Second Chance – Chapter 1

Rick peered through the darkness at the other occupants of the boxcar. He had been reunited with most of the prison group in this metal hell for about a week. It was hard to tell exactly how long they'd all been locked in there; very little natural light came through the gaps and holes in the walls. He saw the faces of his family, or at least as close to family as he could get – Carl, Daryl, and Michonne. As he looked around, he saw his extended family – Maggie and Glenn, Sasha, Bob – and those he now called friends – Abraham, Eugene, Rosita and Tara. Rick couldn't help but wonder if and when he'd ever get to see Carol, or Tyreese, or Beth again, but had to focus on his current situation. He'd worry about the others once they were finally out of this mess.

The entire group was huddled in a misshapen circle. Enough time had gone by to recognize any patterns in the activities at Terminus, particularly their feeding schedule. He hated feeling like an animal cooped in a cage, and knew the rest of the group felt the same way. They weren't even given a chance to get out of the boxcar to use the bathroom; a hole had been cut into a corner of the floor, just large enough to squat over, but still too small for any of them to fit through, even Carl. There had to be a way out – that's what the group was currently discussing.

Abraham and Daryl had taken charge of developing a plan of escape, being the two with the most combat and tactical experience. Despite the gut instinct to try to escape every chance they got, the two had convinced the group to wait several days to determine any patterns that may arise regarding the Termites. Waiting peacefully might also encourage their jailors to let their guard down, making their escape more likely. Rick had agreed, figuring it couldn't hurt to increase their odds in any way possible.

Maggie and Glenn noticed that since the arrival of Rick and the others, there was an extra guard accompanying the man who brought their meals twice a day (whom they had dubbed, "Food Guy,"), increasing the total number of guards from three to four. Members of the group had taken shoes off to show where the guards were expected to be each day, like clockwork, hoping that creating a visual map would help with the planning process.

After having gone over the plan countless times, making sure everyone knew exactly what needed to happen to make this a success, Carl pointed out that the tiny beams of light had hit the mark they had made on the wall, indicating that their dinner was soon on its way. Everyone who had donated a shoe retrieved it. Rick could feel the tension in the group as they heard footsteps approaching. He steeled himself; it was now or never. They couldn't stand to be prisoners any longer.

Just as expected, Food Guy greeted the guard by the sliding door. "Any trouble today, George?"

"Nah, just the usual muttering and shuffling, but they haven't been any trouble. At least that redneck quit calling me names. Man, that one's got a mouth on 'im." Rick glanced at Daryl, whose jaw was clenched tight.

"Huh. Well, that's something, I guess. Alright. Open 'er up. Don't want their food getting cold," Food Guy replied. The men all chuckled, knowing the prisoners' meal was little more than slop, a watery mix of rice and beans.

The group heard the door unlatch and daylight streamed in as it slid open. As soon as there was enough space, Daryl burst through the opening and tackled George, wrestling the weapon out of his hands. Immediately following Daryl was Rick, who charged at one of the guards flanking Food Guy. Next, Abraham and Michonne flew out of the doorway, which had now opened wide enough for both of them to get out at the same time. Hitting the ground running, Abraham moved toward Food Guy while Michonne raced toward the fourth man on guard that day.

Chaos erupted as the guards scrambled to hold their own against the previously docile prisoners. George stayed on the ground, having been disarmed by the redneck, not daring to try and run. He looked over to see the Ringleader start pummeling on Martin's head, casting drops of blood on the ground, before taking his weapon as well.

While George and Martin had been caught unaware by the sudden onslaught, Robby had time to react. George watched as Robby braced for impact as the black woman rushed toward him. She moved too quickly for him to aim his gun at her, so instead he flipped the weapon around and caught her in the temple with the butt of his rifle, dropping her like a sack of potatoes. He heard a shot ring out and saw the red head with the handlebar mustache drop to the ground. "Thank God for Randy," George thought to himself, thankful that Gareth had thought ahead to place a sniper on the nearby roof as added protection.

Rick turned just in time to see Michonne drop to the ground, unconscious, then looked to his right and saw Abraham's lifeless body collapse to the ground, a large round hole clearly visible in the middle of his forehead. Rick's brain was still trying to process where the deathly shot could have come from when he realized that Food Guy had dropped what he was carrying and drawn his side arm. Time seemed to stand still as he saw Carl running out of the boxcar toward Michonne; at the same time, Food Guy took aim and fired. Rick saw Daryl stumble back then crumple inward, his hand covering the wound to his abdomen and crashing to his knees.

Rick took two hurried steps toward the boxcar, shouting, "Carl! Get back in the..."

BLAM!

A searing pain shot through the back of Rick's left shoulder. He spun around to look at his assailant, only to find he was looking down the barrel of Food Guy's pistol.

Rick saw a flash from the pistol's muzzle and everything went white.

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

Rick's eyes snapped open. He was momentarily blinded by the brightness that was flooding the room. When his sight had recovered slightly, he took in his surroundings and realized he was in a hospital room. "Where the hell am I?" As far as he knew, there were no hospitals near Terminus. Did they have facilities like this in the compound itself?

The room was eerily quiet. He strained to hear any signs of life and heard nothing. Rick rubbed at his eyes and realized there were no bandages on his face, no stitches, no scars. "That's weird," he thought, "I swear that guy got me right in the face."

He went to sit up and felt a slight pull from the IV in his right hand and the cannula in his nose. He scanned the room for any clue as to where he was when his eyes fell upon a blue and white vase filled with dead flowers on the side table to his right. Rick reached over to one of the dried carnations in the bouquet, only to have it crumble between his fingers. "Wait..."

He slowly turned his head to his left and saw the clock on the wall had stopped at 2:17. He furrowed his brow at the familiarity of it all, and shook his head at the unsettling sense of déjà vu. He glanced down and saw he had a bandage across his chest and left shoulder and was dressed in only a hospital gown and his boxers. "No way..." he whispered.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, removing the cannula and the heart rate monitor clip from his finger. He wrapped his right hand around the IV pole, then reached up and removed the IV from his hand. After taking a few moments to try to organize his thoughts, Rick planted his bare feet on the cold tile floor, testing his weight before attempting to stand. Using the IV pole as support, he slowly made his way across the room, opening the door to the small bathroom. He turned on the faucet and filled his cupped hand with water, bending over the sink and slurping up the tepid water to whet his parched throat.

His strength slowly returning, he depended less and less on the IV pole. Rick made his way to the main door of the room, opening it slowly, only to find a stretcher blocking the entrance to the hallway. He stumbled onto the stretcher, pushing it to the middle of the hall, and looked to his right and to his left, seeing papers strewn on the floor and fluorescent lights blinking on and off.

"Oh my god..." he exclaimed, as realization dawned on him.

And so it begins...again. This story is a joint effort between me and my husband, Remi Savant. We've got the next couple chapters planned out, but we're both awfully busy, so we don't have a set schedule as to when we'll update next. All I can ask is be patient and leave lots of reviews...reviews make for happy writers! Thanks so much for reading!

As per usual, we have absolutely no claim on anything pertaining to The Walking Dead.