Jon awoke face down on a rough surface of stone. Although, it wasn’t quite stone. Jon didn’t know what to call it. It was as if someone had taken gravel, spread a layer across the ground and then covered it in tar. But it couldn’t be, tar stank and this, well, it didn’t smell of anything. Jon sat up and laughed to himself.

“What an odd dream.”

He pinched his cheek.

“Ow…”

His hand was gloved. And not only that but he was dressed in full mail and cloak. A faint memory wafted into Jon’s mind. He stood on the wall looking out north for any whites or wildlings. He had been contemplating, yes he remembered now, but what? Warily, Jon looked around him. Wherever and whatever this place was it was strikingly strange. The tar-gravel, but not tar, ground stretched out far into the distance, forming a peculiar-looking road covered in white markings. Dotted lines, each segment as long as a man. There were four rows of them. Jon slipped off his glove and touched one. Paint, it had to be.

“But why paint a… road?”

To his right was a stone barrier about half the size of a person. It stretched on with the road, made up of long stones combined together. The stone masonry was simple, yet oddly complex and seemingly unnecessary. The top was rounded and there were two smooth grooves that ran width ways along it. Just as Jon thought his confusion had reached its peak, he spotted something metal over the top of the stones. When he stood, what he saw baffled him to such an extent that he dropped the glove he was clutching. A strange, steel thing sat before him with glass windows on every one of its walls. No, doors on closer inspection. It had four wheels, so it must have been some kind of cart, but there was nowhere for a horse. Suddenly, Jon did a double take.

“Rubber?! Wheels made of rubber, it has to be! But why? And how?”

Jon picked up his glove and vaulted the stone barrier. He crouched down and prodded the wheel with his bare hand. It was indeed rubber. Gasping for air, Jon stepped back. There were hundreds of these vehicles. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them, all abandoned along the road but only on this side. He felt as if he were going to be sick. So he lurched to the side and came face to face with a spectacle that made his original panic seem childish. Off in the distance, far far away, were towers. Not the towers of a castle, just solitary towers as tall as mountains. They reached for the sky, right below the clouds. Jon staggered, fell to his knees beside the stones and used them for support as he spewed his lunch. One big spew, followed by a few retches and it was over. Jon slumped back against the stones and wiped the vomit clinging to his beard with the back of his hand. Oddly, he felt compelled to stare at it, the smear across his hand.

Lunch, yes, he had eaten lunch. It had been midday, the sun had broken through after a long stretch of darkness, making the wall weep and glisten a hauntingly beautiful blue. The sun here, a summer’s sun, hadn’t need to worry. There was nary a cloud in the sky. It shone on him, unimpeded, baking him within his thick black cloak. Taking it off probably would have been smart, but it gave him a peculiar comfort to keep it on. So he did. Now that the sting of vomit was fading from his throat, Jon supposed spewing had done him some good. His mind was clear and the reality of his surroundings was beginning to set in. A kingdom with the riches to build such things would have surely been bustling at this time of day, but Jon, as far as he could tell, was alone. The strange vehicles’ windows were all caked in dust and grime. They had been left haphazardly as if abandoned out of fear, the way a man may drop his weapon when he knows the battle is lost. Suddenly, a bang boomed from somewhere. Jon was on his feet at once, hand on Longclaw’s hilt. The road was silent. The kind of silence that was deafening. Then, bang, again. It came from down the road towards those towers. Jon, putting his toe before his heel, crept down the road. Again that bang boomed. He had it, it had come from one of the metal carts. Behind the grimy window, was a face, a woman. She banged against the glass with both hands and flashed her teeth at him, the way a wolf snarled. Her eyes, reddened and wide locked with his, unblinking. Jon was about to write it off as madness but then he saw the rot. Strips of skin hung from her face, mould grew in the wounds and her straw thin hair had fallen out in clumps. This was no common leper, it was a white. Jon stepped back from the cart and drew Longclaw.

But… was it a white?

Its eyes weren’t blue. Perhaps, this strange place had strange whites. Yes, that must have been it. Jon approached the cart, raised Longclaw and thrust it through the window. The entire pane of glass shattered but in a way that just didn’t seem right. Regardless, the point of Longclaw pierced the white’s chest all the same. But it didn’t fall. It skewered itself further in an attempt to reach him, raking at the air with brown broken nails. Black blood spewed down the side of the cart. Jon scrambled and reared back Longclaw. He swung again, slicing down through the white’s shoulder until the blade slammed into the metal of the door. Despite being split in two from shoulder to chest, the dammed thing continued struggling. An eruption of black blood flooded from it, like a spilled bucket.

“Damn you, die!”

Jon pulled back and thrust the sword into its head. Finally, it gave in and slumped over the empty window. It couldn’t have been a white, no matter how strange this place was no white could resist valyrian steel. No, it was something else. Something dangerous. Dark and unknown magic had corrupted this woman, creating this monster. Jon stepped back from the corpse. After all, it could come back to life for all he knew. He watched it, chest tight with anticipation. Again, the world had fallen into silence. Wisps of wind whistled in Jon’s ears, followed by a sound so delightful it was enough to tear Jon away from the horror. The clopping of hooves was approaching. He whipped around and saw a man on horseback. The man, like everything else, was strange. His clothes were too nice for a peasant but unlike anything, Jon had ever seen a lord wear before. A light brown shirt and mud brown pants fit perfectly, sewn with complex seam-work. Pinned to his shirt was a golden, seven-pointed star. A matching one was pinned to the front of a peculiar, wide-rimmed hat. A hat not too unlike the kind a farmer would wear, but no farmer could afford such gold. Regardless, this was the most normal thing Jon had seen so far. The man eyed him with suspicion as he approached. Suspicion that turned to fear as Jon ran down the road at him. His hand went to a scabbard on his hip.

“You there! Are you of this place?”

“This place?” The man stopped his horse. “The city? No, I’m from a town.”

His voice was again, unlike anything Jon had heard. His Rs were long and hard, his vowels twanged and it all came out sounding slightly slurred. Perhaps he was drunk.

“Good. What is this place then?”

“Did you hit your head or somethin’?”

Jon felt his head.

“No.”

The man cocked his head and looked him up and down.

“What’s with the, uh, get up?”

“Get up? My clothes you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m… well… Have you heard of Westeros?”

“Is that in England?”

“No. I’m not from… England.”

“Well, you sound British to me.”

“Brit- Look! Tell me where we are!”

The man looked at him as if he were mad.

“Atlanta.”

“And where is that?”

“Georgia.”

“Georgia… Is that in the east?”

“Yeah.”

The man nodded to Longclaw.

“Is that thing real?”

Suddenly aware of himself, Jon wiped Longclaw clean along his cloak and sheathed it.

“I apologise, I mean you no ill will. I’m just lost. And honestly, quite confused.”

“You seem it. How’d you end up out here?”

“I woke up, over there.”

The man’s look of suspicions softened. He trotted his horse up to the barrier between them and stuck out his hand.

“Name’s Rick.”

“Jon.”

Jon shook Rick’s hand and a smile spread across Rick’s face.

“Do you remember anything before you woke up?”

“Yes, I was- Well I was where I was meant to be. And then suddenly, I wasn’t.”

“Right.” Rick nodded.

He looked past Jon at the creature.

“You gotta destroy their brains, at least that’s my experience.”

“What is that creature?”

“A person, or at least it was. Now? Shoot, I don’t know.”

“A tragedy.”

“Sure is.”

“What sorcery is responsible for this?”

“Magic? Naw, I reckon it's some kind of sickness. Probably a virus.”

“Probably? You’re not familiar with this ailment?”

“Nope. I’m in the same boat as you, only woke up a few days ago.”

“But, you said you are of this place?”

“I am, I was in a coma.”

“You are lucky to be here then. My brother suffered the same ailment, it takes a strong will to overcome.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

Jon’s eyes fell to Rick’s scabbard. The hilt of the blade was bent and fat, with a strange metal ring on the bottom that Jon could only assume was there so you could spin it. He gestured to it.

“Your blade, why is the hilt like that?”

Rick looked down with a baffled look. He patted around his belt before resting his hand on the hilt of the blade.

“You mean my gun?”

“Gun? Is that its name?” Jon laughed. “I suppose I’ve heard worse!”

Rick laughed and drew the weapon.

“No, it’s a pistol. A colt? A revolver?”

When it was clear to Rick that none of those words made any sense, he looked Jon up and down again.

“It’s uh, like a bow and arrow but it shoots little metal things that go really fast.”

“So… like a slingshot?”

“Close enough I guess,” Rick laughed. “I’d show you, but it’d scare the horse.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud.”

Jon marvelled at the weapon. If it was true, then it was quite the formidable force. As powerful as a strike of lighting while being no heavier than a hearty dagger.

“Do you know where your parents are? Anyone, you know?” Rick asked.

The tone of the question baffled Jon. Rick spoke as if he were some lost child. He was a man of ten and seven, Lord Commander, a survivor of war. He stuck out his jaw and broadened his shoulders.

“My parents are dead and I’m alone.”

Pity and sorrow darkened Rick’s expression.

“I’d offer you to join me, but where I’m goin’, it might not be safe.”

“By the looks of things, nowhere here is particularly safe. Besides, there are those who depend on me. Turning craven now would doom them all.”

“Well, I’m headin’ into the city. I’m lookin’ for my wife and son, most likely they came here at some point.”

Jon climbed over the barrier. Even if he thought Jon a child, everything about Rick from the way he spoke and held himself told Jon that he was reliable.

“Then, our solitudes are no more.”

A small half smile crept across Rick’s lips. He gave his horse a gentle squeeze with his legs and continued his trot. On his back, Jon noticed a bag of some sorts slung over Rick’s shoulder. A clunky-looking piece of metal stuck out. Judging by the same round finger hold, another one of these guns.

The walk down the road was done in silence for a good while. A quiet that invited query. Beneath this land’s fearsome summer sun, it was void of snow, ice or sleet. Not a speck of white was anywhere to be seen. The air was muggy and when a breeze blew threw it did so peacefully, not biting or attempting to freeze the snot in Jon’s nose. Grass grew in the dried dirt beyond the road, something Jon hadn’t seen truly in quite some time. He’s almost forgotten what it looked like without snow or sleet. The heat continued to bake him within his mail and furs, but still, Jon refused to part with them. Rick broke their silence.

“Your get up, what’s that about?”

“The black is what my brothers wear to show that we are a part of the Night’s Watch. We protect our home from the dangers that threaten it.”

Jon gestured to Rick’s hat.

“What about your… get up? Why the golden stars? Do you worship the Seven?”

“Shoot, after all this, I don’t know if I worship the one. The stars, well they’re like your cloak I guess. I’m a sheriff’s deputy.”

“And what is that?”

“I kept my home safe. Not just my family but everyone who lives there.”

“This band of sheriffs sounds quite honourable.”

Rick chuckled and nodded.

“So does the Night’s Watch.”

“We try.”

***

The road came to an end. It splintered off into several smaller roads which were only split into halves by their lines. The roads crisscrossed, forming a sort of grid. Paths of smooth stone shouldered them, moving between the giant towers. Even the smallest of which loomed imposingly above them. Jon gazed at them freely but the true giants, he didn’t dare lay eyes upon. He’d made the mistake of doing so once and the way it made his head spin made him feel like he was 14 again, laying eyes upon the wall for the first time. Although these made the wall look rather unimpressive. The streets of the city, like the road, which Rick had told him was called a highway, were void of life. The metal carts, called cars, were also left abandoned everywhere. Rick’s face was as solemn as a storm. He gazed at the abandoned streets from a top his horse with a look all too familiar to Jon. He’d seen it too often. It would linger on men’s faces after a battle and follow them back from the battlefield. The horrors of war liked to loiter.

“You’re still breathing,” Jon said.

“Huh, w-what?”

“This world is crumbling, beyond the control of men. Do not fret over the rot as long as you are still standing.”

“Maybe. But what about Lori and Carl? How can I not worry when I don’t know if they’re okay?”

“Are they capable?”

“Carl’s ten.”

“He has his mother, does he not? Is she a fighter?”

“In a sense, yeah.”

“Then you have nothing to fear.”

As they turned a corner, Rick suddenly reared back his horse. Eyes wide, he stared where Jon’s eyes didn’t dare venture. His words choked in his throat.

“Christ…”

Reluctantly, Jon followed his gaze and was met with the charred side of a tower. A huge hole, blackened by fire, had been punctured through it. Surrounding buildings shared similar wounds, as well as the streets below. It reminded Jon of the stories Old Nan used to tell him of Harrenhal. Giant stone towers melted like candlesticks.

“Do Dragons still live in your world?”

Rick dropped his gaze, gave his horse a squeeze and trotted off with a face of stone. Perhaps those towers stored wildfire. It definitely wasn’t unimaginable that such a prosperous land would have it in abundance. As Jon stared at the scorched structures, he rejoined Rick’s side. The man’s face was still hard as stone. He reminded Jon, oddly, of his father. Of the look, he’d get when he, so rarely, got cross. Or before he had to do something he’d rather not do but had to.

“The world’s not crumbling, Jon. It’s dead.”

“Dead? As long as men still breathe, the world can never truly die. Only change.”

“And what kind of world is that? A world ruled by the dead? What kind of life is that?”

“The dead, at least in my experience, do not rule. They erase. Men are the ones who rule. Always will, right until the final man draws his final breath.”

“Rule what? This?”

“A pile of rubble is often worth more than a sea of gold when it comes to men who rule.”

Their travels once again plunged into silence. Although that silence was gradually being challenged. Faint, airy wailing echoed from all directions. Hissing and screeching that made Jon’s skin crawl. Up ahead a good league away, one of those rotting corpses wandered around a corner. It spotted them and began hobbling towards them, arms outstretched and clawing at the air. Rick reared to a halt and Jon began to unsheathe Longclaw.

“Stop, we’ll go a different way,” Rick said.

“It’s only one.”

As if to prove Rick right, three more joined the first. Then, just to rub it in further five more came to make it nine on two. Jon sheathed Longclaw.

“Another way then.”

He gave Rick some room to turn the horse around and kept watch on the group of corpses. The faint wailing began to grow in clarity, noise trickling into focus. Then, all at once, the sound surged with clarity. A hoard of corpses, enough for a small army came flowing around the corner. From tower to tower, pavement to pavement, the street filled with walking corpses.

“Shit!” Rick yelled and reached out his hand. “Hop on!”

Clearly, Jon must have weighed more than he appeared as Rick’s eyes bulged as he tried to hoist him. It wasn’t as if Jon needed the help. He was behind Rick in a flash and holding onto his shoulders.

“Hurry, they’re getting closer!”

“Yah!”

Rick dug his heels into the horse's side, sending it off into a gallop. The hooves slashed against the black road, making a terrific, thundering racket. They shot down the desolate streets between rusted cars and discarded items, most of which Jon hadn’t the faintest clue what they were for. The wailing of the dead roared, seeming to close in all around them even as they left the hoard behind. The intersection of four streets approached a breakneck speed and they dashed around it only to be confronted by another wailing hoard. A screeching cry erupted from the horse as it kicked and reared. Rick fought with the reigns and Jon threw his arms around his chest, but it was no good. Rick was thrown into the empty street and Jon was thrown into the thick of the hoard. He hit the ground with a crash that shot through him, forcing the air from his lungs. Corpses swarmed him like maggots. A wall of brown and rot blotted out the clear, cloudless sky and its fearsome summer sun. But then, thunder cracked. It was as if he were inside a storm cloud. The head of the corpse above him exploded, erupting from one side. It fell over him, as the others descended. Their hands tore at his cloak, tearing long streaks into it. Nails scraped at mail, tearing themselves apart on the links. The savage creatures were even trying to bite him, shattering their teeth on his mail. Before one could sink its teeth into his cheek, he shoved it off, sending it toppling. He kicked at the others, kept one at bay from his arm with a punch to the crown and squirmed his way out of the pile of rot. On his feet was no better. They came from all directions, reaching and grasping for him. Jon used everything, fists, elbows, feet and knees to keep them at bay. A good ram from his shoulder sent one falling back into a bunch of them, sending five to the ground. It created just enough of a gap for him to draw Longclaw but quickly, they were on him again.

“Jon!” Thunder cracked again.

“I’m okay!”

Jon shoved a corpse back, raised his blade a swung a wide, sweeping swing. Whites, frozen by the ice and snow, were hard as stone. These creatures could have been made of paper for all he knew. Longclaw cut through five of them, decapitating two and bisecting three. The two without heads went limp but the other three writhed on the ground.

“Right, the head.”

Jon slashed at the hoard again. Three fell, then two, then five. Slash by slash Jon began to carve a path to the edge of the hoard. Hands grasped at his back, so he knocked one corpse back with an elbow, spun around swinging and cut down the other, then the second before spinning back to carve his path. Again and again, he needed to spin as the dead came at him endlessly. The corpses began to pile, slowing their attack but not enough to make it infrequent. Thunder cracked again and Jon saw it, Rick firing his gun. Fire, like a dragon’s snout, flashed from the barrel with each crack of thunder as an unseen something pierced the head of a corpse. Rick was caught in the hoard too and was being pushed back towards a behemoth of steel. Undoubtedly some kind of car, but one as big as a catapult’s base with a long metal tube protruding from its top. Rick ducked down and disappeared beneath it. Thunder cracked again. Jon cut down a group of the dead and the pavement revealed itself to him. He hurried through the gap and began barrelling down the street. Like a wave, the hoard closed in on him from behind and in front. One corpse got in his way, so he robbed it of a head. Between the towers, Jon found a man-high gate made of linked metal wire. He shouldered it open, only to slam into another corpse. When he raised Longclaw, it screamed at him.

“Stop! Don’t!”

Jon’s swing froze and the rush of battle madness cooled in his eyes. Before him was a man with a strange face, hands raised. Jon lowered Longclaw and the man shot to his feet.

“Watch out!”

The man grabbed Jon and dragged him through a door in the alley. The sudden pull, spun John around, showing him the wave or corpses barrelling through the gate. The door slammed shut and the dead began pounding on it, to no avail. When Jon turned, he was met with a gun pointing at his face.

“Drop the sword, kid.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, drop it!”

Jon considered the gun’s barrel before unlatching Longclaw’s scabbard and tossing it to the ground.

“I meant you no harm, I thought you were a corpse.”

The gun lowered and Jon saw the look of a green boy before his first battle.

“Sorry, just had to be sure. I’m Glenn.”

Glenn stuck out his hand but didn’t put away his weapon.

“Jon.” Jon shook his hand.

“Your dad, he’s okay. I saw him get beneath the tank.”

“My dad? Oh, no he’s not. And a tank? Is that what that thing is called?”

Glenn cocked his head.

“You don’t know what a tank is?”

“I’m not from your land. I come from a place called Westeros, have you heard of it?”

“Is that in Eng-’

“No.”

Jon picked up Longclaw and reattached it to his belt. It was then that he caught the damage done to his cloak. He clicked his tongue as he ran his finger through a long, jagged cut. It was then, that Glenn’s face lit up with horror. His gun raised slightly.

“Hey, you didn’t get bit did you?”

“What? No, I don’t think so.”

“Did you, or didn’t you?! A scratch, a nip, anything!”

Jon touched Longclaw’s hilt but Glenn’s gun twitched so he decided against drawing it. Instead, he pulled off his cloak and showed Glenn the sleeves of his leather furs.

“Look, no cuts, they kept me safe.” He lifted the tunic. “As did my mail.”

Glenn’s eyes bulged.

“Is that chain mail? Where did you even get that from?”

“Castle Black.”

“Right…”

Glenn put away his gun into its scabbard.

“Look kid, your dad or friend or whatever ain’t gonna last long in that tank unless we help him.”

“Right, then let’s go face the enemy.”

Jon drew Longclaw.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what are you crazy? It’s miracle you got out of there once.”

“Are you craven? We can’t abandon him out there.”

“Craven? Look, just listen okay? This will help him.”

Glenn swung a pack from his shoulder and pulled out a black brick with a stick on the end. It crackled and spat, kind of how flames do but it wasn’t burning.

“What is that?”

“It’s a walkie.”

“And what does this walkie do?”

“It does magic.” Glenn grinned. “Come on, I’ll show ya.”

Glenn ran off for some stairs and Jon chased after him, curious what this land’s magic would look like. They climbed the stairs to a window that overlooked the swarming hoard of corpses. This tank, thing, sat unaffected amongst them like a boulder in the current of a river. Glenn twiddled with a round thing on top of the walkie before raising it to his mouth.

“Hey, you. Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank? Cozy in there?”

Silence. Glenn glanced at Jon and gave a nervous chuckle. He checked the walkie before shooting it back to his mouth.

“Hey? You alive in there?”

---

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Next Chapter, Jon and the rest of Glenn's scavenging party must work together to escape the city after becoming trapped in a store by a hoard of the dead.