Trapped

"Hey! You alive in there?"

The horse went down hard—ripped apart beneath a dozen sets of gnarled hands and gnashing teeth. As for its rider... he ended up trapped beneath an abandoned tank, courtesy of the overrun military. The dead piled against the hull, clawing and scraping, drawn by the heat of the still-living man below.

Alex watched from the shadows, eyes narrowed. She'd seen how this ended a hundred times. The smartest thing she could do was say a silent prayer, wish him luck, and get the hell out while the horde had its attention elsewhere.

But then a single shot echoed from inside the tank.

That was enough to make her pause.

Curiosity wasn't something Alex indulged in often—it was dangerous—but now it had its claws in her. She scaled a fire escape and settled into a sniper's nest overlooking the street. With practiced fingers, she dialed into the tank's radio frequency and keyed the mic.

"Hello? Hello?"

Static.

Then, a voice.

"There you are," Alex muttered, half to herself. "Had me wondering."

"You outside? Can you see me?"

"Yeah. You're surrounded. That's the bad news."

"There's good news?"

"No." She didn't sugarcoat things. She wasn't that kind of person.

"Listen, whoever you are, I don't mind saying... I'm a little concerned in here."

Alex smirked. "You should see it from up here. You'd be full-on freaking out."

"Got any advice?"

She refocused through the scope. "Yeah. Make a run for it."

"That's your advice? Just run?"

"Better than it sounds. I've got eyes on the outside. There's one geek still on the tank—I've got him. The rest are distracted, chowing down on your horse."

"You with me so far?"

"So far."

"There's a street behind the tank. Fewer walkers. If you move now, while they're distracted, you've got a shot. Got ammo?"

"In the duffel I dropped out there. Guns, too. Can I get to it?"

"Forget the bag. Not an option. What do you have on you now?"

"Hang on."

Alex kept the walker in her sights, twitching and pawing at the tank's hatch.

"I've got a Beretta. One clip. Fifteen rounds."

"Then make 'em count. Jump off the right side, keep going that direction. There's an alley fifty yards up. I'll meet you there." She lined up her shot, finger curling over the trigger.

"Hey, what's your name?"

"You're running out of time!" she snapped, more urgent than before.

The hatch popped open. The walker lunged.

Alex exhaled, held steady, and fired. One clean shot to the skull.

She slung the rifle, scrambled down the fire escape, and sprinted. The shot would bring more walkers. No time to attach the suppressor—no time to think.

Gunfire cracked nearby. The guy had made it out. For now.

Alex rounded a corner just as the rider bolted into the alley, pistol raised. She threw up her hands.

"Whoa! Not dead!"

He lowered the gun. Without speaking, they turned and ran.

She spotted a ladder and climbed. He followed, fast and quiet.

They landed on a metal platform above the alley. Below them, the dead groaned and milled, jaws snapping skyward.

Alex leaned on the railing, catching her breath. "Nice moves, Clint Eastwood." She eyed the badge on his chest and smirked. "You the new sheriff? Riding into town to clean up the mess?"

"Wasn't my intention," he muttered.

"Yeah, well... you're still an asshole."

He offered his hand. "Rick Grimes. Sheriff's deputy. Thanks."

"Lieutenant Alex Winters. Atlanta PD. You're welcome."

One of the corpses began climbing the ladder below.

"Oh, shit..."

"What are you doing!? Come on!" A new voice shouted from above—a young guy on a nearby roof, waving them up.

"He with you?" Rick asked.

"Nope." Alex shrugged. Stranger up top beat walker buffet below. She grabbed the ladder. "Scared of heights?"

They climbed. Breathless. Pale.

The guy above greeted them with a grin. "Bright side? Would've been the fall that killed you. I'm a glass-half-full kinda guy. Glenn."

"Rick. This is Alex."

Glenn led them across the roof. Rick kept pace, eyes scanning.

"You barricade that alley?" he asked.

"Someone did. Probably back when the city fell. Not a lot of geeks get through."

They reached a trapdoor. Glenn dropped his pack through. Alex followed suit.

Rick turned to her. "Why'd you stick your neck out for me?"

"Old habits. Saving people's kind of my thing."

Glenn glanced up from the ladder. "Maybe you're even dumber than he is."

Alex just laughed. "Wouldn't be the first time I've heard that."

They descended into an office building. Glenn called into his walkie. "I'm back. Got guests. Plus four geeks in the alley."

At the bottom of the stairwell, two walkers lunged. Alex reached for her blade.

But two men in makeshift armor burst through a door—baseball bats and hockey pads—and took them down.

"Let's go!" Glenn shouted, and they all piled into the department store.

As the door slammed shut behind them, Rick found himself shoved up against a crate, a gun in his face.

"Son of a bitch. We ought to kill you," growled a blonde woman.

Alex moved instantly, Beretta out and aimed at the woman's head. "Drop it."

The helmeted man stepped forward. "Andrea, back off."

"Ease up," someone else pleaded.

Andrea didn't budge.

"Ease up? We're dead because of him!"

"Ma'am," Alex warned, voice low and cold, "lower your weapon."

"Back off, Andrea," Morales added.

Alex noticed Andrea's safety was still on. Amateurs. "You either drop it or pull the trigger. Pick one."

Click.

Andrea finally lowered her weapon, eyes glassy with tears. "We're dead. All of us. Because of you."

Rick stood slowly. "I don't understand."

Morales grabbed his arm and led him through the building. Alex followed, keeping close.

They moved toward the front entrance—dozens of walkers swarmed the glass.

"Every geek for miles heard those shots," T-Dog muttered.

"You rang the dinner bell."

Alex watched the glass bow under pressure, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Andrea rounded on Rick. "What the hell were you doing out there?"

"Trying to flag the helicopter."

A round of arguing broke out—hallucination or hope. Then a gunshot rang from the roof.

"Oh no—was that Dixon?"

They ran. Alex followed, regretting her decision all over again.

On the rooftop, a wild-eyed man cackled, rifle in hand.

"Dixon! Are you crazy?" Morales shouted.

The man grinned. "Man's got a gun, you oughta be polite."

Alex leaned back against a wall. Not this type of chaos again.

But then came the racism. The fight. T-Dog getting beaten bloody. Rick getting decked.

Enough.

While Dixon ranted about being in charge, Alex snuck behind him with Rick. She took Rick's cuffs. When the timing was right—

Wham.

Dixon went down hard. She kneed him in the back, cuffed him to a pipe.

"Who the hell are you?" Dixon groaned.

"Officer Friendly," Rick said.

Alex raised Dixon's own gun to his face. "You oughta be polite to a woman with a gun."

"You wouldn't. You're cops."

Rick stepped closer. "All I am now is a man looking for his family. Anyone who gets in the way... loses."

Alex fished through Dixon's pockets and pulled out a small vial. Rick flicked his nose. "Got something on your face."

She walked to the ledge, smiled at Dixon, and tossed the vial into the street.

"HEY! That's my stuff!"

Alex laughed and sat beside T-Dog, who groaned. Merle screamed behind her.

***************

The walkers broke through the first set of doors.

They were running out of time. The sewers led nowhere. No exits.

And then Rick had an idea. A crazy one.

Alex stood still as Andrea slung intestines over her.

"I did not expect this when I woke up today," she muttered.

"Do we smell like them?" Rick asked.

"Oh yeah," Andrea said.

Covered in blood, guts, and god-knows-what, Rick, Glenn, and Alex prepared to play the most disgusting game of dress-up ever imagined.

"If we make it back, be ready," Rick said.

"What about Merle?" T-Dog asked.

Rick tossed him the key.

"Gimme the axe," Rick added. "We need more guts."

***************

Slowly, Alex, Rick, and Glenn crept into the alley, passing two walkers. So far, so good.

They climbed under the bus and emerged into the open street.

The herd was massive.

Alex's heart pounded. She adjusted the rifle slung under her coat. Her fingers hovered near her knife.

They passed inches from the dead. No reaction.

"It's working. I can't believe it," Glenn whispered.

"Don't draw attention," Rick replied.

Then came the rain.

A heavy, biblical downpour.

And with it, dread.

"The smell's washing off, isn't it?" Glenn asked.

Walkers started sniffing. Edging closer.

"Rick?" Alex whispered.

Rick tried to keep them calm—but it was too late.

One lunged.

Rick cleaved its skull open with the axe. The others turned.

"RUN!"

They bolted for the fence, coats falling away.

Alex hit the ground on the other side, turned, and opened fire—every shot perfect.

"Get to the van!" she shouted.

Rick pulled up. Alex jumped in, and they peeled out.

"Jesus, they're all over that place!" Glenn shouted.

Rick gripped the wheel tight. "We need to draw them away. That roll-up door—you clear it, they can get out."

"How?" Glenn asked.

"Noise," Alex said, loading a fresh clip.

Rick pulled beside a Dodge Challenger. Alex smashed the window and triggered the alarm, hotwiring it in seconds.

Glenn grinned, jumped in, and sped off, engine roaring.

"Lucky bastard," Alex muttered.

The horde followed. Rick reversed to the store entrance.

Alex pounded on the metal door. "Come on!"

It rose. The others threw themselves in, packs and all.

Alex slammed it shut behind them.

She dropped to the floor, breathing heavy. Then her eyes narrowed.

Something was missing.

Or someone.

"Merle."

Everyone turned to T-Dog.

"I dropped the damn key," he said quietly, guilt etched on his face.