Sheriff Rick Grimes and his annoying son Carl are sitting in the sanctuary of the CDC (Center of Disease Control) in Atlanta. The rest of the survivors are showering, eating actual food, and enjoying comfy beds and clean toilets. Dr. Edward Jenner is sitting at his com site watching the action on the large video screen before him and the Grimes. MS people (called Mizzers) stumbled around on the sidewalk just outside the CDC.
"What's wrong with that one?" Carl asked as he bit down on a Twizzler.
Dr. Jenner leaned forward in his chair. The walker on the screen was shuffling along being pushed around by other walkers. The walker stopped and looked around, as if searching for a door.
"Oh, yeah," Dr. Jenner said. "That's a whyer."
"A what?" asked Rick.
"A whyer," the Doctor said, recognizing a teaching moment. "It's an Mizzer that walks around, but can not remember why it is there, or that maybe he should be someplace else. The women ones are always looking in car windows for their car keys. They don't last long because - well, see her there?"
Rick and Carl squinted at the far corner of the screen. A slow moving white van with a disability license plate was heading for the decrepit woman who had been gazing in the window of a blue Prius. The van was going fifteen MPH and had its left turn signal on. It slammed into the woman and then rolled over her as the van settled into the handicap parking space in front of the Prius. The MS zombied man opened the door to the van, placed his parking sticker in the van window, and walked to what once had been a pharmacy, since emptied, for Depends for Men, pain pills, and sleeping aids.
The man called out in that weird despairing cry of the Mizzers as he saw he that the only remaining Pampers were for newborns, and yet stuffed the box into the front of his pants, and then fell over.
No one would pick him up.
"Poor bassterd," Rick mumbled.
"Why do you sound like an Australian?" Carl asked, offering the Twizzlers around.
"Sorry, sometimes I forget I'm an American." Rick stared off, seeming more interested in the mouse in the far corner that was just standing there, twitching, first his right leg, then his left rear leg. The mouse squeaked, urinated on the floor, and moved to the right of the small pool he just created, and waited.
"Oh, no you don't!" the Doctor yelled at the mouse. "I am NOT cleaning that up. You had your Mighty Mouse Depends, and you would not wear them. Too bad."
Carl took out his Berreta 92, and blasted the mouse to twitching parts.
"Why'dja do that?" Rick asked, not hiding his admiration for his son's aim.
Carl shrugged.
"It's a walking decrepit, Dad. Mizzers die, right? -
Doctor Jenner raised his hand in the classic "Halt" move.
"You know, Carl," he said. "That is not necessarily true. Studies have shown - OK, you've got the gun. I'll shut up."
Carl nodded and turned to his father
"Besides, Dad, Mom's been doing a little twitching, too, if ya know what I mean."
"Carl, she's pregnant. Pregnant people do that."
Carl turned his attention back to the screen. "We'll see," he mumbled.
"Hey, check this out," Dr. Jenner said. "Look at this old guy with the beard. Looks like Santa is a little early this year."
The man was dressed in jeans, work shirt, and boots. His white hair and and beard a bit lengthy for the summer, but he had a nice smile. Jenner turned up the sound so all three men could hear the show.
"Now I got the cure right here, " the old man said in a professional South Carolina accent. "It's right in my car. Come on, now."
All the Mizzers stopped whatever random thing they were doing, and turned to the white haired man. Those Mizzers that could still talk mouthed something like "cure...cure...money. Give them money." Those who could no longer speak just reached for their wallet.. Those in wheelchairs tried to rise from their chairs and join the fray, but just tumbled to the road. They crawled.
The Santa kept stepping backwards, drawing the Mizzers to him. Rick placed a call on the speaker system to everyone inside the CDC.
"There's some guy outside who is gonna give himself up to the Mizzers. We can make a run for it!"
Over the speaker system, all he could hear was....
"Too hot....Too cold....My legs, my legs.....Can't walk...."
Rick dropped the microphone, making too loud a noise.
"They're all infected," Rick said. He collapsed in the chair. On the screen was the white haired man with a slight limp. "Handicapped Parking!" he cried, "Where's mah sticker? You don't look sick!"
"Welp, it ain't that bad," Carl said. "knowing MS may not be genetic."
"What about that?" Dr. Jenner said. "What is genetic?"
Carl smiled and picked up his gun.
"Bipolar disorder, Dad. Ask Mom." Carl just started laughing. A little too long.
