The headache was the first thing I registered upon waking. A constant hammering behind my eyes that made me groan before I even opened them. When I finally did, the fluorescent ceiling light blinded me for a moment.
Hospital?
I sat up slowly in bed, noticing the IV drip in my arm. The room was in dim light; the closed blinds allowed only a few rays of natural light to filter through. Everything smelled of disinfectant and something else... something rancid I couldn't quite identify.
I tried to remember what had brought me here. Blurry images: a car skidding, the screech of brakes, an impact. Nothing more.
But there was something stranger than that. Something that made me feel... weird. As if I had slept for years and just woken up in a body that wasn't entirely mine. The memories were hazy, mixed. I was Jon... right? Jon Walsh, fourteen years old, Shane's nephew.
Wait.
Shane.
The name hit me like a punch. Shane Walsh. Rick Grimes. The Walking Dead.
"It can't be," I whispered, but even as I said it, everything began to click into place with terrifying clarity. Memories of another life, of another person who had been me, merged with those of this Jon. I remembered watching the show, remembered falling asleep after a marathon... and I remembered a life here, in this world, that was now real.
I had been reincarnated. Into The Walking Dead. Right before the zombie apocalypse.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
I yanked the IV out, ignoring the sting of pain. I had to get out of here; I had to find out what was happening. I stood up on shaky legs and walked toward the door.
The hallway was empty.
Not just empty of people. Empty of sound. No nurses walking in a hurry, no doctors barking orders, no beeping machines. Only silence.
A deathly silence.
"Hello?" I called out, but my voice sounded pathetic even to me. I took a few barefoot steps down the hall, the linoleum cold beneath my feet. There were papers scattered on the floor, an overturned chair, dark stains on the walls that I preferred not to examine too closely.
Then I saw it. At the end of the hall, near the nurse's station.
A body.
My stomach churned, but I forced myself to get closer. It was a nurse—or had been one. She had a horrific wound in her neck; the dried blood formed a dark pool around her. Her open eyes stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing.
It had already started. The apocalypse had begun.
I backed away, fighting the nausea. I had to think. How much time had passed since the start? Days? Weeks? The hospital seemed abandoned but not completely destroyed. Maybe I was in the early days, when people were still evacuating, when there was still hope that the military would control the situation.
I ran back to my room. I needed clothes, shoes, anything. I found my sneakers under the bed and a sweatshirt that must have been mine hanging on a chair. I dressed quickly, my mind racing at a thousand miles per hour.
If this was really The Walking Dead, then Rick Grimes was somewhere in this hospital. In a coma. And he would wake up soon, if he hadn't already. And Shane... Shane believed Rick was dead. Shane, who was my uncle in this life.
I sat on the bed, rubbing my face. This was insane. But if it was real, if I was truly here, then I had a chance. I knew what was going to happen. I knew the dangers, the mistakes the group would make, the people who would die.
I could change things.
But first, I needed to make sure Rick woke up. I needed to be here when that happened, to earn his trust. He was the key to everything.
I stood up, determined, and that's when I felt it.
A strange tingling in my fingertips. Like static electricity, but more... alive. I looked toward the window where there was a small, half-dead houseplant in a forgotten pot. Without really thinking about it, I reached my hand out toward it.
And the plant moved.
It wasn't the wind. There was no wind. The withered stems straightened, the yellowing leaves turned green, and before my disbelieving eyes, new buds sprouted, grew, and unfurled in a matter of seconds.
"What the..."
The plant was now lush, full of life, as if it had just been planted and cared for for weeks. I moved my fingers experimentally, and the leaves waved, following the movement.
I had powers. Powers over plants.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. Of course. Of course, in a zombie apocalypse, I would have powers over plants. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
But as I looked at the revitalized plant, my mind was already racing. This was useful. More than useful. In a world where food would become scarce, where resources determined who lived and who died, being able to grow plants quickly was...
It was an edge.
I smiled for the first time since I woke up. Maybe, just maybe, I had a chance to survive this. To help others survive.
But first, I needed to practice. I needed to understand these powers, their limits. And I needed to find Rick Grimes.
I left the room with a renewed sense of purpose. The hospital was silent, but it wasn't entirely empty. I could hear distant moans, the shuffling of feet. The walking dead.
I had work to do.
The next few days were a blur of cautious exploration and terrifying discoveries.
The hospital was a maze of abandoned corridors and empty rooms. I found walkers, of course. The first one nearly scared me to death: an old man in a hospital gown who crawled out from a dark room, his dead white eyes fixed on me, jaw snapping.
I ran. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I was fourteen years old with no weapon, and that... thing... had been a person. Seeing walkers on TV was one thing. Seeing them in person, smelling the rot, hearing the wet sounds they made... it was completely different.
But I learned to avoid them. I learned to move in silence, to recognize the sounds they made, to know when a hallway was clear. The hospital was large, but most of the walkers seemed to cluster in certain areas. I learned to bypass them.
I also found the cafeteria. It had been looted, but not completely. I managed to get some energy bars, bottles of water, even a few cans of soda. It wasn't much, but it was something.
And I practiced.
There was a small interior garden on the third floor, probably designed for patients to relax. Now it was neglected, the plants withered from lack of care. It became my laboratory.
At first, I could only make plants grow a little faster, or revive those that were half-dead. I would concentrate, feel that strange energy flow from my chest to my hands, and the plants would respond. But it tired me out quickly; my head would ache, and I'd have to rest.
With each passing day, I got better. I could grow a tomato plant from a seed to an adult plant in a matter of hours. I could make vines move, make them grow in specific directions. Once, I even managed to grow a small tree from a sprout, though that left me exhausted for hours.
The virus had changed me somehow. I could feel it in my blood—something different, something that connected me to plants in a way that wasn't natural. But I wasn't turning into a walker. If anything, I felt more alive than ever.
While I practiced, I explored. I found the medical supply depot: bandages, antiseptics, painkillers. I hid it all in my room. I found doctor's clothes that were too big for me but better than the hospital gown. I found a pocketknife in the pocket of a corpse and tried not to think too much about it.
And I searched for Rick.
I checked every room in the intensive care wing. There were many bodies, many empty rooms. But finally, on the fourth day, I found him.
Room 234. Rick Grimes.
He was there, unconscious, hooked up to machines that no longer worked. He looked pale, gaunt, but he was breathing. Alive.
I stood in the doorway, watching him. The protagonist. The man around whom everything revolved. And he was completely vulnerable.
"Hey, Rick," I whispered. "I'm Jon. And I'm going to make sure you survive this."
I checked his monitors, though I didn't really know what I was looking at. The machines were dead, no electricity, but there was an IV bag still connected to his arm. Almost empty.
I didn't know how much longer he would be in a coma, but according to the show, he should wake up soon. Days, maybe. I had to be ready.
I spent the rest of the day reinforcing the area around his room. I moved gurneys to block certain hallways, created makeshift barriers. It wasn't much, but if any walkers approached, at least it would give me a warning.
I also kept practicing my powers. I found seeds in the cafeteria—tomato, some aromatic herb—and planted them in makeshift pots made from plastic containers. I grew them, controlled them, experimented with them.
I discovered I could feel nearby plants, like a kind of vegetable radar. I could tell where there was vegetation and how healthy it was. It was strange but useful.
One night, while practicing in the interior garden, I achieved something new. I grew a vine strong enough to hold my weight. I gripped it as I made it climb the wall, and it held me.
The possibilities were endless.
But I had to be cautious. I couldn't show my powers to just anyone. In a world where humans became as dangerous as the walkers, being different could be fatal. I had to earn trust first, prove I was useful in normal ways before revealing what I could do.
On the sixth day since my awakening, while checking on Rick as I had every morning, I noticed something different.
His eyes were moving under his eyelids.
REM. Deep sleep. He was close to waking up.
"Come on, Rick," I muttered. "It's time for you to join the apocalypse."
I went back to my room and started to prepare. I packed food, water, and the medical supplies I had gathered. I created a makeshift backpack out of a pillowcase. It wasn't much, but it was something.
When Rick woke up, he would be confused, scared. He would need answers, help. And I would be there.
I sat on the bed, looking out the window at the world outside. Atlanta in the distance, columns of smoke rising in several spots. The world had ended while Rick slept. While I slept.
But now I was awake. Now I knew what was coming.
The Whisperers. Negan. The Saviors. The war. The fall of the farm. Sophia. Hershel. Glenn. Abraham. Carl.
So many deaths. So many tragedies.
But not this time. This time would be different.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, or the day after, Rick would wake up. And when he did, everything would change.