The clouds hung low over the ruins of Atlanta, shielding it from the harsh and unforgiving light. But, there was nothing left to protect; no life remained. Only death roamed the streets. The muggy air clung like wet cloth, and every breath left the whiff of death and rot.
Sweat clung to their skin like a second layer, slick and uncomfortable. Glenn, Andrea, Jacqui, T-dog, and Morales moved cautiously inside the department store, the dim, musty air smelled of dried blood and rusting metal. Shelves stood half empty, stripped bare by the desperate and the dead alike.
The glass door had been barricaded with a bent metal rack wedged between the handles, reinforced with stacked crates. It groaned under the occasional weight of the Walkers brushing past.
"Just grab what you can and move fast," Glenn had whispered, knelt beside an empty refrigerator unit, prying it open with a metal crowbar.
Suddenly, gunfire cracked through the air—sharp, unmistakable, and far too close to comfort. The group froze, breath held tight in their throats. Another shot rang out, bouncing off concrete and echoing between the buildings like the bark of a hellhound.
"Shit," T-Dog hissed, his face contorting with a mixture of panic and rage. "That damn redneck! I swear—he's gonna get us all killed!"
"I'll go check." Glenn was already moving before anyone could answer. "You guys be quick." He said and pushed through a door leading to the rooftop.
Reaching the top, Glenn found Merle standing near the edge, his nose glued to the back of his hand, snorting something. The rifle sat at the safety wall. Merle turned with a sneer curling his lip.
"Wasn't me, Chinaman," he said, squinting against the glair of the sun that passed between the clouds. "Don't you go blamin' me."
Glenn didn't rise to the bait. His eyes scanned the rooftops, narrowing. "Then who—?"
Crack!
Another shot rang out.
Merle gave a dry chuckle. "Whoever it is, they ain't smart. Attractin' all the biters for miles."
Glenn took a step toward the rooftop ledge, peering across the city.
Merle took notice of Glenn's intentions: "If you get bitten, I'm shooting you."
"I know," Glenn muttered, already moving, he made his way down the basement, climbing onto the next building.
From rooftop to alleyways, Glenn moved toward the sound, leaping over rusted vents and broken air conditioning units, his breath tight in his lungs. The noise of the city was no longer the sound of cars or music; it was death, growling and groaning in waves.
Then, as he was dashing past another roof, his eyes widened.
Down below, surrounded by a horde of Walkers, a horse was being torn apart. Its screams were muffled by the dead who tore into it, guts glistened with steaming blood. Next to the carnage sat a military tank, paint scorched from heat, treads coated in grime. And at the base, some walkers were crawling under it.
Someone was in there.
Glenn's fingers fumbled for his walkie, raising it to his mouth. He dialed the nearest military channel, hoping it hadn't burned out.
He clicked the mic. "Hey—hey, are you alive there?"
Static buzzes, then silence.
Glenn cursed under his breath. He was about to turn around when a voice crackled through the speaker.
"Hello? Hello?"
Glenn exhaled, a tense relief blooming in his chest. "There you are. Thank God."
"Where are you?" The man asked. His voice was exhausted and heavy but filled with relief. "Are you… outside?"
"I can see you," Glenn answered, scanning the horde below. "I say make a run for it."
"What? How?"
"There's one geek still on the tank; the others have joined the feeding frenzy on the horse."
"With me so far?" Glenn asked.
"So far."
"The street on the other side of the tank is less crowded." Glenn paused.
"Jump off the right side of the tank. And keep going in that direction, there's an alleyway maybe 50 yards from there."
"If you move now, you have the best chances of getting out."
The radio crackled into silence, and then the tank hatch burst open.
A man in a sheriff's uniform climbed out, a Baretta in one hand, and a knife in the other. He slashed at the walker climbing on the tank, and quickly got out, sliding down the metal hull and hit the ground running. Firing at the two walkers in front of him. Each shot drew more attention, and soon the horde had begun to shift.
"Goddammit," Glenn whispered. he darted along the edge of the rooftop, climbing down a metal ladder that clanged too loudly, boots pounding into a narrow alley tricked with trash and sour water. He sprinted toward the edge, rounded a corner.
And almost got shot.
The man, mid-thirties, clean-shaven, breath ragged, had turned and raised his pistol. Glenn stopped dead, raising his hands.
"Whoa! Not dead!"
Recognition flashed in the man's eyes—then horror, as the growling reached both of their ears.
Glenn gestured to the stairwell behind him. "Come on! Come on!"
They dashed, Glenn guiding him toward the alley steps. Behind them, the horde surged forward like a rising tide. Rotten hands stretched toward them. The screeches and snarls grew louder, more frantic.
They barely escaped the horde, as they reached the stairs fast enough, both of them stood on the roof, panting, hands on the railing.
Glenn stood behind him, "Nice moves there, Clint Eastwood," he joked, "You the new sheriff come riding in to clean up the town?"
The man turned to him, a chuckle escaping him, "It wasn't my intention."
"Yeah, Whatever. Yeehaw." Glenn shook his head, "You're still a dumbass."
"Rick. Thanks," Rick said, his breathing even.
"Glenn. You're welcome," Glenn replied.
.
.
The department store was dim, its once-bright aisles littered with tattered magazines, shattered display cases, and the stale remains of normal life—dust-riden clothes, perfume bottles, and blood-spattered floors and counters. Dust and death clung to every surface.
Andrea rifled through a half-collapsed cosmetics counter, her fingers shaking slightly despite her forced focus. Until her gaze went to a necklace, she calmed as Amy's face flashed before her eyes; the reason why she was here was her.
Jacqui knelt near a stack of shelves that had once held bottled water, now mostly empty except for a few scattered energy drinks and cans of warm soda. Morales and T-Dog moved with more haste at the rear of the store, loading anything useful into the duffle bag, bandages, batteries, and lighter fluid. They knew time was against them.
Suddenly, a loud buzz broke the tense air. T-Dog nearly dropped the bag he was holding. The walkie-talkie crackled to life on the shelf behind him. He grabbed it.
"Where the fuck have you been?"
"Cough! I-I," Glenn's voice came through, breathless and guilty. "I'm in the basement, me and… I found someone. His name's Rick. We're heading back up."
T-Dog pressed the talk button, but before he could say anything, Andrea came over, snatching the walkie from him, "What the hell do you think you're doing? I'm going to fucking shoot you if you come here with him!"
Before Glenn could explain himself, a thunderous BLAM! Cracked the air.
A gunshot.
Andrea's head turned, a frown on her face, "Is that the psycho you are bringing with you—"
"No," Morales interjected, staring toward the front of the store. "It came from upstairs." He said, while his eyes stayed glued to the door.
The front door shook in its hinges. One walker, still vaguely human in posture but its face a torn mess of skin and teeth, slammed the tough glass with a stone in its hand. Others pressed against it, moaning louder, agitated.
"Upstairs! Now!" Andrea yelled.
They sprinted toward the back stairwell, boots slapping against tiled floors, the bags on their backs knocking down things still on the shelves and tables. Glenn and Rick heard them over the walkie, and they dashed to the staircase, sprinting toward the rooftop, a floor behind the rest of the group.
By the time they made it to the rooftop, they were drenched in sweat and adrenaline.
And there was Merle Dixon.
He stood near the ledge, wearing a denim sleeveless jacket over a black t-shirt, and he was aiming at another walker. As the crosshair connected, he pulled the trigger, a bullseye.
T-Dog, covered and exhausted, walked over. "Hey, DIxon, are you crazy?"
Merle turned, laughing, "Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun."
T-Dog looked at him shaking his head, "Man, you wasting bullet's we ain't even got!" he looked over the ledge, "And you bringing more of them on our ass! Man, just chill."
Merle snorted, turning to the group. "Bad enough I've got this taco bender on my ass all day," He looked at Morales, and back at T-Dog, "Now I'm gonna take orders from you?"
T-Dog frowned, Rick stood observing the group, while Glenn, Jacqui, and Andrea knew where this was going.
"I don't think so, bro," he said with a mocking lilt, "That'll be the day."
T-Dog took a step forward. "You wanna tell what day that is?"
Morales stepped in between, "Hey, T-Dog man, just leave it."
Merle stepped closer, while the two women backed away. Merle chuckled, voice rising. "You wanna know the day, huh?" He pushes Morales to the side.
"Yeah," T-Dog replied, tensing, his nose flaring.
T-Dog and Merle stood at each other's throats, "Fine, I'll tell you the day, Mr. 'Yo'."
"Its the day I take orders from a nigger."
T-Dog swung at him, cursing "Mother-" but it was cut short as Merle, who had expected it, dodged and pushed him to the side. T-Dog fell, his face hitting a metal pipe, chipping a tooth.
"Back off!" Rick lunged. Late in response, but he was the only one to move. However, he was weaker than Merle; Merle easily pushed him to the side, and Rick stumbled back, crashing into an AC unit with a grunt.
Glenn froze, his eyes wide—he wasn't a fighter. Morales made no move to intervene, he knew he'd lose. Andrea and Jacqui stayed back, huddling together.
Merle sat down on T-Dog's chest, knuckles flying, each landing with a thud, cracking skin, and drawing blood from his lip. T-Dob whimpered, trying to block the blows, but Merlse was relentless.
"Dixon, that's enough!" Jacqui cried.
"Merle cut it out!" Morales finally spoke, but did nothing except watch.
Andrea teared up along with Jacqui at the show of brutality.
Suddenly, when his hand began to hurt, he pulled out his pistol, pressing it against T-Dog's temple.
Everyone froze.
The world shrank to that single moment.
"Merle, stop, you're gonna kill him!"
"Hey! Dixon."
Merle's eyes twitched, his pursed lips moving up and down, and then he sighed, "Fine, you're right." he slowly got up, a smile returning to his face. "We're gonna have ourselves a little powwow," he cried.
"We're gonna elect a new leader," he chuckled, "I vote, me."
"Anybody else?" He asked all of them, the pistol flailing in his hand, aimed at no one, "Come on, democracy time, y'all".
Slowly, Morales raises his hand as Andrea shakes her head in disappointment. Then Jacqui raised her middle finger.
"Cute," Merle chuckled, turning to Andrea, "And you, sugar?" Her lips curled, but her hand began to rise—
THWACK1
Rick slammed the butt of Merle's rifle into the back of his head with a solid crunch.
Rick quickly put his knee on Merle's head, keeping him down while he cuffed his hand to the metal pipe behind him.
"Who the hell are you, man?"
"Officer friendly," Rick replied.
"Look, Merle, things are different now," Rick said staring at him, as he looked into the distance, "There are no niggers anymore." he paused, "And no dumb-as-shit inbred white-trash fools either."
Merle chuckled, "Then what are you two doing here?" He glanced at T-Dog and then at Rick.
Rick ignored him, "There's only dark meat and white meat." He stood up, "We survive this by pulling together, not apart." He sighed.
"Screw you," Merle scoffed.
Rick squatted again, "I can see you making a habit of missing the point," he frowned.
"Yeah?" Merle still uncaring, "Screw you twice."
Rick, frustrated, pulled his revolver, pointing it at his temple, and everyone's eyes turned to him. Another Merle?
"Ought to be polite to a man with a gun," he said and cocks the revolver, the click silenced Merle.
Rick went through Merle's jacket pockets, finding a small glass bottle. Rick turns to him, finally understanding the sudden outburst.
"You got some on your nose," Rick said and got up.
"Hey, that's my stuff!" Merle yelled as Rick threw the bottle off the roof.
Merle began to curse as Rick walked away from him. He walks toward the edge, looking down at the hundreds of walkers surrounding the building, and even more roaming the streets.
Morales walks over to him, while the others look after T-Dog.
"You're not Atlanta P.D." He asked, "Where are you from?"
Rick turns to him, "Up the road a ways."
"Well, officer friendly from up the road a ways." Morales turns to Atlanta, "Welcome to the big city."
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****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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