Doused in the pinks of the morning sun, Jon sat in the corner of the room watching Carol weep over Sophia’s body. She’d wept the instant the blade passed through Sophia’s temple. One short, choked sob. That’s all. One. Then she’d sunk to her knees, lay her head on Sophia’s chest and let the tears flow free without sound. Jon ought to have left her then. He ought to have woken Daryl and left the two of them to grieve in peace. Yet, Daryl remained asleep and Jon remained in the room.
What sort of man was he to burden a grieving mother with the presence of her child’s murderer? A pathetic one, that’s what. The sort of man who couldn’t even pass a sentence right. He’d needed the girl’s mother to do it. Why hadn’t he stopped her? Why did he watch as she put down her own daughter? He should have stopped her. He should have insisted it be him to do the deed. It needed to be him. He owed that much to Sophia.
For all the days Sophia had clung to life she’d looked half a corpse. An illusion. One conjured by weakness. Carol had had the right of it, Sophia had left life behind some time ago. She looked the same before and after the knife slid through her temple. Jon should have seen it. If he had, he could have spared Carol from the injustice of it all. He would not make the same mistake again.
Ghost’s head shifted in his lap. The direwolf had remained with him all night, never resting. Wolf and man so very rarely saw the world through the same eyes. Yet, Ghost had joined Jon in staring at Sophia, taking in the sight, committing it to memory. Ghost saw it too. Direwolves often saw more than men if one believed the wolf dreams. The sight confirmed a suspicion. It revealed a truth. It dispelled a lie. Often, where it concerned the dead, Jon had heard others refer to them as being at rest. The Stark kings rested in the crypts beneath Winterfell. Small folk rested in the cemeteries of village Septs. Sophia did not look at rest any more so than the corpses who walked. No peace came from death, only the end. Sophia’s face showed the truth, clear as crystal. Even after Carol had shut her eyes, Sophia’s hollow cheeks puckered her lips. Bone jutted through her paper-thin, waxy skin, contorting her face into one inhuman. The blood that had wept from her temple wasn’t even red but black and brown. Where was the peace in such disfiguration? In such corruption of all that once made her human? Ghost must have known the truth all his life. After all, he’d been born in death, forced to flee his mother’s corpse as his siblings suckled fruitlessly on her dead, cold teats.
Had Arya looked like Sophia when she died? Had Bran? Had Rickon?
They were dead. They were. Jon had no proof to support the claim but, he knew. He knew. The wall had fallen. The Whites had swept across a broken, divided land and erased all life from Westeros. From the world most like. Westeros had died. Its people slaughtered, frozen and cursed to roam an empty land for all of time as restless husks of ice and bone. Where was the peace in that?
A flutter of black feathers perched itself in the open window. Bloodbeak gazed upon Sophia with his one good eye. The pink morning light warmed the pale, jagged scar that travelled from the raven’s eye to thigh. Another of the gods’ cruel japes. Of all the living souls in Westeros, of all the souls so pure and innocent, so deserving of second life, the gods chose a bloody raven. What a mockery.
Downstairs, Jon heard the beginnings of the morning’s bustle start to awaken. Soft thumping footsteps. Hushed whispers. Laughter. Jon sat up and cocked his head, honing his hearing. He must’ve been mistaken, there couldn’t be laughter at a time like this. No, there it was. Soft laughter and hushed voices warmed by smiles. Bloodbeak’s beak clattered as he cackled deep in his throat. His eye turned to Jon; a dark hollow pit. Ghost bared his fangs at the raven.
“Snow!” Bloodbeak screeched.
Daryl awoke with a start. “H-Huh?! What? God fucking dammit. Little bastard bird. Go on, git!” Daryl staggered from his chair and tried to wave the raven from the window.
Bloodbeak quorked in his face and remained perched. Facing the bird, Daryl seethed, unaware of what lay behind him. Carol lifted her face from Sophia’s chest, weathered and tear-stained. She looked about to speak but Jon beat her to it. She’d done enough.
“Daryl,” Jon said.
Daryl started and whipped around to face him, scowling. “Jon? The hell’re you doin’ there?”
“She’s dead, Daryl.”
“What?”
“Sophia.”
The sharp, rugged lines of Daryl’s scowl softened as his features fell. His breath caught in his throat. Quick as a flash he turned and faced Sophia. “Did she… did she turn?”
“Yes,” Carol said at once.
“Fuck, you should’ve woken me-” he looked back at Jon. “Did you-”
“No, Carol did,” Jon said. His throat tightened his voice.
Daryl sunk to his knees beside Carol. “You should’ve got me to do it.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Exactly, it ain’t right.” Daryl pulled a bandanna free from his belt. He began clearing away the black and brown crust around Sophia’s temple. His hand trembled as he worked.
“Don’t make no difference now.” Carol stopped Daryl’s hand with a touch, eased the bandanna from between his fingers and took over. “Jon, best you go tell the others. They’ll want to see her while she still looks like her.”
The order, for that, was what it was, was given so gently Jon failed to register it at first. Only when Daryl scowled at him and gestured to the door, did he stand. The time for leaving had long past come yet, Jon lingered in the doorway. The tears that flowed so freely down Carol’s cheeks had all but dried up. Cleaning away the bloody crust, she gazed upon Sophia as if she were a stranger. Tears brimmed in Daryl’s eyes. Jon hurried from the room to afford him the privacy a man needed to weep. Ghost padded after him. The raven remained.
Downstairs, smiles and laughter filled the air. All had gathered in the living room, crowded around the door to Carl’s room, even those meant to be on guard. All except Rick, Lori and Hershel. As Jon made his way down the stairs, Ghost padding behind him, Glenn spotted him and broke away from the crowd, beaming.
“Jon!” He ran to the bottom of the stairs. “Dude, Carl’s awake.”
The gods’ cruelty knew no bounds.
“Sophia’s dead.”
All noise drained from the room as a crowd of deadpan stares faced Jon.
“Wh… what do you mean?” Glenn asked.
“What do you think he means? He ain’t speakin’ in fuckin’ riddles.” Shane snapped.
“Piss off, Shane.” Andrea put herself between Shane and Glenn.
Shane loomed over her. “The fuck you say to me, woman?”
“Woman?” Maggie joined Andrea’s side.
“Yeah, woman! Y’all are, ain’t ya?”
“Let’s all just calm down now.” Dale approached the trio, hands raised before his chest. “We’re all hurting, emotions are high, let’s just take a step back and breathe.” Dale reached for Shane’s shoulder.
Shane planted his palm on Dale's chest and shoved him off his feet. “Don’t touch me.”
Dale fell and T-Dog rushed to help him up.
“Don’t touch him!” Andrea shoved Shane with both hands.
Shane staggered but didn’t fall. The whites of his eyes showed as he grabbed at Andrea. Andrea weaved. Shane grabbed air.
“STOP IT!” Beth screamed.
T-Dog and Jenner pulled Shane away by both shoulders and Maggie stepped into Andrea’s path.
“Get out of my way!” Andrea tried to get past Maggie but found no success.
“Get off me!” Shane thrashed out of T-Dog’s and Jenner’s grip but, quick as a flash, T-Dog hugged him from behind. Even so, Shane twisted and bucked, testing T-Dog’s strength.
As Jon made to aid T-Dog in restraining the crazed man, Rick’s voice cut above the chaos.
“What the hell is goin’ on out here?!” Rick stood in the doorway of Carl’s room, Lori and Hershel behind him.
Everyone froze – even Shane – and stared at Rick. He emerged from the room, on his own, without support.
“Someone gonna give me an answer?”
“It’s Sophia, man…” Glenn’s voice trembled. He slumped onto the bottom step of the staircase and buried his face in his hands.
“What about Sophia?”
“She turned in the night,” Jon said. “Carol put her down.” He couldn’t tell them the whole truth. They’d never understand.
“Jesus… she put her down?” Andrea asked, stepping away from Maggie. When Jon nodded, tears brimmed in her eyes. She turned her back on everyone, scrubbing her eyes.
Rick scanned the room, passing a sharp glare over everyone. His glare lingered on Shane.
Shane huffed. “You don’t gotta say it. I’m goin’. Someone’s gotta be on guard duty anyhow.” T-Dog let go of him and Shane marched out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Rick sighed and kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Is someone with Carol?”
“Aye, Daryl.”
Rick nodded. “She destroy the brain?”
“Aye.”
“Through the temple?” Jenner asked.
“Through the temple.”
Beth whimpered and bolted for Hershel, burying her face in his chest. Despair’s great weight dragged all down. Hershel hugged Beth, keeping her on her feet. Maggie sat with Glenn on the steps, putting an arm around his shoulders. T-Dog dropped into the couch cushions. Dale lowered himself back to the ground. Jenner sat beside him. Andrea sat against a wall. Even Rick leaned against the door frame.
Standing tall, Lori joined Rick’s side. “We’ll hold a funeral tonight and lay her to rest with the others.”
Rick straightened and held Lori’s shoulders. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” He looked at Hershel. “We have your permission to bury her alongside your own?”
“You do. If…” Hershel shifted and avoided Rick’s eyes. “If y’all are gonna be livin’ here, you may as well be family.”
“A funeral is all well and good but, what of the boy?” Jon asked. “We mustn’t delay in our decision of what to do with him no matter the circumstances.”
Rick’s expression turned grim. “You’re right. We’ll have the discussion and take a vote after we’ve all had a chance to say goodbye to Sophia. Do you know if Carol wants us in there?”
“Aye, she does. She asked you all to see Sophia before… she becomes unrecognisable.”
Rick nodded. “Glenn, you’ll go first. After, I want you on lookout duty.”
Glenn lifted his head. “Why? Shane’s already on it.”
“Shane ain’t to be armed unless we’re under attack. Tell him to come back. I want him where I can see him.”
“By myself? He isn’t gonna listen to me.”
“That’s why T-Dog’s gonna go with you.” Rick looked at T-Dog. T-Dog stood and nodded. “After, I want you to guard Randall, T-Dog.”
What was this? Two of the people most likely to be convinced into reason wouldn’t even be able to hear Jon’s arguments. Did Rick do that on purpose? Rick glanced at Jon as T-Dog joined Glenn’s side; a silent admission. Yes, he must have.
“On his own?” Jon asked. “No, Dale should go with him to guard the boy.”
“Me?” Dale asked, looking back and forth between Jon and Rick.
“No, I don’t like leavin’ people out of the discussion as it is,” Rick said. “T-Dog’s strong. If Randall breaks out, he can handle him on its own.”
“Yeah, man. The kid probably can’t even walk. I can handle him.”
Jon kept his frustration from his face. He hadn’t expected that sort of cunning from Rick. He’d have to be more careful going forward. “Aye, okay. Makes sense.”
“It’s settled then,” Rick said. “Y’all head upstairs. Make what peace you can. I’ll be right behind you. Remember, Glenn and T-Dog go first.”
After a collective nod, the group filtered upstairs, leaving only Jon with Rick and Lori. He crossed the living room and approached them, Ghost stalking after him.
“You too, Jon,” Rick said.
“I’ve made my peace already. If I may, I’d like to see him.” Jon nodded at the doorway.
Rick nodded a small, weak nod and spoke with tight strain. “Sure, just… let me speak with him first. You can come in but, let me do this.”
“Of course.”
Rick lingered in the doorway. A tremble shivered through his body as he drew a deep, wavering breath.
“Be strong. He needs us to be,” Lori whispered. She hugged Rick’s arm and planted a kiss on his shoulder.
Rick’s straightened his back, squared his shoulders and entered the room. Jon allowed him and Lori two paces before following. Inside, Jon found Carl sitting upright in bed, propped up against several pillows. Pink flush warmed the boy’s chubby, freckled cheeks. Greasy, unkempt hair encroached over his forehead. It rested above his rich, brown eyes. He gave Jon a weak smile as Rick and Lori knelt by his bedside.
Lori took Carl’s tiny hand into hers.
“How much of that did you hear?” Rick asked.
“All of it.”
“Oh, Carl.” Lori squeezed his hand. “Sweetheart, we’re so sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t kill her.”
Rick and Lori shared a glance. Jon should’ve kept quiet. He’d promised too but, the truth needed to be settled.
“That blame falls on me, lad. You were both in my care and I failed you. I’m sor-’
“No.” Carl sat up, his voice rising. “You didn’t kill her either.”
“Son, you can’t blame Carol for-” Rick began.
“I’m not! No one killed Sophia. The walkers did. They killed everyone.”
Carl clenched handfuls of his bed sheets. A tremble shuddered through him. His hair shifted, falling over his eyes. Lori swept it away and stroked his head.
“Would you like to see her?” Rick asked. “Before she’s buried? I can talk to Hershel about having you carried upstairs.”
“No. That’s okay.” Carl’s voice smoothed over. Neither grief nor contentment was present on his face but something else. Something without form or definition.
“Are you sure?” Lori asked. “Once she’s buried, you won’t be able to see her again.”
“I will. When I miss her, I’ll remember her in my head, like I do with all my other old friends. She probably looks pretty ugly right now. I want to remember her when she looked pretty.”
It appeared Rick and Lori knew naught how to respond for neither uttered a word. Carl spoke how no child should with a voice void of innocence and joy. Tears brimmed in Lori’s eyes and Rick’s face scrunched to hide his own.
“Why are you crying, Mom?”
“O-Oh, I’m… I’m just sad, sweetheart.”
“You’ve been sad before but you never cried then.”
“I did. You just…” Lori inhaled sharply and scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “You just never saw.”
“At the quarry? Is that when you cried?”
“Yes, dear. It was.”
“But not the road? After we lost the quarry?”
“No, there wasn’t time for crying then.”
“Because we weren’t safe?”
“That’s right.”
“So this place is safe?”
Lori stared at her son for a moment before looking at Rick.
Rick squeezed her hand as he nodded at Carl. “It is. We’re safe here for as long as we’re strong.”
“Oh. Okay.” Carl shifted beneath the sheets. “Can I talk to Jon now?”
“Sure, son.” Rick glanced Jon’s way and nodded.
As Jon made to kneel beside Lori at the bedside, Carl spoke again. “You guys can go say goodbye to Sophia if you want. I don’t mind.”
“There’s plenty of time for that later.” Rick smiled and stroked Carl’s head.
“But, you can do it now. Nothing’s stopping you.”
Rick gave Carl a baffled look while Lori smiled. “Would you like to talk to Jon alone?” she asked.
Carl fidgeted. “Yeah.”
“Alright, sweetheart.” Holding Rick’s hand, Lori stood. “We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”
“Okay.”
Rick stood but, as he and Lori headed for the door, he lingered.
“If anything happens, I’ll shout.” Jon gave his most reassuring smile.
Rick gummed his lips but nodded all the same. “Upstairs. That’s where we’ll be.”
“He knows, Dad. Mom already said that.”
“Well, now I’m sayin’ it.” Rick lingered for a one last moment before leaving.
Not a second later, Carl called after him. “Dad?”
Rick reappeared in a flash. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you shut the door, please?”
Rick cracked a smile and chuckled. “Sure, son.” He shut the door behind him.
“So, what do you want to ask me that you couldn’t say in front of your parents?” Jon asked.
“Is Dad telling the truth? Are we really safe here? ‘Cause, sometimes he lies when he thinks the truth’ll scare me.”
Jon considered what Rick had said. It’d been a half-lie of sorts. A fair one. Carl was but a child, an injured one at that. There was no sense in frightening him with the whole truth. “What your Dad said about strength keeping us safe here, that was true.”
“But are we strong now? Are we safe now?”
“We have shelter, fields to grow food, a well for water. We’ve got medicine and guns and ammo. We’re stronger than we’ve ever been.”
“Did you kill the bad people? The ones who attacked you?”
“How… How do you know about that?”
“Tell me the truth and I’ll tell you.”
Jon sighed. “We haven’t, lad. No.”
“So we’re not safe?”
“Not right now, no but, if we win we will be.”
“Okay.” Carl nodded. “We’ll win. We’re strong.”
“Aye, I hope so too. Now, how do you know about the Culvers?”
“Promise you won’t tell?”
“I’ll promise to not tell things that don’t need telling.”
Carl rubbed the sheets between his fingers and thumbs. “Well…” He glanced at the door. “I actually woke up last night. Please don’t tell my parents. They were so happy when I woke up in front of them. They think it was for the first time. It means a lot to them.”
“I won’t tell. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Carl smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
“So, you heard our talk last night, then?”
“Yeah. Have you killed him yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“You should. He’s bad.”
“Aye, he is.”
Carl nodded. He looked past Jon at Ghost who lingered in the corner of the room, watching them with passive eyes.
“Can I pet Ghost?”
“Sure.” Jon whistled. “Ghost, come here.”
Ghost rose and padded over without a sound. On his knees, Jon had to look up to meet the direwolf’s eyes. Carl ran his hand through Ghost’s shaggy, white coat. Ghost’s tail wagged as Carl’s hand ran along his back.
“What’re the bumps under his fur?”
“Scars, lad.”
“Like the ones on your chest?”
“Aye.”
Carl touched the sheets over his stomach. “Am I gonna get scars?”
“Probably.”
“Cool scars?”
“Hopefully.”
Carl seemed pleased at that. “Getting shot hurts.”
“So does getting stabbed.”
***
On the porch, they waited in considerable silence for Rick and Lori to finish with Sophia. Some sat in the rickety, porch chairs. Some leaned against the banisters, never daring to apply all their weight. Some leaned against the walls of peeling white paint. No one spoke. No one looked at one another. Their eyes found refuge in the empty space between faces. Open fields of ageing wheat; a sky of gathering, grey clouds; the peeling, white paint of the porch. Except for Shane, who Jon caught staring at him on more than one occasion. When their eyes met, his gaze would linger for a few more moments than it aught before breaking away to the empty space between faces. Shane’s scowl never faltered, however.
Bloodbeak watched Jon from the porch rafters, quiet as death. Too quiet. Too still. As if he'd turned into a statue.
The front door opened, creaking on its hinges. Rick and Lori exited, followed by Daryl and Carol.
Dale stood from his seat in a porch chair. His bushy eyebrows, like two white and grey caterpillars, rose as his eyes widened. “Carol, you don’t have to be here after what’s happened. We’ll understand.”
“Sophia’s dead, Dale. Right now concerns the living.”
“At the very least, take my chair. I insist.”
“Thank you.”
Carol crossed the porch. The floorboards creaked and groaned. All eyes followed her. She sat in Dale’s chair and Daryl leaned on the peeling banister behind her.
“So, how’s this gon’ work? We gon’ take a ballot or somethin’?” Daryl asked.
Rick moved to the end of the balcony, standing at the head of the group. His sheriff's star, freshly polished and pinned above his heart, gleamed. “We’ll start with a discussion. Everyone gets a chance to talk. You don’t have to if you don’t want to but, everyone will be allotted the time to speak their piece. After we’ve heard from everybody we’ll cast a vote.” Rick gestured to Lori.
Lori held out a bowl and several strips of paper.
“Everyone will write down their vote on the paper strips. Once we’ve all made written down our votes, we’ll collect them in the bowl to be counted. That way it’s anonymous and impartial.”
“Fuck that,” Shane said. “We should do a raise of hands, get everybody’s say at once.”
“No.”
“No? That’s it? No reason, just no?”
A look that would wilt a flower with a glance festered on Rick’s face.
“Rick’s way is better,” Jenner said. “If we all vote at once like that we’ll be subject to groupthink. Democracy functions best when paired with anonymity.”
Shane looked around at the others and huffed when confronted with a crowd of unified nods.
“Whatever…” He scowled at the peeling porch floorboards.
“What options are we voting on?” Jon asked.
“Let Randall live and let him go. Let Randall live and keep him here. Or kill him,” Lori said.
“Do we all agree with these options?” Rick asked.
The group nodded and murmured their agreement. Jon nodded too. As he did he looked over his shoulder. Far away, T-Dog stood atop the hill outside the barn, overlooking all with a rifle in his hands. Jon looked forward, past Rick and Lori, Glenn sat atop the RV, his back to the group. Both were in sight but out of earshot. Jon had been a fool not to see something like this coming. He’d let his guard down around these people. Their pasts of wealth, luxury and safety had blinded him. All men possessed cunning. He should have known that.
Rick had removed two unknown votes from the pool, reducing the reach of Jon’s arguments. A majority of the group wanted to vote to save the boy; Rick knew so as well as him. Already, Jon faced an uphill battle, and Rick had kicked him further down the hill.
He’d even removed a vote certain to side with him. Whether on purpose or by coincidence, Jon couldn’t say.
“Carl ain’t gonna be a part of the discussion or the vote. He don’t need to hear that kind of stuff,” Rick said.
“Why, because he’s a child?” Jon asked, outraged.
Rick stiffened. “Yes. He’s ten, Jon.”
“You call me a child yet, you include me.”
“That’s different. You know it is.”
“It doesn’t matter. The consequences of this decision will directly affect him, child or not.”
“He’s my kid. I don’t want him to be a part of it. That’s final.”
Rick cleared his throat. “If we’re all ready, I’d like to speak first.”
The group voiced acceptance. As did Jon. Going first came with several disadvantages. Speaking last allowed one to hear all voices; all perspectives. It provided the pieces needed to construct an argument that appealed to as many as possible.
“Great.” Rick placed his hands on his hips, looked down and drew a deep breath.
The other stiffened to attention. Jon remained as he was, cross-legged and leaning against the house's peeling exterior wall. His cloak pooled behind him. Ghost dozed at his side.
“Great,” Bloodbeak muttered, breaking his queer silence. He watched from the porch rafters, perched on a mouldy beam like a feathered gargoyle.
Rick met their gazes. “I’ve known a lot of kids like Randall. I’ve put so many of them in jail that I can’t even remember how many. Jail, mind you, not prison. Overnight in the station, the weekend at worst. I came from a small town. We didn’t get much real crime up there. Only kids who’d drunk too much, started a fight, sprayed somethin’ on the side of a buildin’. Stupid shit like that.”
“Whenever I brought one into the station, I’d try and talk with them. Most of ‘em never said a thing back. Couldn’t blame ‘em. I’m the reason they’re there to begin with in their eyes. The ones who did talk with me though were arrogant sons of bitches. Rude, cocky, potty-mouthed, unruly. They’d contradict you just for the sake of it. They thought they were a hell of a lot smarter than they actually were. And that level of ego made ‘em think they were invincible. They reminded me a lot of my son. Which was sad ‘cause, Carl wasn’t even ten and these boys were fifteen to eighteen. They should’ve known better at that age, you know? But if you spend your whole life talkin’ about what should’ve been, that gets you nowhere. Fact is, they didn’t know better but, it didn’t make ‘em bad kids. Just stupid kids who went along with whatever their stupid friends or stupid family we’re doin’.”
“That’s how boys like that were back then. Before everything they ever knew was taken from ‘em. Before they lost the world and the lives they knew. Randall don’t deserve to die for what he did. He’s just a kid. He was just goin’ along with the really really stupid decision his family made. An evil decision, not made by him. If he’d died like the others, if he’d died in the fightin’ that’d be one thing but, he didn’t. He’s a prisoner now not a soldier. If we decide to kill him today we’re makin’ just as an evil decision as his father did when he tried to have Jon killed.”
Rick’s eyes fell away from the group, shifting to meet the barn. “That’s all I’ve got to say. Does anyone else want to speak?”
“I do.” Maggie stepped forward from leaning on the porch banister. “What you said about what boys like Randall got up to before all this is a bunch of bullshit.”
“Maggie,” Hershel hissed. “Keep it respectful.”
“Let her speak, Hershel,” Rick said.
“Thank you.” Maggie glared at her father. “Rick, you’re trying to compare kids taggin’ walls to those sons of bitches tryin’ to kill us. How? You were there. You felt those bullets come within inches of hittin’ us, the glass fall on us, the brick explode. The kind of people that could do somethin’ like that ain’t a bunch of dumb kids with booze and spray paint. They’re fuckin’ monsters. If they’d done somethin’ like that, if Randall had done somethin’ like that before all this, he’d be in prison. Not an overnight night stay in the jailhouse. Decades behind bars. Death row even. Your comparison just don’t make sense, that’s all.”
Maggie stepped back and leaned against the banister, avoiding Rick’s eyes.
“I’ll go next.” Dale stepped forward. “Maggie is wrong about Death Row. Hershel, Randall is younger than seventeen, right?”
“That’s right. Fifteen.”
“Fifteen. The law is clear. The death penalty cannot be given to anyone under the age of seventeen in the state of Georgia. What Randall and his family did was a severe crime, I don’t deny it, but if we’re to respect the law we can’t in good conscious use death as a punishment. If we do, we’re abandoning everything this country was built upon. When we throw away law, we throw away liberty, justice, freedom; the bedrock of civilisation.”
“Oh, please.” Maggie rolled her eyes.
“Maggie, you need to let him talk,” Rick said.
“No, no it’s fine,” Dale said. “If she’s got a response, I’d like to hear it.”
“The law you’re talking about was made for a different time. The dead weren’t walking when some lawmakers decided that it was okay to execute a seventeen-year-old but not a sixteen-year-old. We can’t make decisions in the here and now by using the rules of a completely different world.”
“The world has changed, yes,” Dale said.
“Dale, you need to-”
“No, let him talk!” Maggie snapped.
“It’s only changed on the surface not at its core. When times are hard throughout history we so often discard that rule of law in place of the rule of violence. It’s the easy answer but, it never helps. We only just make things worse when that happens. Germany learnt that lesson from World War Two and paid an unspeakable price for it. Democracy, law, these are the hard paths but, the best ones.”
“Do you think the Culver’s give a fuck about the law? Do you think the dead give a fuck about the law?”
“Maggie-”
“It doesn’t matter what they think, it-”
“It doesn’t matter at all! If we follow what you say we’re just placing unnecessary restrictions on ourselves. That shit’s gonna get us killed!”
“When democracy and law die, so does civilisation!”
“You’re a fuckin’ stup-”
“ENOUGH!” Rick marched across the porch and put himself in between them. “You’ve both had your chance to speak. Does anyone else want to talk?”
Maggie huffed and turned her back on the group. She leant on the banister and stared at the fields of ageing wheat. Dale flushed, looking rather embarrassed as he stepped back.
Hershel left Beth’s side and stepped forward. “I do.”
“Alright, Hershel. Go ahead.” Rick rejoined Lori’s side.
“I don’t know much about law or history but, I do know what the bible says on such matters. To kill our fellow man is one of the most grievous sins of them all. Jesus commands us to turn the other cheek, to rise above anger and hate, and find it within ourselves to forgive. Even those who we don’t think deserve forgiveness.”
“Rick had the right of it. I’ve known Randall since he was in diapers. He’s not an evil child. He simply grew up around some very ignorant and hateful people. He, most likely, is ignorant and hateful himself yet, I implore you all to consider the verse Jon 8:7. He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone.”
“We’ve all committed terrible sins to survive in this world as long as we have yet, here we stand unpunished. You saw mine first hand yet, here I stand unpunished. So why is it that we cast judgement down on this boy when, if any of you had been in his position, you would have committed the very same sins? If strangers had killed my daughters like that, my family, I wouldn’t have stopped fighting until they were dead. I wanted to kill y’all when you put down my wife and boys. I might’ve tried it too if they weren’t… what they were.”
“Death. Grief. War. They steal away our humanity like that. Right now, the battle’s over. The fighting has lulled. Our minds are calm. Let us make the right decision before we lose the ability to think clearly.”
Hershel stepped back and retook his seat at Beth’s side.
“Anyone else?” Rick asked.
“Yeah, I wanna say somethin’,” Daryl said. He scowled from behind Carol with arms folded across his chest. “I ain’t got a whole sermon for y’all. Shit’s pretty simple. This kid tried to kill us so, we kill him. That’s all I gotta say. Anyone else who’s got some big speech can go right ahead.”
The group brooded in silence to rival even Ghost. Jon looked around the porch for a sign that someone else had something to say. Andrea sat beside him. She should have had something to say. It wasn’t like her to allow the foolishness of display to go unchallenged. Yet, Andrea sat huddled against the wall, knees tucked to her chest, eye downcast, sharing in the group’s silence.
Even Bloodbeak remained in his queer silence. His blind, scarred eye stared at Jon from the rafters, unblinking for it lacked the ability. It followed him as he walked into the centre of the porch. Ghost eyes flickered open. He stretched and yawned before padding after Jon and sitting by his side. All eyes fell on them.
“I wish to speak,” Jon said.
Rick’s expression tightened as he nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Life is a fickle thing. So very easy to lose. Right now, with times being what they are, that could never be more true. The dead, hunger, thirst, disease, our fellow man; the threat of death badgers us wherever we go. I ask you all, pray tell me what protects us from death’s threats? Sanctuary, that's what, and this farm is a near-perfect sanctuary. The fields fend off hunger. The well fends off thirst. It’s medicine and doctor fends off disease. Its weapons and ammo fend off the dead, and wards against our fellow man who seek to destroy us. Do not be mistaken, they do. Our farm is a beacon of hope and life. In a world of death and darkness, a beacon on a hill attracts ire like a lantern attracts moths. There is no man alive who would not kill another when it comes to their life versus a stranger’s. When they – our fellow man, desperate for life – see this place, their first thought will be of how to make it theirs. You would all think the same, in your deepest of hearts. I know it to be true. I know you know it to be true, no matter how much you hide from it.”
“I ask you to recall. Hershel and his family, and Jenner I permit leniency for they were not present to see the quarry. As for the rest of you, I ask you to recall. Have you forgotten the quarry so easily? Have you forgotten what happens when we lose our sanctuary? People die. Lots of people. Men, women, children. They die slow, agonising deaths, torn limb from limb, eaten alive. It can happen again. It will happen again if we are not vigilant. Our sanctuary is built upon a foundation of twigs and straws. One blow of the wind and all comes crumbling down, and let me assure you, the winds are howling. Have you forgotten the horde? I haven’t. As we speak, thousands of the dead march on this place. A hundred of the dead nearly wiped us out back at the quarry. A thousand will flood over this place and wash all we have away. And then where will we be?”
“We can not afford to dawdle. We can’t hope to protect this place from the horde whilst also engaged in open warfare with the Culvers. We must bring about a swift and efficient end to this conflict. Peace was lost the moment we drew blood. A hostage holds no benefits. Quite the opposite. The boy requires a constant watch, food and water, and medicine. We can’t afford to sacrifice such vital resources as it is, let alone while we are at war. You all speak of liberty, democracy, justice, Gods and morality as if they are necessities. They are not. You speak of privileges afforded to us by civilisation. In times such as these, in times where life is so easily lost, civilisation itself is paramount. Privileges of better times must be put to the wayside so we can make the hard, necessary decisions that’ll keep us alive. As we stand here, discussing whether to make a foolish decision or a reasonable one, we stand supported by the memories of all those who died so we may live. If we are to cherish their memory, we must be able to make these hard decisions. I beg you, please see the truth of our circumstances. See reason.”
“Truth! Truth, truth, truth!” Bloodbeak quorked.
By the time Jon finished speaking, all eyes were off of him. All voices were silent. All faces were tight and tense. Anger, frustration and guilt gripped all. Jon prayed that the emotions on display were directed at the self rather than Jon. A small part of him hoped for it to be true. A larger part of him knew it wasn’t. Without another word, Jon rejoined Andrea’s side on the porch boards. Ultimately, it did not matter. If they voted in favour of reason or foolishness, the boy would die anyway. Jon would see to it. They believe me a boy. If they can not kill one boy, they will not kill another. They may hate me for it but they will be alive, so it matters not.
“You never mentioned this horde before,” Hershel said. Fear strained his voice. “Is what he said true, Rick?”
“It is…”
“And you never thought to mention that?!” Maggie said.
“I was going to, once y’all had a night to mourn your dead. What Jon said is true. A horde of walkers trailed us from Atlanta. They’re moving slowly, though. It’ll be about two weeks before they arrive. Maybe more. From what we’ve seen, the bigger the horde gets, the slower it moves and it’s been growin’ at a steady rate.”
“An- And there’s thousands of ‘em?” Beth asked.
“Yup,” Daryl said. “Counted them myself.”
Tears brimmed in Beth’s eyes. She squeezed Hershel’s hand and looked at Jon. Fear sharpened her eyes. “How are we gonna deal with thousands of ‘em? There ain’t even thirty of us.”
“We build walls.” Jon pointed to the tree line. “Just one side will do for now. They’ll approach through the trees. A strong wall will act as a shield against any stragglers while we try to lure them further down the highway.”
“The fuck you mean lure ‘em?” Daryl asked.
“They’re drawn to our eng-”
“We can discuss this later,” Shane said. “We’re here to talk about Randall, ain’t we? I’ve got something I’d like to say.”
Jon scowled. The look Beth had given him. It spoke of truth seen. Shane’s support of Randall’s death threatened to undo any scrap of goodwill towards Jon.
“Go ahead,” Rick muttered. “We can plan for the horde later.”
Shane stepped forward. He sighed, ran his hand across his scalp of patchwork stubble and shook his head. “Tell me y’all are hearin’ the same shit I am. This crazy talk. Are we killers now? Is that the way of it? A group of kid killers? I don’t think so. Y’all are good people. I’ve seen it, time and time again. Y’all charged head-first into a dead-infested city to save a son of bitch who really didn’t deserve it. Y’all managed to forgive her.” Shane gestured to Maggie. “She shot Carl. Almost killed him. Yet, we act like it never happened. Y’all even managed to forgive me, it seems. Or at least look the other way. Y’all ain’t gonna kill this kid. Shoot, y’all don’t want to kill this kid. ‘Cause y’all have got your heads on straight. Jon though?” Shane smiled at Jon. “I mean, we all know.”
Shane paused and scanned the group. Jon followed his eyes. Wherever Jon’s eyes went, gazes scattered to hide. All except Carol. Her gaze never met his. Instead, it bore into Shane as she scowled.
“We all know why Jon wants to kill this kid,” Shane continued. “I don’t gotta say it. Don’t get me wrong, we all love Jon. He’s a part of our little misfit family we’ve got goin’ here. But we all know he ain’t all there upstairs. We’ve all seen the scars. How do y’all reckon he got ‘em? What’d he go through to end up here, like that, alone, at his age? Jon’s probably been through more hell than most of us. Gives you a certain outlook on life. A fucked up one. It ain’t his fault but…” Shane looked Jon right in the eyes. “He ain’t fit to make decisions like these. Frankly, he shouldn’t even be here. Her neither.” Shane pointed at Beth. “They ain’t even old enough to decide on a president let alone somethin’ like this.”
“You done?” Rick asked.
Shane’s gaze snapped from Jon to Rick. He cocked his head and laughed. “Did I say I was done, brother? No. No, I don’t think I did, did I? We shouldn’t kill this kid. We shouldn’t even be fuckin’ discussin’ it. It’s evil. Plain and simple. The fact some of y’all are even considerin’ it makes me fuckin’ sick. Now, I’m done.”
Shane stared Rick down for a few lingering moments before stepping back against the porch banister.
“Anyone else got somethin’ to share?” Rick asked, curt and sharp. After a few moments of silence, he nodded. “Alright. Let’s start then. Lori’ll hand out the slips, write down-”
The front door creaked open. Carl hobbled through the doorway, clutching its frame. The brim of his hat cast a long shadow over his face. Its golden star dulled in the shadow of the porch’s shade.
“Carl…” Rick sighed and approached his son.
Lori followed after him. “Let’s get you back to bed, honey, okay?”
“No,” Carl whispered. His little face scrunched as he stepped onto the porch floorboards. “You guys need to do it.”
“This isn’t something that concerns you, son. You ain’t old enough.” Rick lifted Carl into his arms as easily as if Carl weighed nothing.
“You need to kill him, Dad. He wants to kill us. He’s bad.”
“No, son. He ain’t.” Rick looked at Lori. “Finish up here, won’t you?”
Lori frowned, touched Carl’s forehead and pursed her lips. “He’s burnin’ up.”
“I’m fine, Mom…” Carl whispered, slumped in Rick’s arms.
Hershel rose. “Jenner and I’ll see to him.” Hershel looked to Jenner.
Jenner nodded and the two of them followed Rick inside. Lori remained and made to start handing out the paper slips when Carol stood and approached her.
“Go be with your child. I’ll bring your slips to you.” Without waiting for an answer, Carol eased the bowl from Lori’s hands.
“Thanks, Carol.” Lori smiled and hugged her. “Glenn and T-Dog’s votes are already in the bowl.”
“Got it. Now, go on.”
Lori nodded and headed inside. Carol crossed the porch and placed the bowl on the seat where she’d been sitting. She started handing out the slips of paper.
“No one put your vote in the bowl until we’ve all written down our answer,” she said.
Once everyone gave a nod or spoke an agreement, Carol took up the only pen and scribbled down her vote. The pen passed around the porch and one by one, votes were written behind the cover of hands and backs. When the pen came to Jon, he pressed his slip against the wall and wrote, “kill”, without bothering to cover his paper. Once all the votes were set, Carol carried the bowl around the porch and collected everyone’s paper. She disappeared inside, returned a few moments later and began sorting the votes into two piles on her chair.
Jon’s heart sank. Two piles formed. The majority of the votes clumped made up one pile. If reason were to prevail, it’d be by a slim margin. Such a disparity could only mean foolishness. By the time Carol had finished, the answer became clear before Carol had spoken a word.
“Four to kill. Ten to live.”
***
The sun sank low beyond the fields, painting all in a warm orange hew and cold, long shadows. Sixteen long shadows climbed the barn’s hill, fifteen dark fingers reaching for the barn’s doors. Beside the sixteenth grave full of unnamed strangers, lay a seventeenth. A pile of dirt sat beside it, impaled by a rusting shovel. Fifteen living souls gathered around the empty grave, sharing a moment of silent grief, Jon among them.
Sophia lay at the foot of the grave, covered in the blanket from her sleeping bag, a checkerboard of white rabbits leaping upon a field of pink. Her hand poked out from beneath the folds, tiny and covered in flaking, waxy skin. Carol knelt beside her, holding the hand, head bowed, shoulders hunched. On Sophia’s chest sat her pink bear, tall and stiff like a soldier standing guard. A scar of stitches carved a line across the bear’s chest where Longclaw had pierced it.
Daryl stood behind Carol, a hand on her shoulder. A long shadow cast his face in a gloomy shade, darkening his eye bags and deepening his bunny lines. A make-shift quiver fashioned out of a sleeping bag’s bag was slung over his shoulder. Hand-crafted bolts with whittled tips and fletched with raven feathers filled it. His crossbow lay in the dirt by his feet within arm's reach.
Lori stood tall as she held Carl against her belly, arms crisscrossed over his chest. Rick stood by her side, arm around her shoulder, squeezing Carl’s hand. Tears brimmed in Lori’s eyes. Lines stiffened Rick’s face. Carl wore a mask of stone. He stared past the mound beneath the blanket as if it were something entirely different to what it was. The holster on his hip lacked a gun.
The pistol that had once belonged to Carl resided at T-Dog’s hip. The stocky man watched Carol stroke the pink blanket, shrunken and hunched. The setting sun glimmered in his large, round eyes. He wiped at them often but the glimmer always returned. Dale rested a delicate hand on T-Dog’s broad shoulder. His eyes shifted back and forth from Sophia to the other end of the gathered group where Andrea stood.
Andrea met his eyes only once. Elsewise they were fixed on the barn, on the doors kept secure with little more than bags of gravel. When her gaze did meet Dales that one and only time, it lingered. A frown had spread across her face. Not sharp nor sour but, soft and bitter. Dale broke the lingering gaze. Andrea fidgeted with the string of knives along her belt. Dale fidgeted with the bolt lever of a rifle.
Apart from Daryl and Carol, Jenner stood closest of all to Sophia, holding a shotgun. He stared long and hard where the blanket hid Sophia’s face, his jaw set stiff and sharp. The man Jon had talked into seeing hope for the future, a man once determined to meet death, may as well have been a stranger. A thin red line bled through the white patch covering his cheek.
Glenn stood with the Greenes behind the wooden cross Beth had carved that afternoon. A shotgun lay at his feet. He held Maggie’s hand as his features wavered between stout composure and the precipice of grief. Whenever his composure faded, Maggie squeezed his hand and it returned. Her gaze shifted between Carol and a grave further down the line. As did Hershel’s. A tremble troubled his good hand as it clutched the book of his god. His bandaged, ruined right hand gripped Beth’s shoulder. She wept openly, the only one to do so. She wept for a girl she never knew. A girl she’d never spoken a word to. She’d never seen the rare smiles or heard the rarer laughter. Yet, she wept all the same.
Only Shane wasn’t at the grave. Atop the barn’s hill, he gazed out into the fields, over the top of the farmhouse’s roof. Ghost did much the same. Sat at Jon’s heel, he faced the fields, back facing the grave. Every so often, Jon glanced at the direwolf’s jaws for a silent snarl or ears for a flicker. If their enemies made an appearance, Ghost’s ears would hear it long before Shane spotted them. Otherwise, Jon kept his sights set on Sophia, waiting on Carol.
They’d come to put her to rest, to hear it be said. Folly. What rest? No, a funeral was so much more. To bury someone, to mark their grave, to speak of their life’s achievements; it honoured who they were. A funeral celebrated life. It warned of the fragility of mortality. All of a sudden, Jon realised the mistake of his ancestors. The tombs of the Stark Kings should have never been hidden away in the crypts. They should have been displayed where every man, woman and child could see. Where every future king could see to remind them how easily death comes for us all. Mayhaps then, Robb wouldn’t have…
Carol sighed and let go of Sophia’s hand. “Alright, I’m ready. Let’s put her under.”
Carol got to her feet and made room for Daryl and Jon. Daryl climbed into the grave while Jon cradled Sophia in his arms. She weighed as much as if she were stuffed with straw. Delicate, like handling something made of glass, Jon lowered Sophia into Daryl’s arms. Daryl took her, lay her on the grave’s floor and smoothed over the pink blanket. Jon picked up Sophia’s bear from the dirt. He traced the stitching across the bear’s chest before handing it to Daryl. After returning the bear to Sophia’s chest, Daryl climbed out of the grave. He joined Jon’s side as Carol pulled the rusted shovel from the pile of dirt. She buried the shovel’s blade into the pile, lifted a heaped mound and dumped it into the grave. Then she did it again. And again. And again.
No one made a move to stop her. That argument had long been had and lost. Instead, the only move made was by Hershel. He stepped forward, leaving Beth to weep on Maggie’s shoulder as he opened his god’s book.
“There is a special Angel in Heaven that is part of us. It is not where we wanted her but where God wanted her to be. She was here but just a moment like a nighttime shooting star. And though she is in Heaven she isn't very far. She touched the heart of many like only an Angel can do. So I send this special message to Heaven up above. Please take care of our Angel and send her all our love.”
Jon heard a whimper. Tears broke the stone mask of Carl’s face. Lori hugged him tight and stroked his hair. Rick knelt and took his hand into his. Carl acknowledged neither. He stared at the shovel even as the tears flowed, following each mound of dirt. The proper thing to do. The proper way to honour her memory. Carl’s eyes met Jon’s. He gave Carl a nod and resolve hardened on his round, freckled face.
Only once the dirt blocked Sophia entirely from view did Jon leave the grave’s side. He rejoined Ghost and stroked his fur as he watched the barn.
I will kill the boy tonight under the cover of darkness. There will be a guard. It will not be me, Rick wouldn’t allow it. Depending on who ends up being chosen, I may have to incapacitate them. That’ll make noise. So be it. To end a life takes only a moment and the boy is crippled, he can not fight back. They’ll never be able to reach the barn in time to stop me. They’ll hate me for it. That is certain. Any doubts about my wits shall be solidified in their minds. They’ll think me mad, deranged, dangerous. So be it. What is the cost of love compared to the price of life?
A flutter of black wings perched upon Jon’s shoulder. “Love,” Bloodbeak muttered. “Love, love, love.”
In the corner of Jon’s eye, he saw Ghost’s fangs bear. He rose onto all fours. His hackles stiffened. His ears twitched.
“We’ve got company!” Shane yelled.
All eyes snapped to the fields. Except for Carol. She continued filling the grave, never so much as flinching.
Distant engines rumbled across the rolling hills.
“How many?!” Rick drew his revolver
“Four!” Shane laughed. “Man, you’re not gonna believe this shit!”
“The hell you talkin’ ‘bout?!”
“They’re wavin’ a white flag!”
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Next chapter, peace balances on a razor's edge as Jon and the group attempt to negotiate with the Culver family.
