Winter Pt 2

“We’re coming up on Charlesville,” Maggie said. They’d been riding for forty minutes but the trip overall had taken an hour when they had to stop to clear a blockage from the road. Luckily there’d been no walkers around to attack and they’d gotten back on the trip without incident. If everything went that well Rick would say a silent prayer of thanks. If it didn’t…

“There’s a lot of glass on the road,” Karen pointed out. Maggie slowed the truck to a crawl and edged around as much of the glass as possible.

“You familiar with this area?” she asked Rick.

He shrugged. “I’ve been this way a few times. I wouldn’t say I know the streets very well.”

Maggie took the exit and at once Rick saw they were in for some trouble. Shattered glass littered the exit, as did twisted pieces of metal and other sharp objects that posed a puncture threat. Rick found the state of the place unsettling. Normally when they went out on a supply run they discovered trace evidence of survivors having come through before. If there wasn’t evidence of survivors then there were usually a number of walkers meandering about, waiting for their next opportunity to feed. This placed looked deserted of both the living and the walking dead, and that was a real headscratcher for Rick.

“Doesn’t look like anyone has cared to pay Charlesville a visit,” Michonne commented.

“My thoughts exactly. Careful, Maggie. Last thing we need is a flat.”

“I’ll drive this truck on the rim to get us out of here if I have to,” she said.

“Stop the truck. I want a quick look around. Be ready to back out on my word.”

Maggie drew the truck to a stop and Rick alone climbed out. Glass crunched underfoot from a few busted out car windows. He saw a skeleton in the driver seat of a car. It looked like it had been there from the start of the fall and had seen two summers to rot the flesh from its bones. It was a nice big car from the early eighties, an Oldsmobile Delta Eighty Eight. It was a land boat with lots of room.

He also noticed that whoever had been coming into town when they’d died in their car had apparently been returning from a shopping trip where they’d loaded up on supplies in anticipation of a long wait for society to return to normal. They had a mop and pail in the back, along with an ample supply paper towels, toilet paper, cleaners, and other sundry items that he planned to collect. First on his agenda, though, was to clear up the exit ramp. He grabbed the mop and used it to sweep as much of the glass out of the way as possible. If they had to high tail it out of there he wanted as little risk to the tires as possible on exit.

Ten long minutes passed with the truck shut off to conserve fuel. No one spoke. The late fall wind was like a mournful widow who mourned the loss of the living as much as Rick did. He kept an eye out for any sign of movement but saw nothing.

If I ever develop a need for glasses I’m fucked, he thought, as his eyes lighted upon a nearby print ad for frames starting at $59.00.

Once the street was clear of the big stuff he motioned for Maggie to ease forward. She did so in neutral, wary of starting the engine in such quiet, where she could draw unwanted attention from the dead. When she stopped, Carl jumped out and helped him relieve the empty vehicle of its gifts.

“You gotta wonder,” Michonne said, nodding at the mega packs of toilet paper Carl heaved into the attached trailer, “why no one else picked that car clean.”

“This place don’t feel right,” said Glenn.

“No place on earth feels right,” Rick said. He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. The mild stink of rotted meat wafted out. So much time had passed that the cooler, which the owner of the car had stocked with meats, had was now nearly empty save for some shriveled remains of steaks, chicken, and fish. There were, however, plenty of canned goods.

“Aw man, look! Sugar and Kool-Aid!” Carl said happily. “I’m gonna surprise Beth when we get back.”

He’d pulled out an entire carton of Kool-Aid packets (that thankfully had been sealed in plastic) with a look of childish delight on his round young face. For a moment he was no longer the angry, sulking teenager who couldn’t stand the presence of his father. For a moment he was Rick’s little Carl. He was Lori’s little Carl. He was the good boy who wanted to hug his parents and go fishing and play video games. Then Carl caught his father smiling at him and the cool air of indifference returned.

Carl shrugged a ‘whatever-I-could-take-it-or-leave-it’ at his father and finished pulling out canned goods and stacking them into the trailer.

Once back in the truck Maggie fired the engine back to life. They all looked around to see if anything dead and rotting had been awakened by the noise. Nothing stirred. She drove on into the town.

“Carl, you and Michonne are with me. We’ll head east. Glenn--”

“I’d rather be in Glenn’s group,” Carl protested.

“Carl,” Maggie started, but Rick held up a hand.

“Karen, you’re with Michonne and me. Glenn, you take Maggie and Carl west. Stay within three blocks of the truck at all times. If you run into major trouble fire off two quick shots and we’ll come running. You know the drill, though. Keep it quiet as possible.”

“Right,” Glenn said. He clapped Carl on the shoulder and they set off.

Kids grew up and changed. They strove to assert their independence at adolescence. Rick knew that had been going on since the dawn of mankind. What bothered him was that Carl didn’t just want to assert his independence; he wanted to pull away from his father completely. Rick’s biggest concern was that Carl was on his way to becoming another Shane or, worse, another Governor. The boy was cold and his moral compass was tilting toward south at an alarming rate. It seemed nothing Rick did got through to the boy.

“He’ll be fine,” said Michonne, and lightly brushed her fingertips across the back of Rick’s hand.

“Glenn’s a good guy. He’ll keep my boy safe.”

“I don’t mean Carl’s safety on this run,” she clarified.

Rick swore that woman was a mind reader sometimes. She moved away and Rick noticed Karen smirking slightly before turning away with a look that said he and Michonne’s relationship was none of her business but it was obvious there was something underneath every touch, every look, all the same.

*****

“This is so far beyond wrong,” Karen whispered.

“Agreed,” Michonne said. “This place should be empty.”

All three of them unconsciously tiptoed through the store. There was nothing to indicate that either man or zombie lurked in the deep shadows between the isles but they were cautious all the same. They made little to no noise as they perused the shelves which had only been looted of half their supplies. Rick used a sack to dump shampoo, soap, razors, shave cream, and different medicines, outdated though they were. When that sack was full he left it sitting in the front of the store and walked around, looking for more to carry.

They spent nearly an hour doing that, going from store to store, occasionally meeting up with Glenn’s group as they returned to fill the trailer.

“This place is a gold mine,” Glenn said, putting a box full of diapers into the trailer. It was full now and they would have to start loading up the back of the truck. “I wonder why? I don’t like this place. It’s giving me the willies.”

“Me too. Let’s get what we can and get out,” Rick said.

“I’m not volunteering for a return trip,” Maggie said, and shivered despite the warm jacket she wore. She stuffed a sack full of socks, underwear, and miscellaneous beauty supplies.

“Is the makeup really necessary?” Glenn whispered.

Maggie’s brows shot up. “Hell yeah.”

Rick smirked and motioned for them to head down Tyler Avenue. “Carl says there’s a gun store down this street. Let’s see what kind of luck we have there. Maggie, I want you to stay with the truck.”

“I doubt anyone will come along and loot the trailer, Rick.”

“I want you ready to drive up after us should we run into trouble. We’ve been here an hour and a half. We’re pushing our luck. I can feel it. We hit the gun supply store and then we get the hell out of dodge and call it a good day.”

He tapped the roof of the truck as Maggie nodded and climbed in, softly closing the door behind her, and putting the key in the ignition.

“Keep a good lookout all around you,” Glenn warned. “Don’t let anyone, or anything, sneak up on you.”

He kissed her and then started off down Tyler street. Michonne had her katana drawn. Everyone else’s guns were out and ready.

Rick’s footfalls, though soft from the rubber heels of his shoes, sounded loud and heavy to him in the unnatural quiet of Charlesville. He kept an eye out for any movement behind the grimy display windows of the shop, seeing nothing until they reached the gun store almost two blocks down. He read the faded red, white, and blue hand painted sign that said Stogey’s Firearms and Ammo.

I hope you’re not walking around inside, Stogey, Rick thought.

“Locked,” Carl informed them. “It’s a deadbolt too. How are we gonna get in without making a lot of noise?”

“I’ll look around back,” Karen offered.

Rick nodded. “Go with her, Michonne.”

The two women headed down the alley a few shops down. They returned only a few minutes later with a claw hammer.

“Gated in back,” Karen said. “I found this, though.”

“What’s the plan for that?” asked Carl.

“I’ll show you. Stand back.”

With surprising quiet Karen went to work pulling at the wood frame around the knob. It was already warped from years of neglect and had softened. It took twenty nerve wracking minutes but she managed to chip away the wood and expose the deadbolt and the lock on both sides until she could push the door open.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

Rick soon understood the reason for her annoyance. After all that work, all that time, all that risk, the store was empty.

“Who’d lock up an empty store but leave loaded stores open?” Glenn asked.

“Shhh…” Rick cautioned.

Every case was empty. Every gun was gone. Every box of ammo had been taken. Rick hadn’t given up hope just yet, though.

“They have a supply room. Karen, let me see that hammer.”

“I’ll do it. You might make too much noise,” Karen cautioned. Rick stepped back while she used the hammer to pry out the nails that held a plank of wood in place. Ever so gently she lay the plank down and pulled the door to the supply room open.

That was when all hell broke loose.

*****

There was a nearly comical moment of surprise between both the living and the dead when Karen opened the door. It lasted no longer than a second, the filmy eyes of the dead meeting the clear, vibrant eyes of the living, and then the noise and the violence ensued.

“Shit!” Karen shouted. Walkers had been packed like sardines into the supply room which, Rick had a split second to realize, was chock full of ammo.

Isn’t that always the way?

Now that the door was open they all but exploded into the store, like blood from a jagged wound, their bony hands grasping at Karen. Michonne yanked her away just as one of the walkers inside made to scratch at her. A scrum formed momentarily between the counter and the supply room. Carl, Glenn, and Michonne had long since jumped past the register but Karen was slower to react. Rick gripped Karen by the hair and hauled her back, over the counter, just as many wasted hands clawed the space where she’d been literally a second before.

“Don’t let them! Don’t let them!” she shouted fearfully. She held Rick in a death grip as he finished pulling her over the counter.

“Dad!”

Rick’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. He thought, for one horrible moment, a walker had gotten hold of his son. He’d barely survived Lori’s death with most of his sanity. If he lost Carl he’d go well and truly mad for whatever remained of his life.

Carl wasn’t, thankfully, in the grip of a walker but he was pointing at a hoard that was approaching from further up Tyler street.

“Call Maggie!” he shouted.

Glenn shot twice into the crowd, taking down two walkers, turned, and began firing at walkers that were coming over, under, and around the checkout counter.

“Get Carl to the truck!” he shouted.

Walkers had gotten between him and his boy. Now Glenn and Carl were on the other side of a line of zombies.

“Dad! Dad! We can’t leave him!”

“Stairs!” Michonne shouted. Rick fired a few shots, taking out a few of the animated dead, and shoved Karen up ahead of him. The last thing he saw was Glenn forcibly picking Carl up and shoving him into the bed of the truck that Maggie had haphazardly backed up the street.

The upstairs door was blessedly unlocked. Rick needed both Karen and Michonne to help him shove the door closed against the ravenous hoard that surged up the steps from the shop below. He twisted the privacy lock. It wouldn’t hold thirty seconds.

“Get that table!” Karen shouted, leaning against the door with all she had.

The room was occupied by three walkers that Michonne was in the business of cutting down. They’d apparently been trapped in their living room since the start of the shit storm, captive only because they’d been defeated by the complicated mechanics of an unlocked door. Michonne ran her sword through the head of a girl probably only twelve years old.

“Must be Stogey and family,” Michonne said, helping Rick secure the table in front of the apartment door.

Rick ran to the window that overlooked a deserted street. “This way!”

He yanked open the window as the door gave way behind them. The table was no match for the sheer force of pressure.

“They’ve been stuck all this time without feeding. You know they’re starving,” Karen said, offering Michonne a hand. Rick yanked the window shut but one of the more clever zombies smashed a fist through.

“Rick!”

Maggie’s voice.

Rick searched the street and saw Maggie drive up to just below the steeply sloped roof of the supply room on which they stood.

“We’re coming!”

That was when Karen fell. She tumbled from the roof after her feet slipped from beneath her and hit the concrete hard. There was a gunshot -- more walkers had arrived -- and Karen hopped into the back seat after Carl threw the door open for her. She had just enough time to close the door before the new arrivals began pounding on the glass.

“Go go go!” Rick shouted. “Get my boy outta here!”

Maggie’s eyes were tearful when she floored the accelerator. The truck shot forward, hauling the trailer, which had an unwanted passenger clinging to the back, heading down the street. It fell off a few feet later and lay there like a confused drunk waking up from a three day bender.

“There’s ten down there, God only knows how many up here,” Michonne said, watching the truck disappear around a curve. Now the only sound was the raspy, hungry grunts of the walkers who struggled to reach them from both the street and the window.

“We’re fucked,” Rick said. “I’ve got three rounds left. We are completely fucked.”

“You’re not fucked yet,” Michonne said.

“You packing a gun now?” he asked hopefully.

“Me? Hell no. I have no use for a gun.”

She looked him in the eye and he knew, only a split second before she did it, that she was going to jump.

“No,” he said, gripping her arm. The walkers in the busted window behind him had crowded so tightly they couldn’t get through but, he noticed, the frame wouldn’t hold for long. They’d spill out by sheer force of pressure any second.

Michonne swung the blade of her sword, chopping off many of the grasping hands that reached for Rick’s collar. She did likewise to the hands of the walkers on the street below.

“Sit back, relax, watch a master in action,” she said.

“You can’t!”

“If I don’t act now you’ll never see your boy again, Rick. He needs you.”

Michonne pulled free of his grasp and jumped, landing gracefully on her feet, and then began swinging. She really was a master with that sword. She didn’t attempt to kill, only disable, the walkers. She chopped off heads and they rolled down the street like fleshy marbles from hell, their teeth snapping hungrily at thin air as they tumbled away.

Rick took out one walker that was coming up behind Michonne. He saved the last two bullets -- in case they needed them.

“Come on,” Michonne said.

Rick knew why. He heard the groan of wood behind him and didn’t bother to look back. The frame was giving way and they’d literally be smothered in walkers at any second. He jumped down, gripped Michonne by the back of the head, and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, one that could easily be construed for gratitude in a less fevered moment of panic, though he doubted she’d buy that line if they managed to escape.

“It’s time to run,” Michonne said.

Rick nodded. There was one moment when he thought he heard the sound of their truck’s engine disappearing into the distance. His boy was safe. That was all that mattered. Rick took the lead and together they hauled ass down the street, ignoring the hungry sounds of the walkers that gave clumsy, halting chase.




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