Secrets
The morning sun spilled over the farmhouse, casting a warm glow over the yard as Carl stepped outside, his movements still a little stiff but determined. It was his first real morning out of the house since he’d been given the all-clear, and he was itching to stretch his legs.
Lori stood near the chicken coop, Clementine beside her, both tossing feed into the dirt as the birds clucked hungrily around their feet. Carl joined them, grabbing a handful of seeds and scattering them like he’d seen his mother do.
Lori glanced at him, her brows furrowed slightly. “Don’t look so worried,” Carl said, catching her expression.
“It’s my job,” Lori replied simply, shaking her head as she tossed another handful of feed.
Carl scoffed. “It’s not,” he said. “You were a housewife.”
Lori narrowed her eyes at him before scooping up a handful of seeds and tossing them straight at his chest. Carl yelped as they scattered across his shirt, brushing them off quickly.
“You see my house around here punk?” Lori teased, smirking.
Carl grinned, shaking his head
Clementine giggled, watching the exchange as she carefully scattered her own feed for the chickens.
Carl wiped his hands off on his jeans before glancing toward the tents. “Do you think Harry and Amy are acting weird?” he asked suddenly.
Lori paused, turning toward him. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Carl shrugged, looking thoughtful. “Harry doesn’t want to leave Amy’s side now,” he said. “Even though she seems kind of annoyed at that.”
Lori studied him for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the tents before returning to her son. “Well,” she said slowly, “things are different now.”
Carl watched the tiny chicks pecking at the dirt, their soft chirps barely audible over the rustling of the coop. He frowned, tilting his head. “They don’t have a mother,” he muttered.
Lori glanced over at him, tossing another handful of feed. “She’s probably elsewhere,” she said.
Carl shook his head. “She probably got eaten,” he said bluntly “Everything’s food for something else.”
Lori paused, studying him for a moment before sighing.
Carl scrunched up his nose suddenly, waving a hand in front of his face. “The chicken coop smells nasty,” he complained.
Clementine giggled beside him. “Like shit, right, Mark?” she chirped as Mark walked past them.
Mark froze, his eyes going wide like a deer caught in headlights. He glanced at Lori, who was already shooting him a disapproving look.
Clearing his throat, he gave Clementine a weak smile. “Uh… don’t swear,” he said quickly before hurrying off, clearly eager to escape Lori’s gaze.
Across the camp, Amy huffed as she lifted the pile of laundry, her eyes narrowing at Harry. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing stuff,” she snapped, adjusting her grip on the bundle in her arms.
Harry raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. “I get it.”
She walked off, her posture stiff with frustration. He watched her go, exhaling a slow, tired breath as he ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. His thoughts drifted, tangled up in memories he rarely let himself revisit.
Kids.
He hadn’t even considered them in this world.
Back in his old life, he and Ginny had planned for them. Talked about names, imagined futures. Before everything fell apart—before the Voldemort-wannabe rose to power, before war tore through the still recovering of the wizarding world.
And then she died.
Ron, Hermione, George, Ginny—all gone on a mission gone wrong. A spy among their ranks. The same spy Harry had personally killed.
The rest of the Weasleys were never the same after that. Neither was he.
Harry sighed, shaking off the weight of old ghosts as he turned away, heading toward the edge of the field. He didn’t notice Dale watching him from the trees, his expression unreadable as he observed him walk away.
Maggie crossed her arms, glaring at Glenn as he observed the barn through binoculars “Could you be more obvious?” she snapped.
Glenn tore his gaze away from the barn, looking at her like he’d just been caught red-handed. “What?” he protested weakly.
Maggie huffed and shoved an apple into his hands. “Here. Enjoy.”
Glenn looked down at the fruit, then back up at her, his brow furrowing. “Are you trying to buy my silence with fruit?” he asked incredulously.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “There’s jerky too.”
Glenn scoffed, tossing the apple back and forth in his hands before looking toward the barn again. His voice dropped into a more serious tone. “Why does your dad have a barn full of walkers?” he asked. “It’s creepy. You know that, right?”
Maggie’s face tensed, and she quickly reached out, grabbing his wrist in an attempt to hush him. “Just trust me,” she said urgently.
Glenn shook his head. “I suck at lying,” he muttered. “That’s why I don’t play poker.”
Maggie sighed, glancing around before meeting his gaze. “Keep it to yourself,” she pleaded.
Glenn approached Dale, holding out a small basket with a few peaches nestled inside. “Thought you might want some,” he said, offering a faint smile.
Dale glanced down, his brows raising slightly before nodding. “Well, thank you, Glenn,” he said, taking one and giving it an appreciative look. “Peaches aren’t exactly common these days.”
Glenn chuckled nervously. “Yeah, figured I’d share.”
Andrea stepped up beside Dale, giving Glenn a quick greeting. “Hey,” she said with a small smile.
Glenn nodded back. “Hey.”
Just as he turned to leave, T-Dog strolled past, shooting him a casual nod. “‘Sup?” he said.
Glenn stiffened slightly. “Nothing,” he mumbled quickly before practically bolting away.
T-Dog frowned, watching him walk off with a perplexed expression. “What’s up with him?” he muttered to himself.
Andrea approached Daryl’s tent, the book tucked under her arm as she hesitated at the entrance. She cleared her throat softly, stepping inside. Daryl was lying back, his face pale but his eyes sharp as they flicked toward her.
“Brought you something,” Andrea said, holding out the book.
Daryl raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “There pictures in it?” he asked dryly.
Andrea smirked, shaking her head. “Nope. You’ll have to use your imagination.”
Daryl grunted, shifting slightly as he took the book. “Figures.”
Andrea’s expression softened, her voice dropping. “I feel like shit,” she admitted.
Daryl glanced at her, his gaze steady. “So do I,” he muttered.
Andrea sighed, rubbing her hands together nervously. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know how to make it up to you.”
Daryl waved her off, his tone gruff but not unkind. “You were tryin’ to protect the group,” he said. “Ain’t nothin’ to forgive.”
Andrea hesitated, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks,” she murmured.
Daryl’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “But next time you shoot me,” he added, his voice low, “you better hope I’m dead.”
Andrea chuckled softly, shaking her head as she turned to leave. She stepped out of the tent, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
Glenn found Amy sitting near the tents, absentmindedly twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. He approached cautiously, hands tucked into his pockets. “How’d Harry take the news?” he asked.
Amy let out an exasperated huff. “Too well,” she muttered. “Won’t go five feet from me now. Keeps looking all anxious every time I try to lift something heavier than a spoon.”
Glenn smirked, shaking his head. “Well, he’s freaked out. Can’t blame him,” he said. “You need medicine. A nice pillow. Vitamins.”
Amy rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. Glenn, ever eager to help, reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle of his own rations, holding them out to her. “Here, take some,” he insisted.
Amy shook her head quickly. “No. I’m fine.”
Glenn sighed, pushing the food toward her again. “You need to eat,” he said. “You’re too skinny.”
Amy gave him a look, unimpressed, but Glenn wasn’t backing down. “If you tell me what you need,” he said firmly, “I’ll run into town and get more supplies.”
Amy hesitated, her fingers brushing over the edge of the rations before pulling away. She didn’t want to be treated like she was fragile,
Amy sighed, crossing her arms as she looked at Glenn. “Just… be quiet about this for now, okay?” she said
Glenn nodded reluctantly, running a hand over his face. Before he could say anything else, Shane’s voice rang out across the yard. “Hey, Peach Man!” he called.
Glenn groaned inwardly, sighed, and trudged toward Shane, Rick, and Harry, who were gathered near a car. Rick had his eyes on a farmhouse in the distance, pointing toward it. “Maybe Travis lost his jacket here,” he said. “And the current brought it downstream.”
Shane squinted at the road leading north. “You think he went that way?” he asked.
Rick turned to Jimmy. “What’s out that way?”
Jimmy scratched the back of his head. “Housing development,” he answered.
Rick nodded and turned back to Shane. “Search there,” he ordered. “And take backup. After what happened to Daryl, I don’t want anyone going alone.”
Shane exhaled and ran a hand through his buzzed hair. “Fine. I’ll pick someone at the practice range.”
Glenn finally reached them, holding out a handful of peaches. As he handed them over, his gaze flickered toward Harry, then back to Amy near the tents. The exchange didn’t go unnoticed.
Shane raised an eyebrow and turned to Glenn. “Hand me the binoculars,” he muttered.
As Glenn gave him the binoculars, Patricia and Beth approached, looking eager. “Can we join you at the gun range?” Beth asked.
Rick sighed. “Hershel made it clear I can’t involve you without his say-so.”
Beth frowned. “He didn’t like it, but he gave permission.”
Patricia nodded. “Otis was the only one who really knew guns, but Hershel’s got him running around too much to add gun training to the list.”
Rick exhaled, rubbing his temple. “I’ll ask Hershel myself,” he said.
Shane shifted, scanning the area, his eyes landing on Carl by the fence—sharpening a stick with a knife.
Shane walked over, hands on his hips. “What’s going on here, kid?” he asked.
Carl barely looked up. “Can you teach me how to shoot?” he asked, voice steady.
Shane let out a short chuckle. “Yeah?”
Carl shrugged. “I know you taught Harry when he was my age.”
Shane smirked but shook his head. “That was different. And like I said, it’s up to your parents.”
Carl met his gaze, determined. “Then ask them for me. They’ll listen to you.”
Shane exhaled, shaking his head as he began to walk away. “Nice try, kid—” he started, but froze when Carl held something up.
A revolver.
Shane’s eyes widened as he quickly stepped forward, yanking the gun from Carl’s grip. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered, standing upright, his jaw tight as he turned toward camp.
Without another word, Shane grabbed Carl’s arm and marched him straight to Rick and Lori.
Lori spotted them first, her face twisting with concern. “What the hell is going on?” she asked.
Shane held up the revolver. “Your kid here decided he wanted to start carrying.”
Lori gasped, turning to Carl. “How did this happen?”
Dale cleared his throat from nearby, guilt creeping into his expression. “I let him into the RV,” he admitted. “He said he was grabbing a walkie and you sent him for one.”
Rick rubbed his forehead as Lori’s expression turnedangry. “You lied,” she muttered, staring hard at Carl.
Carl looked away, arms crossed.
Shane sighed, dropping the revolver onto the nearby table. “He wants to learn how to shoot,” he explained, cutting through the tension. “Asked me to teach him. But that’s your call.”
Lori shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with it.”
Rick and Shane exchanged a look, reading each other before Lori continued. “I’m not unreasonable,” she clarified. “He was just shot. Now he’s back on his feet, and suddenly he wants a gun.”
Rick folded his arms. “It’s better than him being afraid of them,” he said. “There’s guns in this camp for a reason.”
Shane exhaled. “Hell, Harry was younger than Carl when I taught him.”
Lori’s sharp gaze flicked to him. “And I wasn’t happy about that either.”
Lori crossed her arms, her expression firm as she shook her head. "I don’t want Carl walking around with a gun," she said.
Carl clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up. "Harry has one!"
"Zip it," Lori snapped. "Harry’s an adult."
She turned to Rick and Shane, her voice tight with lingering resentment. "I’m still pissed you gave Harry a gun when he was fifteen."
Rick exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Carl needs to learn to protect himself."
"He’s safe in camp," Lori argued. "And I get it—it makes sense. But it feels wrong." She sighed, her voice softer now. "I just don’t feel right letting him go off with you two."
Rick met her gaze, his tone patient but unwavering. "He’s growing up, Lori, thank God. We need to treat him like he is."
Lori’s lips pressed into a thin line before she snapped, "He’s not mature enough for a gun."
"I’m not gonna play with it," Carl shot back. "I just wanna help look for Travis. Protect the camp."
Rick glanced at Shane. "You’re the best instructor we’ve got. You taught Harry. You taught other kids younger than Carl."
Lori exhaled sharply, conflicted, before finally giving in. She cupped Carl’s chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You take this seriously," she warned, her voice firm but full of worry.
Carl nodded. "I will."
Rick set a hand on his shoulder. "He won’t let you down," he assured her.
Shane watched the exchange before turning to Harry. "You coming?"
Harry shook his head, arms crossed. "I’ll stay back. Look after the camp."
Amy shot him a glare before turning on her heel and walking off, the tension palpable. Shane’s eyes flicked between his godson and Amy before he exhaled and shut the car door behind him.
Nearby, Glenn lifted a small bundle of tools. "Dale’s gonna teach me spark plugs," he announced.
Dale wiped his hands on a rag, glancing at Glenn with narrowed eyes.
“What’s going on with you?” Dale asked.
Glenn hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re old,” he muttered.
Dale raised an eyebrow. “Oh, thanks.”
Glenn sighed. “You know things.”
Dale’s expression remained unreadable. “And?”
Glenn exhaled sharply, glancing toward the barn before looking back at Dale. “Did someone ever tell you something—something big—that people needed to know?”
Dale straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. “Spit it out, Glenn,” he said, patience thinning.
Glenn inhaled deeply, as if preparing himself for the fallout. “The barn,” he said, voice low. “It’s full of walkers.”
Shane leaned against the fence, arms crossed as he watched the group practice. His eyes narrowed as Jimmy tilted his Glock sideways, trying to look cool. T-Dog caught it immediately, shaking his head. “Hey, stop that gangster shit,” he called out. “You’re not in a movie.”
Jimmy straightened the gun, looking sheepish. “Got it,” he muttered.
Nearby, Kenny was helping Katjaa adjust her grip on her pistol. “You know,” Kenny began, his voice carrying, “did I ever tell y’all about the time I had to wrestle a great white that got on my fishing boat? Out at sea, just me and the beast.”
Katjaa shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “No, Kenny,” she said dryly, “but I’m sure you’re about to.”
Shane smirked, glancing over. “A walker’s a little different from a shark, Kenny,” he said.
Andrea, a few feet away, lined up her shot. Shane turned his attention to her, his tone encouraging. “Don’t miss,” he said.
Andrea didn’t even flinch. “I don’t miss,” she replied confidently, pulling the trigger. The can she’d aimed at toppled over, a clean hit.
Rick nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re ready for advanced classes,” he said.
Andrea smirked, lowering her weapon as she turned to Shane. “Think you could give me private lessons?” she teased him. “You know, with no one around?”
Shane raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Careful what you wish for,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.
Rick rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned back to the group.
Camp
Dale stepped into the stable, he spotted Hershel tending to one of the horses. Nervous Nelly—the mare Daryl had taken out yesterday. Dale watched as Hershel ran a calming hand over her flank, murmuring something soft under his breath.
“She was in her stall this morning,” Hershel said, not looking up.
Dale exhaled, taking a slow step forward, letting his gaze drift toward the vast fields beyond the stable. “You’ve got beautiful land,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Took a walk this morning—ended up near the barn.”
Hershel’s hand paused for a fraction of a second before resuming its slow strokes down Nelly’s side.
Dale pressed on. “Heard moans,” he said carefully.
Hershel sighed, finally turning to face him. His expression was tired, weary. “It’s unfortunate,” he admitted.
Dale tilted his head, studying him. “I’m sure you have a reason for keeping it secret.”
Hershel’s lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. “I saw the broadcasts,” he said, voice low. “Before everything collapsed, the fear, the atrocities. Like the incident at the well.”
Dale frowned slightly. “We killed a walker,” he stated.
Hershel’s eyes darkened. “You killed a man,” he snapped.
Dale met Hershel’s gaze “If you saw the broadcasts I did,” he said evenly, “then you saw the walkers attack. You saw them kill. You know they’re dangerous.”
“A paranoid schizophrenic is dangerous too,” Hershel said. “But we don’t kill sick people.”
Dale exhaled, his gaze fixed on Hershel. “You’ve been cut off from the rest of the world,” he said, “I’ve seen people I cared about die—and come back. Walkers aren’t people anymore.”
Hershel’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “My wife,” he said firmly. “My stepson. My sons. My daughters. They’re in that barn. And they are people.”
Dale’s breath hitched, the weight of Hershel’s words sinking in. “I’m sorry,” he said softly “Let me help. I’ll talk to Rick. We’ll keep the barn secure and safe.”
Hershel shook his head slightly. “It’s secure,” he said, his tone clipped. “Just keep it to yourself.”
He paused, his gaze sharp as he studied Dale. “Are you sure everyone in your group is a good person?” he asked.
Lori approached Hershel as the late afternoon light stretched across the fields. He stood in the field, fixing a fence, watching the camp settle into its rhythm. Her gaze flicked toward Carl, who stood near Harry, soaking in his brother’s words.
Hershel nodded slightly, glancing back at Lori. “I take it your youngest did well?” he asked.
Lori followed his gaze, watching as Harry patted Carl’s back, speaking in low tones. “Didn’t do bad,” she admitted.
Hershel hummed, his expression thoughtful. “Be grateful you don’t have a daughter,” he said. “It wouldn’t be as simple as just wanting to shoot.”
Lori sighed, nodding slightly. “I am grateful,” she said. “For you helping us. Helping Carl. We’ll earn our keep.”
Hershel pursed his lips, glancing toward the barn before back at her. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice carrying a subtle weight. “Once you find your missing teen, you’ll be on your way.”
He paused, watching her carefully. “Fort Benning, I heard.”
Lori stared at him for a second before walking away.
Shooting Range
Andrea steadied her aim, her jaw tight as she focused on the moving log. The shot rang out, but the log remained untouched. Shane, watching from the side, shook his head. “Not a scratch,” he muttered.
Andrea lowered her weapon, frustration flickering across her face. “It’s too small,” she argued.
“That’s crap,” Shane shot back. “You were nailing bullseyes an hour ago.”
Andrea exhaled sharply. “They weren’t moving.”
Shane stepped closer “You think a walker’s gonna hold still for you?” he asked. “Focus. Reload. Go again.”
Andrea gritted her teeth, reloading as she aimed at the tree. Shane smirked, his voice teasing. “Uh-oh, did I piss you off?” he said. “Come on, girl, you’ve got walkers all around you. They’re in the woods. They’re in the RV. You’re gonna need more than a damn screwdriver.”
“Stop badgering me,” Andrea snapped, her voice tight with irritation.
Shane’s expression hardened, his tone shifting. “You’re too damn emotional,” he retorted. “You need to shut it down. Take all that guilt, take that fear, that being pissed off—take it out.”
Andrea’s grip tightened on her weapon as she glared at him. “You’re so calm,” she shot back.
Shane raised his own weapon, firing at the log and hitting the bullseye “Right,” he said, his voice steady.
He turned to her “See that? I can be pissed off. I could be whistling ‘Dixie,’ and I’ll always hit the target. But you—you shoot like you’re pointing your finger. Don’t think about it. Muscle memory, girl. Muscle memory.”
Andrea’s breath hitched as Shane’s voice grew more intense. “Now go on,” he urged. “Shoot that son of a bitch. He’s coming for you. He’s ten feet away. He’s nine. He’s five. Right there—that’s the walker that almost got Amy. Now shoot him.”
Andrea hesitated, her emotions swirling as she stared at the log. The weight of Shane’s words pressed down on her, and she lowered her weapon, walking away without a word.
Shane rubbed his head, sighing as he watched her retreat.
Camp
Lori approached Rick, her expression already tense. “Does Hershel expect us to leave?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Rick hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.
Lori narrowed her eyes. “Does anyone else know?”
Rick shook his head. “No.”
“Were you going to tell me?” she pressed.
Rick sighed, nodding. “Yeah. I was. Don’t worry about it.”
Lori scoffed, her voice dropping into a sharp whisper. “Don’t worry? Rick, we have shelter here. Food, water, medicine.”
Rick exhaled. “I’ll talk to Hershel.”
Lori shook her head. “No, we need to fix this. People will be devastated if we have to leave.”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “I’m working on it, alright? Give Hershel some space.”
Lori studied him for a long moment before speaking again, her voice low but pointed. “Don’t look at me like that,” Rick muttered, catching the way she was staring at him. “Like you don’t trust me to keep us safe.”
Lori’s expression hardened. “I don’t understand how you could keep this from me,” she snapped. “Carl is barely on his feet. Travis is still missing. Daryl and T-Dog are hurt. We can’t leave like this.”
Rick exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t want to leave,” he said, his tone quieter now. “But if we have to, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and our boys are safe. We’ll get by.”
Lori studied him for a moment longer, her breath steadying before she finally nodded. “Okay,” she murmured.
Road
Andrea walked down the road, her boots kicking up small clouds of dirt with each step. The sound of an engine interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Shane’s truck pulling up beside her.
“Need a lift?” Shane called out, leaning out the window.
Andrea didn’t break stride. “My feet work just fine,” she replied curtly.
Shane sighed, pulling ahead and stopping directly in her path. “I was just trying to keep you rattled,” he said, his tone softer now. “Give you an idea of what it’s like when things go bad.”
Andrea stopped, narrowing her eyes at him. “Is that supposed to be an apology?” she asked.
Shane shrugged, his expression unapologetic. “I crossed a line,” he admitted.
Andrea scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re a dick.”
Shane smirked faintly. “Fair enough,” he said. “But I’ve got a lead on Travis. Thought you might want to help me check it out.”
Andrea hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the horizon before settling back on Shane. “Fine,” she muttered reluctantly, stepping toward the truck.
Camp
Dale handed out food to the group, the scent of sizzling meat wafting through the air. Amy lingered for only a moment before wrinkling her nose and quickly walking away, pressing a hand over her face.
Dale frowned as he watched her retreat, then set down the supplies and followed her, finding her sitting alone near the tents. He eased down beside her, his expression gentle. “You alright?” he asked.
Amy exhaled slowly, dropping her hand from her face. “Fine,” she muttered. “Just… the smell.”
Dale nodded, leaning back slightly. “My wife was pregnant once,” he said, his voice quiet. “She miscarried. We didn’t try again after that.”
Amy’s face softened, guilt flickering in her expression. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Dale waved off the apology, offering a faint smile. “She loved meat,” he continued. “Couldn’t get enough of it. But when she was pregnant? Couldn’t even be in the house during Thanksgiving until we aired it out for two days.”
Amy let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “That sounds about right,” she muttered.
Dale studied her for a moment before saying, “Glenn told me.”
Amy sighed, rubbing her temple. “I told Harry last night,” she admitted. “That’s why he’s been hovering over me constantly.”
Dale chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
Amy huffed. “It’s driving me crazy.”
She exhaled slowly, staring down at her hands as she twisted a blade of grass between her fingers. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dale sat beside her, quiet, letting her speak.
“I want this baby,” she continued. “Harry wants this baby. But what kind of life would it even have in this world?” Her fingers curled tighter around the grass before she let it go, watching it drift to the ground.
Dale’s gaze softened. “Don’t think like that,” he said gently.
Amy turned to him, exhausted from thoughts she hadn’t been able to escape since last night. “Do you really think my baby will grow to be your age in this world?” she asked. “Do you think they’ll die happy?”
Dale sighed, rubbing his palms over his knees. “I don’t have answers for that,” he admitted. “No one does. But I do know that it’s people like you and Harry—people who still care, who still love—that give this world any chance at all.”
Amy looked away, chewing the inside of her cheek.
Dale continued, his voice steady. “All we can do is try to make whatever future we have better than the present. And if we stop believing in that, then what’s left?”
Amy nodded and got up, approached Glenn near the supply crates "I need you to make a run into town," she said quietly.
Glenn glanced up from where he was reorganizing his pack, his brows knitting together. "For what?" he asked.
Amy sighed, crossing her arms. "Supplies. Medicine. Just… things I need."
Glenn studied her for a moment, then nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. Of course," he said.
Relief flickered across Amy's face, and before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and hugged him. Glenn stiffened slightly at first, then relaxed, patting her shoulder. "I got you," he assured her.
Later, the quiet rhythm of hooves filled the road as Glenn rode beside Maggie, the two of them making their way down the path toward town. The silence stretched between them.
"You gonna talk to me?" Glenn finally asked.
Maggie kept her eyes forward, her jaw tight. "You betrayed my trust," she said bluntly. "Now my dad’s mad at me. So guess what? Your turn."
Glenn sighed, gripping the reins a little tighter. "Hershel thinks they’re sick," he said. "Do you believe that? After what happened at the well?"
Maggie’s grip on the reins tightened slightly. "I don’t know what I saw," she admitted, the hesitation in her voice clear.
They slowed as they neared a clearing, dismounting from their horses. Glenn exhaled, looking at her seriously. "If Hershel saw what happened at the well," he said, "he wouldn’t have a barn full of walkers."
Maggie turned sharply, eyes flashing. "Stop calling them that," she snapped.
Glenn frowned. "What do you call them?"
Maggie inhaled deeply, her shoulders tense. "Mom," she said softly. "Shawn. Arnold. Billy. Lacey. Susie. Rachel. Mr. and Mrs. Fisher. Duncan."
Maggie glanced at Glenn as they walked toward the shelves. "Alright, what do you need?" she asked
Glenn hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… can’t say."
Maggie shot him a sharp look. "One of your people ask you to keep your mouth shut?"
Glenn sighed. "Yeah," he admitted. "Look, just help me search, alright?"
Maggie exhaled hard but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned and walked off, moving through the aisles as they began gathering supplies. The quiet didn’t last long—because the second Maggie reached for a bag of canned goods, a walker lunged out from behind a shelf, grabbing her arm.
She screamed, stumbling backward as she fought to shake it off.
Glenn didn’t hesitate. He bolted forward, raising his weapon, and drove it straight into the walker’s skull. The thing crumpled instantly, its grip loosening as Maggie scrambled away.
She was still catching her breath, heart hammering, when a voice cut through the silence.
“If you keep screaming like that, you’re gonna get your faces chewed off.”
Glenn spun toward the sound, instinctively stepping in front of Maggie as two figures emerged from the backrom—a man and a woman, armed but calm.
The woman studied them for a beat before speaking again. "You gonna be trouble?" she asked. "’Cause if you are, we’ll keep walking."
Glenn tightened his stance. "Define trouble."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Anything that gets us killed or worse."
The man beside her rolled his eyes slightly. "Ease up," he muttered. "Give them a break." He glanced at Glenn, then Maggie. "I’m Omid. This is Christa."
Omid offered a small nod while Christa remained wary.
Maggie turned on her heel and walked away without a word, still rattled. Glenn sighed, rubbing his temple before looking back at the newcomers. "Don’t take it personally," he said. "She just had a scare with a walker."
Omid nodded in understanding before shifting slightly. "You guys have a safe base?" he asked. "If you do, mind if we come with?"
Christa folded her arms. "That depends," she said. "Everyone at your base cool?"
Glenn exhaled, glancing toward Maggie before shrugging slightly. "It’s not up to me."
Omid gave him a small grin. "We can pull our weight."
Christa nodded, her expression unreadable. "And if we don’t like what we see, we’ll leave."
Glenn studied them for a moment, sizing them up.
Couples miles down the road
Shane pulled the truck to a stop at the edge of the neighborhood, cutting the engine as he scanned the row of houses ahead. The place was quiet—too quiet—but the signs of past chaos were everywhere. Doors left ajar, shattered windows, dried blood staining the pavement.
Andrea checked her weapon, adjusting her grip before glancing at Shane. “Where do we start?” she asked.
Shane nodded toward the houses, his expression unreadable. “We go from house to house,” he said. “Start from the back—
Camp
The group rode up to the farm, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the dirt road. Glenn slid off his horse first, adjusting the bag strapped to his shoulder before turning to Maggie.
“I’ll take the stuff to Amy,” he said. “You show Omid and Christa to your dad.”
Maggie huffed, barely sparing him a glance as she marched past. Omid and Christa exchanged a quick glance before following her, both clearly sensing the tension but choosing not to comment.
Hershel stepped out onto the porch just as they approached, his gaze sweeping over the newcomers. His expression remained unreadable.
Maggie stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms. “They want to talk to you,” she said flatly.
Omid offered a small nod “Nice place you got here,” he said.
Christa, ever the more direct of the two, kept her gaze steady on Hershel. “We need a safe spot,” she said simply. “Thought this could be it.”
Hershel studied them both, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Well,” he said slowly, “that depends.”
Hershel studied Omid and Christa for a long moment before gesturing toward the porch. "Sit down," he said simply. "Tell me about yourselves."
The two exchanged a glance before moving toward the wooden steps, settling onto the bench as Hershel took a seat opposite them. Maggie lingered nearby, arms crossed, watching the exchange unfold.
Christa spoke first "We’ve been on the road a long time," she said. "Just looking for a place to rest, maybe put down roots."
Omid nodded, leaning forward slightly. "We pull our weight," he added. "I’ve got some mechanical skills, and Christa’s sharp with logistics."
Hershel listened carefully, his fingers tapping against his knee. "Skills are good," he said. "But that’s not the only thing that matters."
Christa’s eyes narrowed slightly. "So what does?" she asked.
Hershel exhaled, leveling them both with a steady gaze. "Trust," he said. "And whether or not I believe you belong here."
Omid sat forward, hands clasped together. “If pulling our weight is what it takes, we’ll do it,” he said.
Hershel nodded slightly, considering them both. “I’ve got another group on my land,” he said. “They lost a teenager in the woods. Been searching for him.”
Christa exchanged a glance with Omid, then looked back at Hershel. “You want us to help?” she asked.
Hershel leaned forward slightly “It’d be a start.”
Omid sighed, glancing at Christa before nodding. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll help.”
Hershel stood, his expression still unreadable, “You talk to them, then we’ll talk,” he said.
Omid stood, rolling his shoulders. “Alright,” he said, glancing toward the fields. “Where do we start?”
Maggie gestured toward Rick’s group “Talk to them,” she said. “They’ll fill you in.”
Andrea and Shane
Andrea stepped cautiously into the abandoned house, her voice cutting through the silence. “Travis?” she called out.
Shane, moving with practiced efficiency, swept his gun over every dark corner. “Stay sharp,” he muttered.
Andrea’s eyes flickered to the hallway ahead, her brows furrowing. “They walled it up,” she said, her voice laced with unease.
Shane exhaled. “Looks like a last stand,” he murmured.
Without another word, they dropped low, crawling through a small hole in the barricade. The stench hit them first—a thick, disgusting smell of decay and burnt flesh. As they emerged on the other side, Andrea gasped, her stomach twisting.
A pile of dead walkers lay scattered, their bodies long decomposed, charred skeletons littering the ground.
Shane removed his hat, rubbing his forehead as he took it all in. Andrea gagged, turning away.
“Travis was never here,” she whispered.
The words barely left her lips before a sudden, guttural growl sounded from behind them. Shane spun just in time to see walkers clawing at the garage door, their rotting fingers forcing their way underneath.
“Time to go!” Shane barked.
Andrea didn’t need to be told twice. They sprinted out of the house, feet pounding against the pavement as Shane raised his weapon, firing into the street. Walkers crumbled as he moved, clearing a path.
“Clear the street!” he shouted. “I’ll get the car!”
Andrea reloaded, but the click of her weapon sent a jolt of panic through her—out of bullets.
Shane caught the movement, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Focus!” he snapped. “I got your back—go!”
Andrea gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance before firing again, hitting clean headshots one after another. The walkers dropped just as Shane finished clearing the vehicle.
“It’s time to go!” he hollered.
Andrea pivoted, raising her gun once more and firing off the last few shots, taking out the three advancing walkers before she bolted toward the car.
Shane floored the gas the second she slammed the door shut.
Camp
Omid and Christa approached the group gathered in the camp. Rick stood near the center, arms crossed, watching them carefully.
Omid offered a small nod. “Name’s Omid,” he said. “This is Christa. We heard you’re looking for someone—a teenager?”
Christa kept her stance steady, scanning the group. “We’re willing to help search,” she added.
Rick studied them for a beat before finally giving a nod. “Rick,” he said simply, extending a hand.
Omid shook it firmly as Kenny and Mark stepped forward.
“Kenny,” the older man said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Good to have more hands.”
“Mark,” the other man chimed in with a small nod. “Seriously, we appreciate it.”
Several others followed suit, offering introductions and murmured thanks.
Across the camp Harry ducked inside the tent. Amy looked up from where she sat, legs crossed, hands resting on her lap.
“Hey,” Harry greeted, his voice gentle but probing. “Everything okay?”
Amy exhaled slowly, rubbing her palms together as she avoided his gaze for a moment.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, finally meeting his eyes.
Harry nodded, stepping further inside and lowering himself to sit beside her. “Talk to me,” he said.
“I’m scared,” she admitted finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Harry shifted slightly, giving her space to continue.
“I want this baby,” she said, shaking her head. “You want this baby. But I don’t know what kind of life we’d be giving them. This world… it’s not safe. It’s barely livable most days. And I keep thinking—what if I can’t protect them? What if we don’t make it long enough for them to even remember us?”
Her fingers clenched against the fabric of her pants as she swallowed hard. “I don’t want them growing up in constant fear. I don’t want them to know hunger or loss or what it feels like to run for your life. But I don’t know how to make any of this okay. I don’t know how to promise them something better.”
She finally looked up at him, searching his face for something—assurance, a solution, anything.
Harry held her gaze, his expression softening. “You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Harry reached for her hand, holding it gently between his own. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you and our child safe,” he said, his voice steady.
Amy sniffled, blinking against the sting in her eyes. “I don’t even know if safety exists anymore,” she whispered.
Harry exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It does,” he said. “Maybe not the way it used to, but it’s out there. And I’ll fight for it. Every damn day.”
Amy swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around his. “I don’t want our baby to grow up in fear,” she murmured.
“I don’t either,” Harry admitted. “That’s why we’re going to make sure they don’t have to.”
Amy looked at him before burying her face in his neck.
Later, Harry stood near the edge of camp, arms crossed, eyes locked on the distant treeline. He knew this was coming—had felt it brewing all day.
Rick approached first, his expression firm, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, kid,” he said, voice laced with frustration. “What the hell’s going on between you and Amy?”
Harry exhaled sharply, glancing over at Amy, who was sitting near Dale, her shoulders hunched slightly. He’d barely left her side all day, and he knew everyone had noticed.
His mother stepped up beside his father, worry flickering across her face. “Harry,” she said, gentler than Rick but just as expectant. “What’s going on?”
Harry dragged a hand down his face, looking across the field, searching for some kind of answer he hadn’t already rehearsed in his head.
Finally, he sighed. “Amy’s pregnant,” he admitted.
Rick stiffened slightly, his mother’s breath caught.
Rick ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply as Lori stared at Harry, her expression unreadable—caught somewhere between shock, anger, and disbelief.
Harry squared his shoulders, bracing himself. “Go on,” he muttered. “Yell if you want.”
Lori’s breath hitched before she hissed, “You’re barely nineteen.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “I know that,” he snapped.
Rick let out another slow breath, rubbing his temples. “Jesus,” he muttered.
Lori shook her head “Do you even understand what this means?” she pressed. “What this means for her? For you?”
Harry’s throat tightened. “I understand,” he said, softer this time. “And I’m not running from it.”
Rick glanced toward the tents where Amy was sitting, oblivious to the conversation unfolding. “Does everyone know?” he asked.
Harry exhaled. “Dale,” he admitted. “And Glenn.”
Lori scoffed, shaking her head. “And you didn’t think we should know?”
Harry held her gaze. “I was figuring it out.”
Rick studied him for a long moment, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand over his mouth. “Alright,” he finally said. “Alright.”
Lori's arms crossed tightly over her chest, frustration clear “Why did Dale and Glenn know before we did?” she demanded.
Harry’s jaw tensed as he exhaled sharply. “They knew before even I did,” he shot back. “Amy didn’t want the whole camp knowing yet.”
Rick rubbed his temples, glancing between them, but Lori wasn’t done. “Well, now we have another problem,” she said. “We have to convince Hershel to let us stay.”
Harry blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Lori looked at Rick, expecting him to explain, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second before sighing. “Hershel thinks we’ll be on our way once we find Travis and Carl is healed,” he said.
Harry’s fists clenched at his sides as he shook his head. “We can’t leave now,” he said, voice tight with frustration. “Not with Amy pregnant.”
Rick exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We know that,” he said. “I’ll talk to Hershel.”
“That’s not the point,” Harry snapped. “Amy didn’t want the whole camp knowing.”
Rick’s jaw tightened as he met Harry’s glare. “This affects everyone now,” he shot back. “Whether we like it or not.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but his father was already turning away