The Walking Dead

He sits, shoulders down, head down staring at the cuffs around his wrists, slumped in defeat. The trial had weighed on him like he never thought it would. The long, agonising weeks, months, years before they finally accused him of what he knew he'd done. Lee isn't a bad man, but he'd done a bad thing. He knows he deserves to be where he is now – in the back of a Police car headed to Macon State Prison.

He lifts his head up to stare through the windshield. The highway stretches long ahead yet, and he knows this will be the longest trip of his life, and feel like the last. His eyes drift up to the rear-vision mirror to study his own expression, but the cop in the driver's seat happens to look in the mirror at the same moment. The cop locks his eyes with Lee and Lee puts on a hard expression. The two stare at one another for a short while before Lee turns away.

The cop's eyes stay focused on Lee's face in the mirror, studying the lines and contours. The tired, anguished eyes and hardened demeanour. He feels the air of regret that seems to surround Lee.

"Well, I reckon you didn't do it, then," The cop says, returning his attention to the road.

Lee keeps his head turned away, surprised and even vaguely frustrated that the cop is talking to him.

"Does it really matter?" He raises an eyebrow, his tone borderline sarcastic.

"Nah, not much."

Lee looks up at the mirror briefly once more, having nothing more to say.

"Y'know, I've driven a bunch 'a fellas down to this prison," The cop continues. "Lord knows how many. Usually is 'bout now I get the 'I didn't do it.'"

Lee shakes his head. "Not from me."

"'Cause guys in your position already said it enough?"

Lee has no response to that. The cop's thought process is logical, but he can think up whatever logical explanation he likes. Lee knows the truth, as everybody else thinks they do, too. Lee stares out of the car's windshield at the highway stretching ahead and there is a short moment of silence before the car's radio pipes up.

"We've got what looks like a 10-91E near Peachtree Exit of 285. All cars asked to keep on the lookout for a 91V in the area."

Lee doesn't have a clue what any of this means, but the cop doesn't seem too worried. There is another momentary silence before the cop glances into the rear vision mirror once more and continues.

"I followed your case a little bit, you being a Macon boy and all."

"You're from Macon, then," Lee observes.

"Yep. Came up to Atlanta to be a city cop in the seventies. Always wanted to work a murder case, like that senatorial mess you got yourself mixed up in, with all due respect."

The quiet conversation is interrupted by the sound of an approaching siren, but the cop ignores it, being used to such sounds, and keeps talking.

"A real shame, that is."

Lee isn't listening, however, as he turns his head towards the side window to watch another police car come screaming past – lights flashing and siren wailing – on the other side of the highway. Lee wonders briefly about where it could be going in such a hurry, but his thoughts are soon interrupted by the driver's continued speaking, and he turns his head back to the front.

"Hell, the whole family used to be regulars at your folks' drugstore right in downtown. Still there?"

Lee's parents had been running the drugstore for years, with the help of his younger brother. He's glad the cop is civil enough to mention it and can't help a small, proud smile cross his face as he replies.