Chapter 3: Ghost Town

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It was hopeless.

Rick had been driving for hours and the police cruiser was getting dangerously close to running out of fuel. He'd just stopped at a gas station in an attempt to find some, only to be given an encounter with a reanimated little girl instead, whom he'd been forced to put down.

So, he had no choice but to move on, hoping he'd eventually come across a refill.

Without any better ideas, he switched on his cruiser's CB radio and spoke into it, "Broadcasting on emergency channel, will be approaching Atlanta on Highway 85. Anybody reads, please respond." After a pause, he fished for an answer, "Hello? Hello — can anybody hear my voice? Anybody out there?"


"Hello? Can anybody hear my voice?" crackled Rick's voice over the CB.

The refugee camp had been a nature park area prior to the outbreak. It consisted of dense forests, mountain cliffs that formed a quarry, and a lake — making it ideal for the group of 18 survivors who now inhabited it.

Many of them dropped everything and dashed over to the CB as soon as they heard the transmission. The first to reach it was Amy Harrison — a young, pretty, 24-year-old blonde girl.

She knelt down before the CB and grabbed the radio. "Hey, hello??" she spoke into it eagerly.

"Can you hear my voice?" asked Rick.

"Yes, I can hear you, you're-- you're coming through, over!" she turned to the other gathering survivors, smiling from ear to ear.

"Anybody reads, please respond," he continued, seemingly not acknowledging her presence. "Broadcasting on emergency channel. Will be approaching Atlanta on Highway 85."

"We're just outside the city," she explained desperately. "Damn it. Hello? Hello?" Her face fell — nothing but static"He couldn't hear me, I couldn't warn him. I--"

"Try to raise him again," suggested one of the others.

His name was Dale Horvath — his hair and beard were light grey, he typically dressed like a fisherman (despite not being one), and he was 64 years old — making him the oldest group member, and consequently one with authority. His RV also served as a type of command post for the group.

Dale turned to another member, "Come on, son, you know best how to work this thing."

This member struck his axe into the tree stump that the CB rested on and took control. The CB belonged to him before the outbreak when he was a sheriff's deputy in his hometown of Cythiania, Kentucky.

This member's name was Shane Walsh.

"Hello, hello? Is the person who called still on the air?" Shane spoke into the radio, a tad more casually than Amy, "This is Officer Shane Walsh broadcasting to person unknown, please respond." He waited for a reply — having no idea who it was on the other line — but after a moment, he turned to the rest and shook his head, "He's gone."

"There are others," another member spoke. "It's not just us."

This member was an attractive 35-year-old woman with black hair and brown eyes. She and her son — who was 7 years old and shared the same hair and eye colours — had moved to Atlanta after her husband and his father fell into a coma and died.

Their names were Lori and Carl.

"Well, we knew there would be, right?" asked Shane in response to Lori. "That's why we left the CB on, ain't it?"

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⏰ Last updated: Oct 31 ⏰

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