The night fire spat red and orange embers twirling into the air. It cast every face gathered around the plastic table in a half-moon of orange light and shadows. Andrea, T-Dog, Jenner, Shane, Glenn and Dale. Dale sat opposite Jon, his back to the flames. A mask of shadows hid his entire face. Jon stood tall at the head of the plastic table, Ghost at his side. The light warmed his cheeks.

“There are walkers in the barn,” he said.

“Barn! Barn! Barn!” Bloodbeak cried, strutting along the table.

Jon rested his hand on Ghost’s head. “Beth showed them to me. The force is small, roughly twenty or so, quite manageable if we stick to a tight formation.”

“The fuck? Are they crazy?” Andrea asked.

“Aye, Beth appears to have lost her wits. I suspect the other two share her madness.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Glenn stood. “Hershel and Beth might be crazy, but Maggie isn’t.”

“Right. The woman who shot Carl is just fine upstairs,” Andrea said.

“That was an accident. She apologised.”

“It was stupid, that’s what it was.”

Glenn’s fists clenched.

Jon interjected. “It matters not who is or isn’t mad. The fact remains that the dead risk all our safety. Best we go remove them.”

Andrea huffed and dodged Glenn’s gaze. Glenn retreated to his chair, stiff as a board.

“Now, wait a second.” Dale stood. “We should at least talk to Hershel first. He’s our host and this is his land.”

“Host! Host! Host!” Bloodbeak cackled.

“Fuck that.” Shane got out of his chair and stood by Jon’s side, lifting his half-mask of shadows. “You think the kind of man who can look one of those rotting fuckers in the eyes and not see them for what they are will listen to reason? Fuck no. There ain’t nothin' to discuss with him.”

Jon grimaced at Shane’s presence at his side. The moment he showed support, doubt flickered across every face at the table.

T-Dog stood beside Dale. Shadows consumed his face. “What’s gonna happen when we kill them? He ain’t gonna take it well. We’re only here as guests.”

“Exactly,” Dale chimed in. “You heard him before. He doesn’t trust us yet. How do you think breaking open his barn and killing his walkers will affect that?”

“We’re not here as guests,” Jon said. “We’re eleven. They’re three. Hershel can’t make us leave.”

“You can’t be serious,” Dale exclaimed.

“That’s fucked up man,” T-Dog said.

“It’s fuckin’ true that’s what it is,” Shane said.

“Sweetheart, they’re right.” Andrea turned to approach Dale. The shadows retreated from her face. A stern frown hardened her round, freckled face. She took his hand into hers. “See reason. The walkers can’t stay and Hershel isn’t going to listen.”

Dale took a step back. “You can’t be serious… do you even hear what they're saying? They’re talking about taking this place, under the cover of night, like we’re a bunch of bandits.”

“This place is our only viable sanctuary from the dead,” Jon said. “If Hershel means to take it from us, we can’t allow it.”

“He’s right.” Andrea squeezed his hand.

“You gotta see reason, man,” Shane added.

Dale snatched his hand away from Andrea and pointed it at Shane. “Where do you get off talkin’ to me about reason? After what you did!”

“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with this!”

“The fuck it don’t!” T-Dog yelled.

Bloodbeak screeched. “Did! Did! Did!”

Jon stepped in front of Shane. “Listen.” He looked around the group. “You all know the threat the dead pose. How many have they taken from us already? Every moment we leave them locked up in that barn is a moment something could go wrong. I’ve seen the lock and chain that contains them. It is rusted and old. Surely none of you trust a single, rusted chain with our lives.”

Dale stood taller. T-Dog’s shoulders dropped. He fidgeted. Glenn buried his head in his hands. Jenner rose and joined Jon’s side. His blood-sodden bandage glistened orange-red in the light. Andrea held Dale’s hand again but Dale snatched it back.

“It’s held this long, hasn’t it?” he said.

“A miracle. By all rights, some sort of noise should have caught their attention. There’s enough of them to break down the doors with enough persistence.”

“You can’t possibly know-”

“We don’t hurt them,” Glenn interrupted. “No matter what happens, we don’t hurt Maggie or her family. Okay?”

“No harm will come to them. I assure you.”

Glenn joined Jon’s side. The light revealed a frown and down-cast eyes.

“I’m an old man too,” Dale said. “You plan on bullying me into doing what you want as well?”

“This is what Hershel and his family need. They can only live this lie for so long before it gets them and us killed.”

Dale scoffed. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Andrea shook her head and made her way to Jon’s side. Five bodies cast in light faced two cast in shadow. Dale faced away from them. The glow of the night fire revealed a scowl. His eyes flickered to Andrea. The scowl wavered.

Jon ignored the old man. He is beyond reason. And weak. I need strength to face the dead. “T-Dog, see reason. If we leave this place, people will die. Think of all the people we’ve lost so far. Amy, Jim, Donna, Morales, his wife and children, everyone at the quarry…” and Merle. “Jacqui.”

“Die!” Bloodbeak strutted right up to T-Dog. “Die! Die! Die!”

Jacqui’s name won out. T-Dog sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Sorry man…” He left Dale’s side and joined Jon’s.

Five faces cast in light became six.

Dale stood alone in the shadows. “Lord… you people are making a terrible mistake…”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, old man,” Shane said.

Dale stiffened. “I’m telling Hershel!” He snapped on his heels and marched away.

Shane stepped to follow. Jon stopped him with a touch. “Leave him, Hershel will find out regardless. Everyone ready your blades, best we do this quickly!”

The group drew their weapons from their belts. Andrea, a knife in each hand. T-Dog, a hatchet. Glenn, a red-handled machete. Shane, a butcher’s cleaver. Jon drew Longclaw. Jenner spoke in a hushed, gurgled voice.

“Dale isn’t wrong. They’re not gonna take it well.”

“Aye, they won’t. Get ahead of Dale. Inform Rick of what we discovered and what we intend to do. There are three loaded guns and a crossbow in that house, keep them out of Hershel’s or his daughters’ hands.”

“Think Rick’ll side with us?”

“They’ll see reason.”

Jenner nodded and made for the house. He disappeared into night’s void, consumed by shadows.

Jon faced the others. “Make haste!”

“Haste!” echoed Bloodbeak.

Jon headed a charge across the field, Ghost at his heels. The others trailed behind him. Shane hurried to his side, grinning.

“Hershel will thank you for this one day,” he said. “But whatever happens next, we’ve got your back.”

Jon trusted Shane’s smile about as much as he trusted the moon to fall out of the sky.

“Back!” Boodbeak shot overhead; a feathered, black arrow flying across the night sky.

Ghost raced ahead; a white comet, shooting through night’s black grass.

The barn raced to meet them. It rose higher and higher until it obscured the dagger moon and cast them in a moonlight shadow. From afar, it looked like a shack. Up close, half a great hall. Night robbed it of any colour or texture, leaving only a looming, square, silhouette. As they arrived before its tall, twin doors, shouts boomed across the fields. Jon looked over his shoulder. Three lanterns bathed Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Rick, Daryl, Jenner and Lori in golden light. Rick held a rifle, Jenner a shotgun, and Daryl his crossbow. The Greenes held no weapons. They raced along the gravel path to the barn, their lanterns teetering, like three drunk fireflies. Someone shouted something but his voice failed to carry the distance.

Jon faced the others, his back to the barn’s high doors. Night’s shadows permitted the four nothing but vague silhouettes. Ghost bared his fangs at the barn. His hackles raised. Bloodbeak perched atop the peak of the barn’s roof. He muttered.

Jon shouted commands. “Form up! Shoulder to shoulder! Keep the dead at arm’s length and an eye out for those beside you. If the dead get past your arms, take three steps back and strike the head! There aren’t many. Let’s finish this swiftly!”

“Swift!” Bloodbeak screeched.

The group formed a straight line twenty paces from the barn’s doors, shoulder to shoulder, weapons raised. Hershel’s voice carried through the air, like a great, bellowing horn.

“STOOOOOOP! STOOOOOOP!”

“Stop!” the raven cackled.

Shrill, wails filled the air. The barn’s doors rattled, tugging the rusted chain. Jon stood before the others, Longclaw grasped in both hands, Ghost alert at his side. “Ready?!”

“Ready!” The other shouted as one.

Jon whipped around, charged the door and cleaved the chain. Longclaw ate through rusted steel. White sparks spat. The chain collapsed. The doors flew open. Corpses spilled out, tripping, scrambling, moaning, wailing and clawing for Jon. Jon robbed one of its head with a backhanded slash before hurrying to join the line. He nestled between Shane and Andrea. Ghost skulked the line’s flank eyeing the corpses with sharp, red eyes. The dead bumbled towards them. A rotten stench attacked Jon’s nose. His scarred hand throbbed. Fire blazed in his chest. The raven cackled.

Beth screamed and cried. Hershel begged and raged. A faint voice strained to shout. But Jon heard no words, only the wails of the dead.

“Hold!” He bellowed. The line stiffened around him. Blades raised as one.

The dead scrambled forward, reaching and screeching. When they were within arms reach, Jon bellowed again.

“Strike!”

Together, five blades met five rotten heads. Flesh squelched. Skulls shattered. Black blood sprayed. Rotten corpses collapsed. In an instant, new corpses replaced the old.

“Strike!”

Five blades moved as one. Five more corpses fell.

“Strike!”

They raised their blades. A corpse veiled in long hair, stiff like copper wire, lunged past T-Dog’s arms. Quick as a flash, T-Dog retreated three steps. The corpse chased, scrambling. T-Dog brought his hatchet down with both hands. The corpse’s head burst like a melon. It collapsed at his feet.

“Step back! One! Two! Three!”

With each count, they took a step back, aligning with T-Dog. A short distance separated them from the dead. They raised their blades.

“Strike!”

Five corpses spluttered and died as five blades collapsed their skulls. Only two corpses remained, stumbling and tripping over their fallen comrades, apathetic to their defeat. Jon stepped forward and decapitated them both with a two-handed slash. The dead wailed no more. Only Beth. Jon wiped a smear of rot from his brow then faced the Greene family, unashamed.

Beth sobbed on her knees. Hershel – kneeling beside her – glared at Jon with such malice that the very air soured. Maggie, Rick and Daryl stood behind them, holding lanterns. They stared at the corpses with hollow eyes. Jenner squeezed past them and began checking T-Dog over for bites. Lori supported Rick and his trembling leg, eyes fixed on the ground. Dale lingered at Rick’s flank, glaring at Jon.

“Look what he’s done!” Dale pointed at Beth.

Jon flicked black blood off of Longclaw and pointed it at the fallen corpses. “Look what we stopped.”

Dale’s rage flared like a flame stoked by the wind. Jon paid it little mind, only Rick’s mattered. Gold light and black shadows went to war on Rick’s face, muddling the features. But they did naught to hide the sadness. His eyes, drooped and hollowed, meandered back and forth between the fallen corpses and the wailing girl. Then, they found Jon.

“Why?” he asked.

Jon opened his mouth to answer but Shane’s voice spoke in his stead. “He stepped up, man! Did what needed to be done, for the greater good, while you sat around doing jack shit!”

Rick's eyes snapped to Shane as if noticing him for the first time. Suddenly, a breath of strength blew through Rick’s frail frame. He stood tall and broadened his shoulders, all while his eyes remained hollow and sullen. Lori stiffened and hugged his arm to her chest but Rick wrenched free.

“Greater good?” He threw down his rifle and marched towards Shane.

Shane cocked his head. “The hell’re you-”

Rick cracked Shane upside the head. His jaw spun and he hit the dirt like a sack of flour. Cursing, Shane made to stand but Rick stomped on his chest, slamming him back into the dirt. Quick like lightning, Rick whipped out his revolver and pointed it at Shane’s face. Shane’s eyes bulged. Slow and careful, he raised his hands, dropping his cleaver.

“Don’t you ever talk about the greater good. Not you.” Rick spoke in a low, hushed drawl.

Shane honed on the gun, eyes darting and twitching. “That- That thing ain’t loaded.”

Rick pointed the revolver at the dirt beside Shane’s head. Thunder cracked. The dirt exploded. Shane cried out and covered his face.

“Ain’t it?”

Beth’s sobbing ceased. Everyone stared at Rick and his gun, silent and still. Only the raven dared to cackle.

“Rick…” Jon lowered Longclaw. “Put down the gun.”

Rick’s eyes never left Shane. He pointed the gun at him again. “Whatever this is. Whatever you were tryin’ to do, won’t work. You ain’t the leader anymore. I am. Lori ain’t yours. She’s mine. Carl ain’t yours. He’s mine. And the baby? Mine too. I don’t give a shit who fathered it. It’s mine. You’ll never play any role in its life and you’ll never play a part in leadin’ these people again. Do I make myself clear?”

“The baby?” Shane uncovered his face and looked at Lori. His voice trembled. “Lori’s pregnant?”

Lori scowled at him, placed a hand on her belly and turned from him. The life drained from Shane’s face. He slumped and stared at the sky.

“You look at me.” Rick dug his heel in.

Shane grimaced and glared at Rick.

“You try to rape my wife again, I’ll kill you. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t be near her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal…”

Rick sheathed his revolver and turned his wrath on Jon and those beside him. “What the hell is this? What’d he say to get y’all to actin’ like this?”

Jon’s grip on Longclaw tightened but that’s as far as his own wrath showed. Ice snuffed the fire in his chest as he put on a Stark face. “Nothing. They acted under my orders. We did what needed to be done. They were housing these monsters, here, on our land, mere minutes walk from your injured son. Look at them all.” Jon pointed Longclaw at the corpses again. “What would have happened if they got out in the night? Ambushed us in our sleep? We’d have been slaughtered.”

Rick did not look. “These people believe that the walkers are only sick. That their family is only sick. You should have come to me. To Hershel. Like Dale and Jenner. So these people could say their goodbyes. Don’t they deserve that? After everything they’ve done for us?”

“The bodies are still here. Goodbyes are easier said to still corpses rather than moving ones.”

“Corpses?!” Hershel bellowed. He attacked Rick and Jon with a gaze of venom. “These people are sick! They’re alive!” Suddenly, all the venom and malice and hate drained from Hershel. His shoulders slumped. Tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks. “My boys… my wife… they were alive. Alive. You monsters…”

Beth flung her skinny arms around her father and sobbed into his chest. Hershel squeezed her and buried his face in her golden hair.

Maggie crept forward, eyes hollow. “Dad… let’s go inside… okay?” She touched Hershel’s shoulders.

“No! I need to bury her. I need to-”

Beth gasped and screamed. A corpse lingered in the barn’s doorway. What once was a woman, skulked forward with careful, slow steps. Its head turned left then right then left then right, scanning the group. Ghost moved in front of Jon, fangs bared in a silent snarl. The walker’s eyes snapped to him at once. It froze and hunched.

“Variant…” Jenner murmured.

Hershel whispered. “Please…” He shouted. “Please! Not her! Don’t kill my wife! Oh god, please have mercy! Have mercy, god, oh please!”

“Please!” Beth echoed, staring at Jon with wide, teary eyes.

Jon whistled a short, sharp note and touched Ghost’s rear. The direwolf bolted for the variant. Wailing, the corpse broke out into a janky, disjointed sprint. Ghost tackled it to the ground, clamped his jaws around its head and tore it from its shoulders. Black blood erupted from the neck, matting Ghost’s muzzle. He tossed the head aside and it let out a gurgled shriek.

Hershel deflated. “Why…” Hershel hugged Beth to his chest, defeated.

“I’ll show you.” Jon made his way over to the shrieking head.

“Dammit, Jon. Stop.” Rick stepped to follow. His knee buckled and hit the dirt. Grunting, he struggled to stand.

While Lori rushed to help him back to his feet, no one else made a move. Jon snatched up the head by its hair, carried it to Hershel and held it level with the old man’s eyes. It fixed its yellow eyes on Hershel, wailed, snapped its jaws and gnashed its teeth. Beth screamed and scrambled away on all fours. Hershel’s eyes widened.

Rick choked. “Jon! Stop!”

“G-Get it away!” Hershel cried.

“No. You look. Does she look alive to you? She has no heart, no blood, nothing but a brain. Yet her eyes stare at you all the same.” Jon moved the head back and forth. The eyes tracked Hershel left and right. “Do you see love in these eyes? Do you see the woman you loved? The mother of your children?” The head gnashed its jaws. Its teeth sunk into its tongue. Black blood oozed from its mouth.

Fear, grief, horror; it all faded as Hershel’s eyes hollowed. Jon whipped the head away and dashed it across the hard, gravel ground. Fire blazed in his chest and arms. The skull smashed, like brittle pottery. All wailing, shrieking and snapping of jaws ceased as it lay on the gravel, split open and oozing black blood.

“Do you see now? The fool you have been?”

“Fool!” Bloodbeak flapped his wings.

Hershel stared past Jon, at the oozing head.

“Mama…” Beth whimpered.

Hershel’s eyes sharpened. Wrath darkened his face. Trembling, he struggled to his feet, fists clenched, upper lip curled. “You get out…”

“Hershel-” Rick began.

“You get out! Now! All of you! I won’t have you here you… you fucking monsters!”

Hershel snapped on his heels and marched back to the house. Maggie and Daryl parted to let him through. Beth eyed Jon the way a doe might eye a wolf before scrambling after her father. Stiff and tentative, Maggie approached Rick and Jon.

“I-I’ll talk to him. Make him see reason. Y’all…” she swallowed and straightened her back. “Y’all are right. They ain’t sick. Never were. They’re dead… all of them… this whole time. Fuck.” Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. She scowled and scrubbed them. But they flowed all the same.

Glenn sheathed his machete and approached Maggie. She flung her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder. Glenn’s arm bundled her. Sobs overtook Maggie.

“Take all the time you need,” Rick said, raspy, barely above a whisper. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we can talk with your father together.”

Maggie nodded and allowed Glenn to lead her back to the house.

Jon approached Rick. “I should accompany you to these talks. I-”

“Stop.” Rick’s eyes drooped. “Ain’t you done enough tonight? Stay out here, away from Hershel and away from his daughters. Dig the graves. You owe them that much.”

“Graves are of little import. Hershel’s threatened our safety, again. I’m more experienced in negotiation than you. My place is at your side during these talks.”

“Your place is where I say it is,” Rick snapped. “I’m the leader, ain’t I? That’s what you keep sayin’. So, do what you’re fuckin’ told, Jon. Do I make myself clear?” As Rick’s voice rose, hot with wrath, a tremble shivered through his body. His legs betrayed him, forcing him to lean on Lori.

“Don’t push yourself. You’re still recoverin’,” Lori said.

Rick tried to fend her off, feeble like a man thirty namedays his senior. “I’m fine.”

“No, you ain’t. Come on, back to the house. Lord… your hand.”

Blood oozed from Rick’s knuckles. Rick glared at Shane, still sprawled out on the gravel. “It’ll heal.” He hobbled off, leaning on Lori, back towards the house. Dale followed them. Daryl and Jenner lingered. A quick nod from Jon sent them to follow too. Ice flowed through Jon’s veins as he watched them leave.

For all their strength, these people come from a land of summer, of wealth and luxury. I mustn’t forget that. They know nothing of true hardships, of winter and long nights. I can not be their shield against it, for it is already among them. But I can catch them as winter’s howl bowls them over. I must, for when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

Ghost nuzzled Jon’s side. Jon scratched the direwolf’s ears as he faced the three who still remained. Night’s pitch veil hid all their faces. Andrea’s and T-Dog’s silhouettes stood tall and stiff, like shadow-garbed sentinels. Shane remained on his back, staring at the stars.

“This was right,” Andrea assured. “It was… it was.”

“That shit with the head, that’s evil shit, man.” T-Dog slid his hatchet’s handle beneath his belt. “Too far.”

“They needed to see these monsters for what they are,” Jon said. “Killing them showed only that they can fall, something that was plain, even to a madman’s eyes. The impossible screeching of a severed head can not be so easily dismissed as mere sickness.”

“Don’t make it any less evil.”

“Evil!” Bloodbeak cawed.

I know. But Jon did not say that out loud.

“Whatever it takes to wake them up is worth it,” Andrea said, knives still in hand. “We don’t have time to baby them.”

“Don’t have to be cruel neither,” T-Dog snapped. “Dale was right, this was a mistake. I mean, shit, look at who the first one was to jump on board was.” T-Dog pointed to Shane. Shane said naught nor did naught in response. “Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“In time, Hershel and Beth shall thank us,” Jon said.

“Thank! Thank!” Bloodbeak cawed.

“Exactly,” Andrea said.

T-Dog shook his head. “I ain’t fuckin’ arguin’ with you two. I’m too goddamn tired… I’ll see y’all in the mornin’, to bury them.”

Jon stepped in front of T-Dog as he made to leave. “You can’t.”

“Why?” T-Dog asked, curt and gruff. He loomed a head and half tall over Jon, face veiled in moonlight shadow.

“We must ensure the barn is truly empty. Lurkers may remain.”

T-Dog stared down at him, stiff and tall. “Fine. Then I sleep.”

“Then you sleep.”

“Sleep!” Bloodbeak echoed.

T-Dog readied his hatchet. Andrea, her knives. Jon loomed over Shane.

“Don’t,” Shane said at once. “I’m coming.” He shut his eyes, sighed then rolled onto his knees. After a moment of searching, he snatched his cleaver from the grass and stood.

Together, Jon and Shane lined up between Andrea and T-Dog. Ghost headed their advance through the barn’s towering entrance. Rot’s stench and night’s pitch made Ghost’s nose and Jon’s eyes useless. So, Jon relied on their hearing. Lurkers possessed more stealth than their roaming counterparts. But still, they lacked the wits for true stealth. While faint, their breathing gave them away each and every time if one had the sense to listen.

“Ghost, hunt,” Jon whispered, Longclaw ready.

Ghost’s ears pricked as they entered the tall, multi-levelled, wooden box. Head raised, Ghost slunk into the main aisle across rot-smeared straw and past two stalls. He paused beneath a ladder, the third and final stall to his right. A twitch fluttered his left ear and the direwolf crept through an open door to his left. Jon followed, flanked by the others and their rot-smeared blades. Bloodbeak swooped after them. Perched high among the rafters, he watched them creep, muttering to himself.

Through the door, darkness was at its strongest in a long, windowless room. The vague, shadowy outlines of sinks and counters lined the walls. Jugs topped the counters. Barrels littered the tiled floor, half of which lay turned over. Ghost crept between the barrels, swift like a salmon against the current. A long smear left a slick trail to the back of the room. At the end of the trail, two lurkers sat propped up against a wide, steel refrigerator built into the wall. Bloated, rotting and smeared with all sorts of rancid fluids, hardly even human. Their forms melded together, indistinguishable from any other living corpse. Only a cap and a tangle of filthy, curly hair afforded them an identity.

Ghost sat on his haunches before them at a distance of a dozen or so paces. Jon eyed Andrea. Her eyes met his at once. He pointed to her then the fat corpse with the cap, then to himself and the skinny corpse with the tangled curls. Andrea nodded and readied a knife, holding it by the blade. Jon raised Longclaw to his chest with a two-handed grip, poised to stab. Side by side, Jon and Andrea crept past Ghost to approach the dead. T-Dog trailed Andrea, Shane trailed Jon, hatchet and cleaver at the ready. They froze three or so paces from the lurkers. Andrea raised the knife level with her ear. Jon twisted his body and lowered Longclaw to above his hip. After a nod from Andrea, Jon nodded. Stepping forward, Andrea flung the knife. It tumbled hilt-over-blade and embedded square in the middle of the corpse’s forehead. Gurgling, the corpse slumped to the side. The one beside stirred. Two quick steps and a thrust of Longclaw stopped the monster. Longclaw passed through flesh and skull and the steel door behind with ease.

Both corpses lay dead and bleeding but no one relaxed. Ghost lifted his head. Side to side his head turned, slow and cautious. His ears stayed still. Jon trusted Ghost more than any man. But even so, he led a sweep through the barn. A silo room; room for tact and feed; a large room for housing vehicles; the three stalls and the second-story open space for housing mounds of straw. Ghost had the right of it. No other lurkers lingered.

After they’d combed through the straw mounds, Jon sheathed Longclaw. He approached T-Dog. “Sleep here tonight. It’s safer than out there.”

“I ain’t sleepin’ here. Not while it smells like death. I’m sleepin’ in my tent. See y’all in the mornin’ when the diggin’ starts. Lords knows it’ll be a day’s job.” T-Dog shouldered past Jon and made for the ladder.

“Death!” Bloodbeak cackled. He swooped and perched on Jon’s shoulder. “Death! Death! Death!”

Internally, Jon sighed. Outwardly, he kept a Stark’s face and turned to Andrea and Shane. “Best you two go with him. He can’t sleep alone, especially out there.”

“Yup. I’ll keep watch. Out of y’all’ sight.” Shane left.

Andrea nodded at Jon. “Sure but the same goes for you. I can’t let you sleep alone either.”

“I won’t. Once I’m finished here, I’ll join you.”

“What else is there to do?”

“Digging. I spied a few shovels in one of the backrooms.”

“That can wait ‘till morning. The dead ain’t going anywhere.”

“No, but I’ll be hard-pressed for sleep regardless. T-Dog had the right of it, digging that many graves will be take a full day of labour. Mayhaps two. Best to get an early start.”

“Then I’ll stay too. I killed them, same as you. Ain’t fair to leave all the work to you.”

“I need you in the camp.”

“T-Dog’ll be fine with Shane watchin’ over him. After that shit with Rick, fucker’s probably more hard-pressed for sleep than anyone. Besides, you can’t stay out here alone. It ain’t safe.”

“I’m not alone. Ghost and Bloodbeak will watch over me. And, someone needs to watch Shane.”

Andrea paused then nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Ain’t exactly feeling sleepy myself.”

“You have my thanks.”

Andrea arched an eyebrow. “Is Bloodbeak the bird’s name?”

Jon’s heart weighed in his chest. “Aye… it is.”

Together, Jon and Andrea descended the ladder to an awaiting Ghost. They ruffled his shaggy, white fur each before going their separate ways. While Andrea followed Shane and T-Dog across the fields of grass, blackened by the night, Jon carried a shovel to the base of the hill. He stabbed the shovel’s rusted spade at the ground. Hard, compact dirt greeted him, rocking him to the core.

***

The rising sun peeked above the treeline, breathing warm red light into the world once again. Night’s shadows scattered, broken by daylight’s charge. Colour returned; A sky of reds and pinks, fields of greens and golds, a house of whites, vehicles of silvers and blacks and creams, tents of blues, and a barn of reds and whites. Jon shovelled brown earth, hard as stone into yet another pile.

Eight graves lined the base of the barn’s hill, spaced evenly, six feet deep. The work turned a set of lungs into blazing furnaces, searing each ragged breath. Turned a set of arms to ethereal spectres, numb and unfeeling. Turned a back to a stiff board, in risk of breaking. Floundered a heart, until it begged for respite.

All the pains of some other man.

The man Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell, Boy Commander of The Wall, knew no such pains, only duty, honour and the labour they demanded. His lungs knew nothing of furnaces or ragged breaths, only inhale and exhale and inhale and exhale. His arms knew nothing of spectres or unfeeling, only thrust and stab and thrust and stab. His back knew nothing of boards or breaking, only lift and dump and lift and dump. His heart knew nothing of floundering or respite, only a steady beat like a marching drum.

Somewhere, far off, black wings fluttered, red eyes stared, a hand grasped firm and a woman’s voice whispered.

“Get some rest. We’ll take it from here.”

His arms thrust but no impact greeted them and no stab followed. Again, they thrust and again, nothing. Jon found no shovel in his hands. The firm grasp guided him away from the grave to the hill. The staring red eyes and fluttering black wings followed. No. Not yet. I am not done, not even halfway. For all his mind’s complaining, his legs, stubborn and heedless, carried him from his work. Grass greeted his back, swaddling pain unfelt. Red skies and pink clouds replaced the brown of an undug grave. A black, winged silhouette of fluttering black feathers circled the red sky. A great, white mass with staring, red eyes lay on his chest. Sleep took him unawares in some cowardly ambush and robbed him of all sensation in one fell swoop. The cold embrace! Terror gripped him. But only until wolf dreams carried it away.

He found himself dreaming in his wolf’s body, as he so oft did. Something wasn’t right. His paws were too big, his legs too weak, and his body too small. A great weight tugged on his eyelids. He had to fight to keep them open. A desperate hunger hounded him, demanding flesh and blood and… milk. He was a pup again, dragging himself through endless, towering, thick grass. As he had the day the men their pups found him and his brothers all those moons ago. Perhaps he was in a memory, remembering. No. He couldn’t be. There had been no grass that day, only snow.

He dragged himself through a field of grey grass with a pup’s weak, uncomely front paws. Blazing white clouds meandered across a pitch sky. Some creature, jade-green with wings and scales stalked him, as small as him but surefooted. It peered through the blades of grass with sharp, bronze eyes. Whether it be prey or hunter, it kept a distance, only hissing or baring a mouth of black teeth, thin like twigs. He bore his fangs in a silent snarl but the creature didn’t flinch or cringe. It hissed and then spat a jet of yellow flames. The flames tickled his fur but did not burn nor even feel hot.

A great wind howled, billowing hot like fresh blood. Red lightning struck the earth. The earth shook. The skies thundered. Grey grass snapped to black. White clouds blazed red. But the sky remained black and starless. A man stood over him and the scaled stalker. Tall and broad of shoulder, the man loomed like a mountain made flesh. Beneath shot-cut, silver hair, purple eyes gazed down at him and only him. They saw naught of the stalker. Three great shadows stood behind the man, taller than the red clouds. They beat great wings that spanned the sky and breathed pillars of red flame that looped horizon to horizon. A top the man’s head, the man wore a circle of black, rippled metal set with fat, square, red stones. In his hands, he held another metal circle, this one bronze and set with tall metal fangs, long and sharp enough to drive fear into even the strongest wolves. The man tossed it at him, lazy and uninterested. It landed before his paws, the points of its teeth stood a deal taller than him. He had no use for the metal circles of men. The stalker thought different. It pounced on the circle and attacked with claws and twig-teeth. But did little more than dent and scratch the metal fangs. It screeched a complaint and spat a jet of yellow flames. The bronze teeth drooped, sagged and dribbled until they were a ring of gums. Three pairs of eyes, large like six moons upon the black, starless sky, gazed upon the stalker. As did the purple eyes of the man. He smiled.

The grass shrank, allowing his head to peek over. No. He grew. His legs lengthened, his body grew and his paws became surefooted. The scaled stalker grew with him and more. It grew and grew, taller, longer, and fatter until it was the size of a horse. It looked down on him with bronze eyes. Yellow and red flames flickered in the corners of its jaws like blazing, writhing snakes.

A great wind howled, billowing hot like fire. Gold lighting flashed. The earth shook. The skies thundered. Black grass snapped to crimson red. Red clouds blazed gold. But the sky remained black and starless. The man and his giant shadows vanished. A man-pup and a jawless dog with purple-white fur and gold eyes replaced them. The man-pup stood as tall as the man before, chest puffed and jaw tight, as if it thought itself a man grown. Pouty lips and a soft face marked it as a pup all the same. Curly, blonde hair curtained a set of deep green eyes that flared, wild and untameable. The man-pup tightened its grip on a long man-claw as tall as the man-pup itself, made of smoky metal, dark and rippled deep. The purple-white dog stared with golden eyes, unabashed. Dogs were meant to fear direwolves, to bow their heads and tuck their tails. But this dog sat on its haunches, head high, tail stiff and pointed at the sky. Dried blood matted its purple and white fur crimson around the gaping wound where a jaw ought to be. Fresh blood oozed from the wound and dribbled onto the severed head of a man at the dog’s feet. Tar caked the head’s long face and hair, veiling it black. The featureless, black face gawked, shocked and fearful; ambushed prey. The man-pup tossed the valyrian blade and kicked the head. Both rested at his paws. He had no use for man-claws when he had teeth and the tar spoiled any worthwhile flesh of the head. But in a flash, the scaled stranger snatched the head between its jaws. It spewed yellow-red flames until the tar dribbled molten from its jaws then devoured it. It left the valyrian blade, only gazing at it with fond eyes. The man-pup’s eyes flashed crimson red, speckled gold. It cackled and pointed right at him.

He grew again, as tall as the scaled stranger and then more; taller than any man; longer than any horse. Strength pumped through his veins that made him feel untouchable and unchangeable. But also alone and spiteful. The scaled stalker grew too, and grew, and grew, and grew until it lost form and became a jade-green shadow with wings that spanned the skies. Yellow, orange and red flames erupted where a mouth should be; long reaching tendrils that snaked from horizon to horizon like bands of molten metal. Two bronze eyes as large as moons bore into him. He bared his fangs. The scaled stalker roared.

A great wind howled, billowing with heat beyond heat. Blue lightning flashed. The earth shook. The skies thundered. Crimson grass snapped to silver-grey. Golden clouds blazed blue. But the sky remained black and starless. Some amalgamation of man, weasel and vulture replaced the man-pup and its jawless dog. The vulture-weasel-man laughed, his bald, spotted head glinted yellow, orange and red beneath the flames. In one, wrinkled, frail hand he held the head of a man-pup by its thick, red-brown hair. In the other, the vulture-weasel-man held a circle of bronze inscribed with old, powerful words forgotten by the likes of men. The vulture-weasel-man laughed at him again and then tossed both to his paws. The old words called for gods, kings and glory. The man-pup’s dead eyes called for mother, brothers and mercy. At his hip, the vulture-weasel-man reached for the wood hilt of a man-claw poking out of a long, leather pouch. But rather than a man-claw, the vulture-weasel-man drew a thin club bound in barbed steel thread. A stranger’s voice broke the silence with a laugh louder than thunder. The scaled roared and unleashed a torrent of orange-and-yellow flames shot through with veins of green. They consumed all; the sky; the clouds; the grass; the vulture-weasel-man. And just as it reached him, everything snapped to black.

Jon awoke with a start and a shout, human and unburnt, except for his hand. The old burn wounds ached as if fresh again. His heart raced as if admits a battle. Ghost stood alert at his side, red eyes wide, white fur on ends, fangs bared in a silent snarl at the sky, blue with white clouds. Jon left the embrace of the green grass to stand. Before him were twelve graves. Andrea and Glenn worked at a thirteenth, T-Dog and Maggie at a fourteenth. Or at least they would be if they weren’t all staring at him.

“You good?” Andrea asked.

Jon took a deep breath. His racing heart calmed. “Aye. Just a bad dream. Nothing more.” His burn scars throbbed.

“Had some too, man,” T-Dog said, glowering.

Jon opened and closed his scarred hand. “Is there another shovel? I must repay you for working in my stead.”

“Nah, but you can have mine. I need a break anyway.” Andrea left the thirteenth grave, handed Jon her shovel and lounged on a bed of green grass. She sighed and smiled.

Jon joined Glenn, knee-deep in the thirteenth grave. The sun blazed high above their heads, casting shallow, midday shadows. I’ve slept too long and missed too much. Jon tightened his cloak.

“Have Rick and Hershel had their talk yet?” He stabbed his shovel into the dirt.

Glenn nodded. “Rick talked him into letting us stay until Carl and Sophia heal.”

“And after?” Jon lifted a heaping mound of dirt.

Glenn gummed his lips.

“We leave,” T-Dog said.

“Those were his words?” Jon dumped the dirt onto a mound beside the grave.

“Yes but I can talk him down,” Maggie said. “He’s reasonable, really. He just needs some time is all.”

“No. He’s right,” T-Dog said. “There are other farms. If he wants us gone, we don’t gotta stay at this one.”

But are they as easy to defend, free of the dead and full of crops ready to harvest? The debate could wait.

Jon plunged his shovel. “What does Rick think of leaving?”

Glenn shrugged. “After the talk with Hershel, he hasn’t talked to anyone, just went straight back to sleep. I don’t know how many more transfusions he can take…”

Not good. “He’ll awaken stronger than ever. What of Beth? How does she fair?” Jon lifted a mound.

“Listen for yourself,” Maggie said.

Jon dumped the mound outside the grave and listened. A faint melody drifted across the farm. Far off, Jon saw Beth, knelt before the great oak, head bowed. Jenner sat at a short distance, watching the field beyond the fence behind her.

“She’s been singing all day, the same song over and over,” Glenn said. “If you try to talk to her she just sings over you. She won’t eat or drink. Her throat’s gonna go raw…”

“Girl’s lost her fucking mind,” Andrea muttered.

“Ain’t we all?” T-Dog asked.

“You see any of us acting like that?”

“She’s young.” Maggie bore a scowl into the bottom of the fourteenth grave. “She’ll come around.”

Lost wits were the least of Jon’s concerns. The girl could be dealt with. Jon stabbed the dirt. “What of Dale?”

Scowling, Andrea sat up and pointed to the camp. Atop the RV, Dale watched the woods without a weapon. “Been there ever since Beth sang over his attempt to comfort her. Only answers with fucking one-word answers, like a kid.”

As long as Dale stayed where he was, Jon rather he acts a child than the fool he’d been last night. “And where is Hershel?” Jon lifted a mound of dirt.

“Drinking on the porch,” Andrea said. “He’ll finish all the booze before the day’s done. Then our only disinfectant will be the stuff you and Jenner brought back for Carl. And half of that’s already been used.”

Jon dumped the dirt and squinted at the house. Sure enough, Hershel sat on the rickety stairs of the porch, surrounded by a dozen bottles, half were empty. The old man emptied a bottle down his gullet and then tossed it. It spun through the air in a high arch before shattering on the gravel. In an instant, another bottle replaced it in his hand. The truth will make him stronger, in time. Jon turned his attention back to digging.

“What of our supplies? Has a tally been counted?”

“Yeah, I did it this morning, after Rick and Hershel spoke.” A grin spread across Glenn’s face. “Our own supplies are lacking, like usual. Two days of food, three of water, one of fuel, no ammo, no medicine. But Hershel’s is better. There’s a month’s worth of wheat, onions and radishes in his silos. A well outside the fence will give us water forever so long as it rains. No fuel, but we’ve got horses now so it doesn’t really matter. And there’s plenty of medicine but best of all, he’s got ammo and guns. Fifty shotgun rounds. A dozen boxes of 38 calibre rounds. He’s got an old double barrel shotgun from like the fifties or something, a smith & weston and a hunting rifle not to mention the shotgun and revolver you and Jenner brought back.”

“Aye, good.” Jon spied the well, atop a hill a good distance beyond the fence. “We’ll need to fortify the well. If a roamer falls in we’ll be without drink until we find more or dig a new one.”

“Shit, yeah. Good call.”

Black flies swarmed at the base of the barn, droning a dull buzz.

“What of the dead? How many graves must we dig? Who can we burn?”

“Fifteen,” Maggie said. “Three were family. Our mom… well, Beth’s mom. And our brothers Jimmy and Billy. Six were neighbours; Mr and Mrs O’Donnel, Mr Grimshaw, Old Man Jack and his twin boys Luey and Huey. Four were friends; Wallace Jenkins, Danny Eve, Felicity Summers and Alex Culver. Two were farmhands Otis White and his girlfriend Patrica Roda. The other five are strangers. We can burn them.”

“We should bury them too,” T-Dog said. “These were people once. We have the time to dig graves now. Everyone deserves one, stranger or not.”

“We should burn them all. Graves are a waste of time,” Andrea said. “I ain’t digging anymore than I have to. Bury the family and friends, burn the strangers.”

“They’re all people,” T-Dog shovelled dirt onto a pile.

“They’re all dead. Burned or buried, they disappear all the same,” Andrea rested on the grass, hands behind her head.

“Burning makes more sense.” Glenn leaned on his shovel. “If we dig a grave for each of them, that’s another six graves we gotta dig but if we burn the others, that’s only one more. And frankly, we’ve got better ways to spend our time right now.”

“We’ll dig two more,” Jon said. “The fifteenth will be like the rest but the sixteenth we’ll make twice as deep and bury the strangers together.”

“A mass grave? …” Glenn asked.

“Five people’s hardly a mass grave,” Andrea said.

“They deserve to be buried,” Jon said. “But our time is precious. Let’s not spend more than we have to. Don’t forget we still have to re-fill the graves.”

Maggie shrugged. “Whatever, if you wanna dig twelve feet deep, do as you please. I ain’t diggin’ for strangers.”

“Me neither,” Andrea said.

“I will,” T-Dog said. “You too, right Glenn?”

Glenn sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

“I appreciate it,” Jon said. “Now, let’s get back to work.”

And so they did.

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Next chapter, After Jon cleared the barn of walkers, tensions have never been higher. Yet, after an uncomfortable truth is revealed to the group, said tensions reach their absolute breaking point.