The distant rumbling of engines howled like a pack of screamers.

Rick’s voice thundered deep from within his chest.

“LORI, CAROL TAKE CARL AND ANYONE ELSE WITHOUT A GUN INSIDE! THE REST OF Y’ALL COME WITH ME! WE’LL MEET ‘EM AT THE GATES! KEEP YOUR BARRELS POINTED AT THE GROUND! WE DON’T WANT TO PROVOKE ‘EM! WE’VE GOT A CHANCE TO END THINGS HERE!”

“End! End! End!” Bloodbeak took to the sky, screeching. “END! END! END!” He perched on the peak of the barn’s roof.

It couldn’t be true. They couldn’t be surrendering. Shane must’ve been lying. That, or the mad fool was mistaken. With Ghost at his heels, Jon rushed to the top of the hill. Loose dirt tried to steal his footing half a dozen times. Over the top of the farm’s roof, Jon saw a procession of four vehicles speeding along the asphalt road. The leader of the procession, from atop a motorcycle, waved a white sheet on a long pole. Was that what counted for a peace banner in this land? Regardless, it had to be some sort of distraction.

The woods!

Jon whipped around and scanned the woods. They encircled the farm. At their closest, they were a field’s distance away. At their furthest, sprawling hills and fields separated them. Even among the closest trees, there was no movement but that meant nothing. In the thick of the foliage, an attacker would remain unseen until the very last moment, let alone at such a distance. However, a bullet could travel the distance between the closest trees and the farm in half a heartbeat.

Below the barn’s hill, the group had already hurried off. Those without guns made for the house while those with guns followed Rick across the gravel to the defences. Only Shane remained, sitting in the dirt, chuckling to himself. “All that fuss. All that bullshit back and forth, and they just up and surrender? Bet you feel pretty stupid, don’t ya, kid?” Shane burst out laughing. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Kid! Kid! Kid!” Bloodbeak quorked.

Jon ignored them both and drew a deep breath.

“WAIT!”

Both groups froze and turned to face him with horror in their eyes.

“What’s wrong?!” Rick strained to shout.

“Have you all taken leave of your senses?! It could be a distraction! There are only four of them! The bulk of their forces could be in the woods, preparing to ambush us!”

They did naught but gawk at one another before Rick waved the two groups together. The distance between them and Jon hushed the words spoken but, Jon saw Rick point to individual members of the group as if counting them off. The unarmed group continued towards the house while the armed group split in two. Glenn, Daryl, Andrea and Hershel headed for the defences. Dale, T-Dog, Maggie and Rick returned to the hill. Jon left Shane to his madness and met Rick at the bottom of the hill.

“All this shoutin’ is killin’ my damn throat,” Rick said to him. “I’m leavin’ this group to watch our rear while I meet the Culvers at the fence. You’re comin’ too.”

“One of us should stay here, where the true fight will unfold,” Jon said.

“And what if there isn’t a fight and we need to negotiate? I’ve only ever done somethin’ like this in trainin’. You’ve done it for real.”

“Aye…” Jon couldn’t deny the sense in it. “I’ve also commanded battles, though.”

“Shane can handle things here.”

“Shane? Look at him. You can’t trust him with anything, let alone this.”

“Shane can shoot a gun and think under pressure. Now, come with me. It ain’t a request.”

Howling engines became roaring engines. Gravel dust rose on dusk's backdrop like a plume of dancing wildfire smoke. The woods remained without motion. Ghost sat at Jon’s feet, watching the rising plume of gravel dust.

“Fine, but if an ambush comes we must waste no time with these pretenders. No voting. No arguing. War doesn’t permit such things. They must die. Right away. We must be decisive. Right now, we either sink or swim.”

“If it comes to it, they will.” Rick looked at the top of the hill. “Shane! You’re in charge here! Get ready for an ambush from the woods!”

Shane shot to his feet. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and laughed. “Alright, people! You heard our glorious leader, move! Take cover behind the metal!”

Maggie, Dale and T-Dog hesitated. They looked to Rick. Rick nodded. They headed towards the scrap metal fence facing the woods beyond the fields. Shane trailed after them, barking commands.

Jon followed Rick towards the defences. Gravel crunched underfoot with every step. A determined breeze blew a thin smog of gravel dust over them, dimming the orange glare of the setting sun. It dried his tongue and stung his eyes. A short-lived mercy. An advantage stolen. The smog evened the playing field for an attack. But when it faded and the sun’s glare returned… That’s what it had to be, an attack. This supposed bid for peace had to be a rouse. It had to be. So much blood had been shed. Too much. The time for forgiveness and peace had long since passed.

As Jon arrived at the defences on the farm’s gravel road, he looked to his right. Past the scrap metal fence, across the rolling fields, the woods remained silent and still. Ghost’s fangs remained unbarred, his hackles flattened, his ears still. The direwolf padded ahead of Jon towards the RV.

The procession of vehicles with their false peace flag had made it halfway up the gravel road by the time Jon and Rick arrived at the RV. Perched atop a hill, the RV overlooked their meagre defences; the scrap metal of the fence and the cases of ammunition that sat behind it. Glenn and Andrea stood atop the RV behind Dale’s plastic long table. A terrible trembling plagued Glenn’s hands as he held his shotgun. Andrea’s grip on her rifle was steady as she propped it up on the table’s lip, putting the procession in her sights. Daryl and Hershel waited at the base of the RV. A bolt sat cocked and armed in Daryl’s crossbow. Hershel clutched the book of his God in his one good hand.

“Hershel, there are four of them in that procession,” Jon said. “How many more could there be?”

Hershel glanced at the woods. “Assumin’ they all survived the outbreak, three.”

Three. A manageable number. Yet… “That’s assuming they haven’t picked up any strangers into their midst.”

“That’s true…” Hershel glanced at the woods.

Roaring engines became thundering engines. The smog thickened.

“What’s the name of the one holdin’ the flag?” Rick asked.

“Sam Culver most like, judgin’ by the size of him. He’s Randall’s uncle.”

“Is he reasonable?” Rick asked.

“I never spoke more than a few words with the man but, he spoke eloquently enough. Although, he has a reputation for bein’ quick-tempered. That’s nothin’ more than small-town gossip, mind you. Still, they’ve gotta come from somewhere, I suppose.”

“You ain’t actually serious about this are you?” Daryl asked.

Rick cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re talkin’ like you plan on hearin’ ‘em out.”

“’Course I am. What would you do? Gun ‘em down? They’re surrenderin’.”

“No, they fuckin’ ain’t. People like that ain’t fuckin’ reasonable. Those tattoos the kid’s got; the lightning bolts on his face. You know what those mean, don’t ya?”

Rick's expression turned grim. “I do.”

“What do they mean?” Jon asked.

Daryl spat. “Best case they’re a bunch of shit-for-brains skinheads. Worst case they’re Aryan Brotherhood or Hells Angels or some shit.”

“Skinheads…” Hershel murmured. “Just skinheads.”

“Either way, we can’t live with ‘em.”

“We lived with Merl,” Rick said. “You don’t think I didn’t see the patches inside his jacket?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is!”

Silhouettes, like a troupe of brown shadows, approached the farm.

Daryl began pacing. “Merl was… Merl was one guy. There are four of them. Five with the kid! How do you think they’re gonna react to T-Dog, to Glenn? You see any peace comin’ from that?”

“Whatever their views are, deep down they’ve gotta be reasonable. Ain’t the fact they’re here to surrender proof of that?”

“You can’t possibly believe that, man.”

Whatever it meant to be a skinhead or Aryan Brotherhood or a Hells Angel, if it meant choosing between war and living with five Merls, the choice was obvious. Assuming the bid for peace was genuine, that is. Which it almost certainly wasn’t.

“We may as well hear their bid,” Jon said. “If we suspect them to be false, we kill them and prepare for a counter-attack from the woods. If they prove to be true, we discuss peace terms. Better to deal with petty tensions than deal with open warfare.”

“Petty tensions? Easy for you to say, dude,” Glenn said.

“There ain’t nothin’ petty about what those fuckers believe,” Daryl said.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, decide on it now,” Andrea said. “They’re almost here.”

The roar of the engines had grown deafening. Four silhouettes grew larger and larger in the smog.

Rick took Daryl by the shoulders. “I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I? I need you to trust me again. Tell me you can do that.”

The smog hid Daryl’s face. Jon saw the silhouette of his shoulders slump. “God dammit… fine. But if they so much as look like they’re gonna shoot, I’m puttin’ a fuckin’ bolt through someone’s head.”

Rick let go. “Thank you. Now, Hershel join Glenn and Andrea on the RV and stay out of sight until I say otherwise. Andrea keep ‘em in your sights. They make to shoot, you shoot first. Jon, Daryl, take up positions behind the fence on either side of the road.”

Hershel’s silhouette began a slow, one-handed climb up the RV’s ladder. He grunted and cursed under his breath with each rung.

The roar of the engines peaked and then died. The smog thinned and cleared, revealing the procession parked ten or so paces from the gap in the scrap-metal fence. Three figures wearing brown jackets and black half-helms sat atop bikes of two and four wheels. Behind them, a flatbed truck was parked. It’d been turned so its side faced the farm. Black bandannas covered their mouths. Strange, glass lenses covered their eyes, secured by a strap around the head.

A broad-shouldered man sat on the four-wheeled motorbike wielding an automatic rifle. The same automatic rifle from the bar, Jon realised. His gaze, hidden behind the strange eye-coverings, scanned the group. Besides the automatic rifle wielder, sat on a motorcycle, was a slim, twig-limbed man holding a shotgun. He stared right at Jon and no one else. Both men dismounted their vehicles and stood on either side of the bike between them. Daryl’s bike, Jon realised.

Sat on Daryl’s motorcycle was the man who must have been Sam Culver. He held no weapons, only the peace banner, which he promptly lay in the gravel before dismounting. Barrel-chested, thick-limbed and a good head and a half taller than his companions, Sam Culver appeared more bear than man. A final figure emerged. A pot-bellied man exited the flatbed truck wielding a scoped rifle. He marched past the two behind Sam and joined his side. Sam took a single step forward.

Rick whispered. “Jon, leave Ghost by the RV.”

“Aye.”

As Rick and Daryl descended the hill, Jon looked at Ghost. Red eyes stared up into his, unblinking. “Stay, Ghost.”

Ghost sat and his gaze shifted to the Culvers. Whatever the direwolf saw, it gave him no cause to bare his fangs nor raise his hackles. Jon glanced at the woods. Silent and still. He drew Needle. The pistol weighed twice what it usually did. Tightening his grip on it, Jon hurried after Rick and Daryl. He met them halfway and, as one, they approached the gap in the scrap metal.

Rick whispered again. “Let me do the talkin’ for now. This ain’t a negotiation yet, it’s a disarmament. If you think they’re about to shoot, put ‘em down.”

“Right,” Daryl said.

“Aye.”

Jon and Daryl crouched behind the scrap metal on either side of the gap which the gravel road passed through. Rick stood in the gap, his mouth formed a firm, thin line as he stared down Sam Culver.

Sam unwound his bandanna from around his mouth and perched his eye coverings on his forehead. Grizzly hair like black, curly wire strapped his chin, neck and forearms. Squashed-in features and beady eyes gave him a perpetual squint. “Who’re you?” he asked.

“Rick Grimes. I’m a sheriff's deputy. You’re Sam Culver, right?”

“Is this your farm now, Rick Grimes?”

“These are my people. It’s still Hershel’s farm.”

“Right… well, I came to speak to Hershel.”

“Way I hear it, you and Hershel know each other about as well as you and I.”

The pot-bellied man stepped forward. “You deaf, pig? Get Hersh-”

“Pete, get back in your truck!” Sam shouted.

Pete tore his bandanna off and pulled off his eye coverings. A deep red flushed his pudgy features and layered chins. He lacked both head and facial hair, making him look like a thumb with a face. Any resolve that might have been present in his eyes vanished the moment Sam loomed over him. Pete spat, threw down his rifle and stormed back to his truck, slamming the door behind him.

Sam’s wrath left in the blink of an eye. “I apologise for him.”

“We’re all on edge,” Rick said.

“I see that.” Sam nodded to where Shane and the others were gathered.

Jon saw no movement among the trees. Did Sam acknowledge the woods as a bluff? Or was there truly no attack coming? Jon studied the grips of the other two on their guns. They were loose, almost casual. Their fingers rested away from the triggers and the barrels were pointed right at the ground. The slim man on the left stared right at him. His gaze had never once left to glance at the woods. The broad-shouldered man to the right of Sam had looked at Rick, the RV, Jon and Daryl, Ghost at the top of the hill, but never once at the woods. A man’s eyes always betrayed him. Always. So, unless these men were disciplined warriors…

“You’ll have to forgive us for being careful, we weren’t exactly expecting you,” Rick said.

The slim man on Sam’s left joined his side, looking right at Jon all the while.

“That’s gotta be him. He’s exactly what Randall described.” The man’s voice was silk, sweet and without the slightest hint of tenor. A boy, then. Randall’s younger, taller brother perhaps.

Jon moved his finger onto Needle’s trigger as Sam looked down at him but Sam only grunted.

“I’ve got eyes.”

The slim man retreated, still staring.

Sam turned his beady eyes back on Rick. “Understand my perspective here. I don’t know you and, you’re right, I don’t know Hershel much better. But I know his reputation. He’s a kind, reasonable, god-fearing, family man. Even fixed my dog Bindi’s influenza, rest her soul. As for you, for all I know you took that sheriff's star from a corpse. What I do know is that your people killed half my family.”

Rick stiffened and glanced at Daryl. Daryl’s finger moved onto the trigger of his crossbow. Rick raised a hand and Daryl moved the finger away.

“I can bring you, Hershel,” Rick said. “But I’ll need somethin’ in return. A show of goodwill. You lay your guns down and kick ‘em over to me, I’ll bring you, Hershel.”

The broad-shouldered man to Sam’s right tore his bandanna off and raised his eye coverings. His face looked queerly familiar. “Goodwill?” he snapped. “You kill my brother and expect goodwill?!” Jon watched the man’s hands, anticipating the slip of his finger onto the trigger.

“James, calm down.” Sam’s voice remained flat.

“No!” James’s grip tightened around his automatic rifle. “How the hell are you so calm, Pa?! These mother fuckers killed Jack! They killed Uncle Clyde, Caleb, Cynthia, Dan and Randy! They killed them all and you’re fuckin’ talking to ‘em instead of-”

“Randall ain’t dead!” Rick raised both his hands. A second later and Jon would’ve shot James and, judging by the whites showing Daryl’s eyes, Daryl would’ve done the same.

James froze and gawked at Rick.

The slim boy stepped forward. His voice was sharp and thin. “What do you mean Randy ain’t dead?”

Sam caught his arm. He glanced at Andrea. “Pete told us you shot Randall, that he fell from a roof and broke his neck.”

“No, he fell onto a fence. Pierced both his legs. We saved him.” Slow and careful, Rick pointed behind his head. “He’s alive, in there, that barn. Can you see the barn?”

“I see it,” Sam said.

The slim boy tugged on Sam’s grip. He tore off his bandanna, lifted his eye coverings and tossed off his helmet. Long, black hair tumbled past his… no, her shoulders. Two lightning bolt tattoos decorated her cheek beneath her eye. “Take me to the little bastard.”

“May, shut your mouth,” Sam grunted. He pulled May by her arm back to his side.

Rick spoke slowly. “I can’t do that but I can bring him to you. First, y’all need to put down your guns.”

James stammered. “So- So what? They can kill my brother and just because they saved hers we act like nothin’ happened?”

“James, get in the truck,” Sam said.

“No!”

“You do what you’re told, boy!” Sam turned on him and snatched the gun from his hands like taking a toy away from a child.

James gawked at him before, kicking Daryl’s bike and heading back to the truck. Gravel crunched beneath his stomping steps.

“Sam, put your guns down.” Rick lowered the hand that’d stopped Daryl from shooting.

“No.”

“The hell’re you doing?” May tried and failed to twist out of Sam’s grip.

“He says they’ve got Randall. Do you see Randall?”

“No,” May muttered. She stopped putting up a fight.

“I ain’t lyin’ to you,” Rick said.

“So you say. Bring Hershel. I want to hear it from his mouth. If I believe him, we put our guns down.”

“And if you don’t?” Daryl snapped.

Sam looked down at Daryl as if seeing him for the first time. He scowled. A grim look crossed his face. “Look… I know where Hershel is. He’s right there. I saw him as we were pulling up.” Sam pointed at the defences atop the RV. “You have him poke his head above that table, barrier-thing you’ve set up and May’ll put her gun down. Have Hershel climb down and I’ll put this here AK down. Bring Hershel here and I’ll kick the guns to you. All of ‘em. That sound reasonable?”

“The girl puts her gun down, and then you see Hershel’s face,” Jon said.

“Hershel first,” Sam said.

Rick gave Jon an appraising look before turning a stone-cold stare on Sam. “Her gun goes down first. Then you see Hershel.”

Sam sighed. “Fine.” He let go of May and she dropped her shotgun at her feet.

Rick shouted, never taking his eyes off Sam. “Hershel! Poke your head above the table!”

Sam’s eyes looked past Rick. He nodded and dropped his automatic rifle.

“Hershel, climb down and wait beside the RV!”

Behind him, Jon heard the clanging of footsteps on the roof of the RV and the grunts of Hershel’s slow, one-handed descent down the ladder. When the noise ended, Sam nodded and kicked his automatic rifle over to Rick.

“Hershel, come join us!”

The crunch of footsteps on gravel approached Jon from behind. Hershel appeared at Rick’s side, cradling his bandaged hand. Wet crimson darkened the white cloth. Sam kicked the other two guns one by one, sending them skidding across the gravel to rest at Rick’s feet.

“I hear you saved Randall, Hershel,” Sam said.

Hershel nodded. “I treated his wounds myself. I stopped his bleedin’ and patched him up best I could. He ain’t conscious yet but, he’s been fed, given water and kept out of harm’s way in my barn.”

May scoffed and gave Hershel a disgusted look.

“And this man, Rick Grimes? You trust him to talk for you?” Sam asked.

“I do. These people you see around us, these strangers, are honest, hard-working men and women. And Rick here is the most diligent of them all. He’s a defender, a provider, a father, a husband and a christian.”

“You’ve got a family here, Rick?”

Rick’s hands rested on his hips. His right rested above his holster. “I do.”

“A whole family?”

“No. I lost my parents, my sister, my brother, nieces, nephews and my in-laws. All I’ve got left is my wife and my boy.”

A solemn look crossed Sam’s face. “How old’s this boy of yours?”

“Eight. Nine soon, I think. If I’ve got the dates right.”

“It’s a hell of an excuse to forget a birthday, isn’t it? All this. No one can hold it against you no more,” Sam said.

“I guess not.” Rick moved his hands off his hips.

“Where do we go from here, Rick?” Sam asked. “You’ve got my guns. The ball’s in your court.”

“That depends on you. Are you ready to surrender?”

“Yeah.”

“And this is all of you here? Just the four of you? You ain’t got nobody waitin’ in the woods?”

“Ignoring your double negative, no. All that’s left of us is who you see here.”

“That convincing enough for you, Jon?” Rick asked.

“Unless they’re the best group of mummers ever graced with life, I’d say their surrender is true.”

Sam looked amused. “Mummers?”

“Daryl?” Rick asked. “It good enough for you?”

Daryl spat. “They’re too stupid to lie that well.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s gotta be the nicest insult I’ve ever heard.”

“When do I get to see my brother?” May asked.

“Soon,” Rick said. “Hershel, you willin’ to let Sam onto your land?”

Hershel nodded. “I am.”

Rick nodded. “Sam, you’ll come with us to the RV. That’s where we’ll discuss your terms for surrender.”

“There’s gonna be terms?”

“There are always terms.”

“You gonna try and kill him?” May asked, calmly, as if it was of no concern to her.

Rick blinked. “No.”

May crossed her arms. “You’d die if you tried.”

Sam gave May a swift clout in the ear, nearly knocking the girl off of her feet. “Go join the others.”

Rubbing her ear, May huffed and did as she was told.

“Jon, Daryl, gather up the guns. Sam, you’ll follow Hershel and me to the RV.” Rick spoke with a voice of steel. He turned on his heel and headed back up the gravel path towards the RV with Hershel trailing behind him.

Sam crossed the distance between him and the fence. Jon and Daryl rose. Daryl kept a firm grip on his crossbow while Jon holstered Needle and loosened Longclaw in its scabbard. When Sam reached the gap in the fence where the guns lay scattered, he stopped and raised a bushy black eyebrow at Longclaw. The man’s barrel chest stood level with Jon’s face, forcing him to look down at Jon over his squashed, crooked nose.

“Randall wasn’t lying, huh? You’ve got a real sword.”

“It’d be best if you keep moving,” Jon said.

Sam smiled. “You’re brave, ain’t you, kid?”

“You heard him, keep movin’,” Daryl said.

“You know, Dan wasn’t lying to you, kid. If you’d given him what he wanted, he’d have let you live.”

“If I’d given him what he wanted Rick’s son would have died.”

“You listenin’ motherfucker? Keep movin’!”

“Is that so? So you weighed the odds. Dan’s life or the kid’s life. Must have been an easy choice.”

Daryl pointed his crossbow at Sam. “Shut the fuck up and go!”

“Do I look like a fucking possum to you? Put that thing away.” Sam stepped over the scattered guns and headed after Rick and Hershel.

Jon tightened Longclaw’s scabbard and knelt to collect the guns. The automatic rifle had a sling so Jon slung it over his back.

“Fucking nazi bastard,” Daryl muttered. He fired his bolt into the ground. It splintered and snapped in two. The tail end spun off into the roadside grass while the pointy end remained embedded in the road. Daryl cursed, kicked the embedded point and slung his crossbow over his back. He snatched up the rifle, leaving Jon to carry the shotgun.

“First you call him skinhead, then Aryan Brotherhood, then Hells Angel, now nazi. Do all those titles mean the same thing?”

“Yeah. Well, no. Kinda. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. All you gotta know is that they’re bad fuckin’ people.”

“What makes them bad?”

“What makes ‘em bad? The fuck you mean? They’re nazis.”

“Daryl, I don’t know what that means.”

Daryl sighed. “Right. Well, we ain’t got time for a fuckin’ history lesson. You wanna know more? Ask Jenner or Dale or somethin’. Just know this. They hate anyone who don’t look like them. There ain’t no rhyme or reason behind it. Reality don’t fuckin’ matter to these people. They see what they wanna see and hate who they want to hate. Only way this ends is with them dead. You’ll see.”

Daryl spat and removed the rifle’s magazine. It had no bullets. Daryl blinked at the empty magazine. “The fuck?” He pulled back the rifle’s lever and looked inside the chamber. Empty as well. “Open the shotgun.”

Remembering all he’d been taught about guns, Jon flipped a little lever on the shotgun and cracked it into two. Both of the shotgun’s chambers were void of shells. He slung the automatic rifle off his back and removed the magazine. Also empty.

“Those stupid motherfuckers…” Daryl stared at the empty guns. “I would have shot that kid and he didn’t even have anythin’ in the fuckin’ chamber. The fuck were they thinkin’?”

Jon slung the automatic rifle back onto his back, picked up the shotgun and stood. “Who knows.” He left and followed the others up the hill. Behind him, Jon heard the crunch of Daryl’s footsteps following him and the muttering of curses under breath. The lack of bullets could be some sort of ploy. Mayhaps, Sam intended for us to find the guns empty in a bid to appear trustworthy. Or, mayhaps, they have no ammo left to fill their guns with. They could have used it all up fighting us. Or it’s all back in that truck. Or… it’s all in the woods. No. Stop that. You’ll drive yourself bloody witless trying to puzzle out every possible deceit. Focus on the information on hand. Sam is alone, unarmed and surrounded by enemies. If an ambush comes now, we’ll kill the giant fool and the rest of his damnable family. If Sam is here for revenge why would he risk getting himself killed? Dying to avenge your loved ones is one thing. Dying before you see their murderers die is another. Sam is telling the truth. The Culvers are telling the truth. They’re truly here for peace.

Jon watched the woods. Silent and still.

Ghost awaited their return on the hill’s peak. Sam passed right by the direwolf, not stopping for even a moment to gawk. Ghost returned the disinterest. As Sam passed him, Ghost’s gaze remained fixed on the flatbed truck. Jon whistled and patted his thigh as he passed Ghost. The direwolf turned and padded beside him, silent as ever.

“That your wolf, kid?” Sam asked without looking back.

“Aye.”

“Cool.” He approached the RV.

Rick stepped into his path. “Not yet, Sam.”

Sam loomed over him and wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“I need to search you for any other weapons.”

“You waited until now to search me?”

“Is that a problem?”

Sam lifted his arms. “Go on, then.”

Rick began touching Sam, trailing pats down his limbs and torso. As Rick worked, Sam looked up at Andrea and Glenn.

“You there. Asian boy. Do you know whose gun you’re holding?”

Glenn scowled. “My name’s Glenn.”

“And my name’s Sam. Answer the question.”

“Shut your mouth and take off your jacket and boots,” Daryl said.

Sam shrugged out his jacket. “I’m not allowed to strike up a bit of friendly conversation?” He kicked off his boots.

“No.” Daryl turned the boots upside down but all that fell out was dust and gravel.

“It’s Hershel’s gun,” Glenn said.

“Wrong. That’s Dan’s gun.”

“Who the hell’s Dan?”

“Who the hell’s Dan?” Sam looked at Jon. “You didn’t even tell them the name of the man you killed?”

A clatter rang out as Glenn dropped his shotgun.

“I told them I killed a man who tried to rob me. His name wasn’t relevant,” Jon said.

“Cold, kid… Damn cold…”

Rick patted down Sam’s legs and ankles and then stood. “Go on inside, Sam.”

“I want my shoes and jacket back”

“Put them on inside. Daryl, give him his stuff back,” Rick said.

Daryl threw Sam’s boots and jacket at his feet.

Sam smiled. “Thank you.” He crouched, picked up his belongings and entered the RV. The RV squeaked and shifted as it took on his weight.

“Alright, Jon, Glenn, Hershel, come with me inside,” Rick said. “Jon, bring Ghost. Daryl, take over for Glenn, join Andrea on the roof.” Rick looked up. “Andrea, keep your sights on the truck. If either of those three step out with a weapon don’t hesitate to shoot.”

“To kill?” Andrea asked.

Rick glanced at Jon. “To kill.”

“Got it.” Andrea propped her rifle up on the table’s edge and looked down the scope.

Glenn climbed down to join them, leaving behind the shotgun. Daryl took up the shotgun that once belonged to Dan and took Glenn’s place beside Andrea. Without another word between them, Jon followed the others inside the RV. They found Sam waiting for them in the RV’s booth. The cushioned seats and plastic table looked like they’d been made for children with Sam sitting at them. His helmet, eye coverings and bandanna sat on the table in an organised pile. Sam’s hair was a mess of thick, black curls painted with streaks of grey.

Rick and Hershel sat across from Sam, Glenn stood behind the back of their seats and Jon leaned against the cabinets across the RV’s narrow walking space. If Sam wanted to leave, he’d have to make it past all four of them to reach the RV’s only door. Ghost slunk through the door without a sound and lay at Jon’s feet, taking up most of the walkway. He shut his eyes. So much for intimidation.

“You don’t mess around do you?” Sam asked. He tapped the RV’s ceiling. “She got the guts to do it, you think? Pretty thing like her?”

“She does,” Jon said.

“That right?” Sam grinned.

“We aren’t here to discuss Andrea,” Rick said.

“So, it’s a discussion we’re gonna have?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that nice? Well, we’ve got a lot to discuss. Where should we start?”

“Where is your camp situated?” Jon asked. “How many of you are there? What are your supplies like?”

“Forgive me but, why are you asking the questions, kid? Which one of you is in charge here?” Sam asked.

“No one’s in charge,” Rick said.

“Someone’s gotta be in charge.”

“We’re a democracy here.”

“So, I didn’t just see you ordering these folks about?”

“I’m in charge of organisin’ people. Important decisions are decided by a vote.”

Sam chuckled. “Did you take a vote before shooting my son? Or was that an unimportant decision?”

Rick grimaced and balled his fists beneath the table.

“Answer my questions,” Jon said. “Where is your camp? How many are there in your group? What supplies do you have?”

Sam turned his gaze to Jon. Jon held his gaze in a casual, disinterested manner.

“You got a map?” Sam asked.

“Glenn, get a map,” Rick said.

Glenn wasted no time disappearing into the RV’s driver’s cab.

“You got a last name, kid?” Sam asked. “You know mine, seems only fair I know yours.”

“Snow.”

“Jon Snow. And that there’s Ghost, I assume.”

“Aye.”

“Fitting pair. Snow and Ghost. You got a family, Jon Snow?”

“Once. I’m afraid you have more family left than I do.”

Sam laughed and slapped the table. His sizeable palm rocked the little plastic table. “Lucky me! Seems you’re out of place here, Jon. This here table is a table for family men. Your family is alive aren’t they, Hershel?”

“Only my daughters,” Hershel said.

“Ah…” Sam wrung his huge hands and glanced away. “I’m sorry to hear that. Your boys were good kids to hear Dalla tell it. Never missed deadlines, always raised their hands, and knew their manners. Teachers aren’t meant to have favourites but, she did.”

“Is Dalla still around?” Hershel asked.

Sam shook his head. “The outbreak didn’t claim many Culvers. Just the wives. And Alex, I assume. Clyde and Randall never gave up lookin’ for him but, the way I see it, there’s only so long you can make it out there on your own these days.”

“Sam…” Hershel’s words caught in his throat. “Alex wandered onto my property a week after the outbreak. He’d turned. His body’s buried outside my barn. Once we’re done here, I can show you.”

“You buried a roamer?”

Glenn returned with the book of maps tucked under his arm. He stepped over Ghost, knelt before the table, laid out the book and started flipping through the pages.

“How about you, Glenn? You got a family?” Sam asked.

“No.” Glenn stopped flipping the pages. “Is this your town, Hershel?”

Hershel squinted at the book. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Point to where your camp is,” Jon said.

Sam turned the book around to face him and began running the tip of his finger along the map. “No family at all, Glenn? Nothing?”

“No.”

Glenn bristled.

“Good for you. She white?”

Glenn flushed and glanced at Hershel. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You got eyes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you don’t know what Randall’s tattoo means.”

Glenn stood, scowling. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, it’d probably be best if there ain’t a little family of Asians here if we’re gonna start livin’ together. I’ll make no excuses for it. My father’s poison trickled down the family tree. Clyde didn’t help matters much, but that’s just the way things are. No point pissing our pants about it.”

Glenn gave Sam a disgusted look before returning to his place behind Rick and Hershel.

“Who said anything about livin’ together?” Rick asked.

“I did.” Sam prodded the map. “That’s it there.”

“The school?” Hershel leaned over the map.

Jon approached the table and looked at where Sam had pointed. A marker outside of the town read “St Francis School.” Jon had heard the word school used to describe an action. To school somebody in a subject, to teach. But a place? Is a school where this land’s maesters go to study? No not maesters, doctors, that’s right. If a school was anything like the Citadel, Jon supposed it would make an excellent place to build a community.

“The fences keep the dead out and it’s about a twenty-minute drive from the town. We’ve been picking through the stores for supplies, clearing the dead as we go,” Sam said with a smile.

“And how many of you are there?” Jon asked.

“Four. Used to be more.” Sam kept his smile.

“And your supplies?”

“I haven’t got a tally on me but we’ve got a surplus of food, water, medicine and ammunition.”

“If you have a surplus of ammunition, why come here with empty guns?” Jon asked.

“Your guns were empty?” Rick asked.

“They were,” Sam said.

“The hell were you thinkin’? Do you know how close we came to shootin’ y’all?”

“I’m aware. I thought I’d be coming to speak to Hershel. Instead, I found you and friendly friends here.”

“Or, you had no choice in the matter,” Jon said.

“I had a choice. We’ve got plenty of ammo.”

“From where?” Hershel asked.

Sam’s chest puffed. “From the Adventure Outdoors in the Mall”

“The same mall that’s overrun with the dead?”

“We cleared it.”

“When?”

“A month ago.”

“Not even two weeks ago, Maggie and I made a trip into town for supplies. The mall’s still overrun. Saw so with my own eyes.”

“You’d do well, to tell the truth, Sam,” Jon said.

Sam’s smile vanished. “Fine. We haven’t got any bullets left. Happy?”

“If you lie to us, it’s only gonna make this harder,” Rick said.

“Let’s cut to the fucking chase then, shall we? You killed my family. I’ve heard Pete’s side of it. Little shit’s been lying before he could walk. Tell me your side of it. Give me a good fucking reason as to why half my family’s dead.”

“May I?” Hershel asked. He looked to Rick and Jon for approval.

“Aye.”

“Go ahead.”

Hershel nodded. “Your brother, nephew and niece stumbled upon us in Joe’s Tavern. Clyde recognised Jon as the one who killed Dan. He told Caleb to shoot him. I tackled Jon out of the line of fire.” Hershel tapped his bandaged temple with his maimed hand. “Caleb’s buckshot grazed me. He made to shoot again so Glenn shot him. Clyde tried to retaliate so Rick shot him. Now, I won’t lie to you, Cynthia tried to run but Jon shot her in the back. He was dazed and confused, you can hardly blame the boy.”

Sam stared at Hershel, expressionless. “And Jack?”

“Jack and Randall opened fire on the bar. Jon and Glenn flanked them from the alley. Who shot who then I can’t say but Randall fell from the roof trying to escape. Pete left him and drove away.”

“Jack was the one with the machine gun, right?” Glenn asked.

“He was,” Sam said.

“Well… It was me, then. I shot your son.”

Sam stared at Glenn for a good long while. Glenn looked at his feet and shrunk back. Sam’s expressionless mask of stone faded into a solemn, down-cast look. The huge man seemed to almost be of a normal size. After a while, he finally asked, “Did he die slowly?”

“No. I shot him pretty much… point blank.”

“Okay then,” Sam whispered. “Your hand, Hershel. That Caleb’s work too?”

“Randall’s. He shot Jon’s shoulder too.”

“From across the street? In the dark?”

“Yes.”

Sam smiled a sad sort of smile. “Only talent that kid ever had was with a rifle.”

“Our reasons for killing your kin were just. Do you deny it?” Jon asked.

“No. My brother got my son killed. I see that.”

“So you’ll seek no retribution then. That is our first term,” Jon said.

“And I agree to it. I’ll keep them in line. No one’s gonna come looking for revenge.”

“It’d probably be best if you didn’t tell them who killed Jack,” Rick said.

“Sorry, but I can’t do that. James’s got a right to know who killed his twin. Otherwise, he’ll never move on.”

“Is he like Randall?” Glenn asked. “Is he a nazi?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You can’t tell him then, man!” Glenn’s voice trembled. “You can’t!”

“I told you, I can control my own.”

“Like you controlled them at the bar?!”

Sam slammed the table. “It’s non-negotiable! James gets to know who killed his brother!”

Ghost opened his eyes and lifted his head. He and Sam made eye contact. Without a word, Sam retracted his fist from the table and slumped back into his seat.

“I should have been there that night…” Sam ran his hand over his face. “If I had been it could’ve stopped at just… them three…”

“Well you weren’t,” Glenn said.

“Tell him I killed Jack,” Jon said.

“You?” Sam asked.

“Aye. The issue is skin colour, I assume. I have the right sort for James’s liking, yes? He already believes I’ve killed one of yours. What difference is another?”

“But you didn’t,” Sam said.

“I didn’t stop Glenn either. I would have done it in it his place. It’s but a small lie. James can receive his closure without involving his hate of skin colour into the mix.”

“A small lie…” Sam glanced at Glenn. “Alright.”

“That’s your first term then? That I take the blame for your son’s death.”

“I guess. When you say it like that you make me sound like a total asshole. What’s your next term?”

“Your guns,” Rick said. “You’ll give them and any ammo you have left over to us. On top of that, you won’t scavenge any new guns to replace your old ones.”

“Fair enough but, I ain’t got any ammo to give. There are a few guns left but they’re all at our camp. I’d have to send someone to get them.”

“We’ll choose who,” Jon said.

“Alright. What about our knives and any other melee weapons? We need something to defend ourselves from the dead.”

“You can keep one each,” Rick said. “Any other weapons belong to us.”

“And you decide what counts as a weapon?”

“Aye,” Jon said.

“Anything else?”

“Aye, half of your supplies.”

“Half of our supplies? Why?”

“Retribution for attacking us.”

“I don’t know…” Rick said. “That’s probably a term we should vote on.”

“Terms aren’t something to vote on,” Jon said. “We’re here to represent our people, to speak for them.”

“What damage are you getting retribution for?” Sam asked. “None of yours’ died.”

Glenn spoke up. “We had to kill people… That’s something no one should ever have to do.”

“You’re saying you never had to kill any of the roamers?”

“That’s different.”

“They’re people aren’t they?”

“Dead people.”

“Barely.”

“Well, what about Hershel’s hand? He lost two fingers.”

“I’m sorry and all but half of our stuff isn’t worth two fingers.”

“He lost more than that,” Jon said. “Without the pointer and middle fingers, he may as well not have the hand anymore. And, that’s his dominant hand. Isn’t it Hershel?”

“It is… I think half is fair but, if the Culvers ever run out of essentials we should share with them. It’s only right.”

“Aye, that’s fair.”

“I agree,” Glenn said.

Sam clenched his jaw. “What would be right is not taking half of our stuff.”

Rick sighed. “Well… it seems that’s our second term so you’re gonna have to accept it.”

“Do I now?”

“You’re more than welcome to go back to being at war with us,” Jon said.

Sam wrung his huge hands. “I’ll accept… but only if you accept my second term first.”

“What’s your second term?” Jon asked.

Sam prodded the table. “I want a place for me and mine on the farm.”

“That won’t work,” Rick said. “With the way your people are, we’ll never get along. Glenn ain’t the only person of colour among us.”

“We’ll live separate from you. It’s a big farm.”

“Not that big.”

“I can control my own. We can make it work.”

“I don’t doubt you think you can.”

Sam sighed and looked out of the RV’s window. “It seems we’re at an impasse then.”

“You aren’t exactly in a position to make demands, dude,” Glenn said.

Sam glared at him. “Why? Because I’m stuck in here with you four?”

“Five.” Jon touched Ghost’s head.

Sam huffed. “I’d take a few of you with me.”

“I doubt so.”

“That right?” Sam pointed at Longclaw with his huge hand. “You think you can draw that sword before I get my hands around your neck?”

Ghost stood and bared his fangs. Glenn took a step back. Rick touched the hilt of his revolver.

Sam laughed. “Relax. I’m just blowing hot air.”

Rick moved his hand away from his revolver. “So, you agree to our second term then?”

“No. If half of our stuff is coming here, the other half is coming with it and that’s that.”

Rick let out a long breath as he drummed the table. “A quarter then. How about that?”

“No,” Jon said. “Half.”

Rick gave him an incredulous look but it was Sam who spoke. “You ain’t much of a negotiator, kid.”

“This school of yours. How have you fortified it?” Jon asked.

“The school?… Well, we took some metal scrap and timber from a construction site and used it to reinforce the chain link fences. Also, we wound some barbed wire over the top. Some of the dead can fucking climb, you know? It’s fucking freaky.”

“How many dead would it take to break down your fences?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

“A hundred?”

“Nah, it could take a hundred.”

“A thousand?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kid. A thousand roamers could take my fences down.”

“We came here from Atlanta along the highways. A horde followed us all the while. According to our counts, it’s grown to well over a thousand walkers.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, kid. Sure. An army of the dead followed you out of Atlanta. You can have half my stuff. You know what? Take all of it. Everything. The clothes off my back, the sweat from my brow, I’ll even package my balls up for you in a little sack for you to wear around your neck.”

“He ain’t lying to you,” Rick said.

“Come on, the first time was cute. A second time’s a fucking insult.”

“The dead are attracted to two things. The sight of humans and sound. Engines are loud. The dead followed their roar no matter where we went,” Jon said.

Doubt flickered in Sam’s eyes. “Can we- Can we get back to the fucking discussion at hand here? Me and mine can stay here for a couple days while we clear out another farm for us to live in. There’s gotta be a dozen empty farms at least.”

“Sam, they’re tellin’ the truth,” Hershel said.

“No. They fucking lied to you too.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know! They just did!”

“We can take you to it,” Jon said. “It may take a few days. It’s about a week out given our best estimates.”

Sam scoffed. His thick, long fingers drummed a frantic beat. “Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, you’re not lying. What’s all this been for? The back and forth? What’s the point if we have to pack up and leave in a week?”

“Who said anything about leaving?” Jon asked.

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You got a plan?”

“Aye.”

Sam’s fingers stopped drumming. “Go on then, kid. Tell us how you’d stop a thousand walkers.”

“With a wall, and-”

“With a wall!” Sam laughed a thin, strained laugh. “What a great fucking idea! Let’s just set up some walls in a week! Easy as that.”

“Only one. Over there, parallel with the woods that separate us from the highway.” Jon pointed out the window. “It’ll catch any stragglers while we herd the rest away. The dead are stupid creatures, like cattle or sheep. It stands to reason we’d be able to herd them the same way small-folk herd groups of farm animals. We’ll use the sound of engines to lure them along the highway.” Jon found the highway on the map and traced a path, stopping where the highway was the closest to the school. “Here should be far enough. After that, the dead’ll wander off North, West.” Jon dragged his finger to the school. “East. Who knows? Who cares? They won’t head south, that’s for sure so long as we make our way back to the farm on foot.”

Sam stared long and hard at the map, at Jon’s gloved finger.

“We’d have to cover the horde on all sides,” Hershel said. “Cattle and sheep like to wander without dogs to keep them in line.”

“How will we make the wall?” Glenn asked. “The scrap metal isn’t gonna cut it.”

“We’ll cut down trees from the woods. Their trunks are thick and tall enough to serve as posts. We can scavenge sheets of metal and timber from abandoned farms to make the wall as well as battlements to walk on. That alone could hold off a few hundred if spread thin enough but, if we pile dirt up against the inside of the walls, they could hold back the horde ten times over.”

Sam muttered. “It’d have to be a long fucking wall, and angled on either end to catch any dead trying to go around. Can something like that be built in a week?”

“Aye, with enough manpower. There are thirteen able-bodied men and women in our group. Add yours and we’ll have eighteen. Give up half your supplies. Aid in the construction of the wall and the herding of the walkers. And after, and only after, will we consider assigning a farm for your people to live on.”

“A quarter now. A quarter after we’ve dealt with the horde,” Sam said.

“That’s fair,” Rick said at once. He eyed Jon. “Don’t you agree?”

“Aye,” Jon said begrudgingly.

“Hershel, Glenn, you agree?”

“Yeah, sounds fair,” Glenn said.

“It does, so long as we agree to share our supplies if they should ever need anything,” Hershel said.

“We will,” Rick said.

“I want a guarantee that if we help you do this, we get a farm,” Sam said.

“You’ll get your farm if you can keep your people under control,” Rick said.

“Deal,” Sam said at once.

Rick extended his hand to Sam. Sam’s hand enveloped Rick’s as they shook.

“We’ll bring these terms to our people and take a vote on it,” Rick said.

Bloody hell… Always with the voting…

Sam retracted his hand. “A vote? What do you mean? A deal’s a deal. We just shook on it.”

“We shook on you agreeing to our terms. We’re a democracy here. This decision affects the life of everyone, they should get a say.”

“And if they say no?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“How will we cross that bridge?”

Rick thought for a second. “You’ll make your case in front of everyone. They’re reasonable people, we can come to an agreement I assure you.”

Sam scowled. “You want to vote? Fine. I want Randall. Now.”

“Deal,” Rick said. “Jon, go get Randall and tell the others to meet in the house.”

***

The barn still reeked of the dead but only up close. The stench loitered, delectable only within a few paces of the towering twin doors, as if afraid to stray too far from home. It would remain for some time no doubt. It had at The Wall. Long after Mance’s assault, after ice froze the gore and snow buried it deep out of sight, the stench of death still travelled with the wind to hit you in the face as you stood atop the ice. Jon opened and closed his sword hand, staring at the towering twin doors. The little cuts in his palm stung.

He’d moved the sacks of gravel aside. All he need do it give the doors a strong push and he could enter. Yet, he stood before them, dumbly, like a child afraid to enter his father’s solar after being caught in some mischief. He needed to open the doors before T-Dog thought he’d lost his wits. The stocky, dark-skinned man was watching him from a few paces away, holding Hershel’s shotgun. An old weapon, to hear it told. Older than the man who owned it and far older than the man who held it. T-Dog had clutched it so ever tight when Jon had told him what Rick had asked of him.

“We under attack?” Shane had asked when Jon had approached them by the scrap-metal fence.

“No, not of yet. I’m here on behalf of Rick.”

“For what?” T-Dog asked.

“To tell you that we’re to give the boy back over to his family.”

T-Dog gripped his old shotgun tight. A clash of emotions struggled on his broad features.

“Rick’s lost his mind. The kid’s our only leverage,” Shane declared.

“Come now, I’m sure Rick knows what he’s doing,” Dale said.

“You blind, old timer? Those tattoos the kid has- these aren’t the kind of people you compromise with. Give ‘em an inch, they take a mile.”

“I saw but, they’re still people aren’t they?”

“The Culvers are racist pigs, all of them,” Maggie muttered.

“You see? We should have gunned ‘em down at the gates, to be honest. It ain’t fair on Glenn and T-Dog too-”

“Don’t talk for me,” T-Dog said. He bristled and marched to Jon’s side. “The kid should be with his family.”

Shane scowled. “Alright go on then, play right into their hands. What else does the glorious leader want? Should we pack up and head inside?”

Jon cooled his blood and kept the lie from his face. “No. You’re to stay here for now.”

That had pleased Shane. And it still did. Jon watched him march up and down the fence, back straight, shoulders square and barking orders with a grin as Dale and Maggie watched the woods.

“You alright?” T-Dog asked.

“Aye.” Jon rested his hand on Ghost’s head. “Aye…”

“Sure you want me to wait here?”

“He’s one boy and crippled at that. I’ll shout if I need you.”

“You said you needed my help.”

“In case he puts up a fight, aye. Or if he still isn’t awake.”

“Alright…” T-Dog gripped his gun. “These Culvers? Are they really all nazis?”

“Their leader isn’t, from what I gather. The other four are, yes.”

T-Dog stared at the bikes and trucks parked outside the farm. He gripped his shotgun tight.

“Could you live with them? If it came down to it?” Jon asked.

“Been living with them my whole life.”

“Will you do it again?”

T-Dog scanned the horizon, the woods, the fields and all that surrounded the boundaries of the farm. “They’ve got a right to life.”

His whole life… Just how prevalent were the nazis in this world before the outbreak? Jon placed his hands on the towering barn doors and pushed them open. A wave of sour stink crashed into him. Fighting a gag, he gritted his teeth.

“If he’s awake, I shan’t require your assistance to transport him.”

T-Dog nodded and turned away from the stink. With that, Jon headed inside. Ghost prowled after him and followed a trail of dried red blood with his nose. Black blood matted the straw floor in streaks across its width, like the stripes of a bumblebee. Insects congregated in the festering rot, scuttling, squirming and writhing. Fat black flies thickened the air. Bloodbeak swooped from the rafters and snatched a maggot between his beak. He perched above the third stall along the left wall and gobbled the writhing creature whole. A trail of dried, red blood streaked inside the stall. Jon paused before he could get a good look inside and Ghost stopped at his heels. If the boy had awakened, no mercy could be permitted. The truth took precedence. His uncle had proven himself a liar when it suited him. He’d lied about their ammo, he could have lied about any number of things, unlikely as it be. Lies presented themselves in certain distinctive ways. Sam puffed when he lied. He’d puffed when he lied about the ammo. He hadn’t any other time yet, skilled liars could fake a tell and Sam appeared a cunning man. The other Culvers seemed unprepared for an ambush yet, skilled warriors could fake such apathy. However unlikely, if all so far had been a deception, the boy would unveil it. He couldn’t have been privy to any plans. To assume otherwise would be deluded madness born of paranoia and bias. The truth must be revealed, whatever it took.

“Whatever it takes…” Jon muttered.

“Whatever!” Bloodbeak bobbed. “Whatever! Whatever!”

“Talking to yourself, asshole?” The boy’s voice wavered on the final word.

Jon approached the stall and found him sitting up against the back wall, staring at him. Heavy bags hung beneath his eyes. He was white as a sheet, causing the black lightning bolts to stick out like a sore thumb upon his cheek. Flies swarmed around his bandaged legs. When Jon started to enter the stall the boy puffed and sat as tall as his bandaged legs would allow before a grimace overtook him. He tensed and slumped. Jon held up a hand to Ghost and the direwolf sat on his haunches out of sight.

“How long have you been awake?” Jon asked.

The boy grunted, still grimacing. “F-Fuck you.”

Jon crouched before him, out of reach. Once Pain’s grip released the boy and he limped, Jon began.

“How many people are in your group?” Jon asked.

“Fuck you.”

Whatever it takes. He slapped the boy. The boy’s jaw spun and he gasped, gawking.

“How many people are in your group?”

“A hundred!”

“Are they armed? Do they have ammo?”

“Yeah, they’ve got machine guns and grenades and- and- rocket launchers and enough ammo to kill your sorry ass a thousand times over!”

“Where is your camp set up?”

“At the school! We’ve got guard towers and walls and a field of landmines around the entire place!”

Whatever it takes. Jon whistled and patted his thigh. Silent as ever, Ghost crept into the stall, eyes locked on the boy. The boy scrambled to press himself as far back into the stall as possible.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“How many people are in your group?”

“A hundred! I already told you, motherfucker!”

“Are they armed? How much ammo do they have?”

“Yes!” Ghost crept past Jon and loomed over the boy. Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Get it away!”

“Away! Away! Away!” Bloodbeak cried.

“Where is your camp set up?”

“THE SCHOOL!”

Whatever it takes. Jon drew his dagger and touched the point to the boy’s throat. The boy froze. His breathing turned rapid. Sweat glazed his forehead.

“How many people are in your group?” Jon pricked him and drew a little red bud.

The boy whimpered. “F-Four. No, five including me.”

“Are they armed? Do they have ammo?”

“They are but- but no grenades or rocket launchers just normal guns and only a little bit of ammo.”

“How much ammo?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think.”

The boy’s eyes darted from Ghost to Jon to Ghost and back to Jon. “A couple boxes maybe. No more than a hundred rounds.”

“Where is your camp set up?”

“The school…” His lip trembled. “That one was the truth but we ain’t got no watchtowers or nothing. Just a rusty chain link fence with some boards and sheets nailed between the poles.”

“What are the names of your people?”

“May, James, Peter and Sam.”

Jon sheathed his dagger and gave Ghost a nudge, sending him out of the boy’s space. The boy rubbed his pricked throat, smearing the thin trickle of blood. His eyes fell on Longclaw.

“Dan wouldn’t have killed you…”

“So I’ve been told.” Jon stood. “Your family’s come to get you.”

The boy shrunk. “May’s here?”

“Aye, and Sam and James and Peter. Sam’s worked out a peace between our people. You’re free to rejoin them.”

The boy looked at Jon’s feet.

“Can you stand, boy?”

“No…” The boy whispered.

“Shall I carry you, then?”

“No!” The boy grabbed onto the side of the stall and struggled to rise. His legs wobbled as they took his weight. Crimson patches darkened his bandages, working the flies into a frenzy.

Jon slipped his arm beneath the boy’s and supported his weight.

“Get off me. I don’t need help!”

“Shut up.”

Jon started to walk and the boy stumbled along beside him, leaning on Jon’s shoulders, grumbling all the while. For a few sweet moments, the boy graced him with silence but not even after a few steps out of the stall, he ended that sweet fortune.

“I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t shot me.”

“I wouldn’t have shot you if your father didn’t try to have me shot.”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t killed Dan. Besides, you didn’t get shot and I did.”

“Actually, you shot me.” With his free hand, Jon tapped his wounded shoulder.

“I missed.”

“As did I.”

As they neared the barn doors, Jon braced for what was to come. Whatever it takes. He hoped T-Dog could forgive him.

“He’s awake,” Jon said as he half carried half dragged the boy out of the barn.

T-Dog and the boy met gazes, and Jon held his breath. T-Dog eyed the lighting bolt tattoos and his grip on his gun tightened. The boy scanned T-Dog’s face only to look away and say nothing at all.

“You sure you don’t need help?” T-Dog asked.

“Aye, I’ve got him. Unless you feel otherwise, boy.”

“No… I don’t need help…”

T-Dog gave the boy a queer look and his grip on the gun loosened.

“T-Dog, go tell Shane and the others that Rick wants them to gather inside the house. We’re to vote on the Culver’s surrender terms.”

“Sure thing.” T-Dog turned and left.

Ghost took off after him and tore across the fields towards the woods. A feast of blood and flesh awaited him somewhere among the trees. Jon envied the wolf, a full belly sounded splendid. How long has it been since I ate? Yet, for all his hunger, Jon took his time getting the boy down the barn’s hill. The summer sun had baked a thin crust into the soil beneath the grass that cracked and splintered underfoot. Each step threatened to spill Jon’s footing let alone the staggered steps of the boy. He complained the whole way down, casting blame on Jon for every near fall. At the bottom he quietened as they moved between the graves, watching the wooden crosses with a sullen frown. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Wait.” He pulled on Jon’s shoulder.

“What is it, boy?”

“Is that my brother?” The boy pointed at a grave marked “Alex”.

“I believe so.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No, he’d turned when Hershel found him.”

Defeated and shrunken, the boy stared at his brother’s grave for a while without a word. As Jon watched a brother’s sullen grief clash with a boy’s wrath upon his face, Shane’s tearful mad prattling whispered in the back of Jon’s mind. Bet you feel pretty stupid, don’t ya, kid?

“How long ago did Hershel find him?” Randall asked eventually.

“A week after the outbreak.”

“Was he bit?”

Jon tried to recall the night he’d broken open the barn, to remember if Alex had been disfigured at all. The faces and bodies all melded into one formless mass. He let his blood run cold. “No. If I had to guess, he turned during the first wave.”

“Oh… Okay.”

“Hershel said he was kind when we buried him,” Jon said.

“He was smart too. He knew words like nothing else. Every time, he found the ones to make you smile even when you really didn’t wanna.” Randall smiled a sad smile. “Girls liked him.”

“Did he follow your family’s beliefs?”

Randall tensed. “He… he never tried to understand it.”

“So he wasn’t a nazi?”

“I ain’t a nazi. Only Pete is.”

“What about your tattoo. What are you?”

“Something better. Something bigger. Pete, he’s a dumbass, he just hates but we see the truth of things.”

“We?”

Randall nodded. “May and James too.”

“And what is your truth?”

“The truth. The way of the wolf.” A boy’s pride swelled in Randall’s eyes, green as summer grass.

“So, all this business with skin colour, that’s only Pete’s beliefs?”

Randall tensed again. “No! … I mean, that’s a part of it. The strong rule and the weak scuttle and hide. The white man is the strongest of all the races. Now that the world is the way it is, we can take back our rightful place as masters.” He sounded like a maester reading another’s words from a letter.

“You didn’t appear all that hateful towards T-Dog before.”

“I was! Well, uh, no- I mean he’s a good one. Quick to help, quick to obey. That’s what his kind should aspire to be like. He’s big too. That means he’s got a strong warrior gene. Makes it all the more impressive that he can hold back his aggressive instincts.”

“This warrior gene? Are all coloured people born with it?”

“Just blacks. Every race has some sort of strength in their blood. Only white people are well rounded in all of them, that’s why we swim while others sink.”

“Shall we get you back to your family now, Randall?”

Randall glanced at his brother’s grave. “Yeah…”

As Jon helped Randall across the farm, he contemplated this so-called way of the wolf. Hate, Jon was all too familiar with but the Culver’s flavour of it was puzzling. His brothers had often called the freefolk and their ways savages but, a wall separated them, such feelings were to be expected. But, from what he could gather, those with white and coloured skin lived among one another, not in separate kingdoms but in the same communities. The same towns. The same streets. Yet they hated them all the same as if they were thought of as… as lesser by right of birth. As if they were bastards.

As they crossed the gravel outside the peeling white farmhouse, Jon spied a face in one of the upstairs windows. A little round face with freckled cheeks. Carl glared at them from beneath the brim of his father’s hat.

“There’re kids here?” Randall asked, looking at the window.

Carl’s glare flared and he vanished from sight.

“Aye, only one. That’s Carl.”

“How old is he?”

“Eight.”

“Eight…”

“Your group has children too,” Jon said.

“No, we don’t.”

“Your sister seemed no older than yourself.”

Randall scowled. “You don’t look any older than us.”

“I’m older than you. Far older.”

Randall was huffing and puffing by the time they approached the RV. His feet scraped along the gravel, floundering meagerly to walk. The sun kissed the horizon casting all around the RV as silhouettes and forcing Jon to squint. New bodies gathered around the RV, huddled around the looming silhouette of Sam. One, short and skinny, broke off and made for them. Strands of her long black hair snapped and twisted in the breeze like the ends of a cat o’ nine tails. As she drew nearer, Jon spied her brutal look hidden beneath the shadow veil of the dusk’s silhouette; void of fear or concern. When she reached her brother, May slapped him.

“You stupid little bastard. You let them do this to you?”

Randall stared at her riding boots.

May’s look curdled as she eyed his crippled legs. “Look at you… they should have left you. You’re lucky they’re a bunch of pussies.”

“I know.”

May turned her curdled look on Jon. “What are doing letting him hold you up? Can’t you stand? Ain’t you a wolf no more?”

“I am!” Randall struggled in Jon’s grip. “Let go of me, asshole!”

“You’ll fall.”

“No, I won’t!”

May folded her arms. “Sink or swim, Randy.”

Randall flushed and struggled harder. When it came to foolish children, oft it was best to let them experience a taste of their folly. Jon let go and Randall screamed. He collapsed, like a mummer’s puppet without the strings. His palms took the brunt of the fall. Blood wept from tiny cuts, courtesy of the gravel.

“See.”

“Stand up,” May said.

“Stop this nonsense.” Jon moved to pick Randall back up but Randall, with tears streaming down his cheeks swatted his hands away.

Jon allowed him to struggle on his useless legs until the strength left him. Jon hoisted him to his feet.

“You get your hands off of him!” May whipped out a knife from her belt.

“Put that away, girl.”

“Make me, boy.”

May raised the knife and a huge hand caught her wrist. “Feral little shit, gimme that,” Sam growled.

“But he-”

Sam clouted May across the head, this time knocking her from her feet. The knife skipped across the gravel. Sam clicked his tongue and offered her his hand but she slapped it away, shot to her feet and marched off.

Sam sighed as he picked up the knife. “Don’t look down on me for it, kid. It’s all she respects. Give me, Randall would you?” He slipped the knife beneath his belt.

Jon nodded and handed off Randall to his uncle. Sam scooped him up into his arms.

“Put me down, I ain’t a fucking baby.”

“Shut up, Randy.”

Sam turned and carried Randall back to the rest of his family. Jon ascended the farmhouse stairs, opening and closing his sword hand. The little cuts on his palm stung.

***

Carol added another vote to the heaping pile, making it five affirmatives in a row versus the single negative vote. Yet, the room’s attention was not on the bowl and its remaining votes, Jon among them. Daryl rolled a crossbow bolt between his thumb and finger, wallowing in denial. He ignored the attention of all in the kitchen as he glared at the bowl as if willing it to side with him. A just cause. Such vitriolic concern over the Culvers was fair if Jenner were to be believed. Yet, a cause doomed to fail.

Jenner had grumbled and complained once Jon had found an opening to take him to the side. “It’s complicated. There isn’t time to explain it all before the vote.”

“Try.”

“Jon…”

“Explain it to me as if I were a child.”

“You are a child.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jenner clutched his bandaged cheek and scowled. “Didn’t you have bigotry in Westeros?”

“It wasn’t called that but, aye we did.”

“Then what don’t you get?”

“I understand it all too well. It’s the why of it that fails to make sense. Bastards are thought of as having sinner’s blood as we are conceived through sin.” The words pricked Jon’s tongue with a sour stab. “What charges are levied against those with coloured skin? And why?”

“That’s not- they’re not really the same. Well, no they are, but… Look, we could spend hours unpacking it, and maybe one day after this we will but for now, just understand this part of history. White people conquered America, as they had done all over the world for centuries. They brought with them the idea that whites hold an innate position of superiority over all other races and installed that idea within the new American institutions. The Culvers are just carrying that torch. This way of the wolf shit is just a new coat of paint on something older than any one of us.”

“So… Nazis are part of America's traditions?”

“Kinda… Nazis are something else but it’s also just a catch-all term.”

Jon considered Westeros’s conquerors and their legacies. First Men left behind the stubborn ferocity of Northern culture. The Andals brought their seven-faced god. The Rhoynar left behind the proud grace of Dornish culture. The Targaryeans left behind a united seven kingdoms, for some time at least. Each had left its mark on Westeros. Some for the better. Some for the worst. Which of them brought the lies about bastardy? Or did the children of the forest shame their bastards too? All of them, he decided; The First Men, The Andals, The Rhoynar and The Targaryeans. They all believed in the supposed lesser nature of bastards yet, none of their cultures were built around it. Hatred of bastards was but a brick in the wall of their cultures.

“Nazis, or whatever you call them, is their culture built upon their hate? Or is it a small part of their culture?”

“It’s a pretty big part, I guess.”

Jon opened and closed his sword hand. “Can we live with them?”

“Don’t think we’ve got much of a choice, do we? We fight them, people die. We leave the farm, people die. We stay and work together to face the horde, we’ll live, in theory.”

“Aye, but after when times become easier?”

“If we ever want to have more than two people of colour living among us, living with them will make that harder than if we didn’t.”

“To an unmanageable degree?”

“Given enough time, yeah. Ideas like this spread like mould through society. And times like this are to those ideas what rain is to mould.”

“The Culvers aren’t unique though, are they? If we rid ourselves of them, more will take their place.”

“Yeah…”

“We should return to the group.”

“Wait. Our deal.”

Jon smiled. “You’ll find I already upheld it. You asked if Westeros had bigotry. I answered yes.”

“That doesn’t count. What groups were there in Westeros? Were you all white?”

“For the most part. There was the odd person from Essos here and there but, mayhaps only everyone in several hundred. And we never had trouble with any of this white supremacy nonsense, kingdoms had feuds but not the races.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt all you want, it’s the truth.”

“Maybe you just couldn’t see it.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Jon snapped.

Jenner only had time to give Jon a sad look before they called back to the living room to commence the discussions.

Carol plucked the final vote from the bowl; Jon’s vote, folded diagonally. She placed it in the affirmative pile. A mound of votes sat beside a solitary, opposing vote. Daryl snapped his crossbow bolt between his fingers.

“Y’all have lost your damn minds. We can’t live with these pieces of shit.”

“We’re gonna have to, dude. We need all the people we can get to build this wall,” Glenn said.

“Fuck the wall! Y’all are actin’ like this is the only farm in Georgia. We should just get out of the horde’s path.”

“With what supplies?”

“There’s a town just down the road!”

“The decision's been made, Daryl,” Rick said.

Daryl began pacing, eyeing everyone gathered around the counter like a feral dog. “I can’t believe you motherfuckers… You two most of all!” Daryl pointed his snapped bolt at T-Dog and Glenn. “You’re the ones these bastards hate!”

“We know,” T-Dog said.

“Then what the hell’s your problem? You think you’re gonna win ‘em over or somethin’? Kill ‘em with kindness? Cause it ain’t gonna fuckin’ work. I’ve lived with people like this. Ate from the same table. Slept under the same roof. My old man-”

T-Dog cut in. “I want us to die old, man. In a bed, maybe in our sleep or some shit. If the price for that is putting up with these racist assholes the fuck it, so be it. What’s a bit of the more of the same compared to a long life?”

Daryl scoffed and looked at Glenn. “And you’re buyin’ into this shit?”

“Yeah, man. It makes sense.”

“Dumb motherfuckers…” Daryl stormed towards the kitchen door.

“Daryl,” Rick said.

Daryl snapped on his heels. “What?”

“Hand over your crossbow.”

“You wanna take it? Come get it.”

“I ain’t takin’ it. Just leave it here. Please.”

Daryl threw his crossbow to the tiles and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

“We done here?” Carol asked.

“We are.” Rick sat and kneaded the bridge of his nose.

Carol crossed the kitchen, picked up Daryl’s crossbow and left, prompting the others to follow suit. Aside from Jon, only Lori and Hershel remained in the kitchen with Rick. Hershel gazed out the window, running his good fingers along a peppering of white stubble. On the other hand, his thumb stroked what was left of his bandaged, pointer finger. Lori stood beside Rick, holding his hand. She whispered to him and glanced at the door. Rick sighed and nodded.

“Shall we inform them of our decision?” Jon asked.

Rick nodded. “Where’s Ghost?”

“Off hunting. He shan’t return for a while, I wager. He’s been long without food and his fur isn’t suited for summer hunting here.”

“You should do the same, son,” Hershel said. “I’ll make you up something.”

“Can I join you?” Lori asked, delicately.

Hershel avoided her eyes and cradled his bandaged hand. “Oh… yes, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Lori and Hershel rose from their seats.

“Hold up, Hershel.” Rick rose too. “Come with Jon and me first.”

“Sure thing.”

“The stove'll be nice and hot for you when you get back,” Lori said.

Hershel smiled a weak smile and nodded.

“I am capable of making my own food, you know,” Jon said.

Hershel’s smile grew. “You live on my farm, you eat my cooking. That’s that.”

“You’re mad with power! I name you a tyrant.”

“Damn right.”

Hershel left the kitchen laughing, as Jon and Rick followed them down the hall. Only for Rick to stop as they passed the living room. Jon followed his eyes to Carl’s bedroom door.

“Back to bed, Carl,” Rick said.

“What?” The door to Carl’s room opened. “How’d you know?”

“I see everything.”

Beneath the brim of his hat, Carl’s brow furrowed. “Well, Daryl was right. You shouldn’t let these people live here. They’re bad.”

Rick crossed the living room and knelt before his son. “They are, that’s why I need you to do a very important job for me.”

“You do?”

“I do. You keep an eye on them for me. If they use any of the bad words we discussed, let me know. While they live with us, that won’t be tolerated. Be my eyes and ears, son. Can you do that?”

Carl smiled. “I can! Do I get Slayer back?”

“Slayer?”

“My gun.”

“You gave your gun a name?”

“Every weapon worth anything needs a name, Dad. Can I have it back?”

“One day, when you earn it back.”

“How do I do that?”

“By bein’ responsible, smart and safe. When you’ve proved you can do all those things, you can have it back.”

Carl considered that for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’ll make you proud.”

Rick chuckled. “You already do that just by bein’ you.” He grabbed the brim of Carl’s hat and pulled it over his eyes.

Carl giggled and swatted away Rick’s hands. He raised the brim of his hat and hugged Rick before hurrying back inside his room. The moment Carl’s door shut Rick looked to the outside world beyond the living room’s windows and frowned.

“Ready?” Jon asked.

Rick nodded, stood and opened the front, wire door. Outside, the Culvers awaited them on the porch gathered around the porch table. They rose from their chairs, expect for Randall. He bore a glare into the floorboards and covered his bandages with his hands as if trying to hide them.

“We’ve agreed to let you stay on the farm with us while we build the wall,” Rick said.

“No shit,” James said.

“Shut your mouth, boy,” Sam snapped. “What about our other terms? You agree to those too?”

“We did. You can pick out a farm after we’ve dealt with the horde so long as it’s been abandoned. We’ll collect our first quarter of your supplies now and our second quarter after. My people will take a count beforehand. Whatever a quarter of that count is, is what you give over.”

Sam scowled. “Fine.”

“Also, I want no trouble from your people. If things get out of hand, the deal’s off. Understand?”

May scowled. “There ain’t gonna be no trouble so long as you keep your nigger and chink away from us.”

Sam pinched her ear. “You keep those damn words out of your mouth!”

May stomped Sam’s foot. “Fuck you!” Sam twisted her ear until it turned purple and she screamed. “Fine fine, okay!”

Sam let go. “That goes for the rest of you. Keep that shit out of you’re fucking mouths.”

“Or what?” Pete asked.

“You answer to me, little brother.” Sam loomed over him.

“Whatever…”

James stepped towards Rick, eyeing Jon. “That murderer comes near me and we’re gonna have a fuckin’ problem. Him or his fuckin’ mutt.”

“Don’t you call it a mutt,” May snapped.

“The fuck do you care?”

“It’s beautiful. Better than any of us,” May said with a zealous fervour.

James shifted and avoided her eyes. “Well, I still don’t want ‘em near me.”

“You needn’t worry, we have no intention of being near you,” Jon said.

“Alright, enough,” Sam said. “Get your asses to the barn. We’ll sleep there tonight.”

“I ain’t sleeping there,” Randall said. “It fucking stinks.”

“We’ve got some extra tents in the RV, I’ll help y’all get set up,” Rick said.

“Thank you. Go on you three, wait by the RV.”

Grumbling amongst themselves, May, James and Pete left the porch.

“It’d be best for his legs if Randall slept in a bed,” Hershel said.

“I don’t need no charity,” Randall.

“You’ll take the damn bed and thank him for it,” Sam said.

“I… I don’t want to be apart from y’all again.”

Sam’s face softened. “Alright… just give me a second here and I’ll carry you back.”

Randall scowled but said nothing in protest.

“Do you require something?” Jon asked.

“I’d like to bury those we’ve lost here, so they and Alex and be at rest together.” The strength in Sam’s voice wavered.

“Sure,” Rick said. “If that’s okay with you Hershel.”

“Of course. I can give a sermon for them, if you’d like, Sam.”

Sam glanced at the three made for the RV. “I thank you but, best not.”

“At least let me lend you my bible. I’ve got a few funeral prayers written in the back.”

“Sure. Thank you.” Sam offered a handshake to Hershel.

Hershel reached out with his ruined hand only to realise his mistake. Hershel flushed. Sam avoided his gaze. They switched their hands and shook.

***

Dawn’s fiery hearth bled warmth into the twilight sky’s shadowy gloom. Orange fingers, like bands of liquid fire, crept across the rolling fields and hills to tickle at Jon’s feet atop the RV. Jon shifted in his chair, grasping for a new perspective. The light caught the hodgepodge of bits and pieces in his lap, glinting off of Needle’s barrel. Taking the sign, Jon picked up the barrel and another piece at random. No. He may as well have chosen a square peg for a round hole. Sighing, he put both pieces down and bore his gaze into the hodgepodge of bits and pieces as if will alone would reassemble them. The single lesson Shane had given him had turned to soup in his mind. All the pits and pieces melded together as he stared, morphing into an amorphous blob of steel.

Jon tore his eyes from the folly. A soupy mind demanded rest. He basked in the beauty of twilight’s retreat from dawn on the horizon. The sun looks the same, no matter where one stands. He glanced at his companion for that night’s watch. He’s looking over his shoulder again. Silence had been the name of the night; a welcomed pleasure under usual circumstances. If only T-Dog had let it be so. He’s insisted on a fragile silence that never quite allowed one to put their mind at ease. Throughout the night, T-Dog had repeatedly looked back over his shoulder at Daryl and Carol. They’d spent the night on the other side of the farm, grieving at Sophia’s grave. Whenever T-Dog finished glancing at them, he’d let his gaze linger on Jon before facing the horizon. The unspoken words screamed louder than even the most boisterous of commanding voices.

T-Dog looked away from Daryl and Carol and again lingered on Jon.

“What is it?” Jon asked.

“Oh… it’s nothing, man. Sorry.”

“Tell me of this nothing. I could use a distraction.” Jon folded the bandanna in which Needle’s bits and pieces lay, and tied it off.

T-Dog rubbed his freshly shaven head. “Well… I was thinking we should plant more crosses.”

“For who?”

“Everyone we lost along the way to get here.”

Jon gave a slow nod. “Aye… A fine idea but, one for another time. Our attention should be on the wall.” There isn’t enough room on a hundred farms for the crosses needed to honour the lives my brothers of the watch stole.

“Yeah… I told you, it’s nothing.”

The damnable strained silence returned.

“Who would you honour?” Jon asked. “I don’t believe you’ve ever told me about your past.”

“I’d only need two crosses. One for Taylah, my baby sister and one for Jacqui.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah…”

“Your family? Your friends? …”

“I’d only need two crosses.”

“Aye, okay.”

Again the damnable silence returned but, T-Dog provided swift mercy.

“How about you?” T-Dog asked.

“I’d need… I’d need quite a few more.”

“How many?”

Would he believe me? His look is earnest but… “Six for my family; two sisters, three brothers and my father. As for my friends… too many.”

“Your sisters, how old were they?”

“Thirteen and eight. Sansa and Arya were their names. Robb, Bran and Rickon were my brothers. Eddard was my father.”

“Thirteen… it’s a tricky age ain’t it?”

“Don’t underestimate the trouble eight can cause.”

T-Dog chuckled. “I’d never.” T-Dog’s smile faded and he cast his gaze down. The silence threatened to return. “That day in Atlanta, it was just you and Rick. If you don’t mind, how’d you lose them?”

“To the dead.”

With that, the strained silence returned in full force. Jon surveyed the farm to escape it. Yet, it nagged him despite the effort. The Culver’s borrowed tents cast dark peaks against a darker forest backdrop, nestled up against the treeline outside of the scrap-metal fence’s boundaries and the encroaching warmth of dawn. Bloodbeak flew in lazy, swooping ovals between the farm and barn, black wings upon a field of blacker clouds. Rain the morrow would spell disaster. The more they delayed the wall, the shorter it would be when the horde arrived. If we can finish it at all. The Culvers believed they would, thanks to Jon’s empty assurances. Or had that been a facade too? Is that all that united them; bonds forged of half-truths and hot air?

Boots clanged up the steel rungs of the RV’s ladder. A bucket hat poked into view, followed by the silver-haired, baggy-eyed face beneath. Dale rested on folded forearms and smiled up at Jon.

“Not disturbing you two, am I?”

T-Dog turned. “Nah man, you’re all good.”

“Your watch isn’t for another hour,” Jon said.

“Forgive me, geezers like me don’t need all that much sleep.” Dale climbed onto the roof, yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eye. “Interested in an earlier rest, T-Dog?”

T-Dog glanced at Jon.

“Go ahead.” Jon turned his attention back to the dawn’s beauty.

“Thanks, man.”

T-Dog got up and Dale replaced him in the chair. As T-Dog climbed down, Dale picked up the scoped rifle laying beside the chair and started to disassemble it with swift, practised motions. The sounds of T-Dog’s climbing. The RV shifted and squeaked. Strained silence returned.

“What?” Jon met Dale’s gaze.

Dale stiffened. “Am I that obvious?”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I- you and I, we- this past few days has been…” Dale flushed and tightened his grip on the half-disassembled rifle. “God… listen to me, can’t even apologise to someone a third my age without getting all flustered.” His chuckle rang hollow.

“Say I was right about the walkers in the barn. An acknowledgement of that will suffice for an apology.”

“It ain’t a matter of right or… look, do you remember the conversation we had after Atlanta? On that gas station roof?”

“Aye…” Jon watched the sunrise.

“Do you remember what you asked me?”

“If you have hope for the future.”

“Well, now I’m asking you the same. Do you still have hope, Jon?”

“Aye, we’re perfectly capable of surviving through this mess, if we do what is demanded of us.”

“Yes, but you acknowledge that it’s the future that you fight for?”

“Of course.”

“And so do I. That’s all that matters. Whatever struggle our disagreements manifest, they’re nothing compared to the struggle for life.”

“They are.” Jon opened and closed his sword hand. “In that, we are allies but, know this. One day this world shall force you to make a choice between life and what is right. And if on that day you baulk, that decision shall be made for you. Sink or swim, Dale. You can not float forever.”

“We’ll see. For generations, people had tried to decipher the true way of things and time and time again they have all been proven wrong in some way or another.”

Jon watched dawn. The lip of the sun poked above the horizon, blinding him with his glare. As his eyes readjusted Jon saw how old Dale truly was. His eye bags were sunken and heavy. His silver hair and beard were thin and wispy. Liver spots dotted his cheek. Yet, he smiled.

“Can we bury the hatchet, Jon and put these past few days behind us?” Dale offered Jon a handshake.

“We can.” Jon gripped his hand.

“To a better tomorrow,” Dale said.

“To a better tomorrow.”

Jon and Dale shook hands and the old man’s smile broadened. Jon allowed himself a smile too.

“Do you feel prepared to face Andrea, now?”

“Oh God… don’t even. I’d rather face the horde.”

“She’s fierce.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Aye, but speak your truth as you have now and you’ll find her in your arms once again.”

“You think so?”

“Aye.” Jon smiled at the sun. “Women like that want the men they love to wear our truth on our sleeves, not to shy away from them. Even if they may hate what those truths be.”

Dale’s laugh rang full, booming from his belly. He smiled at twilight’s receding gloom painted upon the clouds.

“That your gun?” He gestured to the tied-off bandanna.

“Aye. Bloody nonsense it is. Whoever heard of weapons with so many bits and pieces? Swords, now those make sense. To clean it you wipe it down. To sharpen it, you spin a whetstone. Simple, elegant and practical.”

“Want me to show you how to put it back together?”

“Please…”

---

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Next chapter, A week has passed since the Culvers joined Jon and the others. Tensions remain uneasy as the group work tirelessly to complete a project to ensure their safety against the horde. The group has run out of tin roofing sheets, a material needed for the project and must put together a scavenging group to collect more.