Dusk settled over the farm, all pinks and reds. Sixteen graves lined the base of the barn’s hill, fourteen filled and marked, two open and empty. Fourteen crosses marked the filled graves, casting long shadows upon the hill. Fourteen long, reaching black fingers upon a field of pink and red grass. From afar, Jon watched Dale and T-Dog lower a corpse into the fifteenth grave. Careful, as if the corpse was pottery and glass rather than flesh and bones. Once, to hear Hershel tell it, the corpse had been Alex Culver, a friend of Beth’s, always smiling, always joking. Hershel’s voice travelled with the wind, drifting across the farm.

“May you forgive whatever sins he committed through human weakness and in your goodness, grant him eternal rest.” Hershel snapped shut a little book and bowed his head.

At the foot of the grave, Beth buried her face into Maggie’s chest. Her shoulder’s heaved and shook. A great tremble shot through her, buckling her knees. Maggie took hold of her, stopping her from falling. Tearless, she watched Dale and T-Dog fill the grave, silent and still. Hershel tucked his little book away into a pocket. Embracing his daughters from behind, he held them firm against his chest.

Jon watched the burial from across the fields, sat at the long plastic table, eating the last of the canned corn. Beside him, Glenn watched Maggie comfort her sister, bouncing his knee. Andrea sat across from them, focused on nothing but her bowl of corn. Beside her, Jenner occasionally gave Jon a sour look but otherwise focused on his corn too. In the seat beside the head of the table, Lori watched Rick with a frown. They’d planned on aiding the burial, but so had Hershel. Professions of apologies had earned Dale and T-Dog a role in the burials. Rick commanded that the rest gather around the plastic table but now, he stood out in the fields. Unaided, halfway between the graves and the camp, he watched the burials. But from afar all the same

“It’s time,” he’d whispered to Jon as they’d gathered.

Daryl, Carol and Shane were hidden away. Shane had vanished inside his tent come sunrise, to hear it told, and hadn’t been seen since. Daryl and Carol had remained inside the house to watch over Sophia, who had grown too weak to risk being left alone.

“Corn!” Bloodbeak strutted up to Jon and pecked his hand. “Corn! Corn!”

“Aye. Corn.” Jon pushed the bowl to the raven.

As Bloodbeak gobbled his precious corn, Jon turned on his stool to watch the woods. Hours ago, Ghost had left to hunt. Oddly, the direwolf’s absence reassured Jon. Ever since re-uniting among the quarry hoard, Ghost had nary left his side. Occasionally he left to hunt but far less frequent than normal. Direwolves aren’t lapdogs or even pets but free spirits. To see him so close, never far from Jon’s heel made the wolf seem as queer as the world they’d found themselves in.

Reassurances had escaped Jon of late. Last night, he’d lied. Unknowingly, but a lie all the same. Taking the farm by force was no longer a simple matter. Rick had made as much clear the moment he’d chastised Jon for putting down the walkers. A glare and a few harsh words complicated everything. Apart from Lori, those who sat around the table would take the farm if need be, undoubtedly. Shane too, but Dale, and now T-Dog, would aid the Greenes. Daryl and Carol were less certain but Jon suspected they would side with the Greenes. A forceful takeover put Sophia at risk. Just as it did Carl. No matter, they had the numbers yet, Jon was under no delusions of his place in the group. They respected him, yes, even trusted him. But at the end of the day, they’d granted Rick the mantle of leader. If Rick told them to leave the farm, they would, no matter what Jon had to say. The farm was life and safety and a chance to rebuild; worth fighting for; worth killing for. He had to make Rick see that. Their old world is dead. New rules reign; rules written in blood.

Once Dale and T-Dog finished refilling the fifteenth grave, Beth planted a wooden cross at its head. The name, Alex Culver, marked the cross. Fourteen other names marked the other crosses. They spoke of friends and family. In a neat row before the sixteenth grave, the corpses of five strangers lay rotting. Dale and T-Dog seized the corpses by shoulders and ankles and then dropped them into the twelve-foot-deep grave. Beth watched on, standing on her own, back straight and stiff. For all her madness and incessant weeping, Jon could not detest the girl the way Andrea could. It took a certain courage to watch so many of those once close to you buried, in succession no less. In time, the truth would make her strong, as it had him, and the others too. Hershel opened his little book again to read a prayer for the strangers. Maggie left her sister and father. She marched across the fields. The wind carried Hershel's words after her.

“God, we thank you for the life that you give us. It is full of work and of responsibility, of sorrow and joy. Today we thank you for these strangers whom we never had the pleasure of learning their names, for what he has given and received. Help us in our mourning and teach us to live for the living in the time that is still left to us. Thank you for eternal life that can give light and joy to our days and years already here on earth. God, we thank you for your Son, Jesus Christ. Help us to see that it is he who opens the gate to the life that shall never die.”

Maggie passed Rick and took a seat at the plastic table beside Glenn. Of all the Greenes, she saw the truth, Jon knew. A thought dawned on Jon. Will she help strangers take over her family’s farm? No, quite unlikely. And would her allegiance with her family be enough to sway Glenn? The man has fallen head over heels for her, like a boy with his first woman. Glenn has sense, but a man’s cock oft persuades him to senseless acts. More and more, a takeover of the farm appeared more and more difficult, even with Rick’s support.

Andrea and Maggie shared an uneasy gaze across the table. Scorn and mistrust soured Andrea’s eyes, and Maggie hardened her own gaze in response.

“You got something to say, Andrea?” Glenn asked, breaking the table’s silence.

His words drew the attention of Lori and Jenner. Even Bloodbeak lifted his good eye from the corn to stare.

“Say!” he quorked.

“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to our gracious host. For however long that lasts.” Andrea shoved a spoonful of corn into her mouth.

Maggie’s lips twisted into a tight, thin scowl. “I’m workin’ with my dad. He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

Andrea swallowed and then scoffed. “I don’t know how things work in fantasy land, but in the real world, the one where dead people walk, time is precious. If y’all are gonna kick us out, just get it over with. Sleep’s fucking impossible while, for all I know, tonight might be my last here.”

“Andrea, cut it out,” Glenn said.

Maggie spoke over him. “I’m sure that must be really hard for you.”

Andrea slammed her palm on the table. “You ain’t got a fucking clue, do you? Fucking du-”

“Enough!” Jon cut above Andrea’s shouts with a Commander’s voice.

All eyes went to him.

“What, you on their side now? You?” Andrea asked.

“This isn’t the time for this. Both of you.”

“Seems as good a time as any other, while we’re all here.”

Jenner spoke, hushed and gurgled. “He’s right.” His eyes found Glenn’s. “It’s time for a more pressing talk.”

Glenn’s eyes widened. “That’s what he wants us here for?”

“What else?”

“The hell are you two talking about?” Andrea asked.

“You’ll see,” Jon said. “Now be quiet, and wait for Rick.”

“You’re keepin’ secrets?” Lori asked.

“Not any longer,” Jon said.

“Fuck waiting, tell us now,” Andrea said.

“I agree.” Lori stiffened in her chair. A scornful gaze flashed Rick’s way.

Jon met Lori with a hard, stern gaze. “I keep secrets when it’s asked of me.”

Lori dodged his eyes and gummed her lips.

“Is this about the virus?” Maggie asked.

Jenner gawked at Maggie, his spoon hanging limp from his grasp. While he gawked, Jon glared at Glenn, who’d paled.

“You told her?”

“I-It just kinda slipped out.”

Andrea scoffed. “Yeah, I bet it did. Jon, just tell us already. You can speak as well as Rick, why’s he gotta tell us?”

“We agreed to tell all of you, at once. And that’s what we’ll do.”

“Well, it seems-”

“We did.” Rick stood at the head of the plastic table. The setting sun draped his face in long shadows and twinkled upon the sheriff’s star pinned to his chest. “The truth about the virus needs to be told to everyone at the same time.”

Andrea wrinkled her nose and scowled, but shut her mouth all the same. Lori grasped Rick’s hand and looked up at him.

“Should we be worried?”

Rick mulled over the question for a lingering moment before sighing. “Yes.”

“Yes!” Bloodbeak cackled, his beak clattering.

“Once they’re finished with the dead, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

“DEAD!” Bloodbeak shrieked. He erupted from the table, a fluttering mass of black feathers, shrieking his damnable head off. “DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!”

Rick’s eye twitched as Bloodbeak soared away towards the barn.

“Did you train him to do that?” Maggie asked.

“No.” Jon shovelled corn into his mouth.

Rick scanned the table and then frowned. “Where’s Daryl and Shane?”

“Shane’s in his tent,” Glenn said. “And Daryl’s with Sophia and Carol.”

“Go get Daryl, he needs to be here. I’ll get Shane.”

Glenn nodded and made to stand.

Jon swallowed his corn. “Daryl already knows.”

Glenn furrowed his brow. “You told him?” He glanced at Maggie.

“Aye.”

Andrea sighed and Jenner gave Jon an incredulous look.

“God…” Rick kneaded the bridge of his brow. He glanced at Maggie. “Is there anyone else who knows?”

“Only Carol,” Jon said, sharp and curt.

Rick’s face softened. “Oh… yeah, right.”

“Some fucking secret guys,” Andrea muttered, poking at her corn.

“You shouldn’t get Shane,” Jon said.

Rick wrinkled his nose. “Why? He know too?”

“No. Your face is the last he’ll want to see right now.”

“True… Fine. You get him then. Glenn, go with him.”

Glenn nodded. “Right.” He left the table.

Jon joined Glenn in making their way across the fields. Shane had set his tent up by the corner of the scrap-metal fence, nestled amongst the wheat. Its blue point poked above the golden stalks. Jon and Glenn waded through the wheat.

“Think he’ll listen?” Glenn asked.

“Not likely,” Jon said.

Glenn’s hand rested on his machete’s red handle. “So, we make him come?”

“Let’s see what kind of state he’s in first.”

“Yeah… Okay.” His hand moved away from his machete.

When they reached the tent, they found it zipped shut.

“Shane. Come out.” Jon spoke slow and clear.

No response.

“Come on, dude. It’s important,” Glenn said.

Again, no response.

Glenn whispered to Jon. “He is in there, right?”

“Shane, come out or we’ll come in.”

Jon waited for one heartbeat, and then another. When he received no response, he crouched and unzipped the tent. Inside, dusk’s pink light filtered through the tent’s blue plastic, casting all in burgundy; a bedroll, a cleaver and a bald man sat in the corner. Curled shavings littered the floor. Patchwork stubble and fresh, small cuts covered Shane’s head. His back to the light, cast in dusk’s shadow, Shane glared at Jon.

“Fuck off.”

Glenn poked his head in after Jon. “Jesus…”

“You need to come with us. Rick wants you at the table.”

Shane smirked. “Look at you two, doin’ glorious leader Rick’s biddin’ like a pair of dogs. He got a treat waitin’ for you when you get back?”

“It’s not a request,” Glenn said.

“Do I really gotta say it twice? Fuck. Off.”

“Glenn, wait outside.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.” Jon entered the tent and sat across from Shane. “Close the flap behind you.”

Glenn’s nose wrinkled. His eyes switched from Shane to Jon and then back to Shane before he clicked his tongue. “Fine.” He stepped back and zipped up the tent.

Jon slid Shane’s cleaver out of the man’s reach. “I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll drag you from your tent and you’ll listen to Rick say the same thing.”

Shane folded his arms. The burgundy light warmed his scabbed and stubbled head. “Whatever. Say your piece, kid.”

“Myself, Rick, Jenner and Glenn have kept a truth from you and the rest of the group.”

Shane arched an eyebrow.

Jon continued. “Jenner revealed to us how the virus actually turns people into walkers. It isn’t the bite. The bite only kills. It’s death itself that creates walkers. We’re all already infected.”

“Okay. That all?”

Jon studied Shane’s face. Stiff, stern features spoke of a lack of shock or concern. A facade, Jon assumed at once. But on closer inspection, his eyes matched the face. The eyes always revealed the truth of a man’s intent. Even so, Jon did not trust them. Perhaps he does not understand. Or perhaps his wits have left.

“You’ve understood what I’ve said?”

“We all become walkers in the end. Got it. Get the fuck out of my tent.”

Madness then. “Not yet. One more thing.”

“Jesus,” Shane chuckled. “What are you, kid? A fuckin’ telegram? Got a little speech from Rick?”

“Don’t overstep yourself. My promise still stands. Try to take control of the group, or revenge on Rick and I’ll kill you.”

Wrinkles furrowed Shane’s brow and shaved head. His jaw clenched. “Got it.”

“Good.” Jon slid Shane’s cleaver back to him and left the tent.

Glenn awaited him outside, hand resting at his machete. “Well? He coming or not?”

“I told him.” Jon headed off into the wheat.

Glenn trailed him. “Dude… seriously. And you gave me shit for telling Maggie. That’s two now, Daryl and Shane.”

“Aye, I know, I know. But it was either that or drag him from the tent.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Glenn clicked his tongue. “How’d he take it?”

“Well. To well. I fear he’s lost his wits.”

“Probably. You see his head? Did he do that with his fucking cleaver?”

“Aye, most likely.”

“We should tell Rick.”

“There we agree.”

Back at the table, Rick met Jon and Glenn’s return with a scowl.

“Where’s Shane?” Rick asked.

“We… ” Glenn glanced at Jon. “Uh…” He rubbed the back of his head.

Jon spoke. “He refused to cooperate. We were left with two options; drag him from the tent or tell him the truth there. I told him the truth.”

“Great,” Andrea grumbled. “One more fucking person who knows.”

Rick sighed. “Fair enough. Good call. Sit down, they’re about done.”

Jon and Glenn retook their seats. At the base of the hill, Dale and T-Dog shovelled the last of the dirt into the sixteenth grave. Hershel and Beth watched side by side, holding the other’s hand.

“How’d he take it?” Rick asked.

“Well enough. Too well. He’d acted like I’d told him something trivial. I fear he’s lost his wits.” Jon said.

Glenn made eye contact with Jon as he nodded confirmation.

“He ain’t crazy, just sulkin,” Rick said.

“No, man. He shaved off all his hair, with his fucking cleaver,” Glenn said.

Rick avoided their eyes. “We’ll keep an eye on him then…”

Lori shuffled on her stool.

“So, this secret is something we can take badly then?” Andrea asked.

“I’m sorry for the waitin’,” Rick said. “Just be patient a little while longer, that’s all I ask.”

“Yeah, whatever…”

In silence, they waited. Dale and T-Dog shovelled the last of the dirt and flattened the grave with their shovels. Beth planted a wooden cross, Hershel spoke some final words, and as one they crossed the fields. They joined the table, on the opposite side to Rick. All except Hershel sat, who stood at table head, scowling.

“What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until mornin’?” He asked.

“You might want to take a seat,” Rick said.

“I’m fine where I am.”

“Alright.” Rick sighed. Head hung, he put his hands on his hips, staring at the table for a moment before addressing them all. “For the past few weeks, it’s been my decision to keep somethin’ from all of y’all. Somethin’ awful. It was my belief that it should be kept from y’all until he had a bit of stability. But now that we’ve got food, water, shelter and medicine, I believe the time has come. A few days after the CDC, Jenner told me how the virus actually turns the dead into walkers. It ain’t the bite. The bite only kills us. It’s death that turns us into walkers, bitten or not. We’re all infected. The whole world.”

Speechless, the group looked around the table at one another with wandering gazes. Hershel sat, took Beth’s hand into his and held his head with the other. Dale, sat up, head tall.

“And you know this for sure, Jenner?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jenner said

“How? What proof is there?”

Jenner wet his lips. “Washington’s CDC ran… experiments, that gave credibility to the theory. In Atlanta we… we were able to reproduce their results consistently.”

Dale’s face dropped. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt?”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“No. No, you can’t know for sure that we’re all infected. You had, what? A week? Maybe two to run your tests? You could have been wrong. You could have missed-”

Andrea scoffed. “You’re a scientist now?”

“Dale’s got a point,” T-Dog said, fidgeting.

Andrea scowled at Dale. “I’m sorry, do you two not remember the first few days of all this? People dropping like flies all over the world at once? Where do you think all those dead ones came from?”

Dale scowled at Andrea. “That was then. You don’t see people just up and dropping dead anymore, do you?”

“The virus mutated in order to adapt to its environment,” Jenner said. “What you’re talking about was the first wave. It spread, symptomless in order to-”

Dale snapped. “I don’t need you to tell me about the start. I was out there, watching everyone I ever cared about die, while you were holed up. Safe and sound. With food and water and hot showers.”

Jenner slammed the table. “Safe and sound?”

“That’s right!”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Stop!” Andrea shouted. She swept a glare over Jenner, Rick, Glenn and Jon. “Who gives a shit about the start? What the hell possessed you to keep this from us?”

Jon steadied his voice. “As Rick said, we believed we required stability before the truth could be revealed.”

“Only Jon and I,” Rick said. “Jenner and Glenn wanted to tell y’all earlier.”

Glenn wrung his hands. “Well, actually I changed my-”

“I don’t care,” Andrea snapped. “We should have been told, all of us, right away. I mean, shit. What would have happened if one us died out there? If one of us passed in our sleep? Got an infection, or sick or, or anything! You put us all in danger, dammit.”

“We were barely keeping it together as is,” Rick said. “To tell y’all the truth would be to take away hope.”

“No,” Lori said. “Andrea’s right, we should have been told. I mean, what is this? We’re keeping secrets now, in some secret council? This is meant to be a democracy. We make decisions as a group.”

Rick took Lori’s hands into his. “This is a democracy. Always will be.”

Lori snatched her hands back. “A democracy is by the people for the people. All the people, not just four.”

“Lori, I-”

Andrea made a sardonic chuckle. “Oh no, we’re a democracy all right. Fucking, shadow government and all.”

Jon began. “It was-”

“Don’t you dare say it was for our own good. I don’t treat you like a kid. Don’t think to treat me like one.”

“A mistake,” Jon finished.

Rick’s brow furrowed, Glenn gawked and Jenner raised an eyebrow.

Jon continued. “And we apologise. It was ill befitting of us to assume you could not handle the truth.”

For a moment, Andrea did naught but stare at him but then her scowl softened somewhat, and her head cocked. Jon concerned himself not with her reaction. Rather, he focused on Hershel, Beth, Dale and T-Dog. Beth glared at him openly across the table. Seething malice swirled dark storms in the blue pools of her eyes. Hershel gazed at nothing particular, hollowed-eyed, squeezing Beth’s hand. Denial and despair twisted and knitted Dale’s brow. T-Dog slumped in his chair, stooping his broad shoulders.

Maggie’s voice came as a surprise. “We’ll never be free of this. Will we?”

Glenn frowned and squeezed her hand. Jenner answered.

“No. Not for a while.”

“C-Couldn’t a cure be made?” Dale asked. “If you got the right equipment?”

“Yeah!” A thin, wavering grin pulled T-Dog’s lips taught. “Once we rebuild, a cure should be possible.”

“Possible. But not in our lifetime.”

“Come now.” Dale smiled. “Look around. This is the bedrock of our future. Civilisation will start a new right here.” Dale prodded the table. “Right here. We can harvest food from the fields, fortify the town, and build houses, and walls to keep out the dead. This could be a sanctuary for others, a place to kindle the embers of a new age. Who knows? Maybe in a few decades, we could have power, government, jobs and laws and, and normalcy. A cure in our lifetimes doesn’t sound too unrealistic.”

“Yeah…” A grin spread across Glenn’s face. “The town’ll have all the infrastructure we need right?”

“Yup,” T-Dog said. “And once we fortify it from the dead, we’ll be back on the path to a normal world.”

“And what happens when another group comes along and wants what we have?” Jon asked.

The smiles and grins vanished as quick as they’d come.

Dale laughed. “Why’d anyone want to do that, when they could have a place here and help rebuild the world?”

“Because in times like these, some people survive by taking what others have.”

Hershel stood. “People like you, you mean?”

“Dad!” Maggie shot to her feet.

Hershel curled his upper lip, snapped on his heels and marched off for the house.

“Don’t yell at him! Traitor!” Beth shouted. Tears welled. She scrubbed them away and took off after her father.

Maggie stormed after her but Glenn remained, shifting and fidgeting in his chair.

“What would we do if another group attacked?” He asked. “We haven’t got any defences. And even if we did, we haven’t got enough weapons to defend it.”

“We don’t fight,” Dale said. “If we offer an olive branch, any reasonable person would accept it.”

“No, they’d see it as a trick,” Jon said.

“But it isn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What then? Do we just attack anyone who comes across this place? We need people to rebuild, not more corpses.”

“Corpses is what we’ll be if we allow just anyone to join us.”

“Enough,” Rick calmly said. “Clearly, there’s a lot to unpack here. It’ll be night soon. Let’s pack in for the night and continue this in the mornin’.”

“That would be best,” Jon said.

Dale nodded. “Fine.”

T-Dog nodded too while Glenn stood, looking towards the house.

“Whatever,” Andrea muttered.

“Hold on,” Lori said.

Glenn froze. “What?”

Lori scowled at him, then Jon and Jenner, but none more so than Rick. “No more secrets. From now on, we share important information as soon as we find out about it.”

“No matter how awful it may be,” Andrea added.

“Sure,” Glenn said.

“Aye, deal,” Jon said.

“Of course,” Jenner said.

Lori arched an eyebrow at Rick.

Grunting, Rick went to one knee and squeezed Lori’s hands. “The truth, now and always.” Pain flashed across his face. His arms trembled.

Lori smiled and punched Rick’s shoulder. “Don’t do that. Get up, idiot, you ain’t recovered yet.”

***

The stench of piss and vomit burned the back of Jon’s throat. Sophia had been laid on her side. Dried vomit crusted the sheets below her mouth. A wet spot darkened the sheets beneath her groin. Her blankets lay heaped in the corner, stinking of all things vile. Her clothes topped the heap of blankets. Only her small clothes remained, darkened by grime. Flakes peeled off of dry, blotchy skin, pale like milk. Blood swelled her feet and ankles, puffing them pink and bulbous. Bald spots littered her head. Only hair thin like straw and brittle like twigs remained. Her chest puffed and fluttered as she wheezed. Empty, glazed eyes stared at the wall while she lay on her side in filth and decay.

“Fuckin’ old timer can’t let go of the past.” Sat on a stool, in the corner of Sophia’s room, Daryl whittled a stick to a point.

Hair once shiny with grease and dark with grime had been fluffed and lightened. A crude cut left tangled ropes that once hung past his ears, as a lopsided head of short, straight hair. Soap and water rid him of a perpetual stink. Instead, a sweet honey aroma fought a losing battle with the room’s stench. Even his skin looked clean. Yet, the wash did naught for the man’s sour scowl.

“Aye, seems so. T-Dog as well, I suspect.” Jon stood at the foot of the bed, back to the closed door.

“Dumbasses.”

“They ain’t dumb. Their hearts are in the right place.” Carol sat in a pink, cushioned chair by Sophia’s side.

Grease-matted hair encroached past her ears. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes. Chipped and cracked fingernails topped every one of her fingers. She stunk as foul as the room and her daughter. The smallest, wisp of a smile lingered on her cracked lips.

Daryl glanced at her. His scowl softened to a frown. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. He tossed his pointed stick into a pile of many others and took up a fresh stick.

Carol picked at her thumbnail. “What about the Greenes? How are they after everything?”

“Just as misguided. If not worse,” Jon said. “Except Maggie. She appears to see things for what they are.”

“Don’t count on her, man. Push comes shove, family comes first. She’ll take their side.”

“What do you mean, push comes shove?” Carol asked.

“If we gotta take this place.” Daryl tossed another sharpened stick into his pile.

“Oh. Okay.”

Jon allowed himself a smile. “So you’d side with us then?”

Daryl wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, man. ‘Course we would.”

Carol gave a slow nod. “If it really came down to it. Yeah. What other choice is there?”

Thundering footsteps raged over Carol’s voice. They stormed down the hall outside. A door slammed. A second pair of footsteps stomped after them, followed by the pounding of a fist.

“Beth!” Maggie yelled.

“Go away! Traitor!”

A door handle rattled. “Open this door!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Stop acting like a fucking kid!”

“Stop acting like a psychopath!”

“Ugh!” Maggie thundered back down the hall then slammed a second door.

Sophia’s wheezing filled the silence. Daryl and Carol shared a disquieted look.

“Hershel’s not really stupid enough to try and make us leave, is he?” Carol asked.

“He strike you as smart?” Daryl asked. “Fucker housed up walkers like they were cattle or somethin’.”

“Let’s hope he finds reason,” Jon said.

Sophia’s wheezing stopped. She shifted and groaned. In a heartbeat, Carol snatched her knife from the bedside table and Daryl whipped his from his belt. Jon touched his dagger’s hilt. Tense as steel, they stared as Sophia rolled onto her back. Again, she groaned, then pissed herself. Carol sighed and put down her knife.

Daryl scowled. “Fuck’s sake. She needs new clothes and sheets. This shit’s fuckin’ undignified.”

“I’ll talk to Hershel about it. They must have other sheets,” Jon said.

Carol got up and rolled Sophia back onto her side. “That a good idea? After what you did?”

Jon’s jaw clenched. “Perhaps I should get Rick to do it…”

“That’s probably better.”

Daryl put away his knife. “The fuck we even askin’ for? Just go take-”

An engine’s roar filled the air. It peaked, assaulting Jon’s ears. Then faded off into the distance, giving way to a commotion of shouting.

“The fuck?!” Daryl rushed to the window.

Jon joined him. Outside, the others rushed across the fields and gravel to meet Rick before the porch. Off in the camp, Daryl’s bike was gone. A cloud of dust streaked down the farm’s road towards the asphalt.

“What’s going on?” Carol’s voice tightened.

“Someone stole my fuckin’ bike!” Daryl slammed the windowsill. “God fuckin’ dammit!” He snatched up his crossbow, a handful of arrows and barreled for the door.

However, with one foot out the door, he paused and looked back at Carol.

“Go,” Carol said. “They need you. Both of you.”

“You need me.”

“I’ll be fine. If she passes while you’re gone, I can do it. You know that.”

“Maybe…” Daryl stepped back inside the room. “But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

A full smile spread across Carol’s face. Tears welled in her eyes. Daryl put down his crossbow and grabbed Jon’s shoulder.

“You get my fuckin’ bike back.”

“Aye. I will.” Jon patted Daryl’s hand.

Daryl nodded and knelt at Carol’s side.

***

Downstairs, Jon flung open the front door and entered a world of shouting and raging. Atop the porch steps, Rick faced a huddle of raised voices battling to be heard. Empty bottles lay scattered about his feet on the steps.

“Everyone calm down!” Rick shouted over the voices. “He couldn’t have gone far! Glenn and I will go after him, y’all just go back to your tents!”

“Screw that!” Andrea yelled. “If he wants to run, let him. Why should we risk our lives?”

“Where’s your heart?!” Dale shouted. “The man’s grieving!”

“He’s insane, that’s what he is!”

“Where’s your fuckin’ empathy?!” T-Dog shouted.

“Give it a rest you guys!” Lori shouted.

“Be quiet and listen to Rick!” Glenn shouted.

Every voice raised as one in a grand, chaotic cacophony of noise. Rick shouted for calm and quiet, which only worsened things.

Bloody hell. Jon made to cross the porch and approached Rick. But before he’d taken more than two steps, Maggie burst out of the door with Beth in tow.

Her voice cut above the others. “What’s going on here?!”

Silence killed the cacophony. Rick gave Maggie a sullen look and opened his mouth to speak.

Andrea shouted. “Your dad’s lost his fucking mind! He stole our bike and drove off!”

Maggie sighed and wiped her hand over her face. “God dammit…”

Beth’s nostrils flared. She marched past her sister, pointing at Jon. “You! This is your fault!” She made to slap him.

Jon caught her wrist. “Calm yourself.”

“Let go of me!”

Jon let go and Beth snatched her wrist away. Tears welled in wide, sharp eyes. Maggie yanked Beth behind her, and Rick stood between her and Jon.

“Jon, where’s Ghost?” Rick asked.

“Hunting.”

Rick clicked his tongue. “Okay… then go get Daryl. We might need to track him.”

“No, you don’t,” Maggie said. “I know where he is. I’ll take you.”

“Where?” Beth asked.

Maggie frowned at her sister. “There’s this bar in town. Whenever he and my mom got into a fight, he’d always take off in the truck and spend the night there.”

Beth voice’s shrunk. “Oh.”

“How far?” Jon asked.

“Those cars still got gas?”

“They do,” Rick said.

“About ten minutes, then.”

***

By the time they’d gathered weapons and ammo and piled into the rangerover, dusk had given way to twilight. A new moon forbade but a faint sheen of silver starlight to linger in the absence of the sun. Jon sat in the back of the car beside Glenn, a pair of shotguns in their laps. Maggie waited behind the wheel, weaponless.

“But why does it have to be you?” Lori asked as Rick opened the passenger's side door. “You’re in no condition.”

That he isn’t. Weakness pestered Rick. Each step taken with a tremble and a clenched jaw. Every action done with stiff, taught hands.

Rick turned his back on the rangerover’s doorway and leaned on a rifle. “’Cause these people look up to me. If I say, ‘go out there and risk your lives’, how can I stay behind?”

“God, Rick. Look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

“Me bein’ out there gives ‘em hope.”

“You being out there’ll get you killed.”

Jon stuck his head out the window. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep him safe.”

“We won’t let him do anything dumb!” Glenn shouted.

Rick smiled at them both. Lori frowned.

“And what about Carl? What happens if he wakes up while you’re gone? He’ll be scared and confused. He’ll need his father.”

“Lori…” Rick chewed his lip. “Carl’s asleep; at rest. And safe and around those who care about him. Hershel’s out there right now; alone and hurtin’ and in danger. He could have fallen from that bike and hurt himself for all we know. And part of that’s my fault.” He glanced Jon’s way. “I gotta go.”

Lori let out a shaky sigh and pressed her head against Rick’s chest. “You come back. You hear? I will not lose you again.”

Rick bundled her in his arms. “I will. You won’t.”

“You two done?” Maggie asked.

Stern of face, Lori pulled away and nodded. “Done.”

Rick seized her by the shoulders. “Keep ‘em calm. Don’t let ‘em do anythin’ dumb. Shane especially.”

Lori nodded. They hugged again, kissed and then separated. Lori hurried away from the car a few paces while Rick ducked inside. Grunting, he slumped into his seat, lay his rifle across his lap and slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life, rattling the car around Jon. Twin beams blazed, dousing all ahead in bright, white light. They sped off across the field and down the gravel road, followed by a cloud of dust.

Through fields and forest, the asphalt road showed no signs of old men or motorbikes. Nor much of anything for that matter. Bar a few of the dead, wandering without purpose. They livened at the sight of the car and made to reach for it. Maggie clipped a few in her haste, splattering brains and black blood across the windows. Yet, for the most part, she weaved around them. The vet looked much the same as Jon’d left it, as they passed. Dark and dusty. The rangerover’s twin beams of light glimpsed the two corpses. They still rested outside on the gravel, headless, in pools of dried black blood. The tracks of the boy’s bike-without-engine remained in the gravel, a wavering line from vet to road. But new tracks joined it, thicker and straighter.

Jon tightened his grip on the shotgun. “We may not be alone out here.”

“We can deal with the dead,” Rick said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I speak of the living. The companions of the boy who attacked Jenner and I are likely not far.”

Rick looked back at him, tight-jawed. “You sure?”

“Aye. There were new tracks on the gravel. And the boy spoke of revenge when he ran.”

Glenn gripped his shotgun. “He could have been bluffing.”

“Better to be safe and keep an eye out regardless.”

Rick nodded. “If we encounter hostiles, we run if we can. A shootout’s the last thing we need in the dark, with the dead all around.”

“Okay, good idea,” Glenn said.

Jon nodded. Best to avoid a fight, he agreed. Besides, Jon suspected that compared to blades, the conventions of battle varied quite vastly where it concerned guns. In a gunfight, he’d be out of his element, always on the back foot.

Maggie huffed. “I ain’t runnin’ without Dad.”

They drove into the heart of the town. Sidewalks and close-knit buildings replaced gravel paths and open fields. The dark bred blind spots upon blind spots. Thin alleys between every building, with spiked, steel fences harboured shadowy voids. Crossroads upon crossroads littered the streets with corners. Places to hide; places of ambush. Even with the light of twin beams, Jon felt as blind as if he were in a cave with no torch. Not a single corpse roamed the streets. Yet, signs of death were everywhere. Smashed windows, broken-down doors, crashed cars, burnt cars, burnt buildings, black blood, red blood; it all followed them wherever they went.

All of a sudden, Maggie stopped the car. “We’re here.” She moved a lever between her and Rick before rushing from the car. “Dad!” She yelled, marching for a building.

They piled out after her, guns at the ready. The building stood short and stout, made of brick walls and wide, paned-glass windows. Daryl’s bike lay discarded at it’s stoop. Starlight cast a sign hanging above its door in silver. ‘Joe’s Tavern,’ it read.

“Keep your voice down,” Rick hissed. He hurried after Maggie.

Glenn made to hurry after her too but Jon slowed him with a touch. “Keep your eyes open. Threats are everywhere,” Jon whispered. He scanned the inky pitch that filled the alleys and windows.

“Right.” Glenn took a deep breath as he scanned too.

Together, they approached the tavern with slow, considered steps, eyes trained on the dark. In an alley across the street, the starlight glinted off of nine pairs of eyes. Jon froze and squinted. He made out the silhouettes of several dogs. One crept forward, a lanky thing, all sleek black fur and pointy bones. It squeezed between the bars of the spiked, alley-way fence, bore its fangs and let out a low, guttural growl. However, a larger dog burst from the shadows and snapped its jaws by the other’s ear. The smaller dog tucked tail and retreated while the larger stared at Jon. For a moment they did naught but stare at each other before the dog snarled. It disappeared back into the shadows beyond the spiked, alleyway fence, along with the rest of the pack

“Where are all the dead?” Glenn whispered.

“Lurking, most like. Come, best we get out of sight.”

Inside, darkness, dust and blood covered the tavern. Two, half-decomposed walker corpses lay killed. One, sprawled out in the middle of the smooth, wood floor, rested a bludgeoned head on a crust of black blood. The other slumped over a long counter that ran the length of the tavern’s back, a hole blown through the back of its head. Maggots squirmed within the gaping wound. Tables, chairs, stools, cabinets and draws were all left in a chaotic state of disrepair as if a small storm had torn through the space. A lone stool remained on its legs and stood at the opposite end of the counter to the corpse. Atop the stool, Hershel sat, bathed in the golden light of a lamp. He poured drink from a dust-covered bottle into a filthy, smudged glass and drank deep.

Jon and Glenn joined Rick and Maggie in staring from across the tavern. While wrath darkened Maggie’s features, Rick’s stayed still and stony.

“Jon, Glenn, watch the windows,” Rick whispered.

“I might be old, but I ain’t deaf.” Hershel slurred his words. He poured another drink.

Glenn moved to the windows but Jon remained at Rick’s side.

“Is this place clear?” Jon whispered to him.

Rick whispered back. “Don’t know.” He raised his voice to speaking level. “Hershel, you gotta come with us.”

Jon moved to the window, attention split between the shadows outside and inside.

“Who else is with you?” Hershel drank.

“Dammit, Dad. It ain’t safe here.” Maggie marched across the bar.

Rick followed. They stood on either side of Hershel, looming over his shoulders.

“Jon, right? And Glenn?” Hershel chuckled bitterly as he poured another drink. “That boy follows you everywhere now, huh?”

“Glenn’s here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” Maggie hissed.

“That right?”

“How many you had, Hershel?” Rick asked, soft and calm, leaning on his rifle.

“Not enough.” Hershel drank.

Hershel made to pour another but Maggie snatched the bottle from his hand. He sighed, slumped his shoulders and stared at the counter. Rick rounded the counter and crouched with great effort so that his and Hershel’s eyes were level.

“Let’s finish this up back at home, okay? Back at your farm.”

“My farm? Is that right?”

“Get up!” Maggie grabbed his arm.

Hershel shrugged out of her grip.

“For fuck’s sake, Dad! Beth needs you! She just buried her mother, her brother, her friends, neighbours, even that Culver kid she was sweet on! You ain’t the only one who’s hurtin’!”

“What could I do? Make her worse? Fill her head with more… more lies.”

Maggie turned and threw her hands up in the air. “You’re unbelievable!”

“Hershel, I think you’re in shock, okay?” Rick said.

“She needs her mother.” Hershel’s voice wavered. “Or rather to mourn. Like she should have done weeks ago. I took that from her.” Hershel raised his head and stared at the ceiling.

Jon tightened the grip of his shotgun. Outside, he swore he spotted movement yet, when his eyes snapped to it, the shadows stiffened.

Rick clenched his jaw and stood, matching Hershel’s gaze. His rifle remained on the ground, out of hand. “You thought there’d be a cure, right? Can’t blame yourself for holdin’ out for hope. If I’d been in your situation, if that’d been Carl and Lori in that barn, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

“Then you’re just a big a fool as me.”

“I’m as scared as you. Scared for the future. Scared for now. But runnin’ away don’t fix none of that. You can’t run from this.”

“I ain’t runnin’. But I can’t fight neither. So, go ahead. Fight your fight. Try and rebuild for all it’s worth. Just do it without me. I’m done.”

“You’re just gonna give up?” Maggie snapped.

Hershel looked over his shoulder at Maggie. Golden light glinted off of moist eyes. “I’m layin’ down, Maggie. I’m old. Sometimes, you forget how old I really am. The fight, the fight I used to have, it’s gone. Has been for a while now.” He looked back at Rick. “You can have the farm. Not that my blessin’ means much. Couldn’t make you leave even if I wanted. So, take it. Use it for as long as you can. Never wanted the darn thing in the first place.”

Some of the sharpness left Maggie’s voice. “What do you mean?” She sounded like a frightened child. “You’ve lived there your whole life.”

“I grew up there. Bein’ farmers, that was Nan and Pa’s dream. An American dream for a pair of Scottish immigrants. I left for veterinary school first chance I got and never looked back. Until Pa had his stroke. I could have stayed, there, in Montgomery and finished my residency. I wanted to. But I came back, opened my little vet, met your mother… then Beth’s… By the time Nan passed and left the farm to me, you and Beth had lives here, school, friends, boyfriends. What kind of father would I have been to take that from you? So, take it Rick. Take the darn farm and leave me be. Lead your people, my daughters. I ain’t fit for what this world’s become. He showed me that.” Hershel pointed at Jon.

Rick glared at him, part shame, part fury.

Jon stood tall. “None of us are fit for this world. Yet, we go on living in spite of it.”

Hershel smiled and looked on Jon with soft, doughy eyes. “That’s your youth talkin’, son.”

An engine roared, faint and distant. Then another. And another. Jon whipped around to face the window. Outside, all remained dark and still. Yet, the engines roared louder, closer.

“We need to go, now,” Jon said, scanning the dark.

Rick’s voice gruffed. “Hershel, please.”

Hershel answered with silence.

“Glenn, do you see anything?” Jon asked.

Glenn jostled back and forth, craning his neck. “Nothing.”

The engines drew closer.

A stool or chair scraped across the ground, then slammed. Someone sat, hard. “If you’re stayin’, Dad. So am I.”

Hershel sighed and muttered. “Dammit, Maggie,” he said. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The engines roared loud, shaking Jon’s core. Beams of light flooded the street, gleaming off of dusty windows and the bulbs of arching street lamps.

“Behind the counter! All of us!” Jon hurried from the window.

“Shit,” Glenn followed.

Hershel gawked at them, afraid and confused. “What? Why? Do you know these people?”

“No, but best not to, aye?”

“Is there a side exit?” Rick asked, grabbing Hershel’s arm over the counter.

“Y-Yeah, right there-”

The front door flew open, rattling. Three figures meandered inside, veiled in shadow, armed with rifles and shotguns. As they stepped inside, the golden glow of the lantern revealed a short, stout older man with a head of stubble. He wielded some sort of shotgun, Jon assumed, with one barrel rather than two. A short, lean man, owner of but a single hand stood to the older man’s left. In his good hand, he wielded a shotgun with the barrels cut off. To the older man’s right, stood a tall, lanky woman wielding a hunting rifle. Above her left eyebrow, the numbers 1488 were tattooed in black ink. The three of them shared a look; long faces, narrow noses, and black of hair. Their dark, sharp eyes scanned the group.

“So it was you,” the older man said. “Didn’t think you’d survived, Hershel.”

Hershel rose from his stool and stepped forward, joining Jon’s side. “Clyde? Clyde Culver?”

Clyde Culver answered with a nod as he scanned the rest of them with a squint.

“What happened to your boy’s hand?” Hershel asked.

“That don’t concern you. Now, how about your little friends put down their guns so we can have a nice, calm conversation?”

“We will if you will,” Glenn answered at once.

“I’m afraid, that ain’t gonna work, Slit-eyes.”

In a flash, One-hand and Numbers had their guns raised, fingers on the trigger. Hershel gasped and staggered back. Maggie stiffened. Glenn cursed and went to his knees. Jon froze, staring down One-hand’s shortened barrels. Ice, steel and stone streaked through Jon’s veins, planting him firm where he stood, tightening his grip. The moment his hand squeezed the shotgun’s handle, Clyde’s eyes were on him.

“Don’t, son. Be smart about this now. Put it down.”

Before Jon could even think to kneel, Numbers’s eyes found his sword and widened.

“Look, the sword. That’s him! He’s the one who killed Dan!” she said.

“That true?!” One-hand bellowed, waving his gun. “You kill, my brother?!”

Jon’s chest clenched and he lost his breath. The scars along his chest, belly and heart flared hot red, like a dozen branding irons pressing hard into his flesh. He felt half mad; he aught to lie, to make some excuse, anything. But he couldn’t breathe, let alone think or speak. Desperately, he tried to breathe but instead, he only gawked at them like a fool. Clyde sighed.

“Go on, Caleb. Get it over with.”

“NO!” Hershel screamed.

A great weight slammed Jon from the side. The ground vanished from under him and the world spun. Sound beyond sound split Jon’s ears, a blast of heat flashed past his face and the floorboards rushed to meet his back. The ground took him from below and the great weight from above, squeezing the wind from him in one huge impact. As his ears rang and his mind spun, Hershel’s face filled his vision, afraid and bloodied. A boot knocked it away and then stomped Jon’s chest. In place of the old man’s face, twin barrels and One-hand’s glare bore down on him. A blast roared. One-hand’s chest exploded into red mist and pulp. He cried and fell; a ruptured sack of flesh and blood. The twin barrels vanished and beyond, Jon saw Clyde holler and raise his gun. Another blast rocked the world and Clyde’s throat exploded. Spluttering, he collapsed beside his son. Fire blazed in Jon’s chest and all of sudden he found himself on his knees, gun in hand, sights trained on Numbers. She fled for the door, unarmed. He squeezed the trigger ever so gently, just as Shane had taught him. A blast rocked Jon to his core and the woman’s back exploded. She hit the floor at once, soundless.

As a calm settled in, Jon’s ears continued to ring. But his mind sharpened all at once. Clyde lay before him, dying noisily in a growing crimson pool atop his son. Sticky warmth clung to Jon’s hands and face.

To his left, Maggie screamed. “Dad!” She scrambled past Jon to where Hershel lay, face down.

A curtain of blood wept from a streak across Hershel’s temple. Maggie seized him and he grunted struggling to all fours.

“Jon!” Rick shouted from behind the counter, rifle in hand. Crimson droplets speckled his face. “You okay?!”

Jon found his breath. “A-Aye.”

Glenn’s blood-soaked face filled his vision. “Are you hit?” he grabbed his shoulders.

Jon shook him off. “No.”

Eyes wide, Glenn nodded and scrambled over to Maggie. He helped her drag Hershel behind the counter. Outside, a voice shrieked.

“Pa! Caleb! Cynthia!” It sounded vaguely familiar. “Pa?!”

After a pause, a second voice shouted. “You motherfuckers!”

Hellfire erupted through the tavern’s front wall. Without thought, Jon threw himself to the ground and covered his head. Glass and mortar hailed. Rolling, rapid thunder crackled, smothering distant screams. It lasted an age, the gunfire bore down on him, crackling, crackling, crackling, never-ending sound. It tore his head apart from the inside out. Until all of sudden, it vanished. Jon scrambled, hands and knees. Numb pricks stabbed his palms, wetting and warming them. He saw only the counter, shelter, cover, safety. Like a maddened beast, he scampered behind it where he found the others, knees to their chests, hands on their heads, cowering in the golden lamp-light.

“The light!” Rick shouted.

Hershel sprang up and made a grab for the lamp. A single gunshot boomed. Hershel screamed and he and the lamp came tumbling down. The lamp hit the ground but didn’t break. It bathed Hershel in light. Where two fingers ought to be, two bloody stumps gushed crimson. Hershel wailed. Maggie screamed. Jon pounced on the lamp. He dashed it against the counter, dousing them in darkness, stealing sight, leaving only sound. The others’ voices clashed and combined, yelling over Hershel’s feverish wailing.

“Put pressure! Put pressure!”

“Who’s armed?!”

“Are you hit anywhere else?!”

“Oh god! Put fucking pressure, I said!”

“I am!”

“His hand not his head!”

“Jon, Glenn have you got your guns?!”

Jon ignored them and listened elsewhere. Outside, other voices were shouting. Jon honed in on a man’s voice.

“Fuck’s sake, just move the truck back, Pete! Give us some fuckin’ light!”

An engine roared over the others' shouting, silencing them all, even Hershel. Bright, white light poured through the tattered front wall of the tavern, illuminating all. Jon saw Maggie and Glenn holding rags torn from their shirts over Hershel’s wounds. Despite the pressure applied, his lifeblood gushed in pulsing, crimson waves from beneath the rags. Rick crouched by their side with a rifle in hand, finger on the trigger. His eyes found Jon’s. He touched his holster then nodded to Jon’s, to Needle. Jon nodded and unsheathed the pistol. Unwelcome shakes troubled his hands. Shakes that persisted no matter how steady he breathed. What’s the matter with me? An icy chill burned the scar over his heart.

“See, empty. We got ‘em all,” said a different man’s voice outside.

“No way, I heard ‘em,” yet another voice said, the same who’d shouted for his Pa, the one that sounded vaguely familiar.

“You don’t know what you heard, Randy.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said the other man.

A second round of hellfire erupted through the front. Jon tucked his knees and covered his head as the others dived to do the same. Rolling thunder roared and crackled. Bullets peppered the back wall, back and forth and back and forth, showering Jon in dust and mortar. When it became clear the gunman had aimed too high, Jon lifted his head. The light lit up the back of the tavern, revealing a side exit.

Jon shouted over the gunfire. “There’s a side exit! We can flank them from the alley!”

Rick uncovered his head and nodded. “I’ll go!”

“No, you stay here! You’re too slow!” Glenn’s shotgun lay discarded by Hershel’s side. “Glenn, you come!”

Glenn uncovered his head. “What?!”

“Come with me! Out the side! We’ll flank them!”

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped. The changing of magazines clicked and clacked. Rick whipped his colt from its holster and thrust it into Maggie’s hands.

“We’ll cover you,” he whispered.

“Right.” Jon pointed to Glenn’s gun. “Pick it up!” he hissed.

“O-Okay.” Glenn scrambled for the gun.

“Dammit, Jack! That’s enough!” A voice outside yelled. “You’ll draw the dead ones!”

“You ain’t never let me have fun! We killed all the dead anyhow!”

“God dammit, do as your-”

Rick and Maggie sprang up and unloaded their weapons over the counter. The voices outside screamed and shouted. Jon and Glenn made a dash for the side exit across shards of brick and glass. A shot rang out and a bullet clipped Jon’s shoulder, carving a line of pain across his skin. He put his head down and barged through the exit just as the third bout of hellfire tore through the tavern. Jon charged down the alley, Glenn hot on his heels. At the end stood a spiked, alley-way fence with a gate open ajar.

“They’re comin’!” shouted the familiar voice, muffled by the hellfire.

But by then it was too late. Jon and Glenn burst through the alley gate, guns raised. A black-haired man crouched behind the rangerover, spraying the tavern with bullets. He noticed them. But too late. Jon had him in Needle’s sights. He squeezed the trigger. A tremble plagued his hands and Needle’s shot exploded through the man’s shoulder. The man cried and fell, raising his gun at Jon. Glenn appeared at Jon’s side. Thunder screamed. Heat and flames spat from his shotgun. The man’s face and chest erupted into bloody mist and pulp. He died spluttering. Glenn fired at a truck with a flatbed on the back, parked across the street. Its front window shattered.

“Shit, he ducked!”

Thunder clapped from the rooftops. Sparks spat off the pavement, inches from Jon’s feet.

“Fuck!” a voice shouted.

“Take cover!” Glenn dove back into the alley.

Jon ran forward and dove behind the rangerover. Thunder cracked and a bullet spat sparks above Jon’s head.

“Get out here, motherfucker!” A voice shouted from the roof.

The man in the truck yelled. “Forget ‘em, Randy! Jump down! Get in the back!”

“Okay!” Hurried footsteps scampered across the roof.

Jon peered over the rangerover and spied a shadow silhouette dashing across the rooftop. He put the silhouette in Needle’s sights and fired three times. The first shot missed. Then the second. But the third landed. Screaming, the silhouette tumbled from the roof and impaled itself on the steel spikes of an alleyway fence. The screaming persisted, carrying high into the night, wailing and shrieking, like game caught in a trap. The other man cursed loudly and the truck’s engine roared. Tyres squealed on asphalt as the truck peeled off down the road. Jon unloaded the last of Needle’s ammo but only managed to spit sparks off the truck’s steel.

Jon shouted above the incessant wailing of the impaled. “All’s clear!”

“Are y’all hit?!” Rick shouted.

Glenn gave no response. Lowering his shotgun, he crept out of the alley, staring at the corpse in the street. The impaled cried for help and mercy.

“We’re fine! Hurry, the dead will be upon us soon!”

“Good! Get the back seats down! Hershel’s losin’ consciousness!”

“Aye!”

Jon flung open the range rover’s back doors and found the handle behind the back row of seats. He lowered them, extending the trunk.

“I killed him...” he heard Glenn say.

“Aye.”

“PLEASE!” wailed the impaled. “HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE!”

“We gotta help him…”

Jon ducked out of the car. “Leave him, he’s doomed and our enemy besides.”

“Don’t leave meeeeee!” the impaled sobbed. A boy’s voice, Jon realised. Boy, man. Woman, girl. It makes no matter.

Rick and Maggie stumbled out of the tavern’s ruined entrance, supporting one of Hershel’s arms each. Feebly, Hershel staggered between them, tripping over his own feet. A crimson curtain masked half his face, matting his white beard. As Rick and Maggie were about to get him in the car, the impaled cried again.

“PLEASE! I don’t wanna die…”

Hershel cried out and flailed, wrenching free of Rick and Maggie’s grip. “We can’t leave that boy to die!”

Rick looked as if he were about to agree, so Jon spoke first to stop the folly.

“Aye, I’ll end his suffering.” He sheathed Needle and drew Longclaw.

“No, dammit! Look at him!” Hershel pointed to the silhouette. “He’s impaled through the legs. We can save him.”

Jon didn’t look to confirm. “We haven’t the time and he’s our enemy, besides.”

“He’s a boy! Randall Culver!”

“I want my mom!” the boy, Randall Culver screamed. “I want my moooooooom! Pa! It hurts!” Sobbing overtook the screams. The silhouette thrashed.

“Dad, Jon’s right.” Maggie grabbed her father’s arm. “Randall Culver’s a skinhead piece of shit like the rest of ‘em, anyhow.”

“A child! A few years younger than Beth even!” Hershel wrenched free again, splattering blood on the pavement from his ruined hand.

He shouldered past Jon and hurried across the street. Maggie ran after him.

“Dad, get back here!”

“God dammit,” Rick muttered. He hurried after them.

“He sealed his fate the moment he fired upon us. Just as the others did.” Jon followed at Rick’s heels.

“We killed those guys 'cause we had to, man,” Glenn said. “He isn’t a threat anymore.”

Jon ignored Glenn’s folly. Before the spiked fence, Hershel and Rick stood before the thrashing boy, inspecting his impaled legs. The spikes skewered either thigh from beneath, danging the boy over the back of the fence. Maggie watched from afar, arms crossed. Glenn rushed to help.

“I guess we could break the spikes,” Glenn said. “That way the wounds stays sealed.”

“With what?” Hershel asked.

“If you free him, the moment he’s healed he’ll try to kill us all,” Jon said.

Hershel and Glenn scowled at him but Rick took pause.

“What if he were Carl?” Hershel asked.

“But he isn’t,” Jon added. “That’s our enemy. We’ve just murdered his family. He’ll kill all of us, the first moment he gets, Carl included.”

“Please please please no I won’t I won’t please I promise I promise!” the boy blabbered.

Hershel grabbed the boy’s right leg. “Listen to him, Rick. He’s one scared boy. He ain’t a threat no more. Now help me lift him off.”

Rick ran his hand through his hair, sighed and grabbed the boy’s right leg. As one, Rick and Hershel yanked the boy off of the spikes. Blood sprayed and the boy wailed.

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Next chapter, Jon and the others grapple with the fallout of the battle of the bar