wildest dreams ━ rick grimes × male!oc

chapter one:

"This day just keeps gettin' weirder," Rick mumbles.

He places it onto the floor beside him and sets to get himself dressed. It's easier said than done. Rick struggles with his jeans and his boots, the flannel is oddly easier to put on. By the end of it, he's tired and sweaty and hungry.

He ends up leaning against the visitor chair and inhaling the two granola bars left behind by the omega. It doesn't quite fill him up, but it does the job of easing his hunger. Rick sips on the remains of his water, using his other hand to gently brush over the carving etched into the silver throwing knife. He pockets it for the time being, having no belt to attach it to and then struggles to get himself upright. Rick settles on using the iv stand, feeling weak and miserable.

He's never been weak before.

Rick's annoyed by the feeling. Wants it to, no, needs it to go away.

He makes his way to the small attached bathroom. Rick looks at himself in the mirror, blinking slowly. His face is gaunt, cheekbones more prominent than ever and he's in need of a shave. He turns the faucet on and drinks from it like he hadn't just drank a full bottle of water. He's thankful the water is still running, despite everything around him not working. Rick splashes his face with the water and rubs it along the back of his neck. The coolness soothes him.

He walks back into the room, practising his steps like a newborn fawn, wobbly and awkward. Rick opens up drawers and searches through them, finding things like spare bandages, medical tape and two water bottles. He throws them into his bag (along with the notes left behind by the omega) and then places it over his non-burning shoulder. Feeling like he can manage to walk a short distance, Rick opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

He pushes the bed in front of the door away and fumbles when he finds it heavier than usual. Successful with the task, Rick abandons his iv (he no longer needs it) and looks down the hallway.

It's empty and eerie and from the end of the hallway a light flickers on and off. It's deadly silent. No monitors beeping. No clocks ticking. No nurses or patients mumbling.

Rick suddenly wishes for his gun; the heavy weight of his colt python would steady him right now. Without it, he feels bare to the world.

Moving cautiously down the hallway, Rick heads towards the reception desk. The light overhead is dead and the area around the desk is shrouded in darkness. Rick blinks his eyes several times, getting used to the dark before he lifts up the handle of the telephone and presses it against his ear.

Nothing. Not even static.

Rick places it back down onto the desk.
Worry starts seeping into his stomach, making it twist and turn. Something truly awful must have happened whilst he was asleep. Carl, Rick mulls internally, I need to find Carl.

Sighing, he starts opening drawers and looking for whatever can be usable. He finds some match sticks, a packet of cigarettes, tylenol and some nurses stash of hershey cookies. They're too sweet for his liking. Rick likes dark chocolate, the bitterness is better, but he's sure Carl will like them. Maybe the omega who left behind his knife would like them too? Rick shakes his head and shoves the items into his bag, moving towards the flickering light at the end of the hallway.

He stops in front of the double doors and stares through the glass tops, spotting a mangled corpse. Rick can see the whites of its ribs and hips, knee bones shining in the iridescent lights and when he moves his gaze upwards, he finds a face - the body belongs to a pale, blonde haired woman with a dot of blood on her cheek.

Rick moves as swiftly as he can away from the double doors and leaves down the opposite corridor.

The walls are covered in gunshot holes and blood. Glass crunches underneath Rick's boots as he walks. Bits of skin lay around. Bloody handprints and footprints lead Rick to another set of double doors. He eyes them wearily, finding them closed with a wooden board and a thick, silver chain. Above the lock, he finds a spray painted message.

DON'T      DEAD
OPEN      INSIDE

The writing doesn't match the ones left behind by the omega. It means there are others out there, people who have survived this... war?

Rick feels like it's the only explanation. He's about to continue walking when something bangs against the double doors, startling him. There's low groaning and heavy shuffling. Then the doors are pushed ever so slightly open and hands - pale and greenish with black fingernails - are slithering out like snakes.

If Rick could run, he would.

He settles on stumbling away as fast as he can, not for a second even glancing back. The elevators don't work, Rick isn't even surprised. He pushes the fire escape door open and shuffles inside, into the darkness. Fumbling with his bag a bit, he eventually pulls out the matchsticks from earlier and lights one up.

The small flame makes his eyes squint and he holds it out a little further away from himself. Placing his other hand on the wall beside him, Rick slowly makes his way down the stairs. His matchstick burns out after the tenth step and Rick ends up lighting two more by the time he gets all the way down.

Opening the escape door, light floods Rick's vision and temporarily blinds him. The sun is high up in the sky and the warmth is pleasant on his skin. However, the smell in the air is putrid and acid-like, smelling faintly of gasoline and rotten meat that was left out to thaw for too long.

Rick makes his way down another set of stairs, keeping his eyes down and concentrating on his steps. He pauses when his boots come into contact with some odd, off white material. He raises his gaze slightly and finds a body bag - no, several body bags, all lined up in neat rows. This explains the smell, Rick muses idly. He walks carefully between the rows, finding them all to have headshots. Must have been an execution, he huffs. Definitely a war, then.

He ambles out of the gate and up the grassy hill, feeling something like hope spark in his chest when he spots the black helicopter.

That hope is immediately squashed down when he finds several other body bags, these ones blue, and no other soul alive. Rick makes his way around the helicopter and starts looking through left over crates and vehicles. He finds a lighter, four granola bars, a single gun with three bullets and when he checks the tents, more body bags.

The army vehicles are empty, no gas in them. Rick holds a hand to his side, feeling his partially healed wound throbbing in pain. He pulls out the tylenol he found along with a water bottle, pops two pills, sips a bit of the water and hopes for the best.

He leaves the hospital behind him, dread pooling into the pit of his stomach.

Rick's trek back to his home is made easier when he stumbles upon a red bike. Granted, there's a dead body near it, but Rick doubts the dead person, with half of their body missing, is going to mind him borrowing the bike for a little bit.

He's proved wrong once again when the dead body fucking moves. Its intestines are literally hanging out of its body and it turns to look at Rick with a sharp intake of breath, skin dark and decayed, mouth open and eyes hungry. The dead body - the dead woman - starts dragging herself across the grass towards him.

Rick falls to the ground along with the bike.

Fuckin' hell, he scowls, she's ugly.

He staggers back to his feet and onto the bike, looking back at the not-so-dead woman with a deeper scowl. If he was annoyed back at the hospital, then he's downright irritated now. The not-so-dead woman growls at him threateningly. Rick reminds himself that he has legs and she doesn't.

He pedals away.

2032 words//unedited.