ƇӇƛƤƬЄƦ ƑƠƲƦ: i make (no) promises, make same mistakes again (for you)
Somewhere on the road from King Country to Atlanta, Rick's patrol car runs out of gas. To be fair, it's been a long ride and he'd expected it to happen, but not whilst he was still out in the open. He's an easy target like this, all alone and still injured.
He grabs an empty petrol can from the back of his car and starts walking up the bare road. Rick's hoping to find a car left behind with some gas he can syphon, or maybe even a station to take from.
It's not too long before he does find a gas station, but the sign at the front reads a clear, NO GAS. Sighing, Rick eyes the few cars parked haphazardly around him. There's a dead body in one of them, rotting with flies buzzing around it. Another car has all its windows smashed and whatever belongings were once inside are long gone now. Rick starts syphoning the cars one by one, finding himself lucky when he gets almost a gallon of gas. It's not much, but it'll get him a few more miles closer to Atlanta.
Searching the area for anything else that might be useful to him, Rick starts checking underneath cars and inside the trunks. He finds a packet of sealed gummy bears, spearmint gum and not much else. Rick pockets both the gummy bears and the gum for later, he'll give them to his pup when he finds him.
Giving the area around him one more glance, Rick turns to leave only to come into contact with a little girl. She's blonde and almost green-skinned. Her pale blue eyes are dotted with red marks and the area around her mouth has rotted, showing off the bright, cherry red blood underneath it. The little girl doesn't pay attention to him first, merely lowers herself to the ground to pick up her dirty stuffed toy. After she has it settled in her arms, she raises her head to look at Rick and opens her bloody mouth to growl at him.
Rick grabs his petrol can and gets away from the gas station as fast as he can. He's not in the mood to kill a child walker.
It's not long before he's back out on the road, driving towards Atlanta. A road sign ahead tells him he's close, so Rick picks up the patrol walkie and turns it on in hopes of getting into contact with someone. It buzzes to life and Rick speaks into it. "Broadcasting on emergency channel. Will be approaching Atlanta on highway eighty-five. Anybody reads, please respond."
He waits a few seconds and when he gets no response, Rick tries again. After the third unsuccessful attempt at reaching someone, Rick turns the walkie off.
He glances at his metre and sighs when he finds it blinking red at him. Slowing to a stop, Rick spots an old farmhouse just up ahead. Deciding to give it a chance for some gas, Rick grabs his things. He even takes the family photo he has tucked into the sun visor above the steering wheel. For a moment, he gazes at Lori's smiling face and then he tears her out of the picture and throws her somewhere behind him.
He tucks the picture of him and his pup into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and walks towards the farmhouse.
"Hello!" He calls out, dropping his bags to the ground. "Police officer out here," he says, walking towards the door, "can I borrow some gas?"
There's no answer to his question. Rick scents the air. It's acid-like and smells foul. He wrinkles his nose and looks through one of the windows only to find two dead bodies being eaten by flies and a message painted in blood on the wall; GOD FORGIVE US, it says.
That explains the smell, Rick frowns, moving away from the window and the house altogether. He takes a seat out in the front garden on what used to be an old fountain. Taking his stenson off, Rick runs a hand through his hair and thinks over his options.
Walking the rest of the way to Atlanta is dangerous and foolish. There's also no way Rick will make it there before nightfall, not without a car at least. Sighing, the alpha glances to his right and spots an old, auburn pick up. It's rusty and has seen better days. Rick hurries towards it and checks for keys and gas, only to find neither.
"Looks like my luck just ran out," Rick mutters.
The sound of huffing and snorting catches his attention. Blinking, Rick walks around the old pickup and finds a horse out in the back, happily munching on the grass around him.
"Or not," Rick says, smiling a little.
He goes on a search around the farmhouse, easily finding a saddle and a leash. Getting the horse to cooperate with him though, well, that's another thing entirely. Rick places his stenson on the wooden gate and then slowly opens it, stepping inside as quietly as he can.
The horse neighs, alarmed by his sudden presence and Rick stops in his tracks. He raises a single hand to ease him. Gently, the alpha says, "easy now. I'm not gonna hurt you. Nothing like that." When the horse makes no show of running away, Rick starts inching closer to him. "More like a proposal," Rick continues on. "Atlanta's just a road aways. It's safe there. Food, shelter, people," he lowers his head to make himself seem smaller, "other horses too, I bet."
Rick asks, "how's that sound?" and then slowly brings the leash around the horse's neck, murmuring a soft, "that's it. Good boy." He leads the horse out of the gate and smiles, saying, "now come on. Follow me. Good boy."
Once the horse is saddled and Rick has all his things gathered, he sets off. "Let's go easy, okay?" Rick pats the horse's neck. "I haven't done this for years."
Apparently, that was not the right thing to say, because not even a second later, the horse is galloping away and Rick is gripping the leash tightly, finding it hard to keep his voice steady "whoa, whoa. Easy."
They make it to Atlanta in record time. The sun is high up in the sky and it's warmer than it was yesterday. Slowing down, Rick eyes the two roads in front of him. The road leading to Atlanta is empty. The road leading out is jammed full with cars of all shapes and sizes. Even the tracks off on the side are full, train waggons wrecked and turned on their sides.
Rick scents the air, but there are no smells to guide him. Straining his ears for any and all sounds, all he can hear is the chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects nearby.
There are no signs of human nor wolf life around him and yet Rick continues up the road, guiding his horse.
Before he knows it, he's roaming the streets of Atlanta aimlessly. There is no sound of life here either, but there is a rotten smell in the air. Looking around, Rick sees empty streets and wreckage, shops overturned and cars stripped bare of multiple parts. He passes a charred bus and eyes the few corpses inside it with suspicion.
Moving further up the road, Rick sees something reflecting in the windows of a high office building. Squinting, he realises it's a helicopter. Nudging his horse, Rick follows the sound of the helicopter whirring somewhere above him.
It's apparently the wrong thing to do.
With the helicopter disappearing somewhere in the distance, Rick turns onto another street in hopes of following it. He instantly regrets his decision. Sweat starts trickling down the back of his neck as fifty or so walkers all turn towards his direction ready to eat him.
Too many things happen all at once after that.
Rick tries to escape and the walkers end up feasting on his horse. In the chaos, he loses his bags, his stenson and ends up crawling underneath a tank to hide himself. His effort is for naught when walkers start crawling after him. Reaching for his colt python, Rick shoots as many as he can.
He comes to a quick and cold decision. No matter how many he takes down, more just keep showing up. Breathing heavily, Rick presses the barrel of his colt python against the side of his head. The last thing he thinks of is Carl and his ozone scented omega.
"I'm sorry," he rasps out.
Just before he nearly presses the trigger, Rick spots the open hatch right above him. Suddenly bound with more energy, Rick hauls himself inside the tank and swiftly closes the hatch after him, escaping a walker's grimy hand only by mere centimetres. Shuffling around the tank, Rick leans against one of the walls. There's a dead soldier right beside him, but Rick barely pays attention to him, too busy trying to get both his breathing and heartbeat under control.
That too, is apparently the wrong thing to do, because the dead soldier starts to move and growl beside him.
Rick's first instinct is to shoot it.
And he does.
The sound of the gunshot going off echoes around the tank loudly. The walls start vibrating and all Rick can hear now is the ringing silence left in the wake of his kill. Quickly getting out of the tank via the top hatch, Rick breathes in relief when everything around him stops swimming. There is, however, the issue of walkers climbing onto the tank. Scowling, Rick drops back inside the tank and firmly closes the latch behind him.
Wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, Rick settles onto the floor, tired and in pain. His side flames alive, the gunshot wound feeling like a thousand needles all pressing into one single point. Pressing his hand against his injured side, Rick can only hope the walkers will eventually stumble away and give him enough space to escape.
The radio suddenly starts stuttering to life and Rick shuffles towards it hurriedly, hitting his head on an overhead pipe of some sorts. He yelps, clutching his head.
"Hey you. Dumbass." A kid's voice comes through the radio and Rick raises his eyebrows, utterly at loss for words. "Yeah, you in the tank," the voice turns light and teasing, "cosy in there?"
Rick presses his forehead against the radio. It feels cool against his skin. What if he's just imagining this voice? What if it's a side effect from the momentary loss of hearing he's just had by shooting his gun off like an idiot inside the tank?
"Hey, you alive in there?" The kid asks, worried.
Rick grabs the talkie connected to the radio and calls out, voice hesitant "hello?"
The kid sighs. "There you are," he says softly. "You had me wondering."
Licking over his dried lips, Rick questions the boy, feeling something like hope spark within him. "Where are you? Outside? Can you see me right now?" He knows he's asking too many things at once, but he's literally at death's door here and he needs to get out.
"Yeah, I can see you. You're surrounded by walkers. That's the bad news."
No shit, Rick wants to say. He holds himself back though. Instead, he asks another question. "There's good news?"
"No." The kid doesn't even hesitate to tell him the truth.
"Listen," the alpha is actually a little impressed by the kid's honesty, "whoever you are. I don't mind telling you, I'm a little concerned in here."
"Do you mind not telling me too?" Another person asks. It's a male, with a soft voice and an accent from up north. A new yorker, most likely. There's a different sort of static to his voice and Rick knows this kid and the other one aren't anywhere near each other.
He's thrown off by the new voice suddenly demanding, "how's my knife, you asshat?"
Rick opens his mouth and closes it several times. Is this...
"Oh Alpha, my Alpha... have you gone fucking deaf in there?"
"Omega," Rick rumbles, deep and smooth. He can almost taste the scent of rain and thunder in the back of his throat and it makes his mouth water. "You little shit," Rick says, annoyed, "you took my shirt and invaded my armoury."
The omega huffs. "The fuck was I supposed to do? Ignore the guns? Be fucking happy I was in a nice mood and left some ammo behind for you."
Rick is surprised that the kind omega who left behind such sweets notes for him is so... vulgar. For some reason, it lights a heat in his belly. He's never reacted to an omega like this before. It's strange.
"Er, guys..." The other kid trails off, sounding unsure. He lowers his voice almost to a whisper and asks, hopeful, "you're wolves too?"
"Forget about that for now," Rick says, diverting the conversation to more pressing matters, like his life, for instance. "Got any advice for me?"
"Oh, man." The kid's voice turns upset. "You should see the situation from up here, you'd be having a major freak out."
Rick closes his eyes to keep his sizzling annoyance at bay. It's almost like he's going to die in this stupid tank.
"But, uh," the kid fumbles with his words and eventually just says, "yeah, I'd say make a run for it."
Opening his eyes, Rick stares off into space. He can't believe this is what his life has come to. "That's it. Make a run for it?" He asks, in case he's heard the kid wrong.
"My way's not as dumb as it sounds. You've got eyes on the outside, me and," Rick can almost picture the kid blushing furiously because of his embarrassed tone, "your omega. There's a few geeks still up on the tank, but the others have climbed down to join the feeding frenzy where the horse went down. You with me so far?"
"So far," Rick nods out of habit.
"Okay. The street on the other side of the tank is less crowded,'' the kid informs him, "if you move now while most of them are distracted, you stand a chance. You got ammo?"
"In that duffle bag I dropped out there," Rick answers. "Can I get to the guns?"
"Forget the bag. It's not an option. What do you have on you?"
"Hang on,'" Rick says, fumbling around the tank. His gun has some bullets left. The dead walker's does too. He also finds a beretta, which is a miracle, concerning his predicament. "I got a beretta," he attaches it to his belt, "with one clip. And fifteen rounds."
"So my knife is chopped liver, huh?'' The omega whines through the radio. Rick can hear the pout and the hurt underneath it.
"And his knife," The alpha echoes, voice turning unbearably soft. "Which has kept me safe until this point, just like you wanted it to."
"If you die," the omega's accent changes, weirdly and perfectly matching Rick's own southern one. "I'm gonna be real, fuckin' mad at you."
Rick doesn't have time to think about the accent switch or the omega's words either, because the other kid speaks up again. "Make the rounds count. Jump off on the right side of the tank and keep going that direction. There's an alley up the street, maybe," the kid pauses, "fifty yards? Be there."
"Hey, what's your name?" Rick asks.
The kid's voice turns incredulous. "Have you been listening? You're running out of time."
"He's right," the omega agrees. He's back to his northern accent. "Stop asking dumb fucking questions and get out of there. Now."
"What about you?"
"The fuck did I just say-"
"What about you?" Rick almost growls.
For a moment there's no answer and then quietly, the omega says, "don't worry about me. I'll get to you soon. Just don't lose my knife, promise?"
"Yeah," the alpha swallows, feeling his chest tighten uncomfortably. He hasn't even met this omega properly and he already has him wrapped around his little finger. "Yeah. Yeah, I promise."
2717 words//unedited.