The vile smell of rot infected the cramped inside of the truck. Jon paid it little mind. Instead, while the others chatted cheerily without a care in the world, he allowed himself to wallow in his thoughts. Ever since arriving in this strange place, he’d had nary a moment to truly contemplate the situation.

“What purpose could the Gods have by sending me here when I am needed most? Is this some cruel jape? A punishment? Mindless cruelty? No. None of those are right. The Gods are about as humourless as Thorn and I’ve done them no wrong. I said my vows beneath their eyes. I broke hundreds of years of tradition to give sanctuary to their most devout of followers. And I’m trying to be the shield upon which the long night’s attack breaks. What cause would they have to punish me? As for mindless cruelty. The Gods are mysterious and strange. Cruel? Sometimes. Mindless? No.

Then what? If not the Gods, then who? The Night King? Mellisandra? The curse of a wildling shaman?

No matter. Whatever or whoever has torn me from my duty; it has no bearing. I will not play their games. I will find a map, find the closest port to Westeros and head back home. Even if I must walk across all of the four known continents as a lowly barefoot beggar. I will resume my watch.”

“Hey.”

Andrea’s voice dragged Jon from his mind.

“Hey!”

Andrea shoved him.

“What?”

Andrea’s rot-covered face scrunched up.

“I’m sorry. The way I treated you. It… it wasn’t fair.”

“You were scared. I understand.”

“No. Argh… call me a bitch.”

“What?”

“Say, ‘Fuck you, you’re a bitch, don’t ever talk to me like that again,” please.”

“No.”

“Just do it.”

Jon cracked a smile.

“Fuck you, you’re a bitch, don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

Andrea chuckled.

“Thanks, kid. And thanks for saving my life. I owe you.”

“Being saved doesn’t come with debt.”

“I. Owe. You.”

Andrea poked Jon’s chest. Jon thought it best not to argue.

“Thank you for saving my life too,” Jon said.

“All I did was hit the bastard with my gun.”

“Yes. And you also kept a level head and didn’t panic. Even when faced with death. Your attitude saved me, yourself and everyone else.”

Andrea smiled and looked away.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The calm, trundling rumble beneath the truck’s floor suddenly became a bumpy, crunching racket. Jon got up to investigate. Looking out the front window made his stomach churn but he did it all the same. The odd black road had become a winding gravel trail that lead down into a huge pit. At the bottom was a lake and sheer walls lined its shore like those of a giant castle. Forest surrounded the pit on all sides. Nestled amongst the forest, at the end of the gravel road, was a camp. Plastic huts, cars and an especially large, rectangular car lay about in a scattered clump.

“It ain’t much, but it’s home,” Jacqui said.

“How many of y’all are there?” Rick asked.

“Thirty? Maybe twenty-five? People have been trickling out for the past week or so,” T-Dog said.

“What defences do you have?” Jon asked.

“We have a look out on the RV,” Morales said.

Morales pointed to the larger, rectangular car.

“And a patrol group. Day and night,” Andrea said.

It wasn’t enough, Jon knew. They needed walls, turrets, traps, and fortified shelter. But that conversation could wait. There was a more pressing matter.

“When will we go back for Merle?” Jon asked.

Everyone went silent.

“Best not to dwell on it. Nobody’s gonna be sad he didn’t come back,” Morales said.

“Except Daryl,” T-Dog said.

“Daryl?” Rick asked.

“His brother,” T-Dog said.

Rick’s expression soured.

“He’s got water and we secured the door. We’ll regroup tonight, and get him in the morning,” Rick said.

Jon’s jaw clenched.

“Fine. Then you can be the one to tell this Daryl, that you’re leaving his brother on a roof all night in the middle of all that,” Jon said.

“Fair enough.”

***

The rest of the trip was spent in silence and the lingering stink of rot. Eventually, they made their way down the winding, sloped gravel road and arrived at the camp. Glenn had arrived before them and it seemed just about every person was gathered around his red car. All eyes were on the truck as they pulled in and as soon as they were stopped and still, Andrea hopped out the back. Jon followed her out and was nearly barrelled over as a skinny blonde woman threw herself at Andrea.

“You’re okay! Oh my god, what is all this? Is that blood?” The woman asked frantically.

Her soft features were tight with fearful strain. A frantic terror festered in her otherwise calming blue eyes.

“Walker blood, it’s alright, Amy,” Andrea said.

Amy pursed her lips as she guided Andrea off into the camp. Next, Morales got out. A grin spread across his filthy face and he sprinted over to a woman and two children.

“Papá!” A little girl and boy cried and ran to him.

Morales went to hug him but they screamed and dodged him while giggling.

“No! You smell!”

“Get back here! You’re not getting out of it!”

Morales chased after them and the children let out a chorus of screaming laughter.

Jacqui helped T-Dog into the camp and they were greeted by laughter and pats on the back. A group of women swarmed T-Dog and fussed over his battered body as they led him away.

Finally, Rick left the truck.

The camp quietened as sceptical gazes fell upon Jon and Rick; a look all too familiar to Jon. However, three faces in the crowd stood out. Shock and fear stood out like a sore thumb amongst a sea of doubt. A woman and a small lad looked at them with disbelieving, teary eyes, while a man looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

Jon looked at Rick. Tears were streaming down his face.

“Oh my god,” Rick whispered.

“Dad?!” The little lad cried.

Rick flung off his rot-covered, plastic cloak and the lad broke from his mother's arms. They ran to each other and despite the filth covering Rick, they embraced. Rick practically threw himself to his knees as he pulled the lad to his chest. The lad’s short and skinny arms could barely fit around his chest. Crying, Rick picked him up just as the woman threw her arms around him. Rick buried his face into her shoulder, then kissed her and the top of the boy’s head. They stared into each other’s teary eyes. A necklace hung from the woman’s neck. A ring was stringed through it. Rick held it between his thumb and finger as if it were made of gold, grinning ear to ear.

All eyes were off Jon and he gladly faded into the background. He was happy for Rick, truly, but he had more pressing matters. He made his way past a man looking at Rick with a pained look. A tall and burly fellow with a stubbled jaw that could cut glass. Jon slunk by and approached the so-called RV.

An older man in a bucket-shaped hat stopped him.

“Hey, the name’s Dale, are you on your own, son?” Dale asked.

“Are there any maps inside this RV?” Jon asked.

Dale blinked at him.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Great.”

Jon went to step past him but Dale moved into his path.

“Whoa. I ain’t letting you in like that. You’ll stink up the place.” Dale grinned. “More than it does already, anyway.”

“Sorry but it’s important I have a map.”

“Alright. Wait here, I’ll get ya a map.”

“Thank you.”

Dale went inside the RV and Jon peered through the door after him. Whatever this RV was, it seemed to be a small home. A genius contraption really; a home that could move. As Jon waited outside, the burly man who had seemed shocked to see Rick approached and offered a handshake.

“Jon, right? My name’s Shane. I heard what you did for my people out there. You’re a good man.”

Jon accepted the handshake.

“Thank you, but they played no small part either.”

Shane smiled and nodded. He looked past Jon to the RV.

“Dale!” He yelled.

“Yeah?” Dale yelled back.

“We got any spare tents?”

“One or two.”

“Get one and get Jon here set up.”

“Will do!”

Shane nodded, smiled at Jon again and made his way back to Rick. He put his arm around him and guided Rick and his family over to where the tents were set up. Shane and Rick laughed together.

Shortly, the camp seemed to fall back into motion. Some people gathered around Glenn’s car and began poking around. Some sat about chatting and laughing. Some managed supplies. Some handed out food. All was surprisingly orderly. If Shane was their leader, as Jon suspected, he seemed to be doing a fine job.

“Sorry about the wait,” Dale said as he exited the RV.

He handed Jon a thick book labelled, ‘Road Atlas,’. Jon thanked Dale and flicked through the book but all the maps were a bunch of nonsensical coloured lines and numbers.

“I meant a map of the continent,” Jon said.

“Oh, it’s at the back,” Dale said.

Jon went to the back of the book. He froze. A continent unlike anything he’d ever seen was on the final page.

“Th-The world. Do you have a world map?”

“The world? Why-”

“Do you or don’t you?!”

Dale’s eyes widened and he took a step back.

“I’ll uh, I’ll see.”

Dale hurried back inside the RV and came out a moment later with a book simply labelled, ‘Atlas,’. The map on the very first page stabbed Jon’s heart with a blade of ice. It froze him from head to toe. It was all wrong. No Essos, no Sothoryos, no Ulthos and no Westeros. Frantically, he flicked through page after page after page.

“Son?” Dale reached out. “Are you okay?”

“Where is it?!”

“Where’s what?”

“Westeros?!”

Dale frowned.

“There’s no country called Westeros, son.”

“Yes, there is! To the east of Essos and the west of the Sunset Sea!”

Dale looked past Jon. Jon followed his gaze. People were staring.

“How about you come inside, son?”

“I’m not mad! You think it, I know, but I’m not! Westeros is my home! I need to return to my watch! Lives depend on it!”

“I don’t think that. Let’s talk about it inside, okay?”

Dale spoke to him as if he were a child but looked upon him with the pity afforded to a witless beggar. Jon threw the atlas to the ground and stormed off. He needed to think.

***

Jon thought the bottom of the pit would be empty. He thought wrong. Everyone from Atlanta was gathered about the water, washing the rot from their bodies and clothes. Their families helped them, laughing and playing without a care in the world. Children. They were all children; blind to the world.

Jon went to the other side of the lake to clean himself. He left behind their voices and welcomed a sweet silence. One of them followed him, though. She thought she was being stealthy, but she was about as stealthy as a giant in a swamp. When Jon eventually knelt before the water to clean, she approached him.

“You don’t need to do that. Let us,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

Jon took off his cloak and soaked it in the water. Brown rot infested the already murky water. The woman, Rick’s wife if Jon remembered correctly, stared at his leathers. Everything about her was neat and orderly, from her perfectly braided brown hair to her creaseless dress. An utterly impractical choice, Jon thought. As well as vain. A child’s choice. Pants and a jacket would serve her better.

“Did you work at Disney World or something?” She asked.

“No.”

“How’d you come by those clothes then?”

“The night’s watch.”

Jon began undoing his leathers.

“Please, let me do it for you. You've already done so much and besides, it’s women’s work anyhow.”

“Leave me alone.”

The woman’s smile tightened. The corners of her mouth fought to hang on.

“Alright then. Have it your way. My name’s Lori. If you need anything, come to me.”

“Jon.”

“Bye Jon.”

Lori left him. She muttered something as she left and giggled to herself. Jon ignored her and soaked his leather tunic in the water. The rot spread further across the water’s surface. Chunks of rotten flesh floated on the top. As Jon scrubbed, he thought about the map.

“This place is wealthy, undoubtedly. It stands to reason that their explorers may have seen more of the world than any Maester had knowledge of. Sam had often spoken about theories of other lands beyond the Sunset Sea. Perhaps, this was one of them. Westeros and the other known lands may exist somewhere on that map as smaller pieces, under different names. Yes, that must be it.”

Jon decided once he was clean, and his clothes were dry, he would study that map until he found his home. Surely, it would be a laborious task. But it was one he would undertake without complaint. Jon wished he’d paid more attention during Master Lunwin’s lessons on the world.

Once his cloak, leathers and gloves were clean, he folded lay them out to dry on some rocks under the sweltering summer sun. Truly, this land’s sun would leave even a Dornishman lusting for a cool bath. Jon knelt before the lake again and removed his mail. Then, his undershirt. But as he did, he caught a glimpse of his chest. The rot hadn’t found its way to his skin, leaving it clean and pristine. But what the rot left uncovered terrified Jon more than any white.

From his collarbone to his navel, stab wounds littered his front. Healed and scarred, but stab wounds nonetheless. Jon’s breath caught in his throat and he dropped the shirt as memories flooded back.

Harsh words. Drawn blades. Threats and promises. An apology. Pain. Awful, unbearable pain. The pain of the flesh. The pain of the heart. The pain of the soul. Then finally, a cold release.

Jon touched a scar above his heart. His chest tightened. His breaths became short and sharp. Then, fast and rapid. His head spun. His stomach churned. His heart pounded with a stabbing throb up his dry throat. He wanted to cry and be sick but found himself unable to do anything but kneel before the rot-infested water and stare at his murky reflection. A ghost stared back at him.

There was no going home. The Gods had given him a second life in this world. Perhaps to torture him, perhaps for their own amusement. For, what kind of life would it be? This world was a broken one where the dead ruled and the people frolicked among the rot like the spoiled children they are. Jon punched the water and looked to the sky.

“You should have let me die you cruel sons of bastards!” He yelled.

The Gods, as always, said nothing. Or perhaps they could not hear him. This cursed land had no were woods as far as Jon could tell. His death had surely doomed his home. Without him, the night’s watch would fracture and the long night would sweep across the world. Arya, if she was truly still alive, would die. As would Sam, Ed, Grenn, Eddison, Pypar, and Ghost. The thought of Ghost, alone in such a world finally allowed Jon to cry. He lay on the silty shore and wept. He shouldn’t, he knew. Such a thing was for women and small boys. But wept he did anyway. He cried and cried until he could no longer and just lay still beneath the summer sun.

He could not remember the words spoken to him before his murder. All he knew was they were words of betrayal. It had been his own brothers that had sent him here. Not the game of Gods nor the trickery of sorcery but bitter steel. Over what, Jon did not know. Their betrayal stung worse than any blade. Jon only prayed that it wasn’t a friend wielding the blade.

He felt pathetic just laying there but what else was there to do? Rejoin a group of children who thought him mad? Carve out a life in a dead world upon a most-like dead people? What purpose could such a place have for him? What common cause was there worth finding among such ignorant fools?

He had experienced death once, he could do it again.

It was then, Jon remembered Merle. He was truly a vile creature, but a man nonetheless. Leaving him on that roof had been just as bad, if not worse than anything his foul mouth had said. Jon sat up.

What would his father say if he came to him in the afterlife without undoing that wrong?

Jon stripped off his britches, socks and boots and scrubbed them against the rocks.

***

That night, Jon reluctantly joined a group around one of several night fires. The tent Dale had set up for him was made of plastic and the strange material did nothing but remind him of being covered in rot. He had enough of being sick for a lifetime. Of all of them, Dale was one of the more bearable. He spoke softly, told fine japes and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.

“Our world is gone now,” Dale had said, “and it ain’t coming back anytime soon. Best we find a way to live with what we have instead of clinging to the past.”

The unspoken message hadn’t gone unnoticed by Jon, but he still appreciated the honesty. It was refreshing to hear someone acknowledge the hard truth of this world.

When Jon had joined them by the fire, Rick was speaking. His son sat curled in his lap and Lori sat by his side. Shane sat across from them, thumbing a small cross hanging from his neck. He had a hard, vacant gaze that fixated on Rick’s hands as they stroked his son, Carl’s hair and held Lori.

Everyone from Atlanta was around the fire, plus a few extras. Andrea’s sister Amy had joined them. As had Dale. Amy cuddled up with Andrea. Her golden hair and floral, white shirt were stained and greased. Dale handed out small bits of food with a smile and bags under his eyes. Only Morales wasn’t there. He was at his own fire with his family.

“Disoriented. I guess that comes closest. Disoriented. Fear, confusion, all those things but disoriented comes closest,” Rick said.

“Words can be meagre things. Sometimes they fall short,” Dale said.

“I felt like I’d been ripped out of my life,” Rick said.

“Did you now?” Jon asked.

Rick gave him a queer look.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Well you have it back now, don’t you? Your wife. Your child. You’ve got them back. You’ve got a purpose. Aren’t you lucky?”

The truth seemed to sour the expressions of the children around the fire. Ignorant scowls and harsh, veiled eyes.

“Ain’t nothin’ lucky about any of this,” Lori said. “Our world is broken and it’s taking everything we have to keep what’s left together.”

“It might never be fixed,” Rick added.

“Naw, it will. We’re the USA, man. We’ll be up and runnin’ again in no time,” Shane said.

That seemed too cheery the mood once again. Rick cleared his throat.

“For a while, I thought I was trapped in some kind of coma dream. Something I might not wake up from ever.”

“Mom said you died,” Carl said.

Pain flashed across Rick’s face. He smiled at Carl and ran his hand through his hair.

“She had every reason to believe that. Don’t you ever doubt it,” Rick said.

“When things started to get really bad they told me at the hospital that they were gonna evac you and the other patients to Atlanta. That never happened,” Lori said.

“I’m not surprised after Atlanta fell and from the look of that hospital it got overrun,” Rick said.

“Yeah, looks don’t deceive,” Shane said, “I barely got them out.”

Shane nodded to Lori and Carl.

“And I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you,” Rick said. “Can’t begin to express it.”

“There go those words falling short again, poultry thing,” Dale said.

Suddenly, a sharp crackling cut through the sombre atmosphere. Away from their fire was another. A big man called Ed had tossed a log onto it.

“You wanna rethink that log, Ed?” Shane called out.

“It’s cold man!”

“Cold don’t change the rules does it?” Shane said. “We keep our fires low so we can’t be seen from a distance right?”

“I said it’s cold! Why don’t you mind your own business for once?”

Shane got up and marched over to Ed’s fire. Everyone seemed to look away but Jon didn’t. He was curious how Shane would hold himself. Sitting at Ed’s fire was a mousy-looking woman called Carol and a girl, Sophia. Carol shuffled on her log and looked at the ground.

“You sure you wanna have this conversation man?” Shane asked.

Ed smirked.

“Go on. Pull that damn thing out then. Go on!”

Carol’s weathered, weary face flinched and she scampered to the fire.

“Christ…” Shane muttered.

Carol yanked the log out by the end untouched by fire and smothered it with a jacket. Shane crouched down beside her.

“How are you doing this evening?” He asked, softly.

“Fine,” Carol whispered.

Shane nodded.

“Sorry about the fire…” Carol said.

“No no, no apology needed.”

Shane smiled at her and went back to his fire. Scowls and glares bore down on Ed for every other fire. The kind of man Ed was, was plain to Jon. But Shane was something of a mystery. The friendly, responsible persona he gave off felt somewhat uncanny. But everything in this place felt that way, Jon supposed. Not that it was of any concern to him.

“Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon?” Dale asked.

“I’ll tell him. It was my call,” Rick said.

“He only acted up cause of me,” T-Dog said.

“It’s not a competition guys,” Glenn said. “And not to bring race into this but it might sound better coming from a white guy.”

T-Dog curled his lip and looked away, but said nothing more.

“We could lie,” Amy said.

“Or we tell the truth. Merle was out of control. Something had to be done or he would have gotten us all killed,” Andrea said.

She looked at Lori.

“Your husband did what was necessary. If Merle got left behind it was nobody’s fault but his own.”

“Your fear left him on that roof,” Jon said.

“Damn right it did. What do you think would have happened if Merle was with us when the walkers came at us? He’d have done something stupid and gotten us all killed!” Andrea said.

“And you know that for a fact?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So, we tell Daryl his brother deserved it? I don’t see a rational discussion to be had from that,” Dale said, “word from the wise. We’re gonna have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt.”

“At least he ain’t dead. Only about twelve or so geeks could get up that staircase at a time. No way they’d break through those boards we set up. That ought to sweeten the story,” T-Dog said.

“I doubt so,” Jon said.

“It will,” Rick said.

He stroked Carl’s hair and pulled Lori closer.

“When I came home and found my house empty-”

“I’m so sorry,” Lori said.

Rick kissed her head.

“I knew you were alive. That’s what kept me going. We tell Daryl that his brother’s alive and we’re gonna get him, it’ll light a fire under his ass. Sure, he’ll be pissed, but hope’ll drive him to help us get Merle back.”

“I’ll put together a team. A small one this time. No more than five,” Glenn said.

“I’ll go,” Rick said.

“No, you can’t! Not when we just got you back,” Lori said.

“Dad, please don’t,” Carl said.

“They’re my cuffs, locked by my key. I put him there. I’ll get him back.”

Lori frowned and Carl sat up.

“Then I’m coming too!” Carl yelled.

“No, you need to stay here and keep your mom safe.”

“No fair! I can help! Shane taught me how to shoot and how to use a knife! I can keep you, safe dad.”

Rick scowled at Shane. Shane shrugged.

“It was about time he learned anyway. Shoot, he should’ve already known.”

“See!” Carl said.

“It’s too dangerous-”

“But!”

“It’s not for kids. That’s that, son.”

Carl stormed off back to his tent and aggressively zipped it shut. It wasn’t the first tantrum Jon had seen since he arrived in this world.

“I’ll come too,” Jon said.

Glenn nodded.

“Alright. Well, Daryl will wanna come too so that leaves one more spot. I was thinking-”

“I’ll come,” Andrea said.

“No…” Amy pleaded.

“No,” Glenn said.

“Why the hell not?” Andrea stood up.

“That’s why. You’re too hotheaded. I need level heads out there. I want Morales.”

Andrea looked at Shane but he just shrugged.

“The man’s spoken.” He gave Glenn an approving look.

“You’re taking Jon,” Andrea said.

“Yeah? And?” Glenn said.

“He’s! … well you know.”

“I’m what?” Jon asked.

“Uh, you’re- you can’t shoot. Can you?”

“I’ll show him how in the morning,” Shane said.

Andrea huffed and stormed away.

***

A taste of home visited Jon that night. A dream of sorts he often had played out in his mind. He saw the world through the eyes of a wolf. Although, usually, he’d see the woods beyond the wall or the gift. This time, as if to mock him, he saw the woods of this world.

He prowled through the night, stalking a deer. The muggy, humid night air penetrated his thick fur. It slowed him, tiring him out far more quickly that any fierce northern chill. But still, he stalked, doing his best not to pant. His stomach churned. He was so hungry, so terribly, awfully hungry. It gnawed away insistently at his mind, driving him beyond his means.

The scent was hard to follow. Death lingered everywhere. Its strong scent attacked his nose to mask his meal but he knew the smell well, it could not hide from him. This deer was far more stupid than any Westerosi deer. It did not try to hide its scent or keep a keen eye out for hunters. Even its footsteps were as loud as thunder.

Eventually, he found the deer drinking from a lake. Silently, he crept through the underbrush as close to the forest’s edge as he dared. When the deer was deep in its drink, he leapt. He flew through the air and sprinted to the lake. The deer screeched and try to run but he was faster. He pounced on it and tore out its throat with a single bite. It flailed as it died but yielded to death quickly. It was a fat thing, fed well by the wealth of this land. He dined for hours on its juicy fat, tender muscle and hardy organs. Blood stained the ground and his fur and infected the water. Once he had finished feasting on the cartilage in the bones, he lay beside the scraps with a full stomach and gazed at the sky. The moon hung above him as a watching, glowing eye.

He had eaten the whole deer, all except for a single hoof. It sat in a pool of blood, decapitated and decrepit.

He howled. He howled for home, howled for friends, howled for family, howled for life. But all that howling brought out the dead. They stumbled from the woods as an endless hoard. They blocked his escape; an impenetrable wall of rot. He snarled at them with a silent baring of his teeth but when it had no effect, he jumped in the water and swam across the small lake to safety on the shore.

Jon awoke with a start. The full moon shone in his eyes. He’d slept outside, by the fire pit. He couldn’t stand the plastic of his tent. As his heart slowed, he became privy to hissed whispers. Two silhouettes stood by the rows of tents. One had the other’s wrist clutched.

“No, you need to leave,” One hissed.

“Come on, let’s just sneak off, he’s asleep he won’t know,” the other kissed back.

“He’s asleep, is he? Just like how he was dead?”

One of the silhouettes tried to yank free. The other let go.

“That’s not fair, he was in a coma and all alone in all of this. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

“And yet he is. This can’t go on. In fact, it never did, get it?”

“You felt something, don’t lie.”

“Not anymore.”

One silhouette stormed off, leaving the other to stand aimlessly. Jon rolled over and shut his eyes. Whatever that was, it was just more childishness.

***

The next morning, Jon awoke to the laughter of children. Sophia and Morales’s kids ran past his sleeping bag, waving sticks around. For a moment, it made him smile. Until images of Arya, Bran and Rickon slipped into his mind. He pushed the memories aside and reached for his clothes. The night had been hot so he’d slept in his britches. But when he reached for them, they were gone and replaced by the odd clothes of this world. Jon shot out of his sleeping bag and in little more than his britches, stormed through the camp.

Eyes followed him everywhere as well as hushed whispers and suspicious looks.

“Everything okay, son?” Dale shouted from the top of the RV.

“Where are my clothes, my mail, my sword!?”

Dale raised an eyebrow.

“Lori has your clothes. They weren’t cleaned proper so she’s cleaning them for you. You ought to thank her. As for your sword. The kids tried to play with it so I put it back in your tent. What were you doing sleeping outside anyhow?”

Jon looked around and saw Lori off with the other women. She was standing before some kind of board, pressing a metal triangle against his cloak. Steam rose as she applied pressure. Jon marched over.

“What are you doing?” He snapped.

Lori looked up. Her eyes widened.

“Your chest! What happened?”

Jon looked down at his scar-riddled chest. A fire burned in his cheeks. He snatched up his cloak and covered himself.

“Old wounds. Don’t take my clothes again. Return them.”

“Sorry, but I saw how filthy they were still. I didn’t want you covered in all that… stuff. I laid out some fresh clothes by your bag. They’re Rick’s old clothes so they might be a little big.”

As hot as his wrath was, Jon couldn’t help but feel stupid speaking to someone so earnest that way. He looked away and muttered

“No thank you. Just return my clothes.”

“I can’t. They’re not dry yet.”

Lori gestured to the board.

“Mail doesn’t need to dry,” Jon said.

Lori shrugged.

“True, go on then.”

Jon rounded the board and picked his mail off of the pile of clothes and hurried back to his sleeping bag, feeling a little ashamed of himself. As ignorant as these people may be, taking out his wrath on them would be no better than kicking a dog.

He gathered up the clothes laid out for him by Lori and dressed. He slipped on a blue, short-sleeved shirt made of a strange, soft fabric. Where they got the dye from, Jon hadn’t a clue. Nor how they’d gotten the image of a boy in a blue and yellow, full-body suit on the front of the shirt. He decided to not question it and continued dressing into the hardy, faded blue pants and leather jacket. The jacket felt odd, unlike any leather he’d ever seen. But it had fleece sewn on the inside, which oddly made it feel homely. He slipped his mail on, then the jacket over it and finally his cloak before donning his gloves and boots. Again, despite the heat, Jon refused to part with them.

After dressing, he went to his tent to collect Longclaw and his dagger. He found them lying neatly where his sleeping bag had been. He drew Longclaw and his dagger. They were undamaged. The dark ripples of Longclaw’s valyrian steel glimmered at Jon despite the lack of any light. He reattached it and his dagger to his belt and stepped out of the tent. As he did, Shane emerged from Rick and Lori’s. He froze, eyes wide, before smiling and laughing.

“There you are! Been lookin’ for ya.” Shane put his arm around him. “Come on, I’ll show you how to shoot. Best you know before Daryl gets back. We’re gonna need all the support we can get.”

“Right.”

Jon went along with Shane out into the woods. He lead Jon to a small clearing nestled in amongst the dense, tall trees and knee-high shrubs. The chaos and noise of the camp evaporated and a gentle quiet lingered around them. If it weren’t for the heat, Jon could've almost believed he was at home during the summer.

“Right, first thing’s first. There are five rules to owning a gun. Well… four now I guess. Unless you’ve got a pair of earmuffs and goggles laying about?” Shane laughed and nudged Jon.

When it was clear that Jon wasn’t going to laugh, Shane dropped his smile, pulled out a gun from his holster and showed it to him.

“First, keep your gun pointed in a safe direction at all times. Second, always treat it as if it were loaded. Third, if you ain’t shooting, keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Finally, always know your target, line of fire and what lies beyond your target. That clear?”

“Clear.”

“Alright.” Shane pointed to a notch behind the trigger. “This here’s your safety. It stops the gun from firing. Always make sure it’s turned on when you’re not firing and turned off when you are.”

Jon nodded and Shane put the gun into his hand.

“Hold it with both hands and point it at that tree down there. Raise it to your eye.”

The gun was far heavier than it looked. Jon raised it to his eye and aimed it at the tree.

“See those three white dots at the top?” Shane asked.

“Yeah.”

“Line them up.”

Jon moved the gun until the dots were lined up.

“Feet apart.”

Jon spread his feet.

“Move your left foot back a tad.”

Jon moved his foot back.

“That’s good. Back straight.”

Jon straightened his back.

“Okay, and you are ready to fire. Put your finger on the trigger and squeeze it gently.”

Jon took aim at the tree, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The gun practically exploded in his hand. His ears rang and his head spun. When his hearing returned he was greeted by Shane’s laughter.

“Hell yeah, nice shot kid! You sure you've never done this before?”

“Only archery.”

Shane laughed again.

“Y’all still use bows and arrows in England?”

“I’m not-’

“Welp, you’re in Georgia now, man and every Georgia man worth his salt need a gun.”

“Right, well thank you.”

Jon turned to leave.

“Hold on man. We ain’t done. You know how to reload?”

“Sorry.”

“All good. All good. Say, how old are you anyway?”

“Ten and seven.”

Shane cocked his head.

“Seventeen,” Jon said.

“Really? I figured you were grown. Well, you’ll be a man soon enough, and you’re gonna need a gun if you’re gonna stay here. I doubt England will be back in order before we are.”

“Back in order?”

“Yup, you’re in the USA man, the most powerful country on Earth. If any government’s gonna get its shit together and retake their country first it’ll be ours.”

“You really believe that?”

“Sure do. Shoot, they’ve probably taken back half the country by now. Any day now this’ll all be over. But you’ll probably be stuck here for a while I reckon. Gonna be a minute before Europe’s back up and runnin’ I’ll tell you what.”

Jon pitied the poor man. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but perhaps their ignorance was in some part intentional. No rational person could truly believe everything would just miraculously sort itself out. Jon listened along to his reloading lesson. These weapons were quite a lot more complicated than they appeared, covered in valves, buttons and slides. This land’s blacksmiths must be quite skilled indeed.

Once Shane had finished, he left Jon alone to practice. However, as Jon fired away at the tree, a pair of eyes bore into his back. Jon could make out the lad in the corner of his eye, crouched in the shrubbery, believing he was unseen.

“If you want to hide start by not wearing a yellow jacket,” Jon said.

Carl’s eyes widened, but quickly a scowl plastered his face. He stepped out. Jon switched on his safety.

“How come you get to go? You can’t even shoot good.”

“And you’re better?”

“Yeah!”

Carl pulled out a gun tucked under his shirt and ran to Jon’s side. He took aim, switched off his safety and unloaded three shots into the tree. Each shot hit the exact same place. He switched on his safety.

“You’re allowed to have that, are you?”

“Are you gonna tattle?”

“How’d you get it?”

“Shane sucks at hiding stuff.”

Carl grinned and held up a little key. Jon chuckled.

“You should put it back before he finds out.”

“Duh. So, how come, huh? I’m a better shot. I should go.”

“You’re a child.”

“So are you. I heard. Seventeen isn’t an adult yet.”

“Because I’m a warrior and I’ve proven myself.”

Carl’s eyes brightened.

“For real?”

Jon nodded.

“I stood guard at the edge of the world as the shield that guards the realms of men.”

“Cool! So is that real, then?”

Carl pointed to Longclaw.

“It is.”

“No way! I thought Dale was lying.”

“Its name is Longclaw.”

Jon drew Longclaw and Carl marvelled at it.

“You named it?”

“Every good sword needs one.”

“What about your gun?”

“Isn’t it Shane’s?”

“Nah, Shane’s is black. That one’s silver. You heard him. You need a gun. He gave it to you.”

Jon thought for a moment before cracking a small smile.

“Needle, then.”

“Why Needle?”

“A brave warrior, about your age, wielded a sword with that name.”

“Were they better than you too?”

Jon laughed.

“Yeah, she was.”

As Carl smirked at him, Jon considered the boy. He seemed different to the rest.

“You overheard what Shane said, about the world being fixed. What do you think?”

Carl’s expression darkened. He shuffled his feet.

“I guess, I hope it’s true. But I heard my dad’s story about the tank. If the government is still fighting, how’d it end up there? No way walkers could beat a tank on their own. I think… it probably got left behind cause the soldiers ran away.”

Jon nodded.

“Most likely.”

“It still isn’t fair though,” Carl muttered.

“How so?”

“Well… it is but I just wish they wouldn’t lie. Dad said I need to stay to protect my mom but that’s bull. Shane already does that and the city’s way more dangerous than this dump.”

“Men often hide from hard truths with lies. To others and to themselves.”

Carl cocked his head and smiled.

“You talk funny.”

“You look funny.”

Carl giggled and ran at Jon. Jon kept him at bay with a hand to the top of his head and as Carl swung his short arms through the air, Jon found himself laughing.

***

Jon returned to the camp with Carl in tow. Before arriving at the main gathering area, Carl slunk off into Shane’s tent. Jon left him to it and looked for Shane. He wanted to find out if Needle actually was his or not. On his way, he found Glenn watching as the others stripped down the red car he’d taken from Atlanta.

“Look at them. Vultures,” Glenn said.

Jon had little sympathy. Ultimately, it was a toy. The parts would be better spent on the other cars. They were bigger and could carry more people and more supplies if they ever needed to leave in a hurry. A car like that would only get in the way of an evacuation.

“A shame,” Jon said.

Glenn nodded and eyed Needle.

“That was you shooting I gather.”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m good at it.”

“Great. Nothing’s more dangerous than someone who can’t shoot.”

Jon spotted Shane over by Lori and Rick, cleaning a knife and went to go over to him when Glenn suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Shit. Dixon.”

Jon followed his alarmed gaze and saw a rugged-looking man with squinted eyes and a scowl making his way out of the woods. In one hand he had a crossbow which as like everything, was unlike any crossbow Jon had ever seen. In his other hand had held a collection of dead squirrels and large, rodent-like creatures by their tails.

“The hell you mean, ‘Shit Dixon,’? You ain’t happy to see dinner?” Daryl shouted.

Every bit of motion around the camp screeched to a halt and all eyes were on him. Daryl looked up at Dale on the RV.

“And what are you lookin’ at old man. Take off that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond!”

Daryl looked around.

“The hell’s the matter with all of y’all?”

Rick and Shane started to make their way over. As did Andrea and Morales. Dale climbed down from the RV.

“Listen, son, we’ve got some bad news.”

Dale touched Daryl’s shoulder and Daryl shook him off.

“What bad news? Where’s Merle?”

Rick stepped between them and Shane gently moved Dale back.

“We had some trouble in Atlanta. Merle-” Rick began.

“Who the hell’re you? Where the fuck is Merle!?”

“Atlanta,” Shane said.

Daryl’s face dropped. His eyes darted from Shane to Rick and back to Shane as he started to pace.

“He dead?”

“No,” Rick said.

“How you know?”

“Cause we barricaded the entrance to the roof he’s on.”

Daryl cocked his head as he paced back and forth.

“You left him there? No. No way Merle’d let y’all just leave him there.”

“He’s handcuffed there,” Rick said.

“What?! Why the hell?!”

“Cause he was losing his mind, man. Look what he did to T-Dog,” Shane said.

Daryl glanced at T-Dog and scowled.

“Y’all know how he is. The hell’d you set him off for?”

“Fuck you man! He’s a racist asshole!” T-Dog yelled.

“Yeah, so what are you doin’ settin’ him off for?! Course he’s gonna attack you!”

T-Dog stepped forward but Jacqui stopped him and led him away. Daryl shook his head and paced more.

“Okay okay. He fucked up. But why’d you leave him?”

“Walkers were surrounding the building. We had to fight our way out. Merle was pissed off and coked out of his mind. Good chance he’d do something to get us all killed,” Rick said.

“And who the fuck are you?!” Daryl yelled.

“Rick Grimes. Carl’s dad. Lori’s husband.”

Daryl nodded, looked at the ground and then suddenly tossed his rodents at Rick. Rick ducked, Daryl came at him and Shane tackled him to the ground. Daryl threw Shane off him, yelled and drew a knife from his belt. He shot to his feet and Rick and Shane backed up.

“Watch the knife,” Shane said.

They spread out and circled around Daryl. Daryl slashed at Rick. Rick stepped back and caught Daryl’s arm. He twisted the arm behind his back, forcing Daryl to drop the knife. Shane rushed in and got Daryl into a chokehold. Rick let go and Shane brought Daryl to the ground.

“You’d best let me go!”

“Don’t think I will.”

“Fuck you. Choke hold’s illegal man.”

“Yeah, you can file a complaint.”

Jon made his way over and stood before Daryl.

“We’re going into the city to get him. Are you coming or not?”

Daryl stopped struggling and squinted at Jon.

“And who are you meant to be? Fuckin… Sir Lancelot?”

“Jon Snow. I was with them on the roof when we left Merle. It was all our’ decision, not just Rick’s. We all share the blame. It was wrong so let us make it right.”

“If that’s meant to make me feel better, it don’t.”

“Well,” Rick said, “You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

Daryl scowled.

“Fine. Okay.” He raised his hands and Shane let go. “Sorry,” he muttered and picked up his knife.

Daryl stormed away to the tents with his crossbow and rodents in hand.

***

While Rick, Glenn and Morales packed up the truck, Jon was sent off to find Daryl. He felt like a nanny. Jon, however, was far more interested in finding Shane. After everything had settled, he’d disappeared like smoke in the wind. Eventually, Jon found him over by the tents again.

“Shane?”

Shane started.

“Huh? Oh, yup? What’s up?”

“This gun? Is it mine or am I just borrowing it?”

“Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you. It’s yours. Uh, shit, hold on.” Shane undid the scabbard from his belt. “Use my holster for now. I’ll get ya a spare later.”

“Thanks.”

Jon clipped the holster to his belt alongside Longclaw and put away Needle.

“Have you seen Daryl? I’m meant to be finding him,” Jon asked.

“He’s in his tent. That one at the end. You seen Carl? That’s why I’m down here. To look for Carl.”

“Carl’s with Lori.”

“Oh, right. Yup.”

Shane clicked his tongue and slunk away. Jon glanced at Lori and Rick’s open tent before making his way to Daryl’s.

“Daryl? You there?” He asked.

“Yup.”

Jon stuck his head in. The putrid smell of blood attacked his nose. Daryl was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his tent, skinning a squirrel. Daryl scowled at him and glared with his weathered, squinted eyes. His skin was akin to leather. Oddly enough, a man with his demeanour wouldn’t have been out of place on the wall. But he was still a child, like the rest of them.

“Never skinned a squirrel? Sir Snow?”

Admittedly, Sir Snow was a new one. Better than Lord Snow, Jon figured.

“I have actually. With my brothers when we were boys.”

Daryl grinned.

“You go huntin’?

“Once we were old enough to ride.”

“Ride what? Dirt bikes ain’t no use for hunting.”

“Horses.”

Daryl sneered.

“You rich or a country boy or both?”

“Rich,” Jon admitted.

“Figures,” Daryl huffed. “That how you got that? Daddy’s money?” Daryl gestured to Longclaw.

Jon didn’t allow his anger to show.

“A gift. From a great man.”

“’Kay. Well, you owe me a hold when we get back. For leavin’ Merle.”

“That’s fair. Careful though. It’s sharp.”

“Better be.”

“It’s time to leave. They’re ready.”

Daryl nodded and picked up his bow. The bolts were strange. They were yellow and made of what Jon assumed was more plastic. The crossbow had metal wire instead of whipcord and was made of yet another strange material that seemed to differ from plastic.

Together, Jon and Daryl arrived at the truck. Daryl looked to Shane who was standing with Lori, watching them.

“Dinner’s in my tent. Skin it yourself!”

“You just worry about your brother!” Shane yelled.

“I put blood, sweat and tears into them possums and squirrels. Don’t you let them rot, now!”

“Don’t forget those guns out there neither! Rick dropped a whole goddamn arsenal out there!”

Lori elbowed Shane in the ribs and gestured to a snickering Carl. Shane smirked and shrugged.

“Come back safe all of you! Good luck!” Lori yelled.

“We will!” Rick said.

They all waved goodbye one last time and got into the truck. Jon sat in the back beside Daryl and Glenn and made sure to keep his eyes away from the windows.

“He’d better be okay. It’s my only word on the matter,” Daryl said.

“The entrance is barricaded. The walkers can’t get at him. The only thing that’s gonna get through the door is us,” Morales said.

Glenn started the engine and its roar ushered them off down the gravel road.

***

The ride back to the city was done in silence and no one looked at each other. It was only once they were a good ways down the black road back to Atlanta that Glenn broke the silence.

“What the fuck?”

Everyone gathered around the front window. The road was smeared all the way into the city with rot. A lone walker with twisted legs crawled along the road. Glenn drove around it and eyed it with disgust. No one said a word for a bit. Until Morales spoke.

“They’re leaving. They’re leaving! We gotta go back! They’ll be heading right for camp!”

“What about Merle!?” Daryl yelled.

“What about my kids!?” Morales yelled back.

Just as Daryl looked ready to draw his knife again, Glenn slammed the brakes and everyone lurched forward.

“Alright alright,” Rick groaned, “let’s all calm down.”

“How can you say that man? You got a kid back there too don’t you?!” Morales yelled.

“Daryl, how long’s it take to walk from here to camp?” Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged.

“Two days, maybe three.”

Rick clicked his tongue.

“You hear that?! Two days! And that’s with sleeping, I’ll bet. We gotta go back! Merle has water, he’ll be fine.”

“Fuck no! We can get Merle and get back before the sun sets. Walkers ain’t gonna be there ‘till at least tomorrow. They’re slow as all hell!” Daryl said.

“I’m not risking my kids for some red-necked, racist bastard!”

Jon grit his teeth.

“I gave him a saw.”

They all stared at him.

“You did what?” Rick asked.

“Why?” Glenn asked.

“So he wouldn’t spend the night chained to a pipe. It’s barbaric.” Jon chewed his lip. “But, if we don’t get him today like we said he might leave the roof. And if he thinks we went back on our word, he might come looking for vengeance.”

“Better we have to deal with a pissed-off red-neck than a hoard of walkers,” Morales said.

“Yeah, but you heard Daryl dude, we have time to get him,” Glenn said.

Morales looked at Rick with desperate eyes. Rick sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“Those guns will help us defend the camp. If there’s a good chance we can get them I say we take it,” Rick said.

“Fine!” Morales shouted. “Fuck all of you, then!”

Morales stormed to the back of the truck, flung open the back and started walking back along the road. Jon went to the back of the truck.

“Should I stop him?” He asked.

“No, he’s scared about his kids. That’s a good reason to leave,” Rick said.

Jon nodded and rolled the door back down. It was nice to see everyone with their priorities straight for once.

***

Glenn drove the trucks down a pair of metal rails in the ground. He pulled the truck into some sort of yard where other rail tracks met and parked among them.

“We walk from here,” Glenn said.

Everyone hopped out of the truck and gathered up their supplies. Glenn cut a hole in the wire fence beside the rails and they headed into the city. They moved in a tight circle, slowly clearing every street on their way to Merle. But eventually, they stopped bothering. The streets were empty. A deathly silence lingered over the stone jungle, accompanied by the putrid smell and taste of rot.

“Our exit must have drawn ‘em all away,” Rick said.

“That or they ran out of food,” Glenn said.

“Naw, they ain’t that smart. Bastards can barely walk straight,” Daryl said.

“One did climb a ladder before,” Jon said.

“Ain’t the same as migrating,” Daryl said.

“Regardless, we shouldn’t let out guard down. Atlanta’s a big place by the looks of it. Just cause these walkers left doesn’t mean the rest did,” Jon said.

It seemed they could all agree on that much.

Eventually, they reached the building that had once held them, prisoner. The windows on the ground floor were all smashed in and the frames were coated in dried rot. Rot caked the ground surrounding it, more so than the rest of the street. It was on the walls too, like a decrepit mural. But that’s all there was, rot. Not a single walker was anywhere to be seen. Even so, they moved through the building carefully with guns raised. Jon kept Needle’s safety off and did his best to make sure it never pointed at anyone as they swept the halls but with four of them in such a tight space it was hard to do so. Jon made sure to keep his finger off the trigger, just in case.

The smashed windows let in some light to the store’s main lobby, but the backrooms and connecting halls were still consumed by darkness. Shadows leapt at him from the corners of his eyes, mockingly so, daring him to fire. He kept his mind steady and sharp and didn’t allow himself to be fooled.

Eventually, they reached the stairwell. A walker was standing in it aimlessly. When it caught sight of them it stumbled down the stairs, arms outstretched. Its brown and yellow eyes flared at the sight of them as it let out a hissing, gurgled screech. It tripped over itself and tumbled down the stairs to Daryl’s feet.

“Ugly skank,” he said before shooting a bolt into its head.

When the bolt punctured its skull, a strong rotting smell was released into the air. They all covered their mouths and gagged as they hurried past the corpse up the stairwell. They arrived at the top to a still well-fortified doorway. Daryl kicked down the boards.

“Merle?! We’re here! Merle?!” He yelled.

When there was no answer, Daryl’s kicking got more frantic and Jon’s stomach dropped. He pushed past Rick and Glenn and helped Daryl pry the boards off the wall. Together, they ran out onto the roof to find no Merle in sight.

“Where the hell is he?!” Daryl grabbed Jon’s collar. “Are you lyin’ to me boy?!”

“He should be here! I don’t know!” Jon yelled.

He thrust Daryl off of him. His strength must have caught Daryl off guard as he was sent crashing onto his back. Jon sprinted over to where Merle ought to have been and came across a grisly sight. The handcuff’s remained as they were, chained to the pipe and unbroken but they hung above a dried pool of blood and a decapitated hand. A trail of blood led to the edge of the roof to a ladder heading down into the alley. Jon ran to the edge and looked over but the trail ended and there was no Merle in sight.

“No!” Daryl screamed, “No!”

Daryl paced back and forth, tears in his eyes. Rick and Glenn stared at the gruesome scene in varying states of shock.

“What the fuck man,” Glenn said.

Rick knelt before the hand, his jaw clenched. He unlocked the handcuffs and returned them to his pocket.

“I told you!” Jon yelled. “Your childish fear has killed this man!”

“I know…”

The lack of excuses only fueled Jon’s rage, but even it was surpassed by Daryl’s. With clenched, trembling fists Daryl dropped to his knees and cursed blindly at the sky. Guttural and manic, his cries were akin to a raging beast. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to Rick. Wide and wild, they bore into Rick like that of a starved wolf. He whipped out his knife and lunged at him. And as they struggled on the ground, and Glenn fought to get Daryl off, Jon approached the edge of the roof.

What was there to do now but die in this dead and rotting world? He had failed. Both himself and everything his father had worked so tirelessly to ingrain in him. Better he face him, ashamed as he is, rather than linger as a spectre.

He went to step onto the roof’s curb but found himself unable. Each time he lifted his foot, memories of a cold embrace of nothing flashed clearer and clearer in his mind. His body would not allow him, and his mind was too frightened to argue. Jon collapsed back from the edge onto his ass. He lay on the stone roof and wept as he gazed up at the summer sun.

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Next chapter, while trying to recover the lost bag of guns, Jon and the others have a not-so-friendly encounter with another group.