One minute he was cooling off under a mango tree in St. Lucia, the next he was standing in the middle of a dusty Georgia road, with smoke in the air and silence too heavy to be normal.
His head spun. The tree, the breeze, the sound of the radio from the neighbor's shop—it was all gone. Now it was just heat, asphalt, and the distant groan of something not quite human.
"What in the—" he muttered, stepping back as a body—no, thing—shuffled out from behind an overturned pickup truck, jaw slack and eyes pale like dead fish.
He didn't want to ask questions. Instead, he looked around and saw a nearby tree with a loose branch, he walked over to the tree and broke the branch off with a grunt.
He looked back when he heard more groaning and saw that whatever it was had reached just a little ways behind him, he walked over and impaled it through the upper left chest area which should be the heart's resting place, but it undeterred by the stab snapped its jaws at him.
"What?" he whispered, looking at the menacing jaws which snapped and crunched the air before him, trying to get a piece of him.
He looked in a daze trying to understand what was happening before the husk of what was once a human tried snapping at the area by his neck jolting him back to the situation at hand, he quickly kicked it back, black blood spraying everywhere.
He looked on as the creature shakily almost as if a marionette got back to its feet.
He then got closer to it as it lunged at him he thrusted forward towards it head.
THWACK
A sickening sound was heard when he struck the creature almost as if his hearing was heightened but it was probably his adrenaline
THUD
The creature fell, and he looked down towards it then smiled at his victory and stalked off.
Days passed—or maybe just one long day stretched out in fear and confusion. He kept off the main roads, surviving off bottled water he found in a gas station, sleeping in short bursts in tree cover. His mind reeled with questions, 'Had he lost it?' 'Was this some strange fever dream?' 'Why did these walking corpses look just like the ones from TV?'
Then he heard it—the low clop of a horse's hooves echoing off empty streets. He peeked from behind a bus shelter and saw him: a man in a sheriff's uniform, riding slow through Atlanta like a ghost from a Western movie.
The Caribbean man stepped out, hands raised. "Yo! Officer! You real?"
The man pulled on the reins, stopping his horse. His eyes narrowed. "You alright?"
"I dunno, man. I was just under a tree reading the latest novel. Now I'm here, and these... zombie things tryna eat me. You got answers?"
The man looked at him hard for a moment, then nodded toward the saddle. "I don't have answers. But if you want to live, come with me."
He didn't hesitate. "Name's Casey Gonzalez, by the way."
"Rick… Rick Grimes."
And just like that, Casey hopped up behind the sheriff, headed straight into a city swarming with death.
The hooves echoed eerily as they rode deeper into the city. Skyscrapers loomed overhead, glass broken, streets abandoned like a forgotten film set. Casey clung to the back of the saddle, eyes narrowing at the wrecked cars, bloodstains, and overturned buses looking for any sign of danger, but this prompted him to ask something.
"This the States? And where do you come from? You don't look like a city boy." he asked, multiple questions flying out like bullets, but he kept his voice low, as talking too loudly might attract something.
Rick gave a quick glance back and answered to the best of his ability. "Yeah. Georgia. Been out cold for weeks. Woke up in a hospital… empty. Whole damn world's changed."
Casey exhaled sharply. "So, it ain't just me losing it."
Rick didn't reply. He didn't have to. The moans started creeping in from the alleyways—slow, hungry, hollow.
Rick looks around still not accepting the reality he woke up to. "We need to move quietly. Head west. I got people I need to find."
Casey glances around at the walkers' building up around them slowly and his chest tightens as Rick moves the horse deeper into the city.
The plan had gone to hell in record time.
What started as a quiet route turned into a full-blown nightmare as the herd closed in. Rick's horse bucked and screamed, panicking beneath them. Casey was thrown off and decided to go on foot, picking up a pipe he saw meticulously there at the right time started swinging wildly at the walkers that came from every side.
"Rick!" he shouted. "That 'we need to move quietly' plan was trash, you know that?!"
Rick didn't answer—he was too busy getting thrown off the saddle, hitting the pavement hard. The horse screamed one last time before it was dragged under a sea of undead.
Casey's heart pounded. He grabbed Rick's arm, yanking him to his feet. "We gotta move!"
Rick nodded, dazed, and they sprinted together down the street, ducking between cars, trying to find an opening. But they were boxed in. The herd was relentless, closing in from every direction.
Then Casey saw it.
"A tank! Over there!"
Without thinking he dropped the now bloody metal pipe and bolted, dragging Rick with him. The two scrambled on top of a nearby Humvee, barely dodging a snapping walker, and leapt across the hood of a smashed police car toward the tank. Rick opened the hatch and dropped in first.
Casey followed, landing hard inside the steel coffin before closing the hatch above him.
It was dark, hot, and smelled like death. Literally.
Rick's gun was already up, scanning—and there it was. A soldier, slumped dead in the corner. A pistol still clutched in his hand. Skull blown out.
Casey backed up against the wall, breathing hard. "Tell me this was your backup plan."
Rick ignored him, grabbing the soldier's weapon and checking the rounds. "Better than nothing."
The moans echoed outside, banging against the metal walls like a storm of hands trying to break in.
"Great," Casey muttered. "First I wake up in zombie hell, now I'm trapped in a tin can with some cowboy I just met. Life sweet boy."
Rick wiped sweat from his brow. "You got a better idea?"
Casey looked around. Nothing but the claustrophobic space, the reek of old blood, and pressure building in his chest.
"Nope. I'm just hoping this thing's air-conditioned."
They sat in silence for a second—then the radio crackled.
A voice.
"Hey. Tank guys. Cozy in there?"
Casey blinked. "Did the tank just talk to us?"
Rick sees a walkie-talkie and grabs the handheld radio to click the button to respond, but Casey leans in quickly and says, "Tell him to keep talking—ask what we should do."
Rick then responds, "Can you see us?" "We're surrounded out here. Any advice?"
"Yeah, I can see y'all. They're busy tearing up your horse. That's your shot—run while they're distracted."
Casey leaned back, letting out a laugh that was part relief, part madness.
"Well, Rick," he said, cracking his neck. "Looks like we just got ourselves a tour guide."
Rick smirks at his words, glances toward the periscope and curses under his breath. "Can you see a bag of guns near us?"
"Not from where I am," the voice replies. "It's not gonna happen, man. Move now or die later. What do you guys have that could help?"
Rick looks at the corpse of a soldier beside him and sees a grenade so lowers the walkie to yank it from his belt. And Casey somehow finds a shovel lying near the hatch and grabs it tight.
Rick then picks back up the talkie and responds, "I got a grenade a handgun with a couple of bullets." Casey then grabs the radio, "And I got a shovel."
The voice chuckles, "You're gonna to run to the close by corner on your right and on your left there's an alley, so make them count."
He then looks at Rick.
"We goin' together," he mutters to Rick. Rick nods.
They push open the top hatch, Rick going first. A walker snarls and lunges at Rick, but Casey brings the shovel down fast—crack—skull crushed and looks at Rick funny, Rick smirks and nods in acknowledgement for the save and the two jump down from the tank, hitting pavement hard, and sprint down the street to the corner, gunning and smacking down walkers in their way.
Turning the corner and into the alley, they're stopped short by a young man with a radio.
"That was you on the tank?" Rick asks, panting.
The man nods. "Name's Glenn. Now come on—before they catch up."
They race up a metal ladder to the rooftop, stopping on a platform halfway to breathe. Glenn glances back at them with a small grin. Rick nods in gratitude.
"You saved our lives," Rick says.
"No kidding," Glenn replies. Casey slaps him on the back. "Appreciate you, man."
They reach the rooftop and move quickly toward the far side. Glenn leads them down a staircase into a narrow alley, but two walkers stagger toward them. Before they can act, Glenn radios for backup.
Two people in riot gear burst out of a side door, swinging bats, and make quick work of the walkers.
"Move!" one of them shouts.
Rick, Glenn, and Casey rush inside the building. The heavy doors slam shut behind them as the sound of the walkers fades into the streets outside.
Inside the store…
The air is thick with anxiety. A blonde woman stands at the front, a gun aimed squarely at Rick's chest, her eyes full of fury.
"You're crazy," she spits. "You're gonna get us all killed."
Rick raises his hands, trying to stay calm. Before he can explain, Morales steps in. "Your gunshots attracted a whole horde of walkers. They're outside, pounding at the doors."
Casey, still catching his breath, steps forward. He looks out the windows and sees the horde of walkers, their rotten faces pressed against the glass, hands banging wildly. The glass rattles, and the group can hear the frenzied pounding as the walkers push against the store's barriers, determined to get in. Then he sees the woman pointing her gun at Rick so he walks over and tries to grab the gun in the blonde woman's hands. But she reacts in time and pushes him away.
Glenn approaches apologizes to Rick and Casey and introduces them to the group everyone.
Andrea's gaze narrows. "What the hell were you two thinking, roaming around out there letting go shots?"
Rick starts to speak, "We were trying to flag down a helicopter. It wasn't like we had a choice out there."
The group looks confused. Jacqui raises an eyebrow. "A helicopter you sure you weren't hallucinating. We didn't hear anything."
Casey steps up to back Rick. "It wasn't a hallucination. I saw it too," he says, meeting Jacqui's eyes. "We weren't imagining it. Something was out there, and it wasn't just the walkers."
T-Dog, fidgeting nervously, taps his radio. "I've been trying to reach anyone out there... no luck." He pauses, frustration evident. "Still nothing."
The group is tense, staring at Rick and Casey, unsure of what to believe. But then—gunshots rang out from the roof.
Andrea's face hardens. "Oh my god, is that Merle?"
Without waiting for an answer, she turns on her heel. "We need to check it out, now."
The group rushes toward the stairs, and Casey follows closely behind, his hand on the handle of his shovel, ready for anything. Rick glances at Casey—his instincts tell him the danger isn't over. "Stay sharp," he warns.
On the rooftop…
The group bursts through the door and finds Merle Dixon, posted up with a scoped rifle, casually firing shots at the walkers in the street like it's target practice.
"You tryin' to bring the whole damn city down on us?" Morales shouts, furious.
T-Dog follows up. "Man, you wasting bullets we don't even got! We need them for survival not your damn shooting gallery!"
Merle lowers the rifle and scoffs. "You people don't tell me what to do." He sneers, then turns vicious. "'Specially not you two brown boys. Ain't one of y'all got a lick of authority up here."
T-Dog steps forward, but before he can react, Merle throws a punch, catching him off guard and knocking him to the floor.
Merle spins toward the rest of the group, arms spread wide like he owns the place. "I'm the only one up here with any balls. That makes me the new boss. Any objections?" He grins, unhinged.
Suddenly—CRACK—Rick slams the butt of his rifle into Merle's face. Merle stumbles back, blood pouring from his nose, but he snaps upright, wild-eyed and snarling.
Before he can retaliate, Casey steps in, silent but quick, and lands a heavy right hook that drops Merle to his knees. He groans, dazed, as Rick grabs a pair of handcuffs from his belt and locks one cuff around Merle's wrist, snapping the other to a nearby pipe.
"You done talkin' now?" Casey mutters, dusting off his knuckles.
Rick pats Merle down. No weapons. Just a bag of drugs, which Rick holds up for the group to see—then tosses over the edge of the roof without a word.
"You son of a—!" Merle howls, rattling his cuffs.
Ignoring him, Casey turns to Morales. "So... any kind of safe zone we should know about?"
Morales shakes his head grimly. "No safe zone in Atlanta. But there's a group—our people—they're camped out just outside the city."
Jacqui chimes in, stepping forward. "If we can't get through the streets, there might be another way. The building's got sewer access."
Casey raises an eyebrow. "You sure?"
Jacqui nods. "I used to work in zoning before all this. I know these buildings like the back of my hand."
With that, the group makes their way downstairs, weapons ready. Rick pauses before heading down and hands T-Dog the key to Merle's cuffs.
"Your call," he says. T-Dog nods, staying behind to keep watch and try the radio again.
On the roof, T-Dog fiddles with the radio, gritting his teeth. No signal. Merle, ever the agitator, starts in again.
"You just gonna leave me here, huh? Real noble. Ain't that what y'all always do?"
T-Dog doesn't reply at first. He simply raises his hand and shows Merle the key hanging on his finger.
That makes Merle pause.
"Hey, hey, man—look, I ain't mean nothin' by all that," Merle says suddenly, his tone switching from aggressive to desperate. "Come on, man, just uncuff me. I'll be good."
T-Dog shakes his head with a bitter smile. "You done talked yourself into this, Merle."
Merle snarls again, spewing more insults, but T-Dog just turns his back and returns to the radio.
In the basement…
Glenn, Rick, Andrea, Morales, Casey, and Jacqui stand clustered around a rusted metal ladder that descends into the sewer system. The air is heavy with damp mildew and decay.
"We need a way out," Glenn says, peering down the shaft with a flashlight.
"I'll stay up here with Rick and Casey," Andrea volunteers, loading her revolver. "If something goes wrong down there, you'll need backup topside."
Rick nods. "Be careful. Don't take any chances."
"Oh... great." Glenn says reluctantly
Morales, Jacqui, and Glenn begin their descent while Rick, Andrea, and Casey remain behind in the dim store.
On the roof…
T-Dog tries again to hail the others on the radio, adjusting the dial, frustrated. Nothing but static.
Merle, still cuffed to the pipe, smirks, "Ain't nobody listenin', boy. You might as well toss that thing down with the drugs."
T-Dog doesn't even look at him, "Tryin' to save lives, Merle. Somethin' you wouldn't understand."
"I understand survival," Merle spits. "And survival don't come with manners."
T-Dog glances at the key Rick gave him, tucked in his pocket, then shakes his head and refocuses on the radio.
In the sewer…
Glenn and Morales walk cautiously ahead, with Jacqui close behind. The flashlight bobs with every step as water sloshes around their boots. They reach a grated barrier—and on the other side, a walker is hunched over, feasting on a rat.
"You think we can cut through it?" Morales whispers.
The walker jerks its head up at the sound and begins clawing at the bars.
"Yeah, that's a hard no," Glenn mutters. "We're not slicing our way past that."
They backtrack, discouraged.
Back in the store…
Andrea browses a jewelry display, her fingers brushing over a mermaid necklace. She picks it up with a soft smile.
"My sister would love this," she says, voice wistful. "Her birthday's coming up."
Casey glances over. "What's she like?"
Andrea's expression softens. "Sweet. Kind. She believes in people—still does, somehow. even in all this."
Casey nods silently, absorbing her words, but says nothing more. There's a faint tug of something behind his eyes—memories maybe—but it passes.
Rick joins them, eyes scanning the street through a dusty window. "If you want the necklace, take it. Shoplifting's not a thing anymore."
Andrea smiles faintly and slips it into her pocket.
Moments later, Glenn, Morales, and Jacqui return. Glenn shakes his head.
"No go. Sewer's blocked off. And there's a walker down there enjoying a rat buffet."
Back on the roof…
The group regathers. Rick spots something in the distance—a cube van at a nearby construction site, parked in a lot several blocks away.
"If we could get to that van…" he begins, but the idea feels impossible.
Andrea chimes in. "The walkers... they smell dead, right? We don't."
Everyone goes quiet.
Rick then gets an idea and marches back down the stairs. The group follows to see what's he's going to do—others interested, others… not so much—with the plan he's thought of, but Casey stays where he is and watches them go but then looks toward the sky which seems to be getting cloudier. "It might rain soon." he muses
He turns to Merle, who is too busy trying to get out the cuffs to notice him and smirks before leaning over the railing and scanning the city.
After a bit of sightseeing, he goes down the stairs where everybody is.
He comes down to hear glass shatter and sees everybody looking at a corpse, intrigued he walks forward behind the group, nobody notices him, and if they did they didn't show it.
Rick slowly turns toward the corpse from earlier—the one Morales and T-Dog put down in the alley. He crouches beside it, pulling out the wallet.
"Wayne Dunlap," he reads. "Lives just outside the city. Had a family."
The group stands still, a brief moment of humanity surfacing among the horror.
Then Rick draws the axe, "Sorry, Wayne."
He begins hacking the body apart, blood and gore spraying as the group turns away, faces twisted in disgust. Glenn reluctantly joins him, and the two start smearing the walker guts across their clothes and exposed skin.
Casey grimaces, but says nothing. Just clenches his jaw and watches.
"This better work," Glenn mutters as he coats his jacket in entrails.
The stench is overwhelming.
Rick and Glenn step out the back door of the department store, their bodies slick with walker guts. The stench is suffocating, but they keep their cool.
"Stay calm. Don't look too alive," Rick mutters, glancing sideways at Glenn.
They crouch low and crawl under the abandoned bus blocking the alley. On the other side, the street is flooded with walkers. Groaning. Shuffling. Feeding.
Rick and Glenn emerge slowly, shuffling forward, imitating the gait of the undead. The walkers barely notice them, too busy feasting or aimlessly wandering. The two men blend in seamlessly with the crowd, inching closer to the construction site where the cube van waits.
Back in the store…
T-Dog, Morales, Andrea, Jacqui, and Casey race upstairs to the roof, Glenn's binoculars in hand. T-Dog scans the street.
"There they are," he says, handing the binoculars to Casey.
Casey looks through the lenses, spotting Rick and Glenn blending with the herd like ghosts.
"They're actually pulling it off..." he mutters, impressed.
Merle, still cuffed and sitting in the shade of the vent pipe, sneers. "What's going on? What the hell are y'all watchin'?"
Nobody answers. T-Dog adjusts the radio again, trying to hail anyone who'll listen.
Back at the quarry camp…
Amy paces anxiously by the campfire, eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of her sister.
"It's been too long," she says to Dale, who's crouched beside his RV, working with Jim on the radiator hose.
"Panicking won't fix it," Dale replies calmly. "But I understand why you're scared."
Not far away, Lori wrings out laundry in a basin while Shane shows Carl how to tie different types of knots.
The radio on Dale's folding table crackles to life.
"—this is T-Dog. We're—trapped. Department store. Surrounded. Too many. We can't—"
The signal cuts in and out. Dale leaps up and snatches the radio.
"T-Dog, can you hear me? Say again! Over!"
Static.
Amy is instantly frantic. "That was Andrea! They're in trouble, we have to go!"
Shane steps in, arms crossed. "Nobody's going back into the city. It's suicide. We've already lost too many."
Amy wheels around. "So we just leave them? That's your plan? We sit here and do nothing while they die?"
Shane's jaw tightens. "If we go in, more people die. That's not leadership—it's a mistake."
Amy storms off, furious. The rest of the camp falls silent, tension thick as the trees around them.
Back in Atlanta…
Rick and Glenn press forward through the thick crowd of walkers, their movements stiff and staggered. The stench of rot clings to their clothes, masking their scent—until the sky opens up.
Heavy rain starts to fall, pounding down on them and slowly washing away the smeared entrails.
"Shit," Glenn mutters under his breath.
A nearby walker suddenly lifts its head, sniffs, and snarls. Rick reacts instantly, burying his axe into the walker's skull.
That one growl is all it takes. The horde turns.
"They're onto us!" Glenn yells as they break into a sprint, dodging grasping hands and staggering corpses.
On the rooftop…
Andrea gasps. "They're in trouble."
T-Dog, Morales, Jacqui, and Casey watch helplessly. Casey clenches his fists, heart pounding as he tracks Rick and Glenn from above.
Below…
Rick and Glenn charge through the streets, slashing and shooting walkers as they go. They reach the fence around the construction site, scaling it just as walkers begin toppling it.
Rick lays down covering fire while Glenn scrambles for the van keys. Walkers crash through the gate.
"Rick!" Glenn shouts, tossing the keys.
Rick catches them, swings the door open, and they dive inside. The van roars to life, and they speed off with the horde stumbling behind, just seconds too late.
Back on the rooftop…
The group panics.
"Are they leaving us?" Andrea asks, panicked.
"They wouldn't," Morales says, but doubt creeps into his voice.
While everyone argues, Casey slips away his attention somewhere else, he goes unnoticed—even by Merle, who's too busy cursing the rain and rattling his cuffs.
Casey moves across the roof and finds an old metal door tucked behind an HVAC unit. He forces it open and steps into a dim storage room.
Inside, his eyes widen.
A gun case, half-open.
He kneels beside it, popping the latches. Inside are, a pitch-black Colt Python, a gun belt, and plenty of .357 rounds.
"This looks just like Rick's," he mutters checking out the gun. He checks the cylinder for any leftovers, then loads the bullets with precision.
Sliding on the belt and holstering the weapon, he smirks. "Time to lock in."
He returns to the group, wiping rain from his face. No one notices where he'd gone. Merle doesn't even glance his way.
Meanwhile down on the streets…
Rick eyes a bright red Dodge Challenger nearby and grins at Glenn.
"We need a distraction."
Rick quickly searches around and finds a rock.
He grabs it and smashes it into the driver-side window. The car alarm blares like a siren in the night.
Glenn flinches. "Subtle,"
Rick flashes a grin, his eyes glinting mischievously. "It's supposed to be loud."
The group grabs their bags and races from the rooftop toward the loading dock, urgency driving them harder with every growl echoing from below. Merle shouts after them, his hands white-knuckled around the pipe as he pulls, desperate for escape.
"You can't leave me here, you sons of bitches!"
T-Dog hesitates, his conscience clawing at him, a battle between loyalty and survival flickering in his eyes. He stops mid-run, glances back, and curses under his breath. With the key clenched in hand, he runs back toward Merle, determined to at least give him a chance.
But fate has other plans.
T-Dog slips. His foot catches on loose gravel, and he crashes to the ground. His fingers stretch for the key, but it slips from his grasp, skittering across the rooftop like a stone on water, and—PLUNK—it vanishes into the drain.
"No! No, no, no!" he yells, scrambling toward the hole, but it's gone.
From the exit hatch, Casey watches silently, slow to descend with the rest. He catches the whole thing. Merle's curses rained down in a fury, but Casey just sighs.
He turns, following the others, leaving the two behind.
Before fleeing, T-Dog pulls a heavy chain from nearby, looping it through the rooftop door handles, securing it shut.
"At least the walkers won't get to you…" he mutters, guilt thick in his throat, before bolting down the stairs.
Outside…
At the loading bay, Rick screeches the van to a stop, the back doors flung open.
"Let's go!" he yells.
The group pours in, all panting except for Casey, soaked from the rain, rattled but alive. As Rick pulls away from the store and out into the empty street, tension crackles in the van.
T-Dog leans forward, face pale.
"I—I dropped the key, Merle's still on the roof."
Everyone but Casey turns, shocked.
Jacqui covers her mouth. Andrea shakes her head. Morales stares silently out the window. No one notices Casey glance away, lips pressed into a thin line.
Andrea then looks around.
"Wait... where's Glenn?"
Before anyone answers, Morales squints at the Casey's side.
"Hey... did you always have that holster and piece?"
Everyone looks at Casey expectantly.
Casey sighs at the sudden attention. He rests a hand on the freshly-holstered Colt Python, then shrugs casually. "Nope."
Elsewhere…
The red Dodge Challenger tears through the open streets, engine howling, Glenn behind the wheel, windows down, rain whipping inside.
"Woooooo!" he shouts like a kid on a rollercoaster, fists banging the wheel in triumph.
"This is how we do it!"
Back in the van, Casey stares out the window, his face unreadable—deadpan in the wake of the decision to leave Merle behind.
"Is this dude even serious?"
The others chuckle nervously, the adrenaline starting to wear off. For now—they're safe. But no one says the obvious:
They left a man behind.