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lunagb · 1 year ago

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A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

CHAPTER 5: Confession

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, and basically a friendship tag with Jon Snow & Everyone else [except Shane].

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Jon is left to pick up the pieces after dealing with the barn walkers.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - TV Variant Adjacent

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Randall Culver, Original members of the Culver Family

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say!” he quorked.

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

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

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

“Andrea, cut it out,” Glenn said.

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

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

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

All eyes went to him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What else?”

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

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

“You’re keepin’ secrets?” Lori asked.

“Not any longer,” Jon said.

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

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

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

Lori dodged his eyes and gummed her lips.

“Is this about the virus?” Maggie asked.

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

“You told her?”

“I-It just kinda slipped out.”

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

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

“Well, it seems-”

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

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

“Should we be worried?”

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

“Yes!” Bloodbeak cackled, his beak clattering.

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

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

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

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

“No.” Jon shovelled corn into his mouth.

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

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

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

Glenn nodded and made to stand.

Jon swallowed his corn. “Daryl already knows.”

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

“Aye.”

Andrea sighed and Jenner gave Jon an incredulous look.

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t get Shane,” Jon said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Think he’ll listen?” Glenn asked.

“Not likely,” Jon said.

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

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

Again, no response.

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

“Shane, come out or we’ll come in.”

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

“It’s not a request,” Glenn said.

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

“Glenn, wait outside.”

“What? Why?”

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

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

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

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Or what?”

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

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

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

Shane arched an eyebrow.

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

“Okay. That all?”

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

“You’ve understood what I’ve said?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, most likely.”

“We should tell Rick.”

“There we agree.”

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

“Where’s Shane?” Rick asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d he take it?” Rick asked.

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

Glenn made eye contact with Jon as he nodded confirmation.

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

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

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

Lori shuffled on her stool.

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

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

“Yeah, whatever…”

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

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

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

“I’m fine where I am.”

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

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

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

“Yes,” Jenner said

“How? What proof is there?”

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

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

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jenner slammed the table. “Safe and sound?”

“That’s right!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lori, I-”

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

Jon began. “It was-”

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

“A mistake,” Jon finished.

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

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

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

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

Glenn frowned and squeezed her hand. Jenner answered.

“No. Not for a while.”

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

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

“Possible. But not in our lifetime.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad!” Maggie shot to her feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it isn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

“That would be best,” Jon said.

Dale nodded. “Fine.”

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

“Whatever,” Andrea muttered.

“Hold on,” Lori said.

Glenn froze. “What?”

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

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

“Sure,” Glenn said.

“Aye, deal,” Jon said.

“Of course,” Jenner said.

Lori arched an eyebrow at Rick.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Dumbasses.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Beth!” Maggie yelled.

“Go away! Traitor!”

A door handle rattled. “Open this door!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Stop acting like a fucking kid!”

“Stop acting like a psychopath!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s probably better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need me.”

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

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

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

“You get my fuckin’ bike back.”

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

Daryl nodded and knelt at Carol’s side.

***

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

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

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

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

“He’s insane, that’s what he is!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon caught her wrist. “Calm yourself.”

“Let go of me!”

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

“Jon, where’s Ghost?” Rick asked.

“Hunting.”

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

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

“Where?” Beth asked.

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

Beth voice’s shrunk. “Oh.”

“How far?” Jon asked.

“Those cars still got gas?”

“They do,” Rick said.

“About ten minutes, then.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Me bein’ out there gives ‘em hope.”

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

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

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

Rick smiled at them both. Lori frowned.

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

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

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

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

“You two done?” Maggie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, good idea,” Glenn said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are all the dead?” Glenn whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who else is with you?” Hershel drank.

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

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

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

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

“That right?”

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

“Not enough.” Hershel drank.

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

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

“My farm? Is that right?”

“Get up!” Maggie grabbed his arm.

Hershel shrugged out of her grip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick glared at him, part shame, part fury.

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

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

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

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

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

Hershel answered with silence.

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

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

The engines drew closer.

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” Glenn followed.

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

“No, but best not to, aye?”

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

“Y-Yeah, right there-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on, Caleb. Get it over with.”

“NO!” Hershel screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

Jon found his breath. “A-Aye.”

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

Jon shook him off. “No.”

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

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

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

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

“The light!” Rick shouted.

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

“Put pressure! Put pressure!”

“Who’s armed?!”

“Are you hit anywhere else?!”

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

“I am!”

“His hand not his head!”

“Jon, Glenn have you got your guns?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glenn uncovered his head. “What?!”

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

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

“We’ll cover you,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

“God dammit, do as your-”

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

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

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

“Shit, he ducked!”

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

“Fuck!” a voice shouted.

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

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

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

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

“Okay!” Hurried footsteps scampered across the roof.

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

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

“Are y’all hit?!” Rick shouted.

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

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

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

“Aye!”

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

“I killed him...” he heard Glenn say.

“Aye.”

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

“We gotta help him…”

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

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

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

“PLEASE! I don’t wanna die…”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a boy! Randall Culver!”

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

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

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

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

“Dad, get back here!”

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

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

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

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

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

“With what?” Hershel asked.

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

Hershel and Glenn scowled at him but Rick took pause.

“What if he were Carl?” Hershel asked.

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

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

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

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

2 notes · View notes

cxdemistake · 1 year ago

Text

Daryl would’ve retorted further when Kyleigh told him to keep moving— but as much fun as arguing with someone about what he thought of her making him turn red, one look at the sun getting lower made him keep walking.

Thankfully, when he got close enough, he could see it wasn’t Andrea on watch— it was Dale. The man looked puzzled, but Daryl gave him a thumbs-up and the older man nodded, moving away from his rifle. “Won’ have t’worry ‘bout Andrea— Dale’s on watch. S’better that way, he don’ shoot ‘fore askin’ questions.”

He could see the farm was still very active— Rick and Lori were on the porch, Glenn was trailing after Maggie to god knew where, and a few of the others were gathered by the chicken coop. He didn’t like being around a lot of people, either— probably the biggest reason why he wasn’t close to everyone, but that part, at least, wasn’t his fault.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she sounded nervous. Rather than tease her about it— because he knew the feeling all too well— he nodded, stopping near the RV— far enough away from everyone (except Dale, who was still sitting on top) to be comfortable, but still close enough so she could see the amount of people around and get used to it.

He had to admit, he preferred her new nickname over the old one— but he’d think about that later, after he had reassured her. “If they got a problem, they c’n come t’me. Doubt they will, though. Long as yer not antagonizin’ Hershel— th’owner of th’farm— ‘r his family, he won’t say nothin’. Rick’s th’same— he’s th’one on th’porch. He’ll wanna meet ya, both of ‘em will, but things’re windin’ down so they ain’ gonna bother ya right now.”

"Ouch." Was all Kyleigh could say as she listened to Daryl tell that story about how he almost died because of his own weapon. The fact that he survived all that and a graze to the head from a bullet was pretty damn impressive given that he was just a human. Either this Andrea was a terrible shot or Daryl was a cat and still had about five lives left. "Maybe you should pray that if she does do it again her shot hasn't imporved any."

The crack she let out was meant to get him to laugh again, not for her to almost walk right into when he stopped so suddenly. At least he was smart enough to pick up what she was talking about, though him turning it around like that caused her to turn bright red and scramble for some kind of retort.

"Did I stutter? No, so keep on moving. I want you to stay in front of me in case your friend decides to she wants to target practice again. At least she'll get you first." The half lycan could survive a bullet wound, as long as it wasn't pure silver and not right in the head. Daryl was pretty built, so if it hit him first it would at the very least slow it down.

As they drew closer to the farm the sounds of the others began to reach her ears, causing Kyleigh to grow quiet. There was a decent amount of people of all ages there, which was in turn making her wolf come alive. This was why she had tried to avoid humans altogether, they triggered her hunger even if the full moon was some time off.

"Hey Bowie, you sure they're going to be okay with me coming back with you? I'm not trying to cause any trouble." That was her nerves getting the best of her as her human desire to be around people again clashed with her wolf's desire for a fresh meal.

#he likes that one X’D #; daryl #lunarruled

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rickgrimeswifey · 3 years ago

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Going mental - Rick Grimes

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Summary: Lori had just died and Rick was clearing out the hallways from walkers. Glenn told Y/n to go and check on Rick and he did something she didn't really expect.

Season: 3

Pairing: Rick Grimes x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Lime, choking, hair pulling, degrading

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Y/n let out a deep sigh as Rick was crying and screaming 'no' as he had just found out Lori had died giving birth. Y/n felt so sorry for him and felt sad because Lori and her were friends. Out of nowhere Rick stopped crying and just had this hard look on his face then he stormed inside the door that Maggie and Carl had came out of with the newborn babygirl. Everyone except Daryl was crying but you could see he was hurt. Y/n didn't waste another second before walking up to Carl and bringing him into a hug. He was shocked that his mother had just passed but hugged back and started sobbing into Y/n's chest. Y/n felt really bad for him and knew he needed his father but not in a million years she could blame Rick she could for not being there for his son when his wife had just died.

Hours had passed by and Rick was still in there, Carl had calmed down and stopped crying but was still really upset. They were still standing outside, Y/n had been hugging him for a long time but was forced to pull away when Glenn came up to her.

"You need to go check on Rick Y/n everyone else is busy" he said.

"Okay" she answered shortly.

"Will you be okay" Y/n asked Carl.

He nodded.

"You sure" she asked.

"Yes I will go check on my newborn sister" he said which made Y/n smile.

Y/n watched him go inside then sighed deeply and looked at the opposite door where Rick had gone inside. She let out a long breath before she went up to the door and then inside the hallway. Y/n lit up her flashlight and grabbed her knife incase she saw any walkers which she highly doubt since Rick had been in here for hours. She walked through the hallways and after about ten minutes she found Rick standing completely still with a sharp weapon in his hand.

"Rick" she called out softly for him.

No response. He stood completely still, not moving a muscle.

"Rick" she called out again a little louder.

Still no response at all, it was like he didn't even hear her.

"Rick" she said loudly but still soft.

Y/n could see he was covered in blood but didn't care since he had been killing walkers. Y/n thought he looked quite hot like this but she couldn't tell him now or ever since he had just lost his wife. Ever since the camp in Atlanta Y/n always had a thing for Rick. He made her feel very sensual and seductive. Not that she could ever tell him but she had maybe been fingering herself one two many times calling out his name while doing it. But every time she did that she made sure nobody was around. It was once she heard a person walk by outside while she had checked every tent before so she froze and stopped. She always thought it was Dale but she heard as the person had walked away again. Then when she had the courage to go outside the tent no one was anywhere to be seen.

Y/n walked closer to Rick by the seconds that passed and was ready to touch him to try to get his attention. And that's exactly what she did when she didn't get a response when she called out for him again. Y/n put her hand on Ricks shoulder while she called out for him again but was cut off by Rick grabbing her by the throat and pushing her up against a wall. Y/n hated to admit it but it made her pussy go wild. She felt how her panties got damp by Rick choking her. Y/n let out a quiet whimper as Ricks eyes burned on her. His eyes were glued to hers as he didn't say anything. The look on his face was enough to shut Y/n up.

Y/n whimpered quietly and was about to say something but was cut off by Rick smashing his lips against hers. It was a really hard and rough kiss since Y/n's head bumped into the wall behind her since he came in with such force. Rick still had a grip on her throat and the other hand was traveling over her body as Rick pushed himself against Y/n. Y/n moaned into the kiss which made Rick growl quietly. Soon Ricks other hand found its way to Y/n's hair and he just gripped it tightly making Y/n cry out into the kiss because it hurt a bit but she hated to admit that she loved it. She swore Rick could do anything to her right now and she would just smile and say 'thank you'.

Rick pulled away still having one hand in her hair tightly and the other on her throat squeezing slightly. Y/n's lips were now swollen and it was red around them. Rick had messed her up a bit. You wouldn't expect that from the sheriff.

"You know Y/n I think you're a curse" Rick spat through his gritted teeth.

Y/n didn't dare to make a sound.

"Even though I have just lost my wife and before I lost her and I'm married you know I've always found you irresistible, there is just something about you that makes me go insane" Rick said angrily and was just inches away from meeting Y/n's lips again.

Y/n whimpered slightly as she felt herself get wetter.

"You didn't make it much easier for me when you were fingering yourself moaning my name" Rick whisper shouted angry.

Y/n's face became red as a tomato when she processed what he had just said. That night at the farm when she heard footsteps it was him. This was so embarrassing that Y/n just wanted to run and hide forever.

"You're such a little slut Y/n" Rick said a little calmer.

Y/n moaned at his words. She knew it was wrong doing so but she couldn't help it.

"But you know that right" Rick mumbled and let his lips brush against Y/n's.

Y/n tried to lean forward in a desperate attempt to just feel Ricks lips on hers again but she was pushed up again against the wall with her hair and throat being held tighter this time. Ricks grip on Y/n's neck was just tight enough to keep her breathing. Rick just stared into her eyes again. Y/n didn't know what to do in this situation so she decided to speak about something else.

"Carl needs you right now Rick" Y/n whimpered as she felt Rick pull her hair so her head was pulled back.

Rick put his face close to Y/n's throat and felt Y/n squirm under his touch as he just breathed on it.

"Don't bring Carl into this Y/n" he spat and bit Y/n on the thin skin on her throat which was definitely going to leave a mark.

Y/n moaned as he did do. Ricks dick twitched in his pants as he grew hard because of the divine sounds that left Y/n's mouth. Soon he snapped back to reality and reminded himself of what he was doing in here. He was looking for Loris corpse. Rick pushed Y/n roughly against the wall before he stomped off leaving her there with an aching core and swollen lips.

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A/n: Okay I know this type of smut isn't everyone's cup of tea but let me know if you want more of these kinds of smuts.

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Tag list: (click here to be apart of it)

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#the waking dead #rick grimes #lori grimes #rick grimes x reader

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starlessea · 4 years ago

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Here Comes the Sun: XII. Highway To Hell (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7169

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence.

You held a hand up over your shoulder and crouched down near the door, signalling for Carol to do the same behind you. Your gun was pressed snug between your palms, and your knife hung from your belt in case you needed it. Though, from the looks of the place it seemed pretty secure - if the lock you'd just busted open was anything to go by. The two of you were scavenging and had spotted a small general store, deciding to check it out before heading back to the cabin. The group hadn't eaten anything substantial in days, save for the things Daryl had been hunting. Even then, the harsh winter months made it harder for him to pick up tracks when most animals had better shelter than you all did.

It had been a number of weeks since the farm was overrun, but it almost felt like yesterday. The temperature had dropped to freezing seemingly overnight, making your fortunes that much more cruel. Even now, your breath formed clouds of smoke before your eyes, and the cold felt like it had infiltrated your bones at some point and never left. The tips of your fingers stung as they glowed red, exposed through your fingerless gloves, and you were certain that your nose matched, too. Carol's did, that's for sure.

You gave her a quick nod before kicking in the door harshly with your boot, raising your gun as you entered. The inside was bigger than you were expecting, and it took you a few minutes to clear each aisle for walkers. As you did, you noticed how most supplies were missing from the shelves, having been taken before the place was locked up. Still, Glenn had always drilled into you the first rule of scavenging: 'there's nothing good left in this world that isn't hidden.'

Sending a nod to Carol, you put your gun away in your holster before reminding her to stay alert. The two of you split up as she made her way towards the canned goods sections, hoping to find something there. Ever since you'd been on the road, you and Carol had gotten quite a bit closer. At first, she seemed sceptical of Rick and the whole situation you were forced into, as you all did. Though, after time she seemed to realise that he was the group's best shot. Most days, the two of you made dinner with anything you could find, often supplementing the things you were missing with whatever Daryl had managed to bring home from his hunt. Other times, you went scavenging together, as you did today.

At first, Rick absolutely refused to let anyone split up, and you had to abide by his rule. One time he'd caught you mocking his 'this isn't a democracy' speech to Beth behind his back and you'd had to forfeit your portion of squirrel to the greater good that evening. Daryl sneaked you some of his afterwards, however. Though, Rick quickly began to realise that there was no other choice. Before long, you'd gotten good with a gun; taking down walkers each day had that effect. Soon, you were one of the frontrunners whenever you had a house to clear - often fighting alongside him, Glenn and Daryl.

Now, he was comfortable with you leading a few runs of your own and taking Carol along with you. Glenn and Maggie often went together, too, so that you covered more ground. It wasn't that Rick was comfortable with splitting up the group, you thought; he just didn't have a choice. Lori was nearing her due date and you were all practically living on fresh air, moving from place to place quicker than you had the chance to catch your breath.

You hadn't even had time to settle things with Daryl. You barely saw the man. He'd leave first thing in the morning to look for food, and be back late at night - when most of the group had already fallen asleep. Even then, he often took watch straight after he returned. You could tell how responsible he felt for everyone and you saw the worry in his eyes daily, if the bags under them were anything to go by.

After you had kissed Daryl, back at the farm, you only had one conversation about it. It was a couple of days after you all fled, when you were taking watch with him as the rest of the group were stuck camping under the stars. It was brief, and before that the two of you had already gone back to acting as good friends, like usual. He'd told you that he wasn't good with words, and didn't want to just give you some half-assed response in the midst of struggling to survive the Georgia winter. You agreed, and it was decided then that you'd talk about it later. Yet, later never came.

It had been an unspoken rule between the two of you that everyone's safety was the priority. Though, in truth, you hadn't had a single moment where you felt safe since you left the farm. It seemed almost cruel that immediately after you'd told the man that you wanted to live, rather than just survive, you had been thrust out into the vicious world where that's all you could struggle to do. So, the two of you just existed at the moment.

Some mornings you'd wake up to sound of him leaving, and some evenings he'd be back early enough to share a meal with you. Other than that, you lived for the brief occasions where you'd take watch together, when he'd smoke a cigarette next to you and you'd sit in content silence. Though, sometimes it felt like you were frightened to say anything at all, in case you accidentally blurted out all of your feelings at once. So, the both of you barely talked - waiting for the time when you could actually talk.

You shoved some supplies into your satchel as you scoured the aisles. There wasn't much you could see that hadn't been taken already, but you picked up a few bandaids in case you ever needed them. The only thing you were able to save from the farm was your satchel. Luckily, it already had your polaroids in it and a change of clothes, since you'd been packing to move into the Greenes' farmhouse at the time the horde arrived. Still, there was so much you missed from those days.

You missed the material things, like the comfort you got just from seeing Dale's RV parked by the main camp. You missed the flimsy deck chairs surrounding it, and the big apple trees that gave it shade, and the books you'd borrow from Hershel's library to read when you had lookout duty on top of it. You missed your white dress that smelt like the washing powder that Patricia used - even though you knew it wouldn't have survived long out in these dingy, cold places. You even missed the intangible things, and felt a deep longing of nostalgia for the sounds of the leaves rustling in the breeze or for the sweetness of the air. Those days felt so far away from you now, like the images of them were slipping out of your grasp - like grains of sand before you could catch them.

The things that remained fresh in your mind, however, were the people that you left behind. You missed Patricia and Jimmy and Andrea, and even Shane. As much as that man rubbed you the wrong way, you didn't want to see him die. You didn't want any of them to die. That night was a mess. These days, you often woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares. Except, this time it was the faces of your family replacing the walkers that usually inhabited them. You missed the people you'd lost and you missed the place that you all thought was home. You also missed Daryl Dixon.

A loud clatter sounded from a few rows over from you, immediately making you thumb over your gun as you stilled in place.

"Carol?" You called over, unable to see her from behind the tall shelves. "Everything alright?"

She responded instantly, and you felt relief wash over you as she did.

"I'm fine. I just dropped a tin." She reassured you, her voice carrying as an echo in the empty store.

You let out a small sigh before continuing with your poor haul. It was times like these that you really felt your mind wander when it shouldn't. You knew that you should always be cautious, since you promised Rick that you'd look out for Carol. Though, quite frankly, you thought that he didn't give her enough credit. That woman was a force to be reckoned with, but not many people had realised it yet. Daryl had. The friendship the two of them shared was really admirable. He'd been the one to search for Sofia, and comfort Carol after the loss of her - and Carol was equally as good for him as he was for her. She'd been able to coax him out of his shell where even you struggled to, and you could see how he'd started to accept his new role within the group because of her.

You just wished, very selfishly, that you could be with him. You understood that he had a job to do now, and how not everyone was able to do the things he did. The group had women and children and older people and a pregnant Lori. You were all running on empty, barely hanging on as it was. Yet, those nights when he'd come back empty-handed, cursing himself under his breath when he thought you were all asleep, made you want to hold him close. You never did, knowing how much Daryl Dixon hated pity from anyone, but the longing was so strong that it made your eyes sting with tears.

Although things weren't awkward between the two of you, you didn't joke around nearly as much as you used to. The atmosphere always felt heavy, as nobody knew when the next meal would come, or how long this place would be safe before you had to move again. As the nights got bitterly cold, you huddled next to Beth for warmth, or Carol sometimes. You felt absolutely no shame in it. There were only a few tattered blankets to go around, but they barely did anything for your numb toes and stiff fingers. If you weren't all family before, then you definitely were now - given how close you'd all had to become.

Some nights, the ones which were your favourites, Daryl slept beside you. You didn't think it was intentional at first. Or, maybe it was. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely anything at all. Yet, the first time almost made you cry, as it felt like he was reminding you that he still cared for you. It wasn't like you ever embraced him, or did anything remotely intimate. You hadn't ever been anything more than the brief kiss you shared in his tent. Though, it still felt intimate to you.

He'd come in late, as usual, on a particularly cold night. You'd heard him slug off his boots and throw them aside as he stripped out of his heavy winter gear. The whole time, you'd pretended to be asleep, like you normally did. After a while, he finally laid down on the ground, clambering over the sleeping bodies of the rest of the group. You usually all huddled together in one room for warmth. You'd felt the floorboards creak and shift beneath you as he settled next to you, not that you were touching, but close enough to feel his presence and hear his breathing.

Once you were sure he'd fallen asleep, you scooted backwards slightly, so that your backs were touching. It was hardly anything, but the slight warmth you felt from him was more comfort than you'd had in weeks. You were touch starved and hungry and cold. You needed something. When you'd woken up the next morning, he was already gone. He never said anything about it, but since then you'd found yourself occasionally waking up in the middle of the night to your back pressed against his, or sometimes having a hand intertwined with your own.

As you finished down one aisle, you noticed another that had been left untouched. It was a toy section, quite small given the size of the store. Obviously, the necessities had been taken first, and you thought that whatever children had survived the apocalypse probably didn't have many things left to play with - since they were all still here. You trailed your finger over the dusty shelf, feeling the glossy plastic of the boxes and the soft fur of the stuffed animals piled there.

"Looking for something for the baby?" Carol asked, popping up behind you.

You immediately jumped, and flung a hand over your chest as you shot her a look. It had been your fault for not paying attention, but she didn't need to know that.

You shook your head. "Not intentionally." You admitted, eyes scanning over the selection. "But I suppose we could pick something up."

You chose one of the bears and shoved it into your satchel. Usually, you'd have looked for something for Carl, too, but he'd recently been acting a lot older than his years. He wanted to step up and protect everyone like his father, he confessed to you one day. You had to admit, he was a pretty good shot and certainly didn't seem like a child anymore. You didn't want to undermine his efforts by presenting him with an action figure in the midst of your current situation, telling him to take a break from killing walkers to play with it.

"Did you find anything?" You turned to look at Carol, who held up her bag that didn't seem anywhere near full.

She shrugged her shoulders at you and made a face. "Few expired cans, but nothing much." She frowned. "You?"

You shook your head softly and flipped open the flap of your satchel to show her your haul.

"Some bandaids and a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You confessed, picking it out to show her.

You held up the small figure in front of her face, pulling back its comically large head with your thumb and letting it wobble.

"Cute, right?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Carol just gave a small chuckle in reply, folding her arms as though about to half-heartedly scold a child. You shrugged your shoulders before stuffing it back into the bag. Just because Carl didn't want to play with toys anymore didn't mean that you couldn't.

Carol glanced over at the entrance of the store, before giving the shelves a final scan. "We should get going soon." She noted, her bag clanking as she readjusted it over her shoulder. "Some walkers might have gathered outside by now."

You hummed in response, distracted by the array of multi-coloured boxes. "It's fine, I'll look after you." You said, shooting her a wink as she sighed.

The woman had become used to your teasing by now, and it was a welcomed change from how tense you all were most of the time. Even though you mostly used humor as a coping mechanism, especially when you felt nervous, it seemed to lighten the atmosphere when it got a bit too heavy.

"Though I don't think you even need me." You continued, eyeing the small pistol she had tucked into her jeans. "You're getting pretty good with a gun."

Carol snorted at that, reminding you of the time she almost shot a bullet through Rick's boot not so long ago. In her defence, Rick had been a lot more on edge that day, and you'd been quite tempted to do the same.

"Speak for yourself." She spoke, after you'd tried to convince her otherwise. "You started learning after me and your aim's already on parr with Rick's."

You remembered those first days, and how hard they were. Everyone had fallen into their roles and you'd felt almost stuck in place. You didn't know how best to contribute. It had taken the neighbourhood you were all staying in to get overrun before you had the chance to test your skills. You hadn't wanted to waste bullets before that, but you'd scarcely had a choice then.

"He's a good teacher." You smiled at Carol, giving Rick praise where it was due. "And there's no better practice than being terrified and having to learn on the job." You admitted with a strained laugh.

You continued walking down the aisle slowly, back in the direction of the entrance.

"But you're right, we should go." You agreed, gesturing to the door.

The two of you took a few steps together before you stopped abruptly as something caught your attention, right in the corner of your eye. You whipped your head around to look at one of the glossy toy boxes, reading its bold letter description.

"Oh my god." You mumbled to yourself, below your breath.

Carol looked over at you, confused. "What is it?" She asked, glancing in the direction where you were staring.

You couldn't hold back the grin that spread over your face as you grabbed the box and held it in your hand. You glanced over your shoulder, at Carol, before running your fingers back over the dusty plastic.

"No fucking way!" You yelled in disbelief. It seemed like your luck was finally changing.

Carol peered over your shoulder before letting out a chuckle at your expression.

"Now that would be perfect for the baby." She smiled, staring down at it in your hands.

You shook your head at her, looking up to meet her eyes. "I actually had someone else in mind." You admitted, still feeling the smile tug at the corners of your mouth as you said it. "It's a bit of an inside joke we have."

Carol hummed in reply, but didn't press for answers.

"But I agree." You went on, making room for the box to fit into your satchel. "It'll probably get handed down to baby Grimes at some point."

The walk back to the cabin was pretty uneventful. The two of you stayed in the cover of the forest, out of sight of the main road. You'd had to dispatch a couple of walkers on the way, but nothing that the two of you couldn't handle. At this point, you just wished for another set of clothes that weren't covered in muck and dried blood. You could hardly remember the last time you'd worn something clean - that hadn't just been dunked in a creek when you came across one.

As you walked, you must have strayed slightly off the path that you usually took, since you came across an unfamiliar, old Toyota truck that had veered off road and crashed into a tree. It was covered in dried leaves and all beat up, but you recognised the model as the same one belonging to Otis, back at the Greene farm. It was always parked outside there. It was a simple, two person pick up truck that was rusty red in colour, and it instantly made you think back on the night that you were forced into driving it.

After Rick had told you and Daryl that Randall had escaped, the whole farm went into an uproar. You stayed in the farmhouse whilst some of the group went to look for him, Daryl included. It wasn't long before you spotted the horde coming your way, and Hershel's barn had started to go up in flames in the distance. After that, you could barely remember what had happened.

You'd been with Daryl at first. He shot the walkers that got too close with his crossbow, before switching to guns. You did the same, trying to give the others an opportunity to pile into the vehicles and escape. At some point, however, you got completely cut off from the rest of the group and had been forced back to the opposite side of the farmhouse.

The chaos was indescribable. It was like you'd been drafted up for war in the span of half an hour. Soon, you had run out of bullets and only had your knife left to defend yourself. So, you ran. Not able to see any of the others anymore, you sprinted for the last vehicle left - Otis' old Toyota truck. You flung the door open and clambered inside, locking it just in time to avoid the hands that smacked up onto the glass windows. You remembered how your chest heaved as your hands fumbled around the dash frantically. You finally found the keys tucked into the sun visor above your head, and almost cried from relief.

When your hands stopped shaking long enough to put it in the ignition, you turned the key only for the engine to rumble once before falling flat. You tried it again, and it gave out a choked sputter and died.

"No, no, no." You whispered, turning the key over and over to try and start the truck. "This can't be happening."

The windows had almost been completely blacked out by the number of hands and faces pressed against them, the walkers snapping their jaws at you as you panicked inside. In the rearview mirror, you could even see some start to clamber into the truck bed, and knew that it was only a matter of time before they completely swarmed you. You slammed your hands onto the steering wheel in frustration and yelled, not caring whether you attracted more.

"I can't die now, I just kissed that stubborn asshole!" You screamed, accidentally hitting the windscreen wiper stick with your elbow. You watched as the blade caught one of the walkers' flesh and smeared it over the glass.

"Fucking great." You sighed, and turned the key again.

This time, you felt it catch slightly between your fingers, and thought that perhaps the starter motor was sticking. The truck hadn't been used since Otis' death, but it still seemed to have some life in it. You jiggled the key and turned it half way, praying to every deity you could think of. You twisted it fully, and the engine roared to life. You held your breath for a few seconds, not entirely trusting it, but as it continued to rumble you realised that it had started properly this time.

Not wanting to sit around any longer, you immediately set off, mowing down the stream of walkers in front of you all while hoping that the car wouldn't flip over. You watched your mirror as the ones clinging onto the truck bed were flung off as you picked up speed, and you almost wanted to yell out in triumph - but felt like you might be sick if you did so.

The truck was hell to drive. You couldn't figure out the stick for a while and your windscreen was covered in blood and smeared guts. You knew you had to head for the highway where the supplies for Sofia were left. You'd gone with Rick one time, when he went to wait for her there at noon. As you pulled out of Hershel's farm, you gave a final glance back in your mirror to see your home burn and become entirely inhabited by the undead - and noticed your little yellow submarine trampled to the ground as you did so.

As you neared the highway, after driving on the wrong side of the road for a while without realising it, you felt a knot start to form in your stomach. You hadn't seen the others get away - you didn't know if they were alive or dead, or even if they would have waited for you if they managed to escape. Your eyes blurred with tears as you drove, still not feeling any sense of relief despite having made it out of the farm. You just prayed that everyone was safe.

When you got closer to the meeting spot, you immediately noticed the familiar vehicles from the farm, and even Daryl's motorbike, all parked up. You stopped the truck once you couldn't go any further, being blocked by the abandoned cars. The group began to approach you quickly as you clambered out and hit the floor with shaky feet. Glenn reached you first, smiling widely when he saw that you were okay.

"Is that you?" He asked, clapping a hand over your trembling shoulders. "I've never seen anyone drive that badly before-"

You didn't let him finish, instead running over to Daryl on unsteady feet. You flung yourself into his arms, which pulled you in close and held you tight. You sobbed louder than you thought you ever had before, crying into his chest as you felt one of his hands stroke softly over your back. You didn't care what anyone thought at this moment. Nothing could describe the feeling of losing your home and thinking your family was dead. You realised how close you had been to being all alone, once again.

"Hey, c'mon look at me." He said softly, trying to pry himself out of your grip.

He lifted your chin up with his finger and you knew that you must've looked quite the state. Your eyes were completely blurred with tears, so much that you could barely make out the man in front of you, and your nose ran as you struggled to hold back your sobs.

"It's a'right." He reassured you, looking into your eyes as if realising that you needed further convincing. "Yer safe."

You looked around at the group, taking in their faces and feeling your hands tremble against Daryl's chest as they clutched the material of his shirt still. Everyone looked relieved, and offered you small smiles of comfort.

You stepped back from the man a little, giving him his space. You still couldn't stop the tears from falling. It was as if your body still hadn't caught up to your mind.

"I was so scared." You admitted quietly, voice quivering as you did so. "I thought you'd all left me."

You didn't drop your hands from his chest, letting yourself feel his heartbeat beneath your palms as a reminder that this was all real.

Daryl shook his head at you. "We'd never leave ya, Teach" He grumbled, as though he couldn't believe you'd even suggest it. "Went back to look for ya on the bike but I couldn't find ya."

Maggie stepped forward, pulling you into a hug as you finally released Daryl's shirt from your grip. She stroked your hair as she brought you into her chest, and you felt tears stream down your cheeks.

"You scared us all half to death." She told you, before gripping onto your shoulders tightly as you stood back from her.

Glenn nodded in agreement, before letting out a small chuckle. "Then we spotted Otis' truck barreling down the highway." He said, pointing over to the vehicle you'd abandoned. "Thought a walker was driving it the way you were swerving all over the place."

You tried to let out a laugh in return, but it came out all watery in between your sobs.

"The gearstick-" you choked out, hiccuping as you spoke. "Had to change gears with the wrong hand." You explained, lifting your arm to give a poor demonstration as you continued to cry.

"You-" you spluttered, letting out a wail mixed with a desperate laugh. "You stupid Americans."

It was a few days before you and Daryl crossed paths in the cabin again. It was late and you'd been trying to sleep for a few hours when the door creaked open. He'd shuffled around for a bit before you heard him take over watch duty from Glenn. At first, you'd wanted to go outside and scold him for never taking the time to rest, but after a few minutes you decided on a different plan. Prying yourself out from underneath the blanket you shared with Beth, you pulled on your boots - not bothering to do up the laces. The icy breeze hit your skin and caused it to prickle instantly, making you wish you had a spare comforter to take with you. You wouldn't be surprised if it snowed soon, given how dry and bitter the air had felt on your cheek earlier that day.

You retrieved your satchel and tip-toed around the sleeping bodies, doing your best not to step on any creaky floorboards and disturb them. You opened the cabin door slowly, and shut it behind you as you stepped out into the night. Daryl was sitting on the stone wall a few feet away, and you could tell that the smoke coming from his lips was from more than just the cold. He had a cigarette lit between his fingers, and you could make out the familiar lighter that he flicked open and closed in his other hand. You approached with purposefully loud footsteps, not wanting to startle him. He didn't turn around, waiting until you came closer.

"Mind if I join you?" You shot him a smile, pulling your arms to your chest to try and protect yourself against the chill.

He hummed in response, and you noticed how exhausted he looked in the glow of the lighter flame that flickered near his cheeks. His hands were covered in dirt, as were parts of his face, and his hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck despite how cold it was. Though, you were sure that you didn't look any better. Your once white vest was now a grubby brown colour and you'd pulled your long hair into a bun on top of your head about a week ago and hadn't looked back since.

Wordlessly, the man shrugged off the poncho he'd found recently, and handed it to you. He had another leather jacket on underneath, but you still felt guilty. You thanked him, pulling it over your head and instantly feeling grateful for the warmth that engulfed you. He then pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering it over to you where he sat. You shook your head and gave him a small smile as he shrugged and stuffed them back into his jacket.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, just watching and listening to the night. Nothing was uncomfortable between you. It's just that the two of you were almost like magnets, trying to intentionally stay away from each other. You feared that the two of you might never be able to seperate if you stuck together for good. It wasn't awkward, but there was definitely unspoken tension, like you were both waiting for something that you couldn't let happen yet.

"I miss my tent." You sighed, watching your breath appear as a small puff of air against the black night.

Daryl grumbled at that. "I sure as hell don't." He muttered, taking a final drag from his smoke before snuffing it out on the wall. "Thing was an eyesore."

You chuckled a bit at his response, not really sure what you were expecting. "You loved it, really." You teased, shooting him a wink that he dismissed.

"Whatever, Sunshine." He mumbled back, but his voice sounded a lot lighter than it had for a while.

After a few seconds, you remembered your satchel, now safely tucked away in the warmth of the poncho you wore. You fumbled around beneath it for a bit, which made Daryl give you a look, before pulling out the canvas bag and setting it onto your lap.

"I have something for you." You beamed, feeling the breeze sting your sore, chapped lips.

Daryl sighed at you, finally looking over to meet your eyes.

"Ya need to stop gettin' me shit." He drawled, with no bite behind his words.

You shook your head quickly at the accusation. "It isn't from me!" You almost yelled, before reminding yourself that there were people sleeping a few feet away, and lowering your voice.

You glanced back at the cabin and pointed to it. "This place has no chimney, so he told me to pass it onto you."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at you, which you ignored. Instead, you fished around in your satchel until you found what you were looking for. You could barely contain your excitement as you pulled out the box wrapped messily in old newspapers, and handed it to him expectantly.

He took it from you carefully, as though not entirely trusting it. Though, he still held it gently in his hand, in case he was afraid to break it. You watched intently as he flipped it over and squinted his eyes at the writing on it, confusion clear on his face. You'd scribbled on it earlier in the day, having found a sharpie tucked away in one of the drawers. You'd tried to do it secretively, but almost had a heart attack when Glenn asked you what you were doing - dropping the gift and kicking it under the couch until he promised to leave. Luckily, you hadn't found any dents on it afterwards. Yet, you now found it almost comical how carefully Daryl treated the box, considering what you had done to it only a few hours before.

Your eyes scanned over the letters with him as he read them, seeing the words written on top of the newspaper in black, bold print:

'To Young Daryl Dixon,

Merry Christmas!

From, Father Christmas.'

By the time he looked up to question you, you were already watching his eyes - waiting to see his expression. At the moment, his face was still scrunched up in confusion, which made you chuckle. The man looked at you like you'd just handed him a bomb he didn't know how to diffuse.

"Father Christmas?" He asked slowly, like the syllables were foreign on his tongue.

You cocked your head to the side, looking back down at the gift and wondering if you'd made a mistake. Your eyes widened.

"Shit." You muttered below your breath, before looking back up to meet his gaze. "It's Santa Clause to you people, isn't it?" You questioned.

Daryl looked at you in disbelief, as if wondering what the hell you were going on about. You were used to that look from him by now, and continued to ramble.

"I'm sure that's what he meant." You said, nodding. "He probably was in a rush when he wrote it." You looked away from the man, trying not to giggle as you remembered the whole incident between you and Glenn.

He continued to stare at you before shaking his head.

"Yer crazy, woman." He grumbled, picking the wrapped box back up to inspect it closer.

You felt your patience reach its limit, unable to contain your excitement anymore. You shoved his arm.

"Just open it!" You ordered, and he did.

For a man so rough around the edges, you'd never seen someone unwrap a gift so gently before. He didn't rip into the paper like you would have, but spent a few extra seconds pulling the parcel tape off and unfolding it with care. Once it was opened up on his lap, you watched his face as he finally saw the plastic box inside.

You knew it wasn't the exact same one he'd told you about, from all of those years ago, but it must've been close. It was a child's sheriff kit. It had the little hat that looked similar to Rick's, and the pointy metal badge in the shape of a star. When you'd seen it in the store, you just knew you had to get it for him. He might have forgotten telling you about it by now, but you had remembered.

"It didn't come with a gun, I'm afraid." You pointed to the plastic window of the box, explaining it to him. "But we have plenty of those."

You shot him a smile as you saw his expression. It was still confused, as he glanced between you and the box in his palms, but it was a lot more shy and uncertain now. You could almost see the thoughts working overtime in that head of his, as he processed it all, and decided to stop staring at him.

"It was either this or a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You noted, feeling your cheeks hurt at how much you were beaming at the man. "And I wanted the bobblehead."

He sat in silence, just listening to your ramblings as he usually did. His eyes were still fixated on the gift, as if making up for all the years he'd wished for it as a child. You desperately wanted to slip your hand into his, or rest your head on his shoulder - but you refrained. You didn't want to take away from this moment; you just wanted to watch it. That, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to let him go if you did.

"You said how you never got any presents as a kid." You started carefully, trying to navigate your thoughts into words. "It made me sad." You admitted, in more of a whisper this time.

Daryl looked over at you, his expression soft. It was like he was uncertain of his own words, too.

"I know it's stupid." You confessed, voice trailing off as you lost your nerve.

"Nah it aint." He interrupted, shaking his head and trying to get you to look at him. "I love it."

You thought he was being sarcastic until your eyes met his and you saw the sincerity within them, and suddenly your breath caught in your throat. Daryl Dixon gave you a smile so warm that it almost made you forget it was winter. You didn't know he could even make these kinds of expressions, and you weren't able to entirely hide your reaction. Though, his smile went as quickly as it came. He looked away from you, as if noticing he'd let his stubborn, unapproachable wall crumble down. You snorted, wondering if he truly hadn't realised that you knew him better than that by now.

"I thought that baby Grimes could play with it eventually." You suggested, and he hummed in agreement.

"But in the meantime-" you continued, taking the box from his hands and opening it.

He watched you with curious eyes but didn't say anything, just letting you carry on like you had him wrapped around your little finger. You fumbled with the box, pulling out the star shaped badge, before handing the rest back. You turned so that you were facing opposite him, and pulled on his leather jacket so that it opened.

He grumbled at you as you did it, but made no effort to pull away or stop you. Instead, you flipped open one side of his jacket and pinned the badge on the material inside, closing it again before the cold set it.

"It belongs to Deputy Dixon, as promised." You finished with a smile, watching as he thumbed over the metal concealed in his jacket. The look on his face showed just how much he struggled to figure you out.

To your surprise, he didn't remove it straight away. He just bit his lip, as though trying to think of how to respond.

"Yer too much, Teach." He said lowly, after a few seconds.

"How so?" You asked.

He glanced back down into his lap, at the box that was still resting there. "Doin' all this." He mumbled, seeming like he was holding himself back. You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You bring back comics for Carl, an' stuff for the baby." He said, looking down as he spoke. "We're all here tryna do our best jus' to survive, an' you come in with that huge beamin' smile on yer face showin' us a bobblehead ya found."

He finally met your eyes, and you could see from his look that he just genuinely couldn't comprehend it. You seemed to completely allude Daryl Dixon, and the thought of him struggling to try to understand you better made you almost giddy.

"I know it's odd." You admitted, pulling the poncho closer to your body as the wind picked up. "But just because our priority is surviving doesn't mean that we should put off living."

You bit your lip. This was the most you had spoken to the man in weeks, and as the seconds went by you found it harder and harder to hold yourself back.

"I thought you could use a reminder of that." You said, offering him a small smile. "You work so hard to try and keep us all fed and safe, I wanted to give you something as a thank you."

The newspaper fluttered in the breeze, and Daryl barely caught hold of it as a gust picked it up. You caught a glimpse of your handwriting, where he held it between his fingers.

"Santa Clause did, I mean." You corrected.

You sat together in silence for a while, but the man didn't light any more cigarettes. You felt yourself growing tired and attempted to convince him to swap his shift with someone else, but he refused. You knew the sun would start to rise in a couple of hours, so you wanted to get some sleep before then. Begrudgingly, you shuffled out of the oversized poncho and offered it back to the man before you left, immediately being reminded of how icy the weather had gotten. He shook his head at your outstretched hand, which you had already expected.

"Nah, you keep it." He said, in a way that left you no room to argue.

You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling nostalgic at the familiar situation. This time, however, you didn't fight with him. Slipping the material back over your head, you huddled it to your chest and whispered a soft 'thanks' to him. The sky was still dark, and kept you wondering whether you would start to see sleet fall in the next couple of days. You looked back over to the dilapidated cabin, with its wooden weathered walls and its roof that looked close to caving in. It was a far cry from Hershel's idyllic farmhouse, but somehow you didn't seem to mind as much on this specific night.

You slipped off the stone wall you'd been sitting on and stood up on your tip-toes to reach the man still sat there. You brushed away the hair over his face with the palm of your hand, and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead before turning to leave.

"Merry Christmas, Daryl." You told him, and returned to the house to watch the first snowflakes fall from the window.

A/N Don't you love it when the plot points you set up 6 chapters ago come back around to be resolved. It's *delicious*. I think I would actually pay to see the Christmas scene play out. There's only so much imagination can do - I want to see Daryl's shy reaction in person, too!

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veryreallyfuckinbad · 3 years ago

Text

FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 4

TW: strong language

You tried your best to fall asleep, you were exhausted. Sleep didn’t come easy; especially not after being on your own for as long as you were. Any shut eye was interrupted by the smallest noise- leaves rustling, water dripping from trees, the gentle flapping of a bird’s wings. Every single noise made you jolt up, ready to pounce on anything that tried to come close to you. You were so used to being alone, with no backup, nobody to look out for you, nobody to care for you that spending the night at a safe place felt strange.

You rolled to your side with a heavy sigh. Your eyes hurt and you were sure you had some horrifying eyebags, too. The sleeping bag felt a little too soft, unlike the hard surface of your tent that you’ve grown so accustomed to, you haven’t laid in a sleeping bag since ‘the shit hit the fan’, as you called it. It seemed more appropriate than calling it ‘the apocalypse’, maybe because you never imagined the apocalypse to be so goddamn ugly, bloody and smelly.

You decided to sit up, knowing that you won’t fall asleep anytime soon. You knew that Jake was outside, but you didn’t know exactly what he was doing. You guessed he was running around camp or went to the forest to hang out- it was his first home, after all. He always came back to you by morning though, so you never worried. You suddenly heard the crackling of a fire and poked your head out your tent- it was Daryl. As soon as your head peeked out of the entrance of your tent, you felt Jake brush his snout against your cheek. He couldn’t sleep either, but didn’t leave to run around. He sat in front of your tent like a guardian, watching Daryl’s every move. You chuckled quietly, trying not to alert the man by the fire of your presence just yet. You studied him- his back was facing you, the wings on his leather vest were clearly visible. He was much bigger than you were- in every sense of the word. Taller, broader, heavier; in other words he was deadly to you, physically speaking. The man was like a puzzle, you couldn’t figure him out. He was watching you for God knows how long and you never even noticed, left you a gift, convinced Rick to take you in, yet he never spoke to you unless you were the one to engage conversation. He seemed rough around the edges but had a strange tenderness to him, and from what you’ve heard from the group, you were the only one to see it.

Deciding to stand up, you stretched a little and made your way over to him and decided to speak first, as not to startle him. “Hey”

His head whipped around to look at you and simply nodded in response, his dark hair falling over his icy eyes. He stared at you, waiting for you to say something else.

“Mind if I join? I can’t sleep” you kneeled next to Jake and gave the foxes’ head a small pat, awaiting Daryl’s response. He looked into your eyes but quickly shifted his gaze on something else and hummed in response. You smiled and took a seat on the opposite side of the small campfire, deciding it’s best to let him have his space. A few minutes of silence passed, you were sure Daryl didn’t mind it but sitting across from him and staring at the fire, occasionally looking up at him felt a bit uncomfortable to you. You cleared your throat and noticed his gaze shift from the fire to you.

“Not to seem ungrateful or anything” you began with a nervous chuckle, “but why did you help me out? Not just in the forest, yesterday too. You helped convince Rick to let me stay.” You grabbed a stick and poked the fire causing embers to fly up into the dark sky. Both you and Daryl took notice of Jake jumping up and trying to catch one in his mouth before it disappeared. Daryl let out a small snort that was gone before you could take it in- it was a completely new sound.

“Didn’t want him to go” he motioned to the fox with a tiny smirk, causing you to giggle. He cleared his throat and continued, which surprised you- this was your first real conversation, even if it was just about Jake. “He do any tricks?”

“Yeah, a couple actually. He can bite your face off if you keep treating him like a dog,” you gave him a playful smile, he returned the favor and mumbled something along the lines of ‘lil’ bastard’ and you went on “or my personal favorite. You got an empty can?” He looked at you with confusion, raising his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he picked up an empty can of beans from the grass behind the log he was sitting on and threw it to you. You caught it and placed it on the damp grass near your foot, in front of Jake. He instantly put his snout inside, getting stuck.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Mother Nature’s perfect killing machine” you announced in between chuckles and heard Daryl snort again. He smiled and shook his head while you took the can off Jake’s face. “And before you ask, I have no idea why he does that” you added while ruffling his fur lovingly. Before long, silence fell between you once again, but it was more comfortable this time. You didn’t expect any more conversation from the man- you were surprised with how much you got already, anyway. He looked at you, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the flames. Daryl’s expression was unreadable, it frustrated you that you couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head. He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and spoke up.

“Who ‘ere you with before us?” his low voice now sounded more gravelly than usual, he didn’t look at you. Your breath caught in your throat- you have never spoken to anyone about your previous group. Just now, you realized how much you missed them. If it weren’t for Jake and the others, you wouldn’t be where you were right now. They were the ones who taught you to survive, the ones who took you in when all seemed hopeless, they were family. They were family and when you were attacked, you didn’t even fight, you just ran. You realized your eyes were tearing up and looked at the man with nothing but shame, guilt and despair. He couldn’t see you like this, you didn’t want him to pity you or look at you differently, so you stood up. His eyes followed you, he shook his head gently to get the hair out of his face. He glanced at you apologetically, thinking he must’ve done or said something wrong. He didn’t realize you weren’t ready to open up yet.

“Alright” you chuckled sadly, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject, “It’s late, you’d better go to sleep. Jake and I will take watch”

Daryl gently shook his head and eyed you, the pressure of his gaze being much for you in that moment. You turned your back to him and pretended to look up at the star-filled sky. In reality, you tried to hold back the tears forming in your eyes. You didn’t realize that opening up would be so difficult. Deciding its best to hide from the man for the time being, you stepped into your tent. Daryl saw you fumble and shuffle inside, he couldn’t believe that you actually complied. His attention turned back to the fire, he picked up a stick from the ground and began poking the burning wood with it before his head shot up when he heard you step out of the tent with something under your arm- it was too dark to make out what it was. You stepped towards Daryl and sat beside him, your eyes now red and puffy but dry. Wordlessly, you placed the item you were holding in his lap- your sleeping bag. Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and gently touched the soft makeshift mattress with his fingers.

“Can’t sleep on it, it’s too soft for me” you looked at him, hoping he would understand. You saw something change in his eyes when the words left your mouth, like the light he had while joking with you earlier died out completely. Your mouth turned into a thin line, trying your best to give him a smile but you were sure it came out more like a sad-puppy-look than a friendly grin. Enough was enough, you were just making him pity you more. You were an enigma to him- like a puzzle piece from a completely different box. Despite going through the unimaginable, things that you couldn’t even share with him, you never failed to give him that damn smile. The smile that made him wonder whether rescuing you was a good idea- you were dangerous. Not literally, Daryl knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt him. The way you made him feel was dangerous but most of all, it was completely new and utterly confusing. You were like an elusive animal; afraid only when you absolutely needed to be, defensive yet so trusting, so warm and it frustrated him. He could usually read people like open books, but you were the only exception.

You stood up and didn’t miss the way Daryl’s eyes flickering between your face and the sleeping bag in his lap. Jake followed you to the tent, but you stilled before you entered.

“Goodnight, Daryl”

You woke up to Jake’s squeaks and growls coming from outside your tent, growling as you sat up and stretched. Your eyes landed on a small roll right outside of your tent- your sleeping bag. A heavy sigh left your mouth, but you couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

“Stubborn asshole”, you didn’t even notice the smile forming on your face while you cursed Daryl out. You crouched, trying to get out of the tent and almost falling over in the process. The damn thing was small. Once you managed to get out, Jake greeted you, jumping up and standing on his hind legs, his front paws resting on your stomach. You leaned down to press him into yourself gently. “Good morning to you, too. C’mon, let’s go say hi to everyone else.”

When you made your way to the group’s campground, Glenn, Dale, Carl and Maggie walked up to you to greet you while the rest said their hello’s from their seats. You were happy to see them, glad they didn’t disappear overnight. Shit. Last night’s conversation with Daryl hit you harder than you’d thought. The group was having breakfast around a campfire- theirs was much bigger than the one Daryl made. You stared at them, wondering whether you should join. Jake sniffed the air and made it clear he smelled the meat cooking over the fire.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at us or are you gonna join?” Glenn chuckled and bumped Maggie’s shoulder with his own, “Seriously, it’s kinda creepy.”

You apologized and offered them a sheepish smile while taking a seat in between Carl and Maggie. Everyone looked up at you from time to time, which you brushed off- they were probably just curious about Jake, who sat in the space between you and Carl. Maybe they were worried he would attack Carl?

“Alright, what’s up? Now you guys are the ones being creepy.” If you had to take one more weird look, you’d probably die. Or bury yourself underground.

“You’re uh…” Rick began and fumbled over his own words, “there’s a working shower in the house.” Great, Rick. He pointed it out in front of everyone. You were about to get mad but you took a look at yourself for the first time in forever, examining your clothes- they were covered in dirt and grime, not to mention that your face and arms had dried blood all over them.

“Patricia can wash your clothes!” Maggie chimed in, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that fell upon the group. “Eat something and go wash up, I’ll get you some of my clothes for the time being”

You were perfectly content with waiting for Patricia to wash your clothes, hell, you didn’t mind washing them yourself but decided to take the offer- it was a luxury, after all.

Dale cleared his throat and handed you a paper plate with two pieces of meat on it. You thanked him with a smile and gratefully took the food. Without thinking, you grabbed the larger piece and gave it to Jake, watching as he carefully took it from your hand with his teeth while you began chewing your own piece. The taste was familiar, you’ve eaten that meat before. Was it…

“Squirrel?” you asked and noticed Rick staring at you. Dale simply nodded and looked at you with nothing but confusion painted on his face. You were being stared at again. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “What did I do now?”

“I’m pretty sure both of those were for you” Rick smirked and you dipped your head. You couldn’t imagine eating and not sharing it with Jake.

“He’s hungrier than I am” you reassured him with a grin and pat the fox between his ears. Suddenly, something hit you. There’s only one person who can catch squirrels in this group and he wasn’t there.

“Where’s Daryl? There’s no squirrel without Daryl.” It was a joke, but you couldn’t help but worry about him. He was up all night and he went out, he must’ve been exhausted. Maggie smirked and tried to suppress a snort but didn’t manage to. You weren’t sure whether she was laughing at your joke or at how worried you were, but decided to believe it was the former.

“He’s out looking for Sophia, he should be back soon.” Lori tried to sound reassuring but it didn’t make you worry any less. You tried your best not to show your anxiety, the group probably didn’t know why you’d be worried about him. They were asleep while he took watch, making sure everyone was safe.

“I’m going on a run later today. You wanna join?” Maggie asked, kneeling in front of you. You felt Jake tense at how close she got. You didn’t expect it- they trusted you instantly, while they had no reason to. You couldn’t believe it, but you quickly accepted the offer.

Once you finished your meal, you headed to the house to take your fist shower since the apocalypse began. Of course there was the occasional bath in a river or lake but nothing could compete with a warm shower, with soap too. Maggie led you to the bathroom and smiled at you before you shut the door.

“New clothes will be right outside the door on the floor!” her voice was muffled through the closed door. You shouted back a quick ‘thank you!’ before you were about to step in the shower, but something stopped you. A mirror. You looked in the reflection and didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. Your once lively eyes were now sunken down. Your cheekbones were more visible and your hair was matted and tangled. You found a brush in one of the drawers and began combing it out as quickly as you could- the shower couldn’t come soon enough. Once you were done working on your hair, you stepped into the cold, ceramic bathtub and smiled as you turned the tap and felt warm water wash over you. It was an incredible feeling- the blood and gore washing off your skin, cleansing you of the horrors outside of the farm. You ran your hands along your once smooth skin- it was now bumpy and covered with scars. They were nothing but reminders of the battles you’ve won. The pleasant smell of raspberry-scented soap filled your lungs. It was sweet and reminded you of the world before everything fell apart; sweet and tender, but stung like hell if it got into your eyes.

You closed your eyes and simply enjoyed the moment. It felt purifying. All of the pain, sorrow and grief washing off you and disappearing in the drain. The only thing the warm water couldn’t wash off was the moss that grew on your heart, almost engulfing it whole. Love was a tricky thing, it always was, but in this world it was even worse. You were unable to bring yourself to open up to the group about who you were with before, even about your pitiful life before the ‘shit hit the fan’. You didn’t want to think about your disgusting past relationships, the men you were with being the reason as to why you flinched and ducked whenever someone raised their hand at you or touched you without announcing themselves first. You only allowed yourself to cry in moments like these- alone and comfortable, always afraid of people seeing you cry. Perhaps that’s why you and Jake bonded almost instantly- your hearts were covered in moss.

You quickly opened the bathroom door and dragged your new clothes in. It was a nice outfit; a black tank top and a pair of jeans that was cut with scissors to be knee-length, along with a well-fitted black leather jacket. A smile crept up on your face when you saw yourself in the foggy mirror- you at least resembled your old self now.

Maggie was already waiting for you on the porch, sitting on the steps and smiled at you when you emerged from the door.

“Ya ready to go?” her head swung toward you while she pushed herself up from the steps, standing up. You nodded in response but quickly stiffened, remembering something,

“Can he come along?” you motioned towards Jake, who was standing by your side. Maggie shifted, her eyes flickering between you and your fox companion. She was clearly unsure and she had every reason to be- it was a wild animal. But that wild animal was insistent on following you and making sure you were okay; you did the same for him.

“We’re gonna go on horses, though.” She looked at you sheepishly and awaited your response

“That’s perfect, actually! He could use a good run” you kneeled down next to Jake, who instantly began pacing around you, brushing his fiery fur against you. “Sure has a lot of pent up energy”

You couldn’t remember the last time you rode a horse- it was long before the apocalypse even began. The animal was big, if it decided to buck you off- it would. Thankfully, you were good with animals. The horse seemed calm as it walked beside Maggie’s. It was exceptionally quiet for a while. The only sounds echoing through the empty streets of the abandoned countryside town was the rhythmic hitting of hooves against the hard concrete. Jake trotted along, not needing to run as you weren’t going fast. He clearly enjoyed going out on runs, he was the most adventurous fox you’ve ever met. The only fox you’ve ever met, actually, but you were sure other foxes weren’t this energetic or upbeat. The only weapon you carried was a hunting knife that you borrowed from Rick, who refused to let you go without any way of protecting yourself. Your goal was a small grocery store that was boarded up, which meant it probably wasn’t looted yet. Maggie clearing her throat brought you back from your thoughts.

“So, what’s up with you and Daryl?” she chimed cheerfully. You almost fell off the horse, but quickly composed yourself . What in the hell did she mean? Instead of answering her question, you decided to retort,

“What’s up with you and Glenn, huh?” you sent her a wink and noticed her roll her eyes with a small smile. There definitely was something going on with the two- they came in a bundle. If Maggie was doing laundry, Glenn suddenly decided to help her out. If Glenn was taking watch, Maggie magically appeared near him within minutes.

“Oh, c’mon.” She dismissed your question. Fair, you did the same to her. “If any of us tried to set up camp near the one and only Dixon we’d probably get an arrow in the ass” she laughed and you smiled, but still didn’t understand. If what she was saying was true- why did he let you set your tent up next to his? “Not to mention, he watched you for how long? A week?”

You couldn’t help but let out a throaty chuckle. Daryl was one confusing man.

“Yeah, that one was creepy as shit” you said, giggling like a schoolgirl and looking down, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

The store was mostly clear of walkers, say for a couple squished together in a bathroom. You and Maggie swiftly took care of them and began looting the store. It was quite intact, with the majority of supplies untouched. You swiped as many cans as you could off the shelves, letting them drop in your duffle bag. Once you packed as much food as you could, you decided to take a look around the remaining aisles. There wasn’t anything of interest- some long expired lotions, condoms and sunglasses. You were about to leave the store with Maggie when you saw something in the corner of your eye. A sketchbook. You smiled a toothy grin and looked at Jake who was busy sniffing every shelf he came across. Quickly shoving the sketchbook in your already-full bag, you bumped Maggie’s shoulder with your own to signal her that you’re ready to leave.

The ride home was pleasant and the scenery was quite beautiful. The sky was turning a pinkish-orange color, the setting sun began giving everything an incredible orange glow. Everything looked more alive, even the abandoned stores and houses. Jake’s fur, which usually looked fiery, now looked like it was ablaze- he looked like a living flame.

When you arrived at the farm, the sky still had that beautiful glow to it. The farm looked like something out of a fairytale. You hopped off your horse and gave it a pat, leading it to the stables with Maggie. Once the horses were in place, you turned to Maggie.

“What did you mean? Earlier, about Daryl?” you stuttered, unsure if you should be asking the question.

“What I mean, (Y/N),” she put a hand on your shoulder and smiled at you brightly. It wasn’t the same smile she gave you when she asked about Daryl on the way to the store- this one was warm, inviting, yet still playful. Quickly, it turned into a smirk, “Daryl isn’t exactly easy to seduce”

What? Seducing Daryl was the last thing on your mind- all you wanted was someone you could trust, someone who would understand you. That person just so happened to be him- maybe because he was the one to save you, maybe because you were both like wild animals, maybe because he liked Jake. You smirked at that last thought and shook your head.

“Maggie” you looked deep into her eyes, placing both of your hands on her shoulders, “Even if I wanted to, I’m about as seductive as a cabbage” Maggie let out an unflattering snort and playfully hit your arm with her fist. You were unsure what to make of the exchange- did you really seem like all you wanted was flirting with Daryl? Just because he let his walls down a little for you didn’t mean anything. He probably felt comfortable around you because he saw how you were in the forest and felt like he knew you already; you can tell a lot about a person solely by their actions, afterall.

“Do I really seem like I just want to get in his pants?” you sighed and looked down in genuine sadness. You just needed a friend. When Maggie noticed how serious you got, her eyes dropped and her voice suddenly became soft, just above a whisper.

“I was kidding, I’m sorry.” She smiled a sad, uncertain smile and went on, “He just acts different around you, that’s all.” Her words made you think. You didn’t know how exactly he acted around others. Of course, he respected Rick and could be an asshole to the group from time to time, but how different could he be around you? This man gave you a headache, no matter how much time you spent thinking about what he’s thinking, you could never guess.

You nodded at Maggie and made your way out of the barn- you needed some fresh air. Deciding it was best to stay away from others to think, you headed to the only place you could think of- the very campfire you were sitting by with Daryl last night. Once you took a seat on a log, you stared into space, your hand stroking Jake’s fur from time to time. Maggie’s words echoed in your head, like someone shouted inside a tunnel, the echo repeating itself constantly. Maybe you should give the man space, maybe you shouldn’t get too close. Last time you did that, people died. All you wanted to know was what was behind those steel-blue eyes. You also decided to apologize to him for last night; he probably didn’t care much but you still felt guilty for brushing him off like that. Suddenly, Jake shot up and turned around, standing still and not moving an inch. Your head whipped back to see what spooked him so bad and saw the very man that you were thinking about. He was covered in small cuts and bruises, probably from running through thorn-covered bushes. His gaze was soft, friendly. Exactly like the one you saw last night when you so casually conversed with him. You stood up, about to say hello, about to apologize. You had to hold yourself back from hugging him- you were glad he made it back in one piece. You opened your mouth to speak but closed it when he kneeled and began shuffling around in his backpack, clearly looking for something. He wasn’t sure whether he should say something or not, maybe he should apologize for prying yesterday. He was definitely not a people person. Deciding it’s best to just let his action speak for him, he pulled out a familiar item out his backpack. Was it-

“Found yer knife. Apology for yesterday” He looked at you with that undecipherable look he had. You were baffled- what was he apologizing for?

“What the hell? Thank you so much!” you took the knife from his hands, “I was about to apologize myself. Sorry for brushing you off like that.” You smiled at him and, deciding to be brave, hit his arm with your fist gently. “Did you cut yourself so bad with my knife?” you gestured towards the many cuts on his face and the ones on his hands and arms, “Thought you were good with blades” You smirked at him. He scoffed and hopped over the log you were previously sat on and took a seat.

“Ya can bet ‘m better than ya"

----

taglist <3

@writers-adversary @kimchiwen @mileysnavely @srhxpci

#daryl x oc #daryl imagines #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #fireandmoss

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

Text

The Truck - ep. 08 - Georgia

Summary: You stop by on break to visit Daryl at the auto shop. The Jeep is almost done being repaired.

A/N: I think basically I’m writing an even slower burn than last time.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“I think ya ain’t as smart as ya tell me ya are,” Daryl joked as he caught sight of you walking into Dale’s Autobody shop, still in your uniform from the diner. Three days after Christmas and you’d been working as many hours as Patricia would give you. Both you and your mom trying to stay away from the house and each other as much as possible.

“I most definitely am. Why?” You asked, ducking your head down into the car he was working on when he sat down in the front seat. A newer model Nissan he’d been cursing since the owner brought it in.

“Cause I tell ya all the time not ta come in here and where are ya?” He asked, looking over at you.

“It’s not my fault, Axel said you said you’re almost done my baby.” You teased. Axel had told you over ordering his lunch that Daryl had mentioned to T-Dog that he was nearly done the work on the Jeep. Took a while, he had lamented, but he was finally, almost done. “Heard you’re glad to be rid of me.”

“Ain’t what I said,” he replied, “said I was glad ta be rid a that fucking jeep. Pain in my ass.”

“Now I know you’re talking about me.”

Daryl’s expression changed for a brief second, eyes fixing on the faint pink lines on your cheek. Barely noticeable but they hadn’t been there before Christmas. “What happened?” He tapped his finger against the same spot on his face to indicate what he was asking about.

“Just a cat scratch. Hershel’s got a couple to keep the mice away and I couldn’t resist trying to pet one.”

“They’re nasty creatures…yer lucky he didn’t take yer whole face off.” He replied, climbing back out of the car again. “Ya on break?”

You shook your head, “I picked up a shift from Amy, I got an hour to kill before I start for her.”

“Ain’t I lucky.”

“So, is my car really almost fixed?” You asked. You pulled the rolling stool over from the work bench and sat down, spinning once.

“Just about.” He replied.

Daryl hated to admit it but he’d been dragging his feet on the project and when he realized that he was nearing completion and your car would be fixed he was half tempted to break it all over again. Sure, you liked stopping in now, chatting him up before or after a shift, bumming rides, showing up at his house to spend your afternoons sitting under the car park. But once the car was fixed you wouldn’t need him to entertain you anymore. You could go to your friends houses or anywhere really, but you didn’t have to hang out with him. He wasn��t going to tell you yet but he’d let it slip to T-Dog and once one of them knew they practically broadcast it.

“You working late?” You asked, wheeling yourself over next to him.

“Why, ya don’t know anyone else with a car?”

“Why bother them when I have you?” You tilted your head back to look up at him and smile. You looked like a little kid with your eyes closed and a smile wide enough that he could see all your teeth.

He rolled his eyes at you and reached over, swiping his greasy finger down your nose and making you jump suddenly at the contact. Your eyes opened and you slid back against the car. “Careful ya don’t scratch her.”

“Did you rub grease on my nose!” You whined, trying to rub it off with the back of your hand but only making more of a mess.

Daryl shrugged, “ain’t nice ta tease.”

“Do you have a bathroom here?”

He pointed toward the back of the shop and you got up, headed for the bathroom to wipe the grease off your face.

In truth Daryl wasn’t the only one who wasn’t looking forward to the car being fixed. Your throat felt like it dropped into your stomach when Axel told you that Daryl was almost finished the car. It sent you thinking...if Daryl told Axel did that mean he was glad it was almost finished? Was he looking forward to having you out of his hair finally? You scrubbed the grease off your face and frowned at your reflection. You didn’t want this to end.

“So, ya need a ride later?” Daryl asked once you came out of the bathroom.

“Yeah if you don’t mind.” You replied.

“Nah,” he shrugged as if he was indifferent toward driving you home, “ain’t got nothing better ta do.”

You hung around a little while longer before you headed back to the diner for work. The whole night you felt distracted by Axel’s news from earlier. You were desperate to get some advice from Maggie but there wasn’t much she could offer, Glenn didn’t need any persuading to be madly in love with her. They’d been together since the 6th grade winter dance and there was no doubt in your mind that nothing, not even Hershel’s stupid rules, could keep them apart.

Glenn and Maggie were the exception to the rule. Daryl wasn’t tripping over himself to profess his love for you. Half the time you weren’t even totally sure that he liked you. There were glimpses of something that might’ve been something but trust you to choose someone so hard to read. You spent the whole dinner rush trying to think up less costly ways to spend time with him that wouldn’t annoy him or make him feel like you were some stupid kid. The word kid alone was not necessarily something you wanted him to associate with you.

The idea sparked when he pulled up outside at the end of your shift, parking his truck by the door. You ignored Lori’s comment about Dixon’s being bad news. She ‘went to school with him’ and somehow that had made her the only reputable source on him, at least in her mind. Coupled with the fact that it was Daryl driving you home you were just happy to be done work.

“I hate the dinner rush,” you complained as you pulled the door shut and leaned against the seat. “This lady bitched me out over the table having a mark in it, meanwhile her kids were dunking every fucking sugar packet, jam packet, and salt packet into their cups of water and then splashing them all over the table!”

“Musta really boiled yet blood if it’s got ya cursing.”

“I can curse.”

“I’m sure ya can.” He teased.

You pouted, arms crossed over your chest as you slumped in the seat and Daryl reached over, jabbing you gently with his fingers against your side when he stopped at a streetlight. You laughed from the sudden sensation and pushed his hand away.

“I’m not allowed to curse at home but I can curse.” You insisted and he only shook his head, smiling.

“Think yer a little too sweet ta be hanging around me.”

“Nonsense. I like hanging out with you.” You replied, “which reminds me-“

“Yeah, what now?”

“How would you feel about teaching me some basic car stuff? I don’t know anything about cars and I’d really like to learn.”

It was the plan that had finally occurred to you halfway through your shift. You didn’t know the first thing about changing oil or fixing a tire. Hell, you couldn’t even fill it with air if you wanted to.

“Yer dad never teach ya how ta handle a car?”

“No, I don’t even know how to put windshield washer in it.”

“A’right, I’ll teach ya. After I finish working on yer car.” He replied. You had only been considering yourself when you formulated your master plan but Daryl couldn’t help the brief flutter of excitement that he felt thinking you’d decided to ask him to help. Even if it was just so you could navigate the basics it still meant that you would willingly be spending more time with him.

“Seriously?” You asked, smiling over at him.

“Yeah, why not? Ya should know how ta fix yer car.” He replied, “simple stuff…still gotta make money.”

“I might get so good I’ll steal your business.” You replied.

“Sure ya could.” He pulled up where he always did, your house visible from his spot parking along the sidewalk. It was dark, just the post lantern by the front of the driveway on. “Yer parents ain’t home?” No cars were in the driveway.

“My mom’s already left for work.” You shrugged, opening the door to the truck.

“She be gone all night?”

“I can stay by myself, promise.” You laughed to make a joke of it but you usually spent the night in the living room, talking to Tara or Maggie until they eventually went to sleep. You hated being home alone.

“I ain’t got anywhere ta be.” Daryl shrugged, offering some company.

“You don’t mind staying?”

The inside of your house was exactly what Daryl had expected. A far cry from the worn down, dirty home that he lived in with his father, this was pristine. As if no one had ever sat on the furniture or lived in the house. There weren’t any family pictures but there was Christian art in its place. Tasteful, Martha Stewart-esque Christmas decorations were highlighted through out the living room and kitchen, both spotless.

Daryl pulled a face at the décor at you laughed, “my mom went on a pier one kick a few years ago trying to outdo the Walshs.”

“Can’t complain, it’s nicer than mine ever was.” He replied, looking over the table top tree, “yer dad at work too?”

“No. I mean, he’s away. Visiting family.” You said, heading into the kitchen, “my mom works overnight at the hospital, she’s been doing a lot doubles lately though. I’ll be right out, I’m gonna change!”

Daryl nodded but didn’t say anything, flicking on the rest of the living room lights to get a better look at the room. The only pictures that weren’t nature landscapes or birds were on the mantle. A church directory photo of you and your parents from this year and your senior portrait, the traditional black off the shoulder look with a rose in your hand.

“I hate that picture,” you complained as you came back into the room. “I look hideous.”

“Don’t think that’s possible but I ain’t gonna argue.” Daryl replied. “Least I ain’t the only one who don’t have family pictures up.”

“My mom hates candid pictures. She’d never hang them up.” You settled on the couch and watched as Daryl walked back to the door to kick his shoes off. “I don’t have beer but there’s soda in the fridge.”

“I ain’t ever drinking beer ‘round you again. Yer a terrible influence. Ain’t Glenn Hershel should be worried ‘bout.” Daryl teased, coming over to sit beside you.

“What? No! I am not a bad influence!” You laughed, “I’ve never done anything wrong in my whole life.”

“I been witness to a few things.”

“No one will believe you.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He said, thinking briefly that no one would even believe he was here right now, sitting your house with you while you clicked through channels. He’d be hard pressed to convince them that you had even bummed a cigarette off him, especially if they saw the sweet looking church photo of you with your parents.

“So what kind of car things will you teach?” You asked, ignoring the channel you’d chosen and turning more toward Daryl.

“What kinda car things ya need ta learn?”

“Everything but how to drive?” You replied, biting your lip.

“Well I ain’t seen ya drive so I can’t cross it off the list just yet.”

“I’m a good driver.”

“Yeah? You working tomorrow morning?” He asked, looking back toward the TV.

“No, I’ve got off.”

“Alright, I gotta pick up my check in Woodbury, I’ll let you drive me for once.”

“In my Jeep?”

“Hell no, ya ain’t getting in that thing ‘fore it’s fixed. You can drive the truck.” He replied. The truck was his brother Merle’s originally but Merle was in jail and he hadn’t spent the last three years fixing every inch of it to have it running like new. It might’ve been Merle’s to begin with but that old Chevy was Daryl’s pride and joy. He didn’t let anyone get behind the wheel, not even Rick or T-Dog, but he was offering it up to you.

“I’ll be the best driver you’ve ever seen.”

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stardust-walker · 4 years ago

Text

High Hopes: Chapter 14

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

word count: 3443

______________________________________________

Dove wasn’t sure how long she’d slept for, but the sun was already shining and the RV was moving when she opened her eyes. Bleary eyed and still feeling tired, she rolled over onto her back as Carol shook her awake. “Mornin, sleepyhead,” Carol smiled a little as she brushed Dove’s hair back off her face.

Dove sighed as she rose into a sitting position. “How long was I out for?”

“A decent time,” Carol sighed as she sat next to her sister. “They wanted to wake you up when we were setting things out for Sophia, but I told them that you needed your rest.”

Dove scoffed and ran a hand through her hair before she pulled a hairtie from her wrist. “You’re one to talk about needing sleep,” Dove mumbled as she held the hairtie between her teeth. She was pulling her hair back as she listened to her sister.

“Shush. Daryl held true to his word. Made a nice big sign on the back window of a car and all that. Said someone should try to circle back at least once a day until she comes back,” Carol sounded confident in the efforts of the redneck and Dove couldn’t help but agree with her.

A few moments later, they came to a stop as people came filing out of a big farmhouse. Dove followed close behind Carol as she descended the steps. The members of the household stood back and Dove couldn’t help but observe them once she heard that Carl was alright. The older man, Hershel, stood close to a small blonde girl and a boy who had to be her boyfriend by the way she clung to his arm. The woman from the woods who had spirited Lori away to be with her son, an older blonde woman, and a tall young man with curly black hair all stood on the steps of the house.

Dove’s attention shifted to Shane as Rick spoke. “We would’ve lost Carl if not for him.” Dove paused for a moment before she followed Carol over and embraced Lori right along with her. The last thing she expected was to be pulled into another funeral, but that was what life had in store for them it seemed.

The dark haired man cleared his throat before he looked at the man who owned the house. “Hershel? Now that this is all handled…think we can do that thing for Otis now?” His words were careful and Dove saw the older blonde start to tear up. She could only guess who Otis was.

Hershel was a well spoken man and gave a nice service, even if Dove wasn’t so sure what she believed in anymore. Dove’s attention shifted to Shane again as Hershel attempted to direct him to speak. “I’m not very good at it, sorry.” Shane twitched slightly and Dove moved her hand up to clutch her necklace. Something about the way he was acting was just…off. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it felt wrong.

“You were the last one with him,” Patricia began to cry again. “You shared his final moments. Please.” She began to plead and Dove stared at her feet. “I need to know his death had meaning.”

Shane stepped forward to speak and the whole group seemed to go silent. “We were about done. Almost out of ammo. We were down to pistols by then. I was limpin, it was bad. Ankle all swollen up. ‘We’ve gotta save the boy.’ See that’s what he said. He gave me his backpack, shoved me ahead. He said he would take the rear and cover me.” Dove’s gaze shifted around the group.

The dark haired young man from before clenched his jaw as he stared across the group at Shane. Carol reached out and Dove reached back and instinctively gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “And when I looked back…”Shane stopped and walked forward. “If not for Otis, I never would’ve made it out alive. That goes for Carl too.” Dove’s eyes locked with Dale across the group as the man with the curly hair shook his head and began to stomp back to the house. Dale didn’t look like he bought it either. Maybe she wasn’t crazy after all.

“Hey,” Dove turned slightly at the unrecognizable voice, only to see the young man from before. She raised an eyebrow as he approached; he looked less miserable than before but she couldn’t blame him. “Sorry if I spooked ya, Hershel just told me I should come get ya. They’re talkin about goin to look for that little girl.”

“Sophia,” Dove stated as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Right, sorry…you’re her aunt, I think the sheriff said,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“’S right. Name’s Dove…Sawyer,” she held her hand out and the young man shook it, maybe too enthusiastically.

“Julian. Julian Montgomery. Now you’re just gonna wanna head up to that silver car right up there. Maggie’s bringing a map for ya’ll to look at.” He pointed towards the small group gathered right in the spot he’d said.

“Thanks. Think you can help my friend Glenn over there put up his tent? He acts like he’s good at it but he really sucks,” Dove mumbled as she patted the younger man’s arm in thanks before she began to speed walk off.

“Sure thing,” she heard the man reply from behind her.

As she approached, she heard Hershel almost scold Rick. “Not you, not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn’t be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out. And Shane, push that ankle now, you’ll be laid up for a month.”

Dove slid into the space between Andrea and who must have been Maggie and spoke up, “I’ll take Rick’s spot.”

Rick shook his head, “No I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should stay here with Carol and…”

“And what? Mope around and wish that I was out there able to do something? Besides, Sophia might not respond well to everyone. She doesn’t,” she trailed off and took a deep breath, “she doesn’t trust a lot of people. Odds of her coming out of wherever she is if she hears my voice are a lot higher than some strangers. No offense.”

There was a pause before Shane sighed, removed his baseball hat, and ran a hand over his now bald head. “Bird’s got a point.”

Daryl let out an annoyed grunt as he reached out for the map. “Look’s like it’s just me, then.”

Rick sighed and pinched his nose, “Daryl…”

“I work better alone,” Daryl said as he surveyed the map.

“Well that’s too damn bad, Dixon.” Dove felt her anger at the man flare up again. “Because like I said. It doesn’t seem like alone is gonna bring Sophia out of hiding anytime soon.”

The tension in the air was thick before Daryl spoke again as he pushed the map back over towards her. Dove caught Andrea’s eye and raised an eyebrow at her. The older woman just shrugged her shoulders. “We head back to the creek then. Work our way from there.”

Shane was going to go back to the road and Dove felt a little bit better about everything before Shane spoke again. “We can’t have our people out there with just knives.”

“We don’t just have knives. Daryl’s got his crossbow, I’ve got my crowbar. We’re fine,” Dove planted her hands on the hood of the car.

“Not saying you won’t be fine today, but what about tomorrow. Everyone needs gun training. We’ve been promising them,” Shane said. Dove rolled her eyes and patted the hood of the car.

“Alright well, you let me know when we’re heading out,” she pointed across the hood at Daryl before she turned on her heel and caught sight of Carol. She caught up with her as she started to set up camp. “I just wanted to let you know…I’m goin with Daryl to look for Soph.” She looked down at her feet as she heard Carol stop moving.

Carol sighed. “Alright. Just…please be careful. I don’t need to lose you too,” Carol looked up at her younger sister from her spot on the ground.

Dove chuckled and gave Carol’s shoulder a playful shove. “I think the only thing I have to worry about it Daryl leavin my ass out in the woods if he decides I’m too annoying.” She caught a glimpse of the man as he walked towards the house, so she leaned closer to her sister, a devious sparkle in her eye, “Or he pisses me off and I give him an old ‘one-two’ with old trusty here,” she waved her crowbar close to Carol.

Carol rolled her eyes and slapped the weapon away from her, “Just behave yourself and be careful, please.”

“Yes, mom,” Dove called over her shoulder as she turned and walked off.

Julian stopped what he was doing as he saw Maggie approach. He raised a hand in greeting, “Hey, Mags! You meet Glenn yet?” He called and a glare from Glenn went unnoticed as the brunette woman shook her head.

“No, but I was lookin for him.” Maggie turned her attention to Glenn. “I hear you’re fast on your feet and know how to get in and out.” Julian let out a quiet snort of laughter as Maggie continued. “Got a pharmacy run. You in?”

Glenn didn’t seem to know what to say and, thankfully, Dale interrupted. Julian tried to bite back another laugh once Maggie walked off to saddle up a horse for the new guy. Glenn glanced between the three men around him, “Horse?”

Julian couldn’t hold it in anymore and laughed, “Ever ridden one before man?” Glenn shook his head as a look of concern washed over his face. “Don’t worry, dude. It’s just like riding a bike. Except the bike is alive and can buck you off if you…”

“Julian.” A loud voice from the house interrupted his as the small blonde stepped out onto the porch and waved him towards her.

“Ah, nevermind. Let me know if you guys need anymore help later,” he nodded at the members of the new group. “Good luck, Glenn.” Once the young man was far enough away, Dale spoke up.

“What a strange boy,” Dale shook his head.

T-Dog rolled his eyes, “Man almost threw up when he saw my arm last night. Don’t think they’ve seen other people in months. Just let it go, man.”

Dove wasn’t surprised that she almost missed Daryl leaving and it was only by the good grace of Rick Grimes that she was able to catch him before he left without her. “It puts you off the hook. You don’t owe us anything,” Rick called over to him as Dove stopped behind the man with the crossbow.

Daryl paused a moment, “My other plans fell through. C’mon,” he walked past her with an angry look on his face.

“What was that all about,” Dove took long strides to keep up with the older man.

“Nothin, don’t worry about it. Now be quiet. I need to be able to hear out here,” Daryl grunted as he walked into the tree line.

Dove sighed as she stepped into the trees behind him. “Sorry, guess I’m a bit of a nervous talker,” she whispered.

“Haven’t noticed,” Daryl hissed back.

Dove chewed on the inside of her cheek to stay quiet as best she could. She wasn’t necessarily in the mood to be on Daryl’s bad side today. So, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and wrapped her thin fingers around the pendant that the same angry person had given to her last night.

“You alright back there,” Daryl turned his head.

Dove’s eyes snapped open and she felt heat rush to her cheeks. With a shake of her head, she let go of her necklace and moved to catch up to him. “Sorry, didn’t realize that I’d fallen behind.”

“You best keep up. Don’t need your sister on my ass for losin you while we’re out here lookin for Sophia,” he looked her up and down as she stepped up alongside him.

Dove scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Shit.”

“What?”

“You fucking sound like Carol,” she rolled her eyes and motioned for him to get moving again.

Daryl huffed as he started moving through the trees again. It didn’t take too long for them to reach a clearing. Dove, however, was surprised as she stepped out into the bright sunshine. She stared ahead and her heart leapt as she caught sight of a house. “You think she could be in there,” she turned her head to look at Daryl.

“Don’t know, could be. Let’s go,” he spoke quietly before he motioned for her to follow him. “Keep that thing close,” he pointed to the crowbar in her hand.

Dove nodded as she tightened her grip on the weapon as they approached the home. Dove felt her pulse quicken as they walked through each room. She wanted to call out for Sophia but she knew that wasn’t the best idea. A walker could hear them, then they would all be up shit creek. It was as Daryl picked up a can of tuna that she heard it. Something moved in the closet. She stared at it as the man slowly rose into a standing position and began to move towards the sound. All the horror movies she’d ever seen told her it was an awful idea, but Daryl pulled the little door open before she could protest.

A sharp exhale left her as she felt her sense of hope deflate like a balloon. There was nothing in the cupboard except for blankets and a pillow. She stepped up next to him and stared down at the small pile on the ground for a few moments. A hand on her arm snapped her out of it and she turned her head slowly to see Daryl put his hand back on his crossbow. “C’mon. Maybe she’s outside,” he was already out the door, calling for her before she even had a chance to move.

Dove’s feet carried her quickly as she ran out the door and towards the opposite end of the clearing from Daryl. She yelled for Sophia over and over again for what felt like hours but was really only minutes. Her hazel eyes started to fill with tears as she turned around and spotted Daryl. He had a white flower in his hand. What the fuck.

Daryl must have great hearing, she thought as he turned around once she started to approach. “Can you hold this,” he held the flower out to her. Her eyes widened as she stared at his hand before her gaze shifted back to his face. “It’s for your sister. A Cherokee rose,” he explained. Dove stared blankly. “You know, right?”

Dove raised an eyebrow, “The…state flower of Georgia?”

Daryl rolled his eyes and shoved the flower into her grasp, “Can’t believe you don’t know the story.”

Dove sighed as she began to follow Daryl back to their new camp. “I…I think I wanna hear the story,” she looked down at the flower in her hand as Daryl peeked over his shoulder at her. “I mean, if you’re alright with talkin in the woods and all that.”

Daryl paused for a moment, just long enough for Dove to keep up and match his stride. “Just an old wives tale, I think. Heard it from school…my mom, don’t really remember. Just remember the story.”

Dove chuckled and nudged Daryl’s arm with her elbow as they walked, “I don’t mind old wives tales. Just as good as any other story. I wanna hear it. If you got this,” she held the flower up, “for my sister because of a story or whatever, it must be a good one. You don’t seem like a man who does or says much if it doesn’t have a purpose.”

Daryl squinted at her for a moment before he turned his attention forward with a nod of his head. “Alright. But I’ll tell ya when we get back. Don’t wanna repeat myself.” Dove rolled her eyes and kept her mouth shut the rest of the walk back. He was doing a lot for her family, that was the least she could do for him.

Dove let out a low whistle as she looked around the clean RV. “I cleaned it up. Wanted it to look nice for her,” Carol spoke from the small table. A smile crossed Dove’s face as Daryl reached back and took the flower from her. She was careful as she slipped past him and took a seat across from her sister.

“For a second, I thought I was in the wrong place,” Daryl replied. Dove reached across the table and gave Carol’s hand a squeeze.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Care,” Dove patted Carol’s hand once more before she folded her hands on the table in front of her. Her eyes settled on the Cherokee rose that was now placed on the counter.

“A flower,” Carol asked.

“It’s a Cherokee rose,” Daryl motioned towards the flower. Dove raised an eyebrow at the older man expectantly. He had told her that there was a story, she didn’t want to have to ask. He sighed and stepped closer to the table. “The story is that when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land on the trail of tears, the Cherokee mothers were grieving and crying so much ‘cause they were losing their little ones along the way.” Dove caught herself starting to chew on her thumb nail as she listened to Daryl talk. A glance over at her sister showed that she was just as caught up in the story. “Ya know, exposure and disease…starvation. A lot of them just disappeared. So the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to uplift the mothers’ spirits, give them strength and hope.” Carol’s gaze settled on the flower on the counter, but Dove’s focus didn’t shift from the man as he spoke.

Dove was good at picking up lies. She had to be in her old life before everything ended. She could pick up the slightest tell in most people after knowing them for a little while. But Daryl didn’t seem like a liar or insincere. She felt tears start to form in her eyes and she raised a hand to wipe them away as he continued. “The next day, this rose started to grow right where the mothers’ tears fell. I’m not fool enough to think there’s any flowers blooming for my brother. But, I believe this one bloomed for your little girl.”

Dove let out a quiet laugh along with her sister as a smile finally showed on Carol’s face for the first time in days. Once Daryl had left, Dove took a deep breath and spoke. “Damn that was quite a story,” she chuckled as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

Carol nodded her head, “Did you know about that?”

Dove shook her head, “Nope. Daryl’s the one who picked the flower for you and everything. I didn’t even know what he was talkin about when he mentioned it in the woods…I get it now, though.” Dove smiled at her sister. “Unless it was just an excuse for Daryl to bring you a flower because he’s got a crush on you,” Dove wiggled her eyebrows as she ducked to avoid a swat from Carol.

The short-haired woman shook her head as she let out a laugh, “You cut that out!”

“Oh come on, he’s not that bad,” Dove laughed as she tossed a crumb of food towards her sister.

Carol raised an eyebrow at her, “You been spending some time with him the past few days. Are you…what do ya call it? Projecting?” A sly look was on Carol’s face as she went back to her knitting.

Dove let out a loud, incredulous laugh as she shook her head, “See now that? That’s taking it way too far!”

It was strange, but it was the most at peace that Dove had probably felt since Sophia had gone missing. Still, she couldn’t help but feel just a little guilty for it. “You were right, back on the road.”

“Huh,” Dove tilted her head.

“If anyone’s gonna find Sophia, it’s probably a tracker,” Carol nodded her head.

Dove stood up and walked around the table before she settled back down and leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right.”

___

@crossbowking @momc95 @chaotic-gary-king-stan

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lunagb · 1 year ago

Text

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

Chapter 8: Sink or Swim

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, and basically a friendship tag with Jon Snow & Everyone else [except Shane].

Chapter Summary: Peace balances on a razor's edge as Jon and the group attempt to negotiate with the Culver family.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - TV Variant Adjacent

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare, racial slurs

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

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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