Just Survive Somehow

The streets are hollow, emptied. He has no idea what happened.

He drives the car, slowly. The road behind him is left behind, but so is the one in front of him. And so is the one on his right. The trees are unreasonably green, and the air is colorless, odorless. There are some clouds visible, but it's nothing compared to yesterday. Was it yesterday? He isn't so sure now. 

It's quiet. It's quiet and James has no idea if that's a good or a bad thing. His body is filled with apprehension, he's cautious of every single thing, of everything he sees. 

He continues driving the car, to a certain speed limit. Not like it's a big deal now because there's no one near him. But, still. Just for his own safety. 

There is a car rolled over in front of him. It looks like it's been there for a while, as well. As if it happened a few days ago, maybe. He doesn't think too much of it as he carefully drives past it. 

There's a truck laying on its side, he parks the blue-white colored sheriff's car with the number ‘134’ upon it, next to the truck.

He stops the engine, and he can't fathom to think that maybe this was a bad idea after all. He pushes a button on the inside of the car so the car trunk opens. He gradually opens the door, taking in his surroundings while he gets out of the car, he's pretty sure he almost stops breathing. He takes a step back and he opens another door, taking his sheriff hat and putting it on his head. He goes to the trunk and takes out a red jerrycan. 

He starts walking, still taking in his surroundings, and he notices that all these cars – they look almost rusty and old. He can't even begin to think about how long they've been here. He can't even begin to think about what the hell happened. 

He walks down the grass, tumbling down a little while doing so, but he's quick to redeem himself. There are materials scattered across the grass, such as a soft pink shaded bike for a little kid, a doll, a laundry basket, and a stuffed animal. 

He walks towards one of the cars that's close to where all the materials are scattered across the grass, he finds a dead corpse of a woman behind the driver seat. Her skin looks bruised, yellow. Her lips are open and they're dark purple colored, almost black. There are flies buzzing around her. James frowns and makes a disgusted face as he continues walking. 

When he finally reaches the gas station, he sees a broad sign which says ‘no gas’. Said sign creaks a little, hitting the pole while doing so. 

He bites back the urge to sigh out of annoyance, he turns around, reaching into his pocket and stepping forward. 

He hears muffled footsteps approaching, and he stops. He freezes. He panics a little. But maybe this will be a good thing, maybe there's someone here – who can give him answers to what happened. He hopes that someone can give him answers sooner or later. 

He crouches down next to a car, dropping his sheriff's hat in front of him. He places both his hands on the dirty floor and looks under the car. 

What he sees, isn't what he expected in the slightest. He sees pale white legs that are bruised, even the feet. The girl – James presumes, isn't wearing socks. She's wearing slippers, they look like bunnies. The girl leans down and picks up the white stuffed animal that was laying on the floor in front of her. 

James takes himself by surprise by how fast he shoots into motion, he immediately stands up – he gets a better look at the girl. She has blonde long hair that reaches her waist, she's wearing a dirty jacket. 

“Little girl?” he says. It sounds more like a statement than a question. His eyebrows are pinched together, his hand is reaching out to her. There's a major empty space between them. “I’m a policeman.” 

But there's no answer, it just remains quiet. So James repeats himself, “Little girl.” 

She stops walking. Even though his body is shaking with nerves, he decides to remain hopeful. 

“Don’t be afraid, okay?” and he takes another step forward, “Little girl.” 

She turns around. Underneath the jacket, she's wearing pink pajamas with flowers on them. Her clothes are covered in dark red blood. Her face is incredibly pale, even more pale than her legs. Her eyes are bright green, and she has a scar on her forehead. Her mouth – there's nothing left of it. It's stretched into something wicked, into something indescribable. The blood is dripping onto her shirt and it's the most unpleasant thing James has ever seen. She's grinding her teeth as if she's an animal hunting her prey. She has braces, and James doesn't know why that makes him so sad. 

He tilts his head, taking a deep breath in. He can feel tears adjusting in his eyes, he blinks them away like they weren't even there in the first place. 

The girl snarls at him while she starts walking towards him. 

“Oh, my god,” he says. He reaches into his pocket for his revolver. And she doesn't stop – she's almost running now. She's growling at him and James feels overwhelmed in a way. He pulls the trigger, and she falls onto the floor with a big thud. One of her slippers landing a little next to her head. The blood almost covering the entire outlining of her body. 

James stares in disbelief as he lowers the revolver. 

They're sitting in the sheriff's car, there's indistinct talking on the radio, and they both pay it no mind. There are two boxes of junk food placed in the middle center of the car. It's filled with burgers. 

“What's the difference between men and women?” James asks, his tone flat. 

“Is this a joke?” Peter asks while he hands over a napkin, holding it between his middle and index finger.

“No,” James says. “I’m serious.”

The two of them reach into the boxes of junk food, shoving the food into their mouths. 

“Never met a woman who knew how to turn off a light. They're born thinking the switch only goes one way… on.” Peter says. Emphasizing his words carefully so the joke lands just right. 

James chuckles in response, looking outside the window. The smile displaying on his lips. 

“You know, they're struck blind the second they leave a room,” Peter tells James. He sits up and moves around so he's now actually facing James. “I mean, the same chick, mind you.” He laughs. 

Peter narrows his eyes, “she’ll bitch about global warming.” 

James looks at him in confusion, not quite understanding why his friend – best friend is getting so worked up about this. He nods his head and looks forward again. 

Peter chuckles, his arm resting comfortably on the car door. “You see, this is–” he moves his arm around, almost as if he's nervous. “This is when Reverend Shane wants to quote from the Guy Gospel and say, um, ‘darling, maybe you and every other pair of boobs on this planet just figure out that the light switch, you see, goes both ways, maybe we wouldn't have so much global warming.’”

James laughs in response, the dimples on his cheeks showing. He looks to his right, “you say that?” he asks, the humor in his voice fearing to overtake him. 

Peter is quiet for a second or so, “mmm.” he speaks, “in a way, yeah.” 

“Polite version,” he adds when James just keeps looking at him. It almost feels like the joke doesn't land because James doesn't laugh, he just nods his head and looks forward again. Peter chuckles at his own joke and James hums in response. 

All of a sudden it's quiet, James simply keeps looking forward. 

Peter quietly clears his throat, “so how's it with Lily, mate?” 

Peter can see the way James immediately tenses, he visibly looks frustrated. 

“Lately, whenever I try, everything I say makes her impatient, like she didn't want to hear it after all.” 

Peter hums. 

James releases a deep breath, “It's like she's pissed at me all the time and I don't know why.” he shrugs. 

“Look, prongs.” Peter starts. “That's just shit couples go through. Yeah, it's a–” he stumbles over his words, “it’s a phase.”

Peter looks at James with an almost longing look, James huffs, “The last thing she said this morning…”

“Hmm.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all.” 

James looks at Peter, his look intense. Peter almost looks a little taken aback. 

“She said that in front of our kid.” James his eyes are wide, “imagine going to school with that in your head.” 

James is looking in front of him again, he doesn't notice the look Peter is giving him. His eyes are fierce and it’s almost like they're filled with anger.  He bites his lip, but he doesn't say anything. There's nothing he could possibly say to make James feel better. 

The radio beeps. The dispatcher says: All Available units, high-speed pursuit in progress. Linden County units request local assistance. 

Peter leans forward and reaches down, James immediately sits up straight. 

Highway 18 eastbound. GTA, ADW. 

James starts the engine and puts the car in reverse, the siren starts blaring. Peter is hanging half out of the car, he throws the boxes of junk food in the garbage can they were parked next to. 

There's a dead animal in the middle of the road, it looks more like a cat than anything else. The blood is spread across the small body, there are two crows eating the leftovers of it. 

Dispatcher: Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. 

The sirene is still blaring while they speed through the emptied streets. Another sheriff's car stops a little behind them, and the car drifts. Peter gets out of the car almost immediately. 

Dispatcher: Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound, Route 18, two miles west of Interstate 85. 

Peter reaches into the car trunk. 

Will patch in Linden County Sheriff radio. 

Peter and James run toward the middle of the road. 

Officer 1: (over radio) Roger that. We're five minutes south of the Route 18 Intersection. 

They place a spike mat on the ground. 

Officer 2: (over radio) Dispatch, unit 1 and unit 3. We are 10-97 and code 100. 

The car door closes. 

Highway 18, EB of interstate, please advise. 

James puts the car in reverse again. He drives backward to the other sheriff's car. The tires screech. He hastily gets out of the car. So do the other officers. 

Old French Road is closed down there so they're gonna head back onto 18. 

Peter places his hat on top of the car. James loads his gun. 

“Sounds like they’re chasing those idiots up and down every back road that we’ve got,” Kingsley says. James looks at him but he doesn't say anything in return. 

They can hear multiple sirens wailing, a car screeching and slipping in return. The car drives straight over the spike mat that they placed there. Said car flips over, and a cloud of dust covers it. 

The car door gets pushed open, and one of the two males comes out with, a gun safely in his hand. 

“Gun, gun, gun!” One of the officers yells. 

“Put it down!” James shouts. 

“Put the gun…”

Before anyone really realizes what is happening there are gunshots fired. Bullets ricochets. 

Before Peter can look he hears a faint, “Ah!” and suddenly James is on the floor. 

Peter keeps shooting. Gunshots are still being fired even while James is laying on the floor. 

Suddenly the other male appears from the other side of the car, Peter dodges the bullet that comes his way. 

James is gasping for air, crawling around, groaning in pain. 

The man grunts as he falls down. He's dead. They both are. 

“James!” Peter yells. 

“I’m all right!” James shouts back. He's still panting, out of breath. 

Peter runs over to him. 

“I saw you get tagged, mate,” James says. “That scared the hell out of me,” he's holding onto his own chest. Pushing down, so the blood stops. But it doesn't. 

“Me, too.” 

James stands up, “That son of a bitch shot me. Can you believe that?” he looks at Peter with a disbelieving look in his eyes. 

“Did he catch you in your vest?” Peter asks with concern in his voice. 

“Yeah.”

They're too focused on each other that they don't realize there's a third male coming out of the vehicle. 

“Peter, you do not tell Lily that happened. Ever,” he looks at his friend. He raises his hand, “you understand–”

His sentence is cut off with a scream. 

Another gunshot. 

James is on the ground again.

Officer: Police, move in!

Peter is immediately on the ground next to James. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” 

James is groaning in pain while Peter shushes him. It's the only thing he can do, really. 

James his eyes are brighter than usual, they're filled with tears. His mouth is wide open. He's still gasping for air. His uniform is covered in blood. He grinds his teeth in displeasure. 

“He's hit!” Peter yells. His hands are pushing down on James’ chest. “Kingsley!” his voice is shaky when he speaks. “You get that ambulance down here! You tell them there's an officer down! You do it now!” he orders. His voice is hoarse, from all the yelling. Or maybe because his best friend – the man whom he trusts most is laying on the ground covered in his own blood. 

“Okay,” Peter shakily speaks. He's still shushing James. “I'm here,” he says. “Hey, you look at me, prongs. You stay with me. You hear me?” he makes another shushing noise, “Okay.” 

“I'm right here, James,” Peter says. And although Peter really is right there, he still says it like a promise. Like he means it because he does. “Stay with me. Do you hear me?” 

James’ revolver is laying somewhere next to the right side of his head. Peter’s shotgun is left behind next to him. James his entire chest is covered with blood, Peter his hand never leaving it. He's still shushing him, “That's it. Do you hear me? Okay.” the other officers run towards them. 

That's it I'm right here.

And then everything goes black.

James hears a monitor beeping, his breathing is labored. But he can't move. It feels like he's watching his life inside his head, he can't do anything– it feels like he's stuck. This isn't real. He has to get out of here.

He sees Peter hovering above him, wearing a loose white T-shirt. His hair is ruffled, and James presumes he's been yanking it out of distress. Peter almost looks sad. James doesn't know why. He also doesn't know why his friend is holding a bouquet of flowers. 

His eyesight is blurry, it's like he's watching his life in pictures. They all come after one another, but they don't match up. It's like slow motion. He hates it.

“Hey, bud.” 

And suddenly Peter is really close to him. James can make out his friends’ thin white lips and the way his eyebrows are furrowed together. The bouquet is still in his sight, Peter his chubby fingers are grasping it tightly. 

“We're still here,” and James doesn't know what that means. He doesn't know what it's supposed to mean. 

Peter shakes his head and it makes James a little bit dizzy, his eyes follow the motion. It feels like he's glitching. This feels like a surreal dream, he’ll wake up any moment now. He's almost sure of it.

“We’re still hanging in.” 

Peter his eyes fill with tears and he drops his head, “I’m sorry man,” he says. James wants to reach out, shout and say, ‘You have nothing to be sorry for!’ but he can't. 

“I know I say the same crap every time I come in here.” 

James stares at Peter in surprise. But he can't talk, move, or do anything to assure him that it's fine, so he's left staring at his friend like it's absolutely nothing. 

Peter sighs and he looks down at the flowers he's been holding in his hand, “everybody pitched in on these,” he softly acknowledges. “They, uh, wanted me to bring them down. They send their love, and they just… they hope you come back real soon.” and it almost feels like he's taunting James. 

Peter shakes his head and chuckles, “Hestia Jones and Glenda Chittock from dispatch, they picked these out.” he looks at the flowers, “Probably could tell, huh?” 

Peter is struggling with his words, “I'm just gonna set these on your side table, okay?” he looks at James for a few seconds, and then he moves. 

The ceiling turns from something white into something darker. James keeps staring at it, his mouth open. His body is covered with sweat. 

He blinks, “That vase, that's something special.” he blinks again, “‘fess up. Did you steal it from your grandma Enid’s house?” he lets out a faint chuckle at his own joke. “I hope you left her that spoon collection.” he laughs again, which soon turns into a coughing session. 

“Peter?” he wonders. 

“Peter.” 

But the room is empty. 

He looks to his right. 

The vase.

The flowers.

They're withered.

He reaches out to the flowers and takes one in his hand. And it cracks. The flowers are withered, which means he's been here for at least a week, if not longer. 

He looks at the clock, it's not moving. Time has stopped. He feels panic rising in him. 

He reaches for his side table again, grabbing his round glasses and pushing them on top of his nose.  

He stands up from the hospital bed but he soon enough falls down, his body is weak. He feels weak. 

“Nurse, help,” he croaks out. 

There's no reply. He opens the hospital room and looks out into the hallway, there's another hospital bed in front of his door. The lights are flickering, there's trash spread across the floor. And there's nobody in sight. 

He pushes the hospital bed to the side, he looks around. And it's dark, everything is abandoned. 

He's walking in the hallway now, and something is not right – he knows that now. He reaches for the phone that's standing on the counter. It clicks. He rummages through all the stuff that's still laying behind the desk, dropping things while doing so. James grabs a Lucifer, lightning it up and he looks around again, but there's still, nothing there. 

The lights are buzzing, and this – it feels like his worst nightmare. He walks towards the door and there's a dead corpse on the floor. There’s nothing but skin and bones left. 

The woman her entire body is ripped apart, you can see her organs, and there's blood scattered around her body. Not that there's much left of it, but it's still there. Her face is pale. It's as white as a ghost, and her hair is frizzy. 

James his eyes widen in shock, and disgust, and something that displays an overwhelming feeling. He walks away from the door. There's dry blood on the walls. He comes across a door.

Don't dead 
Open inside

The chains that are connected to the door are clinking. Above the door, there's a sign that says ‘cafeteria’. The door is rattling and he hears labored breathing from behind it. The clattering gets louder and more intense. He hears a groan. 

He sees pale white fingers coming through the door, the nails are long and grey, almost yellow. It's a gut-wrenching sight. 

He lets out a rigged breath and runs through another door. Bloody handprints cover the wall. He pushes the elevator buttons. Nothing happens.  He opens the door from the fire exit, it's pitch black. He closes the door and lightens another Lucifer. The matchstick strikes. He walks down the stairs carefully. He's left panting and wanting. He sees an exit sign, “ah…” the door clangs. Everything is buzzing and moving.

It's bright white outside and the sudden change of light hurts his eyes. He looks away and covers his eyes with his hands. 

There are bugs chittering, and for some reason, that makes him feel reassured. There's at least something natural left. The wall he's leaning against is filthy and an ugly shade of yellow. He walks down the stairs, departing from the building. 

There's a corpse right at his feet with flys all over it. 

There's not just one, or two, it's hundreds of them. 

He feels tears welling up in his eyes, he takes another deep breath. Everything is bloody and messy. What the hell happened?

He starts walking faster. Everything is left behind. Everything is gone. Everyone has vanished. 

He doesn't stop walking. 

At some point, he finds a bike. A red one. There's another dead corpse not far away from him. 

The said dead corpse groans, and it turns around, facing him. James is still panting. He gasps and he falls down.

The woman – that's so said dead, almost has a smile on her face. Her teeth and her face in general, are rotten. It's only her face and her ribcage that are left. Her hands are reaching for him. She's growling, and James gives her a weird look. He stands up, grabs the bike and he leaves. 

He's still shaky and weak, he's not strong enough to survive with these people – these things around him. 

He gets off the bike, throwing it on the sidewalk. He runs inside his house, tearing the door open. 

“Lily,” he says. 

“Lily!”

There are clothes on the bed, hanging half out of the drawer. He gasps, “Lily! Harry!” 

He falls on the floor, he's gasping for breaths as he starts sobbing. 

“Is this real?” he wonders.

“Am I here?” 

He touches the ground. But he gets no answer. He whacks his hand against his head, over and over again. 

“Wake…” he tries. “Wake up.” he sniffles. There are tears streaming down his face. 

He goes outside and sits on the stairs outside of his house. 

He can see someone walking toward him, covered in black. He raises his hand, trying to wave. 

He doesn't notice the little kid behind him. A twig snaps and he looks behind him, a shovel connects to his face. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” the kid shrieks.

“Harry…” James says. Blood streaming down his nose. “Harry. I found you.” 

The kid looks at him in confusion, there's another man walking towards them. He shoots down the person he saw before covered in black.  

“Did he say something? I thought I heard him say something.” the man asks in a hurry. 

“He called me Harry,” the kid explains.

“Son, you know they don't talk.” the man his gaze snaps toward James, “Hey, mister, what's that bandage for?”

“What?”

“You tell me…” The gun is aimed right at him. It clicks. “Or I will kill you.”

James goes cross-eyed and his head falls backward. 

That's when everything goes black. 

He wakes up with his head against a soft pillow. He hears footsteps approaching. He looks around. He sees a little kid standing next to him, holding a baseball bat in his hands. He hears rubber gloves snap. 

“Got that bandage changed now,” the man says. “It was pretty rank.” he stops before he continues, “What was the wound?” 

“Gunshot.” 

“Gunshot?” the man repeats in astonishment. “What else? Anything?” he wipes a wet cloth over his forehead. 

“Gunshot isn’t enough?” James asks. 

“Look, I ask, and you answer.” the man steps forward, pointing a finger at him. “That's common courtesy, right?” James his hands are tied to the bed. 

“Did you get bit?” the man asks. There's no room left to argue in his tone, he's now hovering over James. 

James furrows his brows, “bit?” 

“Bit, chewed. Maybe scratched. Anything like that?” 

“No, I got shot.” James replies. “Just shot as far as I know.” 

The man reaches forward with his hand, and James flinches back. “Hey. Just let me,” he says. He looks over to his son, “feels cool enough. Fever would've killed you by now.” 

James shakes his head, “I don't think I have one.”

The man reaches into his pocket, taking out a knife. The knife clicks, and he removes the ties from James’ wrists. 

“Come on out when you're able.” 

James holds his wrist in his hand, rubbing it. 

The little kid is still staring at him, “come on,” his father says. 

A little while after that, James leaves the room. He walks into the living room and looks around, “this place, Bertha Jorkins’?”

“Never met her,” the man replies. 

“I've been here. This is her place.”

“It was empty when we got here.” 

James walks towards the window that's covered with something that kinda looks like a rug. He reaches for it, “don't do that.” the man says. “They'll see the light. There's more of them out there than usual,” he says, “I never should have fired that gun today.” 

He drags his feet to the dining table again, “sound draws them.” he explains. “Now they're all over the street. Stupid,” the man mutters to himself. “Using a gun.” he blows out a candle. “But it all happened so fast, I didn't think.” 

“You shot that man today,” James realizes as he speaks. 

The father shrugs, “Man?” 

“You shot him in the street out front, a man.” 

“Mate,” he says. “You need better glasses. It was a walker.” 

James leans against the chair. “Come on. Sit down before you fall down.” he takes food out of the bowl and drops it on his plate. “Here.”

James gradually sits down in the chair. He shoves the food into his mouth. The man looks at him and leans closer, “Hey, mister, do you even know what's going on?” he asks slowly. 

James his eyes narrow, “I woke up today in the hospital,” and he's quiet. He thinks carefully before he says anything else, “came home and that's all I know.” he drops his head. 

The kid looks at him with compassion, maybe. There's something worrying behind his eyes. He looks over at his father. The man takes his eyes off his son and looks back at James, “But you know about the dead people, right?” 

James doesn't waste a second to reply, “Yeah, I saw a lot of that.” 

The man nods while James continues, “Out on the loading dock, piled in trucks.”

The man shakes his head, “No, no the ones they put down. The ones they didn't, the walkers.” James looks up, “like the one I shot today. Because he'd have ripped into you, tried to eat you, taken some flesh at least.” 

James squints his eyes, not knowing how to reply to all this information. The man continues, “Well, I guess if this is the first you're hearing it, I know how it must sound.” 

His voice is careful and weary, he's not talking too fast, he's slow. He wants James to understand what he's saying. He needs James to know. 

“They're out there now? In the street?” James asks. 

“Yeah.” The man hurriedly nods his head, happy that James is getting it. “They get more active after dark sometimes.” his son looks at him again. “Maybe it's the cool air or… hell, maybe it's just me firing that gun today. But we'll be fine as long as we stay quiet. Probably wander off by morning.”

The man places his hands on top of one another, “But listen. One thing I do know is don't you get bit. I saw your bandage and that's what we were afraid of.” he gestures his head towards his son. “Bites kill you,” he explains. Emphasizing his words attentively. “The fever burns you out. But then after a while… you come back.” 

James knows that there's more to it than that, he knows by the way the man looks at his son when he says the last words. His thoughts are confirmed when the son says, “Seen it happen.” 

James looks up immediately, and the little kid – who’s probably a few months older than Harry, looks down. The father swats his hand on his son’s arm, giving him a warm smile. To make him feel comforted, at least a little bit. James doesn't think it helps, but the air feels lighter after. 

Later when they're laying in the living room, the man suddenly says, “Harry.” 

“Is he your son?” 

When James doesn't say anything, the man adds a quick, “Well, you… you said his name today.”

James feels like he's frozen in place but pushes that feeling deep down, “he's a little younger than your boy. At least by a few months.”

“And he's with his mother?” 

James lets out a rigged breath, “I hope so.” and he means it. He looks to the other side of the living room, where the windows are supposed to be. 

“Dad?” the little kid mumbles.

The man rests his hand on his kid’s hair, “Hey.” 

“Did you ask him?”

The man chuckles and James looks at him, “your gunshot. We have a little bet going. My boy says you're a bank robber.” James allows himself to ease up a tiny bit, he chuckles along with the man. 

“Yeah,” he draws out while he laughs, “that's me. Deadliest Dillinger. Kapow.”

The kid chuckles in response.

“Sheriff’s deputy,” James says. 

The man nods his head, “Uh-huh.” 

And then it's quiet again. But this time, it only lasts for a second because suddenly they hear a far alarm blaring. The little kid shoots up, his dad instantly reaching for him, “Hey, it's okay. Daddy’s here. It's nothing. One of them must have bumped a car.” 

“Are you sure?” James asks.

“It happened once before. Went on for a few minutes.” 

They both quietly stand up, “get the light, Neville.” the father says. 

Neville turns off the light, and it's dark again. The alarm still continues. They both look through the ‘rugs’ that are hanging over the windows, “it's the blue one down the street. Same one as last time. I think we're okay.” 

James hurries forward and looks through the window, he sees a bunch of walkers making frivolous movements as they walk. They undoubtedly, don't look like humans. 

“That noise,” James says, “won't it bring more of them?” 

Neville also steps forward, “Nothing we can do about it now.” the man says. “We just have to wait them out till morning.” 

Neville gasps, “She's here.” 

James looks again, and there is indeed a woman. She looks strangely normal compared to the others. Her hair is frizzy and it's all over the place – but she still looks more human than the others. 

“Don’t look,” the man says to his son, “get away from the windows.” 

The woman keeps eye contact, and she takes another step forward. 

“I said go. Go on.” 

Neville runs back to the mattress he was laying on before. He begins sobbing into the pillows, not able to control the amount of noise he's making. 

“Neville. Neville, quiet now. Come on. Quiet now.” the man looks at James. “Shh, shh!” 

James walks towards the door. He looks through the peephole, and she's slowly making her way up the stairs. She looks at the door, straight into the peephole. Straight into James’ eyes. She looks down and reaches for something. Suddenly, the doorknob starts rattling. James his eyes follow the movement. 

James makes his way back to his own mattress. He hears the man sniffle, “She, um... She died in that other room on that bed in there.” he shakes his head. “There was nothing I – I could do about it. That fever, man… her skin gave off a heat like a furnace.” Neville lets out another sob. “I should've… I should've put her down, man. I should've put her down. I know that... But I– you know what? I just didn't have it in me. Alice… she’s the mother of my child.”

James doesn't say anything and the rattling continues. 

When they leave the house, it's bright outside. There's a walker slouched down against the fence. 

“Are we sure they're dead?” James asks. “I have to ask at least one more time.” 

“They’re dead,” Frank responds. “Except for something in the brain. That's why it's got to be the head.” 

They deliberately walk down the stairs, James has a baseball bat in his hand and a helmet on his head to protect him. The walker hisses. Blood spread across its face. It growls as it stands up. Mouth wide open. James hits the walker with the bat a few times. Before both he and the walker fall down. 

When he walks back into his house his white t-shirt is covered with blood. Frank is right behind him. 

“They're alive,” James says. “My wife and son. At least they were when they left.” the words taste sour and hateful on his tongue. 

“How can you know? By the look of this place…”

“I found empty drawers in the bedroom. They packed some clothes, not a lot, but enough to travel.”

Frank makes a motion with his hand, “You know anybody could've broken in here and stolen those clothes, right?” 

James points at him with the bat, “Do you see framed photos on the walls?” they both look around. “Neither do I. Some random thief took those, too, you think?” 

James walks towards a cabinet and pulls it open, “our photo albums, family pictures, all gone.” 

Frank smiles, “Photo albums.” he lets out a laugh. James confusedly looks at him. “My wife…” Frank begins, “Same thing. There I am packing survival gear, she's grabbing photo…” 

Neville steps up, his teeth clattering in a nervous matter and he says, “They're in Atlanta I think.” 

“That's right.” 

James tilts his head to the side, “why there?” 

“Refugee center,” Frank says. But it’s not an answer to the question, not really. “Huge one is what they said before the broadcast stopped. Military protection, food, shelter. They told people to go there, and said it’d be safest.”

Neville speaks up again, “Plus they have that disease place.” 

Frank nods, “Yes. Yes, very well son. Center for Disease Control. Said they were working out how to solve this thing.” 

James looks at him, and then he disappears into the kitchen. He grabs a key from a cabinet. 

The room is dark and it looks abandoned when they enter at first. James puts his hand under the streaming water, “Pilot’s still on.” he says. Frank shoots him a big smile as he looks down at Neville. 

James is shaving while the water runs down his head. There are multiple exclaims from an excited and happy Neville, the boy is happy he's finally able to shower again, and James bites back a smile. He's happy, too. 

“Oh, my lord.” 

“Hot water!”

“Ah!” 

Neville starts singing and James isn't afraid to hold back a smile and a laugh this time. Who knows when they'll be able to do this again? 

“Atlanta sounds like a good deal,” James tells Frank, as he leans forward. Planting his hands on his legs, “safer anyway… People.”

“That's where we were headed,” Frank says casually. “Things got crazy. Man, you wouldn't believe the panic. Streets weren't fit to be on.” Frank shakes his head, “And then my… my wife couldn't travel. No, not with her hurt, so we had to find a place to lay low.” he looks at James for a moment before he continues, “And then after she died… we just stayed hunkered down. I guess we just froze in place.”

James nods his head, never taking his eyes off Frank, “plan to move on?” 

Frank pulls his shirt over his arm, “I haven't worked up to it yet.” 

He and James look at each other for a minute, a mutual understanding that things will never be the same again. That someday, he’ll have to move on. 

Even if he doesn't want to.

James opens the metal door, the chain falling down while doing so. “A lot of it's gone missing,” he acknowledges. 

“Load up.” 

James takes a Remington rifle and hands it over to Frank, “You take that one. Nothing fancy. The scope’s accurate.”

Frank keeps looking at him. And in that moment, he realizes that he trusts James. 

“Neville.”

“Huh?” 

“Take this to the car, please,” Frank says. He hands his son a brown duffel bag filled with all the supplies they need.

“Okay,” Neville says. 

James steps forward, “are you sure you won't come along?” 

Frank takes his hat off his head, his hand running through his hair, “few more days.” 

James opens the car door, Frank turns around when he hears a walkie-talkie beep. James hands it over to him. “You have one battery.” 

Frank scoffs, a smile displaying on his face. 

“I’ll turn mine on a few minutes every day at dawn,” James promises. “You get up there, that's how you'll find me.” 

Frank nods his head, “You think ahead.” 

“Can't afford not to. Not anymore.” 

Frank walks away and looks back, “Listen one thing. They may not seem like much one at a time, but in a group, all riled up and hungry, mate, you watch your ass.” 

Neville walks up to them. 

“You, too,” James says. 

Frank and James shake hands. And it feels like a companionship. James lingers longer than he should. 

“You're a good man, James,” Frank swears. “I hope you find your wife and son.” 

James’ lips twitch in reply, “Be seeing you, Neville.” James also shakes his hand, “Take care of your old man.”

“Yes, sir.” Neville smiles. 

A walker growls from a distance, and the three of them immediately turn around. 

“Ludovic Bagman?” 

The walker walks closer to the metal fence. 

“Didn’t think much of him,” James mumbles. “Careless and dumb, but… can't leave him like this.” 

“You know they'll hear the shot,” Frank says. 

“Let's not be here when they show up.”

"Let's go, son. Come on.” they run to the car, and slam the door shut. 

James raises his revolver, holds it through the metal fence, and shoots the walker – Ludovic Bagman – straight in the head.

Both cars drive off before any walkers are near them. 

Frank honks. 

James lets the sirens blare. 

Their goodbye feels awfully bittersweet.

James goes back to the place where he saw his first walker, bicycle girl. He gets out of the car and quietly shuts the door. He's holding onto his belt, and she's no longer there. 

“Read your comic books a while,” Frank says. “Daddy will be upstairs.” he takes the Remington rifle with him. 

James keeps walking, his hand smoothly sliding over the tree branches. 

Frank holds the picture of his wife in his hands, her face has a beautiful round shape, and her button-up nose is scrunched up because of the way she's smiling. A cheeky, charming, and dreamy smile. Frank can't tear his eyes away from the picture.

James is still walking. 

Frank places the picture of Alice smiling against the window. He grabs a chair and places the rifle on it. One eye is squeezed shut. 

James looks at the bicycle girl. Her organs hanging half out of her body. She's gasping for air. He sits down on one knee. 

Frank whistles, the walker turns around, and he immediately shoots. 

Neville shoots up from the mattress downstairs, “Daddy?”

“It's all right, Neville! You stay there, son. Don't you come up here!”

He shoots again. 

“Alice,” Frank whispers. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

James stares at the bicycle girl with tears in his eyes. Her eyes are luminous white, her mouth is split open and it looks like she's smiling at him. He tilts his head, “I'm sorry this happened to you.” she groans in reply.

He clutches his revolver and points it at her. Her hands reach out to him, and maybe he thinks of hesitating, but he shoots her anyway. 

Frank takes a deep breath, and Alice looks straight into the scope. 

“Come on. Come on.” he gasps. He covers his mouth with his hand. “Come on,” he whispers. 

He lets her go before he can shoot her. 

Broadcasting on emergency channels. Will be approaching Atlanta on Highway 85. If anybody reads, please respond. 

Can anybody hear my voice?

Daphne flies forward, “Hey, hello?” 

Can you hear my voice?

She smiles and lets out a sigh of relief, “Yes, I can hear you. You're coming through. Over.” 

If anybody reads, please respond

The radio is crackling and Daphne’s eyes are looking in every direction. She looks at Arthur and he's looking at her with a concerning glint in his eyes. 

Broadcasting on emergency channel. Will be approaching Atlanta on Highway 85. If anybody reads, please respond. 

“We're just outside the city,” Daphne says. The radio makes another crackling noise, “damn it.” she fiddles with the buttons, “Hello? Hello?” she sighs and looks up at Arthur again, “he couldn't hear me. I couldn't warn him.” 

Arthur gestures with his hand toward the device again, “try to raise him again. Come on, son, you know best how to work this thing.” 

Peter throws the axe on the wood, “Hello, hello. Is the person who called still on the air?” he waits for a reply but doesn't get one. “This is Officer Peter Pettigrew broadcasting to person unknown, please respond.” 

The radio makes yet again, another crackling noise.

“He's gone,” Peter says. 

“There are others. It's not just us,” Lily says while she shrugs her shoulders. 

“We knew there would be, right? That's why we left the CB on.” 

Lily looks down at Peter, “A lot of good it's been doing.” 

“Okay,” Peter scoffs.

“And I've been saying for a week, we ought to put signs up on 85 and warn people away from the city.”

“Folks have no idea what they're getting into,” Daphne says, her voice casual and soft as usual. 

“Well,” Peter starts, “we haven't had time.” he stands up and turns around.

“I think we need to make time.” 

Arthur shakes his head, “And who the hell would you propose we send?” 

“I’ll go,” Lily says, “give me a vehicle.” 

“Nobody goes anywhere alone. You know that.” Peter looks at Lily. 

She nods her head in response, “Yes, sir.” She starts to walk away as Harry runs after her. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter says. “Go on, take a seat, bud. You're all right. Go on. You're all right.” 

James looks at the picture of the three of them, and that’s when he realizes how much he really misses them. He's been working so hard to get to them, he's been so distracted, that he hasn't realized how much he has truly missed his family. 

In the picture, James is standing there with a bright smile on his face. His glasses are neatly propped up, and his eyes seem much brighter than they do now. A glint of happiness is what's missing, now. His dark curly hair is ruffled, and you can see both his dimples in his cheek because of the way he's smiling so brightly. 

Lily is also smiling brightly, but it's soft and warm. Her smile has always been incredibly lovely. Her pale skin and her long orange wavy flowing hair hung over her shoulders. 

Harry is almost an identical copy of James. They look the same, except for the eyes. They're his mothers.

He takes the picture and buries it deep inside his pocket.

He walks towards the house, “hello?” he shouts. There's no reply, “Police officer out here. Can I borrow some gas?” he places his red jerrycan on the floor and makes his way over to the stairs. 

He can hear a wind chime tinkling, “hello?” he repeats. He knocks on the door, “Hello? Anybody home?” 

He walks over to a window and his mind stops spiraling when he sees what he sees, there are flies buzzing all over the living room. 

There's blood on the wall and it says: God forgive us.

There's a corpse of a man on the couch right next to the wall, his mouth is wide open, and half of his head is blown off. He's still holding the shotgun in his hand. 

Right next to his legs, on the floor is a corpse of a woman, presumably his wife. She's also dead. 

James takes a step back and leans against the railing. He takes a deep breath while he swallows a gag. He then turns around and leaves. He doesn't look back. 

Right next to him, he hears a horse huff. He bites back a smile. 

“Just go easy, okay? I haven't done this for years.” and that's when the horse sprints forward, “whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the horse neighs in response. “Easy now. Easy, boy. Easy. Easy.” 

The horse neighs again. James makes a tutting noise, “Let's go.” 

And then they're in Atlanta. 

The streets are abandoned, there's nobody in sight. They go past a bus, it's filled with walkers. They growl and make their way up. 

“Steady, there's just a few. Nothing we can't outrun.” 

They keep going, and then they come past a street that's filled with walkers. Hundreds of them. 

James falls off the horse, as he quickly makes his way under the tank, “oh god, oh god,” he mumbles. 

He makes his way into the tank, somehow. The gun against his head, his forehead covered with sweat. 

He hears the radio crackling. 

Woman: (over radio) Hey, you. 

James looks up. 

Woman: (over radio) Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank. Cozy in there? 

His eyes widen in surprise.