Chapter Text
The streets were bustling, it was Saturday night, after all.
A car sped past as Gemma Dalton was leaning against a corner-store, slightly buzzed and taking a drag of her last Marlboro light.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Gemma sighed and glanced down at her phone.
Incoming Call: Stacey ✨
Gemma didn't answer. Not tonight.
She liked Stacey. She did. Really.
But, God. Gemma needed to recharge her social battery. She felt a little bad leaving the bar early, but Stacey had six other people there she could rely on.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
New Message from Stacey✨: Heyy, you good? Left a little early
Gemma didn't want to worry her so she quickly responded.
Replying to Stacey ✨: Sorry, think I had too much, i thought it would be better to call it early
That was a lie, she had only drank three beers max. What Stacey didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
New Message from Stacey✨: 🥺 okay. get home safe, ttyl?
Gemma smiled lightly. She was always glad that Stacey wasn't pushy. She replied with a thumbs up and tucked her phone into her back pocket.
A sudden crackling sounded just before the streetlight above her shorted out, darkening that section of the road.
She finished off her cigarette before dropping the butt down the storm drain.
Thankfully, the bar she had been at was a short walk from her apartment. Only around fifteen minutes by her measure.
Gemma went to leave from her position against the wall and stumbled into a man walking down the sidewalk in front of her.
Shit. Am I more of a lightweight than I thought?
"Sorry." Gemma apologized.
The man turned and glared, muttering something under his breath.
Okay?
She brushed past a few more people, it was hard not to in the darkness.
She made it to the curb, and had enough awareness to check the intersection before she crossed. She attempted to quickly gauge the distance of the car approaching from the south.
I can make it.
Gemma began to cross the road and tripped on the toe of her shoe as it dragged across the asphalt.
"Shi-" She held her arms forward to brace herself for the fall.
The blaring of a horn and a flash of bright headlights along with a blunt impact to her body were the last things she sensed before she succumbed to unconsciousness.
—
—
—
"Are you sure you didn't steal that vase from your Grandma Jean's house? You oughtta leave her spoon collection alone." Rick felt a chuckle escape his lips.
His voice sounded wrong in his own ears. Scratchy, weak. He coughed as he became aware of how dry his throat was.
"Shane?" He coughed.
Rick turned his head and took in the sight of that decorative vase from his memories(?) full of wilted, brown, flowers.
He sat up far too quickly and flung his legs over the side of what appeared to be a hospital bed.
As soon as he put weight onto his feet he crumpled to the ground.
Thud.
"Nurse.Nurse!" He gasped and strained his neck to look up from his position on the floor.
There was no response to his cries. He also noted the lack of noise in general. The clock on the wall wasn't even ticking.
Odd. Where the hell is everybody?
He gathered himself and braced his body against the railing of the bed. He remembered why he was here. When he was lying on the side of the road after a bullet pierced his back. Bleeding while Shane pleaded for him to be alright.
Rick looked around the room, and realized he wasn't alone.
There was a second bed crammed into the small room. A young woman was occupying it. She was pale, in a sickly way. Her brown hair that was visible was tied into a braid. Most of her head was wrapped in heavy bandages, and large yellowing bruises littered the exposed portions of her skin.
Rick walked slowly over to her bed, "Hey?" he said and lightly nudged the woman's shoulder. She didn't respond, but she was still alive. He could see the rising and falling of her chest as she took soft breaths.
He didn't attempt to wake her again, and instead ambled over to the small bathroom attachment.
He was parched.
He turned the faucet, and cool, clear water flowed out. Rick leaned down, stuck his mouth under the tap and greedily chugged as much water as he could.
Drinking turned into sputtering as he choked on the mouth-fulls of water.
Rick wiped the dribble of water from the sides of his mouth and stepped out into the hall. He was met with resistance at first, when he went to push open the door. An empty bed was blocking the doorway.
The hospital was in complete disarray. Papers were strewn about all over the floor. Metal carts were turned over. The nurses station looked like a tornado had blown through.
It was eerily still. It wasn't silent though.
It was strange, what he heard. It sounded almost like voices, but they weren't speaking. It was like growling?
Rick couldn't help but seek out the noises, maybe they would answer the question of 'What the hell is going on?'
He turned left and headed down another hall. He stepped around debris and what looked like pools of blood?
His gaze lingered for a moment on the line of bullet holes at head height across the wall.
The blood splatter surrounding them didn't bode well.
Rick's heart beat faster and faster as hear neared the end of the hall. The groans were getting louder.
A set of grey doors were in front of him. A wooden plank was jammed in between the door handles, and a thick chain was padlocked to them as well.
Black spray paint depicted a few words across them:
DONT DEADOPEN INSIDE
"Dead? What does that mean?" Rick whispered to himself.
Seemingly in response to his whispers the growling became louder. The chains clinked as the doors were pushed out slightly.
Pale fingers wedged themselves through the gap and tried to pry the doors open.
Rick gasped in shock and backed away from the door as the dead became more restless.
"Oh my God."
His mind was racing as he hurried back down the hall.
Bzzt.
Fluorescent lights flickered in the hall to his right, drawing his attention.
His breath stopped in his chest as he looked through the glass pane in the door.
A woman—what remained of a woman— was lying on the floor, her intestines were completely exposed, the skin on the side of her face looked like it had been torn off.
It was too much.
Rick went back to his hospital room and shut the door behind him and leaned against it.
Think. What do I do?
He dragged his hand down his face and his eyes flicked over to the woman lying in the bed without a care in the world.
He felt terrible, thinking about leaving someone in this hellhole, but he needed to know if Lori and Carl were alright.
"Damn it."
Rick walked over to the edge of the woman's bed and scanned the laminated paper hanging from the front.
Name: Gemma Dalton
D.O.B. 08/06/1986
#3940582230
Sex: Female
Primary Care Provider: Dr. Jane Abbott
There was more miscellaneous information but Rick skipped down to the Medical History section.
He skimmed the page.
Severe cerebral contusion (TBI)
10" by 23" hematoma to the right side of body.
Comatose post increased-intracranial pressure.
…
Sounds about right.
He sighed and grabbed a pen and a piece of loose paperwork from the counter near the door.
He scribbled a note —
Gemma, if you wake up and see this. Don't panic. Something weird is happening at the hospital, stay here. I'll be back soon. — Deputy Grimes.
Rick wasn't exactly hopeful that the woman would wake any time soon, but maybe if she did she wouldn't be feeling as entirely lost as he is right now.
He also didn't think she would be familiar with his name, but maybe adding his title as "Deputy" would be reassuring.
That'll have to do.
Rick placed the note on top of the blanket covering the woman's stomach. It was an odd spot, but she'd definitely notice it.
He quietly left the room as it was before and, again, blocked the door with the spare hospital bed.
Now home.
—
—
—
The front door to the Grimes' residence was unlocked as Rick pushed his way into the home.
He wanted to separate himself from the outside as much as possible. That thing he saw in the park was the stuff of nightmares.
How is that even possible?
"Lori! Carl!" He shouted. Please. Please.
He called their names again and again as he sped around the house. There was no response to his calls.
Rick collapsed to the floor.
This is crazy.
"God, is this real? Am I dreaming?" He asked aloud.
Smack. Smack.
He slapped his hands against his face. The stinging of his cheeks helped clue him in to his current reality.
"Get up." He ordered, and pushed himself up from floor.
Get it together.
He took a moment to calm himself down and started looking through his house again.
The living room is not perfect, but it's less disorganized than the rest of the house.
The kitchen cabinets had been left open and were mostly empty.
Carl's room was messy, dresser drawers were emptied.
His and Lori's was in a similar state.
Rick sat down on the bed, everything in his body felt on edge. Every synapse was firing at once, trying to comprehend the situation.
He noticed something on the bed next to him. What are these? Pet-
Rick's eyes widened in shock. He didn't blink as he read the heading of the document.
Petition for Dissolution of Marriage
He felt his heart sink to his stomach.
(B) Petitioner: Lori Grimes (née Sutton)…
Rick let the papers drop out of his hand. He couldn't read any further.
He tilted his head up closed his eyes.
Were things between them really that bad?
He had been in the hospital for who knows how long and Lori had gone and got the papers for their divorce?
And I thought getting shot would be the worst day of my life.
"Hah."Rick huffed.
He didn't think this was a dream anymore, but it was some kind of bizarro nightmare.
He had been shot. Woke up, presumably, from a coma. Rotting corpses are roaming around the streets. The only other living person he'd seen was unconscious in a hospital bed. His family was nowhere to be found, if they even wanted him to find them. His wife of fifteen years had begun to file for divorce while he was in the hospital.
"What the hell am I gonna do?" Rick muttered and let himself fall back onto the familiar mattress.