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We Can Change

Cardinal

“Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one.” — Benjamin Franklin



On weary legs they walked, for a little over thirty minutes and one, solitary mile; together and falling apart. Walkers that dared cross their paths were quickly done away with, and with little to no effort. If anything it helped as a temporary release for their anger and grief, and they had a lot of anger and grief they were trying to deal with. In twelve hours, their group had witnessed the deaths of two of their own, while feeling the loss of four overall. The news Sarge had given them about Shane and Hope was devastating and broke their spirits more so than seeing Piper and Milo’s life leave their bodies. It was hard to wrap their minds around, that all they’d been through to get to Washington, all those they had lost, seemed to have been for nothing. According to Sarge, it had been a week they had missed seeing Shane and Hope by.

One week.

Seven days.

Seven days ago they were traveling by foot, having just made it into Virginia from North Carolina.

They’d never know how long it had taken Shane to get to DC with Hope, or the how and why he’d taken her there. They’d never know if the two had traveled alone. They’d never know why Shane went off with Hope to begin with and not stayed around the nearby areas of the prison to see if anyone else had gotten out or gone to look for Rick and Jo. Clearly, Shane had the sense to assume they might’ve survived, simply by the fact that he had left at least two messages that they knew about. There could’ve been other messages along the way, but Shane might’ve traveled a variated route than they did. It seemed like everyone who survived the prison made it to the train tracks and saw the same signs for Terminus, so why didn’t Shane follow the same path? Why didn’t he reach the tracks and go there?

Then again, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t. No one would’ve wanted Hope to be in that place.

That place was a place where nightmares were made.

Most importantly, they — specifically Rick and Jo — would never know how Hope had died.

Had she been bitten? Had Shane run out of food to give her, so she died of malnutrition? Was it some sort of illness? Dysentery? Did he accidentally drop her while fighting to protect her?

How did she die?

Why did she die?

As the group made it to the roundabout behind the Lincoln Memorial, approximately three hundred feet away from the base of the Arlington Memorial Bridge, Finn and Daryl had to stop walking. Carrying Milo’s literal dead weight for a mile almost nonstop was tiring in itself, and being such a hot day was not helping any.

Everyone was hot, tired, sweating and thirsty. The idea of making their way down to the river’s edge and just jumping right in to cool off and get something — anything — to drink was incredibly tempting.

“We can’t carry him all the way back,” Finn remarked, finally breaking the silence surrounding them all.

Each face slowly turned to look at him. He was the last person they would’ve expected to be the first one to make that declaration.

With a nod to Daryl, the younger man silently alluded it was okay to set Milo’s body down on the ground for the moment. Both men stood up straighter afterward, flexing their shoulders behind to crack their backs and stretch a little.

“We have no shovels to dig a grave nearby,” Finn continued. Pursing his lips in a tight scowl of anger and bitterness, he pointed to the river. “Toss him.”

“Finn,” Tara murmured, knitting her brow together empathetically. Knowing he was hurting over the death of his best friend, she felt the need to physically reach out her hand to him to let him know she was there for him as his friend.

“If you’re tired, brother, me an’ Morgan can carry him for a little while,” Daryl offered, gesturing to Morgan to assume the position to assist him.

Before Morgan could reach for Milo’s body, Finn shook a hand at them both. “No,” he asserted, looking down at his friend. “He wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

Rick, despite the his constant zoning out, seemed to snap out of it long enough to realize what was going on now. He locked eyes with his brother-in-law after a moment and both shared deep, solemn expressions. “I’ll help,” he mumbled, stepping forward and bending at the knees beside Milo. Looking up at Daryl and then over to both Finn and Morgan, he nodded at them. “On three.”

Without needing to be verbally told, the other three men understood what Rick was saying; they would lift Milo up together on the count of three. As soon as the four of them were gathered around the dead man’s body, Rick muttered a quiet count out and they each hoisted Milo up at different locations. Rick and Daryl were on opposite sides of Milo’s body, with their arms outstretched under his back and ass. Morgan held Milo’s legs up and Finn held onto Milo at his shoulders while his bearded head rolled back, causing his right eyelid, which Finn had previously closed, to fall open a bit as if he was staring up at Finn. Finn, however, chose to avoid looking at his friend’s face as all four men carried the body toward the bridge. Tara tapped a hand to Jo’s elbow, coaxing her out of her own daydream, for her and Sophia to also follow behind.

At almost a quarter of the way onto the bridge, the men lifted Milo’s body up to rest upon the railing of the bridge’s stone balustrade.

Standing there, everyone waited on Finn to be the one to say something, but he remained silent; just staring at the water.

“Would you like me to say a prayer?” Morgan asked him.

Finn shrugged. “Sure.”

Licking his lips, Morgan kept his hands braced on Milo’s legs so he didn’t fall over the edge prematurely while he spoke. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

“Amen,” Tara muttered simultaneously with Sophia.

Daryl, hearing them, felt compelled to do the same; his eyes darting toward them awkwardly. “Amen,” he mimicked, but more gruffly.

“He was drunk when I met him,” Finn spoke up. “I was at this bar with a girl I’d been dating for a few months and they’d had a line-dancing night she wanted to take part in. I wasn’t into it, so I let her do her thing and I occupied a barstool next to the one Milo was sitting on, already three sheets to the wind. Turns out he was dating the friend to my then-girlfriend and he was as bored as I was. He bought me a beer and we began shooting the shit. We hit it off really well and we both ended up single a few weeks later.” A ghost of a smile attempted to appear on Finn’s lips as he recalled the memories. “About a month after that is when the world went to hell. He’d already been crashing on my couch all that week because he’d been kicked out of his own apartment for a reason that’s an entirely different story, so when everything got crazy it just made more sense to stick together. And Milo, he was there for me every damn time, no questions asked. He fought for me, and I fought for him. He was my best friend and my brother, regardless of blood. There will never be another Milo in this world and I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.” Leaning down, with his hands resting on either side of Milo’s head, Finn kissed his friend’s forehead and then brushed some of his hair to the side. Quietly, he whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Leaning back up, Milo looked over at Daryl, who then nudged Rick. Catching on, Rick shifted slightly, which Morgan then understood as the cue.

With little exertion, the four men pushed Milo’s body over the edge, watching as he fell and hit the gently churning water with a heavy splash. For a moment, Milo bobbed as the current began to drag him south, away from the bridge, before his entire body began to submerge completely.

Rick stepped away first, running a hand over his face and then began to just continue forward on the bridge a few feet before stopping completely in his tracks. When he turned back around, he could see everyone clumped together, still looking as solemn as ever.

“We shouldn’t go straight home to the townhouses,” he spoke. “They let us go with our weapons, but it didn’t seem like Sarge trusted us enough when we lied about where we’ve been staying. I think…I think if we should…”

“We should head west of Arlington Cemetery, in case they’re following us out of the city, either to make sure we’re really leaving or to see if we were telling the truth or not about where we’re staying,” Morgan finished for him.

Rick nodded in thanks. “Yeah. I don’t want them following us back. I don’t want those people knowing where the rest of our people are,” he continued, his hands resting on his hips while he stared down at the road. “We’ll take the long way ‘round to be safe and throw off anyone possibly following. We’ll take shelter in some cars or an abandoned building for the night and, at first light, begin making our way back up toward the townhouses.” Briefly, Rick cast his sad and tired blue eyes over to his wife who had slipped back into another daydream to help her mind wrap around losing Hope. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a shaky breath and then lifted a hand to run his fingers through his sweat-dampened curls. “Alright. Let’s…let’s make the most of daylight.”

The seven of them began moving forward; even Jo who was the most zoned out and despondent. Their feet continued to carry them across the bridge while the sun began its slow descent across the late afternoon sky.

Eventually they made their way off the bridge and headed south along Washington Boulevard which flowed north to southwest past the Pentagon. Abandoned cars were everywhere, as were more walkers. The group once again used their anger and grief to their benefit, putting each ambling corpse down with stabs and slices to the head. There were only a few close calls more on Sophia’s end, being as she was smaller in stature and didn’t have the same body strength as the adults when a walker was coming straight for her to completely defend herself. In those moments, the adults flanked around her and protected her, as was their job; adults protecting children.

Not wanting to head toward any other areas that had been densely populated in the world before and now likely densely populated with the undead and people like the Marauders, the group kept to Washington Boulevard as it curved north, at the base of Arlington Cemetery.

Occasionally they had to stop and catch their breaths, the early evening still hot despite the waning sunlight.

Plenty of times, Rick and Daryl both found themselves looking over their shoulder, waiting to see if anyone was following. Although they never saw anyone, both looked at each other enough times to express they both felt as if they were being followed. It was just a feeling; like a spider crawling up the back of their necks.

After what was nearly two hours of walking at a gingerly and cautious pace, with few stops to rest as well as kill walkers in between, the group came upon a road sign showing that the exit for Falls Church was coming up in a quarter mile. On the chance any Marauders were following, Rick led them forward in that direction. Once they passed under an overpass, they were immediately greeted by the Falls Church exit that would loop around and become that same overpass which would head west. Not really wanting to go that far off course from the direction of the townhouses, and with the sky gradually losing more light, Rick pointed out an apartment complex on the other side of the road to take refuge in for the night.

Several walkers of different levels of decay were scattered here and there across the small lawn in front of the brick building. Daryl took a few out with the bolts of his crossbow while Rick lobbed their heads either completely off or into halves; the two of them leading the way. Finn and Morgan brought up the rear, keeping the girls in the middle with Sophia between Jo and Tara. A bright blue door with dried, bloody handprints streaked across the surface greeted the group as Rick slammed his body against the door to open it up when it wouldn’t open; likely locked from the inside. Finn joined him, both using their combined weight to practically rip the door off its hinges.

Slipping inside one by one, Rick pushed the now-dilapidated door closed as best as he could manage before turning around and gesturing toward the first apartment door to their left. The door there was closed, although not completely. It had been left ever so slightly ajar; whereas there was no mistaking the other three main level apartment doors were fully closed shut.

“Wait out here,” he urged the others as he opted to be the one to clear the apartment first.

Pushing the door open slowly and quietly, with his Colt removed from its holster and raised, Rick entered right away into a living room which looked quite disheveled. Whoever had lived their previously had likely left in a hurry, knocking things over in the process, like the floor lamp laying on the ground with its metal base draped over the corner of a soiled couch. Turning toward the dining and kitchen areas, he found one dead walker face down on the cheap linoleum flooring; a pool of dried, darkened blood around the rotted skull.

Rick brought the back of his hand to his nose and remembered to breathe through his mouth the further in he went to inspect. Down a short hall, there were four doors. Opening the first on the left revealed a linen closet and the first door on the right turned out to be the bathroom, which was empty and would oddly end up being the cleanest place in the entire apartment. The last two doors belonged to the apartments’ two bedrooms. The bedroom on the left had windows facing out toward the road he and the others had just come off of as well as out onto the side street. The second bedroom only had one window. The bathroom, dining room and kitchen had no windows. Rick tucked these tidbits away so he knew all the exits in the event that the front door somehow wasn’t the safest option or just a complete no-go.

With the only issue in the apartment being the dead walker on the dining room floor and the smell, Rick was satisfied the apartment would be fine for the night.

Heading back to the front door, he pulled it open all the way. “It’s clear,” he muttered, scanning everyone to make sure they were all accounted for and physically okay as they passed him across the threshold.

“Should we do something about the body?” Tara wondered; her face souring at the smell.

“There’s a linen closet down the hall. Grab a bed sheet or something. Daryl and I will wrap it up and carry it out into the hall. Maybe find some aerosol or scented candles, open a few windows.”

Morgan placed a hand on Rick’s shoulder and eyed him up. “I’ll help Daryl with that.” He nodded subtly over to Jo, who had sank down onto a dusty recliner with her sword between her legs while she stared aimlessly around at the debris on scattered around the floor. “Be with Jo right now.”

Following Morgan’s gaze to his wife, Rick nodded in appreciation. As he stepped over to Jo, he could see Morgan, Daryl and Tara going about taking care of the dead walker and cleaning up a bit. Sophia had begun meandering around as well, looking for candles or some sort of air freshener most likely. Finn was the one walking around to the windows, opening them up to get some fresh air inside the apartment.

Stepping up beside Jo where she sat, Rick holstered his Colt and placed his hand on the back of her head. When he brushed his thumb along the hairline at her forehead, she looked up at him with doleful eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, half to herself and half to him.

Fresh tears were beginning to line her eyelids as she turned her body in the recliner and let her sword drop to the floor as she reached for him. Her hands touched upon his hips and when she moved to snake her arms around his waist, Rick leaned down and placed wrapped his own arms around her waist instead, pulling her up into an embrace. He let his beard rub against the side of her face before he turned to kiss her temple.

“I don’t know either right now,” he replied quietly. “We’ll figure it out together.” Leaning back, he brought both his hands up to the sides of her face and stared her in the eye. “Let’s get some rest for now.”

As she slowly nodded back at him, Jo allowed Rick to take her by the hand and lead her away from the living room. She barely heard him telling Tara they were going to lie down for a while in one of the bedrooms, and she definitely didn’t hear Tara reply that it was okay.

The two of them walked side by side down the narrow hallway and into the bedroom with the twin bed pressed up against the wall. It was clear the room had once belonged to a young boy, what with all the Tonka trucks on the floor and football decals on the wall. Also the photograph of a boy around the age of seven or eight posed with his two parents was a dead giveaway. Briefly looking at said picture actually made Rick wonder if the dead walker that had been on the dining area’s floor had been the father.

Leaving the bedroom door open a hair, Rick brought Jo to the bed and let her lay down first, facing the wall on her side. Sitting down beside her with one leg bent on the mattress and the other still planted on the floor, he stared around the room a bit more before slowly sinking backward on the mattress.

He wanted to talk to her, but he had no words to say.

He wanted her to talk to him, but he didn’t want to force anything out of her.

He just wanted to close his eyes and pretend the last twenty four hours had only been a dream.

If only he were Superman and could turn back time by forcing the earth to turn spin backwards, Rick would have the redo he wanted. Better yet, he would turn back time by a month so he would be prepared for the Governor’s attack. Of course, in that delusional fantasy, he would somehow retain the knowledge of the present to take back with him to the past.

Rick reached the hand closest to Jo out and set it down upon her hip to let her know he was there with her while she tried to sleep. As for him, as exhausted as he was, all he could do was stare blankly at the ceiling; fighting the back the ache in his heart and the urge to break down crying again.

He needed, wanted and had to be strong for Jo.

So he would be.



Rick still hadn’t managed to fall asleep once night had completely fallen. Even when he had closed his weary eyes, he couldn’t stop his mind from keeping him up. He kept thinking about everything that had happened, all their losses, all the things he would have to do or needed to do, and about where there entire group stood now that their sole purpose for coming to DC was kaput. He wondered if he should take Jo to Arlington Cemetery once everyone was back to the townhouses; just the two of them in search of a small makeshift grave where Shane had buried Hope. In thinking about that, he wondered if Shane’s body or whatever might be left of it would still be there. Maybe walkers had dragged it away. Was there any sort of grave marker with Hope’s name on it? Did Shane ever assume the possibility that Rick and Jo would make it to DC? If so, wouldn’t he have assumed that the couple would want to find their daughter’s grave? Then again, why would he have assumed they would need to be looking for a grave and not their daughter, alive and well?

Rick opened his eyes and stared through the darkness at the ceiling. He could hear Jo breathing steadily beside him, still lying on her side and facing the wall, but he couldn’t tell if she had fallen asleep or not. For all he knew she was staring at the wall or the gap between the mattress and the wall. Either way, it was too dark for him to see and he wasn’t about to lean over her and get in her face to make sure. If she was asleep, he didn’t want to wake her up. He wanted her to rest.

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he continued peering through the darkness of the room until his eyes began to adjust. Rick twisted his body so that both feet were firmly planted on the ground before continuing onward to stand. Flexing his shoulder blades and arms backward, he could easily feel and hear his back cracking, and he let out a small sigh of relief over how good the sensation felt to his tightening back muscles. Rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, he slowly stepped toward the door which he pulled open all the way. Sticking his head out, he looked left; seeing the slight flicker of minimal candlelight coming from the direction of either the living or dining areas.

Lethargically, he walked down the hallway; careful to keeps his footsteps light and quiet as he moved. In the living room to his right, Daryl was stretched out across the couch with his crossbow propped up against the upholstered base border beside him, likely for easy access if he needed to grab for it quick. Sophia was curled up in the recliner with a homemade afghan draped over her body while she slept. Whether or not she was comfortable remained to be seen. Stepping further around the living spaces, Rick didn’t see Morgan, Tara nor Finn, so he backtracked down the hall and poked his head into the other bedroom and saw Tara was asleep on the bed with her rifle resting against the nightstand.

Knitting his brow, Rick ducked back into the hall just as the bathroom door opened and a figure stepped out toward him, causing him to get defensive. However, it turned out to only be Morgan, carrying a small pillar candle so he could see in the bathroom with the door closed.

“Did I scare ya?” Morgan questioned in a whisper.

Rick shrugged it off. “Just wasn’t expecting anyone to be in there.”

“World might’ve fallen apart but it didn’t stop turning,” Morgan remarked, the sound of a small smile in his voice. “Toilets might not necessarily flush like they used to or at all, but people still need to shit and piss.”

Despite his sullen mood, Rick couldn’t help but find amusement in his friend’s statement.

“True.”

“D’you get any sleep?”

“No,” Rick shook his head. “How long’s everyone else been asleep? And where’s Finn?”

“The others began settling in for the night not long after you and Jo went in there,” Morgan gestured to the smaller bedroom. “Sophia fell asleep listening to Daryl talk about funny memories from the prison. I covered her up with the blanket. The days may be hot, but the nights are much cooler; especially with us being near the river.” Nodding up the hall, Morgan had Rick follow him out toward the living areas again and to take a seat across from him at the dining table where he sat the pillar candle down beside the other one. “Finn’s outside. Keeping watch, I suppose. He said he couldn’t sleep, so he might as well keep himself busy.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I’m sorry about today; about what that man said.”

Morgan shook his head and quietly smacked his lips. “When I lost my wife, I was broken. But, I had my son and I had to live for him. But I wasn’t as ready to live in this kind of world as I thought I was. I wasn’t prepared to do the things I had to do for us to survive back then and, because of my hesitation, it cost my son his life. When you and Jo found me in that apartment, I was gone. I wasn’t in here,” Morgan pressed an index finger against the table’s surface as the candlelight flickered off both faces. He studied Rick’s face as Rick gazed down at Morgan’s finger and the table, and then back up at him with tired eyes. “I was alive, but I wasn’t living in this world. I was living in some daydream created by my grief that had broken me. I lacked any real purpose, but you and Jo…you gave that back to me. Now, losing Jenny was painful, but losing a child is just different. Losing a wife is like falling down a flight of stairs. Losing a child is like falling down a flight of stairs and then having a grand piano land on top of you. Both can break you, but losing a child crushes you. I will never get over losing my son, the same way you will never get over losing your son. We’ll always kick ourselves and go over and over in our heads all the things we could’ve done different to prevent our boys from having to die, but it won’t bring them back. We just tuck them away in our hearts and our minds and we think about the good memories and how they ain’t suffering anymore, how they’re at peace.” Folding his hands together, Morgan leaned forward while Rick instinctively leaned back; processing all Morgan had just said and knowing it would come to a point soon enough. “You’ve been healing from that piano drop for nearly two years, and today another piano fell; fracturing those wounds all over again. The thing is, though: you’re familiar with this pain. You know how it feels to permanently lose a child, but Jo doesn’t. Jo is going through what we’ve been through for the first time and what is worse is that she carried that child inside her. She suffered through months and months of darkness and her daughter was the only light she had. And then she had you. She had you and she had Hope, and her darkness was cast aside. You brought light and love and Hope into her world. Right now, I know you are both in serious pain over what happened today, but I can’t stand by and let the two of you get swallowed up by that darkness again. I don’t want to see either of you living as brokenly as I did all those months.”

Rick had been picking at the edge of the table, listening to all Morgan was saying. He had become so engrossed in Morgan’s voice that he hadn’t been expecting it when he stopped talking. Looking up at his friend, he stared him solemnly in the eye and frowned. “It’s hard to mourn Hope without seeing a body or knowing what happened. It’s conflicting, too, because Jo’s pregnant with our child. It’s like we have this second chance, but it’s hard to feel happy about that right now. How can I find joy in becoming a father again when I’ve just lost another child? How does one do that?” Rick folded his hands together on the table in front of him and then leaned forward. “How do I help Jo do that?”

“Show her love. Never let her forget she has you. You’re gonna need each other more than ever now.”

“Something happened back on that bridge when we tossed Milo over. I didn’t realize it until just now, listening to you speaking,” Rick spoke quietly. “My heart is broke. I’m not refuting that. But right now? I am furious. I can feel it under my skin. When I sit still long enough or stop moving long enough, I can feel it burning and tingling.”

“You can feel what?”

“Rage. Pure, undulated rage. I’m beyond angry or upset,” he remarked, practically snarling; though not at Morgan. Just in general. “I want to make the world suffer for how much it’s made me and the ones I love suffer. Right now I feel like I will fucking eviscerate anyone who looks at me the wrong way, and I hate feeling like this. It’s like bathing in toxic fucking waste; burning me alive but keeping me alive to change me into something harder and stronger. Everything that’s happened since the prison until now is changing me into something I never wanted to become. I keep trying to force it down, but sometimes it slips out.”

“I suppose it happens to all of us at some point nowadays,” Morgan commented with an understanding nod. “Some people let that anger turn them bad. We must rise above that.”

Rick shook his head. “You don’t understand. I’m not talking about turning bad. I’m talking about my anger, my rage, forcing me to become something frightening. Something that terrifies even the worst of humanity in this new world.” Propping his elbows on the table, Rick pressed his face into his hands and sighed a shaky sigh. “The things I’ve done up until now to protect the ones I love would scare the old me so bad he would end up in the psych ward. But there are worse things brewing inside me. Every time something happens to us, or is done to us, or when we lose someone, this façade of a decent man chips more and more away.” Dropping his hands down, he gestured to himself. “I think, pretty soon, there won’t be anything left of the man. A dark, violent abyss is all there’ll be.”

“I suppose the only remedy for that is Jo,” Morgan shrugged. “Let her be your harness. Let her presence in your life as the woman you love be all you need to keep the man around and the abyss at bay. Considering how far and how hard you’ve fought to make it in this new world, and how much of it you did for her and your children, I’d say you, the man, stand a better chance of winning over the abyss.”

“I’d like to think so, but more and more I’m feeling like it’s more of a losing battle.”

“Exactly. It’s just a battle,” Morgan smirked. “Not a war.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine and shadows will fall behind you.”

Rick knitted his brow together. “Who said that?”

“Walt Whitman.” Off the questioning look Rick gave him, he clarified, “There was a book of his poetry at the prison I may or may not have kept to myself in my cell. That particular line just seemed fitting right now.”

“Alright, but what happens when the shadows are all around you? Where do you look then?”

Morgan shrugged and pointed toward the ceiling. “You look up.”

Rick’s gaze followed upward, and then scoffed quietly at the other man’s meaning. “God?” he questioned rhetorically. “There’s no God anymore, Morgan.”

Pushing his chair back, Rick stood up and blew out the candles on the table.

Suddenly, he wasn’t just angry or full of rage as he had claimed. He was pissed off.

“Don’t bring God into this,” he spoke again, leaning down with his palms on the table as he stared at Morgan in the new darkness. Two wispy plumes of smoke from the wicks billowed upward between their faces. “If there was a fucking God none of any of this shit would’ve happened to us. This fucking world wouldn’t have become what it’s become. Our children would be alive and well. Our friends would not have lost their lives so brutally. This world would be a better place and it’s not. It’s a fucking sack of fucking shit and it’s never going to get better. It’s gonna get harder and worse and we’re all just bidding our fucking time till we’re all in our graves, and that’s if we’re lucky to get one.” Rick’s temper began to flare as he stood up straight and acted out his bubbling aggression by kicking over the chair he’d just been sitting in, which startled both Daryl and Sophia awake.

“The fuck…?” Daryl could be heard grunting from the couch, half asleep still.

Fuck this world. Fuck it,” Rick continued to rant before pointing at Morgan. “And fuck you for trying to sugarcoat it with a few lines from a fucking poem.”

Turning around, Rick growled under his breath and ran his hands through his hair. He was beyond overtired at this point. He was running on fumes and rage as he began stalking around the living room with his hands on his hips, trying to get his mind straight. The door to the apartment opened up and in walked Finn, looking around to see what the commotion was about while Daryl had already woken up fully and gotten to his feet to try and calm down Rick, who looked like a walking time bomb that was ready to explode and take everyone out.

Poor Sophia was still curled up in the recliner and was now hugging the afghan tight around her as she look up at her surrogate father with nervous eyes. She never liked seeing Rick like this because it reminded her of her real father who she loathed, and she never wanted to see Rick in that light.

“Rick, brother, calm down,” Daryl urged, placing his hands on the backs of Rick’s shoulders. “You’ll pop a vein or something.”

When Rick shrugged him off, he turned and looked around at the archer, glaring daggers. “I am calm!” he barked; absolutely nothing calm about the tone of his voice whatsoever.

He was breathing heavily and shaking his head, and as Tara staggered tiredly into the living room with Jo trailing sleepily behind her, Rick seemed to visibly weaken. He set his eyes on Jo and the dispirited expression she still wore and all he could suddenly picture was her holding Hope for the first time after the little girl had been born, and then the day Jo had asked him to officially be Hope’s father. He recalled the way Hope would quiet down for him when she was in a fussy mood, and he recalled the last time he held Hope in his arms in C Block the day the prison fell.

Rick saw Hope in Jo and then Rick fell.

His entire body swayed from a mixture of exhaustion, rage, grief and likely also intense hunger, as his legs buckled underneath him. Rick’s eyes drooped shut and the room went completely dark on him as he tumbled unconsciously to the floor before Daryl or any of the others could prevent the fall.



Something soft, yet firm, was brushing against Rick’s forehead, stirring him slowly out of the darkness. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but when his eyes reopened and he saw daylight was beginning to filter in through an opened window, he knew a couple hours had gone by, at the very least. The last thing he had remembered was darkness and shadow, getting angry and shouting. And then, nothing.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, Rick allowed his eyes to better adjust to his surroundings and found that the soft yet firm object against his forehead was Jo’s thumb as she sat there on the ground, cradling his head in her lap while staring off toward the wall.

Despite how tired, dirty and emotionally drained she appeared, to him, she still looked so utterly—

“…Beautiful,” Rick managed to mumble, his voice cracking from his grogginess. As he cleared his throat, he watched at an upside down angle as Jo stared down at him. Slight frown lines appeared around her brow, even though she was making an attempt to smile at him while he woke.

“Hey,” she greeted simply, brushing hair behind his ears.

“Did I pass out?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.” Slowly, he began to sit upright and rubbed his stiff neck. Flexing his shoulder blades back, he waited and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard and felt the crack along his spine. Tipping his head from side to side, he cracked his neck as well, and then shifted around on the floor to look properly at his wife. “Did you get any sleep?”

Jo nodded. “Before the yelling and for a little bit after you passed out.”

“Sorry again.”

“It’s okay.”

“It really isn’t.” Rick could tell by looking around that they were alone in the immediate vicinity of the apartment. That is, from what he could see, there wasn’t anyone in the living or dining rooms, and he could safely assume no one was hanging out in the kitchenette. It was possible the others were either sleeping in the two bedrooms or outside already. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that on Morgan. He was just trying talk with me about what happened yesterday, and what’s been happening for all of us for a while now.” Rick sighed deeply, letting his gaze drop to the stained carpet. “I just couldn’t handle any of it anymore. I’m tired of everything going wrong for us. I’m tired.”

“I know. We all are.”

Rick reached a hand up and cupped the side of Jo’s face, watching as her own gaze drifted away from him and to the floor as well. “I’m sorry yesterday happened,” he remarked. “I wish we could redo it; pretend it didn’t happen, and go on believing we stood a chance at finding Hope and Shane alive.”

“Tara asked me if I believed that man; if I believe what Sarge told us. I mean, we have no physical proof to go on that Hope died and Shane killed himself. But what reason could he have to lie about something like that? He may have killed Milo, but it was obvious he wasn’t an unreasonable man, as megalomaniacal as he might be. He let us leave with our weapons. That’s gotta stand for something, right?” Jo brought her eyes back up to Rick and stared him in the eye, as if looking for reassurance. “He knew we were good people, and he let us go taking us at face value that we didn’t really have an army of people waiting to come back to retaliate against him for taking Milo’s life. What reason could he possibly have for lying to us about Hope and Shane being dead? If he simply wanted us gone and to never come back to DC, and wanted to lie about it, he could’ve appeased us by saying he saw Shane and Hope passing through the city, heading in any direction. And you know we would’ve followed whatever bread trail he left for us. We would’ve accepted anything and gone anywhere to find them, but he didn’t. He told us they were dead. Both of them.”

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Rick nodded solemnly. “He said a man matching Shane’s description was crying over a small grave and then shot himself dead,” he spoke, recollecting what had been said to them. “It feels off, I’ll admit. I mean, we can always head into Arlington Cemetery and check for ourselves to be sure. That’s where Sarge said he saw Shane. I know the place is large, but we could take a day to do it before we figure out what next. No matter what we were told, we shouldn’t take that at face value until we can prove some truth to it.”

Jo nodded in agreement. “Tomorrow,” she muttered. “We’ll go tomorrow. Today we head back to the townhouses, check in with the others, get cleaned up, eat something and get proper rest. Tomorrow morning we go to Arlington and look around for Hope’s supposed grave and whatever is supposedly left of Shane.”

“Okay.” Rick studied the way Jo’s green eyes went vacant as she talked about these things; causing his heart to ache as painfully as it had been for a while now every time terrible developments came about in their lives. Watching the way Jo reacted to it all and how he knew she felt was worse to him than how he felt about it. Reaching out again to her, Rick took one of her hands in his and gave it a squeeze. “Tomorrow at dawn.”

“And if we find anything that points to Sarge having been truthful, we leave this place. We leave the DC area altogether, for good,” Jo continued. “We’ll go back to Georgia if we have to. At least we’re familiar with the area. Maybe we can head to Woodbury and stay there if it’s still standing. Or we find someplace new.” Glancing at Rick and holding his gaze again, she added, “If they’re dead, we move on. We stop searching aimlessly for clues of life. We start over and rebuild our lives for the rest of our children, all of our family. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jo repeated, as if trying to convince her own self.



After checking on everyone at the start of the new day, and making sure everyone was okay, Rick seemed to ignore the elephant in the room that was how he ended the night before more or less throwing a tantrum and passing out. He was either oblivious to the slight awkward tension in the air in regard to how everyone was walking on eggshells around him or he was actively choosing to ignore it as water under the bridge.

In truth, it was the latter. He knew each person was unusually quiet and avoiding eye contact or other forms of communication with him, as if he might fall to pieces or snap at them. In a way, he appreciated that. As guilty as he felt over his outburst, he wasn’t particularly in the mood for much conversation at the moment to address said elephant. He did, however, feel the need to seek out Morgan in the near future and pull him aside to apologize to him personally for how he shouted at him. Morgan had only been trying to help, after all. He hadn’t deserved how Rick had acted, even if Rick hadn’t merely been beset with a toxic combination of grief, anger, hunger, dehydration, heat and exhaustion. Then again, so was everyone else.

After a few, brief verbal exchanges with Daryl in the hallway outside the apartment, Rick had gathered that their group had already scoured the entire building for supplies and taken what they could use. Forced to rally everyone together so that they could continue their trek back to the townhouses, Rick finally spoke up once everyone was standing around, waiting in the apartment’s living room; silently waiting for Rick and Rick alone to let them know it was time to leave.

No matter what, they would always turn to him for guidance on where to go and what to do next. Even if he when he was at wit’s end.

With as few words as possible, he told them to gather up the supplies they’d all foraged for and to fall behind him as they made their way out of the building, single file, with Daryl hanging back to bring up the rear.

After pushing the broken door aside, Rick peered outside with his Colt raised; stopping momentarily with his left hand raised as he looked around for any walkers. A few were ambling along on the road barely fifty feet away as Rick then began to step fully outside with the others in tow. With their movement, as quiet as it may be, the walkers were still alerted to their presence and began to shuffle rigidly toward them with worn shoes scuffing the pavement and almost completely unhinged and decaying jaws chomping instinctively at air.
Having speed and agility on their side, Rick withdrew his machete and hacked into the skull of the closest walker while Daryl shot a bolt into another’s head and Tara grabbed onto the shoulder of a third, holding it back from her at a safe enough distance while she drove a blade into an eye socket. The fourth and last walker Rick also took out with an upward swing of his machete, resulting in half the walker’s head slipping away as all four of the undead bodies dropped lifelessly to the ground like burlap sacks filled with stones and kindling.

Heading up the road with a slightly more rushed pace, they cut across to a winding residential street surrounded on either side with more apartment buildings. Without a compass and without any maps, they had to rely on the path the sun took in the sky in order to make it back to the townhouses, given they were unfamiliar with the area. Were they inclined to take a more leisurely pace, they might’ve veered off course and checked out a few of the buildings for supplies, but they just wanted to get to the rest of their people. There were plenty of abandoned vehicles along the way, several of which had opened doors, so those they did check for keys or gasoline. The common theme no matter where they went, though, seemed to be the lack thereof of both keys and gasoline, and these vehicles they were checking at this particular moment were no exception.

Wandering along the road with the apartment buildings felt a little unsettling. The random walkers here and there aside, Rick felt like they were being watched. He couldn’t tell if there were survivors at the windows, watching them go by, or it was something or someone else, but it made him quietly urge everyone not to dally. Spying a main road if they turned right, Rick led the others that way. More and more scattered and abandoned vehicles greeted them on what was Route 50, which was three lanes on either side, separated by a grassy median. They were well aware that they were headed toward the heart of some sort of business district just outside Arlington, what with the moderately looming buildings up ahead, but there was really no other way around. Well, they could literally go around the area, but they weren’t sure how far off course or how much longer it would take them. They could take some comfort in the fact that the roads they were taking seemed to be quite dead with activity. This particular area they were approaching felt as much like a ghost town as the smaller country towns they’d passed through in weeks prior.

As they reached the buildings and veered to the left up North Courthouse Road, it appeared that a majority of the buildings were actually apartment buildings, condos or hotels, which of course meant the potential for survivors holed up; and if there were survivors that meant the potential for assholes like the Sarge and his Marauders. No one had to be told to keep an eye out for anything. Each person held onto their weapons and kept their eyes trained upward at the windows of each building they passed, when not looking around for walkers, of which there were several. Buildings housing businesses and former government offices soon came upon the group. Between the blocks of 14th and 15th streets, there stood an AMC Theater to their left and the Arlington County Jail to their right.

The walker count grew exponentially around there and the group was forced to duck into an alcove and wait it out for about twenty minutes. When a small herd of walkers began to clump together and seemed unmoving, Daryl grunted impatiently. Raising his crossbow, he shot a bolt into the head of one of the nearest walkers. As soon as it dropped, the others in the herd seemed to become alerted to that particular movement and began to continue to move, as if that had been the swift kick to the ass they’d needed. When the immediate threat of those walkers began to slowly dissipate up the road, Daryl turned to the others and gave a silent nod specifically to Rick; signaling for everyone to stay put for a moment as he darted out toward the road with the stealth of a cat. Without missing a beat, he crouched down, with his crossbow slung over his shoulder and resting on his back, and removed the bolt out of the downed walker’s head. Keeping his eyes peeled on his surroundings, he gripped the bolt in hand and then grabbed the walker by the wrists and began dragging it over toward the alcove. Pulling it behind the stone barrier that shielded the others from the road, Daryl dropped the walker down and withdrew a hunting knife.

“Them walkers are heading north. Too many of ‘em for us to avoid, so we do what we did before,” he spoke low and gruffly. “We disguise our scents.”

Remnants of walker blood and guts still stained the clothes and skin of Rick, Jo, Finn and Sophia from their escape from Ford’s Theatre, so doing it again didn’t seem to faze them, or Daryl who had just suggested it this time. Morgan and Tara grimaced, but they said nothing; knowing it needed to be done to get home as safely as possible.

Daryl did the honors of opening up the walker who, fortunately for the group, had been a very large man in life, so there was plenty of his blood and guts to go around without the need of dropping another walker and running the risk of alerting any other of the ambling corpses to their hidden whereabouts before they were all covered. Once they were each lathered with a considerable amount upon their shirts, arms and faces, the group returned back onto the road, and brought up the rear to the small herd taking their good ol’ time.

It took a while longer than they would’ve preferred but the group was able to eventually separate themselves from the rear of the herd and veer off to the right, onto another street as soon as the North Courthouse Road neared its end. By this point they were able to move at their own, quicker pace. Once again, they found themselves on a more residential route, and once again Rick developed the feeling of being watched.

More than one time he had to stop and look around. He felt increasingly unnerved and, instead of continuing on the main road they were on, signaled for the group to take a detour through the fenced in quad between several more apartment buildings.

“Where are we headed?” Tara inquired after a silent few minutes. She looked over her shoulder and around at the tree-lined path they were on, keeping a careful eye out, as they all were.

Rick came to a stop again and this time he spoke up to divulge his beliefs. “I think we’re being watched,” he whispered, catching the way Sophia’s eyes darted nervously toward him. Poor thing was clearly still shaken from the events in DC and he hated making her feel anxious, but he needed to get the feeling plaguing him off his chest. Even if it turned out it was just a feeling and nothing more, it was better to be safe than sorry. “I don’t mean by walkers, either. Ever since we left that apartment building earlier—”

“You think we’re being followed?” Finn asked, cutting in.

Hesitating to answer right away, Rick soon nodded. “I do.”

Tara looked around again. “I haven’t seen anyone other than walkers.”

“Maybe I’m just still tired. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I can’t shake the feeling. It’s like I’ve got eyes on the back of my head, and I don’t mean from any of you,” Rick continued, eyeing each person one at a time; taking time to linger on Jo’s face and how she seemed to be listening, but was a little lost in thought. “If we are being followed, I’m trying to give whoever it might be the shake. Throw ‘em off course.”

“Ya think it might be them Marauders, tryin’ to see where we’re really camped out at?” Daryl questioned. His tone wasn’t skeptical like Finn’s and Tara’s were. Daryl was always there as Rick’s wingman; the loyal soldier ready and willing to take Rick’s word at face value.

Slowly again, Rick nodded. “I think it’s a strong possibility.”

“Sarge didn’t seem too believing of us when Morgan said we were staying in Falls Church, but he didn’t contradict us either,” Jo finally spoke up for the first time since her conversation that morning with Rick. She snapped out of whatever daydream she appeared to have been having and looked directly at him. “It’s entirely possible he sent someone to follow us to be sure we weren’t full of shit.”

“Which we were,” Finn quipped dryly.

Stepping closer to Daryl, Rick leaned in and spoke primarily for the archer’s ears only, but he wasn’t bothering to hide what he was saying either. “If we really are being followed, we can’t let whoever it is follow us back. They can’t know where we are so they can just go scurry back to Sarge and let him know.”

“They’d have walkie-talkies, no doubt.” Finn rested his hands on his hips. “If someone’s following us on that asshole’s orders, who’s to say they haven’t been reporting back all this time, giving a damned play by play of the direction we’ve been heading.”

Being able to flesh out his feelings with the group about being followed made Rick feel less paranoid and more justified. He nodded at his brother-in-law’s good point. Wiping away the sweat beading at his forehead with the back of his hand, he squinted as he looked forward at the direction he’d been leading them all, and then back at the direction they’d come from. Looking straight ahead once more, he gestured with a nod. “Up ahead, there’s a lot of tree coverage. We know how to move around in that. We’re from the heart of Georgia, after all. We’ll have that upper hand against one of Sarge’s men. As tough as nails as they looked, they also looked like city boys to me.”

“And girls,” Tara commented, pointedly. “There were girls in his group, too.”

Rick looked back at her and nodded apologetically. “Yes, and girls.”

“Girls can be anything these days, you know,” she continued, a slightly impish smirk at her lips. “Doctors, lawyers, world leaders, gun-wielding thugs in a post-apocalyptic street gang…”

“Anyway,” Rick spoke, bringing them back on point. “We head through those trees; we don’t walk in straight paths. We zig-zag. We gotta reach a road again soon enough, because this area is still an urban area, and when we do we step aside and take cover, and then we wait. Whoever might be following will come out the same way soon after, if I’m right, and try and determine which way we’ve gone to keep up but maintain their distance without knowing we already caught their scent, so to speak.”

“You think we should split up and throw ‘em off a bit?” Daryl suggested.

Rick shook his head adamantly, looking around at everyone. “No. We stay together.”

At the end of the quad, where there was a narrow, down-sloping road to their right, Rick instead led the group left toward the fuller tree coverage. In under a minute, they were slipping quietly through the trees, about fifty feet away from another sort of apartment building that stood several more stories taller than the complex they’d just finished passing through. Their shoes crunched dead leaves and snapped fallen branches; the sounds unavoidable to hide, which gave them reason to take pause and look around for walkers. Satisfied that the coast for clear for the moment, they ventured forward, careening right; holding onto tree trunks to keep from slipping and possibly injuring themselves as the gradient grew steeper.

“Careful,” Jo whispered when she eyed Sophia momentarily slide when her foot hit a muddy patch of soil.

The teen caught herself without requiring anyone’s assistance and righted her body as she took a moment to figure out where next to step. The way she slipped, though, brought back the memory of Sam slipping over the edge of that ravine and taking Jo with her. She tried avoiding thinking about anything they’d already experienced and just look forward, and she’d made her peace with that particular moment in their lives already, but it still brought forward a pang of sadness regardless.

At the bottom of the wooded incline, Rick pushed aside the overgrowth in his way and found himself having to step over a guardrail. As the other quickly began appearing behind him, he assisted each in guiding them over and onto the awaiting sidewalk. On the highway they’d come upon, which was mere feet from an underpass, they all found it to be littered with abandoned cars, not unlike so many other highways they’d already traveled along up until this point.

Holding a finger to his lips, Rick made sure they remained quiet as he let his eyes peruse the immediate area and found some overgrown greenery across the road to his liking. “Tara, take Sophia and hide in there. It goes without saying to be quiet about it. Daryl, that RV just there,” he said, pointing to the large vehicle under the underpass, “Get inside and make sure it’s clear, then hunker down. We might be able to take it after all this. Everyone else, duck behind a car, facing the opposite side of the road. Crouch down beside the tires, though, so no one coming out this way can see you if they look under the vehicles.”

“What about you?” Jo asked.

“Just find cover.” Rick looked her in the eye and cupped the side of her neck, brushing his thumb up along her jaw. “Don’t worry.”

With nothing more than an obedient not, Jo and the others did as Rick advised; heading to their designated hiding places with barely a shuffle of their feet to cause any unwanted noise. For the moment there were no walkers in the immediate area, which gave them the time to settle into where they would remain until their suspected followers appeared.

After a few minutes, however, low groans began to drift on the air, causing their attentions up the road, just beyond the underpass where the small clump of the undead were lumbering along like a bunch of teenagers forcing themselves to get ready for school in the morning.

Crouching beside the back driver’s side tired of a navy blue sedan with her sword draped across her lap, Jo’s legs began to feel the burning sensation caused by remaining in her current position for longer than her body preferred. Ideally, she would’ve shifted around and sat down or knelt on at least one knee, but she didn’t want to make any sort of movement that would bring attention from either the living or the dead her way. She turned her head to the right, and locked eyes with Morgan, who offered her a reassuring smile. She saw the way the muscles in his thighs flexed; giving her the impression he was feeling that same ache in his knees and feet as well.

The waiting game for their supposed followers was starting to feel pointless. After ten minutes of nothing coming out into the open other than the gradually approaching walkers, it almost felt as if maybe there wasn’t a threat after all and Rick’s mind really was just playing tricks on him. On the plus side, if the only immediate threat that faced them was the walkers, their group stood a fine chance given that they were still covered in walker blood from back along North Courthouse Road. The oncoming walkers might not even register they were there if they stayed still and quiet. The walkers might just keep on walking along the road, completely and utterly oblivious.

After ducking down beside the same vehicle with Morgan, Jo had glimpsed Tara and Sophia make it safely across the road and hide within the overgrown shrubbery up the slight embankment. Even though she knew where they were, she couldn’t see them in the slightest, allowing Jo to breathe easy. She’d breathe even easier, though, if she knew where Rick had gone off to. She knew Finn was two cars over and closer to Tara and Sophia’s side of the road, crouched the same as her and Morgan, and that Daryl had easily slipped inside of the RV without issue; the mobile home clearly void of any obstacles in the form of hungry undead.

Rick was the wild card. She knew he’d said not to worry, but that was like telling the earth to stop turning. If she knew where he was hiding, she wouldn’t be feeling this nervous fluttering in her stomach that she knew was too early to be the life within her moving around.

Jo almost gave in to the ache in her feet and knees. She almost moved to find some physical respite a different position would offer. But then two gun shots rang out into the air and her entire body tensed in its current position, as if even taking a breath would result in her immediate death.

“James, you dickstain,” a deep voice hissed. “You know the orders. No gunfire. We’re not supposed to draw attention.”

“Them fuckers clearly didn’t go this way. We’re not gonna draw attention to ourselves,” The second voice, belonging to ‘James’, retorted. Three more shots rang out. “Do you see anyone else around here ‘side from these biters?”

“Just because they might not’ve gone this way, doesn’t mean they aren’t nearby,” the first voice replied. “It might send them running, and we’ve already lost their trail. Don’t know why Sarge sent us anyway. They hardly seemed like a threat, and we ain’t exactly trackers.”

‘James’ smacked his lips. A solitary gunshot rang out. “We’re expendable.”

“You’re wasting bullets. You’ve taken down two biters out of what—eight? With six shots? Now you gotta reload ‘cause your dumb ass thought bringing a revolver was smart.”

“I like the way it feels in my hand.”

“That’s what your mother said last night.”

“Joke’s on you, dipshit. My mother’s dead.”

“Whose isn’t?”

Another, solitary gunshot rang out, but this one garnered a different reaction out of the two Marauders.

Or, at least, one of them.

“What the fuck!” It was ‘James’ doing the exclaiming.

“Thanks for making it easy for me to decide which of you to kill first.”

That next voice belonged to Rick.

Feeling it was safe to come out from behind the navy blue sedan, Jo shifted her weight; twisting at the waist and using the side of the vehicle to help push her up to her feet. While still gripping her sword, she was quick to grab onto her handgun and point it across the trunk of the car in the direction Rick and the Marauder’s voices had been coming from.

James the Marauder, a skinny redheaded man in his early forties with a deep but old scar along his left cheek, turned to look briefly at Jo when he saw her pop up. A few feet away Rick was standing with his Colt aimed point blank at James. Rick allowed his own eyes to follow briefly over to his wife, but was quick to bring his focus back to the man. Jo let her eyes trail to the pavement, a few more feet further away from both Rick and James, where the body of the other Marauder lay; blood seeping onto the ground from the obvious gunshot wound Rick had given him to the head.

“Your friend outed you as the one without bullets. Taking him out first meant eliminating the immediate threat, since he had the means to retaliate first. You? You won’t even be able to reach for a single bullet to load into your gun before one of mine enters your brain.”

Rick was clenching his jaw tight when he wasn’t speaking. His nostrils flared as he focused on what he was doing. Without a gesture of his gun’s barrel, he pointed downward. “Toss the gun, put your hands up and get down on your knees.”

The others in their group began to either stand up or come out of their hiding spots when it became clear they were not being immediately threated, aside from the now-agitated and very closely approaching walkers.

Finn stepped out from behind the car he’d been crouched beside and walked in between the other abandoned vehicles on the road to make his way toward said walkers. Instead of using his gun, he smartly brandished his axe to take out the first few of the remaining six walkers that came nearest to him. When he needed, he kicked them in the stomach to give himself a safer gap with which to work with. Daryl slipped back out of the RV and shot two bolts expertly into the heads of two of the walkers. Morgan removed a crowbar he had hanging through a belt loop on his pants, coming around the front of the navy blue sedan and jamming the straighter end into an eye socket missing an eyeball.

As James threw his revolver to the ground at Rick’s feet and dropped obediently to his knees with his hands raised like a criminal about to be arrested, Rick sauntered over and stepped behind him; pressing the end of his Colt against the back of James’ head. “How much does Sarge know of where we were headed?”

“He doesn’t know a thing,” James assured, his hand shaking somewhat at the feel of the loaded weapon upon his scalp.

“You have walkie-talkies strapped to your hips.”

“That was in case me and Bobby got separated while we followed you. The walkie’s reception doesn’t reach far enough back to Sarge.”

“Bullshit.” Lifting is left foot up, Rick knocked the toe of his boot against the side of the walkie-talkie strapped to James’ hip. “I worked in law enforcement before this world became what it is now. I handled all sorts of handhelds like that then and now. I know the kind of range you can get in different terrains and conditions. There might be some tall buildings around us on either side of the river, but we’re only about—what—two miles from where we left Sarge and the rest of you fuckers yesterday? Average reach is three miles on a good day, and that was in the world before when there wasn’t any other interference. The point I’m making is you’re full of shit and you have one chance to tell me the truth and I’ll give you a quick death. One where you won’t come back.”

“What kind of motive is that?”

“The only one you got,” Rick replied, ignoring the questionable glance from Morgan. Daryl and Finn seemed unfazed by Rick’s ultimatum. Jo wasn’t sure what she felt. “You either die quick like your buddy, or I’ll shoot you in the lung and leave you here to die a slow and agonizing death from blood loss and suffocation, and then let you come back as a walker to roam this earth so you never find rest.” Rick gave a harsher shove of the end of his gun to the back of the man’s head. “What choice are you gonna make?”

“I-I have a son back in DC,” James pleaded.

“So did I,” Rick retorted. “And a daughter. I got two other daughters that need me and another child on the way and Sarge sent you and your friend after us, to follow us, so he could come after us later.”

“I d-don’t know what he wanted to do. He just told me and Bobby t-to follow y-your group and tell him where you were going; t-to see where you were staying and how…and how many more of you there are.”

“What did you tell him so far?” Rick repeated, pressing harder against James’ head, pulling back the hammer and lowering the barrel to James’ back at an angle aimed for James’ lungs for added effect to show he was serious. “Do I need to count to three?”

“Our last check in with him was this morning,” James blurted, his voice shaking. His eyes drifted to the movement on the side of the road where Tara and Sophia had finally come out of hiding. “We told him you were headed north up the 50 instead of west toward Falls Church like you told him. He said to check back at noon.” He glanced at the watch on his right wrist. “About right now, actually.”

“Slowly reach for your walkie. Call Sarge and tell him you and Bobby lost us when you got cut off by a herd, but then found us again. That we turned off on a road heading west. What other areas are west or northwest of here?”

“Uh…Tysons or McLean.”

“Which of the two would’ve been the least populated in the old world?”

“McLean.”

“Tell him we were headed in that direction.” When James hesitated, Rick brought the gun back up and this time pressed it to the back of James’ neck. “Did I stutter?”

“O-okay.” Carefully, James lowered his left hand at a pace that was acceptable to Rick. He covered his hand over the walkie and slowly brought it up to his mouth.

“You say anything other than what I just told you to say and I will shoot you through the throat instead.”

“Okay.” James nodded, assuring he understood. Clicking on the two-way, he called across the static, “Cardinal calling Big Bird. Come in, over.”

As they waited for a response, Rick raised an eyebrow. “I get the Big Bird, but why Cardinal?”

“’Cause of my hair.”

Rick nodded, inspecting the short ginger locks. “Makes sense.”

Without further hesitation, the walkie crackled to life with a voice on the other end. “This is Grey Goose for Big Bird. What’s your twenty? Over.”

The voice didn’t belong to Sarge, but Rick could easily assume Sarge was either nearby listening in or would be informed of what was said across the radio soon enough.

“Just before George Mason University, heading toward Virginia Square. Over,” James lied, though his voice seemed to waver during the process.

There was more static as they waited for the voice on the other end to respond. Then, “Big Bird wants to know which direction the baby ducks wandered off to now. Over.”

Shifting his aim, Rick lowered the gun again and pressed it between James’ shoulder blades to ensure he followed his orders.

“We lost the flock for a while ago when we got cut off by a herd of biters. We were able to find them again, flying northwest toward McLean. Over.”

“When did you last see them? Over.”

“We have eyes on them now. They stopped for a few minutes to rest their wings. Over,” James continued to lie and could sense Rick was content with his adlibbing.

There was more white noise as they waited for another response. After a few more seconds, the walkie once more came to life. “Keep after the baby ducks. Report back in two hours. Over.”

“Understood, Grey Goose. Over and out.”

Taking his thumb off the push-to-talk button, he held the walkie out at his side, unsure of Rick would allow him to return it to his hip or if Rick wanted to take it for himself.

Whistling over James’ shoulder, Rick nodded to Finn, who walked over and took the walkie from James instead and strapped it to his own hip and then stepped back. The others seemed to gather around but gave Rick and James a wide berth.

“I appreciate your compliance,” Rick muttered.

“Like I had a choice,” James grumbled, looking down at the pavement.

“No, you didn’t.” Bringing his index finger to hover over the trigger, Rick let out a small sigh. “It’s nothing against you personally. You were just doing your job.”

“Some job.”

“How old is your boy?”

“Sixteen.”

“You got any family back in DC to look after him?”

“Just my brother. My wife died at the beginning.”

“Well, we’ve all lost people. At least you can die knowing your son won’t be alone.”

“Not much of a comfort, but yeah I guess.” James remarked, his shoulders slumping.

His time was up. He knew it. Rick knew it. Everyone in Rick’s group seemed to know it as they just stood there waiting with bated breath for the Marauder to meet his end.

“Couldn’t you maybe just leave me here without my weapons? I didn’t hurt you or pull a gun on any of you. I just followed you. You don’t have to kill me,” James begged in a last ditch plea for his life. “Lock me in one of those trunks if you want. I won’t know where you’re going from here on out. I won’t be able to tell Sarge where you went next. I could tell him the truth, that I lost your group.”

“Yeah,” Rick shrugged. “I could do that.”

The split second that James seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, Rick pulled the trigger and shot James in the back of the head. His entire forehead seemed to burst as blood, chunks of bone and brain matter sprayed out before him on the pavement. His body dropped forward a moment or two later.

Lowering his Colt, Rick ran his thumb absentmindedly along the hammer before taking a step back from James’ body and looking up at the others who were staring back at him with blank faces.

“What?” he asked them.

Without waiting for a reply, which didn’t come anyway, Rick crouched down and felt around into James’ pockets for his extra ammunition and then picked up James’ discarded revolver. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and shoved the bullets he’d found into one of his pockets before he took a few steps backward toward Bobby’s body and began to strip the man of his discarded weapons and extra ammunition as well.

“Rick,” a voice finally called to him.

Rick looked up and saw Morgan had stepped closer to him, gesturing toward James with his crowbar. “What, Morgan?” he asked, already mentally prepared for whatever the man had to say.

“Was that necessary? We could’ve locked him in a trunk without weapons or ways to communicate back to DC like he said.”

“Your bleeding heart doesn’t belong in this world, Morgan,” Rick retorted, standing back up as he tucked Bobby’s gun into the back of his pants beside James’ gun. Approaching Morgan, he pointed at James and added, “Don’t you know by now that it’s kill or be killed? He posed a threat, alive or not.”

“Then why not let him live?” Morgan questioned with a hint of agitation in his voice.

“Because.”

“Because is not an answer, Rick.”

“It’s my answer. You don’t have to like it, you just have to accept it.” Casting his blue eyes around at the other faces staring at him and Morgan, Rick stepped away and began to head up the road toward Daryl. “Is the RV clear?”

“It is,” Daryl replied like a good little soldier, but not in a way that made him mindless. His eyes gave away that he wasn’t one hundred percent down with what had happened, but he could live with it. In the end, it was an “us or them” situation. And the “us” was more important to him. “Keys in the ignition. Not sure on how much gas, though.”

“We can syphon some, I’m sure,” Rick replied, holstering his Colt and placing his hands on his hips. “We lost two vehicles yesterday and we shouldn’t continue on foot anymore. When Big Bird realizes Cardinal hasn’t checked in two hours from now, he might send others to this side of the river and we need a vehicle large enough to carry as much supplies and people in it away from this place.”

“Aren’t we staying in the townhouses anymore?” Tara called out, her voice sounding downtrodden. “I was liking it there.”

“It was never meant to be our forever home,” Rick answered, not bothering to look back at her. “It was just a stop along the way to find Hope and Shane, and now they’re gone, so we got nothing holding us here. All we have is the loss of two more of our own and an immediate threat across the river that will likely make a play to come after us.” Eyeing both Daryl and Finn, he added, “Start looking for gas canisters we can syphon gas into.”

Both men nodded and moved to check inside the abandoned vehicles on both sides of the four-lane highway while Tara approached the RV with Sophia in tow; both females quietly disappearing up inside the vehicle while Morgan solemnly stepped past Rick in an effort to comply and not cause any more waves among their group at the moment. As he busied himself with assisting Daryl and Finn with searching the nearby vehicles, Rick turned and looked to Jo, who was sheathing her sword into the scabbard on her back and had holstered her gun at her side. Casually he approached her and placed a hand on her arm just above her elbow.

“As soon as we get back to the townhouse I want everyone to pack up. We’ll hit the road before nightfall,” he spoke to her. “I don’t want to stay anywhere around her another night if we can help it.”

Clenching her jaw and pursing her lips together, Jo stared at the ground and pulled her arm away from Rick, albeit gently. “Yeah, okay.”

“Jo,” he muttered, sensing she was upset about something. “Are you mad about those two?” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb at the bodies of James and Bobby. “I made a decision I felt was—”

“—I don’t give a shit about them,” Jo cut him off. “I just thought we agreed, just this very morning at that apartment, that we were gonna spend one more night at the townhouse and early tomorrow morning we were gonna go check out Arlington Cemetery for Hope’s grave. Guess not, huh?”

“That was before I realized for sure we were being followed.”

“But you didn’t know for sure we were being followed,” Jo snapped, her voice raise as she glared at Rick. “You had a feeling. You didn’t have solid proof.”

“Well, my feeling proved right.”

“Congratulations.”

“Jo, I’m sorry.” He reached for her arm again but she took two steps back so that his reach fell short. Letting his arm fall, so did his shoulders. “The sooner we get enough gas in the RV, the sooner we get back to the townhouse, and the sooner we get packed up. The days are getting shorter, which means the amount of daylight we have is becoming limited. The faster we get this shit done, we should have a few hours to spare this evening to spare looking around the cemetery before we get on the road. We can still do it.”

“No,” Jo shook her head. “No, that’s alright. Hope and Shane are dead, so why bother driving the nail into the proverbial coffin that is our hearts by having to witness our daughter’s grave? It’ll probably just make this grief feel worse, right? How could it possibly make it easier to live with? We’re better off just forgetting the whole thing and getting out of here like you said. We got the rest of our people to think of. Paying our respects to our daughter’s grave which we might not’ve been able to find anyway just makes no sense. It’s okay. Whatever.”

As Rick stepped forward, he reached for her again; finding short-lived success when he was able to grip gently onto her arm again. However, as stated, it was short-lived. The second his hand found her arm, she yanked it harshly away and reacted further by shoving him back from her. Undeterred, Rick stepped toward her again and reached for her hands this time, only for her to retaliate by lifting her right hand and slapping him hard across his face.

The action garnered the immediate attention of Daryl, Finn and Morgan.

Rick, stunned, just stood there; making no other move to reach for her as both his face and the palm of her hand both stung something fierce with the force with which she’d hit him. He avoided looking her in the eye for a few moments as they both just stood there in silence.

As she shifted slightly, he finally tried speaking again to her. “Jo—”

Don’t!” she bit out, stepping further back from him. Her chin quivered and tears were burning at her eyes, but this was not the moment she wished to let him see her cry. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to appear as uncaring and indifferent about this argument as he had been in regard to the Marauders he’d just killed. Pregnancy hormones didn’t quite help her in this area, and she was aware her resolve was faltering. So, Jo turned on the heel of her boots and stormed off as indignantly as she could muster as she escaped into the RV to be away from him right now.

Rick was left standing there alone, feeling awkward; knowing the other three men had witness what had just transpired between husband and wife. The last time he’d had a public squabble with a significant other was with Lori, back when their original group had found those self-storage units to stay in during two winters ago. But, even then, that argument had also involved Shane and Andrea and was mediated successfully, to an extent, by Hershel.

Rick wasn’t sure how to act now, but he knew Jo needed space away from him at the moment and he would give it to her. He didn’t need Finn attacking him as a way of being the brotherly knight in shining armor to his big sister. Plus, Rick didn’t want to cause Jo anymore grief, and he was too tired to anyway.

Daryl, ever the good guy who hated awkward, touchy-feely moments anyway, found he was perfect in breaking the awkwardness in the air by forcing a change in subject, so to speak.

As casually as possibly, he sauntered over toward Rick and nudged him with his elbow. “Yo, we found some gas cans. You wanna help me fill one up. I got hose, too.”

“Uh, yeah.” Rick blinked, shaking his head slightly and snapping out of his daydream, and trying to not think too much on anything else than the task at hand Daryl was presenting him with. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

From outside the RV, Rick was oblivious to the goings-on inside of it.

He was unaware of how Jo had stormed inside and immediately sought refuge in the bedroom at the back of the RV, or how Tara and Sophia had quickly followed after her to see if she was okay, or how she easily found comfort in being able to literally cry on Tara’s shoulder while Sophia hugged her from behind. He was unaware that she didn’t say anything about anything, and that all she did was cry and nothing more.

He was aware that he hated how he upset her and how he was feeling over it all, and how Morgan and Finn were occasionally staring at him.

He was aware that when they’d finally determined they’d had enough full and then some gathered up to get them back to the townhouses, that the pleated folding door separating the back bedroom from the rest of the RV was closed and neither Jo nor Sophia was present in the front of the vehicle aside from Tara who was sitting shotgun, staring at him when he climbed inside with the extra gas canister.

Tara made no move to talk about it, and he made no move to broach the subject. Tara swiveled around in the passenger seat and propped her legs up on the dashboard as Finn, Morgan and Daryl found seats around the fold-down dinette table.

Rick found some solace in how no one was speaking. In fact, he rather welcomed it.

Turning the key forward in the ignition, the RV’s engine sputtered and he gave the pedal a little gas. Rick sighed and turned the engine off, but then repeated it once more. On the second try, the RV came to life and the engine began to rumble normally as it idled in park. Shifting gears to drive, Rick somehow managed to move the RV forward up the road between the abandoned cars, weaving in and out here and there when required.

While keeping his eyes on the road for the most part, he stole a few glances up into the rearview mirror as if he would see Jo’s reflection staring back at him.

Such was not the case, so Rick focused on just getting them all back to the townhouses as soon as possible, and in one piece.

Notes

Author's Note: This summer has been rough for getting my muse to obey, so all I'm saying is, 'hey, look, at least you finally got an update and I'll try to get on the ball?' My bad, y'all. Hope you enjoyed, considering it took forever for me to flesh out and drained me emotionally here and there. No worries, though. I'm good. As always, hope you enjoy and please R&R!

xoxo - Holly

Comments

I absolutely love this story. I love how you re wrote the whole story but still kept the basics and changed who dies and when. I absolutely love that you kept Sophia alive because I really wished they had left her alive in the tv show. I love what you did with Negan. Absolutely perfect.

AliKook AliKook
4/23/19

@Grimesgirl63 @Loul461

Thank you :)

The ending is perfect

Loul461 Loul461
7/7/17

Thank you so much for this wonderful story. I'm very excited to hear that you are planning a sequel, and will be working on "The World We Live In".

Grimesgirl63 Grimesgirl63
7/7/17

I know we are getting to the end but I just do not want this story to be over. This chapter was great as usual and I can't wait for the next update. Glad that your ankle is better and you are settling in with your grandmother. Now, if you could just get that "e" key to work again!

Grimesgirl63 Grimesgirl63
6/30/17