The wind whispered through the tall grass as Rick rode toward Atlanta, the city looming like a silent graveyard beneath the morning sun. His horse's hooves clopped softly against the cracked asphalt, echoing off abandoned cars and toppled streetlights.
This world was nothing like the one he remembered — it was decaying, empty, and dangerous.
As he moved deeper into the city outskirts, his mind drifted to Carl.
His son's face was burned into his memory — those wide, innocent eyes that once looked up to him. That was why he was here. Not for Lori. Not for Shane. Carl needs me. The world needs strong people to protect those they love.
And he was determined to build that kind of world, starting with The Right Arm and extending beyond it. Daryl, Glenn, Morales, and others—he needed them all if they were still alive.
The city swallowed him whole as he entered the outskirts of downtown Atlanta. Buildings stood like towering corpses, windows shattered, streets littered with broken glass and burnt-out vehicles.
That's when he saw them—walkers.
Two at first, stumbling aimlessly down an alley. Then four more appeared from between a pair of buses.
Rick dismounted and led his horse to cover, tying it securely behind a wrecked SUV. He drew his silenced pistol from his belt—an addition he made back at The Right Arm, modifying some of the scavenged firearms for stealth operations.
One headshot.
Two.
Three.
Each walker dropped silently, crumpling into the blood-stained pavement.
Hours passed as Rick crept through the city. Occasionally, he heard the faint groans of distant walkers or the skittering of rats fleeing from danger.
Then suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a helicopter's blades slicing the air made him freeze.
He looked up to see it—a military chopper flying low, moving westward. Just like in the show.
It was proof that there were still people, somewhere. The military or what was left of it.
But the sound of the chopper attracted walkers from every direction. They poured out from alleyways, buildings, and side streets like a rising tide of death.
Within minutes, Rick found himself staring at dozens—no, hundreds—of walkers being drawn by the helicopter's noise.
His special forces instincts kicked in.
Escape routes are priority.
But the herd was massive. Fighting wasn't an option.
Rick hurried back to his horse, mounting swiftly, and spurred the animal into a gallop as the first group of walkers reached the intersection.
The sound of the horse galloping echoed loudly through the narrow downtown streets. But even with his head start, the swarm of walkers was relentless.
Suddenly, gunshots rang out ahead—someone firing recklessly, drawing even more walkers into Rick's path. The horse reared back in fear, and Rick was thrown to the ground.
Before he could react, his horse was swarmed. The sickening screams of the animal mixed with the growls of walkers, but Rick forced himself to stay focused.
He sprinted, weaving between cars, looking for higher ground. That's when he spotted it—a U.S. Army M1 Abrams tank sitting idle in the center of the street.
Without hesitation, he climbed the back of the tank, using a maintenance hatch to crawl inside and slam the hatch shut behind him.
Inside, it was dark and suffocating, but quiet — for now.
The walkers outside surrounded the tank, slamming against its metal hull. The rhythmic banging was relentless.
And he knew—he would not die here.
Rick sat in the tank's darkness, mentally preparing for his next escape. He still had his sidearm, his rifle slung across his shoulder, a few grenades and a knife.
I need to find Glenn, he thought. I need to find Daryl. Morales. Shane. Carl.
The Right Arm needs to grow.
The metallic clanging of rotting hands on the tank rang in Rick's ears, but his breathing remained steady.
Panic was useless.
Inside the Abrams tank, he crouched, analyzing his situation. The walkers outside were countless. He couldn't shoot his way out — not with that many.
He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out the banging and the groaning.
Though this was his first major encounter with a horde since waking up in this new world, instincts from his old life whispered in his mind like a second skin.
But nobody could know. He couldn't reveal what he really was — what he really knew.
Suddenly, his radio crackled to life.
"Hey... you in the tank. Yeah, you. Cozy in there?"
Rick immediately raised his head, hand hovering near his pistol out of habit.
The voice continued:
"Listen, man. You're surrounded. But I can get you out. You're gonna have to trust me and move fast when I say."
Rick kept his voice calm. "Who are you?"
"Name's Glenn."
Rick allowed himself a faint smile. Glenn… right on time.
"Alright, Glenn," Rick replied. "I'm listening."
Glenn, speaking from a nearby rooftop, kept scanning the streets with binoculars.
"You're boxed in on all sides except for a narrow alley south of the tank. It's tight, but the walkers won't be able to flood it fast. If you move now, you can make it. I'll guide you from there."
Rick quickly surveyed the area through the tank's tiny viewport, confirming what Glenn said.
"Understood," he replied.
Though his mind naturally calculated multiple routes, possible diversions, and choke points, Rick made sure not to overplay it. He couldn't act like someone who had experience fighting hordes like this before. He was just Rick Grimes — or at least, that's who he was supposed to be.
Slowly, Rick opened the hatch. The horde pressed against the tank, but he stayed low, drawing one of the grenades.
A quick pull of the pin. A two-second count. The grenade arced and landed directly into the densest part of the horde.
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through dozens of walkers, clearing a temporary gap. Without wasting a second, Rick vaulted out of the hatch and hit the ground running.
Walkers screeched and shambled toward him from every direction, but his timing was perfect. His breathing was even. His movements fluid. He avoided close contact unless necessary.
A walker lunged. Rick sidestepped, plunging his knife straight into its temple.
"Good! Good!" Glenn's voice crackled in his earpiece as Rick reached the alley. "Now duck left, follow the wall — there's a gap ahead!"
Rick sprinted. His boots hit puddles and scattered debris, but he never lost his footing.
Glenn waved from behind a dumpster near the alley's exit. "This way!"
Rick dashed the final distance, diving behind cover just as several walkers stumbled into the mouth of the alley.
Glenn immediately slammed a metal door shut behind them. The pounding of walkers on the other side resumed, but they were safe — for now.
Both men took a moment to catch their breath. Glenn studied Rick with a curious, almost surprised expression.
"You moved fast. Faster than most new people I've seen out here."
Rick offered a small smile, masking the instincts that guided him. "I got lucky."
Glenn raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Luck or not, you handled yourself well. You sure you're just a cop?"
Rick gave a casual nod. "Used to be. Before… all this."
He didn't need to say more. No need to reveal what his real past life was.
As Glenn guided Rick through the department store, they moved carefully past shelves of long-forgotten supplies. Finally, they reached the small group of survivors.
Rick's eyes swept over them — Morales, T-Dog, Andrea, Jacqui... and then he saw the man leaning against a pillar, chewing tobacco, his eyes full of suspicion and arrogance.
Merle Dixon.
The man immediately spoke, his voice rough, sharp: "Well, well, what do we got here? Another stray Glenn dragged outta the frying pan."
Rick offered a polite nod, hiding the subtle analysis running through his mind.
Aggressive. Unstable. Dangerous. But useful.
"Name's Rick," he introduced himself calmly.
Merle spat on the ground. "You a cop or somethin'? You carry yourself like one."
"Was." Rick kept his answers short. The less they knew, the better.
Merle chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, lawman. Out here, rules don't mean much no more."
Rick didn't respond, simply locking eyes with Merle for a brief moment. He wouldn't escalate — yet. But already, he was mentally cataloging how to handle Merle if things got out of hand.
Glenn, sensing the tension, quickly spoke up. "Alright, let's focus. We got enough problems without fighting each other. Rick here may have just given us a way out."
The group looked toward Rick expectantly. He glanced at each of them, carefully choosing his words:
"There's a place outside the city. My people are already preparing it. Strong walls. Good land. Food. You don't have to keep running anymore."
Jacqui's eyes lit up. "A real safe place?"
Rick nodded. "But first, we need to get out of Atlanta. Together."
The survivors exchanged looks, the first flicker of hope sparking in their eyes. Even Merle, while skeptical, didn't object — not yet.
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