“Corn! Corn! Corn!” The pest, Mormont’s raven, complained from its perch atop the RV’s overhead cabinets.

“No! There’s no corn!” Jon shouted.

The damnable raven bobbed up and down, eyed Jon with its scarred eye and muttered nonsense words.

Jon sighed and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Sorry. Where were we?”

“Trust,” Jenner said. The doctor sat across from Jon in the cramped booth of the RV, sullen and sweaty under the glare of Georgia’s summer sun. The past three weeks had done nothing to help the man’s already sour disposition. Lines marked a once smooth face. Grime darkened once cream-blonde hair. A dirty, matted beard hugged his face from mouth to neck. He regarded Jon with accusing, sunken, weathered eyes.

“Yes, trust.” Jon paused to put together the proper words in his mind. “It’s not that we don’t trust them. It’s just that the timing isn’t right. We’re too vulnerable. When we’re in a better position, that’s when we tell them.”

“Keeping the truth from them only makes them more vulnerable. They need to know now.”

“I agree.” Jon made sure to soften his words. “They do need to know, eventually. But right now, such a truth will only serve to dash their hopes. And hope is all they have. Without it, all of this falls apart.”

“No. The truth will make them stronger,” Jenner said.

“How can you of all people believe such a thing? Look what happened to your fellow doctors when they were confronted with the truth.”

Jenner shook his head. “These people are different.”

“Diff-rent!” The pest cawed from its cabinet perch.

“Men have their limits, Jenner. Even the strongest of them.”

“Not just men, remember? We don’t refer to collectives as men in this world, we say people. Keep it gender neutral.”

Jon’s cheeks burned. “Oh, yes, right. I forgot. Sorry.” Jon cursed himself without words. Jenner’s lessons had helped him a great deal in understanding this strange world. But there was a lot to learn and not enough room in Jon’s head to remember it all.

Jenner smiled a gentle smile. “Try again.”

“People have their limits.”

“Good. And yes, they do but I feel like you’re underestimating theirs’, Jon. You and Rick.”

Before Jon could give his rebuttal, the RV’s door flew open. Glenn poked his head through the doorway, struggling for a breath, drenched in sweat. Travel on the highway had sunken his cheeks and granted him a peppering of black stubble. “Guys, Daryl’s back.” The words tumbled out of him then as quick as lightning, he hurried away.

Jon rose from the padded seat of the booth. “Jamie Lannister killed the last dragon king.”

“Huh? Excuse me?”

“Our arrangement. A lesson of your world for a lesson of mine. Jamie Lannister or Kingslayer was a member of King Aerys II Targaryen’s Kingsguard and son of Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West. He slew the man he was sworn to protect with a gilded sword when all was lost for the King’s cause at the climax of Robert’s Rebellion.”

Jenner whipped out a notepad and a stub of a pencil and began scribbling down the words. Curiosity blazed in his eyes. “And what year was that?”

Jon had to think back to Maester Lunwin’s lessons. “283 AC.”

As Jenner scribbled down the date, the pencil used up the last of its lead. “Damn. That was our last one.”

“Have Glenn add pencils to the scavenging list.” Jon turned for the door. “As for our discussion. We will continue it later.”

“La-ter!” The raven swooped onto Jon’s shoulder.

Jenner rose too. “We will.”

Jon exited the RV and the midday sun greeted him; a blinding glare reflected off the highway’s black asphalt. He squinted through the glare and grit his teeth through the heat. Georgia seemed to be getting hotter each day. The summer of this land was relentless. It baked everything, all the time. Even at night while the sun slept, a muggy heat persisted. And still, Jon wore his cloak and mail. A folly, he knew. But they afforded him a strange sense of safety and in times such as these, safety was as luxurious as silk.

Carl and Sophia nearly tripped him as they raced past the RV towards the camp’s exterior, a palisade of broken cars. Oblivious to Jon or anything, they ran off giggling amongst themselves; a rare treat. Laughter had become a rare sight among the children since the CDC. Carl had taken to brooding and complaining. The foolish lad insisted he went on every scavenging trip, no matter how many times he was forbade. Even going as far as wearing his father’s hat with the golden star as if it made him appear more capable. When he was forbade, as he always was, he would spend his time wallowing and raging as far away from everyone as he was allowed. During his sulks, he only ever permitted Sophia for company. Sophia wasn’t much better. The girl refused to speak to anyone that wasn’t Carol or Carl. And insisted on carrying a stuffed pink bear that Daryl had found in a sewer drain everywhere she went. When the girl did talk, it was hardly ever more than a whisper. For the life of him, Jon couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually seen the girl laugh let alone smile, even when with Carl. Oftentimes, when the group made camp along the highway, they would sneak off into the woods. No matter how many times they were scolded, they continued to do it, putting their lives at risk.

Jon took note of everyone and what they were doing. Watching was important. It let Jon know how stable their little community was. Instability would be the death of them and addressing it as soon as it showed its ugly head would keep them alive.

Jenner had taught Jon how the titles of Westeros had no meaning in this world. But regardless, Jon found it useful to think of everyone as having a title.

Across from the RV, the group’s stewards, Lori, Carol and T-Dog worked around a pitiful, little fire. Several crates of supplies surrounded them. Carol, their seamstress, sewed patches onto damaged clothes. She had a heaping pile of work; most clothes were damaged nowadays. T-Dog, their cook, picked through their meagre food rations to organise meals. He had half a crate to work with and not a very large one either. They chatted with smiles and laughter despite the circumstances. Lori, their First Steward, lost herself in her counts. She went over everything with a piece of paper in hand. Counting all their supplies and comparing them to the tally Glenn had left her.

When Lori noticed him watching, she flagged him down with a wave. “Jon! I can’t find any pencils, have you seen any? I need one for the count.”

“We’re out it seems,” Jon said.

“Out!” Echoed the raven.

Lori sighed and kneaded the bridge of her nose. Jon studied her face. Dark bags loitered under her eyes. Travel had tangled her hair into brown, greasy, dangling ropes. Weathered lines marked her face. By all accounts, quite normal. Out on the road, they’d lost the privilege of a consistent wash. Fussing over one’s appearance had become a habit soon forgotten. Mirrors were a scourge best avoided. Jon’s own hair had become a tangled mess and his beard had returned as an itchy shag.

“That’s my bad,” Jenner said. “I used up the last stump.”

“What for?” Lori snapped.

“I have my own tallies to keep, you know,” Jenner lied. “You know, the medicine? The thing that keeps you all healthy?” A half lie.

If it were any other lie, Jon would have corrected it. But the lie was for his sake, he knew. Even after everything, the group still believed Jon to be somewhat mad. It wouldn’t serve to have them believe the only doctor had gone mad with him.

“You should have asked,” Lori scolded.

“Pencils will be added to the scavenging list.” Jon moved between Lori and Jenner. “For now, try making charcoal from the fire.”

Lori wrinkled her nose. “How?”

“I’ll show you once we’re done convening with Daryl,” Jon said.

Carol lifted her head from her work with a gleam in her weathered eyes. Her once short hair had grown into the awkward phase between short and long. Her already thin frame had thinned her to near mere skin and bones. “Daryl’s back?” Carol ran her hands over her stained blouse, flattening the many wrinkles.

“He is,” Jon said. “Feel free to join us.”

“Jon!” T-Dog called out. “Let ‘em know lunch’ll be ready soon.” T-Dog had gained the hearty facial hair of a man. A great curly black beard strapped his jaw, neck and upper lip. It stood in great contrast to his hairless head. The muscles that had once made him as stocky as a bull had shrunk, leaving him lean yet still broad of shoulder.

“I’ll let them know,” Jon said as Carol joined his side.

Dale, who had been working at the engine of the RV, called out. “Let me give you a hand setting the table, T-Dog!” He put down his spanner, wiped the grease from his hands on a rag and hurried over to the fire. His gut, once round and plentiful had all but receded. He'd almost look young if it weren’t for the bushy, wild silver beard and thick silver eyebrows to match. Together, Dale and T-Dog carried over a collection of food cans, a pot of rice and an assortment of potato chips to a long plastic table that Glenn had discovered in the basement of a church.

If Dale hadn’t joined them on that scavenging trip, they’d have never looked at the table twice. But Dale had insisted they bring it back with them so the group could share their meals together. Strapping the damn thing to the back of the jeep had taken a combined effort of the whole scavenging party. And even with the effort of four strong men, Dale, and Andrea, it had been a tedious process. Everyone had thought them mad when they returned with it, themselves included. Although, Jon had to concede that the table had value after all. Bringing everyone together for meals, rather than eating alone, breathed an otherwise absent sense of normalcy into their bleak circumstance. It made them more than a group of survivors. It made them a community. Jon only wished the blasted table wasn’t so prone to collapsing on itself.

Jon followed Dale to the table. “Dale, how goes the RV’s engine?” For a lack of horses or ships, Jon thought of Dale as their Master of Engines.

Dale laughed. “Oh, the old girl’s hanging in there. The new parts we found last scavenge will keep her running just fine, don’t you worry.”

Jenner regarded Dale with a plain look. “And the others?”

“Well… the jeep’s on its last legs. I can keep her going for a little while longer but unless we find some fresh cylinders that fit her engine, she’ll break down sooner rather than later. The range rover’s good as ever. As for Daryl’s bike, I’ll need to look it over once he brings it here.”

“What about gas?”

“Enough for the next stretch of travel, even if the hoard has gotten closer than we thought, but we’ll need to siphon more once we make camp again.” The light faded from Dale’s face.

The mere mention of the hoard caused an unsettling silence to linger over the group. It had followed them from the city. First, as no more than twenty or so walkers but with each day that passed, it only grew larger. They’d done their best to shake it off their trail but no matter how far they drove or how many twists and turns they took along the highway routes when Daryl drove back to check on it, it was always still there, stalking them. Daryl’s last report had counted the hoard as numbering 200 in strength. Jon fretted to think what their numbers looked like now.

The damnable raven broke the silence with two screeching caws. “Hoard! Hoard!” Which earned the bird a unified look of contempt from all. Mormont’s raven hadn’t received the warmest of welcomes when it followed Jon back to their camp. Tensions had already been high and the raven’s incessant cawing had only made things worse. Daryl liked the raven least of all. He’d threatened to skin the bird more times than Jon could remember. Not that it ever fazed the creature. Every time it cackled a caw of, “Skin, skin, skin!”

Jon gave Dale’s shoulder a squeeze and spoke with the voice of Lord Snow, Lord Commander of The Night's Watch. For their sakes. “I doubt the hoard is any less than a week away. We’ll have plenty of time to scavenge again before it makes it anywhere near us.”

A smile reappeared on Dale’s lips. “That’s right. That’s what Rick tells us time and time again, ain’t it?”

“Y-Yeah. It is,” Carol said with a thin smile.

“As long as we keep ahead of it we ain’t got nothin’ to fear,” T-Dog said, grinning.

“That’s the truth,” Lori declared. “And once we find someplace proper to settle down we’ll hunker down and let it pass right over us, just like we do with the smaller herds. Then we’ll be free of the dead.”

Jenner said nothing but the look he gave Jon made his position clear. It wasn’t the time or place to resume their discussion, however, so Jon turned his attention to the only other person who said nothing. On top of the RV, Shane sat in a plastic chair with a rifle in his lap, overlooking the highway. Ever since the CDC, he’d nary said a word to anyone, except to volunteer for day watch. His once orderly hair had grown into an unkempt, curly mess. A once stocky face was now weathered by stern lines and sunken cheeks. At all times, his eyes remained fixed on the boundless highway. Beyond the limits of their modest camps.

“Shane, have you seen Ghost return?” Jon asked.

“Nope."

“Let me know when he returns, won’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Yup!” the raven echoed.

Any disdain the group held for the raven, went double for Shane. Although, it remained unspoken. Shane had hardly spoken a word to the group and the group hardly ever spoke a word to him. Jon figured it better than outright hostility. It had taken quite an effort, but Jon had managed to put Shane’s actions at the quarry camp aside. The past was dust after all, as Maester Aemon had often said. If their group were to survive in the present they needed as many capable hands as possible.

“Ghost!” The raven cawed, interrupting Jon’s thought. “Ghost!”

Ghost had been out hunting for a few days now, as long as Daryl had been gone. Jon had found it best to let Ghost hunt only when Daryl left. All Daryl did when he wasn’t scouting or scavenging was hunt. Jon had once made the mistake of letting Ghost hunt at the same time as Daryl. The direwolf had stolen every single one of Daryl’s kills, which Daryl made sure to let Jon know about, loudly. Game was scarce around the highway. More often than not, Ghost would return from hunts with his jaws coated in rot rather than the blood of game. Jenner had often assured Jon that Ghost couldn’t become infected at all, let alone from eating the dead. Yet, the sight of Ghost's jaws matted with rot always left Jon feeling uneasy. But there was naught he could do about it.

“T-Dog, how goes our food supplies?” Jon asked.

T-Dog dodged his eyes and answered with little more than a mutter. “We’ve got four days left, and that’s if we half the rations.”

Jon glanced at Carol and her twig arms. “We’ll keep the travel light. I’ll talk to Glenn about organising a scavenge as soon as we make camp again.”

“This will have to be our last lunch for while, I think,” Lori said, clutching her tally paper. “When Rick gets back, I’m going to recommend we step back to one meal a day.”

A silent wave of despair washed over the faces of the group, except Shane who didn’t seem like he’d even heard. Jon kept his own face sturdy. Hunger no longer frightened him as it once did when he was a green boy. All he could do was have faith that their group had the strength to persevere. Even when the hardest of times reared its misshapen head.

“I’ll pass on your message when I see him,” Jon assured Lori. The assurance softened her weathered gaze somewhat, but it did not rid it of its despair.

Together, Jon, Jenner and Carol left the huddle of vehicles and crude shelters of the interior of the camp for the palisade of abandoned cars that formed the exterior. Abandoned cars littered the highway wherever the group went. Most had been left in the middle of the road, almost absentmindedly. Others they found crashed into the ditches and barriers that shouldered the highway. The, at first, seemingly useless inconveniences had in time proven to be a vital resource. The cars often had supplies left abandoned inside them. They ranged from the mundane such as briefcases full of papers and pens, to vital items like medicine and food. But even more importantly, the abandoned cars had parts that could be repurposed to suit the group’s vehicles. Jenner had spent the better part of a week recently trying to teach Jon how cars worked. Despite the man's best efforts, Jon couldn’t comprehend the machinery. At least he didn’t believe them to be magic anymore, Jon supposed.

Rick, Glenn and Andrea worked together to roll a car out of the way to allow Daryl to reenter the camp on his motorcycle. A two-wheeled vehicle that one straddled like a horse and had an engine that roared louder than any car. Daryl had discovered it in a ditch a few days after the CDC. He had worked day and night with Dale over the course of their first week on the road to get it up and running. But that was before the hoard, back when they could afford to be idle like that.

Sullen and silent, Daryl dismounted his motorcycle and walked it through the opening in the palisade of cars. His hair, longer and greasier, hung over his eyes. The rugged features of his face were dark, like a storm, as they often were nowadays. Although, he did brighten up a bit somewhat as he noticed Carl and Sophia watching him. Carl marvelled at the motorcycle as he often did. While Sophia, who had been staring at him, dodged his eyes the moment his met hers. Daryl opened a satchel slung around his shoulder and pulled out two brightly coloured plastic packets with pictures of queer creatures that Jon couldn’t possibly imagine to be real.

“Here,” Daryl gave Carl and Sophia a packet each. “Found ‘em in a van.”

“Whoa! Cool! These are fifth gen. They only came out recently,” Carl exclaimed as he marvelled at the packet.

“What do you say, Carl?” Rick said with the sternness of a father. The beginnings of a salt and pepper beard were growing on his face to match his salt and pepper hair. Sunken cheeks paired with sunken eyes. And dark bags beneath said eyes paired with a dark bruise across his temple that he’d earned during a scavenge. A mountain of a walker had come bursting out of a room as Rick passed by. The door slammed him across the side of the head hard and threw him to the floor like a sack of flour. A daring throw of a knife from Andrea fell the walker, sparing Rick from a bite. A matter of seconds had made the difference between life and death. Jon could still picture it clear as day; the rotting teeth inches from Rick’s arm.

“Thank you, Daryl,” Carl said, staring at the packet.

“Sir,” Rick corrected.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sir!” The raven cried.

Carl giggled. “Sir!” He echoed back.

The raven flapped its wide, black wings. “Sir! Sir! Sir!”

“You too, Sophia,” Carol said. More of a suggestion than a command.

Sophia glanced at her mother, Daryl, then clutched her pink bear to her chest. “Thank you, sir…” She whispered. In the next heartbeat, she darted away and ran back towards camp with Carl in tow.

“Sir!” The raven cried.

Daryl scowled at Jon. “That little bastard’s still followin’ you around, huh?”

In another life, that word would have soured Jon's mood. He chose to unhear it. “He is a persistent creature.”

Carol greeted Daryl with a meek smile. “You didn’t run into any trouble did you?” She asked.

“Naw, it was fine.” Daryl and Carol had formed a strange friendship of recent, Jon had noticed. The pair seemed about as unlikely friends as Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen. But yet, friends they had become, of a sort.

“And the hoard?” Andrea interjected. “How many now?” Andrea was only four years Jon’s senior, but one would be hard-pressed to tell nowadays. Travel had made her the very image of Lady Stark, only with golden hair. Her face - hard, weathered and plastered with a permanent scowl - granted her the disposition of a warrior. As a woman, she may lack grace, but as a fighter and ranger, she outclassed nearly all of them. Jon could best her in blades, but little else.

The storm returned to Daryl’s face. “It’s doubled again.”

“Four hundred…” Andrea whispered, breathless.

“It doesn’t matter as long as we keep ahead of it, right Rick?” Carol asked.

Rick glanced at her and frowned. “How far out do you reckon it is, Daryl?”

Daryl clicked his tongue. “It’s slowed some. Maybe, a week and half, maybe two.”

“And it’s still following us?”

“Yup. It’s passed over the crossroads and headed our way.”

“That means we can’t go back, right?” Andrea asked. “We’re stuck on this branch of the highway until the next crossroads.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Glenn said quietly. He’d become something of a First Ranger. Always the one to organise scavengings and put together the teams. Dale had helped him study the maps but Glenn had surpassed his teacher as the authority on all things maps.

“We can work around that,” Rick said. “The dead walk. We drive. So long as we’ve got our wheels, there ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of.”

“Daryl,” Jenner interjected. “You should go tell the others what you saw. They’ll want to know.” Jenner shared a look with Rick and Glenn that the two dodged.

Daryl gave Jenner a queer look. “Uh, sure doc.” He rolled his motorcycle off into the camp. Carol followed after him.

“I’ll go too,” Andrea said. Once Daryl left earshot she added, “to make sure he doesn’t terrify anyone.”

“Right,” Glenn said, staring at Jenner.

“Good idea, Andrea. Make sure they stay calm,” Rick said, also keeping his eyes on Jenner.

Andrea nodded and took off after Daryl. As she headed off, Rick, Glenn, Jon and Jenner shared tense gazes. The tension only broke once Andrea left earshot.

“Rick-” Jenner began.

“No,” Rick snapped. “Dammit, how many times do I gotta tell you two no?”

“Come on, man. It’s almost been a month. They deserve to know,” Glenn said.

“We’ve discussed this,” Jon soothed. “The knowledge that we’re all infected will only dash their hopes.”

“I didn’t tell you so you could all keep it a secret,” Jenner snapped. “I told you because-”

“I heard you the first five times,” Rick said.

“You clearly didn’t because here we are. It’s just practical sense. We need all the information possible to survive in this world. Keeping something like this from them only serves to keep them ignorant.”

“And hopeful,” Jon said.

“No, it ain't practical,” Rick said. He sighed and softened his voice. “Right now, they believe that something separates them from the dead. That, us and them are opposing forces. If they knew that the virus lies dormant inside all of us and that only death separates us from them, they’ll break. The only thing keepin’ us united right now is the hope for a better future free of walkers. Once we’ve got some stability off of the highway, then and only then can we take that hope away from them.”

“And when will that be, Rick?” Glenn asked. “We’ve been out here for three weeks now. Last week was meant to be the last week, as was the week before. We’ve passed by a bunch of towns we could have settled down in but you said no to all of them. When is it gonna be good enough?”

“Those towns were overrun,” Rick said. “You saw that, as well as I did.”

“Every town’s gonna be overrun, man. You heard Jenner, the first wave hit everywhere at once. 35% of the population gone.” Glenn snapped his fingers. “Just like that. We aren’t gonna come across a town that wasn’t affected.”

Rick ran his hand through his greasy, salt-and-pepper hair. “Look… I know I promised you that the end of this was near. And I’m sorry I went back on that. But this time I reckon it’s close. We’re out in farmin’ country now. You know the map better than anyone, Glenn. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“We will be passing by some farms soon,” Glenn relented.

“And we’ll check ‘em out when we do. I’m confident we’ll find a place we can settle down in.”

“And how long will that take?” Jenner asked, scowling.

“Not long, I promise. No longer than another week at most.”

“Once we have a place to call our own, that’s when we tell them,” Jon said. “It’ll cushion the blow.”

Jenner shook his head. “You’re underestimating these people. They’re by far some of the strongest men and women I’ve ever met. Hell, even the kids have got more guts than some of the people I worked with.”

“That is where you misunderstand me.” Jon gripped Jenner’s shoulder firmly. “I don’t doubt their strength. Not even a little. But we all know how fear affects the mind. Most likely our group could handle the truth; some even better than you and I. But there is the distinct possibility that they don’t take it well and that risk, however small it may be, isn’t worth taking right now. Not while we’re so vulnerable.”

“Risk!” The raven cawed. “Risk!”

Jenner knocked Jon’s hand aside and his scowl flared.

Glenn stroked his chin. “That… makes sense. I hate to admit it, but it does. But you better commit this time, Rick. I swear.”

“I will. I promise, this time we’ll find a place,” Rick said.

Jenner looked aghast. “You can’t be serious, Glenn.”

“Sorry, doc,” Glenn said with the meekness of a boy.

“It ain’t a tie no more, Jenner. You’re outvoted. We wait,” Rick said.

“Let us put this constant bickering behind us, shall we? So that we may focus on more pressing issues.” Jon again tried to reach out for Jenner’s shoulder but Jenner knocked his hand away.

As wrathful a blizzard, Jenner marched back to camp but, after a few paces, suddenly turned around. “You know, the government hid all kinds of shit from you people before the world fell! Terrible, awful things! It was wrong then and it's wrong now!” Jenner snapped on his heels and marched back towards camp.

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” The raven cawed.

“Should we stop him?” Glenn asked.

“No, he won’t tell,” Jon said.

“You sure?” Rick asked.

“I am.”

Suddenly, the underbrush beyond the highway rustled. Rick and Glenn drew knives from their belts. Jon drew Longclaw. Each of them had a holster with a gun on their belt but they’d run out of ammo weeks ago. The three of them, without a word, formed a small V-formation with Jon at the front and Rick and Glenn on his flanks. Jon’s breath caught in his chest as he waited for the emergence of a rotting, shambling corpse.

But it was only Ghost. He padded out of the woods, nonchalant as a wolf of his size ought to be. They all breathed a sigh of relief and put away their blades. Jon offered his hand to Ghost. Ghost accepted, pushing the top of his head into Jon’s palm.

“Good hunting, boy?” Jon asked. He found his answer in the fur of Ghost’s jaws. It was brown; matted by rot.

Jon stomached the unease with a sort of sullen grace and turned back to Rick. “There’s something else we must discuss.”

“Sure, hit me.”

“With regards to our food. We’re running dangerously low. T-Dog and Lori both agree that we need to cut rations if we are to go more than couple more days with food. Lori has even suggested we cut back to one meal a day.”

Rick blinked at Jon, unfazed. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“I also promised them we’d keep this travel short and so that we might scavenge soon.”

Rick nodded. “Glenn, how far out are the farms?”

“Not far, a day at most.”

Rick nodded again. “We’ll take a day to pack, and a day to travel. Glenn, put together a team for scavenging when we arrive at the farms, a big one. Jon, get some rest, it’s past time. I don’t want you dozin’ off during night watch.”

“As you command.” Jon caught himself at the last moment. He didn’t bow his head or utter the courtesy, remembering what Jenner had taught him. There were no Lords or Kings in America.

***

They left their camp at first light in a single file of four vehicles. Daryl rode out ahead on his motorcycle, alone. It had been Jon who suggested making Daryl their scout. “The road will undoubtedly be full of blockages. Abandoned cars, walker herds and who knows what else,” he had told them. Jon knew what else. He didn’t dare say it, even to Rick; the distinct possibility that other people may want what little they have. Men are cruel in the best of times, let alone times like these.

While Daryl scouted ahead, Shane’s jeep led the way carrying only Shane, Ghost and the plastic long table. Jon would have preferred Ghost to travel with him but the direwolf was far too massive to fit anywhere else. Ghost could run fast, faster than any horse but the unnatural pace of an engine outmatched even him. Jon could have rode with him, there was room enough but all men must sleep and he was oh so tired.

Per Rick's command, Jon lay in the back of the RV, on a bed with a mattress of stone and sheets as thin as paper. He gazed out the back window at the tail of their column of cars. T-Dog drove a car known as a range rover. It carried all their supplies; food, water, medicine, clothes, camping gear; all scavenged. The meagre size of the supplies put the range rover's spacious interior to waste. Andrea sat beside T-Dog with an ammoless rifle in her lap, watching the woods with suspicion.

Everyone else road with Jon in the RV, in the middle of the column, in silence. Travel was often accompanied by silence. It ought to make for easy sleeping and yet, Jon lay awake, staring at the woods through the back of the RV. Dark, deep and green, the woods were a leafy abyss that followed them everywhere. They absorbed all sound and sight; equal parts shield and cell. Walkers often came stumbling out of the woods. Jon found himself wondering how the poor souls ended up in the woods in the first place. Were they murdered like the corpse he’d found the raven feasting on? Mayhaps. Were they exploring or hunting when the first wave swept across the lands of Earth? Mayhaps. Mayhaps, they’d lost their lives valiantly, defending the weak and innocent.

The rising sun twinkled off the green abyss oh so beautifully.

A voice spoke. A hand gripped his shoulder. Jon awoke staring at the RV’s waxy, peeling ceiling but he could not remember falling asleep. “Jon.” The hand shook him. Rick loomed over him. “Get up.”

The weight of a mind bogged down by sleep weighed on Jon as he rose from the RV’s bed. “Have we arrived?”

“No.”

“No!” The raven shot over Rick’s shoulder with a flurry of fluttering black feathers and landed on Jon’s knee. A film of wet rot covered its beak. “No!”

“There’s a bunch of cars piled up on the road. We’re gonna clear ‘em out of the way. And there’s a graveyard.”

“Out this far?”

Rick nodded. “Go with Daryl and scout it out. I wanna know how many cars we need to clear and how long we’ll be stuck here. Take Ghost,” Rick said.

“As you command.”

When Jon left the RV any lingering grogginess sobered at once. The stench of death attacked him. It assaulted his nose and throat in a desperate charge, making him gag for the first time in weeks. A ring of cars sat in the middle of the highway, drenched in blood and rot. Rotting corpses piled up against the exterior of the ring. A mound towered, forming a rotting ramp up against the palisade of cars. Inside the ring, a crust of blood and rot coated all. Fresh bodies lay strewn about and half devoured. Scattered weapons sat out of reach of their rotting owners. A huddle of collapsed and bloodied tents as well as several spilled crates rested in the centre. It all festered beneath the scorching summer sun, high above in the cloudless sky. Hoards of fat, black flies swarmed the corpses with a sickening chorus of buzzing wings that rang in Jon’s ears.

The group went about their duties. Rick hurried to help T-Dog and Glenn roll the cars least enveloped by corpses and open a lane of the highway. Jenner, Andrea and Dale sorted through the interior of the massacred camp like a band of crows. They worked together to collect any food, water, medicine, weapons or ammo left behind. Shane sat alone in a plastic chair on top of the RV, watching over the rear with an ammoless scoped rifle. No one opened any of the cars. Not yet anyway. Walkers liked to linger inside locked cars and ever since one tried to bite Andrea all those weeks ago, scavenging cars was done in teams with blades in hand.

Everything scavenged was brought to Lori, Carol and the children by the RV. They sorted them into piles and packed them into crates. Carol sorted the valuables into piles. Lori scribbled everything down onto an inventory with a piece of charcoal. Sophia scrubbed away rot from valuables on the pile. Carl packed anything clean into crates. Judging by the scowl on Carl's face, the argument that always broke out had broken out. The one about the dangers of scavenging and Carl’s age. The lad didn’t know when to give up. Stubbornness was as much a part of children as leaves were a part of trees, Jon supposed.

Jon would have be helping move cars too but per Rick’s command, he went to join Daryl. He found Daryl beyond the palisade and corpses in a car graveyard. A stretch of scattered, abandoned cars that ran the length of the highway. An eerie sight that Jon thought he’d seen the last of. Outside of Atlanta, car graveyards had been an almost daily obstacle. The long and arduous process of clearing them had already added extra days to their journey. Days they could scarcely afford to lose. But it had been close to a week and a half since they’d come across one, let alone one this massive. It stretched on and on, down a straight and around a distant bend.

Jon found Ghost by Daryl’s feet and greeted him with a pat. Ghost wagged his tail and pressed his head into the pat. “I’m to join you,” Jon said to Daryl.

“Yup. Let’s go.” Daryl started off without sharing as much of a fleeting glance Jon’s way.

“Yup!” The raven took flight and flew ahead.

Jon, Ghost and Daryl made their way through the graveyard side by side. They passed by flipped cars, crumpled cars and tangles of twisted steel. Scorched chassis, like the blackened skeletons of great beasts, shivered Jon's spine. Shards of glass covered the road. Jon worried for Ghost’s paws. But the direwolf avoided the hazards with swift and silent, surefooted strides. Rot smeared everything and its stench lingered everywhere, but there wasn’t a walker in sight. Even so, Jon kept his hand on Longclaw’s hilt and Daryl held his crossbow level with his eye, cocked and ready to fire. After a long, silent walk, they reached the bend in the highway. A semitrailer truck had flipped, blocking off seven lanes. It was there, Jon decided to break their silence.

“What do you think this was?”

“Don’t know,” Daryl more grunted than spoke.

“More victims of the first wave, perhaps? Or maybe just a panic?”

Daryl answered with silence.

“And that camp. It looked like some kind of final stand.”

Daryl scanned the scattered cars with his crossbow’s sight.

“Was it recent, do you think? The walker attack?”

Ghost stopped. His fur stood on ends and he barred his fangs. At once, Jon and Daryl stopped.

After a pause, Daryl whispered. “Something’s out there.”

Jon strained his ears and only heard more silence. He held his breath and strained his ears. A faint gurgling wafted through the air. Jon gestured to the turned-over semitrailer truck with his head. Daryl nodded and they climbed on top. Ghost waited on the ground, baring his fangs in the direction of the faint sound. On the truck’s side, they found the raven perched on a wing mirror. With its good eye, it stared out around the bend, at a distant hoard of walkers. Dense and packed tight, the hoard shuffled in their direction. With all the speed rotted legs allowed.

Daryl squinted at the hoard and teetered a finger back and forth in a silent count. “Thirty, give or take.”

“Manageable, then.”

Daryl nodded. “Yup.”

“How far out?”

Daryl glanced over his shoulder, then back at the hoard. “An hour.”

“Not enough time to clear all this.”

“Yup.” Daryl leapt off of the truck and started back.

Jon held out his arm to the raven. “Time to go.” He patted his forearm

With a flutter, the raven perched, muttering nonsense under its breath all the while. It often liked to mutter when the dead are nearby, almost like a sixth sense, Jon had noticed. Although, it also muttered when it was hungry, so Jon had learned to ignore the pest. Yet, he found himself listening anyway.

“Arm…” The raven muttered. “Arm…” It scratched its scarred eye with its wing.

***

Smoke billowed high into the air, snapping and twisting like a dancing black ribbon. The others had already begun to toss bodies into the great fire by the time Jon, Daryl, Ghost and the raven returned. Rick and Glenn took what once had been a young girl – no older than Arya – by its hands and feet from the great mound of corpses. As they lifted it, its arm snapped with a soft crunch and fell apart at the elbow with a gush of black sludge. What had once been blood splattered on Rick’s shoes and stained his stained jeans. Staining them a further shade of grime-brown. Rick neither flinched nor wretched. Instead, he stared at the corpse blankly and helped Glenn toss it into the fire. The flames ravaged the corpse like a pack of hungry feral dogs. Its dress, dirtied and rotting, burst into flames and disintegrated into flakes of ash that floated like falling feathers. Embers twinkled in the ashes, like red and orange stars. As the body shrunk and burned, the flames swelled and whipped. Everyone watched. Some from afar. Some up close. Soon, Rick and Glenn’s turn would end and another pair would take over until the job was done, or until it was time to leave.

Rick turned from the flames and met Daryl’s eyes with that same blank look. “How far?”

“A mile or so,” Daryl said.

Rick scorned the graveyard with a scowl.

“There’s another hoard,” Jon announced.

All eyes snapped to him at once. Except Shane’s. His remained glued to the road at the rear.

“Hoard!” The raven announced.

“Coming this way?” Andrea asked. She remained seated, as did everyone.

“Yes. Daryl counted thirty or so.”

Daryl nodded.

“How far out?” Rick asked.

“Hour,” Daryl said.

Rick nodded. “We hunker down then. Y’all know what to do. Be quick about it.”

Everyone stood as one and went about their duties without complaint. Glenn and Andrea beat at the fire and smothered it with dirt. Carol and T-Dog packed away the crates of supplies into the range rover. Lori supervised, taking count of all. Dale stepped inside the RV to collect t-shirts and blankets for the windows. Jenner followed him for a bucket. Shane turned his chair around atop the RV and watched the graveyard. Carl and Sophia should have helped Dale but instead, Carl ran up to his father, determined as a mule.

“Dad! Me and Sophia want to join Jon in the rear this time.”

“Carl…” Rick sighed.

“Please! We’ll keep real quiet and real low!” Carl promised, shouting. A boyish confidence gleamed in his eyes. “It ain’t fair Jon always has to stay there on his own! Right, Sophia?” Carl looked to Sophia. Sophia looked at the ground.

“Have you asked Carol?”

“Yeah! She said to ask you!” Carl said.

“And that’s the truth, Sophia?”

Sophia recoiled as Rick’s eyes went to her but she nodded all the same.

Rick sighed. “The RV’s safer. You-”

“No it ain’t,” Carl interrupted. “As long as there ain’t any gaps in the shirts or blankets, every car’s as safe as each other.”

“He’s right,” Daryl said.

Rick raised an eyebrow. Daryl avoided his eyes. “Well… he is…” Daryl muttered and glanced at Sophia.

Carl beamed at Daryl like he owed him his life. Sophia glanced at Daryl. A wisp of a smile flashed across Daryl’s lips. Rick kneaded the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. But I’ll be lookin’ at your windows when you finish and if I see even a single gap, you’re back in the RV,” Rick said.

“Deal!” Carl ran off with Sophia in tow.

Rick watched him with a face of fret and worry.

As light as a feather, Jon touched his shoulder. “If there were any real danger, we’d hide in the woods when we encounter herds, or confront them with blades. I’ve been safe in the range rover every time. Every time.”

“Safe! Safe!” The raven cackled. Jon swatted at him and the pest fluttered from his shoulder, still screeching. “Safe! Safe!”

Rick shook his head. “When we encourage him like that, it only makes him bolder.” He looked at Daryl. Daryl looked away.

“What are you guys doing?” Jenner interrupted. He approached from the RV, carrying a bucket. “Why haven’t you got the corpses?”

“Right. Sorry.” Rick looked at Jon and Daryl then gestured to the mound of corpses with a flick of his head. “Come on.”

“Yup.” Daryl approached the pile.

He grabbed a corpse by its ankles and dragged it from the mound. Jon and Rick did the same. They lay their corpses out beside each other in a row. Rick and Daryl drew their knives. Jon drew his dagger. They knelt. Ghost sat beside Jon on his haunches, silent but comforting. Mutilating the dead never got any easier. But it was as vital as stealing from their corpses. As one, they plunged their blades into the dead and opened their bellies into long slits. Black blood wept from the slits like tar seeping from a bog. Jenner knelt and placed the large bucket at the heads of the dead then joined Jon’s side. The four of them spent the next several minutes scooping rotting guts into the bucket in silence. Once the bucket had been filled, they left the dead where they were and started lathering the cars in rot. The bucket held enough to cover the jeep and half the RV before it required refilling from new corpses. By the time it came to lather the range rover, nary a word had been spoken. No one spewed. They were long past that.

Carl broke their silence. “Look, no gaps!” He declared, gesturing to the range rover.

Rick inspected every inch the range rover’s windows. Inside, shirts and blankets had been secured to the windows with a strange tool known as duct tape. It held the shirts and blankets to the inside of the windows, windscreen and back window. They covered them in their entirety and forbade an outside gaze to peer inside the vehicle. While Rick inspected, Dale showed Jon an empty cardboard roll.

“That’s the last of it.” Fear thinned Dale’s voice.

“We’ll find more. Take it to Lori. Let her know,” Jon said.

Dale gave a small nod and headed off for the RV. Jon looked over his shoulder at the distant graveyard. Where the herd was; hidden from view. He prayed they reached these farms before they encountered another.

Rick returned to Carl with the unreadable face of a father.

“Good, huh?” Carl asked.

“Yes,” Rick muttered. “Great job, son.”

Carl grinned at his father then Sophia. She gave him a tiny, thin smile.

“Carl.” Rick crouched before his son and grabbed both his shoulders. “You listen to everything Jon says. You don’t argue. You don’t talk back. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You too, Sophia.”

Sophia’s smile vanished and her eyes snapped to her shoes. She hugged her bear and nodded. Rick squeezed Carl’s shoulders, looked him over and stood. A wary scowl darkened his dirty, weathered face.

“I’ll keep them safe. I swear it. On my honour,” Jon said.

“Safe!” The raven cackled as it circled above.

“Are you done?” Jenner asked, standing beside the bucket of rot. “We don’t have all day.”

Rick nodded. “Yes. Yes, okay.”

“Yes!” Carl cheered. He flung his arms around Rick’s waist. “Thanks, dad!”

A smile fended of Rick’s darkness and he returned his son’s hug. The hug lingered until Carl wriggled out of it, blushing as pink as a morning sky.

The children stood back with Ghost as Jon and the others lathered the range rover with rot. From rim to roof, they turned the once blue vehicle brown and black. They took extra care when lathering around the engine bonnet. Rot had a nasty habit of clogging engines.

Once the range rover was sufficiently lathered, Rick, Daryl and Jenner left with Ghost in tow. The direwolf was far too large for the range rover. When it came time to let herds pass, Ghost stayed in the jeep with Shane. Shane had no fondness for the direwolf but there was no arguing with Ghost. Trying to move him once he had gotten nice and comfortable was a sure way to lose a hand. Or an arm.

“Carl, Sophia. Come here,” Jon said once the others had left.

Carl was before him at once while Sophia took her time approaching. Jon put on the face of Lord Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and directed it at Carl for the most part.

“This is not a game. Understand? You will keep your heads down and your mouths shut. Silent and still.”

Carl gave him the look of a boy trying his very hardest to be a man. “We will. We’re not scared.”

“You should be. The dead are scary.”

“Not to us. We’re strong.” Carl’s voice dropped low, as low as a boy’s voice could go.

“Strong people fear death, lad. Only boys laugh in its face.”

Carl scowled.

“If you want to be brave. You’ll sit there quaking in your crusty boots until I tell you its safe. Am I understood?”

Carl glanced at the RV. “Yes…”

“You too, Sophia.”

Sophia glared at him with sharp eyes. Jon could only blink at her, as the look to him aback. She looked as fierce as some starved dog at its wits end. The look only lasted a moment then in the next, as her eyes locked with his, she was a meek little girl again, clutching her pink bear.

“Yes,” Sophia whispered.

Jon cleared his throat. “Good… Now, get inside and practice being quiet.”

Carl wrinkled his nose but did as he was bid. He tugged on the car door’s handle and hopped inside. Sophia followed him and the two of them sat in the row of seats behind the driver’s seat. The range rover had an unusual layout compared to most vehicles, Jon had noted. It housed two rows of seats rather than one, and that second row could collapse to increase the size of the trunk. Truly, the ingenuity of this land never ceased to amaze him. Even if it only lived on as relics of a better time.

The raven landed on the roof of the range rover. It pecked at a chunk of rotten flesh and swallowed it whole. “Good,” it muttered. “Good.”

***

The stench of rot clawed at Jon’s nose and loitered in the back of his throat as he sat inside the range rover. A month ago he would have gagged merely laying eyes upon a sight such as a car lathered in rotting guts. And if he had been forced to sit inside he would have been counting down the seconds until he could leave. But those days had passed. The seconds slipped away from him as he sat in the darkness and musty air, waiting for Shane’s call. The shirts and blankets which covered the windows forbade light’s entrance. Shadows loomed over them, like great sentries on a tapestry of filthy cloth. Silence garbed their troupe of rot-covered cars; their shield and their torturer. Without sight nor sound, time seemed little more than a fable. A sensation Jon had grown accustomed to but never comfortable with. It felt queer to not experience it in solitude.

Solitude had been his decision when Glenn first suggested the idea of hiding from herds in such a manner. The RV’s windows – high above the ground – gave the most protection. All one had to do to stay out of sight was lay on its carpeted floor. It only made sense to ensure as many people as possible could wait out herds in its protection. But they couldn’t all fit. Jon had volunteered for the range rover at once. He had armour to keep him safe if anything were to go awry. Shane had volunteered for the jeep. Why exactly, Jon couldn’t say.

But now, Jon sat between two children whose number of name days combined was less than his own. They were still at the very least. Carl was a statue, back straight, head high. His hand rested on his knife's hilt. Sophia trembled, back hunched, knees tucked to her chest. Her arms crossed over her bear, hugging it close. Jon pitied the girl. The shadow of a father hangs heavy on the strongest of shoulders, let alone a child's. Given time, it will make her strong. The raven sat in Jon’s lap, as it always did. Jon stroked its long, black feathers. Nothing else kept the pest from muttering when the dead marched on by.

“Walkers!” Shane’s voice split the silence, carrying high into the air like rolling thunder.

“Down, now,” Jon whispered.

He slid off his seat and sat on the soft, carpeted floor of the range rover. Stiff as a plank of wood, Carl did the same. Sophia scrambled for the floor. On the floor, beneath the windows, their silhouettes were consumed by the dark.

“Feel your fear,” Jon whispered. “But keep it within. Silent and still.”

Silence answered him; the correct response. And silence followed. For a time. Until it began. The faint gurgling and hissing of the dead wafted through over the troupe. The gurgling and hissing grew louder and clearer until the first thump beat like a great, metal drum. Thump, thump, thump. The uneven, soft rhythm of mindless corpses walking themselves right into the cars. But then, a new, unfamiliar sound cut through it all. Tap. Tap Tap. Three beats, sharp and even. Distant and faint. But as the gurgles and hisses drew nearer and the hoard thumped against the RV, it happened again. Tap. Tap. Tap. The same even, sharp three beats, again. Louder and clearer. Jon touched Longclaw’s pommel, stupidly bringing his hand away from the raven.

“Safe,” it muttered.

Jon cursed himself without words and stroked the pest’s feathers, praying the dead hadn’t heard. The first thump came, right against the range rover’s hood. A walker hissed a gurgled complaint. Shadows danced upon the shirts and blankets; the uneven teetering of the deads’ march. Jon did not have to see, to feel Sophia’s trembling. He knew better than to offer a touch as comfort. A touch come Jon’s way though. Carl gripped his arm with strength beyond a boy of eight namedays. His grip trembled as it tightened.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Three sharp knocks rapped against the windows. A shadow slunk along the tapestry of shirts and blankets, slower than the others. It neither teetered nor wobbled, rather it moved as if it slid across ice. Tap. Tap. Tap. The knocks came harder this time; more incessant. It rocked the range rover; gentle like a cradle. The sickening sound of peeling tape dropped a pit in Jon’s stomach. A shirt dropped a mere inch. A slither of light slipped inside the range rover. At the gap, a peering, rotting eye appeared at the window. Tap. Tap. Tap. In a flash, Carl whipped out his knife. Hot wrath burned across his face beneath the slither of light as he kept his gaze locked with the eye. Sophia whimpered and backed up as far as she could with a soft thump against the opposite side door. Every shadow froze as one. The gurgling and hissing gave way to a brief silence.

The eye disappeared and a piercing howl of a cry erupted from outside. The hoard raged and every shadow descend on them. Sophia wailed. The dead wailed back. The car door flew open. Jon grabbed Carl and yanked him back. Rotting hands of blackened fingers and long, yellow nails descended on them. Carl screamed a wailing sob of a scream and stabbed the air with his blade. The mindless creatures fought amongst one another to crawl inside. Jon kicked at the dead with all his might. His heel lay a corpse limp in the doorway. For a brief moment, it clogged the advance. Jon’s mind raced for an escape, for a solution, for a trick. He found it over his shoulder. Behind him, the other door had but a few shadows at its windows. They were scraping uselessly at the door, complaining with hisses and wails. Mere whispers compared to the roaring cacophony before Jon.

“Sophia! To me!” Jon grabbed for the girl.

Sophia screamed as if the dead were upon her already. She flailed, kicked Jon’s hand aside then drove her heel into his face. A rotten hand took hold of Jon’s ankle. He cursed, and caved the walker’s skull with a kick. And in that brief moment, Sophia flung the door open. Screaming and crying, she dove between a waiting walker’s legs and scampered for the woods.

“Sophia!” Jon shouted. Sophia's screams peaked and she ran faster.

Dragging Carl, Jon hurried out of the range rover after her. Two walkers met him. A white blur fell them with a flying lunge. Ghost crushed one’s skull with his paw as he tore the other’s head from its shoulders with his jaws.

“Carl?!” Rick bellowed.

“Sophia?!” Carol screamed.

The others were out on the highway in the thick of the hoard. Back to back, they formed a tight circle formation. They stabbed at the dead over and over and over again, felling walker after walker. Jon couldn’t spy a way past the hoard to join their formation.

“To the woods, now!” Jon shouted at Carl.

Carl nodded and sprinted for the woods. Rick, Lori and Carol all made a move to break their formation.

“Stay where you are! Maintain formation!” Jon drew Longclaw and fell a walker descending on him. “I’ll go after them!”

Jon didn’t stop to wait for a reply. He bolted for the woods, sprinting with all his strength. Ghost stayed behind and fought with the others. In an instant, the woods swallowed up the commotion of their battle, veiling Jon in silence. It didn’t take long to catch up to Carl but Sophia was far off in the distance. Weaving and ducking, she sprinted through the thickening tangle of trees and brush.

The raven flew overhead. “Safe! Safe!” It cackled.

Jon vowed to skin the creature.

"Skin, skin, skin!"

“Sophia, stop!” Jon shouted.

“Sophia!” Carl echoed.

Sophia ran harder but Jon was gaining on her. Roots snagged his feet and low-hanging branches whacked him in the face. He kicked the roots and slashed the branches with Longclaw. Sophia seemed within reach. But as Jon made a grab for her she disappeared with a scream and dropped down out of view. Jon skidded to a halt as the slope of a steep valley presented itself amongst the brush. Sophia tumbled down the slope and crashed into a stagnant pool with a splash. In a flash, she was standing. Sobbing, she struggled to wade through the water on the weak legs of a child. Carl leapt over the edge, splashed down and chased after her with as much the same difficulty. Bubbles rose to the water’s surface. They burst with sprays of mud and black sludge. The bubbles frothed the surface as if the pool was at a boil.

“Out of the water, now!” Jon bellowed and scrambled down the slope.

Three walkers shot up from beneath the water, slick with mud. Their skin hung from their flesh like scraps of sodden cloth. As they wailed a gurgling wail, mud flowed from their mouths. They descended on the children. Two of them headed for Carl while the other perused Sophia, separating the children. Carl and Sophia drew their blades. Sophia held her knife out in front of her with both hands, shaking like a leaf. She faced her pursuer for but a moment only to then wail and turn, struggling through the mud towards the shore. Carl held out his knife low below his hip, twisted so his shoulder faced the dead and shouted a warring scream. The dead wailed back. Jon splashed down, drawing the attention of one walker away from Carl

The mud beneath the water may have been enough to hinder the weak legs of children and the dead, but not Jon. He raced through the pool, surefooted as a soldier marching the King’s Road. His blood boiled hot. A high slash from his valyrian steel rid the once-man of its head, heralded by a spray of black blood from its neck. Jon rushed to aid Carl, the closer of the two. The remaining corpses launched their attacks. One slashed at Carl, trying to grab his arm. While the other's fingers brushed the collar of Sophia's shirt.

Carl drove his knife into the walker’s palm, blocking the attack. He screamed and charged it, ramming his shoulder into its chest. The walker stumbled. It didn’t fall. Carl did. He fell face-first into the water and the walker descended on him. It opened its mouth, ready to bite the nape of Carl’s neck. Jon seized the walker by the shoulders and flung it off onto its back. As it hit the water with a muddy splash, Jon drove Longclaw’s point between its eyes. Its death blood blackened the water.

Carl rose from the water, coughing and spluttering. “Sophia!” He choked.

Splash!

The walker chasing Sophia threw itself at her, tackled her and knocked the knife from her hand. Sophia screamed, wailed and flailed as they both came crashing down. Jon charged across the water as Sophia wrestled the corpse. She took a hold of the walker’s face and pushed it away with all her might. But the walker kept on coming, gnashing its rotten jaws inches from her face. Jon grabbed the walker’s shoulders. Sophia’s hand slipped. The walker lunged and it’s slick skin slipped between Jon’s fingers. Sophia screamed and crossed her arms over her face. The walker sunk its teeth into her forearm. Jon tore it away, taking a chunk of flesh with it. Sophia’s life blood gushed and sprayed as she screamed a wailing, choked scream. Rot festered in the bite.

“No!” Carl screamed. He scrambled through the water, thrashing against the mud’s grip.

Jon cut off the walker’s head before the foolish boy got himself bitten too then wasted no time. He seized Sophia, flung her over his shoulder, raced her to the shore and threw her down into the muddy silt. Jon held out Longclaw with steady hands. Sophia looked up at him, silent and still, her face a mask of ice and stone.

“Hold out your arm, now!”

Sophia did so at once.

“Arm!” The raven cried.

Sophia shut her eyes and clenched her jaw. Jon heaved Longclaw above his head.

“What are you doing?!” Carl cried.

Jon cleaved Longclaw down onto Sophia’s elbow. The blade ate through flesh and bone in one clean cut. Sophia’s life blood sprayed from the stump. She let out a blood-curdling scream and writhed among the muddy silt, wailing long guttural sobs. Carl raced to her side and dropped to his knees, bawling. Jon’s mind raced. He hadn’t thought this far. Jenner hadn’t told him what to do past this. The bleeding, Jon realised. He needed to stop the bleeding. He thought back to lessons from Lunwin, from Aemon. The lessons brought him the answer. A tourniquet. Jon dropped Longclaw and ripped his belt from his jeans. Longclaw’s and Needle’s scabbards fell to the mud.

“Move, lad!” Jon shoved Carl aside and fastened the belt around Sophia’s upper arm until her flesh bulged around it. The spray of blood petered out into a gentle gush. Sophia’s eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp. Her chest rose and fell; staggered and rapid.

Carl tugged at Jon’s cloak as if trying to pull him to his feet. “We gotta get her back! We gotta save her!” he cried.

“I know!” Jon snapped. He flung the lad off of him and hoisted Sophia over his shoulder. She weighed as little as a newborn babe.

“I-I’ll go ahead!” Carl shouted. “For help.”

“No! You’ll stay by my side. Where I can see you.”

Jon bolted past the lad and across the muddy pool. Black blood swirled around his shins and mud grabbed at his boots, trying to suck him down but Jon was stronger. He charged across the pool and struggled to scramble up the valley’s slope one-handed. A short climb was made long and tedious. So tedious that Carl managed to catch up. Surefooted as a mountain goat, Carl raced up the slope ahead of him and waited at the top.

“Hurry!”

“Hur-ry!” The raven echoed.

Jon let his frustration erupt as a beastly shout as he dragged himself up the slope. The scars of his right hand ached as horribly as the day it’d been burned all those years ago. Once at the top, Jon lowered his head and broke out into a sprint. Carl chased at his heels, his face beet-red as he huffed, puffed and choked on sobs. Jon felt like sobbing too. But he didn’t. Strength could save Sophia. Tears would only blind him.

As they burst from the woods, back onto the highway, Andrea fell the last walker by thrusting her knife into its eye.

“Jenner!” Jon bellowed.

All eyes snapped to him. Carol screamed. The rest erupted into a chorus of shouts. They sprang into action at once. Jenner barked orders, pointing this way and that. T-Dog and Glenn rushed to the range rover and retrieved a plastic tarp. Dale got the medical kit from the RV. Andrea hauled over a jug of water. Rick held Carl back, hugging him to his chest. Lori knelt beside him, stroking his hair as the lad broke under the weight of his grief. Daryl restrained Carol who fought feverishly to free herself. She reached for her daughter, clawing at the air. Shane stood idle, watching from afar.

As soon as T-Dog and Glenn lay down the trap, Jon lay Sophia on it. Jenner knelt by the severed arm.

“A tourniquet. Good thinking. Andrea, water! Dale, the kit!”

Andrea dropped the jug at Jenner’s side.

“Jon, clean the wound!” Jenner barked at he snatched the kit from Dale.

Jon twisted off the cap and poured water all over the wound, washing away mud, silt and life blood. Water pooled in the tarp, red and stagnant. Besides Jon, Jenner raged. He flung the kit aside, sending it skittering across the asphalt.

“No bandages! Give me shirts! Now! Clean ones, dammit! Jon, lift her arm!”

Jon lifted her arm up straight. T-Dog tossed a pair of t-shirts at Jenner which were only partially stained. Jenner wrapped the stump up in a shirt. Using both hands, he held it in place.

“Jon, hold it in place.”

Jon took over for Jenner’s hands and held the shirt around the stump.

“Has she hurt her head or neck?” Jenner asked.

“No. Just the bite on the arm,” Jon blurted.

“She was bit?!” T-Dog yelled.

Carol wailed and kicked to get free of Daryl. Daryl buried his face into her neck, hiding his face as he restrained her tighter. His arms bulged and trembled.

“Yes! Why else do you think I cut off her bloody arm?!”

“Doesn’t matter. Glenn, lift her legs!”

Glenn scrambled over, dropped to his knees and lifted Sophia’s legs into the air.

“No, not that high. Twelve inches. Lower. Yes, that’s good. Keep them there.”

Blood began to soak through the shirt. Jenner swatted at Jon’s hands and wrapped the other shirt on top then Jon held the new layer over the old. Jenner sat back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair, eyes darting.

“Fuck…” he muttered. “Now what?”

“What do you mean, now what?!” Jon shouted.

“I’m not a doctor, Jon! I’m a virologist!” Jenner rapped his knuckles against his head. “Come on come on come on come on. Think, dammit.” His eyes widened. “The arm! Where’s the rest of the arm?!”

“In the woods and bitten.”

“Shit. Okayokay. Uh… a plastic bag! Get me a plastic bag!”

Andrea sprinted to the range rover and came back with a plastic bag. Jenner snatched it from her and placed it over the stump bound in shirts.

“Now, ice! Anything cold!”

“Ice?” Jon wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.

“The hell we ‘posed to get ice from?!” Daryl shouted.

Jenner groaned and held his head in his hands. “God… Help me move her then. She at least needs some place comfortable.”

“I’ve got her feet, ready when you are,” Glenn said.

Jenner nodded and took Sophia under her arms. “Jon keep that arm elevated.”

“Will do.”

“Alright. On three. One. Two. Three.” Jenner and Glenn lifted Sophia together. Jon stood with them, keeping her stump elevated.

They carried her to the RV as if she were made of glass. Carol and Carl fought to follow, but Rick and Daryl kept them bound.

“Gods have mercy, let Carol go!” Jon shouted as they approached the RV.

Daryl looked to Rick. Rick nodded and he let go. Carol scrambled out of Daryl’s arms and followed after them inside the RV.

“Will she survive? Is she infected? Please, god, don’t tell me she’s infected!” Carol cried.

Jenner said nothing until Sophia was laying on the RV’s mattress. When he did answer, his voice was low and grim. “Time will tell. She’s strong though. I have faith. Jon, let her hold the arm.”

Jon nodded and relinquished the arm to Carol. Although Carol trembled and sobbed, once she took hold of her daughter's arm, her hands became as steady as a blacksmith. Jenner put two pillows beneath Sophia’s feet and ushered Glenn and Jon out of the tiny bedroom. He afforded Carol some privacy by closing the door behind them.

“How long after the bite did you sever the arm?” Jenner whispered.

“Immediately. As you said to.”

“Right away? You didn’t hesitate or move her first?”

Jon bit his lip. “Well… she got bit in a pool of dirty water. I carried her to shore first. You said not to sever the limb where infected blood could get into it. But it only took a second.”

Jenner clicked his tongue and glanced at the closed door.

“Do-Does she have a chance? Any at all?” Glenn asked. His olive skin had turned a shade of ghost white.

“Normally… yeah. In a hospital with doctors and antibiotics… Out here though? She might wake up before she passes. At least she’ll be able to say goodbye.”

Tears brimmed in Glenn’s eyes. Jon fought off his own. “I should have never let them in the blasted car…”

“Wh-What do we do when she dies?” Glenn asked, lips trembling. “What do we tell them?”

“The truth,” Jenner grumbled. He shouldered past Jon and marched outside.

The raven fluttered in as the doctor left. It perched on the cabinets and bobbed up and down. “Truth, truth, truth.”

Jon’s vow to skin the pest still tasted fresh on his tongue. But he hadn’t the strength for it. His arms felt as if they weighed twice as much. As did his legs. Every one his joints ached and a rhythmic throbbing pounded away in his head. The throbs came in triplets. Throb. Throb. Throb. Each one more painful than the last. Jon staggered for the RV’s exit. The stale air shortened his breath. As he came upon the exit a searing wrath surged through him, setting his flesh and bone ablaze. Outside the RV, Ghost poised to leap. His fangs bared in a silent snarl. His fur puffed and stood on ends. His red eyes bore into something out of view. Jon stepped out the RV and followed his eyes. A fist greeted him.

***

Jon awoke face down on the asphalt. Blood flooded his throat. Shouting barraged his ears. A great pain stabbed at his shattered nose. With a groan, he rolled over to see Ghost on top of Daryl, gnashing his jaws inches from his face. Daryl squirmed under the direwolf but Ghost had his front paws on Daryl’s arms, pinning him down.

“You killed her!” he screamed. “You killed her, you bastard!” He locked eyes with Jon, boring a deathly gaze into him. Tears stained his rugged, weathered cheeks.

The others were shouting, trying to scare Ghost off of Daryl. But when any got close, Ghost snapped his jaws at them, sending them scuttling back. All was unfocused, blurred by a murky mind. However, Dale’s voice cut through it all, clear as a summer sky.

“You alright, son?” Dale grabbed his arm.

Jon accepted the help and leaned into his grip to stand. He tried to speak but a flow of blood clogged his throat and he only sputtered blood instead. Once on his feet, his vision cleared. Distraught panic had set in among the group. Jon could hardly blame them. Only Shane seemed oddly clam. He stood behind Rick, watching all transpire with a face of stone. The raven circled overhead screeching, “Bast-ard, bast-ard, bast-ard, bast-ard, bast-ard!”

Jon swallowed blood and shouted with the voice of a Lord Commander. “Ghost! Enough!”

Ghost snapped his jaws one last time, inches from Daryl’s face before backing off and skulking to Jon’s side. Daryl scrambled to stand. His eyes were wide, manic pools of violence. He drew a knife. Rick kicked the back of his knee. Daryl buckled. Shane ran forward and leapt onto his back, slamming Daryl back to the asphalt. He dug his knee between Daryl’s shoulder blades and pinned his arms with either hand.

“Stay down,” Shane hissed.

Daryl thrashed. “Fuck your slut mom, pig!”

Shane dug his knee further between Daryl’s shoulder blades. Daryl cried out and ceased his thrashing. Tears welled in his eyes and all the hate drained from him like a flagon sprung a leak. “He killed her, he killed her, he killed her,” he groaned. The knife rolled out of his grasp.

“No,” Shane looked over his shoulder at Rick. “He did.”

“The hell you say?” Rick’s face became a storm.

“You heard me! Y’all know it’s true!”

“The hell we do!” Andrea shouted.

“He’s the one who put the kids in the rear! That was his call. Look where it got ‘em!”

“Shut the hell up, man!” T-Dog stepped forward, fists balled.

Rick stopped him with a touch to the chest. “No… He’s right.”

“Fuck no, he ain’t!” Andrea said.

Rick shook his head. “I should’ve known better. I take full-”

“It wasn’t your fault!” Carl screamed.

“Shut it, Carl!” Shane snapped.

Carl raged. He ran past his dad and drove the heel of his boot into Shane’s face with a wet crunch. Shane fell off of Daryl with a pained shout, cradling a smashed nose. Rick snatched Carl’s arm and dragged him, throwing him off his feet in the process.

Carl fell to the asphalt. He sat by his father’s feet, glaring at Shane. Lori crouched beside him and tried to wrap her arms around him but Carl wriggled free. His fists balled. His arms trembled. He breathed loud, frantic breaths that flared his nostrils. “It wasn’t my dad’s fault! Or Jon’s! Or mine’s! Or anyone’s! It was the walkers!” Carl snarled that last word. “They opened the door! They scared Sophia! They bit her!”

Silence lingered, festering in the air.

“Bit!” The raven cawed.

Daryl struggled to his knees with a bowed head. “I-I’m sorry, Jon. I don’t know what…”

Jon swallowed blood. “You’re forgiven.” He wiped the blood from his gushing nose, freed himself of Dale’s support and stepped forward. “Talk of blame is a folly best left for times of peace.”

“Folly,” Shane chuckled. He spat blood onto the asphalt. “Shut the hell up, kid.”

Lori stepped forward in front of Carl. “Go back to your little plastic chair, Shane.”

Shane’s face of stone shattered into a meek little scowl and he shambled off.

“Best we organise ourselves,” Jon continued. “Focus on solving this crisis rather than on where it originated.”

The group shared a round of nods before looking to Rick as one. Rick put on the face of a lord as he addressed them.

“Jenner?” he asked. “What do we need to save her?”

Jenner sighed. “A hospital.”

Rick nodded. “Glenn, does the town we’re headin’ to have a hospital?”

“Uh, kinda. It has a clinic and a vet.”

“Will that do, Jenner?”

“I mean… they might have antibiotics and painkillers if it hasn’t been picked clean already. But that won’t be enou-”

“Great,” Rick interjected. “Glenn, how far of a walk to the town from here?”

“I don’t know… it’s like twelve miles and that’s if we go straight. That way,” Glenn pointed to the woods, from the direction Jon had come from.

“Half a day.” Daryl mumbled, staring at the asphalt.

“We’ll need a team, who do you think, Glenn?” Rick asked.

“Let’s keep it small. We gotta move fast. You, me, Daryl and Jon. Together, Daryl’s sense of direction and Ghost’s senses will be better than any map. And Ghost only goes where Jon goes. Maybe leave the raven though, if you can.”

“If I would, I could,” Jon said.

“Could would! Would could!” The raven cawed.

“Jenner too,” Rick said.

“Why me?”

“You know what we’re lookin’ for, and you’ve done all you can for her here.”

Glenn nodded. “Makes sense. Jenner too, then.”

Jenner sighed and looked to Lori. “Taking care of her is simple. Change her bag every few hours. Change the shirts in the morning. Wash the wound between shirt changes. Keep her legs elevated and her arm. Can you manage that?”

Lori nodded. “We can.”

“Andrea, you’re in charge while we’re gone,” Rick said.

“I’ll keep ‘em safe. You just hurry along now,” Andrea said.

 

***

Longclaw lay in a bed of mud and silt beside its scabbard and Needle and Sophia’s rotting, severed hand. Jon sheathed the valyrian blade and attached it and Needle back to a new belt. After ensuring the latches were secure, Jon scooped up a handful of mud and covered the hand. Rot had already corrupted the severed limb. The skin had blackened and shrivelled. The fingers had curled into hooks. Covering it was a mercy. Jon saw no point in returning it to Carol. It bore no resemblance to human flesh, let alone Sophia. It more resembled rotting fruit than anything. It’d only serve as a reminder that hope is as slippery as ice; hard to grasp, harder to hold.

Jon smoothed mud and silt over the shrunken black thing and rose to his feet. Atop the slope of the valley, Ghost sat by Rick’s side, watching Jon with those piercing red eyes. A great sadness snuck up on Jon, forming a pit in his stomach. The cut on his nose gifted to him by Daryl itched.

“Got your sword?” Rick asked.

Jon nodded and patted the scabbard.

“Alright, well come on. Get up here. Let’s get a move on.”

“Right. As you command.”

Rick gave him a queer look, which Jon chose to ignore. Jon waded through the murky, stagnant pool. Black blood still floated on the surface, swirling around his legs as he waded through it. Amongst the mud and rot, Jon spied something bobbing on the surface. Something fuzzy. Hair, he realised. A walker. He froze, drew Longclaw and thrust the tip of the blade into the hair. But no black blood flowed into the water and there was no squelch of a blade piercing flesh. Jon lifted Longclaw to find Sophia’s bear skewered on the blade. No longer pink. Only black and brown and now with a hole through its chest. Jon sighed, freed the toy from his blade and tucked it under his belt. He wiped the grime off of Longclaw, sheathed it and started the climb up the slope.

With two hands instead of one, the climb was swift and smooth. Yet, the burn scars on his right hand still throbbed all the same. They hadn’t throbbed in years. Each throb flooded Jon with a scorching heat that clenched his jaw. I should have been able to save her. Sophia is but a girl and I am a man grown; a man of the Night’s Watch no less. When he clambered over the slope’s edge, he found Ghost baring his fangs. Jon looked behind him but saw nothing.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Jon asked, standing.

“Wrong?” The raven asked, perched high in a nearby tree.

Ghost put away his fangs and wagged his tail. Jon shook his head and ignored the queerness.

“That Sophia’s?” Rick asked, pointing to the bear.

“It is.”

“Good. Don’t lose it. She’ll need somethin’ to make her feel safe. More now than ever.”

Jon nodded. “I’ll keep it safe, I promise.”

Jon, Ghost and Rick joined the others waiting a little further ahead.

“Find it okay?” Glenn asked.

“Yeah, my gun too.”

“Good, that sword’s too valuable to lose out here.”

“Agreed.”

“Sword!” The raven cawed, flying overhead.

Jon expected Daryl to insult the pest, but the rugged man only stared out into the woods, away from everyone else.

“Come on, let’s get a move on,” Jenner grumbled.

“Glenn? Which way?” Rick asked.

Glenn unfolded a map and frowned. “North… I always used the highway to orient where we were. But now…” Glenn looked around at the green abyss that surrounded them. “Without a compass, I have no idea.”

“Ghost,” Jon said. The direwolf pricked up his ears and met his eyes. “Find, North.”

Ghost raised his snout to the air and closed his eyes. They opened, pools of blood amidst a shaggy coat of snow. He padded off into the woods a few paces then turned to look back at them.

Glenn stared at Jon, mouth agape. “No way you trained him to do that.”

Jon grinned. “Direwolves feel nature as if it is a part of them.”

Jenner’s eyes blazed with the same curiosity he had when Jon had spoken of the Kingslayer. It seemed the doctor had found his question to bring to their next lesson. Jon knew what question he would ask. Thinking of it robbed Jon of his grin.

“Let us dawdle no longer,” he said and followed after Ghost.

Ghost led them through thick brambled bushes, mazes of thin tree trunks and delicate little meadows hidden among the green abyss. As they went further, the forest closed around them. The tree trunks thickened and stood closer. The canopies blocked more and more sunlight until there was nary but a few stubborn rays to light their way. Mossy stones resolved to trip them with each step and twisted roots aided the effort. Silence lingered everywhere. Birds didn’t chirp. Insects didn’t buzz. No Frogs yelped. No underfoot creatures scuttled. Only the boots of their little troupe crunched against sticks and leaves.

It was in the deepest and darkest part of the woods yet, that they came across the stream. A thin, pale line glistened beneath spotted rays of sunlight. So shallow that Jon’s boots seemed to glide atop the surface and so thin that two steps were all it took to cross. Rocks huddled beneath the pale water, slippery but not hazardous if one were to pay them respect. Jenner, the last to cross, slipped on his second step. He stumbled forward and Rick caught his arm, stopping his fall.

Jenner muttered an awkward thanks and hurried away from the stream. They left it behind as they’d left behind everything in the forest. Little more than fleeting memories. Until a splash brought their attention back to it. They raced back to the stream, tripping on the thick underbrush with blades drawn. Ghost raced ahead, fangs bared. But as they erupted from the brush they all froze. Carl was on his rear in the water. A ray of sun gleamed off of the golden star of his hat.

“Carl?” Rick asked, keeping his voice low. “What are you doing here? Does your mother know?”

“Let me come with you.” Carl shot to his feet. His face hardened.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“You know why. I ain’t havin’ this talk again, here of all places. God… one of you’s gonna have to take him back.”

“I ain’t goin’ back! I’ll just sneak off again. I know the way.”

Rick stared at his son in a state between utter bewilderment and a flying rage. But before he could say a word, Carl shouted again.

“She’s my friend! I wanna help her.”

Rick’s face softened. He knelt before his son, in the water and took his hand into his. “I know, son. I ain’t ever gonna tell you you’re wrong to feel that way. But you’ll be better off protectin’ her at her side.”

Carl wrinkled his nose. “Andrea and T-Dog can do that. I’m gonna find the medicine that’ll make her better.”

“Carl…”

“I ain’t a kid anymore. I’m big. I can handle myself. I can kill walkers the same as any of you.”

“No, Carl. You can’t. One day you’ll be able to, if you must. But you ain’t got the skills yet, son.”

“Do to. I’ve killed five so far.” At once, Carl’s eyes widened as he realised his mistake.

Rick’s face darkened with a fierceness to tame a storm. “You what?”

“I-I-I,” Carl’s words tumbled from him. “When I snuck off with Sophia, we figured it out. We’re too small to kill ‘em like you do so we gotta run our shoulder into their chests to make ‘em fall. Then we stab them through the eye.”

Carl mummered a stab. Rick snatched his wrist.

“You listen to me and you listen good,” Rick whispered in a low, deep voice. “You never risk your life for no good reason. Never. This ain’t a game. Killin’ the dead ain’t a sport. It’s life and death. It’s-”

“I know-”

“Don’t you interrupt me.”

“It ain’t a game to me!” Carl’s arms trembled and his nostril flared. “We should be killin’ them! All of them! Every single one we see! They took everything from us!” Carl’s breathing became rapid. “Y-You all act like it ain’t gone! Like we can get it back! We can’t! It’s gone, forever and it’s all their fault!”

The bushes exploded with an eruption of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. A great stag, as tall as Jon and as long as Ghost emerged from the brush with a tall crown of antlers. Everyone froze as it stared at them. Silence lingered. Ghost bared his fangs at the stag. The proud creature stood its ground. It lifted its snout, making its antlers appear larger than life. A gurgling hiss wafted after the stag from the bushes. A walker stumbled from the brush, reaching and clawing at the air for the stag. Its eyes found their group and it changed course for them. Ghost moved right in front of Jon and lowered his head, ready to lunge. The stag lowered its antlers at the walker and scraped the ground. And as all eyes were on it, they weren’t where they ought to be.

“I’ll show you I can do it!” Carl broke free of Rick’s grip and charged at the walker.

“Carl, no!” Rick shouted.

Rick snatched at him. Carl dodged and Rick grabbed air. Carl bolted past the rest of them, weaving through grabbing hands as he drew a knife from his belt. He aimed his shoulder at the walker’s chest and bellowed a boy’s war cry. Thunder cracked. The walker’s stomach exploded. Then Carl’s. The boy gasped, clutched at his ruined belly and fell onto his back. His mouth gaped open and closed as his life blood pooled beneath him amongst the dirt and leaves.

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Next chapter, in order to save Carl's life Jon has to put his trust in a group of strangers