Fuelling Forces || The Walking Dead

Part 1: Twists of Fate

*WARNING!!
Some content in this chapter may be offensive to sensitive readers. There are mentions of rape and death. Read at your own discretion.

When the epidemic hit, I had just given birth. Not the ideal situation to be in but could I control it? No.

My child was beautiful, the only thing that was wrong about him was that he was a product from twisted ideals. I had been raped, but no matter what circumstance he came to be, I had fallen so deep in love with the baby I had growing in my womb that I couldn’t help but ignore the semantics of his creation. The fact that I had been violated didn’t matter to me the more I fell in love with my unborn son. He was an innocent child and couldn’t answer for the sins of his father.

That day was burned into my brain, maybe for what felt like eternity. I was unable to wipe it out of my head, no matter what I tried. Every time I tried to sleep or even close my eyes, I saw it etched there and relived it every time.

Walkers had invaded the hospital. The nurse had been checking up on my son after I had just named him Liam. They burst into my room and tore at the nurse in front of my very eyes, it was all so quick. The screams that left my throat were unnatural as they grabbed my baby right out of the crib and tore him apart. I wasn’t fast enough, the C-Section marring my skin was slowing me down. The cries of my little boy in pain was enough to torment my very soul, break my mind, arrest my sanity. I knew that I wouldn’t recover from this anytime soon if I survived. Something about that day, broke a part of me and I’m afraid it would never come back again.

In a rage, I grabbed the equipment that held my drip on it and bashed it over the three flesh-eating creatures heads and all the while ripping the needles out of my arm at the sheer effort of my beating them. I went on a rampage, killing every walking cannibal in sight on my floor of the hospital. This horde killed my baby! What were they? A scientific experiment gone wrong? All I saw was red and all I heard was my baby boy’s cries of pain. When I was satisfied that the maternity wing was safe, I had gone back to my room and cried ugly tears for the chance I never got with my child. Where was my husband? Had be been eaten by these monsters too?

I had held my child for less than seven minutes.
That’s what my many replays of that day surmised for me.

I stayed in that hospital for a long time after that, killing every cannibal that entered and naïvely waiting for my husband to find me here and take me home. He was my only hope of survival, if he was even still alive. It could have been days, months, years, I couldn’t tell. I spent my time learning that the only thing that killed these things was a kill shot straight to the brain, I stole some clothes off the dead and washed them, wearing them. The dead’s blood also acted as a detergent to them, so I smeared some on my wall so that if there was a breach, I had some time to spare to gather my wits and leave in one piece. I packed some of the necessities like emergency aid supplies, clothing from the lockers that fit me or were a few sizes bigger and the tinned food from the kitchen stores into bags, making sure if there was a horde invasion I could leave and live relatively comfortable on the road for a modest few months.

I was officially in the apocalypse.

I couldn’t bring myself to fear the walking dead. I had an unwavering hate for these unwelcome thieves. All I wanted to do was die, never having my chance to raise my little Liam.

Before I gave birth my husband was bitter, he told me that right after I gave birth to the apparent “illegitimate son” he would impregnate me with a whole band of his own kids. I scoffed at the man’s ideals now. Where was he? For sure not protecting his beloved wife!

Maybe he was dead, maybe he wasn’t?

Who knew?

I decided to bury the memory of my husband deep into the darkest parts of my brain and hope to forget him. He wasn’t my main priority at the time. I really loved the man though it was a bit of a tender subject to think about. I survived off of instinct and sheer memory of what used to be.
That was until I found another survivor hobbling in the hallways. He didn’t take any suspicious breaths, nor did he slouch; I had almost killed him if it hadn’t been for his eyes which were full of life. His name was Rick Grimes and he wanted my help searching for his wife and son. I introduced myself to him as Leah Carmichael. I preferred my new identity as Leah, instead of my first name Lucille. It was a symbol of a new beginning, a new life of healing and recovery.

I managed to help him out of the hospital, absolutely gagging at the bodies lined up outside. What could I have done more to help these poor unfortunate souls? Flies were predominant in the area, and the smell was putrid. How had I not noticed this earlier? Rick journeyed past his house first. It reminded me of my husband and his adamant decision to make our house look pristine and worthy of royalty. He was a teacher and part-time salesman and I was a paediatrician. He actually sold me on the subject of marrying him. I smiled tenderly at the memory. We lived comfortably (meaning he lived lavishly and I thanked God everyday for our blessings that we had what we have). I told Rick about my husband a little while after I got to know him a bit better on the road.

Rick was someone I could trust, I had decided. I also wanted to look for my husband, but the direction of our house was a few miles out and packed with the dead on every square inch. We’d never survive the task, we had no weapons and no obvious supplies.

We soon encountered other survivors: a man named Morgan and his son, Duane. I couldn’t help but despise Morgan for still having that opportunity with his son. I couldn’t wait to leave these men to their own devices. So I left with Rick as soon as possible after looting the King County Sheriff's Department and saying our goodbyes to Morgan and son. It felt good to have a proper shower; I felt refreshed after a few months of grime and filth. The uniforms there held some good boots so I shoved them on my feet quickly once again being reminded of my husband's attractive dressing style. My heart ached in pain at not knowing if he was alive or not. I wish the telephone lines still worked. My heeled boots would have to just stay in the bag for now. Rick handed Morgan a walkie-talkie telling him that he would contact him regularly when we got to the camp for survivors.

I figured out that knives were the easiest for me to handle. Guns were too loud for me, too clumsy, I didn’t know how to use them as my husband didn’t deem it necessary for me to learn at the time. I found a pair of twin katana blades in the confiscations box, and smiled hesitantly. How hard could it be to work these? After the rape my husband had sent me through for mixed martial arts training and come out on top of my class for all divisions, however I couldn’t train others as I had found out I was pregnant. The sensei had taught me briefly how to use the weapons of the Orientalists.

I would never forget the face of the man who had defiled my body and the look my husband had on me when I told him what had happened. It was absolutely psychotic, but it was unfortunately a thing that happened in this world.

Rick himself said that he was afraid of my recklessness as every Walker horde I came across, I slaughtered mindlessly. He told me that he felt safe around me, but he wondered when the day would be when he’d have to bury me. I replied that if he ever did, he should know that I died with honour and nothing else to live for. He didn't respond to my answer the way I would have liked and so we discussed me using tact the next time we find Walkers.

That was until we came to Atlanta on horseback after running out of gas. Rick was trying to contact the camp that had survivors. My body went into overdrive as I spotted Walker hordes. I wanted to leap off the horse when Rick held me back with his forearm.

“Look closer. Please Leah, I don’t want to lose you, stay with me.” Rick’s voice was stern and quiet.

“You’re like the brother I never had Rick, and I protect my own.” But you couldn’t even protect your own child. A pang rang through me.

I watched as every inch of flooring in Atlanta had at least one Walker on it. The distorted sounds coming out from their mouths was making my run instinct flare. I couldn’t get through this on my own, so I looked at Rick and nodded in acceptance.

We managed to get pretty far on foot until we resorted to being stuck inside a tanker. It was hot, stuffy and stressful but it was the only safe option, our horse had been sacrificed as Walker lunch. Rick and I were dehydrated, he was sweating bullets. He asked me to distract him so I told him my story just to keep him awake and concentrating on the important things.

That was when an Asian guy named Glenn helped us out of the situation. I was eternally grateful to him, however one of the guys that belonged to their camp; Merle… Well he was extremely unbearable. Always making chauvinist comments towards me and snarking at the other survivors. He was the typical racist white man that always put white people to shame. I was ashamed of him as a human.

I just kept quiet, sticking to the comfortable outside of the ring of survivors. That was the only way a person survived through this mess.