Guts
ONE MONTH LATER…
Harry stirred, a small smile appearing on him as he turned over, his gaze fell on Amy, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her features peaceful in slumber.
It had been a chaotic, long month—one filled with loss, fear, and uncertainty as they fled the bombing of Atlanta, seeking refuge among other survivors
It had only been a week since their feelings for each other had turned into something more, but in a time when life itself was fleeting, they hadn't hesitated to embrace whatever happiness they could find.
Amy shifted slightly, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. A sleepy smile tugged at her lips as she saw him watching her. “Morning,” she murmured.
“Morning,” Harry replied, his smirk widening into a grin. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch light and affectionate.
Amy’s smile widened as she stretched, the sleepy haze lifting. “You’ve been watching me sleep again, haven’t you?” she teased, her tone playful.
“Guilty,” Harry admitted, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “You make it hard not to.”
Amy rolled her eyes, laughing softly before letting out a contented sigh. “You’re lucky you’re charming, Grimes.”
Harry chuckled.
He remembered his mother’s reaction when she first caught wind of their relationship. She hadn’t taken the news well, her disapproval apparent in the sharp edge to her voice when she confronted him. “She’s 23, Harry. You’re barely nineteen,” she had said, hand on her hip as she stared him down.
Harry had tried to explain that their age gap didn’t matter to him. But his mother hadn’t been convinced. It was only when Shane stepped in, cutting through the tension, that the matter had been dropped.
“Harry and Amy are adults,” Shane had said with a shrug. “They can make their own choices. You don’t get to pick who he cares about.”
Lor had fumed but ultimately relented, leaving Harry and Amy to navigate their new relationship without further interference.
Amy reached for him, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she pulled him from his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice gentle.
“Just… how lucky I am,” Harry said honestly, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Even with everything going on, I’ve got you.”
Her expression softened, her blue eyes shining with affection. “We’ve got each other,” she corrected, her fingers lacing through his.
Reluctantly, Harry and Amy mustered the will to step out into the morning light. The camp was already humming with activity, people moving around doing chores in the camp.
Harry stretched, rolling his shoulders as Amy stepped out behind him, her blonde hair catching the sunlight. “Looks like we missed the morning meeting,” she murmured.
Harry smirked, glancing at her. “Guess we’re making a habit of it.”
They strolled toward the center of the camp, their hands brushing briefly before Amy stepped away as her sister Andrea called her over.
The new arrivals were scattered about, busy with their respective tasks. Kenny Russel, a man with an impressive mustache, was near the water with his fishing gear. Even from a distance, Harry could hear him barking instructions to his son Duck, who was splashing around near the shore despite his father’s protests.
“Duck, I swear, you’re gonna scare all the fish away!” Kenny hollered,
Katjaa, Kenny’s wife, stood a little closer to the camp, chatting with his mother as they organized some supplies. Harry saw her hand a small stack of worksheets to Carl, Clementine and the other kids, who were sitting cross-legged on a blanket nearby, pencils in hand. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Homework. In the apocalypse. It was absurd, but everyone seemed convinced that some semblance of normalcy was good for the kids. Harry wasn’t so sure. School felt like a relic of a world long gone—pointless when the dead were munching on the living.
Mark was perched on top of one of the RVs, his sharp eyes scanning the perimeter. The former Air Force member had proven himself invaluable in keeping watch, his training making him a natural at spotting threats from a distance. He gave Harry a brief nod in acknowledgment as they passed.
“Morning, Mark,” Harry called up, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Morning,” Mark replied, his tone brisk. “Quiet so far, but don’t let your guard down.”
Doug, meanwhile, was crouched near the edge of the camp, fiddling with a crude alarm system he’d constructed from bits of scrap metal and wires. He scratched his head, muttering to himself as he adjusted the contraption. His inventions had already saved the group more than once by alerting them to incoming walkers—or worse.
Carley stood nearby, arms crossed and an amused smile on her face as she watched Doug work. Harry noticed his mother shooting Carley a pointed glare, no doubt bristling over some comment Carley had made earlier. The two women had yet to find common ground, though Harry suspected it was more out of stubbornness than any real animosity.
Mark looked down at him. “Think your mom’s gonna explode at Carley today or hold it in?” he asked.
Harry chuckled. “Depends. What’s the chance on someone bringing up decision-making in a crisis?”
Mark grinned but didn’t answer, instead scanning the horizon as Harry lingered for a moment, his gaze shifting to Clementine. The little girl was bent over her worksheet, her brow furrowed in concentration. Mark had found her in a walker-infested neighborhood a week before joining the group, and she’d quickly become the heart of the camp.
“Harry!” Shane’s voice cut through his thoughts. Harry turned to see his godfather striding toward him, his shotgun slung casually over his shoulder. “We’re low on wood for the fire. Think you can grab a few of the others and take care of it?”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied. The peace of the Quarry was fragile at best, and everyone had to pull their weight to keep things running smoothly.
Harry strode across the camp, scanning the small group of teens who had started gathering around the fire for the day’s tasks.
“Alright,” Harry began, stopping a few steps from the group. “We’re running low on firewood, and it’s not going to chop itself. I need some volunteers to head out with me.”
A few hands shot up immediately—Carl, of course, eager to help, along with twins Billy and Ben who always seemed willing to pitch in. Harry hesitated as he scanned the others, his eyes landing on Ben Paul and Travis Morgan.
Ben was sitting at the edge of the group, fidgeting with his hands and avoiding eye contact. The tall, skinny teen was awkward and skittish, and Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of Neville Longbottom in his earlier Hogwarts years. Ben had a nervous energy about him, and while Harry wanted to give him a chance to prove himself, the boy’s tendency to freeze under pressure made him hesitant.
Harry sighed inwardly. Firewood wasn’t the most dangerous task, and it might be good for both of them to get out of camp for a bit. “Ben, Travis,” he called, catching their attention. “You’re with me.”
Ben paled slightly, glancing around as if hoping someone else might volunteer in his place. Travis, on the other hand, pushed himself off the crate with a confident swagger. “Finally,” Travis said. “Something worth doing.”
“It’s not glamorous,” Harry replied dryly, “but we need the wood. Let’s move.”
Carl tugged at Harry’s sleeve as he was about to walk away. “Why’d you bring Travis?” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “You know he’s gonna complain the whole time.”
Harry smirked. “Consider it a learning experience—for him and us.”
It didn’t take long for Travis to prove Carl right. As they reached the edge of the woods, where the group would start gathering and chopping firewood, Travis immediately launched into a rant. “You know, I don’t get why I’m stuck doing stuff like this,” he said, crossing his arms. “I should be out on patrol. I’m old enough to handle it.”
“You’re sixteen,” Harry replied, handing Ben an axe and then picking up one for himself. “And no offense, but patrol isn’t as easy as you think.”
Travis scoffed. “I know how to watch for walkers. It’s not rocket science. What, you think I can’t handle a gun or something? Shane’s got a dozen of them in his truck. Let me at it.”
Harry set down a piece of wood on the chopping block with a heavy thud, turning to face Travis with a raised brow. “It’s not about handling a gun, Travis. It’s about not panicking when something goes wrong. You think you’re ready for that?”
“I think I can make my own decisions,” Travis shot back, puffing up his chest.
Harry’s gaze hardened. “You think Ben’s ready for patrol too?” He nodded toward Ben, who was nervously fumbling with the handle of his axe. “Because it’s not just about you. If you screw up out there, you’re putting everyone else at risk. Patrol isn’t about proving something—it’s about keeping the group safe.”
Travis opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, clearly frustrated but at a loss for how to respond. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and picked up a piece of wood, albeit grudgingly.
“Alright,” Harry said “Enough talk. Let’s get to work.”
The group settled into a rhythm, chopping and stacking firewood as the morning sun climbed higher in the sky. Ben struggled at first, his swings awkward and uncoordinated, but Harry took a moment to show him the proper technique. “Like this,” Harry said, demonstrating with a swift, swing that split the log cleanly in two. “Focus on where you’re aiming. Don’t think too much about the force—it’s more about control.”
Ben nodded, gripping the axe with newfound determination. His first few tries were still clumsy, but he improved with each swing. Harry couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride—maybe Ben had more potential than he’d given him credit for.
The rhythmic sound of axes splitting wood filled the air as Harry and the others worked steadily, the pile of firewood growing bit by bit. Ben, who had finally found a rhythm with his swings, glanced over at Harry, his expression hesitant but curious.
“So, uh,” Ben began, his voice breaking the silence, “what do you think about the camp? I mean, everyone seems… alright, I guess.”
Harry paused mid-swing, resting the axe against the chopping block as he considered the question. “It’s not perfect,” he admitted, wiping the sweat from his brow. “But it’s better than being out there alone. Everyone’s got their role, and for the most part, people pull their weight.”
Ben nodded, his grip tightening on the axe handle. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just… some people are kinda hard to figure out, you know?”
Before Harry could respond, Travis snorted loudly, leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed. “You mean like the Dixons?” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Because I’ll tell you right now, I don’t like them. Either of them.”
Ben blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “What? Why?”
Travis rolled his eyes, his smirk turning into a sneer. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious. Merle Dixon? That guy was definitely a druggie before all this went down. You can see it in the way he acts—twitchy, aggressive, always looking for a fight. And let’s not forget he’s a huge dick. He’s a liability to the camp, plain and simple.”
Harry’s jaw tightened as he set the axe down, turning to face Travis. “Merle’s not exactly easy to get along with,” he said evenly, “but he’s tolerated for one reason: Daryl.”
Travis raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What, because Daryl’s his brother? That’s supposed to excuse Merle being a walking disaster?”
“No,” Harry said, his voice firm. “Because Daryl’s the best hunter we’ve got. He’s the reason we’ve got food on the table most nights. And like it or not, Merle’s part of the package. You don’t have to like him, but you do have to deal with him.”
Travis scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I don’t see why we can’t just kick Merle out and keep Daryl. The guy’s a loose cannon. He’s gonna get someone killed.”
Harry stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he stared Travis down. “You think it’s that simple? You think Daryl would just stick around if we threw his brother out? They’re family, Travis. And in case you haven’t noticed, family’s hard to come by these days.”
Ben shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two of them. “I mean, Daryl’s alright,” he said quietly, as if trying to diffuse the tension. “He’s kinda scary, but he’s never done anything to me.”
“Exactly,” Harry said, his gaze still locked on Travis. “Daryl’s earned his place here. And as long as he’s pulling his weight, we don’t get to decide who he keeps around.”
Travis muttered something under his breath, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push the issue further. Instead, he picked up his axe and returned to chopping wood, his swings sharper and more aggressive than before.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to the chopping block. He didn’t like Merle any more than Travis did, but he understood the bigger picture. As much as Merle grated on everyone’s nerves, Harry knew that losing Daryl would be a blow the camp couldn’t afford.
Travis leaned on his axe, the edge of his mouth curling into one of his ever-present smirks. "Well," he said, his tone almost flippant, "at least we don’t have to deal with Ed Peletier anymore. I mean, walkers finally got him, so there’s some justice in the world."
Ben’s head snapped up from his task, his eyes darting nervously around the trees that surrounded their makeshift clearing. The woods, silent except for their occasional conversation and the sound of splitting logs, now felt thicker and darker. "Don’t say stuff like that, man," Ben said, his voice trembling slightly. "What if you jinx us? What if… I don’t know, what if the walkers come back?"
Travis barked out a short laugh and shook his head, resting his axe on the ground. "Seriously, Ben? Walkers aren’t superstitious monsters. They don’t care what you say about some dead asshole."
The words hung in the air for a moment as Travis’s smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression as he turned to fully face Harry and Ben. "You both know what kind of man Ed was, right? I mean, everyone knows. The guy was a complete piece of shit—used to beat his wife and daughter before this whole walker thing started."
Ben froze mid-swing, his shoulders tensing as he lowered the axe slowly, his gaze flickering between Travis and Harry. "I… I heard people say stuff," Ben admitted in a hushed voice. "But I didn’t think…" He trailed off, his words swallowed by uncertainty.
Travis, emboldened by the conversation, gestured vaguely with his hand. "You didn’t think what? That he actually did it? Come on, Ben. You’ve seen the way Carol flinches when someone raises their voice or how Sophia never smiles. It’s not exactly a big mystery."
Neither of them noticed Harry’s reaction at first. His hands gripped his axe tightly, his knuckles white as he stared at the ground. A storm brewed behind his eyes, anger curling deep within him as Travis’s words brought up memories he’d rather keep buried. He thought of the scars and bruises his old life had once left him with—the ones no one ever saw, the ones inflicted by people who should’ve cared for him. Ed Peletier wasn’t just a piece of shit; he was exactly the kind of man Harry had fought so hard to forget.
But this wasn’t about him, Harry reminded himself. He forced his expression to neutral, burying the anger behind a practiced mask. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and finally spoke, his tone level. "It doesn’t matter what kind of person Ed was anymore. He’s gone. We’ve got bigger things to focus on."
Travis raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Harry’s calm response, but shrugged. "Fair enough," he muttered, picking up his axe again. "Just saying, the camp’s better off without him."
Ben shuffled awkwardly, still clutching his own axe as he cast another wary glance at the tree line. "Let’s just… keep working, alright? I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to."
The sun was rising higher now, the clearing getting warmer as the group continued their work. Travis’s axe thudded against the chopping block, splitting another log cleanly in two. He straightened, pausing to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, and glanced over at Harry.
“Hey,” Travis began, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity, “I heard… I heard you were the one who found Ed. That true?”
Harry didn’t immediately respond. His grip on the axe handle tightened ever so slightly, the muscles in his jaw tensing as the question hung in the air. He set another log on the chopping block.
“Yeah,” Harry said after a moment, his tone curt. He didn’t look at Travis or Ben, his eyes fixed on the wood in front of him. “I found him.”
Travis shifted, clearly sensing that he had wandered into sensitive territory but plowing ahead regardless. “And you, uh… you were the one who put him down before he could turn, right?”
This time, Harry did pause. He raised the axe slowly, his expression darkening for a split second before he forced it back into neutrality. “Yeah,” he said again, his voice colder now. “I did.”
Without another word, Harry brought the axe down with a sharp swing, splitting the log into two neat halves. The loud crack of the wood splitting echoed through the clearing, punctuating the silence that followed. He set another log on the block and continued working as though Travis’s words hadn’t affected him at all.
Ben glanced nervously between Harry and Travis, his grip tightening on his own axe. “Maybe we should, uh, focus on the wood,” Ben mumbled, his tone cautious.
Travis hesitated, his expression unreadable as he glanced at Harry’s face, but whatever he might have been planning to say next died on his lips. He nodded instead, stepping back to pick up another log. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, his usual swagger dampened.
After what felt like hours of relentless chopping and stacking, the group finally stood back to admire their handiwork. The wood heap was sizeable now, enough to keep the camp’s fire blazing for days. Harry wiped the sweat from his brow, his arms aching from the effort, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the work. Ben glanced at the pile, nodding with a small smile, while Travis leaned on his axe, finally too tired to complain.
“Alright, let’s get this to the campfire,” Harry said, picking up an armful of logs. The others followed his lead, each grabbing as much as they could carry. Their footsteps crunched against the dry ground as they made their way back to the heart of the camp.
As they approached, the familiar sounds of the Quarry reached them—the crackling of the fire, muted conversations, and the occasional distant squawk of birds. The camp was alive with movement, survivors going about their tasks. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way people glanced at their wood pile with nods of approval as they passed by.
Near the fire, Harry saw his mother sitting with Carl. Carl was perched on a log, his face twisted in concentration as he stared at a piece of paper in his hands. She was leaning over him as she asked, “Carl, what’s eight times seven? Come on, you know this.”
Carl groaned, rubbing his temple dramatically. “Why do I have to know this, Mom? I’m pretty sure the walkers don’t care if I can do math.”
Their mother raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his protest. “And I care if you can do math. Now answer the question.”
Harry smirked as he walked past, stacking the wood neatly beside the fire. He could practically feel Carl’s exasperation from here. “It’s fifty-six,” Harry called out over his shoulder, earning a grateful glance from Carl and a pointed glare from his mother.
“I don’t remember asking for your help, Harry,” she said, though there was no real bite in her tone.
Harry shrugged, his grin widening. “Just trying to support my little brother.”
Carl stuck his tongue out at Harry, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a reluctant smile. Their mother sighed and turned back to Carl, clearly determined to finish the lesson.
The sun dipped below the horizon as the camp settled down for dinner, the fire crackling warmly in the middle of the group. Shadows danced across the survivors’ faces as they ate, the aroma of roasted fish and canned vegetables mingling with the cool night air. It was a small distraction from the turmoil of the outside world, though Harry could still feel an underlying tension in the air.
Shane stood up suddenly, his broad figure illuminated by the firelight as he addressed the group. The conversations and murmurs around the campfire died down, all eyes turning to him. “Alright, listen up,” Shane began “We need to plan a supply run into Atlanta. We’re running low on meds, gas, and other essentials, and sitting around hoping things will improve ain’t gonna cut it. I need volunteers.”
For a moment, there was a pause as people processed his words, the crackling fire filling the silence. Then, slowly, hands began to rise. Jaqui was the first to step forward. T-Dog followed, nodding, while Mark, perched nearby, raised his hand from his spot by the RV. Andrea, who had been sitting next to Amy, added her name to the list. Morales gave a thumbs-up, and Glenn volunteered with a small smile.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Merle Dixon leaned forward from his seat on the edge of the group, “I’ll go,” he drawled, his voice thick with mock casualness.
A ripple of surprise moved through the group. Even Shane raised an eyebrow, though he quickly nodded in acknowledgment. “Alright,” Shane said, scanning the volunteers. “We’ll plan the route and leave at first light. Rest up—you’ll need it.”
Harry’s eyes flicked over to Amy, sitting close to Andrea. She looked uneasy, her gaze darting between her sister and Merle. For a fleeting moment, her blue eyes met Harry’s over the fire, uncertainty written across her face. He gave her a subtle nod, his expression calm, though his mind was already turning over the implications of Merle joining the run. Like everyone else, Harry wasn’t blind to the man’s aggressive nature, but if Daryl’s brother wanted to step up and contribute, it wasn’t his place to argue—at least not yet.
The quiet returned as everyone focused on their meals. Harry shifted his attention to his mother and Carl, who were sitting nearby. His mother seemed to be on edge, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her jacket, while Carl, sitting cross-legged beside her, was trying to finish his meal without spilling it on his lap.
“So, Carl,” Harry said, breaking the silence, “how’s the math going? Still think walkers don’t care if you can do multiplication?”
Carl groaned, slumping slightly. “Come on, Harry, don’t start. Mom’s already been on me about it all day.”
Their mother rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “He needs it. The world may have changed, but I’m not raising someone who doesn’t know how to solve basic equations.”
“Fair enough,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Though I think surviving walker attacks is a skill that’s a little more urgent right now.”
Carl perked up at that, grinning. “See? Harry gets it.”
His mother sighed, shaking her head with an exasperated smile. “Don’t encourage him.”
As Harry shared a laugh with them, his attention was momentarily pulled away by a movement at the corner of his eye. Clementine was sitting on a blanket a few feet away, her small hands clutching her bowl of food tightly. She wasn’t eating, though—her wide eyes were fixed on Mark, who had leaned against one of the RVs while finishing his meal.
The campfire slowly dwindled down to glowing embers, casting faint, flickering light across the camp as people started heading toward their tents. The soft murmur of goodnights mixed with the quiet rustling of sleeping bags and zippers as the group settled in for the night.
Those assigned to watch duty tonight climbed onto the roofs of the RVs, their silhouettes outlined against the faint moonlight as they readied themselves for the long hours ahead. Mark was already in position, his sharp gaze scanning the tree line, while T-Dog climbed up to join him, the two exchanging a nod before settling into their posts.
Harry walked his family back to their tent. Carl yawned widely as they stopped by their tent, clutching his blanket in one hand. Harry leaned down and ruffled his hair. “Get some rest, bud. Big day tomorrow—probably homework with Mom again.”
Carl groaned, his nose scrunching. “Don’t remind me.”
Their mother, who was still brushing off dirt from her jacket, gave Harry a knowing look. “And don’t think you’re getting out of it either. Helping with firewood doesn’t exempt you.”
Harry smirked and gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled softly. “Goodnight, Harry.”
“Night, Mom. Night, Carl.”
As they disappeared into their tent, Harry turned to head back to his own. But as he reached it, he found Amy waiting for him, her arms crossed and her expression somewhere between hesitant and determined.
“Hey,” she said, her voice quieter than usual to avoid waking anyone nearby.
“Hey,” Harry replied, tilting his head curiously. “What’s up?”
She glanced around, making sure they weren’t overheard, before stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”
Harry raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, giving her the space to continue.
“I need you to go with them tomorrow,” Amy said, her tone serious. “To Atlanta. On the supply run.”
Harry blinked, taken aback. “What? Amy, you know I can’t just—”
“Please,” she interrupted, her voice soft but insistent. Her blue eyes searched his face, her expression almost pleading. “I don’t trust Merle Dixon near Andrea. I know there’ll be others around, but still… you’ve seen how he is. He’s unpredictable, and I just… I need to know someone I trust will be there. Please, Harry.”
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He understood her concern—Merle was a loose cannon at the best of times, and his presence on the run had unsettled more than just Amy.
“There are others going, Amy,” Harry pointed out. “Andrea isn’t going to be alone with him. Morales, Mark, Glenn, T-Dog—they’ll all have her back.”
“I know,” Amy admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “But I’ll feel better if you’re there too.”
Harry hesitated, his gaze softening as he took in the worry etched across her face. “You know what this means, right? If I say yes, I’m going to have to convince my mother. And if I do that, I’m not going to hear the end of it. I’ll be getting the stink eye for at least a week, maybe more.”
Amy’s lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile. “I’ll make it up to you,” she said, her voice earnest. “I promise.”
Harry studied her for a moment before sighing again. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice laced with resignation. “I’ll talk to her. No guarantees she’ll agree, but I’ll try.”
Amy’s shoulders relaxed “Thank you,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Really.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry muttered, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Now come on. Let’s get some rest. It’s going to be a long day.”
The air was still cool and crisp when Harry slipped out of his tent, the first rays of dawn just beginning to stretch across the sky. The camp was quiet, most of the survivors still asleep or just stirring, but the group heading to Atlanta was already gathering near the vehicles, their voices low as they loaded supplies and checked weapons.
Harry adjusted the pistol at his hip g, and made his way toward them. He spotted Shane standing by the truck, leaning against the side with his shotgun slung casually over his shoulder. As Harry approached, Shane looked up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Well, well,” Shane said, straightening as Harry came to a stop in front of him. “What’re you doin’ here, kid? Thought you’d be back in your tent, sleepin’ in.”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, about that... I’m coming with the group.”
Shane blinked, then narrowed his eyes, a knowing smirk creeping across his face. “And does your mama know about this little plan of yours?”
Harry winced slightly, his hand still at the back of his neck. “I was... kind of hoping you’d tell her after we were gone.”
For a moment, Shane just stared at him, and then he let out a bark of laughter, the sound loud enough to draw a few glances from the others. He clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, shaking his head in disbelief. “You serious? You’re really gonna throw me to the wolves while you’re miles away from the fury of your mom? Man, that’s cold.”
Harry grinned, leaning into his godfather’s teasing. “It’s your job, isn’t it? Protecting me from her wrath? That’s what godfathers are for.”
Shane groaned, dragging a hand down his face, though the amused glint in his eyes betrayed his exasperation. “Alright, fine. You’re in. But I’m tellin’ you right now, I ain’t stoppin’ her rant when you get back. By then, I’ll have been on the receiving end of it, and you’re gonna have to handle the rest on your own, kid.”
“Fair enough,” Harry said, his grin widening as he gave Shane a mock salute. “Appreciate you taking the first hit, though.”
Shane shook his head, still chuckling as he motioned for Harry to follow. “Come on. Let’s get you caught up with the group before I start regrettin’ this.”
As they approached the gathered volunteers, he caught sight of Amy standing off to the side, her arms crossed as she watched Andrea double-check her gear. She glanced at Harry, her expression softening into relief when she saw him, and he gave her a small nod in return.
Harry climbed into the passenger seat of the car, pulling the door shut with a quiet click as the group prepared to leave. Glenn was already behind the wheel, adjusting his rearview mirror and giving the engine a cautious rev.
As they neared the edge of the camp, Harry couldn’t help but glance toward his mother’s tent. His heart skipped a beat when he caught the faintest hint of movement—a shadow shifting behind the fabric. Without thinking, he ducked down in his seat, his head disappearing just below the window as the car crept past.
Glenn noticed instantly, his lips twitching into an amused smile as he kept his eyes on the road. “She doesn’t know you came, does she?”
Harry sighed, still leaning down as the camp disappeared behind them. “Nope. And she’s going to let me have it when I get back.”
Glenn chuckled, shaking his head. “If she asks, just tell her you rode with T-Dog. Let him take the blame.”
Harry slid back upright, narrowing his eyes at Glenn. “Oh, so now we’re throwing T-Dog to the wolves?”
Glenn’s smile widened into a full grin. “Hey, I didn’t tell you to sneak out. I’m just giving you options.” He glanced over at Harry, his expression light but teasing. “ I’m telling T-Dog you cam up with the idea of selling him out first. No way I’m taking the heat for that.”
Glenn laughed “Fine, fine. I’ll figure something out.”
The air was tense as the group neared the outskirts of Atlanta. The hum of the vehicle engines was the only sound, the conversation from earlier long since faded into a strained silence. Harry sat up straighter, the familiar weight of his pistol against his hip doing little to calm his nerves. When the skyline of Atlanta finally came into view, his stomach churned.
The city was a graveyard.
Through a pair of binoculars, Harry scanned the streets ahead. Walkers shambled aimlessly down the pavement, their movements slow and uneven, but no less unsettling for it. A few were dragging broken limbs behind them, and worse, several walkers—split in half and missing their lower bodies entirely—were dragging themselves across the ground. Harry shuddered, lowering the binoculars for a moment to steady himself. He had seen walkers up close before, but this—a city overrun with them, blanketing the streets like mindless, unrelenting pests—was unnerving.
“Anything?” Glenn’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, drawing him back to the present. Harry turned to see him climbing out of the car.
Despite Glenn’s calm demeanor, Harry could see the tension in his posture, the way his hand rested close to his belt, ready to grab his weapon at a moment’s notice.
“Plenty,” Harry replied, handing Glenn the binoculars. “Streets are crawling with them—literally, in some cases. I counted at least half a dozen walkers dragging themselves around without legs.”
Glenn frowned, taking the binoculars and peering through them. He stayed quiet for a long moment as he scanned the area, his brow furrowing slightly. “Great,” he muttered finally, lowering the binoculars. “That’s going to make things fun.”
Harry crossed his arms, his gaze flicking back toward the group as they began unloading from the other vehicles. Andrea was already directing people into positions, her voice low as she laid out the plan. Merle, leaning against the side of the truck, looked utterly unfazed, the usual smirk tugging at his lips as if this were all just another ordinary day, while Mark double-checked his rifle.
“You nervous?” Glenn asked, drawing Harry’s attention back to him.
Harry snorted softly, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips. “Isn’t everyone?”
“Fair point,” Glenn replied, his tone lighter now, though his eyes remained serious. He handed the binoculars back to Harry. “You good to go?”
Harry nodded, slipping the binoculars into his bag. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
The first few hours of the supply run had gone as smoothly as anyone could have hoped. The group moved quickly and efficiently through the city, sticking to the shadows and avoiding the larger clusters of walkers shambling aimlessly through the streets. Every store, pharmacy, and abandoned vehicle they came across was thoroughly scavenged, and the haul was shaping up to be one of their better ones—medications, canned goods, tools, batteries. Harry even managed to slip a few Marvel and DC comics into his bag in one store, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he thought of Carl. He had been a fan of superheroes before the world fell apart, and Harry figured he could use a little piece of that old normalcy now more than ever.
It wasn’t until Morales paused to glance up at the sky that the first threads of tension began to creep into the group. “Storm clouds,” he muttered, his voice cutting through the quiet. The others followed his gaze, and Harry felt his stomach twist. Dark, heavy clouds were rolling in over the city, and while storms weren’t uncommon, the thought of being caught in one surrounded by walkers wasn’t exactly comforting.
Morales pulled the group together quickly, his tone brisk as he began laying out a plan. “Alright, we’ve got what we came for. No reason to push our luck. Let’s head out before the storm hits. Stick close, stay quiet.”
Everyone nodded, the urgency of the situation clear. They began making their way back toward the vehicles, their footsteps quick but cautious. Harry’s gaze flicked back to the comics in his bag for a moment before returning to the street ahead, his focus sharpening. The city suddenly felt more oppressive, the shadows longer, the silence heavier.
And then, like a clap of thunder before the storm, the sound of gunshots shattered the quiet.
The first shot echoed down the street, loud and unmistakable. Then another. And another. The group froze, their heads snapping toward the direction of the noise. Harry’s heart pounded as the sound reverberated through the air.
“What the hell…” Andrea muttered, striding toward the nearest window and peering out. The rest of the group followed, crowding around to get a look at whatever madness was unfolding outside.
Harry’s breath caught as his eyes adjusted to the scene. A man was galloping down the street on a horse of all things, a revolver in one hand as he fired wildly at the walkers surrounding him. The undead seemed to swarm toward him, their jerky movements quickening at the sound of gunfire. Several walkers had already collapsed to the ground, bullet holes in their heads, but there were far too many for one man to take on.
“What kind of damn fool fires a gun in the middle of the city at a time like this?” Jacqui muttered, her voice low and laced with disbelief. She crossed her arms, shaking her head as she added, “And only brings a damn horse?”
Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene, his stomach twisting as the walkers continued to converge on the man. “It’s not going to end well for him,” he murmured, his tone grim.
T-Dog paced by the window, his gaze darting from the boarded-up street to the stairwell. “Where the hell is Glenn?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with worry.
Harry glanced around, his eyes catching a blur of movement near the stairwell. He narrowed his gaze and spotted Glenn hurrying up the steps, disappearing around the corner before anyone could stop him. “Think he’s going to try to help him,” Harry said.
Mark let out a heavy sigh, his face etched with frustration. “Dammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re surrounded now.”
Harry and the others moved cautiously to the edge of the window, peering out at the chaos below. His stomach turned as he took in the sight. Thousands of walkers filled the streets, their forms pressing against each other as they clawed and stumbled toward the building.
“We’re sitting ducks up here,” Jacqui murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the undead.
Before anyone could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Glenn burst into the room, panting and wide-eyed, but he wasn’t alone. A man stumbled in after him, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His face was smudged with dirt and sweat, and his disheveled hair stuck to his forehead.
“What the hell is this?” Andrea snapped, storming toward the man. Her gun was out before anyone could stop her, and she pinned him against the counter, the barrel pressing firmly against his temple. “You son of a bitch, we ought to kill you!”
“Back off, Andrea,” Morales said sharply,
Andrea shot him a withering glare, her grip on her gun unwavering. “We’re all dead because of this stupid asshole!”
“Dad?”