Rick Grimes woke up with screams resonating within the thick bone of his skull in a place he didn't even recognize. Bleary, ice blue eyes stared up at a white, speckled ceiling and an IV pole stood in his peripheral vision. His insides rolled with the cramping of an empty stomach, his mouth dry and aching. There was a dull throb getting stronger on the left side of his chest, but his limbs felt like lead and stopped him reaching up to feel for the source. Rick attempted to turn on his side, groaning as his muscles screamed in protest. He grimaced, hand reaching out for something to hold so he could bring himself up to sit.

"Nurse! … Nurse."

His breath came in haggard beats, slumped over the side of the bed as he took in the silence and the absence of life around him. The flowers before him were wilted in pale brown mixed with pinks and lavender and like a dream, he could remember when they were vibrant. Pieces were fitting together, like a movie behind his eyelids, as he relived scenes of his injury, his admittance into this hospital, and his family by his bedside. A heavy hand reached for the wound on his shoulder, only to hiss as the IV tugged where it was lodged in his vein.

"Shit," Rick gasped, taking the tube by the root and tugging the needle right out of his arm, swiftly like he'd have done with a band-aid. Looking at the bloody needle made a lump form in his throat, and he stared down at the infected needle site, knowing it would be a day before the ache would clear up. He tossed it away and grabbed the nearest possible support, pulling the IV pole close and hoping he wouldn't flop down with how easily the thing rolled on the laminated tile. Getting to his feet was a challenge of keeping up his balance and strength, one he failed as he heavily fell to the floor with a silenced scream, mouth hanging open as he held his breath and voice. His disorientation worsened, and his fingers twitched like claws over the floor as he tried to regain his senses, legs throbbing with pins and needles, useless like his limbs were filled with molasses. He laid there until the pain subsided, remembering that he needed to get out and find Lori and Carl and make sure they were safe. Fingers grasp around the cold legs of the IV pole, pulling it near so he could pull his body upright with the shear force of his will.

Even with his heightened senses, Rick couldn't hear a thing. It was eerily quiet in the hospital building and an underlying stench of coppery blood grown stale tickled his nostrils. Undeniable fear took him as he reached the door, a trembling hand coming out to turn the knob and slowly swing it open. It was fear that kept his head down, eyes glued to the floor as he stepped forward and through the doorway, but when nothing else happened he looked up wearily, mind racing on which direction to go. All that was present was the sound of his thin, dry breathing and dragging feet over the debris of scattered papers, turned over medicine carts, and empty bullet casings. There were no beeping of medical equipment or the quiet murmurs of exchanged information between professionals and patients. He was utterly alone in a hospital that looked to be running on its last bit of energy.

He refused to believe that he was last living being on the planet. It was with desperate hope that Rick called out, his voice just above a whisper with how dry his throat felt. "Hello..? Anyone there?" He'd opened doors, only to see rooms were empty and there wasn't a single voice that answered him. He simply followed a single direction, hoping that the clear beautiful day outside will bring its grace back within these sanctuary walls only to feel bile rise in his throat at the sight of splattered blood on the windows once he turned a corner. He didn't dare look outside and see what carnage went on out there, and kept on dragging, head bowed.

He eventually reached the double doors of the East wing. The ominous message written across stopped him in his tracks, questions jumping between ear to ear as he puzzled over the words "Don't Open Dead Inside" written in large, quick strokes. It was curiosity that kept him from leaving, a cloudy mind that fed him courage as he rolled over what to do.

Rick stumbled forward, the IV pole catching on carts while wheels rattled loudly to signal his presence. It was unnecessarily blaring, but it didn't even process when he had the single minded devotion to reach the doors. His inhales and exhales became ragged, whistling in his lungs sharp and cool, suddenly urged on by the sound of movement on the other side. "Hello?" He asked again with that hopeless expectancy. "Please... If you're there..."

A collection of hissing and snarling stopped Rick in his tracks and the accompanying sounds of meaty, heavy fists on steel doors had him stumbling back. Eyes widened in shock and the IV pole slipped from his hand, tumbling to the floor with another loud clang that awoken more beasts on the other side, their snarling rising in volume until it echoed down the hallways. Doors tremble, creaking with the weight of bodies until it snapped enough to reveal a sliver of a crack. Rick shook his head, a step back and another until he tripped over the pole of his fallen support and crumpled to the floor in mass of frozen limbs. A thin, gray hand slipped between the doors, claw like fingers scratching on steel until a sharp sound pierced through the din of growling beasts.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, fear so strong he was paralyzed in place. He could hear the snapping of teeth and the hunger in their deep, angered groans. The doors creaked again, the strength of the beasts even challenging the hinges of the double doors. Hearing a metallic, overpowering snap had Rick turning over onto his front, instinct quickly encompassing him as he let the transformation take hold. Bones snapped and stretched, and for moment the guttural groaning was coming from himself as his body reshaped, elongating, contorting until his ribcage expanded and his limbs felt like they were turning inside out. A sharp cry force his gritted teeth to open as pain shot from his shoulder, his body violently jerking and writhing as he transformed. Fur spurted down the length of his back and then throughout his body, and before the full transformation could be completed, Rick was kicking off the lose garments he had woken up in and ran as fast as his tired legs could take him came back the other direction.

The first broken window Rick found was clear enough that he jumped through without receiving injury and he reached the other side with a quiet thump of his feet on the grass. He made a mad dash across the fields and parking lot, on auto pilot to get home. Dodging the clumsy reanimated bodies was simple as long as he didn't surround himself in a herd and made sure that he had a good arms width away from any one corpse. He took familiar turns, catching landmarks that led home, panting hard by the time he reached the white, two-story house with the front door wide open.

No... No...

Rick hurried in, his clawed feet making clacking noises on the gravel of the pathway and then a duller sound on the wood of his porch. A high pitched whine escaped the canine beast as he whipped his head around, crawling into rooms hoping to hear the familiar voices of his family. He pushed open hastily shut doors with both paws, only to be greeted into tousled rooms and scattered photo albums. The bedrooms were no better, and he stopped into his son's, nosing at a left behind shirt on the floor. My boy...

He could smell traces of them in the air, could almost taste their frantic get away. Rick flew back down, hoping to find any hints if they had survived. His pants came out in short puppy-ish whines, jumping on furniture even, to see onto tables and counters, a hint – anything.

The adrenaline mixed with how hard he pushed his own body in the end became too much, his mind a mix of panic and worry, nibbling right in the back was the physical pain. He knocked over the trashcan in kitchen, and on his last strings of hope he nosed through the trash on the floor until he lay down and panted in misery, not sure which direction to turn next.

Tucked underneath the leg of a chair under the table, he saw a flier and he bowled over both with his big body, noisy breaths out of his nose as concentrated on the writing on the paper. He stumbled back, wondering how he'll make it, if his family were there, if the shelter was still standing. He had to know now and it was with the last inch of his strength that he left his house.

A growl made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, wolf eyes darting over an animated dead body that took to his movement and came his way, walking as fast as it could on a mangled ankle. What was going on was too much to process at once, but the urge to kill the thing was the clearest ever and with anger fueling his limbs, he jumped on the undead with a ferocious snarl, saliva dripping off teeth snapping threateningly only to stare into yellow, unseeing eyes that reflected the mindless desire to eat.

Rick pressed his paws over the brittle chest, feeling bone crack under the pressure and yet the creature continued to twist and flail its arms, baring yellowed, broken, and bloodied teeth at him. Unsure what to do next, he opened his massive jaw ready to tear its face into shreds.

"Don't bite that!"

The scream of a young boy made Rick snap his mouth shut. Rick jumped off, large body rearing from the one that crawled back to its feet and outstretched its broken arms. He put as much distance between them to stare at the boy holding a baseball bat, wide brown eyes just as fearful as his own that stared right back. Immediately, Rick got between the boy and the corpse hoping to protect the young. He stood taller than the boy on his four legs, swathing the view of him with his monolithic size as he paced the creature, muzzle wrinkled to show the gleam of his sharp teeth.

"Son! Get away from that!" This time an older man's voice, and Rick whipped his head around, ears flattening against his skull at the loud bang of a shotgun. Before Rick could even blink, the hulking man was between him and the boy and the butt of a shotgun came crashing down on the side of his head, knocking him out before he could even retreat.

Rick woke up groggily in a dark room, tossed on the floor with his paws tied together. The wolf exhaled quickly through his nose, and recognizing his situation, started to writhe. A low growl rumbled in his chest, teeth bare again as he flopped, dull sounding, with the occasional scratch of nails on the floor.

"Don't move. I know what 'chu are." It was the same voice from before, could almost imagine the dark face of the man who knocked him out. Angrily, Rick thrashed again, free tail thumping against carpet and body twisting so shoulders and hips drummed with enough force to bring the other to his feet and approach him with careful footsteps. He came around, bending down on one knee so Rick could see his brown eyes and the way his features tighten, hardened. Rick stopped moving, panting through an open mouth and licking nervously at his black nose. Once Rick relaxed, the man nodded and pulled his knife out of it's sheath on his side. "You're one of them wolf beings, I can see it in your eyes. You're a werewolf. Now its just a question of whether or not you're a registered one."

Rick lowered his head, bright blue eyes still looking into the stranger's. That wasn't something easy to prove without his I.D. and with the way the man was looking at him, it seemed he'd first kill him with that knife than free him if he so much as made the wrong move. He let his muscles fall loose, the ruff on his neck even flattening so it laid sleek down the course of his back and shoulders. He didn't make a sound, and even pointedly snapped his muzzle shut.

The man laughed at that, but it wasn't mean-heartened. The amusement was good and it meant only to Rick that just maybe he'd survive the few minutes. The man got distracted, though, as the boy from earlier came into the room, looking in curiously at the scene. "You were protecting my son out there, weren't you?" Rick huffed, a good enough statement, and he sighed. "I didn't know what I saw, but that's what Duane told me. S'good enough for me, but one baaaad move..." He left that open ended as he reached for the tied paws, carefully snapping the tight hold. Once his movement was given back to him, Rick rolled onto his front and got his paws under him, standing on wobbly legs. "Now why don't you turn back and we'll get that bandage redressed. Some clothes on you too, sounds about good, right? Duane, go into my bedroom and find something for this man to wear."

The boy ran off, which was preferable to Rick since he didn't want to have that boy see or hear the process of him changing back. Much like how it was turning from his human form to his wolf form, bones and muscles cracked and tightened, loosened and reshaped until he went from four-legged to two. An animalistic whine left the wolf's snout, the only other sound belying his pain was the canine's harsh pants. Just as he had finished transforming, a thin blanket was set over his body to give him privacy and the stranger was walking from the other end of the room, holding out a glass of water.

"The name's Morgan," he said and offered the cup once Rick managed to sit upright using his uninjured side. His hand reached over his chest, holding the bandage that had loosened in place while the other struggled before closing around the glass. Rick felt the man's eyes on him watching him steadily, but he hadn't the energy, nor really the desire to tell the man he had nothing to fear.

"Rick Grimes. Can you tell me what's going on?" Rick looked up at him from over his cup, drinking slowly so he didn't irritate his empty stomach.

Morgan grinned somberly. "I think that's a conversation we can save for dinner talk." He opened an arm as Duane came back with clothes and sat them down next to Rick.

"No I... I need to know now. My wife and son..." Rick choked up, pleading with his eyes for any information, even if it was just to know how bad everything was. Morgan pinned him with a sideways glance, lips firmed. He shook his head, and Rick nearly jumped up to grab him as he got up to leave.

"Get dressed, but leave the shirt off so we can redo that bandage. Meet us in the kitchen."

As Morgan left the room, Rick tried to calm his speeding heartbeat. Eyes fixed on the table, he didn't notice that he hadn't been left alone. He heard a quiet sniffle, startling Rick who looked up. Duane remained back, a smile on his young face. "Thanks for the save back there, kid." Rick said to break the silence, and the boy nodded. His mind much clearer, the consequences of sinking his teeth in one of those walking corpses were unimaginable. He managed a crooked grin and the boy left with a bright, "y'welcome!"

Rick grabbed the clothes and left the blanket on the floor, getting to his feet with the help of a low sitting table at his side. On it, he saw the materials used for his wound, all half used to cover the massive body of his wolf form. It was a waste now, as the bandage hung limply over his shoulder and chest, and he decided to remove them and leave the cotton squares with the clotted blood to keep from bleeding out. The clothes, he set in a chair so it was easy to reach as he redressed.

He came into the kitchen with the roll of bandages and the shirt donated to him. The table was set and Duane was already sitting at the head, moving silverware until he was satisfied with their placement. Food was already laid out hot in a saucepan and the smell of chicken broth made his empty stomach roll for a second. Rick beat the feeling of queasiness down as he was directed to the farther end of the table first to handle those wounds first.

"I took the liberty of removing your stitches. They were in too long." Morgan said right away, clean hands touching the cotton squares to see underneath. Rick didn't bother to look, but he could guess the skin was mottled with old bruising and pink, new skin. "You're healin' up pretty fast."

"It's faster when I'm in the other form." Rick said, but it wasn't a secret. It was even in the police handbook in case they needed to deal with unregistered werewolves and in history books telling the oldest battles between human and lycan-kind. Their bodies just worked differently once they got through the Change. Sadly, it wasn't something he was able to do right away the moment he got shot, too shocked to do much else other than to fully shut down.

Morgan didn't comment and finished up the elastic bandage. While he headed to the sink to wash his hands, Rick slipped the shirt over his shoulders, buttoning up the bottom few before giving up all together. He moved from the end seat towards the one on Duane's left and stared at his empty bowl while the boy was already spooning himself some of the soup into his own.

"You want some, mister?"

Rick smiled, reaching out. "I can do it, Duane. Thank you."

The three of them ate in the quiet, aided by the candle light. Without conversation, Rick thought about what just went down not even a full day ago. He was mentally disoriented, feeling like only yesterday he was sitting in his cop car with Shane, sharing a few laughs between bites of food. For a second he wondered where his best friend was, hoping the other man survived all of this, wondering if he found Lori and Carl. He trusted that man to take care of his family while he was out.

Worry was next as he brought back up his wife and child. Lori was human and Carl was still a young pup, barely able to take on the change without crying and passing out. Dread was a heavy weight in his chest as he imagined their panic and fear, hoping his wife had thought quickly and clear enough to run as fast and as far as they could. He only hoped she didn't wait behind for him.

So deep in his thoughts, Rick hadn't noticed he stopped eating. His spoon hovered over his bowl, full with cooled broth. Morgan leaned forward over the table, looking at Rick under his brows. "You doin' alright?"

"I think I'd like to know what's goin' on right now. What was- what is all that?" Rick looked up and set his spoon down, pushing away his half eaten bowl. "What're those... things?"

"Well." Morgan breathed out through his nose, taking his empty bowl and Rick's and setting it in the saucepan to take the sink. Duane took his own bowl, disposing of it on the kitchen counter before hurrying out the room with another pointed glance from his dad. Rick remained sitting, watching Morgan's hands as he cleaned the table and the way the flickering fire put shadows over its surface. Morgan sat across from him again, folding his hands over the table as he pinned the other with a stare. Rick could see in his eyes how the other man tried to figure out the best way to tell him.

"Anthin' you gotta say, just say it."

"I don't know what to call them." Morgan finally said, suddenly looking very tired. He rubbed at his face, especially on his dark, baggy eyes weighed down by the world's condition. It looked like the other carried all his troubles on his shoulders as he allowed them to sag in defeat. "One day they just started poppin' out, attackin' one and then another. Got no name for them, no known... disease. Just know you don't get bit." Morgan paused, eyes having drifted off to the right of Rick's head, but they snapped back to meet his concerned gaze. "You get bit, you die, and you become one of them," laughing lightly, he scratched the back of his arm, "Think that's what my son was gettin' at, tellin' you not to bite that thing. Don't know what exactly makes them infectious."

Rick nodded, lips curling in over his teeth as he looked away, again grateful for the kid who probably just saved his hide. Head bobbing again, he said, "Yeah... your son's very perceptive."

Morgan tilted his head, lips pulling downward thoughtfully as he got up from the table. "He's afraid. And when you wanna survive, you look at the details." He went back to the sink, cleaning with the water they hadn't drank, the broth easily clearing from the tableware. He looked over his shoulder at Rick, saying, "You should get some sleep. Don't know 'bout you, but I'm lookin' forward to my own couple a' hours when you take second shift."

Understanding how Morgan would possible keep watch as long as possible when he had a young charge made Rick chuckle, knowing he'd of done the same for his own family. Before he left the kitchen to take the mattress he had woken up next to on the floor, he caught Morgan's attention again by murmuring, "Thanks for taking me back here. Ya didn' have to, but y'did."

"Well, if my wife was alive... she would never forgive me for lettin' someone die out there."

Rick bowed his head and didn't press, unsure how to share his sympathy with a man who was still basically a stranger. When he was back in the dimly lit living room, he crashed into the mattress, carefully setting his injured side down last. Duane was nowhere in sight, the sounds of the hissing corpses muted within these walls, and mostly he concentrated on the other man humming an old tune to fill the silence until he fell asleep.

Rick was awoken by the sound of scratching on the front door. He got up and found that the pain on his left side was a lot more manageable now, finding himself on his feet in a few measly seconds, rather than working himself up just to keep his head up high. Rick kept himself quiet, brow furrowed as he neared he noise that disturbed him in his dreamless sleep. When he came to a stop in front of it, the sounds from the other side had ceased as well.

He peeked through the peephole, staring confusedly at a woman completely in disarray with her black hair sticking up at odd ends, and eyes opened wide and blood shot. Her mouth hung open, a breathy, recognizable hiss leaving her parted, full lips colored a deadly shade of greyish purple. The corpse looked right back at him in the peephole and her painted nails went back to scratching around the door handle.

Rick blindly reached behind, his hand wrapping around the metal baseball bat Duane had carried around when he first met him leaning against the wall. He summoned up the energy to want to open the door and get rid of the problem, but a heavy hand on his forearm as he grasped the doorknob stopped him in his tracks. Looking back, he stared into Morgan's brown eyes, saw how they had slanted with sadness.

Rick studied those features, how despair and guilt made the wrinkles around his eyes prominent and kept the proud man's gaze down to the floor. "Is she...?" Rick asked, voice high and whispery with disbelief. He got a single nod, and though Rick had guessed, he still found himself at a loss for words as he let the bat hang limply at his side.

"She comes and goes." Morgan whispered and left Rick standing at the door, sitting on the couch across from the mattress. "See her everyday, standin' across from this house. Like a ghost, but worse."

"Why do you stay?" Rick didn't understand. He wouldn't be able to live with himself waking up every morning and looking out every night to see the animated corpse of his wife mindlessly circling his home. He could see it in the way Morgan slumped how this had taxed on him and it was with as much sympathy as he could muster that he suggested, "We should leave."

"Where else can we go? There's no where. We're not safe. Not out there."

"We can get a few things to make us safe and then we will head out of town. We'll break into the Sheriff's Department and take what we need."

Morgan narrowed his eyes. His voice came out with a bit of suspicion. "Just who are you, Grimes?" It made Rick balk, his head shaking in disbelief, but the man had every right to not trust him. His thin hand pushed through the curly locks of his hair before pointedly looking at the other man.

"It don't matter. What does is that we get the weapons we need to survive and we look for a better place to stay. Your boy deserves better than this." It was a low blow, but he could see it working. The cogs were moving in Morgan's head, and that's really all Rick needed to push, "Heard about that refugee shelter in Atlanta?"

Morgan scoffed. "Of course I have."

Rick didn't asked him why he and his family didn't go when there was nothing that held them back. He lowered his head, looking up into the other who kept his bent down, catching those eyes. "There is safety in numbers. We'll find something. Duane shouldn't be afraid to be outside for the rest of his life." He paused, sizing the other up before laying a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "He shouldn't have to see his mom out there like that forever."

Morgan pulled away abruptly, quickly ending the conversation. "It's your turn to take watch." Rick figured he pushed too hard, and cursing to himself quietly, he nodded.

Rick followed him upstairs into the room that oversaw the front yard. Along the way pictures of the family hung up in the hallway. He can see what Morgan's wife looked like before she was infected, now seeing how she was like with life in her eyes and a pretty smile on her face. He saw what she was like as a wife and a mother and found himself feeling sorry for the other man and his son. He felt like he had to say something to Morgan, give some sort of comfort, but the words were a mess even in his own head, leaving him unsure how to respond without stepping on more toes. He sat up on the window sill, sitting on the ledge so he can watch out of the arched window. Morgan left him be to go to his room, his footsteps turning to nothing as he ambled out into the hallway.

He couldn't guess what time it was, but the sky outside was still an inky dark blue, the stars shining brighter now that the power grid had locked and shadowed the town in darkness. The corpses outside were quiet, walking slowly in an aimless direction, groaning in hunger. Eventually he saw Morgan's wife come into view, shuffling to the other side of the road, her gait uneven and swaying side to side. He could see the shine of dried, tarlike blood on the side of her neck and the same dark blood that stained her nightdress. Rick watched her, intrigued when she stood still then turned slowly, looking back at the house like she heard a noise. Rick could almost fool himself into seeing recognition in her expressionless face.

Morgan had Rick sitting down counting the cracks in his fireplace for most of the morning. The man had come down quietly, his son the only bright ray of light who bounded down the stairs while the adults silently greeted each other. Breakfast was another can of soup they heated on the battery run hot plate they had in the kitchen and then Morgan went about lugging his finds from yesterday and setting them away with the rest of their supplies.

Rick felt better. Even though he probably had only a few hours of sleep last night, he was feeling rejuvenated and ready to head out. He stopped Morgan as he went moving from the living room to the kitchen to set down a bag of rice. "Hey, I need to talk to you."

Morgan didn't say anything, but he stopped and turned towards him, giving Rick his attention. The lines on his forehead furrowed, an open expression on his pensive face. Morgan wiped the light sheen of sweat off his brow before letting his arms hang loosely at his sides.

The werewolf's lips twitched, collecting his words so that they came out in the best way. "I understand you're not meanin' to leave, but I am. I can't stay here. I need to go to the sheriff's department before its too late."

"Didn't think you'd stay." Morgan said with nod. He looked reluctant for Rick to leave, unsure if he could just let a man wander out there and into an unknown future. It shouldn't matter to him, but the younger man didn't deserve a grizzly death between the jaws of the undead. He breathed in and out, a deep sigh that raised and lowered his shoulders. "What is so important there that you need to make that stop? Be best to not head into town, if you gotta leave. Go straight for the freeway where's there's much less of those walkers an' straight down to Atlanta."

"Yeah. Walkers." Rick inclined his head, looking away. "Should be able to keep them at bay once I get what I need. The armory should be untouched... if I can just get inside..."

"Armory?" Interest piqued in that gruff voice. Rick resisted the urge to grin.

"You think the Sheriff's department don't hold their own armory? Yes, armory. Most likely its full inventory."

"You don't know that. Someone could have already hit the place-"

"We won't know until we try."

Morgan had an easy face to read. Options were being weighed, decisions rolling around in those open, distracted eyes and lost in his parted mouth. Rick could hear the pick up in his breath at the prospect of unlimited firepower, maybe enough to keep the amount of the undead manageable around the house. Those guns would easily keep Morgan and Duane safe for as long as they keep their guard up from the likes of both the undead and anyone threatening them for supplies and shelter.

Morgan's vision cleared, mouth firming with resolution. "I will help you get there, but I only have one request."

"Whatever you want."

"Half of the armory."

"It's yours," Rick replied without missing a beat.

The tension in Morgan's shoulders relaxed and the man gave him a grateful nod. "I'm guessin' you want to leave today? I'll get my boy ready. He doesn't leave my side."

"Wouldn't have asked differently. He'll be safe."

They drove inwards toward the town of King's County. A hollow feeling expanded in Rick's chest as he for the first time saw what become of the town he loved. They passed the corner of a small diner and a memory of nights eating there with his family had him turning his head away. Driving was deceptively difficult now because, although motionless with the lack of life, the road was strewn with crashed and abandoned cars, collapsed structures, and many unmoving dead bodies. Those that did move caused another obstacle to overcome to what had been a simple task in the past. Either way, Morgan's foot remained firmly on the gas pedal. Rick hadn't said a thing the whole drive.

"You know, for the life of me, I have not seen a werewolf come back from the dead." Morgan said casually like this was a normal sunny day and a normal discussion. Hearing movement behind him, Rick turned around and saw Duane peak over the door and out the window as if seeing for himself if the statement was true.

Rick chuckled. "Wouldn't you think that's a good thing?"

Laughing, Morgan waved a hand dismissively before setting it back on the wheel. "If it means nothin' to you, then yeah. That's a damn good thing. Rabid flesh-hungry dead dogs on my tail does not sound like a good time."

"I agree." Rick smiled, grateful for the sudden distraction. He could see their destination right ahead. The building look odd with such little activity going on around it, unused to seeing those front doors remain shut for so long. "Great. There it is. Go 'round back, there should be a gate we can drive right into and shut."

There was only one of those walking corpses mindlessly trudging along inside the fence. Rick watched it and could almost recognize the face of the man in uniform. The gate was closed, and Morgan made a low, frustrated growl as he finally pushed his foot on the breaks. "One of us got ta get out."

"I'll do it." Rick said and was already opening the door. Coming closer to the fence, he can definitely put a name to the body, remembering the kid as a recent paper pusher fresh out of the academy. The corpse picked up on him, stumbling forward and arms outstretched, gaining speed as he finally found a purpose.

Rick pulled the short hunting knife out of his pocket, waiting patiently for the body to lean up against the gates. The young man's hands were too big and the skin was still smooth with his youth, even if mottled with blood and covered in dirt. Fingers pushed through the spaces, shaking with the need to take Rick. He watched him with as much indifference as he could muster.

"'m sorry." Rick muttered even though he was sure the creature couldn't understand. He grasped the front of his khaki shirt poking through the fence until the thing had no choice but to expose his neck and chin. The knife swiftly impaled the base of the head and soon it fell limp, descending to the floor once Rick dislodged the knife and let it go.

The gates weren't locked, thankfully, and he pulled that open so the van could drive through. He wasn't sure what he would find in there and the weird biting he was feeling in the bottom of his stomach felt something close to apprehension. As the van drove through he met Morgan's eyes before sliding over to Duane who seemed excited to enter the station. He vowed to himself that he'd make sure they left this place alive.

They went straight for the armory. It was something Morgan had looked at Rick oddly for and had even spoken out about. Now in the room as they filled up large bags, he found the issue to be funny. Morgan had first thought he was a criminal before thinking he was a cop. Rick wasn't dumb enough to believe differently with how the other man defended himself, and deep down knew it had everything to do with him being a werewolf. Unregistered wolves always came in to town, brought together in groups by hunters like cattle. It was both fair and unfair as many unregistered wolves tend to reject society and live on their own out in the woods, but there were always those nasty few who kidnapped and turned humans even those who were unwilling. It was usually easy to tell which was which as they came in, but they were all thrown into the same bucket of wild, feral, and dangerous.

It was a wonder Morgan hadn't hit him over the head with his son's bat for it, but he seemed to have earned his trust. When Rick said he was a sheriff of the law, Morgan had apologized over his boy's sudden exclamation of awe. Rick didn't have any proof on him, but he must have been convincing with the way he navigated the two within the building and how well he had led them in a loose formation towards the artillery room.

Morgan was just zipping up his bag when Rick slid under the strap so it draped over his chest. The room was practically empty now, save for some of the heavier guns. The bullets were all taken, so those guns were practically useless.

"Let's head out." Rick said, catching both of their attention. Duane was also carrying a backpack weighed down by boxes of bullets and cartridges. Rick reached out, hooked his fingers on the loop of the bag and lifted to check its weight, before letting it go.

Morgan watched, "You okay, son?"

"S'not too heavy dad!"

Rick huffed bemusedly under his breath and patted the boy on the back. He reminded him of Carl and his obsession with weapons. It seemed all young boys had it.

They went back the way they came, but not until Rick ran into the locker room. It was a last minute thing that came up and he told them both that they didn't need to wait up for him. Morgan stood his ground and pulled Duane a bit closer as Rick entered the room.

He found his locker in the corner, second to the last, which was Shane's. Rick dialed in his four digit code before pulling the locker open and peering inside. His hand snapped out for the white pill bottle which he quickly slid between the open flaps of the sling backpack around his chest. He remembered leaving half a month's worth in there. He nearly shut the locker, but his eye caught on a spare uniform, which he unthinkingly grabbed and rolled up before bringing his bag around him and stuffed inside.

"Got what you need?" Morgan asked. Rick was shutting the door behind him when he turned around.

"Not quite." Rick answered and pulled out the pill bottle from his bag. He turned the bottle so that the name was facing himself and he read the name of the chemical carefully. "I need more of these. I'm sure there are other bottles sittin' around."

"What are they?"

When Morgan looked at it curiously, he turned it so the label was facing him and explained, "My suppressants. 160 milligram capsules is my dose, but anythin' will do."

"What's it for?" Morgan continued with the questions and took up the bottle to read the name.

"Most important thing?" Rick said with a dramatic pause. "Keeps my anger in check."

A light scoff. Morgan tossed back the bottle with a grin. It was obvious Rick wasn't telling him everything, but he wasn't about to pry. Rick wasn't ready to tell him that without the pills, he could very well turn anyone into one of him, that the baser instincts smothered with chemicals would come to light. Those were things Rick kept to himself and Morgan allowed him those secrets. "I see. I'll keep an eye out."

They searched around for a bit. It was a bit nostalgic on Rick's part as he rummaged through his colleagues things, and at the same time almost felt wrong of him to do. He was stepping into the privacy of other people as he opened drawers and pushed aside piles of folders, hoping to find something worth taking with him while pictures of their families looked on in what felt like accusation. He had to resist the urge to turn some of the pictures around, especially if he had met the person that came with that face at one point in time.

He'd gone through half as fast as he could, but instead of helping Morgan and his son with their scavenging on their side, he told them he was going to check out the locker room. His feet were heavy as they took him towards the darker side of the building. He had already been inside, so his stride was confident.

The search was cut much shorter, as he thought. Rick was lucky to open a few lockers that didn't have a code to it, and a few more just because he knew the person well enough to guess. He just wished that werewolves weren't asked to hold their condition private in order to prevent harassment in the station. It was something that always rubbed at Rick the wrong way and was now providing him with obstacles as he had to treat everyone as a possibility. It frustrated him when he came up empty handed.

The one pill bottle wasn't going to last him, that was as obvious as the sky was blue and the grass was green. He knew it would take other dangerous trips into facilities and pharmacies just to hopefully find more suppressants, testing his luck on whether or not the place had not been emptied before he could check it out. He slammed the locker he was going through shut, slightly tripping over the clothes he pulled to the floor and took a seat on the bench, head in his hands. He'd never been off the suppressants before in his life, but he'd seen the men who have and heard there stories.

It wasn't pain of the withdrawal he was fearful of, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He had come across two or three werewolves in the middle of an attack, the homeless burning up and lashing out in the alleyways and parks and scaring off enough people that the sheriff's deputy had been called in. It wasn't the fevers, the random state between werewolf and human, the hunger... Although he was sure by the time that comes, he would be ready for it.

Without the suppressants his condition was transmittable. A mutation in his DNA was alive in his saliva without it, infectious only when in contact with a wound. A careless bite, even in the throes of his heat, and he might as well just end that person's life. His hand moved over the shadow of hair on his face, feeling the prickles of the beginnings of a full beard scratchy against his palms. There was a light beating right behind his eyes, dull and hot in its slow rhythm. He listened to himself breathe.

"Hey, Rick... Might've found somethi- Move!"

It was a warning that threw Rick off guard. Rick whipped his head up and then over his shoulder, half a second too late as a corpse lunged at him from the shower room. Rick shot his hands out, grasping onto emaciated shoulders, fighting with unimaginable strength as it took him to the floor.

Rick's blood was rushing in his ears, or it could have been the raspy growl of the creature bearing its teeth at him, snapping, and drooling like a starving dog. Rick turned his head away, fear as he smelled its foul breath on him, crying out as ragged fingernails tore into his skin. He tried his best to roll them over, but it was done the moment the corpse turned its head and dug his teeth into the flesh of his arm.

"Oh God. Oh God..." Rick mumbled, eyes shutting tight as searing pain flamed from the appendage, jerking when Morgan swung his son's bat down over the walker over and over again until it let go. It took Morgan kicking the thing and Rick shoving it off of him like it was plagued to free him and the werewolf scrambled back against the locker as Morgan ended the dead's miserable life. He held his bit arm close to his body, shaking harder than ever. The only thing that was running through his mind was that he wouldn't be able to see his wife and son ever again.

In and out, Rick took in ragged puffs of air, trying to control his racing heart. The site of infection started to burn inwards, a poison moving through his veins sharp like rubbing alcohol. Morgan looked at him with pity and loss, looking away with a pained grimace flashing across his face. Rick wasn't ready to die, but he wasn't going to put this man and his boy in danger.

"Just do it."

Morgan looked at him when at the sound of his voice. There was refusal in his eyes and in his stance, the bat hung limply in his hands. He was an open book to read and Rick could see it all how this man fought with what was right and what was needed. Those brown eyes shone with tears, frustrated, provoked, and mournful, and with renewed strength he raised his weapon...

Only to set it back down at his feet with a defeated sigh, "I can't do it. You're still... not yet."

Rick understood and he took the proffered hand to get him on his feet. His arm was pulled around the other's strong shoulders, taking his weight as they made it out of the room.

"Keep back." Morgan told his son, arm out protectively as they moved out of the room unsteadily. The boy looked on worriedly, his brow wrinkled and frowning. He didn't know what to do but listened to his dad and stepped away. Morgan dragged the other's body along. "Where are we going?"

"To a cell." Rick forced out, voice cracking. "Just lock me in there for the night... Put me down when I've turned."

Morgan nodded and they entered the small cellblock used for intoxicated townsfolk and trouble makers. The cell doors were open so Rick pulled away and simply dragged himself into one. "Key's in the desk over there." He told Morgan and Morgan was already heading towards it before he could finish the sentence.

Rick sat back heavily on the cot, his brain already swimming with fever. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he wiped it off on his shirt sleeve. His blood moved through him like liquid fire, his veins showing dark and dilated on the pale skin of his arms. His breath came in and out of his gritted teeth, eyes shut tight as he leaned his head against the wall. Duane looked at him sadly from across the room. He wished the boy didn't have to see this.

Morgan locked the door and urged Duane into another cell for the night. They hadn't eaten, but their appetite was on hold as they waited out the inevitable. Duane was made to face the wall while Morgan kept watch.|

"You, sir, have terrible luck."

Rick couldn't help the dry snort, giving into the much needed laugh that made his bones hurt. "Yeah, well..." he even managed a little smirk with Morgan's short chuckle. The situation was morbid, but the ending was all the same. There was no changing that the end of the road was right there. He gave them their back in turn to suffer alone, laying down on his side and sweaty face shoved in a flat pillow to smother the pain.