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TWD: TW Ch. 19
🕑 Added 2026-01-27 01:44:48 +0000 UTCLucien looked from Gale to Rick to the Joneses, weighing his options like he hadn't already made this decision days ago.
"Dr. Gale's right," Rick said firmly. "And besides, you've been wanting to see Shane, haven't you? I can take you to him. I'm a cop, I promise I'll keep you safe. Will you come with us?"
Lucien bit his lip. "I'm not... I mean, I'm just a kid. I'll slow you down."
"Don't say that."
Morgan stepped forward. "Do you remember the first time we met? You helped with Duane."
Jenny nodded, her hand resting on Duane's shoulder. "You helped Paul and Karina too. God knows what would have happened to them if you hadn't been there."
"Duane's been doing better since he met you," Morgan continued. "Every time we see you around, it feels like... I don't know. Like things might work out."
It was a stretch, and he knew it. But the kid had been helpful, there was no denying that. And maybe there was something to the idea that having someone around who hadn't completely given up made the rest of them feel a little less hopeless.
Rick nodded. "When I woke up, you were the first person to tell me about Shane. You gave me hope when I didn't have any."
Duane peeked out from behind his mother. "Please come with us!"
Lucien's face shifted. He ducked his head, looking shy.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I'll go to Atlanta with you."
Duane let out a whoop that made everyone smile despite themselves.
The adults exchanged glances. Nobody knew what they'd find in Atlanta, but right now, having a direction felt like enough.
---
They moved fast after that.
Gale still refused to come with them, but she agreed to Rick's request to make one stop before they left town: the King County Sheriff's Department.
The station was empty when they arrived, doors hanging open, papers scattered across the floor. But the armory was still locked, and Rick had the keys.
"Alright," he said, swinging the door open. "Let's see what we've got."
There were rifles, shotguns, and handguns, along with boxes of ammunition stacked on metal shelves. Kevlar vests hung nearby, too big for Lucien but fitting Morgan and Rick just fine.
They loaded up, Rick taking a Remington 870 and a Glock 17, Morgan grabbing a hunting rifle and a revolver. Lucien watched them work, feeling the familiar itch of inadequacy. A gun would be useful. But he was a kid, and even if they offered, he wasn't sure he could handle the recoil.
"Here."
Jenny pressed something into his hand. A knife, maybe six inches long, with a leather sheath.
"Just in case," she said.
Lucien nodded, clipping it to his belt. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
Rick handed Gale a pistol and two boxes of ammo. "You sure you won't come with us?"
"I'm sure," Gale said. She checked the magazine. "But thank you."
The locker room showers still worked, even if the water was cold. No one complained. Lucien scrubbed off days of grime and dried blood, watching it spiral down the drain in a swirl. When he was done, Jenny had found him a clean shirt and a pair of jeans that almost fit.
---
They said goodbye to Gale in the parking lot.
Rick shook her hand, then pulled her into a brief hug. "Take care of yourself."
"You too." She smiled. "And you," she said, turning to Lucien. "Stay safe. Be smart."
"I will," Lucien said.
She ruffled his hair, and for a second, it felt real. Like she cared. Maybe she did. People were complicated like that. Then she was gone, walking back toward the hospital with a handgun on her hip.
Morgan had siphoned gas from half a dozen abandoned cars while they'd been inside, filling the cruiser's tank and a spare jerry can. The car was packed. It was tight, but they'd manage.
Rick climbed into the driver's seat. Morgan took shotgun. Jenny, Duane, and Lucien squeezed into the back.
"Everybody ready?" Rick asked.
"Ready," Morgan said.
Rick turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life.
---
The highway was a graveyard.
Cars sat abandoned in the lanes, doors open, belongings scattered. A few had bodies inside, slumped over steering wheels and decomposing in the heat. Rick drove slowly, weaving between the wrecks. Lucien watched out the window.
Rick picked up the radio handset. "Emergency channel, this is Officer Rick Grimes of the King County Sheriff's Department. We're traveling north on Highway 85, heading toward Atlanta. If anyone can hear this, please respond."
Static crackled through the speakers.
He tried again. "This is Officer Rick Grimes. We're on Highway 85, approaching Atlanta. If there are any survivors monitoring this frequency, please respond."
More static.
He set the handset down.
Lucien said nothing. He knew what waited on the other end of the static. Shane and Lori were there, along with a whole camp of survivors who had heard the transmission but could not respond because of signal interference.
They were close, but not close enough yet.
---
Somewhere outside Atlanta, in a camp tucked into the woods near a quarry, Shane lowered the radio.
"I lost them," he said to the group gathered around. "Signal's gone."
Lori stepped forward, her dark hair pulled back. "We should warn them. They don't know what's in the city... it's a death trap."
"We don't even know where they are. They could be miles away by now."
"Then we go looking. We can't just leave them out there."
"Yes, we can." Shane's voice was flat. "I'm not risking our people for strangers we can't even locate."
Lori stared at him. "They're survivors, Shane. Just like us. We have to help them."
"No," Shane said. "We don't."
He turned and walked away, leaving Lori standing there with her fists clenched.
Amy, a young blonde woman standing nearby, touched Lori's arm gently. "He's scared. We all are."
"I know," Lori said quietly. But that didn't make it right.
She looked out toward the distant city. Whoever those people were, they were walking into hell.
---
The car rolled to a stop an hour later, the engine sputtering.
"Damn it," Rick muttered, checking the gauge. It was empty.
Morgan sighed. "We got as far as we could."
They climbed out, stretching stiff legs and looking around. The empty, endless highway stretched out ahead of them. To the left, a dirt road led toward a farmhouse sitting alone in a field.
"Might be supplies in there, or at least a phone."
"Worth a shot," Rick agreed. He looked back at the group. "You all stay with the car. I'll check it out."
Lucien watched Rick approach the house, moving carefully, his hand on his holstered pistol. The farmhouse looked peaceful.
Rick peered through the window, and his whole body went still. There were no living people inside, only an elderly couple who had been dead for a long time. Their bodies were already decomposing, lying silently on the bed, surrounded by the buzzing of mosquitoes. On the wall behind them was a message...
When he turned back, his face was pale.
"What is it?" Morgan called.
Rick didn't answer right away. He walked back slowly.
"There are people inside..." he said at last. "An elderly couple. They've been dead for some time. It looks like they took their own lives."
Jenny's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh God."
Rick's voice was quiet. "There's writing on the wall. It's in blood. It says, 'God forgive us.'"
Nobody spoke.
These people had chosen to die rather than face whatever came next. They had sat down together, made a decision, and ended it.
"We should keep moving. This isn't... we shouldn't linger here."
"On foot?" Morgan asked. "Atlanta's still miles away."
Rick looked out at the road.
That's when Lucien saw it.
Behind the farmhouse, half-hidden by a low fence, stood a horse. It had a brown coat and a strong build, and it grazed peacefully on the grass.
"Look," he said, pointing toward the horse.
Rick turned, and his expression shifted from despair to something like hope.
"Well I'll be damned," he said as he smiled. He walked over and clapped Lucien on the shoulder. "You've got a hell of a knack for finding exactly what we need."
Morgan laughed. "Looks like somebody's watching out for us after all."
