Chupacabra
Lori woke up slowly alone in her tent, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before pulling on her boots. She hadn’t meant to sleep in—not with everything weighing on her—but exhaustion had finally caught up.
As she stepped out of the tent, Dale ambled by, giving her a glance. “Morning,” he greeted.
Lori sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Good morning,” she replied. Going to join Katjaa, Carol and Donna at the That's intercourse.clothes.
“I can’t believe I slept in.”
“You must have needed it.”
“Feeling all right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “Next time, wake me, all right? Especially on laundry day.”
“We can manage,” Carol said, before continuing on his way.
Carol sighed as she crossed her arms. “I had an idea I wanted to run by you,” she said.
Lori raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Carol glanced toward the farmhouse, her mind drifting to something more ordinary—something comforting. “That big kitchen of theirs got me thinking,” she explained. “I wouldn’t mind cooking in a real kitchen again.”
Donna nodded, interest piqued. “That does sound nice.”
“Maybe we all pitch in and cook dinner for Hershel and his family tonight,” Lori suggested. “Kind of looking for things to keep my mind occupied.”
Katjaa smiled thoughtfully. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Carol glanced toward the house, then back at Lori. “I’ll help,” she said.
Donna clapped her hands together. “Let’s do it.”
“After everything they’ve done for us seems like the least we could do.” Lori said “You mind extending the invitation?”
“Would probably feel more right coming from you.” Katjaa told her
“How so?”
“You’re Rick’s wife, kind of makes you our unofficial first lady.”
Lori sighed, considering for a moment before nodding. “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll ask Hershel and his family.”
Donna nodded in agreement. “A proper meal. A real dinner. I think it’ll do us all some good.”
By the house, Harry sat back against the rough bark of the tree, running his fingers over the arrow in his hand, his frustration bubbling over as he glared at the stick. He had done bigger transfigurations before—objects far more complex than a simple stick into another arrow—but now, when it really mattered, the magic refused to cooperate. The stick still looked like a stick, though he could swear it had gotten slightly thinner.
A voice interrupted his focus. “That stick owe you money or something?”
He glanced up to see Amy standing there, arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips.
Harry sighed, shaking his head. “No, no… just thinking.”
Amy shifted her weight, looking around nervously. Harry frowned at the change in her demeanor and stood up, studying her. “You okay?”
Amy hesitated, fingers twitching at her sides. “I wanted to tell you something, but—” She paused, exhaling sharply. “I’m just going to wait until I’m sure.”
Harry placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, meeting her blue eyes. “You can tell me anything.”
Amy gave him a small nod. “I know,” she said softly. “I just want to be one hundred percent sure before I tell you.”
Without warning, she leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Harry barely had time to react before she pulled back. “Andrea needs me,” she murmured before turning and walking away.
Harry watched her go, brow furrowed as he absentmindedly turned the arrow over in his hand.
Harry exhaled, setting the stick down and falling into step beside his father as he gave him a pointed look, deciding to leave magic alone for now. It had been stubborn, difficult, and unlike anything he had ever experienced back in his old world. But later—later, he would try again.
Rick led the group towards the cars. “All right, everyone’s getting new search grids today,” he announced. “If he made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, he might have gone further east than we’ve been so far.”
Jimmy, one of Hershel’s farmhands, stepped forward hesitantly. “I’d like to help,” he said. “I know the area pretty well and stuff.”
Rick eyed him carefully. “Hershel’s okay with this?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jimmy nodded quickly. “He said I should ask you.”
Rick gave a small nod. “All right then. Thanks.”
Shane crossed his arms. “Nothing about what Daryl found screams Travis to me,” he muttered. “Anybody could’ve been holed up in that farmhouse.”
Harry tilted his head. “Anybody includes him, right?”
Daryl glanced at him, then gestured toward the rough map they had drawn up. “Whoever slept in that room was no bigger than Ben,” he pointed out.
Rick studied the information for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a good lead,” he admitted. “Maybe we’ll pick up his trail again.”
Daryl huffed. “No maybe about it. I’m gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here, take a bird’s-eye view of the whole grid.” He tapped the spot on the map, his expression set in determination. “If he’s up there, I’ll spot him.”
Rick gave an approving nod. “Good idea.”
T-Dog smirked slightly. “Maybe you’ll see your chupacabra up there too.”
Rick shot him alook. “Chupacabra?”
“You never heard this?” Dale asked, turning toward the others. “First night in camp, Daryl tells us the whole thing reminds him of a time when he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra.”
“What are you braying at, jackass?” Daryl snapped at Jimmy
“You believe in a blood-sucking dog?”
Daryl glared. “Do you believe in dead people walking around?”
Harry’s gaze remained locked on Daryl, curiosity sparking in his mind. Chupacabras were magical creatures in his old world—a known presence, not just some backwoods legend. But this was the first time he had heard about them in this new world.
And that interested him.
He filed the thought away for later.
Jimmy went to take one of the guns before Rick stopped him
“Hey hey. Ever fire one before?” Rick asked
Jimmy looked at him. “Well, if I’m going out, I want one.”
Daryl let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, and people in hell want slurpees.”
Shane shot him an unimpressed look. “Why don’t you come train tomorrow?” he suggested. “If you’re serious, I’m a certified instructor.”
Andrea looked at him. “For now, he can come with us.”
Shane sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Fine. He’s yours to babysit, then.”
Rick exhaled, shifting the map. “All right, Harry, Andrea, T-Dog,” he called out, motioning toward the grid. “I want you three covering this area here. It’s further out than we’ve gone so far, but if Travis made it past the farmhouse, he might’ve gone farther east.”
Harry leaned in, studying the map carefully, nodding at the plan.
T-Dog crossed his arms. “Sounds good. Let’s get moving.”
Glenn sat on the porch, fingers moving lazily over the guitar strings as he played a soft, meandering tune. The notes drifted into the warm evening air, blending with the faint rustle of leaves. Maggie stepped out onto the porch, leaning against the railing with a small smile.
“Nice guitar,” she said, nodding toward the instrument.
Glenn glanced up, returning her smile. “Dale found it on the highway,” he replied, his tone casual.
You know, we still have 11 condoms,” Glenn said.
“You see 11 condoms,” Maggie smirked“I see 11 minutes of my life I’m never getting back.”
Glenn scoffed “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Maggie hesitated, then shrugged. “Look, I don’t even know if I like you.”
Glenn smirked widening. “But you’re thinking about it. You should,”
Maggie shook her head and walked away
Shane and Rick moved steadily through the woods, the crunch of leaves underfoot filling the silence between them.
Rick glanced at Shane, smirking slightly. “You remember the name of that waitress at the Dairy Queen when we were in high school?” he asked.
Rick snorted. “I know you, Shane, well enough to know there’s only one sure-fire way of engaging you in a conversation,” he said. “And that’s to start asking you about girls you did in high school. I don’t want to, but I’m willing to do it if that’s what it takes.”
Shane chuckled softly. “Maryanne.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “I told you about her?”
“In excruciating detail,” Rick replied, shaking his head.
“Excruciating, my ass,” Shane shot back. “You used to live for those details back in the day.”
Rick shrugged. “I was impressionable. And I may have been living vicariously through you.”
Shane grinned, full of confidence. “Why wouldn’t you, with my impressive list of accomplishments? I was an artist in his prime. A protégé.”
Rick smirked. “You mean prodigy.”
“Maybe,” Shane said with a shrug. “Is prodigy what you call a young high school stud that bangs 30-year-olds on the regular?”
Rick scoffed. “What 30-year-old were you banging in high school?”
Shane’s grin widened. “The P.E. teacher.”
Rick shot him a skeptical look. “Mr. Daniels?”
Shane laughed. “Mrs. Kelly.”
Rick blinked in surprise. “The girls’ volleyball coach? Wasn’t she married?”
Shane waved a hand dismissively. “C’mon.”
Rick sighed, shaking his head. “You know what I just remembered?”
Shane smirked. “What?”
“Why I never ask you about this stuff,” Rick muttered.
Shane chuckled. “Why don’t we talk about your high school love life then, huh?” he teased.
Rick smirked as they continued through the woods “Well, that’s a short conversation,” he said, glancing at Shane.
Rick shrugged, his expression neutral. “It may even already be over.”
“That right?” Shane asked, raising an eyebrow.
“There was Holly, right?”
Shane let out a low chuckle. “Nope, that was me too.”
Shane shot him a look. “Then there was Sheila,” he said pointedly. “That’s the one you lied to me about.”
Rick scoffed, shaking his head. “I never lied about Sheila,” he said defensively. “I just got mixed up about what the bases meant.”
Shane rolled his eyes “Just so you know, a home run, that usually means a sexual act. That's intercourse.”
Rick shook his head “Yeah, I realize that now.”
Shane smirked at his back “I think what you did was more like a ground rule double or something.”
“I'm aware of the judge's ruling.”
“Shouldn't be talking about this stuff. That life, it's gone and everyone in it. Sheila. Maryanne. Mrs. Kelly. It's like we're old folk. All the people in our stories are all dead.” Shane told him
“We can't just forget them.”
“The hell we can't. It's hard enough accepting what's happened without digging up the past. I'll tell you what it is. It's nostalgia. It's like a drug. Keeps you from seeing things the way they are. That's a danger. You got people depending on you.”
“You think I don't know that?”
“I don't know. What are we doing?”
Rick’s jaw tightened as he turned to face Shane, the weight of the conversation pressing between them. The woods stretched around them, quiet but watchful, as if even nature was waiting for an answer.
“You think we should abandon the search?” Rick asked, his voice edged with something just shy of anger.
Shane exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s not my call, is it?”
“I’m asking,” Rick pressed. “I’m asking.”
Shane’s expression hardened. “Survival, Rick. It means making hard decisions. But you’ve got this knack—you spread us thinner and thinner. I’m trying to save lives here, and you’re out saving cats from trees.”
Rick’s nostrils flared. “Is that what you think Travis is?” His voice was low now, simmering. “A cat in a tree?”
Shane groaned. “Don’t do that, man. Don’t twist my words.”
Shane stepped closer. “How many times we get called up to look for a missing child, huh? You got 72 hours. After that, you’re looking for a body. And that was before.” He pointed a firm finger at Rick. “You honestly think we’re just gonna find Travis alive?”
Shane shook his head, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Are you that sure we won’t?” Rick countered.
Shane let out a humorless laugh. “We being completely honest?”
Rick nodded sharply. “I’m counting on you to be.”
“It’s math, man,” Shane muttered. “Love or not, Travis—he only matters to the degree in which she don’t drag the rest of us down.”
Rick’s fists clenched at his sides.
“I thought you wanted honest,” Shane continued. “If we’d just moved on, man, we’d be halfway to Fort Benning right now. And Carl wouldn’t have gotten shot.”
Shane’s expression darkened. “You said so yourself. But we’re out here. We’re risking lives. Your own son almost died.”
Rick narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “Would you think this way if it was Harry?” he demanded.
Shane scoffed, rolling his shoulders back. “Harry would’ve found us by now,” he said firmly. “I taught that boy how to navigate through the woods since he was ten, back when you and Lori were arguing all the time.”
Rick remained silent.
Shane shook his head. “Harry ain’t a defenseless teenager who doesn’t know which way the sun shines,” he said. “He’d know what to do.”
Rick inhaled sharply, but instead of answering, he turned, eyes locked ahead, pressing forward without another word.
The argument wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Daryl
Daryl rode through the woods, his eyes scanning the terrain as the horse’s carried him forward.
Something caught his eye—a dark shape tangled in the reeds near the water’s edge. He pulled back on the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. Sliding off the saddle, he stepped forward, boots sinking slightly into the soft ground as he reached down and pulled the fabric free.
It was a jacket. Familiar. Worn.
Recognition settled in his gut. It was Travis’s.
Daryl tightened his grip on the material, his pulse quickening. His eyes darted around the area, scanning for any other signs.
“Travis?” he called out, his voice carrying over the sound of the river.
Silence.
Jaw tightening, he stuffed the jacket into his pack and swung back into the saddle, urging the horse forward.
A little ways from the river, the sudden flutter of wings sent the horse skittering sideways. Crows erupted from the treetops, their sharp cries splitting the air. Daryl pulled on the reins, murmuring low to steady the animal.
“Easy now,” he muttered, patting its neck.
The horse settled, and Daryl pressed on, gripping the reins tighter.
Then, without warning, a snake slithered through the undergrowth, its sudden movement sending the horse into a full panic.
Before Daryl could react, the horse bucked, throwing him violently from the saddle.
He crashed down the rocky slope, tumbling hard, branches scraping against his skin until—
Pain.
Sharp, unforgiving pain.
Daryl gritted his teeth, groaning as he glanced down. One of his arrows was buried deep in his side, the blood already soaking through his shirt.
He dragged himself toward the riverbed, chest heaving, each breath a struggle.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his knife and began cutting the sleeves off his shirt, wrapping the material tightly around the impaled arrow. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus.
He glanced up at the pass above—it was steep. Almost impossible in his condition.
The sound of movement nearby made him freeze.
Rustling.
Daryl stiffened, his fingers inching toward his blade.
He hesitated only a moment before crawling back toward the water, searching frantically for his crossbow.
The chill of the river crept into his skin, but he gritted his teeth against it, eyes darting as his fingers finally found the weapon beneath the surface.
He pulled it free, securing the jacket tightly around himself before turning his gaze upward.
Climbing wasn’t going to be easy.
But he didn’t have a choice.
With a deep breath, he pushed forward, gripping at roots and rocks, each movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his side.
Still, he kept moving.
He had to.
Farm
Amy stopped mid-step, turning sharply to face Glenn, her expression tight with frustration. “Mind your own business, Glenn,” she snapped.
Glenn held up his hands “You’re pregnant,”
Amy’s shoulders stiffened. Her eyes darted around, scanning the camp to make sure no one else had overheard. “You can’t tell anybody, okay?” she hissed
Glenn crossed his arms, glancing toward the tent Amy and Harry shared. “You haven’t told him yet?” he asked, nodding toward it.
Amy sighed, rubbing her temples. “Not yet,” she admitted.
Glenn frowned. “Amy, come on—he deserves to know.”
“I know,” she muttered. “I just… I need to be sure. I need to figure out what I’m going to do.”
Glenn studied her for a moment, his voice softening. “You don’t have to figure it out alone, you know.”
Amy’s eyes met his, searching for some reassurance. “I appreciate that,” she said quietly. “But for now, just… don’t say anything.”
Glenn hesitated, then nodded. “All right. But you should tell him soon.”
Amy swallowed, offering a tight, uncertain nod before turning away, walking back toward the tent, her mind racing.
Across the camp Lori approached Rick, her expression laced with concern. “Something wrong?” she asked.
Rick exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just had a long talk with Shane,” he muttered. “He wants to call off the search.”
Lori frowned. “What do you think?”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “What if it was Carl?” he asked. “Would you want us to keep looking?”
“If it was Carl, yes,” Lori said without hesitation. “I’d want to know one way or another.”
Rick nodded, his gaze drifting to the ground. “Shane says my good intentions are making us weaker—that I can’t make the hard decisions for the good of the group.”
“They’re all hard decisions,” Lori said softly.
Rick sighed. “Maybe I’m holding on to a way of thinking that doesn’t make sense anymore.”
“He says it’s math. Basic survival. How much fuel, how much food, how much ammo.” Rick shook his head. “Not much room in that equation for being soft.”
Lori stepped closer. “It’s pretty simple when you start thinking of life like that,” she admitted. “But hey.” She placed a hand on Rick’s arm. “None of us were prepared to be living life this way.”
Rick’s eyes flickered toward hers, searching for reassurance.
“You are making the best decisions you can with the information you have,” Lori continued. “I don’t see soft in that.”
Rick’s lips pressed together, but before he could respond, a voice broke through the moment.
“Mr. Grimes.”
Rick turned to see Jimmy standing nearby. “Hershel wants to talk to you,” the young man said.
Rick straightened, exchanging a glance with Lori before nodding. “All right,” he said, his expression firm. “Let’s go.”
He gave Lori’s hand a brief squeeze before following Jimmy toward the farmhouse, bracing himself for whatever conversation awaited him next.
Hershel stood on the porch, arms crossed as Rick approached. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the tension behind his words.
“One of my horses is missing,” Hershel said evenly. “Did one of your people take it?”
“I was given the impression you knew about that,”Rick replied.
“I did not,”
“I’ll have a word with Daryl.”
Hershel nodded but didn’t let it go. “And Jimmy?” he pressed.
Rick frowned. “What about him?”
“You took him out today,” Hershel said, shifting his weight. “Did he also give you the impression of my consent?”
Rick hesitated for a moment before answering. “No, he said it outright,” he admitted. “I took the boy at his word.”
Hershel’s jaw tightened. “Jimmy is seventeen,” he said. “He’s not my kin, but I am responsible for him. These things need to be cleared with me.”
Rick sighed, rubbing his temple. “Sounds like we need to work on our communication.”“What do you suggest?”
Hershel straightened. “Keep it simple,” he said. “I’ll control my people. You control yours.”
Woods
Daryl lay sprawled near the riverbank, his breaths shallow and ragged as the pain from the arrow in his side pulsed through him. The world around him blurred, the edges of reality twisting as exhaustion and blood loss took hold.
A voice cut through the haze, sharp and familiar. “Well, look at you,” it drawled. “Flat on your back like some damn fool.”
Daryl blinked, his vision swimming as he turned his head. Merle was kneeling beside him, a smirk plastered across his face, his rough hands gesturing toward the arrow. “Pull it out,” Merle said casually. “It’ll heal better.”
“Merle?” Daryl croaked, his voice barely audible. “What the hell—?”
Merle tilted his head, his grin widening. “What’s goin’ on here, little brother?” he asked, his tone mocking. “You havin’ yourself a shitty day?”
Daryl groaned, his head falling back against the dirt. “Shitty don’t even cover it,” he muttered.
Merle chuckled darkly, leaning closer. “Aw, poor baby. You want a pillow? Maybe I should rub your feet while I’m at it.”
Daryl scoffed, his lips curling into a faint sneer. “Screw you,” he spat.
“Seems like you’re the one that’s screwed, little brother,” Merle drawled. “All those years I tried to make a man outta you, and here you are. Lying in the dirt like a used rubber.”
Daryl clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching against the jacket wrapped around him.
“You’re gonna die out here, brother,” Merle continued, his grin widening. “And for what?”
“A teenager. They lost a teenager.”
“So what, you got a thing for teenagers now?”
“Shut up,” Daryl muttered, his voice strained.
Merle leaned closer, his smirk turning cruel. “’Cause I noticed you ain’t out looking for old Merle no more,” he said. “Tried like hell to find you, bro.”
Daryl’s eyes narrowed,. “Like hell you did,” he snapped. “You split, man. Lit out first chance you got.”
Merle’s laughter echoed in Daryl’s ears, grating and relentless. “You lit out,” Merle shot back. “All you had to do was wait.”
Daryl shook his head, his grip tightening on the crossbow. “We went back for you,” he said, his voice rising. “Rick and I—we did right by you.”
Merle’s expression darkened, his smirk fading into something colder. “This the same Rick that cuffed me to the rooftop in the first place?” he asked, his voice low and biting. “Forced me to cut off my own hand? This him we’re talking about here?”
“What’s the matter, little brother?” Merle drawled. “You his little bitch now? You’re nothing but a freak to them. Redneck trash. That’s all you are.”
Daryl groaned, his fingers twitching against the dirt, but Merle wasn’t done.
“They’re laughing at you behind your back,” Merle continued. “You know that, don’t you? I got a little news for you, son. One day, they gonna scrape you off their heels like you was dogshit.”
Daryl clenched his jaw, his breath shallow as Merle leaned closer, his grin widening. “Hey. They ain’t your kin, your blood. Hell, you had any damn nuts in that sack of yours, you’d go back there and shoot your pal Rick in the face for me.”
“Now you listen to me,” Merle said, his voice low and venomous. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother. Nobody ever will.”
“Come on,” Merle snapped. “Get up on your feet before I have to kick your teeth in.”
Merle’s movements were jerky, unnatural, his teeth snapping inches from Daryl’s boots. The realization hit him hard—Merle wasn’t real. He was a walker.
“Damn it!” Daryl growled, kicking out with his legs to knock the walker away. It stumbled back, giving him just enough time to scramble for his crossbow. His fingers fumbled as the walker lunged again, forcing him into a desperate wrestling match.
Daryl gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength he had left to overpower the creature. With a guttural yell, he slammed its head into the ground, the sickening crunch of bone signaling the end of the fight. He didn’t hesitate, crushing its skull with the heel of his boot to ensure it wouldn’t rise again.
Panting heavily, Daryl glanced down at the arrow still embedded in his side. He winced, gripping it tightly before yanking it free with a sharp, agonizing pull. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage he’d tied around his wound, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the pain.
He loaded the bolt into his crossbow. The sound of shuffling footsteps reached his ears, and he turned to see another walker advancing toward him.
Daryl raised the crossbow, steadying his aim despite the tremor in his hands. With a deep breath, he fired, the bolt piercing the walker’s skull. It crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Daryl staggered to his feet, his body screaming in protest. He glanced around, the adrenaline still coursing through him as he prepared for whatever might come next.
Daryl gritted his teeth, pulling Travis’s jacket tightly around his shoulders as he steadied himself at the base of the hill. His body ached, his side burned, but he wasn’t going to lay there and die—not for some damn snake, not for a runaway horse, and sure as hell not because of whatever was messing with his head.
He muttered under his breath, slicing the ears off the walkers he’d put down, threading them onto a rough cord. “Damn right, Merle,” he growled, knotting the trophy together. “Maybe you were right.”
The crows circled overhead, their sharp cries echoing through the trees as he started his climb, fingers grasping at dirt and stone, every pull sending a fresh wave of fire through his ribs.
Then the voice returned, smug and sharp as ever.
“Don’t feed the birds, Darylina.”
Daryl froze, his breath hitching as Not-Merle crouched on a rock ahead, grinning like he was watching some kind of twisted joke unfold.
“That all you got in you?” the apparition sneered.
Daryl narrowed his eyes, swallowing down the exhaustion clawing at his throat. “I liked you better when you was missing,” he muttered.
Merle laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t be like that,” he said. “I’m on your side.”
Daryl scoffed, pushing himself further up the incline. “Since when?”
Merle leaned in like he was sharing some grand secret. “Since you was born,” he smirked. “Someone had to watch over your worthless hide.”
Daryl’s grip tightened against the rocky surface. “You never took care of me,” he snapped. “Just talked a big game.”
Merle chuckled, tapping his own chest. “I’m as real as your damn Chupacabra,” he taunted.
Daryl scowled. “I know what I saw.”
Merle smirked, tilting his head. “Yeah? Bet Officer Friendly’s oldest boy believes you, too.”
Daryl glanced upward, face tightening as Merle continued. “You saw the way that kid looked at you,” he said. “All the others doubting you, but him? Hah. He’s got more sense than the rest of ’em.”
Daryl grit his teeth. “Shut up.”
Merle leaned forward, grin stretching wider. “What you gonna do if I don’t?” he mocked. “You comin’ up here to shut my mouth? You man enough for that?”
Daryl pushed onward, ignoring the taunts, ignoring the exhaustion. The hallucination kept throwing barbs, laughter ringing through the trees, but as he neared the top, Merle’s figure flickered.
And then, just like that, he was gone.
Farm
Hershel moved through the house, stopping as he took in the scene unfolding in the kitchen. Lori, Carol, Donna, and Katjaa were gathered around, working alongside Patricia as the scent of cooking filled the air.
He turned, catching sight of Maggie passing through the hallway. “What’s going on here?” he asked, gesturing toward the kitchen.
Maggie barely spared him a glance. “They’re making dinner for us tonight,” she said simply.
Hershel frowned. “First I’m hearing of it.”
Maggie shrugged. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. They wanted to thank us.”
Hershel exhaled, crossing his arms. “They’re getting comfortable,” he said. “We need to set boundaries.”
Maggie sighed, shaking her head. “It’s just dinner.”
Hershel’s gaze didn’t soften. “What’s going on between you and the Asian boy?”
Maggie’s expression tensed slightly. “His name is Glenn,” she corrected. “And he’s a friend.”
Hershel frowned. “I’d rather he wasn’t,” he muttered. “Bad enough I have to chase Beth and Jimmy around.”
Maggie scoffed. “I’m not sixteen, Dad.”
“No,” Hershel said evenly. “But I count on you being the mature one. And you know how I feel.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “I am too old for this conversation.”
Hershel’s face hardened. “Don’t get close to them,” he warned. “They won’t be here forever.”
Maggie held his gaze for a long moment before shaking her head, moving past him without another word.
Camp
Dale walked to the RV, spotting Andrea perched with her rifle, scanning the horizon. He approached cautiously, hands in his pockets, his tone light but curious. “What’s with the Annie Oakley routine?” he asked.
Andrea didn’t look away from her scope. “I don’t want to wash clothes anymore,” she said bluntly. “I want to keep the group safe. Is that all right with you?”
Dale raised his eyebrows, taken aback by her directness. “Fair enough,” he said, nodding slightly. He lingered for a moment before heading into the RV.
Inside the RV, Glenn was waiting, holding one of Dale’s books in his hands. “Hey,” Glenn said, lifting the book slightly. “I’m here to return this.”
Dale chuckled, shaking his head. “If I knew the world was going to end, I’d have bought better books.”
Glenn grinned, but his expression shifted as he glanced toward the roof. “Is Andrea on her period?” he asked suddenly.
Dale froze, holding up his hand as if to stop Glenn mid-thought. “Don’t,” he said firmly.
Glenn shrugged, his tone casual. “I’m only asking ’cause it’s like all the women are acting really weird. And I read somewhere that when women spend a lot of time together, their cycles line up and they all get super crazy hormonal at the same time.”
Dale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Keep that theory to yourself,” he muttered,
Dale leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he studied Glenn. “Who else is acting weird?” he asked.
Glenn hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Maggie,” he admitted. “First she was mean to me, then she wanted to have sex with me, and now she’s mean again.”
Dale raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “And?”
Glenn shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Dale’s gaze. “And there’s the thing with Amy,” he muttered.
Dale straightened, his expression sharpening. “What’s going on with Amy?” he demanded.
Glenn sighed, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs. Dale’s hard glare bore into him, and Glenn finally looked away, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “She’s pregnant,” he said. “It’s Harry’s. And She hasn’t told him yet.”
Dale’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he processed the information. He exhaled slowly, his gaze steady on Glenn “You keep this to yourself, understand?”
Glenn nodded quickly, his face pale. “Yeah. Got it.”
Andrea’s voice cut through the air
“Walker. Walker!” she called, her rifle raised, eyes locked on the figure emerging from the trees.
Shane squinted toward the woods. “Just the one?” he muttered.
Andrea exhaled, gripping her rifle tighter. “I bet I can nail it from here.”
“No, no, Andrea.” Shane said “Put the gun down. You best let us handle this.”
Shane huffed, already stepping forward, his grip tightening on his own weapon. “Hold up,” Rick warned, glancing toward him. “Hershel wants to deal with walkers.”
“What for, man?” Shane asked, exasperation clear. “We got it covered.”
Rick cursed.
“Kenny, Harry, Glenn, T-Dog, with me!” Rick ordered.
The group surged forward, feet pounding against the earth, weapons ready. Andrea lowered herself, pressing her eye to the scope despite Dale’s warning, steadying her breath.
Rick slowed as they neared, uncertainty creeping in. The figure stumbled forward, its movements sluggish and uneven.
Glenn’s voice rang out, hesitant, but urgent. “Is that Daryl?”
Rick raised his revolver, his finger hovering over the trigger.
“That’s the third time you’ve pointed that thing at my head,” Daryl rasped, his voice rough “You gonna pull the trigger or what?”
The sharp crack of the rifle echoed across the field, and the bullet whizzed past Daryl’s head, grazing him as he crumpled to the ground. Rick’s voice broke through the chaos, raw and panicked.
“No! No! No!” he shouted, rushing forward.
Rick dropped to his knees beside Daryl, his movements frantic as he checked for signs of life. Shane and T-Dog followed close behind, their expressions tense as they crouched beside him.
“Oh my God,” Glenn whispered. “Is he—?”
“Unconscious,” Shane muttered. “She just grazed him.”
Glenn moved closer, grimacing as he caught sight of Daryl’s battered form. “Look at him,” he murmured. “What the hell happened?”
Rick pressed his fingers to the wound, his expression grim.
Hershel and several others ran to the camp "What's going on out here?"
Daryl groaned, barely coherent. "I was kidding," he muttered, his voice weak.
Shane and Rick hoisted him up, guiding his weight between them as they started back toward the house.
Then Glenn inhaled sharply, his gaze locking on Daryl’s chest.
“He’s wearing ears,” he hissed.
Without hesitation, Rick tore it off, “Keep this to yourselves,” he muttered, his voice low. “No one needs to know about this.”
T-Dog stepped closer, holding up the jacket Daryl had been clutching. “Is this Travis’s?” he asked.
Later, Farmhouse
Hershel worked carefully, his hands steady as he patched up Daryl’s wounds. The dim light of the room flickered slightly as Daryl winced, his body still wrecked from the ordeal. He muttered through gritted teeth as he explained what had happened—the fall, the hallucinations, the walkers, the arrow lodged in his side. Rick stood nearby, arms crossed, listening intently.
Rick exhaled sharply. “How’s he doing?” he asked, his voice tense.
Hershel shook his head, wiping his hands clean. “I had no idea I’d go through all the antibiotics this quickly,” he admitted. “It’s a miracle you all survive out there at all.”
Rick nodded, running a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping into his posture. Daryl let out a weak chuckle, though his tone was dry. “Guess I’m just lucky,” he muttered.
Rick and Shane exchanged a look before silently stepping out of the room. As soon as the door shut behind them, Shane turned to Rick, shaking his head.
“Hershel’s right,” Shane said bluntly. “We don’t need to be out there anymore.”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “You really think that?” he demanded. “Daryl just brought back our best evidence.”
“All I saw,” Shane countered, “was Daryl almost dying for a damn jacket.”
Rick’s breath hitched, frustration flickering across his face. Without another word, he turned and pushed through the front door, stepping out into the cooling evening air.
Later
The night was quiet, the soft hum of conversation fading as dinner wound down. Glenn moved through the field, his curiosity pulling him toward the barn, Maggie telling him to find a place they could have sex together without anyone seeing him. He reached the ladder, gripping the worn wood tightly as he climbed. The scent hit him first—heavy, rancid, unmistakable. Wrinkling his nose, he swallowed hard and pressed forward, peering down into the barn.
His breath hitched.
Walkers.
Herded together, their movements slow but restless, the guttural growls filling the dark space below him.
His body tensed, panic seizing him as he instinctively started backing down the ladder, ready to bolt.
Then a voice—urgent, breathless.
“Glenn!”
Maggie.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” she said, her voice low.
Camp
Amy hesitated at the entrance of the tent, her fingers clutching the fabric as she crouched down and crawled inside. The lantern cast a faint glow over the space, illuminating Harry’s face as he sat cross-legged, absently turning a stick in his hands. His gaze lifted as she entered, his expression immediately shifting to curiosity.
“What’s up?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
She swallowed hard, settling beside him, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. The weight of the moment pressed against her chest, making it harder to breathe. She hadn’t planned how to say it—hadn’t rehearsed—but there was no avoiding it now.
“I need to tell you something,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry’s expression shifted, concern creeping in. He set the stick aside, leaning slightly toward her. “What is it?”
Amy drew in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before finally speaking the words aloud.
“I’m pregnant.”