The Walking Dead: Morgan's Tale

My name is Morgan Jones. I'm forty five years old, or at least I was, at the start of all this. Now, I'm not so sure anymore. I am not sure about a lot of things. Let's start from the beginning, if you please. I was born and raised in the City of Atlanta, Georgia. I lived there with my wife Jenny and our son Duane. At least, I did until the Nightmare began. All of a sudden, we began to hear rumors of dead people coming back to life and eating the living.

When the news anchors on CNN said that, I remember laughing while my Jenny shook her head. We were in the living room of our suburban Buckhead townhouse, waiting for Duane to come home from school. I've heard plenty of bullshit in my forty-odd years on this planet, but this one took the damn cake. The idea of reanimated corpses walking about and preying on folks, well, sounds like the plot of a B-movie type of horror flick to me. The kind of stuff I'd take Jenny and Duane to see on a Tuesday night at the Cineplex, if they were really bored.

As far as I know, the nightmare began in Los Angeles, California. That's where the military went to try to contain it, and failed miserably. I thought this walking dead stuff was just nonsense. I mean, I was a contractor, an engineer, a man with good sense and a practical mindset. If people told you the dead were coming back to life, would you automatically believe them? Yeah, that's what I thought. Of course, by the time I took things seriously, the walking dead were slowly shuffling through my neighborhood, having eaten their way through police stations and army bases. The world had effectively ended.

"Morgan, we have to leave," said Jenny, and I nodded at her, the grim look on her lovely, coconut-brown face mirroring my own. We were loading the truck, getting ready to hit the road. I bought a few guns and plenty of ammo, along with canned goods, toilet paper, survival kits and the whole nine yards. Yeah, I was ready to take my family away from the madness.

"Babe, I know this, tell Duane to hurry up, we can't take his damn video games with us," I said, as I hefted a gallon of gasoline in the back of the truck. Nodding, Jenny went to get Duane while I finished loading up our supplies. Pretty much everyone on our street were doing the same thing. Well, all except Lloyd Baker, this chubby redneck who's always looking at us funny.

"You're finally leaving, eh? Well, good, I'll take care of this whole neighborhood by my damn self," Lloyd said, hefting his shotgun for good measure. Reflexively my hand went near my holstered pistol, but Lloyd was already setting down his gun and chugging down on his bottle of whiskey. Typical redneck bozo. Decades spent living in Atlanta and Lloyd always looked at my family and I funny because we're of African-American descent. Oh, well. If this loser wants to stick around and confront the advancing armies of the walking dead, fine by me.

"Mind your own business," I said sharply, and Lloyd didn't even hear me. The bozo does love his whiskey. I half-expected his portly redhead wife Martha to come out of their house and chastise Lloyd about drinking this early in the morning. Hell, it's not even eleven o'clock yet. Oh, well. In a world where the dead are coming back to life, who am I to say what's normal and what isn't? Normal is relative, after all.

"Martha, there you are sweetie," Lloyd said, and I watched as his wife Martha came out of their house, staggering. Even for a white lady, Martha was looking awfully pale, and her eyes seemed vacant. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what was going on. Lloyd waved at Martha as she advanced on him, and I shouted a warning. Instead of grabbing his shotgun and using it, Lloyd got up and went to give his wife a kiss. Instead of kissing Lloyd's puckered lips, Martha sank her teeth into his neck, and the old redneck howled in pain.

"Alright, Dad, I'm ready to go," Duane hollered from our porch as he emerged, flanked by my wife Jenny. I heard Jenny gasp as she watched the reanimated Martha fall upon a howling Lloyd. I gestured for my wife to get in the car, and drew my pistol. Before I could aim at Martha's head, however, Jenny crossed the distance between our house and theirs, and tried to pull Martha off of Lloyd.

"Martha, stop that!" Jenny screamed, and I shouted at my wife to get out of the way. Ignoring Jenny for the moment, Martha began gouging out huge chunks of flesh from Lloyd's throat. My son Duane started to run toward them but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Aiming my pistol, I focused on Martha's head, and took the shot. In an instant, it was over. Martha fell and lay still.

"Jenny, dear, there's nothing you can do for them now, let's go," I pleaded with her, but Jenny shook her head, and began pulling off the dead-for-good Martha from Lloyd's body. Sighing, I told Duane to get in the car and crossed the street to get Jenny away. Not to sound sexist or anything but my Jenny has always been a hard-headed, strong southern black woman. Tall, curvy and feisty, that's what drew me to her at Georgia Tech where we met as freshmen, almost two decades ago. That day, though, her stubbornness would cost us all dearly.

"We can't just leave them here," Jenny turned back to say to me as I walked toward her. In a flash, my world changed forever. Jenny took her eyes off of Martha and Lloyd, and now a reanimated Lloyd sprang to his feet, growling ferociously in the manner of the dead. I aimed, but Jenny was in the way. I shouted for Jenny to get out of the way, but Lloyd, moving faster than any of the dead I'd seen thus far, lunged at her.

"Jenny, run!" I screamed, even as I ran toward her, but Lloyd leapt on top of her. Jenny struggled with him. I crossed the distance and put two shots in Lloyd's head, and the undead redneck moved no more. I pulled my Jenny into my arms, and smiled at her. My heart thundered in my chest, but relief washed over me in a terrific way. My wife was safe.

"Lloyd bit me," Jenny said, a sad look in her lovely dark brown eyes, and in uttering those words, doomed our family. Never again would we be together. Stubborn as I was, I ignored Jenny's pleas to end her life and took her to King County, Georgia, where, rumor has it, a few policemen and soldiers managed to hold off the undead and formed a small protected zone.

"We'll get help in King County, babe, you'll be fine," I said as I applied a bandage on Jenny's arm, and we got on the road. In the back, Duane wept. I glared at my son and told him to be strong. We drove to King County, Georgia, and what we found there was not what we expected. We got there in time to see a few cops and soldiers being overrun by the undead. Duane and I barricaded ourselves in a townhouse, and Jenny apparently wandered off while we were unloading the supplies. The next time Duane and I laid eyes on her, my wife was...one of them.

This was months before my son Duane and I encountered Rick Grimes, the former Sheriff, who'd been abandoned in the overrun hospital by his wife Lori, their son Carl and his former co-worker and best friend Shane. Duane and I did the humane thing and took Rick in, and we told him what was going on. The dude was in a coma when the shit hit the fan, and didn't know anything about the walking dead, and the nightmare the world had become. Rick and I forged a bond during his stay with us. Dude's got a bossy and arrogant side to him at times but I do believe he's basically a decent man.

Rick Grimes later left Duane and I to seek out his wife and son. Much happened to Rick and I in the years since. Rick's wife Lori died. My son Duane died. I now live in Alexandria, the last bastion of civilization, where a few human survivors barricaded themselves since the beginning to hold off the undead. I kind of lost my mind out there, but a good man named Eastman helped me get back on track. I mourn the loss of Eastman, who died saving my life. Now I'm trying to make a new life in Alexandria, and trying to get used to having people around again after ages on the road, solo. It's, um, not easy.

"Good evening Morgan," said a feminine voice, startling me out of my thoughts. I sat on the front porch of the house I share with Rick Grimes and Carl, the closest thing I've got to a family, and polished my trusted staff with a rag. I've killed a lot of the undead and a few of the living with the staff, and it's a gift from my friend Eastman. I do hate being bothered, but Carol isn't like most people. This broad gets on my nerves...

"Hello Carol," I said, and I looked at the tall, short-haired Caucasian woman with the fierce eyes up and down. Carol might have fooled Rick and the others into thinking she's a nice person who's made a few mistakes but she doesn't fool me. Even more so than Daryl Dixon and this Governor dude I keep hearing about, Carol strikes me as a killer.

"Pleasant evening, isn't it?" Carol said, and she sat down next to me, totally violating my personal space. Once upon a time, I would have smashed her head with my staff for doing that, but I'm trying to play nice with Rick and Eastman did teach me that all life is precious. Rick doesn't fully trust Carol either. Apparently, she killed some of his people and for a while, he banished her. Why keep a snake around if you don't need it? Sometimes I think Rick is crazier than I am.

"Every evening above ground is a good one," I said carefully, and Carol smiled and nodded. I waited for her to continue, and Carol flashed me a shark-like grin. I smiled politely and gripped my staff tightly. Part of me felt like using it on her. Of course, Carol was sitting awfully close to me, and smelling of a lot of things you usually have to get real close to a lady to smell. Damn, I've been alone in the wilderness too long.

"Morgan, I didn't come here for a fight, I came here for a truce, you're a survivor, like me, and Rick trusts me, and I'd like us to be friendly," Carol said, and then she held out her hand for me to shake. After a brief hesitation, I shook Carol's hand. Now, I don't trust this broad but I am a son of the south. We mind our manners around here, even around folks we don't like. It's the south, man.

"What do you want, Carol?" I asked crisply, looking into those pale eyes of hers, and Carol shrugged. Her eyes could look very cold or very expressive and friendly, depending on her moods. Must be why she got past Rick Grimes. Rick wasn't much in the beginning but he's usually got good sense about people. Why he didn't put a bullet in Carol's skull is a mystery to me. I've seen more humanity in the eyes of the walking dead, no lie.

"Morgan, you don't want to be my enemy, I admire and respect you, and I want us to be at least on good terms with each other here in Alexandria," Carol said, and that smile of hers broadened. Not for the first time I noticed that Carol was a good-looking woman, as far as white chicks go. Me? I love the chocolate ladies. I tried hollering at Michonne but she's got a crush on Daryl Dixon. Nothing against Dixon but the leather man hasn't picked up on it. Oh, well.

"Fine, Carol, we can be friends, but if you try to hurt me, or Rick, or Carl, then all bets are off," I said, and I hefted my staff for good measure. Carol smiled and nodded, then laid her hand on my thigh as though we were real intimate friends. I looked at her sleek white hand on my thigh, and repressed a shudder. On the one hand, this was a total violation of a brother's personal space. On the other hand, um, I felt a stir down below.

"Oh, I think we're going to be real close friends you and I," Carol said, smiling, and then she kissed me. I don't remember getting up from the porch and heading to one of the other houses, nor do I remember getting into bed with Carol. What I do remember is what happened during and after. Sometimes, the body's urges can affect the mind, and like I said, I hadn't been with a lady since my wife Jenny died. No woman can ever replace my Jenny, to be sure, but, ahem, I am only a man, with a man's needs...

"You are a handsome man," Carol said, smiling, as we lay naked in bed together. Grinning, she kissed me, then caressed my hairy chest. Those sleek hands of hers roamed all over my body, and found my manhood. Carol pumped her hand up and down my length, smiled as my dick hardened in her hand, and then winked at me. Before I could utter another word, Carol took me into her mouth.

"Um, thank you," I said, all thought leaving my mind as Carol began sucking my long and thick, dark dick with gusto. Sensations I hadn't felt in ages came back to me, and I relaxed and enjoyed as Carol pleasured me. When I came, a sharp groan escaped my lips. Carol drank my seed, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a sleek smile on her not unlovely face.

"It's been a while, I can tell, well, let me rev up your engine," Carol said, and she rolled on top of me. Slowly, hesitantly, my hands went to her milky white breasts, and I caressed them gently. Carol smiled, and I caressed her breasts with one hand and her butt with another. While not as thick as my wife Jenny's, Carol's ass was alright. I gave it a firm slap, and Carol grinned wickedly.

"I'm all revved up, now ride me," I said in a commanding tone, and Carol grinned and nodded, then straddled me. My hands went to her hips and Carol slowly impaled herself on my manhood. I felt her surprisingly tight pussy grip my dick, and a happy sigh escaped her lips. Carol rested her hands on my shoulders and began rocking back and forth, her breasts swaying this way and that as she rode me. I thrust into her, loving the feel of her cunt around my dick.

"Fuck me, Morgan!" Carol shrieked, and I felt her nails dig into my shoulders as I began fucking her with wild abandon. Like I said, I hadn't been with a woman in ages and I definitely welcomed this chance to make up for lost time. Hard and fast I fucked Carol, and the short-haired, mature vixen went buck-wild, screaming in pleasure as we fucked. I wasn't expecting such passion from a cold, calculating woman like her. Not a bad surprise.

"Slap my thick white ass while you fuck me," Carol pleaded as she got on all fours, shaking her big white ass at me. Laughing, I did just that, slapping Carol's butt as I thrust into her from behind. Her moist, hot pussy welcomed me. Holding Carol by the hips, I fucked her like this. Gripping her short hair with my fist, I yanked her head back while fucking her, and this drove Carol absolutely nuts. Howling like a woman possessed, Carol urged me to tear her pussy up. I did just that, and made her cum hard...twice. Looks like I've still got it.

Carol and I didn't hug, kiss or chit-chat after this fun encounter. Nope, without a word I left Carol's house and walked back to the house I shared with Rick and Carl. Carol and I aren't lovebirds, nor are we going to carry on a passionate romance. I don't think Carol is working for our enemies but I do think that out of all the folks here in Alexandria, this broad is the most slippery. One that bears close watching. I shall be like a sentinel, looking out for this town and the people I am starting to care about. Defending them against all enemies. Peace.