that’s nightmare. and no, Rick ain’t some kind of a weak-willed weakling, it’s just that seeing hordes of the walking dead wasn’t part of his routine at all. therefore, now, a few days after waking up from a coma, wandering through the deserted King County, once full of life, he had no idea what to do in such a situation. The world was over, his wife and son were missing – and no matter how much he wanted to believe they’re alive, the chances of that were almost zero and slimming out rapidly the longer he’s away from them.

what he learned in that short time, there could be no life among the dead. you can't make noise, you can't bleed, you can't breathe too loud, you can’t laugh – not that there is anything to laugh about, but still. everything that people do attracts them. even the muffled sound of a car engine could attract attention, and a sudden stop of transport could serve as a death sentence – after all, if you run out of gas on the way and a horde of walkers is already following you, you're done for. this, according to Morgan's briefing, was the basis of survival. survival in the absence of vital activity. if someone had told Rick a couple of months ago that a stray bullet and an artificial coma would result in such a serious breakdown of his patterns, he’d have laughed. now he could only laugh nervously out of desperation.

still, Morgan was right: cars sucked. on his way to Atlanta, he gets stuck in the middle of the highway because he's out of fuel. small miracles, though, there was no horde of walkers lined up behind him – that would be much more problematic than simply being alone without sources to reach the final destination. now he can at least vaguely see the outline of a house where he might be able to get some gas. or find an abandoned car – which is also an option, given the circumstances. after all, he's a sheriff deputy – he doesn't steal, he borrows.

upon closer inspection, the abandoned house turned out to be a small church with an adjacent territory, put on pasture. it wasn't hard to spot a couple of walkers put down for good scattered flat on the ground – it looked like the abandoned church was still guarded by someone.

«hello? ‘s anyone there?» Rick tried to call the temporary owner(s?). he listened, but received no answer, not even a slightest rustle. perhaps they’ve already changed their location? after all, in such conditions, it’s impossible to stay in one place for long, «my car stalled, I’d like to borrow fuel from you,» the Officer Friendly’s bearing made itself felt, and although it’s unwise to make too much noise, Rick still didn’t want to set foot on someone else's territory uninvited – or at least without announcing his presence.

Rick didn't really believe in God. with every minute that passed, blind faith in a higher providence was depleted, replaced by blind perseverance and the will to live. however, when he first looked inside the church, he felt that perhaps God hadn’t yet left this corner. in chaos closing in, this place was an oasis, inside there’s cleanliness and order – that’s the first time he’d seen any since he came to his senses in an abandoned hospital. even Morgan's hideout was a mess, which was understandable, on the other hand. Here, there even was no dust on the public prayer benches, the altar glittered in the dancing gleam of the colorful glass windows, and the smell of wax candles and incense wasn’t overlaid even by the stench of the rotting bodies of walkers in the area nearby. that's really an untouchable place.

for a second, he even felt uneasy that he’d brought a weapon to such a place. but this discomfort dissipated very quickly when he heard the creaking of floorboards nearby. and God forgive him if he sees this, but Rick has seen too much shit over the past few days not to point his revolver at the source of the sound – even if it turned out that he pointed the weapon at an ecclesiastic.

an ecclesiastic with a double-barrel thrown over a shoulder. how very much catholic.