In a world overrun by the dead, survival is a daily struggle. For Alex Mercer, every day is a battle against both the relentless walkers and the harsh realities of a shattered world. Haunted by the loss of her family and hardened by months of solita...
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"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." — Norman Cousins
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The screen door to Hershel's farmhouse slammed open and out came Rick Grimes, completely and utterly beside himself. He couldn't even make it off the porch. His legs gave out from underneath him from the mix of blood loss, exhaustion and the death of his only child, his son Carl. He had enough strength to grab onto one of the balusters of the stair railing so he didn't fall all the way down like a sack of potatoes. Gripping it tight with both hands, he leaned into it and let the sobs expel from his lips while tears stung his eyes and roll down his pallid face.
It was ugly crying at its best and he gave zero shits about how he looked.
Hershel came out of the door, gently letting it close behind him as he approached behind the grieving father, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I can't say it enough how sorry I am for the loss of your son, Rick, but I truly am," Hershel expressed. "I wish there was more I could've done."
Hunching forward, Rick let go of the railing and covered his face with his hands. "It's not your fault," he managed to mumble. "It's mine. He shouldn't have been with Shane and me in the woods. He'd never have been shot. This is on me."
"You can't think like that, Rick. It was an unfortunate accident. It could've been you or Shane that had been shot instead. We can't know what's going to happen. We aren't meant to know."
"It would've been better if it had been Shane or me that got shot, because then my son would be alive."
"I know Shane and Otis are beating themselves up over this, too, what with not getting back in time," Hershel commented. "Otis is inside blaming himself as well. He's the one that pulled the trigger. But no good will come of blaming anyone. It'll just make the pain harder."
Rick wasn't saying anything; he was just burrowing his head away from the older man beside him. He wanted to be strong and resolute but how did he come back from something like this?
"What I don't understand is what happened after your son died," Hershel continued. "It doesn't make sense."
Rick lifted his head and stared out at the sun cresting higher and higher into the sky; a bright sunny day contrasting with how he felt on the inside.
"Your son turned, Rick, without having been bit. How—how does that happen? I've never seen that."
"I don't want to talk about it right now," Rick announced, pulling himself up to his feet and storming off slowly away from the house.
"Don't go too far, Rick," Hershel called out. "You gave too much blood yesterday. You'll pass out before you even get to the barn in this heat."
