her voice.

Daryl snorted, adjusting his crossbow strap. “You got that look on your face, same as everybody else. What the hell’s wrong with you people?” he muttered. “We just started looking.”

Andrea hesitated before speaking again. “Well, do you?” she pressed.

Daryl sighed, scanning the trees ahead. “It ain’t the mountains of Tibet. It’s Georgia,” he said. “He could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere. People get lost and they survive. It happens all the time.”

Andrea frowned. “He’s sixteen,” she pointed out.

Daryl shook his head. “Hell, I was younger than him and I got lost,” he said. “Nine days in the woods, eating berries, wiping my ass with poison oak.”

Andrea blinked. “They found you?”

Daryl scoffed. “My old man was off on a bender with some waitress. Merle was doing another stint in juvie. Didn’t even know I was gone,” he said. His voice was flat, but there was something underneath—something unreadable. “I made my way back, though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for wear.” He paused before adding, “Except my ass itched something awful.”

Andrea exhaled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry—that is a terrible story.”

Farm

Rick ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion weighing heavy on his frame. The dim glow of the lantern flickered across Lori’s face as she sat beside Carl’s bed, her arms folded tightly against herself.

“Maybe this isn’t a world for children anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rick exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, we have two children. Carl and Harry are here in this world now,” he said, his tone edged with quiet defiance.

Lori’s gaze flickered toward Carl, still unconscious, his breathing shallow. “Maybe they shouldn’t be,” she admitted, her voice tight. “Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.”

Rick stiffened, his jaw tightening as he turned to face her fully. “You can’t mean that,” he said firmly. “Okay. Alright. I can understand that thought crossing your mind.”

 He searched Lori’s face, trying to understand the shift in her thinking. “What changed?” he asked.

Lori blinked, hesitating as if she hadn’t expected the question. “What?”

Rick leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice steady. “Jenner offered us a way out. You asked him to let us keep trying. You begged him. ‘For as long as we can,’ you said. What changed?”

Lori looked away, her arms wrapping around herself as if she were trying to hold everything in. “There was a moment the other day…” she started, her voice distant. “Just a second—but I forgot Jacqui was dead.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed, watching her carefully.

“I turned around, I wanted to tell her something. I almost said her name. It was just a second, and then I remembered,” Lori continued. “But then I realized… she didn’t have to see any of it. The highway, the herds, Travis, Carl getting shot. She didn’t… she doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. Hungry. Angry.”

She exhaled shakily, her voice growing quieter. “It hasn’t stopped happening, Rick. It’s like we live with a knife at our throats every second of every day. But Jacqui doesn’t. Not anymore.” She hesitated, then admitted, “And then… I thought, ‘maybe Jenner was right.’”

Rick’s jaw tightened, his grip on the edge of the chair firm. “I don’t accept that. I can’t accept that,” he said, his voice tinged with something close to desperation. “That man surrendered. It doesn’t matter what he said. None of it.”

He leaned in, his eyes locked on hers. “You really think it would be better if Carl… if we just gave up?”

Lori’s expression wavered. “Tell me why it would be better the other way,” she whispered. “Please.”

School

Shane leaned against the wall, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The dim light barely illuminated the chaos around them, but he could make out Otis’s exhausted figure slumped nearby. “Man, I thought I’d lost you,” Shane muttered, his voice strained.

Otis shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “That was my last rifle round,” he admitted, his tone heavy with frustration.

Shane glanced down at his own weapon, the realization sinking in. “Mine too,” he said grimly. He straightened, gripping Otis’s arm. “Come on. Come on. Come on,” he urged, pulling him forward.

Farm

Carl’s eyelids fluttered weakly as he stirred, his voice barely audible. “Where are we?” he asked.

Rick leaned closer, forcing a steady smile despite the tight knot in his chest. “Hey, little man,” he said softly. “That’s Hershel. We’re in his house. You had an accident. Alright?”

Carl winced, shifting slightly. “It hurts… a lot,” he admitted.

Lori reached for him, brushing his hair away from his damp forehead. “Oh, baby, I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

Carl’s expression softened for a moment, as if he was trying to focus on something else. “You should have seen it,” he murmured.

Lori frowned. “What?”

“The deer,” Carl said, his voice distant. “It was so pretty, Mom. It was so close. I’ve never been…” His sentence trailed off, his head tilting slightly.

Rick’s face paled. “Carl?”

Then the convulsions started. Carl’s body stiffened, his limbs jerking uncontrollably.

Lori’s panic rose instantly. “What is happening?” she gasped.

Hershel rushed forward, his hands steady but urgent. “Don’t,” he instructed firmly. “It’s a seizure. If you hold him down, you could hurt him.”

Lori’s breath hitched. “You can’t stop it?”

“He has to just go through it,” Hershel explained. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed urgency. “His brain isn’t getting enough blood. His pressure is bottoming. He needs another transfusion.”

Rick straightened, already rolling up his sleeve. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Hershel’s expression darkened. “If I take any more out of you, your body could shut down. You could go into a coma. Or cardiac arrest.”

Rick’s jaw clenched as he stared at his son. His hands tightened into fists. “You’re wasting time,” he said.

School

“Come on, man. We need a way out,” Shane urged, his voice sharp with urgency.

Otis gasped for air, shaking his head. “Just—let me catch my breath,” he said between breaths.

Shane’s frustration was mounting. “Come on,” he snapped.

Walkers slammed against the fence, their rotting hands clawing through the gaps in the metal. The structure rattled violently, groaning under the pressure.

Shane cursed under his breath, gripping his shotgun tighter. “No more breaks, man! We gotta move—now!”

Dale stood near the RV, his arms crossed as he glanced at Carol, who was perched on a folding chair, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon. “Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.

Carol shook her head, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m gonna wait for them to come back. You can go down and sleep if you want to.”

Dale gave a small smile, settling into a chair beside her. “No, we can keep watch together,” he said.

Carol turned to him, her expression tinged with worry. “Which way did they go?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Woods

Deeper in the woods, Andrea and Daryl trudged through the underbrush, their flashlights casting long shadows on the trees. Daryl stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to a tree where a walker hung limply from a noose, its body swaying slightly in the breeze. A crude sign was nailed to the tree above it, scrawled with messy handwriting: “Got bit. Fever hit. World gone to sh*t. Might as well quit.”

Daryl snorted, shaking his head. “What the hell? Dumbass didn’t know enough to sh**t himself in the head,” he muttered. “Turned himself into a big swinging piece of bait. And a mess.”

Andrea grimaced, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. “Mhm,” she managed, her voice strained.

Daryl glanced at her, his tone softening slightly. “You all right?”

Andrea took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Trying not to puke,” she admitted.

“Go ahead if you gotta,” Daryl said with a shrug, his voice matter-of-fact.

Andrea shook her head quickly. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just talk about something else for a minute,” she said, her voice tight. “How’d you learn to shoot?”

Daryl adjusted the strap of his crossbow, his expression unreadable. “Gotta eat,” he said simply. “That’s one thing these walkers and us have in common.” He gestured toward the hanging walker with a faint smirk. “I guess it’s the closest he’s been to food since he turned. Hanging up there like a big piñata,” he muttered. “The other geeks came and ate all the flesh off his legs.”

Andrea wrinkled her nose, glancing away. “I thought we were changing the subject,” she said, her voice tinged with irritation.

Daryl shrugged, his tone dry. “Call that payback for laughing about my itchy ass.”

Andrea rolled her eyes. “There wasn’t a lot that came up,” she shot back.

“Huh,” Daryl grunted, adjusting his crossbow. “Let’s head back.”

Andrea hesitated, glancing at the walker again. “Aren’t you gonna…” she started.

“No,” Daryl interrupted. “He ain’t hurting nobody. Ain’t gonna waste an arrow either. He made his choice. Opted out. Let him hang.”

Highway

Carol sat on the steps of the RV, her hands clasped together as she stared into the dark. The night was quiet, too quiet, but she refused to let her worry consume her. “You don’t need to worry,” she said, her voice steady. “She’s with Daryl. If something happens, he can protect her. You hear what I’m saying?”

Dale sighed, shifting his weight as he glanced at her. “Sorry, all I heard was ‘if something happens,’” he muttered.

Carol pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. “You mind keeping watch?” she asked.

Dale hesitated, then held out the rifle. “I won’t be gone long,” he said. “If you see anything, call out. I’m not going far. I’ll hear you.”

Carol looked at the gun, then back at Dale. “I don’t know how to use that,” she admitted.

Dale softened, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to,” he said simply. “Just keep watch. I’ll be right back.”

Farm

T-Dog sat stiffly, his arm stretched out as Patricia carefully stitched the wound. His jaw clenched with discomfort, but he kept still, watching her work.

“You got here right in time,” Patricia muttered, focusing on the injury. “This couldn’t go untreated much longer.” She glanced up for a moment, her expression curious. “Merle Dixon. Is that your friend with the antibiotics?”

Glenn cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “No, ma’am. Merle’s no longer with us,” he explained. “Daryl gave us those… his brother.”

T-Dog let out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Not sure I’d call him a friend,” he said.

Patricia hummed as she tightened the last stitch. “He is today,” she said plainly. “This doxycycline might have just saved your life.” She paused, glancing at Glenn. “You know what Merle was taking it for?”

Glenn winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “The clap,” he admitted. “Uh… venereal disease. That’s what Daryl said.”

Patricia let out a small chuckle, packing away the supplies. “I’d say Merle Dixon’s clap was the best thing to ever happen to you,” she quipped.

T-Dog exhaled, shaking his head. “I’m really trying not to think about that,” he muttered.

Glenn sat back in the chair, his head resting against the worn fabric as he closed his eyes for a moment. The quiet of the farmhouse felt different from the usual chaos, but it did little to ease the weight pressing down on him.

Maggie’s voice broke the silence. “Are you praying?”

Glenn cracked one eye open, frowning slightly. “Why do you sneak up on people so much?”

Maggie shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re easy to sneak up on.”

He sighed, shifting in his seat. “I was praying. Or… I was trying to.”

Maggie stepped forward, studying him for a beat. “You religious? You pray a lot?”

Glenn shook his head. “Actually, this was my first try.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Ever?” She let out a small laugh. “Wow. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wreck your first time.”

Glenn smirked faintly. “God probably got the gist.”

Maggie crossed her arms. “Praying for what?”

He glanced down, rubbing his palm over his knee. “My friends. Looks like they could all use a little help right now.” He hesitated before looking back up at her. “You think… you think God exists?”

Maggie sighed, shifting her weight. “I always took it on faith,” she admitted. “Lately, I’ve wondered. Everything that’s happened… there must have been a lot of praying going on. Seems quite a few went unanswered.”

Glenn exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Thanks. This is really helping.”

Maggie winced. “Sorry. Go ahead. Really.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “You gonna watch?”

Maggie smirked. “I’ll get you a refill instead.” She moved toward the kitchen, pausing briefly. “I know it’s not my business, and feel free to believe in God, but the thing is—you’ve got to make it okay somehow, no matter what happens.”

Rick sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes distant as he spoke. His voice was quiet, almost reverent, as he recalled the moment. “Before it happened, we were standing there in the woods, and this deer just crossed right in front of us.” He shook his head slightly, remembering the way Carl had stared, mesmerized. “I swear it just planted itself there and looked Carl right in the eye.”

Rick exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “And I looked at Carl looking at that deer, and that deer looking right back at Carl. And that moment just… slipped away. It slipped away.” His voice wavered slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “That’s what he was talking about when he woke up, not about getting shot or what happened at the church.”

Lori sat still, watching him.

“He talked about something beautiful, something living,” Rick continued. “There’s still a life for us, a place maybe like this. It isn’t all death out there. It can’t be.” He swallowed hard, eyes locking onto hers. “We just have to be strong enough, after everything we’ve seen, to still believe that.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unresolved.

Rick shook his head slightly, searching her expression. “Why is it better for Carl to live even in this world?” His voice softened. “He talked about the deer, Lori. He talked about the deer.”

School

Shane stumbled back, his breath ragged as he surveyed the chaos around them. “Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

Otis, clutching the bags tightly, glanced toward the street. “Got to get to the street, double back to the truck,” he said, urgency lacing his voice.

Shane shook his head, his tone grim. “Look, we ain’t gonna make it, okay?”

Otis straightened, determination flashing in his eyes. “Got to try, man. Come on, get up,” he urged, pulling Shane to his feet.

Shane hesitated, his gaze flickering between Otis and the approaching walkers. “You’re gonna take these bags and you’re gonna go,” he said firmly.

Otis’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “I ain’t leaving you behind. Okay.”

Shane exhaled sharply, gripping his weapon. “How many rounds you got left?” he asked.

Otis checked his rifle quickly. “Four,” he replied.

Shane nodded, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Five and one in the pipe,” he said.

Farm

Hershel’s voice was steady as he worked, his hands moving quickly. “He’s still losing blood faster than we can replace it,” he said, glancing at Rick and Lori. “And with the swelling in his abdomen, we can’t wait any longer or he’s just going to slip away. Now I need to know right now if you want me to do this, because I think your boy is out of time. You have to make a choice.”

Lori’s breath hitched, her voice trembling. “A choice?” she whispered.

Rick turned to her, his face pale but resolute. “A choice,” he repeated, his voice firm. “You have to tell me what it is. You have to tell me what it is.”

Lori swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with tears. “We do it,” she said, her voice breaking.

Hershel nodded sharply. “Okay, get the corner of that bed,” he instructed, motioning to Patricia. “Let’s get the sheets down. Get the I.V. bag on the sheet. Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

As they moved Carl carefully, Hershel glanced at Rick and Lori. “Rick, Lori, you may want to step out,” he said gently.

Rick’s hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. “Oh God,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with emotion.

Hershel’s tone softened, but his focus didn’t waver. “You stay here with him,” he said firmly.

The door creaked open, and Shane stepped inside, his face etched with worry. “Carl?” he asked, his voice low.

Rick turned to him, his expression a mix of desperation and hope. “There’s still a chance,” he said, almost as if trying to convince himself.

Hershel glanced toward the door, his voice rising slightly. “Otis?”

The room fell silent for a moment before Otis appeared, his face flushed and his breath labored. 

Otis sat in a a chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he recounted the night’s events.

“We almost didn’t make it,” he said, shaking his head. “Shane… he set off a car alarm. Drew ’em all in, just long enough for us to get out.” He exhaled sharply, glancing around the room. “It was close, real close.”

Hershel listened carefully, nodding as he processed the information. Shane stood near the door, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Rick remained silent, his gaze flickering between the bags of supplies and Carl, still unconscious in the bed.

Otis sighed again, rubbing at the bruises forming along his arms. “But we got what you needed. He’s got a shot now,” he added.

Glenn shifted uncomfortably, his voice gentle “Who else?” he asked, his gaze locked on Maggie. “Who’d you lose?” He hesitated before continuing, “You told me I had to make it okay somehow. That’s what you’ve been trying to do, right? Which ones?”

Maggie held his gaze for a moment before exhaling quietly. “Stepmother. Stepbrother. Two younger brothers and two younger sisters.”

Nearby, Hershel checked Carl’s vitals once more, his expression shifting slightly. “He seems to have stabilized,” he announced.

Rick’s shoulders sagged, the tension in his body easing just a fraction. “Oh God,” he whispered, pressing his hands together as if willing himself to believe it.

Lori exhaled shakily. “I don’t have words,” she admitted, staring down at her son, still pale but breathing. Still alive.

Maggie turned to Shane, nodding toward the hallway. “The bathroom’s upstairs,” she said. “I brought you some clothes.”

Shane took the bundle from her hands, grateful but weary. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“They won’t fit well,” Maggie added, a small, knowing smirk at the corner of her lips. “They’re Otis’s.”

Flashback.

Shane’s breath came fast and uneven as he ducked behind an abandoned car, the weight of the supplies pressing against his back. His grip tightened around his shotgun as he looked ahead—Otis limping, struggling, barely keeping pace.

The walkers were closing in. The route back to the truck was shrinking.

He could do it now. Raise the gun, take the shot. Drop Otis, leave him for the herd. One less weight slowing him down.

His fingers twitched against the trigger.

Then something caught his eye—a car parked just ahead, its frame intact, glass still intact.

A split decision.

Shane surged forward, lifting the butt of his rifle and smashing it against the window. The glass shattered instantly, the piercing alarm splitting through the night, enough to send the walkers into a frenzy.

Otis turned at the sound, eyes wide with confusion as the undead shifted toward the source of the commotion. Shane grabbed him roughly by the sleeve. “Move,” he ordered.

Otis didn’t hesitate.