Somewhere between the realms of thought and sleep, Jon floated on a sea of black blood. Black like a raven’s feather. It spanned as far as the eye could see, shifting and swirling. Bubbles rose to the surface to burst splatters of viscous droplets, thick like mud. A blanket of a thousand eyes the size of moons covered the sky. They stared at him. Their crimson pupils twinkled in an unseen light, like a thousand bloody stars. Each one honed their gaze on him, unblinking.
He had not counted them, yet he knew they numbered a thousand. The whispers told him. Countless voices both unrecognisable and familiar. How many? A thousand. And you’re one. They harassed him from all directions, laughing, crying and screaming; up and down, left and right, inside and outside.
The blood began to boil. A frenzy of popping bubbles burst all around him, splattering him in black bloody sludge. The blanket of eyes sagged in the centre. A milky, pale droplet leaked through the cracks between the eyes. It broke free and warbled into a spherical form. The blanket of eyes snapped back into place, as if made of rubber. Ripples raced to the horizons. The milky, pale droplet descended. It hovered inches above Jon’s face. A swirl of crimson apparated in the centre of the droplet and formed seven crimson spheres. They sunk to the droplet’s surface. Six of them formed a ring around the seventh, largest sphere. They shifted and swirled and took on new forms; a dog, a frog, an archer, a wolf, the sun, and the moon. The largest sphere took on the form of a dragon. The dog and frog faded to pale pink. The wolves and the archer danced around the dragon, frolicking and playing as the dog and frog faded into nothing. The sun and the moon loomed over the dance, opposing one another.
A thousand and one. A thousand and one. A thousand and one. All a thousand and one eyes blinked in unison.
Jon awoke with a start. Bloodbeak screeched. The raven shot off of his chest and flew in frantic circles around the tent. As black wings thrashed, black feathers scattered.
“Bloody pest.” Half-blind from sleep, Jon found a shirt and threw it at Bloodbeak.
The shirt caught him like a net and he hit the ground. The raven’s head poked out of the bundled shirt. His scarred eye found Jon.
“Snow!” He became a black blur and sped out of the tent flap.
Jon sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wrung the stiffness from his body with a stretch of the arms. Twilight’s morning gloom filtered through the tent’s plastic canvas as fickle, pale light. Shadows lounged all about, painting the sparse space in darkness. Against the gloom, Ghost’s white fur stood in great contrast. The huge direwolf stared at Jon, stretched out at the foot of the sleeping bag. Red blood matted his jaws.
Jon wriggled out his sleeping bag. “Good hunting, boy?” Jon held out his hand above Ghost’s head and Ghost raised to meet it. His long, bushy tail swept back and forth as Jon scratched him behind the ear.
The usual persistent, muggy heat on this land demanded Jon sleep in only his small clothes. Yet, a chill kissed his skin. The scars littering his chest tingled. Queerly, the gunshot scar on his shoulder did not. Jon ignored the oddity and gathered his clothes to dress. I mustn’t dawdle.
Jon started with the odd clothes belonging to this world. They bore the markings of this world. Perfectly uniform stitching that couldn’t be made by human hand. Strange, uncanny material that couldn’t come from any plant or animal. The clothes of his world made sense. Their stitching bared the imperfections of the human hand. They were made of nature, sourced from cotton, wool and fur. They were real.
His mail shared in the imperfections. Each link of black steel was ever so slightly different from those it connected to. Each link bore the batterings of a blacksmith’s hammer and pliers. Each link had a character. The links above his gunshot scar were bent and broken but else wise, the mail was in good order. Although, a waxing would do it some good if they were ever to find any.
Jon inspected his cloak, running his fingers along it. They found the old black wool. And strips of new red… something. Cotton? Some odd fabric of this world. His fingers poked through several new tears. How long until it is more repairs than cloak?
Once dressed, Jon attached Needle’s holster to his belt, as well as his dagger’s scabbard and Longclaw’s scabbard. All three weapons lay in an organised pile within reach of the sleeping bag. Jon hastily holstered Needle and sheathed his dagger but when it came time to sheath Longclaw, he hesitated. The dark ripples within the blade caught the fickle, pale light. The garnet eyes of the direwolf pommel stared at him, twinkling in the light like two crimson stars.
A thousand and one.
Jon slammed Longclaw into its scabbard. Bloody dreams. Whatever it means, is a puzzle for another time. The wall needs take precedence. I must prepare for the expedition. Jon ducked through the tent’s flap.
Bloodbeak greeted him outside, perched atop Andrea and Dale’s tent opposite Jon’s. The raven bobbed up and down. Twilight’s gloomy veil doused the silent and still campsite in dull greys and blues. But the pale, bare flesh of Bloodbeak’s scar managed to escape the veil, standing out like a sore thumb admits his dark feathers. “Snow,” Bloodbeak muttered before taking to the air. Swift as an arrow, Bloodbeak streaked through the sky and landed atop one of the wall’s tree-trunk beams.
Five and ten feet tall, and as thick as two men, the oak trunk had been stripped of all its branches and hammered several feet into the ground. Seven of its siblings spanned off across the field, parallel to the forest, separated evenly. In all, they numbed eight. Sheets of tin roofing were bolted between them. All except the last post. Rickety scaffolding lined the wall, serving as a perilous yet serviceable wall walk.
A meagre defence by all accounts and a third complete at that. A battering ram could smash right through the thin tin as if it were paper. The loose soil of the field would yield the wall to toppling against any considerable force. Yet, against the dead, it would serve. And for a week’s worth of work, a commendable effort on their behalf. It stood halfway between the farm and the forest. Close enough to the farm to allow a timely retreat. Far enough away from the forest to allow a clear line of sight over any potential horde or attacker.
The rotting pests, for all the trouble they caused, had shown them a small mercy. The bigger the horde grew, the slower it moved which had gifted them an extra week to work. A wall four and ten posts long would serve well enough. Twenty would have been far better but, four and ten would do, so long as fire could indeed make up the distance. Jenner assured him that the dead were attracted to heat and light despite a lack of any tests. We should test the theory today if the opportunity presents itself. Supposing it was true, the fire would only get them so far. If the wall ended up too short the heat and light may not reach far enough to stop the dead from slipping past. And if the flames were too bright the entire damnable horde would split off from the highway and swarm them.
Situated at the base of the wall, the collection of tents was swamped in silence. Dale’s long plastic table was void of food. The hodgepodge of assembled chairs and stools was void of arses. Even the Culver’s camp, set up a good distance away from everyone was empty. The only sign of life were the backs of Rick and Daryl atop the RV as they waited out the final hours of the night’s watch. He’d have enjoyed the momentary peace if it weren’t for a persistent thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Slow, evenly spaced, soft thumps. They came from everywhere and nowhere.
The sprawling fields carried sound like twigs to a river’s stream, and the forest had a nasty habit of bouncing it back at one. Jon looked around for the source of the insistent disturbance. Off in the fields, Carl was watching Andrea throw knives at a scarecrow. The lad watched from a safe enough distance, cross-legged and eating corn from a can. The morning gloom bounced off of his hat’s golden star as a dull gleam.
Each knife tumbled blade-over-hilt and plunged square between the scarecrow’s sewn-on eyes. Again and again and again. Never missing a beat. Carl’s eyes followed each and every one, wide and full of wonder. You think he’d be used to it by now.
If Carl’s face was a light show of wonder and glee, Andrea’s was a pit of darkened focus. The face of a warrior. Her eyes pinpointed her target. Unblinking. Unflinching. From the time of aiming to the time of throwing. Only ever laxxing once the blow landed. Such eyes spoke of hard work and discipline. Her whole body moved with each throw. Every muscle twisted, turned and pulled to draw strength from all of her body and funnel it into each throw. Her slender form contorted. Muscles bulged and flexed. The women of this land held no qualms about wearing pants. Especially the denim sort. Denim left very little to the imagination.
Jon tore his eyes away. Stop that.
Ghost emerged through the tent’s flap. He stretched his body. Front legs. Then back legs. He yawned a long, toothy, silent yawn before giving Jon an expectant look.
“Come, boy,” Jon whispered.
He crossed the field and Ghost trailed after him like a white, silent shadow.
“You two are up early,” Jon said.
Andrea tossed her final knife between the scarecrow’s eyes. Six blades huddled in the space, nestled together like a group of particularly sharp peas in a pod. She sighed and all the tension melted away from her body. “Had a bad dream. Needed to stab something.”
“A dream? What sort of dream?”
Andrea shrugged. “A bad one.” She approached the scarecrow and started collecting her knives.
Ghost padded up to Carl and lay between him and the distant woods. Grinning, Carl ran his hand through the direwolf’s shaggy, white fur.
“And you, lad?”
“Dunno just woke up early.” He spooned some corn into his mouth.
“I told him he should go back to sleep. That he needs his rest,” Andrea said.
“And I told her that if I go back to sleep now, it’s just gonna make me more tired.”
“Corn!” Bloodbeak descended from the skies and perched on Carl’s knee.
Carl fed Bloodbeak a spoonful of corn and Bloodbeak gobbled it down in the blink of an eye.
“Corn!”
“Keep that up and we’ll never be rid of him,” Jon said.
“We need him.”
“Oh? For what?”
“He’s our mascot. Can’t not have a mascot.”
Jon chuckled. “Is that so?”
“Obviously.” Carl fed Bloodbeak another spoonful.
Andrea resumed her position and took aim. “Don’t feed Bloodbeak all your corn, Carl.”
“I’m not gonna.”
Andrea threw her knife between the scarecrow’s eyes. “You need your strength.”
“Yeah, yeah I know. Can I throw a knife now?”
“You finished?”
“Yeah.”
“Show me.”
Carl shifted and wrung his hands around the can before eventually showing Andrea the inside.
“Finish your corn. Then you can throw one.” Andrea threw another knife.
“Corn’s gross,” Carl grumbled.
“Aye, but you need it if you’re going to be of any use today,” Jon said.
“Then why aren’t you two eatin’? I’m just prunin’. You guys are the ones goin’ out there.”
“Don’t look at me, lad. I don’t make the rules.”
“You make some of the rules.”
“Aye, but not this one.”
“We’ll eat later, Carl,” Andrea said.
Carl muttered and forced a spoonful of corn into his mouth. Bloodbeak quorked and flapped his wings. “Corn! Corn! Corn!”
“How’s your bandage?” Jon asked.
Carl lifted his shirt. A white rectangle of linen covered his stomach. “Good. Hershel and Beth changed it last night. Beth’s way better at it than Jenner. He’s too rough. Oh yeah, also Hershel said I still gotta take it easy when pruning. The stitches might still open up if I’m not careful.”
“And you’ll be careful?”
Carl gave a serious look. “Yeah.”
“Good, lad.”
Andrea raised a knife to her ear and shot Jon a glance. “You ready for today?”
“Once I’ve got a meal in me, aye. As ready as I can be.”
Andrea threw the knife. “We should have collected more than we needed the first time. A second scavenge only puts us further behind schedule.”
“Aye, a mistake. But a small one.”
“We can’t afford mistakes right now. He should have accounted for this. What else is he good for? Some fucking site manager. Must have done shit all like every other asshole with a scrap of power.” Andrea raised a knife.
“His insights have been invaluable. It’s only one oversight.”
Andrea scowled and threw her knife especially hard. It hit the scarecrow hilt-first and bounced off. She groaned. “There ain’t enough of this planet to put a big enough space between me and those racist mother fuckers when this’s over.”
“He isn’t like them as far as I can tell.”
“Oh yeah, he only lives with them and raised one. I’m sure he’s a fucking bleeding heart liberal, Jon.”
“Is he going with you today? Sam?” Carl asked.
“Aye, he is.”
Carl nodded and shovelled corn into his mouth. “Good. He’s strong.” Carl swallowed and shuddered. “You guys are prepared, right? Have you got a route planned?”
Jon smiled and knelt before Carl. “Everything’s been taken care of. Glenn’s on top of it.”
Carl avoided his eyes. “Better be. You all better come back. I’ll be pissed off if any of you die.”
“We’d never dream of incurring your wrath.”
Carl gave a little smirk. “Damn right. You sharpened your sword?”
“I don’t need to. Valyrian steel always keeps an edge.”
“That’s not real. We would have been taught it in science class if it was.”
“Oh, it’s very real. However, it’s not science but magic.”
Carl wrinkled his nose. “Nuh-uh. Magic isn’t real.”
“The dead walk and yet you can’t believe I have a magic sword?”
“Walkers are science. Jenner said so.”
“I’ve heard what Jenner had to say. Viruses, neural patterns, reanimation, nervous systems. If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.”
Carl giggled. “Can I hold Longclaw?”
“Have you finished your corn?”
“Corn!” Bloodbeak hopped onto Carl’s shoulder.
Carl shovelled three heaping spoonfuls of corn into his mouth. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he gave a shudder but swallowed all the same. “D-Done.” Carl held out the empty can.
Bloodbeak gave an affronted quork and took off into the air.
“Good effort, lad.” Jon stood and drew Longclaw from its scabbard. “I’ll warn you now, she may be a light blade but she’ll still be too heavy for your twig arms.”
Carl shot to his feet. “No way! I’m strong enough!”
Jon smirked. “Go on then.” He offered Longclaw to Carl hilt-first. “Both hands. One above the other.”
Carl took hold of Longclaw and to Jon’s amusement, he actually got the grip right first try. Although, it paled in comparison to the amusement when Jon let go of Longclaw. Carl’s eyes bulged and he let out a choked gasp. To his credit, he kept Longclaw off the ground for a few seconds before its tip crashed into the soil. Carl struggled against the weight to no avail. Jon burst out laughing and Andrea snorted.
Carl lay down Longclaw and stared Jon right in the eyes. “When I’m strong enough, you’ll teach me how to use one. Won’t you?”
Jon planted his hand on top of Carl’s head, pushing his hat over his eyes. “Aye, one day.”
“In the meantime, wanna learn to throw a knife?” Andrea asked.
“Yeah!” Carl raised his hat and ran to Andrea’s side.
Ghost lifted his head. His ear twitched. He scanned the tree line and barred his fangs in a silent snarl. Andrea and Carl stopped what they were doing at once. They followed Ghost’s eyes. Beyond the unmoving wall of tight-knit trunks, movement stirred amongst the shadows of the forest. Ghost got to his feet. His hackles rose.
Jon snatched Longclaw from the grass. “Carl, get your father.”
Carl stared at the forest. “You’ll kill ‘em all?”
Andrea shoved Carl behind her. “We will. Now, go.” She drew a second knife from her belt.
“Stay safe.” Carl sprinted for the camp.
Jon assumed a steady, long point guard. “Hold your ground. Let’s see what we’re dealing with first.”
“Got it.” Andrea tightened her grip on her knives.
The faceless shadows beyond the trees took form. Two corpses stepped out into the twilight gloom. They were a mismatched pair. One was little more than skin and bones. It sported whisps of grey hair and splotchy liver spots. Bite wounds covered its bare chest and its entrails were hanging out of its open belly. The other corpse was a hulking mass of muscle. It sported patchy black hair and dark skin. Black blood oozed from a stump where a hand ought to be and the hilt of a knife stuck out of its sunken cheek.
“You take left. I’ll take right.”
“You sure? Those arms are long. Can you match the reach? I can nail them both no problem.”
“Its arms are long. Longclaw is longer.”
Andrea nodded. “So long as you’re sure. Watch out for the stump. Don’t let the blood get in your mouth or eyes.”
“Will do. Let’s advance,” Jon said.
“Right.”
Jon and Andrea marched across the field side by side, weapons at the ready. Ghost prowled after them on their flank. The dead shambled to meet them. They dragged their feet, shuffling as if perpetually on the verge of tripping over themselves. Their eyes, yellow and green like piss and vomit, gawked at them, never blinking. Right took up a belly growl. A droning cry rumbled deep in the back of its throat. Left took up the call, high and gargled. As the dead and the living drew nearer and nearer, the corpses’ calls grew louder and louder until they were practically screaming their heads off. Andrea planted her feet and flipped the knife in her right hand. She caught it by the blade, lifted it to her ear and took a step forward. Her body contorted and the knife sped through the air, tumbling blade-over-hilt. It plunged between Left’s eyes. Left’s gargled cry choked. It collapsed, face first. The tip of the blade drove out the back of its skull with a spray of black blood.
Andrea turned her attention to Right. “Got you covered.” She raised her second knife.
Jon nodded and marched to meet the shambling behemoth. Its eyes locked onto his and it reached for him, raking the air with splintered nails and a bloody stump. Ten or so paces apart, Jon planted his feet and assumed a roof guard. With Longclaw perched beside his ear, Jon held his breath and counted Right’s staggered paces. After five paces Jon stepped forward to swing a high, chopping blow at the head. However, in a flash Right swiped with its stump. A spray of black blood flew Jon’s way. He killed Longclaw’s momentum and tucked his chin, turning his face from the spray. He shut his eyes and mouth. A warm spattering rained across his cheek.
“Jon!” Andrea screamed.
Ghost rushed forward.
“I’m all right! Stay back!”
Ghost slowed and began prowling back and forth, eyes locked on the corpse.
Right bellowed and its staggering shuffle ramped up to a frenzied stumble. Jon backed with haste, putting half a dozen paces between him and the corpse. Bugger this. Keep it simple. Jon assumed an Ox guard and took aim at Right’s forehead. Right made to take a step, placing all its weight on its back foot. Jon stepped forward and thrust Longclaw’s tip through the corpse’s head. Right’s belly growl croaked and choked, and the corpse fell. Its head slid face-first down Longclaw, slamming its forehead into the crossguard. A sour stench set Jon’s nose ablaze. He wrinkled his nose and yanked Longclaw free, splitting the top of the head in half. All its blood gushed out in one wave of black ooze, spoiling the grass’s lush green colour.
Andrea rushed to Jon’s side. “All good?”
Jon wiped his cheek with his sleeve. “Aye. The bugger was quicker than it looked, that’s all.” Jon whistled. “Ghost! To me!”
Ghost appeared at his side in an instant. His hackles were lowered and his fangs unbarred.
“That all of them?” Andrea asked.
“It appears so.”
Andrea clicked her tongue. “That’s three days now of consistent attacks. What the hell is going on?”
“It’s all the noise we’re making. The bloody chainsaw is drawing them for miles, I’d wager.”
“You reckon the horde can hear it?”
“I doubt so. These are just wanderers. But, there’s always a chance.”
“Fuck… what if it makes them move faster? Like, what if the noise cuts through all the bullshit and unifies them under a single goal?”
“We’ll adapt. Their speed affords us that luxury. No matter how enhanced our noise may or not may not make their speed, they’re still slow and stupid.”
Andrea gummed her lips. “You better be right.” She crouched, rolled Left over and pulled the knife from its forehead.
Jon looked over his shoulder. Rick, Daryl and Carl were racing across the fields. The wall loomed behind them. High and sturdy. One partially completed side of four necessary pieces. A lone chainsaw draws a handful of corpses a day. How many hundreds will the chaos of a proper keep draw? How many thousands? For as long as the dead walk, the living must huddle behind walls. The current design wouldn’t do for the future. Too flimsy between the posts. Too easily toppled in the loose soil. He’d needs discuss it with Sam later. Jon flicked the blood off of Longclaw and sheathed it.
Rick, Daryl and Carl arrived. Daryl scanned the woods as he kept a death grip on his crossbow. Carl grinned at the two corpses while Rick frowned at them.
“Y’all okay?” Rick asked
“We’re fine,” Jon said.
“Yeah, all good,” Andrea said.
“You got ‘em,” Carl said.
“Told you we would.” Andrea pushed Carl’s hat down over his eyes.
“This all of ‘em?” Rick asked. His revolver hung by his side in a loose grip, cocked and ready to fire.
Daryl squinted at the woods. “Looks it.”
“Ghost is at ease. We’re in the clear for now,” Jon said.
“That, or he’s too busy chowin’ down.” Daryl nodded behind Jon.
Ghost had his muzzle buried in the belly of the left corpse, gorging himself on its rotten entrails.
“Ew. That’s fucking gross,” Carl said.
“What was that out of your mouth?” Rick asked. He uncocked and sheathed his revolver.
“I mean, that’s fricking gross.”
“Next time, just say gross.”
Carl flashed a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Dad.”
Rick scowled. “No, you ain’t.”
“Am too.”
“Go on and prove it. Help your mom with breakfast.”
“But I already ate.”
“And you’ll eat again. Go on, don’t make me ask twice now.”
Carl shot Jon a desperate look.
“Don’t look at me, lad.”
“But it’ll be corn again.”
“It’s better than what he’s having.” Jon gestured to Ghost.
“At least he likes it…” Carl strolled off towards camp, dragging his feet.
The moment Carl was at Rick’s back, Rick's scowl gave way to a grin. He shook his head and chuckled. “Sorry ‘bout him. He ain’t never been a mornin’ person. Even as a baby. Especially as a baby.”
“He like corn as a baby?” Andrea asked.
“Nope. Can’t fault him for it. Shit’s nasty. Especially the canned stuff.”
“Corn!” Bloodbeak descended onto Rick’s shoulder and stared at him.
Rick chuckled. “Sorry, bud. No corn. Daryl, what’s your read? How old’re these two?”
Daryl gave Ghost a wide birth and crouched beside the right corpse. He cut off its shirt and opened its belly. His face scrunched up as he inspected the entrails before he shrugged. “It’s old. A month maybe two.”
Rick nodded. “And the other one?”
Daryl glanced at the entrails Ghost was eating. “Old.”
Rick cocked his head and scanned the woods and then the farm at his back. “Where are they all? The Culvers couldn’t have killed that many.”
“Maybe the doc’s right.”
“I don’t buy it. I mean, I ain’t no virologist or nothin’ but viruses don’t talk to one another. They ain’t fuckin’ psychic.”
“Who cares?” Andrea said. “All that matters is that there’s less hassle for us.”
“Jon, this yours?” Daryl asked. He pulled the knife from the right corpse’s cheek.
“No. It brought the blade with it.”
“You sure?”
“Aye. Why?”
“Looks like yours. Here.” Daryl held the knife out to him, hilt first.
Jon paused. The hilt was black. The blade was sharp on both sides, like a dagger. He took it from Daryl at once. The hilt was black. Up close, the imperfections revealed themselves. The faint dents and slight bends; the marks of a blacksmith. The hilt was black. No. Jon whipped out his own dagger and compared them side by side. Same length. Same shape. Same colour.
“Jon?” Andrea asked.
No. Jon scanned the woods. Silent and still.
“Son, you good?” Rick gripped his shoulder.
No. Jon faced the camp. It could be Sam. The wall loomed high. It could be Grenn. Beneath the wall, the tents looked so small. It could be Pyp. The corpses’ stench burned the back of his throat. It could be Ed. It could be Satin. It could be anyone… It could be no one.
“The fuck’s the matter?” Daryl asked.
Jon squeezed the hilt of the dagger. “It’s one of my brother’s blades.”
Rick tore his hand from Jon’s shoulder. “We’ll start searching right away. Daryl, Andrea go and-”
“No.”
“What?” Rick asked.
“No?” Andrea stepped towards him.
Daryl rose. “The fuck you mean, no? That’s your brother out there.”
“My black brother. My brother at arms. It could be a friend. It could be no one. Either way, we haven’t the time to be pissing about in the woods on some wild goose chase. The wall takes precedence. We take precedent. Whoever’s out there, I hope by some miracle they come our way but for now, they must take care of themselves.”
Before he could change his mind, Jon sheathed his dagger and marched back to camp. The corpses’ sour stench stalked him all the way.
***
A clear sky gave way to a scorching summer heat. The humid air rang with a cacophony of noise. Hammers banged and slammed. Drills whirred and screamed. Machetes hacked and clacked. As it were, the noise made an enormous racket and that was without the bloody chainsaw.
Jon crouched and grasped a generator from the bottom. He mustered all his strength into his legs and with a grunt, hoisted it onto the truck’s flatbed.
Andrea slapped him on the back. “Nice work, big man.”
Jon wiped his brow. A dull ache warmed his muscles. “Is that all of it?”
Three crates sat on the pickup truck’s bed. Andrea clambered onto it and poked through their contents. They contained food, ammunition, medicine and strange tools powered by something called electricity. Jenner had said it was the same as lightning which didn’t clarify anything. It was everything they’d need for the expedition to the other farm.
Andrea checked a list scribbled down on a scrap of paper. “Yup, that’s all of it.” She slotted the generator in with the crates, forming a larger square of four parts in the corner of the bed.
Jon tossed her the elastic cables and Andrea got to work securing their supplies.
“Hold on.” Hershel approached the back of the bed. “Let me take a look at our medicine first.”
“Rest up, Daddy. I’ve got it.” Beth hurried past her father and vaulted over the bed’s side, graceful as a cat.
“Nonsense, I’m more than capable.” Hershel placed his bandaged hand on the flatbed, grimaced and then switched to the other hand.
Beth crouched before him atop the bed, with a sweet smile on her face. The midday sun shimmered in her taught and tied golden hair. “I know, Daddy. How about I tell you what’s in there and you tell me if it’s all correct?”
“I lost two fingers, not an arm. Quit actin’ like I can’t do nothin’.”
“Let your hand heal, Hershel,” Glenn said. He was sitting in the dirt, looking over a map and compass. He didn’t take his eyes off the map.
Jon touched Hershel on the back. “You can peer over the side. Come, I’ll show you.”
Hershel mumbled and grumbled but followed Jon to the side of the bed all the same. He peered over the side and watched Beth poke through the medicine crate. Beth glanced at Jon. Their eyes met for half a heartbeat. She looked away. “Thanks, Jon,” she muttered, keeping her eyes glued to the crate.
“Aye.” Jon nodded. He left them to it and walked away.
As he did, it dawned on him. After a week of not speaking to each other, the first words she’d spoken to him were a halfhearted thanks. Better than nothing.
In front of the pickup truck sat two motorcycles a fair distance away. Jon grimaced and hurried over to join Glenn on the grass. Glenn traced a line along a road on the map with his finger. Every so often he’d stop and check a tally scribbled on the corner of the map. He clicked his tongue and rubbed out a few marks from the tally.
“An hour and a half,” he muttered.
“Is that just to get there? Or there and back?” Jon asked.
“That’s halfway.”
Jon grimaced. “Six hours for some bloody sheets of tin. Are you sure there aren’t any other places we can strip them from that are closer?”
“I wish but, nope. Sam and Hershel both agree that McMillan farm is the closest option.”
At full manpower, working every day with minimum breaks we’ve built a third of the bloody wall. Every hour we waste, the less we’ll have ready when the corpses arrive. Jon ran his hand through his hair, breaking knots in his sweat-drenched locks.
“Perhaps we should leave Sam behind? Leave him here to keep things on schedule?” Jon asked.
“I was thinking the same. His strength is an asset. But, no. Think about it. We’ll be away from our work here for six hours and that’s without accounting for how long it’ll take to strip the roof. Stripping the roof could take an hour or three, or five, or who knows how long. For all that time we’re away from our work. If we’re delayed because we didn’t bring him, that’s five people away from work for hours. It isn’t worth the risk for one man’s worth of extra working power. Even if he’s an especially strong man. Besides, every extra moment we spend out there is another we risk something going wrong.”
“Aye… that’s fair. Too much caution is a hindrance. It’s how we ended up in this situation in the first place.”
“Exactly. I reckon the group is just the right size. Six people. Big enough to get this done fast. Small enough to not slow things down here too much.”
“You’re the expert. I’ll take your word for it.”
Glenn laughed. “That’s me. Glenn Rhee, renowned fucking expert pizza delivery guy.”
“Give me a call when we’re ready. I’m going to help strip the tree for as long as I’m able.”
“Nah, man. Sit. Relax. I want all your strength for out there.”
“Sam’s working.”
“Yeah, and you’re reasonable. Sit, man. Just take it all in for a moment. It’s beautiful. Like, they’ve all come together to form a unified human machine.”
Jon remained on his feet. “I’ll watch for a bit but, I have to help out.”
Glenn sighed. “Fine just don’t push yourself.”
Jon crossed his arm across his chest and took in the others hard at work across the field. Their workforce was split into three groups; the wall team, the pruning team and the lumberjack team.
The lumberjack team approached the treeline as one unit. James Culver wielded a tool known as a chainsaw, an awe-inspiring piece of technology that spun a chain around a blade so fast that it could eat through tree trunks as if they were made of little more than straw. Jenner trailed after him hauling a generator, a box that turned gasoline into electricity. He placed it near the base of the tree on the edge of the forest and James plugged the chainsaw into it. As they got the generator working, Maggie sorted through a medical kit equipped with all the tools necessary to amputate on the spot. May Culver and Carol stood guard at the tree line, wielding machetes. Beyond the thick tangle of branches and tree trunks, seeing even a few feet into the forest proved difficult. The dead could sneak up on one even as you looked in their direction. Ghost prowled between May and Carol. He was their living, breathing early alert system. James pulled a cord on the chainsaw and it let out a piercing scream that rang high above the enormous racket. He laughed and waved it back and forth like the damn fool he was.
The pruning team were gathered around the most recent tree to be cut down. It lay across the field a short distance away from the wall on a flat patch of ground so it couldn’t roll away. Carl and Pete Culver worked together. They used hatchets to strip the tree of its thinner branches at its top. While T-Dog, Daryl and Rick used axes to hack off the thicker lower branches. Almost half of the pruning team was gone. He, Andrea, Beth, Glenn and Hershel were all needed for the expedition. The trees around here had hundreds of damnable branches from the base to the top. At full force, it took a whole day just to strip one down. At half force, they’d be delayed by another day. The lumberjack team had best get a bloody move on cutting down the next tree so they can help out with the pruning.
The wall team was split into two halves. Dale and Lori worked together to bolt the sheets of tin roofing to the tree trunk posts. Holes had been bored through the sheets of tin and into the tree trunk posts ahead of time. Atop a ladder, Dale used a massive wrench to fasten bolts into place through holes, pinning the sheets to the tree trunk posts. On the ground, Lori held the sheets in place while Dale secured the bolts. Her scowl had disappeared. There’d been quite an argument when she’d been assigned the role. While not an unimportant role, it was a less intensive role. She’d wanted to help prune or cut down trees but Rick had insisted otherwise and Hershel had backed him. They feared for the babe. A babe which Lori was quite adamant to point out wasn’t even showing yet. Hopefully, the babe comes into a more stable world than we have currently.
The second half of the wall team was comprised of Sam, Randall and Shane. Atop scaffolding, Sam and Shane hammered the top of the eighth tree trunk post with sledgehammers. At the base of the post, Randall watched it inch deeper and deeper into the ground. The end of the tree trunk had been sharpened to a point this morning by the pruning and lumberjack teams. Randall sat on a stool. Beside him lay a pair of crutches. A fresh pair of bandages bound his thighs. The fact the lad can stand at all is a miracle, let alone after only a week. Even if it is with assistance.
Altogether, the group formed a well-optimised unit designed to take a tree, strip it and hammer it into the ground. Ideally, they’d do so twenty times. So far, seven posts had been completed with the eighth not far off.
Glenn stood and cupped his hands around his mouth.“SAM! WE’RE READY TO GO!”
Sam heaved his sledgehammer over his shoulder and looked their way. He said something to Shane. Shane nodded and carried on hammering the tree trunk. Carefully, Sam climbed down the rickety scaffolding and snatched up a pack by the base of a tree trunk post. He touched Randall on the shoulder. They exchanged words and gave each other a nod before Sam departed. With a sledgehammer slung over his shoulder and his towering frame, Sam looked how Jon imagined Robert Baratheon must have looked in his youth.
Andrea leapt off the back of the truck as Sam joined them.
“You shouldn’t wear yourself out like that before we go out there,” she said.
“Gotta get my workout in before a long, hard day of killing walkers.” Sam grinned and gave his sledgehammer a swing.
“If you fucking collapse out there, you’re on your own.”
“Otherwise you’ll come rushin’ to my rescue? Well, colour me fuckin’ grateful.”
“Alright, enough you two,” Glenn said. “If all goes well, we shouldn’t have to kill any walkers at all.”
“Right, ‘cause everything always goes just smoothly these days,” Sam said.
Andrea looked like she was about to burst with rage.
“Let’s mount up and get a move on, aye?” Jon butted in.
“Ain’t no time like the present,” Sam headed for the motorcycles.
“Whatever,” Andrea muttered and did the same.
Glenn collected his map and compass and approached the back of the truck. “All good here?”
Beth and Hershel exchanged a glance.
“You forgot to pack antibiotics,” Hershel said.
Glenn grimaced. “O-Oh. Yeah? My bad… uh…” He looked over his shoulder at the camp.
“I can go get ‘em,” Beth said. “They’re in the rangerover, right?”
“Well…”
Hershel scowled. “Be straight with me son. Where’re the antibiotics?”
Glenn sighed. His shoulders slumped. He glanced at Andrea and Sam over by the motorbikes before ushering Hershel, Beth and Jon into a huddle. “Look,” he whispered. “We’ve run out.”
“How?” Jon asked.
“For how long?” Hershel asked.
“For… For a couple of days.”
“A couple of days? And I’m hearing ‘bout this now?” Hershel asked.
“Rick, Lori and I thought it best to not scare everyone. Especially while they’re focused on building the wall.”
“Oh did they now?” Beth said. “I can’t believe you would-”
Hershel held up his hand and Beth stopped. “I should have been told,” he said calmly.
“We were gonna. We were just still, you know, figuring out when the best time would be.”
“So, we’re completely out?” Jon asked. “Every single bottle?”
Glenn glanced Sam’s way and lowered his voice another step. “Not exactly. There’s still the Culver’s private stock.”
“Which we can’t rely upon,” Jon said.
“What about the rest of our medicine? How much of that is left?” Hershel asked.
“Not much. We’re were low as it was and then we had three surgeries-”
“Two. My fingers were hardly a surgery.”
“Still… death by a thousand cuts, you know?”
“What about the basics? How long until cuts and splinters are as deadly as a gunshot?” Jon asked.
“At this rate, with all the construction, maybe a month. That’s just a guess.”
Beth gummed her lips. “Is it really that big a deal? Not having the basics, I mean. Scratches and splinters are just scratches and splinters.”
“You’ve never lived without medicine, have you?” Jon asked. “Without all the luxuries of your world, it’s disturbingly easy to die by the most benign of means.”
Beth glared at him
Hershel nodded. “Without medicine, we’re left-”
“WALKERS!” May’s shout cut above the racket. Above the construction. Above the chainsaw.
Silence descended on the farm in one fell swoop. As one, all heads turned to the tree line. May and Carol formed up side by side, feet spread, machetes poised to strike. Carol held her machete in a solid two-handed grip while May waved hers about, slicing the air. In between them, Ghost stiffened. His tail stood up tall and his hackles raised, puffing into a snow-white, shaggy mane. James dropped his chainsaw and bolted to safety while Jenner and Maggie scrambled to prepare medical equipment a short distance away.
A corpse shambled out into the open from beyond the forest’s void. It wore the clothes of this world. It wore no black cloak. It was too far away to see the face but, it wore no black cloak. It wore no black cloak.
Ghost lunged and speared the corpse in the chest, slamming it into the ground. Its gargled cry rang out across the fields for but a single, short moment before Ghost tore its head clean off. Two more corpses shambled from the forest void. Then another and another until there were six corpses in all. None wore a black cloak. None were brothers.
Sam and Andrea joined Jon’s side.
“Fucking hell…” Sam muttered
Immediately, the pruning team shot from their stations and charged the tree line, shouting and waving their hatchets and axes. All except Carl and Pete Culver. Carl kept back and glared at the dead while Pete stood still as a statue and stared blankly at the encroaching squad of corpses. Dale hurried down his ladder as Lori ran to Carl and huddled him in her arms. The rhythmic slamming of Shane’s sledgehammer rang out over the commotion.
“We need to help them!” Andrea said.
“We won’t make it in time. It’s in their hands,” Jon said.
As Daryl and T-Dog, headed by Rick, charged to close the distance between the fallen tree and the forest, May and Carol split apart. Backing up in opposite directions, they screamed and shouted and waved their machetes. Four walkers followed May and two followed Carol. Ghost rushed the group of four and tackled one corpse to the ground. Its head split open on a small boulder. May and Carol engaged.
Carol killed with one, clean overhead swing. She waited for a corpse to come to her, split the top of its skull and then took three steps back as she set her sights on the next. May on the other hand charged her foe and weaved around their grabbing hands as she struck them in the back of the head. Their hands flailed to grab her but every time May ducked or dodged out of the way. Her laughter sang high into the midday air. After two of the corpse fell, she danced with the third and final. Rick and others could only watch on and she weaved around its attempts to grab her, slicing and cutting at its chest and face.
Curtains of black blood cascaded down the corpse’s front and face, forming a bloody mask over its disfigured features. May sliced one eye and then the next. The corpse snapped its head back and forth, gargling and hissing as it clawed blindly in May’s general direction. She cut off both hands in two rapid strokes and allowed it to get right up close to her. The corpse pressed up against her and fumbled her face uselessly with its stumps. May leaned right back, just out of range of its gnashing teeth.
“God damn, idiot,” Sam muttered. He clenched his grip on his sledgehammer.
Rick shouted. May laughed. Rick shouted again and May looked right at him as she leaned towards the corpse. The corpse lunged, mouth agape. She threw herself backwards. Rotten teeth gnashed the air. Her back slammed against the ground. As the corpse tripped over her, she rolled backwards, kicking the corpse over her. Wailing and flailing it tumbled head over heels and crumbled like a ragdoll on the grass. It let out a shrill cry as it clawed feverishly at the soil, squirming to find which way was up. As May lay on her back, laughing hysterically Rick stormed forward and stabbed the walker through the temple. He snatched May’s arm and yanked her to her feet. He shouted right in her face but she looked past him, grinning at Jon and others across the field. Jenner and Maggie rushed forward and began looking her over much to her annoyance.
Andrea huffed. “Crazy bitch.” She headed back to the motorcycles.
Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Work began to resume. Blades rose and fell. Insistent chops, crashing bangs and whirring screeches were sung. Motion and noise filled the void left by chaos and fear. Sam watched it all unfold, leaning on his sledgehammer as if it were a cane. Jon and the other exchanged awkward glances as they awaited him to follow Andrea out of earshot of their whispers.
“I can hear, you know,” he said. “We’ll talk medicine when we get back. Daylight’s burnin’. Let’s get a fuckin’ move on.” Sam hoisted his sledgehammer across his shoulders and made his way over to the motorcycle.
Jon smiled at the others. “I suppose that settles it, aye?”
Beth shrugged and sat in the back of the truck. Hershel followed her. His eyes followed Sam.
Glenn cupped his hands around his mouth. “RICK!”
All the motion and noise ceased with a jolt. A dozen or so pair of eyes fell upon Glenn.
“YEAH?!”
“WE’RE LEAVING NOW!”
“FOR HOW LONG?!”
“SIX HOURS, MINIMUM!”
“IF Y’ALL AIN’T BACK BY SUNDOWN, WE’LL COME LOOKIN’!”
“GOT IT!”
“GOOD LUCK!”
Dale waved from atop his ladder. “STAY SAFE!”
Other voices took up calls of, “GOOD LUCK,” and, “STAY SAFE,” until the fields were buzzing with shouts and cheers. While most waved and shouted, Pete and May laughed amongst themselves. Randall glowered, eyes fixed on his feet. Shane hammered the top of the eighth tree trunk. James took up his chainsaw again. He pulled on its cord and a shrill scream drowned out the shouts and cheers. The chainsaw’s blade plunged back into the tree’s trunk, spaying wood chips and sawdust into the air.
“Asshole,” Glenn muttered.
“Aye…”
Jon and Glenn waved to the group before approaching the vehicles. Glenn still sported a scowl as he climbed into the truck’s driver’s cab with Hershel and Beth. Atop the truck’s small ladder, he flung open the driver’s side door and hopped inside.
“TIMBER!”
Jon looked over his shoulder. The tree James had been cutting collapsed onto the field with a mighty crash. Leaves rained down all around James, littering his unkempt black hair. In the corner of his eye, Jon saw Beth staring right at him. Their eyes met. Bright and blue, her eyes widened and she turned from him. It’s only fair. She thinks I killed her family. Let her hate me. Better to be hated than dead.
Andrea awaited him, sitting on May’s motorcycle. She tossed him a helmet.
“You better not throw up this time,” she said.
“No promises I’m afraid.” Jon secured the black half-helm’s leather chin strap and mounted up behind Andrea.
The nightmarish contraption rumbled beneath him, purring like a cat. It would turn into a lion soon and reach awful, unnatural speeds. In a car was one thing. But with the world whizzing by and the wind clawing to pull you off, such speeds were the thing of nightmares. The first time he’d rode one, holding onto Daryl’s waist, Jon had been sure he’d fall and break his neck. Whoever had designed the beastly thing must have surely lost their wits.
Andrea handed Jon a pair of goggles and a bandanna. “Save it for when we’ve stopped at the very least.”
Jon slipped on his goggles. “Don’t go racing off and you won’t have to worry about such things.”
Andrea smirked. “No promises.”
Jon sighed and started tying the bandanna around his mouth.
Andrea chuckled. “You sure Ghost’ll be okay without you?”
“He’ll behave. He views the place as home now as far as I can tell.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“He’ll be fine. We’ve been separated for far longer before. What about Dale? Do you think he can manage without you?”
“Oh, he moaned and groaned when I told him I was coming along but, he’ll survive.”
“Way I hear it, he does a lot of moanin’ and groanin’ in that tent of yours,” Sam said from atop Daryl’s motorcycle.
“Fuck off.” Andrea pulled her bandanna over her mouth.
Sam laughed a great, big belly laugh. Andrea revved the engine and drowned him out. She sped off down the gravel road. Jon flung his arms around her waist and held on for dear life. When confronted with a world of blurs and beating winds, the immodesty of wrapping his arms around a woman was easy to ignore.
Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated <3
Next chapter, the scavenging group encounter an unforeseen obstacle in obtaining their sheets of roofing and Jon continues to grapple with the fact one of his friends might be out there somewhere.
